Thankful Journal Day 8

November 8: I’m thankful for Lucci’s in Wilmington. It’s a small grocery store, conveniently located on the way home from the oncology center (where I spent the morning getting my head checked out). I stopped into Lucci’s to make a tough day a little easier (it's all about me today), to get a pound of turkey from the deli so I could make lunches for today and tomorrow and not have to fight my way through the bigger, crowded, very expensive market in North Reading (I know, cling peaches, I'm rambling). I ended up discovering why other people have been raving about Lucci's, like great prices, great sandwiches, great service, no lines (OK, maybe not a mid-day on a Thursday). A very pleasant experience. I’ll be back. It’s nice to have choices.

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Reflecting on how hard this can be

I hoped going through chemo would get easier as I went along. I heard that might be harder, and I’m finding it’s both. Easier and harder. Doesn’t make sense, does it?

It’s easier this time around because I don’t feel so significantly ill. I’m not buried under blankets on the couch or so weak I can’t function, not wracked with gastrointestinal distress or terribly nauseous. It’s harder this time around because I’m not sleeping and I can’t seem to focus.

I feel unconnected in a lot of ways. My concentration is shot and it’s a struggle get interested and stay engaged. Maybe this is normal for someone in this situation. Maybe it’s the way my head is supposed to tell my body that I really need to move into the slow lane and let the rest of the world downshift, gain speed, and pass to my left.

What I need to do is accept that it’s OK to let this happen. I don’t have to be in charge of anything right now except managing the day to day it will take to recover and move forward.

A lot of this goes back to feelings I had in the very beginning, when I realized that I lost control then I gained the breast cancer diagnosis (it makes sense to me). Too many things were going to happen that I couldn’t control and I had to hand management of myself over to other people. That’s a very hard thing to do when you think of yourself as independent.

You imagine yourself as a strong person, and then a miserable tiny speck of a disease brings you to your knees. It strips away all of your leadership qualities and you have to rely on other people to keep you alive. Seriously. Alive. It’s such drama.

Today was a tough day. I’m once again struggling with food and fluid. I know I need to eat to maintain a decent energy level and consume those 80 precious ounces of fluid to flush out the bad stuff. If It’s hard some days and today is one such. I know that by denying or delaying the things I know I need to do I prolong the difficult recovery process.

Enough for today. Tonight is the last night of the breast center support group. I’ll wave goodbye to some of the members, hang in with a few, and keep one close by—hopefully for a long, long time to come.

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Thankful Journal Day 7

November 7: Today I’m thankful for the beautiful flowers in the antique vase on my kitchen table.

The Pretty Girl came through the door the other day and presented me with a huge bouquet of carnations—-white, red, and rosy-wine colored blossoms. They are one of my favorite flowers, mostly because with love and care they’ll last a long time. The flowers are symbols of many things (beauty, nature, and so on and on), but not as much as how special my daughter is to me. She’s a wonderful young woman, a dear friend, and I can’t begin to imagine how empty my life would be like if she wasn’t part of it.

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More on Tuesday

Long day. Different recovery this time from last Friday's chemo session. The new drugs have helped, I haven't felt as sick this time around. The exhaustion, however, is significant and once again I'm losing my voice.

Both yesterday and today (Monday and Tuesday) were long, tough days. Hard to concentrate. Battling to stay awake until a reasonable hour to go to bed, then snoring so loud I disturb Dave within moments of falling under the blankets. Awake just after midnight and on and off until 5 a.m. Part of the problem is trying to get down 80-100 ounces of non-caffeinated fluid a day, and then pass it along through the night.

(Stop fussing Penny, you're a lucky girl... This is easy stuff compared to the rest of the fight.)

Last night I had strange dreams. I work for a medical publishing company and my boss wanted a special give-away we could send to anyone who bought a newsletter. I came up with a brilliant idea, a chimney sweeper's brush, but he didn't like my designs. Where the hell did that come from? Anyone want to analyze that one for me?

I think I need to take a little time away from the office, for sure. I'd like to, maybe in January or February (if my energy holds on that long).

I'm putting a link to Tanya's blog on the page, please check it out. She writes about more than our shared adventures in Pink Land.

We're both glad that October has come and gone. It's no longer Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It's Thankful Month. What are YOU thankful for today?

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Thankful Journal Day 6

November 6: This thankful entry is both sweet and bitter. Tanya and Cheryl shared news yesterday.

Tanya news is wonderful news—the suspicious area in her breast is a funky lymph node, and nothing that will cause concern. I’m thrilled for her.

Then there is Cheryl, whose dad lost his brave cancer fight in late September. I didn’t know he had died.

I ran into both Tanya and Cheryl yesterday at Wal-Mart in North Reading and got to hug them both, for very different reasons. For one my heart overflows with happiness.

For the other it breaks with the sadness for the journey that is still to come through illness and death, learning to live without seeing and leaning on someone you love and miss so deeply. He’s still there, but it’s not the same. I know.

I am thankful both these special women care about me. I’m the lucky one this morning because I have them as my friends.

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Thankful Journal

My friend Tanya, my new little sister in the breast cancer fight, has a wonderful thing going on her blog. She's writing a month-long "Thankful Journal" and invites her friends to join the effort.

I'm jumping on board and I hope you'll take some time to post a comment or two along the way, or even start a blog of your own. Who knows where all the thankful thinking and potential creativity will carry you?

I have to back up and start on November 1. Here goes:

November 1: I'm thankful that I have Dave and PJ on the front line, every day, supporting me as I go through this fight. I've never questioned their love for me, or worried about their commitment. They make the fight worth every struggle.
November 2: I'm thankful for family and friends, near and far, who call, write, worry, fuss, listen, and give generously of their time and attention. It all means the world to me.
November 3: I'm thankful to work for a company and a management team that understands my situation and gives me the time I need to take care of my health. My coworkers in my group have my back every day. I hope they know I'm there for them as well, but I hope I never have to cover for them in a similar situation.
November 4: I'm thankful to have health insurance. I'm beyond stunned at the expenses I'm running up, for surgeries, procedures, appointments, drug treatment, and chemo treatments. Next comes radiation and five years of drug therapy. How do people without benefits survive something like this?
November 5: I'm thankful for a great medical team. I haven't been happy with some of the things we've discussed; I've been upset by news they've delivered on occasion; I've been impatient with delays and scared by procedures. All normal and natural. Still, I'm thankful. It's good to have choices, the ability to make decisions, and a voice in what's happening.

My "thankfuls" won't all be about cancer. I have plenty more to be grateful for, and I look forward to seeing what you have to say. Please comment!

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Treatment #3, the second day

So far so good... no repeat of last session's second day when I was so ill. Maybe the new nausea drugs are working?

Woke up with enough energy to run a marathon. Clear head, great mood. It was 5:45 a.m. (we fell back an hour last night to Daylight Savings Time) and I'd been awake for about an hour. Decided, hell, why not get up and get the day going.

Sent out "Notes to Neighbors" on behalf of the American Cancer Society, begging for contributions. I hate getting those solicitations in the mail, I feel guilty not contributing. But I figured I do it this year (of course, now I'm on the ACS's list forever).

Hit Wal-Mart and Demoulas and ran out of steam. Came home and had lunch with my best girl (which perked me up a bit). Did two assignments for my online management course, and swapped several dozen e-mails with Tanya (we should have just gone to Lendy's for breakfast!)

Now it's time to watch (or try to) the Patriots take on the Colts. I expect to be asleep in no time.

Might just be able to go to work tomorrow. Let's hope so, I'm running out of vacation days to spend on chemo treatments and recovery.

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Treatment #3, the next day

Uneventful day. Well, not really. I spent a lot of someone else's money today.

Had my $3,000 Neulasta shot. Isn't that a sin? What do people without health insurance cope with the high cost of health care?

Then I hit my pharmacy for a chat with Anne, my pharmacist, about all the drugs I'm taking. I want to be sure I'm taking them at the right time of day so they all do the job they're supposed to do. She thinks I'm on track with everything, so I won't fret.

I'm on two new anti-nausea drugs with the cycle, Emend and Decadron. Also a new one for break-thru nausea, Reglan. The nursing staff at the oncology center think I can have better days following treatment that I've had the last two rounds. I assumed I was paying the price for going through chemo with a couple of tough days--we'll see how it goes this time. So far today has been OK, nothing to really complain about that way. A bit of gastrointestinal distress and (now after dinner) a flushed face.

Let's take a look at my drug prices, shall we?
** Emend, $391.99 for three pills; day of chemo, day after, second day after; $25 co-pay
** Decadron, $37.99 for 60 tabs; one evening of chemo, two day after, two second day (morning and evening each, and one third day; $10 co-pay
** Zofran, $309.00 for 10 tabs; one evening of chemo, one next day, one second day; $10 co-pay
** Reglan, $14.99 for 30 tabs; as needed; $8.55 co-pay
** Prilosec, $79.99 for 30 caps; daily since week before chemo started and to continue for one month after chemo ends; $10 co-pay

** Compazine (first break-thru nausea drug they gave me, didn't work well, threw it out this morning because I have Reglan) $22.99 for 30 tabs, $10 co-pay

Absolutely amazing. Are we all in the wrong line of work?

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Chemo Treatment #3

Number 3 is history, in the books, over and done. Thank you very much.





Uneventful day, usual and customary with Kristi at the oncology center. Not much of an appetite, a little nauseous too. They've changed up my medications to help lessen the uncomfortable days following chemo, we'll see how all that goes.

The good news is that my next session--and my last--will be in two weeks, not three. I was scheduled to go again on the day after Thanksgiving, but the center will be closed. My doc suggested waiting four weeks, I opted for two. Why not get it done sooner?

I'm more concerned today for Tanya, a new and wonderful friend I've met through the magic of breast cancer. She's been through a surgery and a boatload of tests and now needs to worry about a newly discovered suspicious area just found through an MRI (and confirmed with additional tests). She doesn't deserve this. No one does.

I know you keep me in your thoughts. Please make some room for Tanya as well.

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Chemo #3 tomorrow

Coming soon to the Baldwin Park Oncology Center, "Chemo #3." I'm headlining tomorrow's 10:30 a.m. session.

The roller coaster of last weekend is long over and I'm in a very positive frame of mind. I feel good, ready to go tomorrow, get it done, and come home and enjoy the weekend. That's my goal. I know that following the last two sessions I had a couple of really difficult days, and in the back of my mind I've already written next Monday off, but who knows? Maybe it won't be so hard this time. And if it is, then it is.

I hear my father's voice in my head when I think of going into chemo. He was fascinated by the weather, and I preferred to ask him for a forecast than depend on a television talking head (since my dad's death I've become addicted to The Weather Channel, not even a shadow of a replacement, but an adequate fill-in).

I'd ask my father when the rain would stop and he'd give me his prediction. I'd ask, "Are you sure?" and he'd reply, "It always stops."

How right he was. The rain always stops (and it usually did when he said it would).

So dad and the rain are a little like feeling crappy after chemo. The crappy feeling always stops and I feel better again.

Life is good.

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