Life – Page 5 – Riding a new Horse

Taking time

I left work on Friday noonish with the full intention of going home and working. I have a funding application that is due this coming week, and the draft needs some quiet time…rather I need quiet time to complete it. I made it home ok, but then received a call from a friend that had something to drop off. She stayed for tea. Then I remembered I wanted to call my 93 year old aunt who’d just given up driving at the request of her children. So much for work.

“I’ve been praying for you every night.” was the first thing my aunt said when she realized who was calling. We eventually chatted about the difficult decision to stop driving. I remember how it was for my mom, her sister, when she chose to do the same. Giving up that particular independent task must be such a loss. Both my aunt and my mom have been independent women. They ran their homes with 4 and 5 children respectively…and husbands too. Even in their aging they both want nothing to do with burdening their children. I am taking a liberty here to say that my family, my brothers, sisters in law, cousins, nieces, nephews and I have all been blessed with their tender loving care. So when my aunt told me about praying for me, I smiled and thought to myself that this woman just gave up something that most of us take for granted and here she is wanting to talk more about me than her. The word selfless comes to mind when I think about the two of them. They always take time for me.

This call got me thinking about a comment that A made a few days ago. I referenced it in my last entry. I had left work early so that I could take my kids to get hair cuts, and I planned on being on a phone conference during their appointments. The haircuts didn’t take as long as the conference, so we walked to the car with me attached to the phone, and sat in the car until the meeting was over. A said something like “you are always on the phone and I don’t feel like we get time with you any more”. Boy Hardy, let me tell you it took all of me to hold back my self absorbed thoughts. I did engage in a very unsatisfying debate for a few minutes and decided to wait until I collected my thoughts before we went on.

Running the breast cancer treatment marathon totally rearranges my availability to my family…and myself. Obviously, there are other things I’d rather be doing. So as I think that I’m getting back to work, finally ending the drain on my paid time off accrual, managing to get our kids where they want and need to be, feeling more like a partner to B, finding time to do what I want to do…balancing and juggling… I hear that my kid thinks I’m not available. Our kids have gracefully accepted something that has gyped them of so many things. They have not complained one bit. And although this chemo drug is not nearly as depleating as the first combo, my fatigue is evident at times now. At dinner that night I asked A how I could be more available. She really is very logical about it all.

I lay in bed Friday night thinking about how the heck I was going to make it through Saturday. We have passes to a couple ski mountains and we have been alternating hills each week in January. Saturday was to be the bigger of the two, a place that is really one of my favorites in Maine. The reason for my trepidation was the accumulating fatigue that I’d been noticing this week. There was no way I was going to make it through the whole day skiing. I’d planned to bring my computer so that I could get that application completed and put in the time I’d abandoned on Friday. I was even wondering about the drive. What I was doing was anticipating fatigue, not necessarily feeling it. My thoughts included “I SHOULD really take it easy. I SHOULD NOT over do things. I SHOULD be careful. This fatigue will put me at risk.” And finally: “I SHOULD get that work done.” These thoughts are so foreign to me that I could not believe I was actually thinking them.

E brought a friend along and A and I planned to ski together for as long as I could. The day was your picture perfect winter day. Crystal clear sky as blue as blue is blue. Cold enough to keep conditions terrific and warm enough to stay warm enough. As we went up the lift each time it was impossible not to notice and comment on the beauty. The snow covered trees against the pristine sky provided an amazing back drop for wonderful conversation between us. We skied and skied. We started racing down the hill taking different paths to see who could make it to the bottom before the other. Even the lift attendants were watching to see who arrived first. I found myself skiing with complete abandon, which for me is like what Dory did in “Finding Nemo”. You know, where she’d be on a mission and then just start weaving around and singing? Well, I’d start racing down the hill and then get into my form and turns and weaving and humming and sometimes singing really loud, before I remembered that I was in a race. It was so freeing. Incidentally, A finished first many times more than I did. Riding up the lift one time A said “I feel so happy when I ski.” She described the feeling of “infinite” that the boy in the wallflower book spoke about. We started talking about the sky and the expanse of the universe and the blue. At what other time would we have had this conversation? There is just something about skiing for A. Her smile was noticed by many who commented and she said “Of course I’m smiling, I’m skiing.”

Before we knew it, it was time to pack up. The ride home was quiet as we drove into the dusk. The views over the lakes and mountains were spectacular. A joked about a conversation she had with a friend she saw. “He asked who I was here with and I said…my mom. How lame is that?” We laughed and laughed. As we pulled in the driveway A was planning her ride to the hockey game, immediately after our return. I looked at her and said something like “you know I’m not going to be able to drive you…” and she said “I’m all set mom. Daddy is going to take me. Thanks for spending time with me today.”

Today is Sunday. I slept well. I feel ready to FINALLY put in some work time. The fire’s roaring, the katz are snoozing. E and B are out on an adventure. A is still abed. I’m so happy we went skiing yesterday.

So Much Trouble, Blues

Some who know me know that I’ve got a whole another storyline of psycho-drama in my life. I’ll spare the details. But suffice it to say that some of that drama came to full bloom this week. In any case progress was made, nobody died or went insane. However, in the midst of it P, speculated that my Karmic baggage must be really screwed up. I suppose a person could be offended by that, but, it tickled my funny bone. She speculated that in a previous life I must have been Hitler or something — which again probably passes over to poor taste, but, the absurdity caused both of us a fit of the giggles. I argued that Hitler probably came back as snail scum, or, as an intestinal parasite, rather, that I was probably just your garden variety axe murderer in my previous life (perhaps like Maggie Smith’s character “Grace Hawkins” in the movie “Keeping Mum”). The irony and absurdity got us laughing. The whole thing has real potential for a monologue or a stand up routine. We tried it out on the kids and it really bothered A. She was really defensive of me and she didn’t really see the humor — it is touching that she would go to bat for me. I think perhaps physical and emotional tiredness made it more funny for P and I — kinda giddy.

In any case I found these guys singing the blues and I thought (since, I’m a musical dunce) that I’d let them sing for me. Just, glad it is the weekend.

The time before spring

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Home from the infusion. You know the feeling when seed catalogs start appearing in the mailbox? Well here in Maine it is a sacred time…at least for me. Today I got that feeling when I drew this panel. Something is moving for me. I and we are doing what it takes to enjoy and endure the winter cold, snow, quiet, dark, ice. I feel the incubation and am taking care of our plants more than usual. The cyclamen that I was given at my 20th anniversary at work is actually producing a whole bunch of new blooms. (Usually those plants end up a frozen block on the top of the compost awaiting spring to put them out of their ugly misery.) The only plant that is not happy at all is our Ficus. She is shedding every leaf (could it be chemo covad??) and believe it or not, has new green sprouts here an there. Mangy fox syndrome if I ever saw it.

I was really tired in spite of the fact that the infusion went quickly and smoothly. So instead of going to a meeting at work and then a friend’s house for an enchilada lesson, I came home, met by phone and snooooooozed with the furry you know whozzzzz. The friend said she’d be delivering the enchiladas and the lesson could come at another time. At this point the fatigue is evident, definitely a cumulative thing. I’m incredibly grateful that my night time sleep has returned to my usual which is total slumber. Occasional dreams which are comforting, occasionally waking because a light is on in the living room illuminating the scene for teenage activity. I’ve come up with a hydrating routine that seems to be good enough for the raisin body.

I’ve moved acupuncture to every other week as our insurance has changed and they don’t wanna play. I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s visit. My guts aren’t right. Not nausea, not exactly constipation, but definitely not functioning the way it should be. Don’t like that. Haven’t had any major celebrations of late, if you know what I mean.

The weekend was really fine. I volunteered at the commissary at the ski mountain near our house on Saturday afternoon while the kids skied and boarded. It is always a fun thing to do. I was able to attend a wonderful 50th birthday party for a lovely friend after and we even stayed till almost midnight. Wonderful to be around fun people we’ve known for a long time, and to listen to, play and sing some great songs as a family with friends. Amazing. Amazing for me even sans chemo to be up and alert that late. On Sunday I mostly made up some work time that I missed last week, having left work early for snoozeland.

And today we awoke to a nice snow fall. It’s just stopped, we may have gotten 4 or 5 inches, enough to clean things up and improve conditions for the activities we enjoy.

Every so often I still run into people who have not been privy to the information about my health. I’ve probably mentioned an observation that as people age, their annual holiday greeting letters get longer and longer, and more and more about health issues. I see how it became the main focus for Pop, and is becoming the focus for mom as body ages and activity slows. I take any opportunity to ask someone who’s been there about the things I am about to embark on. You can bet that if you’ve had a colonoscopy that I may be calling for some hits from Heloise when I turn 50.

But even if I didn’t want to mention it, my coiffe is hard to ignore. I just happened to run into 3 such people this past week. The general response is “let me do something to help…I didn’t get to all this time…what do you need?” More love and support. The genuine interest in what we’ve been through is touching. While I love talking about other things, I want these people to know whatever they want/need to know to get caught up. AND it is something that has woven itself into the tapestry that is our life. SO the conversations were about both what we’ve been up to since we saw one another, and what we’ve been up to in relation to breast cancer. Saying that I was diagnosed in the summer gave me a view down the long trail that we are on. This is a view I don’t look at too often, since staying in the NOW is where I’m at these days. I think that breast cancer touches us all. I still see in the faces of people I’m talking to the old “if she can get it so can I”. Women grieve breast cancer, men grieve breast cancer. Everyone wants to save the Ta Tas, and so there is a load of compassion.

A lovely woman at work who cheers me on every day, who celebrates fantastic socks, and embodies G.O. energy told me that she has a new car. I was appropriately excited I think. Then she said that she was registering it and thought of me and got a breast cancer plate. No whiplash. We shared watery eyes, smiles and the knowing that G.O. energy was alive and well.

I think our family is doing ok with stuff. I’m working much of the time, and when I do at home, I’m on the phone or my computer a lot. I’m working afterall. My family thinks I love talking on the phone, which I really don’t, but I DO want to spend the time with callers or people I call in the name of being present and connected to the important stuff in my life. I HAVE to use the phone for work, and sometimes do supervision or have meetings on the phone for HOURS AND HOURS. Kids don’t like that. Mom’s home, mom is home for me. And because I cannot concentrate on my role in the meeting when A is standing before me with the most crucial social plans awaiting my approval, or just wanting a hug…sometimes I have to say “excuse me, your honor, I am taking a minute to hug my daughter…” in the middle of the meeting. Thank the universe that my colleagues and boss understand what is important in life.

We don’t talk about treatments or cancer or how they’re doing with it all a lot. That would be picking the scab if you know what I mean. They know my schedule and say “good luck” or “I’ll be thinking of you today.” when they know I’m going in for an invasion. They know to close the door and keep the volume down when the katz and I are in a pile on the bed. And when we are doing something fun they take the time to say “I’m glad we are doing this.”

I got on a new horse in July 2009. My boots are wearing in beautifully and are becoming a regular part of my life. The horse is not unruly, just unpredictable. The more I work on mindfulness and being awake, the freer I feel, and the more flexible I become to stretch in ways I did not think possible.

Some of my favorite things

E and I were going out to take the recycling to the transfer station this morning. As we approached the end of our driveway, I saw in the dusting of snow two very distinct and large hearts which were made by someone evidently turning around in our driveway. I stopped the car at the same time E said “hey do you see those hearts?” We looked and smiled and as we pulled out of the driveway E said “Someone loves us.”

Thank you, thank you for talking with me about mortality and life and living and dying. It is always enriching to me to learn how others grapple with the unknown. Reflecting upon the honor of being at births and deaths always gives me a warm heart. I am awed by these experiences. I firmly believe that having midwives at both transitions is as it should be. Having been in that pseudo role on a few occasions has enriched my spirit.

Many many moons ago I was given a passage that I committed to memory immediately. I wrote it, I painted it, I wrote it again. I recited it. Long days have passed since then, and I found myself reciting it to B during our preslumber time the other night. I think I remember who gave it to me and will ask her if it was she the next time we speak. However, I had no source. Then I attempted to write it down here and saved it as a draft. I went into the shower for a long hang out in the steam and warm, and remembered more.

And so today, I opened the draft up to find the source and the exact passage. Some Little Sisyphus must have snuck in. My provider of so much. We were both fairly impressed at how close my ‘draft’ was to the actual wording. (It amazes me that my space cadette brain holds on to the gems no matter how garbled it gets with all the other stuff. Don’t get me started on all the numbers I retain. GEEZ.)

Anyway, here is my absolute most favorite passage of all time. It is so fitting at this point and time in our life lesson.

“Peach Blossom Spring”

“Ah, how short a time it is that we are here! Why then not set our hearts at rest, ceasing to trouble whether we remain or go? What boots it to wear out the soul with anxious thoughts? I want not wealth; I want not power: heaven is beyond my hopes. Then let me stroll through the bright hours as they pass, in my garden among my flowers, or I will mount the hill and sing my song, or weave my verse beside the limpid brook. Thus will I work out my allotted span, content with the appointments of Fate, my spirit free from care.”

T`ao Ch`ien (A.D. 365-427)

GATOR SKIN Tip from Consuelo

Here’s a tip with copyright permission from a loving cousin and diehard reader of this blog:

For Dry Skin:

Safflower Oil and Olive Oil (virgin) have omega and essential oils but Safflower is orderless, with vitamin E, and you won’t smell like a salad…..I make sure my hands are clean, I put about a dime size worth of safflower oil in my palm, fill my hand with running water wet down my entire face with the greasy water (feels awesome) then wash with mild face lotion while that is still on my face, rinse.

By doing this the skin is absorbing oil while you’re washing away valuable but dirty oil off you face. I’m telling you I have had such an easy time of dry skin this winter because of Safflower oil. I did use Olive Oil extra virgin but it is extremely smelly and safflower has the omega a E just as much as olive oil. I don’t have the super dry pulling of the skin after I wash anymore before applying lotion. It buys you time before you moisturize but in a natural way. Hope it helps! Actually lately my hands and legs are enough to make an alligator jealous and now I put safflower oil on my hands and legs before I go in the shower. Caution, always apply BEFORE entering so no residuals are around to make you slip! Hope this helps,

Love you too much,

P.S. It hasn’t eliminated my wrinkles unfortunately

1/8/10

Feeling better means getting back to work means having less time to do the things I’ve come to realize are SO important to me. And so it is with blogging. I’ve felt real good this week, and have been back to work AT work most of the days. When I picked my kids up the other day after school and took them shopping for some new jeans (they just keep growing for some reason…the kids, not the jeans), we got home after our usual dinner hour and I was exhausted. Oh yea, and that morning D and I did our walk at O’dark:30. Pretty much useless, I ate the great meal B prepared, and crashed in the recliner, a puddle of mush. Yesterday I worked another whole day and thus, I decided to work from home today…but not until after the chiropractor, food shopping and a nice ski with D and our goofy and swell canine companions.

Growing hair is a very serious business. I think the next baby I see I will appropriately hail them for their hard work! Now that I have a little more than a 6 o’clock shadow, I’m antsy for more…MORE…MORE! I never even thought about the process probably because A (our first child) had about 2 inches of hair when she was born and with E, the poor neglected second child, I don’t think I observed as much about the fuzz as I did other things. So this brand new hair is really funky and has started to have a mind of its own. I can keep my hats off in the car as long as the heater is on and at home, much of the time, if I’m close enough to the fire or the wood stove (or having a hot blast). It’s liberating, truly. I must remind myself that it could all fall out tomorrow, though not the usual outcome of Taxol as a second round chemo drug, apparently.

B has referred to Taxol and radiation as the suspenders part of treatment. I feel I’m somewhere in the bog of life between “Oh man, at least this isn’t as swampy as it was earlier.” and “Hey, is that high ground over yonder?” I just keep walking, just keep moving, just keep trudging, just keep laughing, just keep resting, just keep waking to face each day. SO another character that could give you a sense of who I am is ‘Dory’ in FINDING NEMO. She endears the hearts of some viewers and annoys others. BUT her “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming….” song keeps coming to mind as I move throughout my day like when I still catch myself saying “wow this is really happening” as I glance my fuzzy head in the rear view mirror.

I cannot / will not spend a lot of time dwelling on what we have been through over the past 4-5 months. Nor am I spending much time thinking about a reoccurrance, no more than I would wonder about getting hit by a bus each day. I no longer feel like I have breast cancer, but I am reminded every day by one thing or another. My body is my body and I think I’ve adjusted as much as I can at this point. I’m feeling really good still about the decision not to do any reconstruction as I continue to heal and regain my flexibility. I feel waiting on reconstruction has given my body time to heal from one thing. I have not been wearing many layers because of the hot blasts I am getting several times a day. My usual turtle neck and sweater winter wear is still in the trunk in our bedroom. I’m wearing one layer, often just a long sleeved cotton shirt, and have felt fine about my body. It is like I’m not even thinking about it any more. As I’ve said before, I suspect this will resurface in the spring / summer when I wear my bikini everywhere I go.

So in the area of how I’m doing on Taxol after 5 infusions, I’m definitely feeling the extra dryness in my skin that is more than just winter. I’m not feeling tingling at this point in fingers or toes, but am asked that every time I go for the infusion. It is a side effect that I am taking very seriously as neither I nor our oncologist want permanent damage from these suspenders. My several times daily application of skin cream entails pretty rigorous rubbing to stimulate circulation and keep my nerves alert (my words). My nasal passages are still like the desert. I have caught a cold this week, but it feels normal for a cold. I am tired and am intentionally laying low this weekend.

I didn’t blink and neither did she

One of my coaches is telling me today was #5 of 12. I saw that in my drawing as the mandala or circle is filling with images of my progression. I love how this is evolving for me. The static nature of image #1 and the movement through to today’s image which does not feel static to me at all. P.S. I was not naked during the infusion…well, in the spirit of being honest, under my clothes and boots I was.

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Another non blinking moment happened today. I was sitting in the waiting room waiting for my lab appointment and a couple entered. It’s so interesting to see how people do things, isn’t it? Many, many times when a male is the patient and he is accompanied by a female , she has the clipboard with the weekly nursing assessment form on it, and she proceeds to fill out the form. So this couple fell into this process, she interrupted his cell phone call to ask if he’s had any constipation or diarrhea this week…does he feel any pain today…is he afraid he migh fall? She had beautiful moca colored skin, royal blue pants and a light blue top on. I loved the colors immediately.

I went into the lab, two vials filled with no hiccup on the port draw and back into the waiting area by the fireplace awaiting my nurse escort to the chemo suite. The woman mentioned above looked at me and said “I think I know you…how do I know you?” Here I am with my head wrapped in a batik scarf, a purple watch cap over that, and a flap hat with great tassles on my head (so much for being incognito!) …I said something like “well if it is from a work memory, I’ve worked at the same place for 20 years”. I told her where I worked and we figured out that I had done a workshop for teens in 1988 and she was on of the facilitators. “We made masks. I still have mine. It was and is to this day, very important to me. I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry to meet you here…” Her partner was called in and the conversation ended with her holding her hand out to me in a very kind gesture.

I went back to chemo chair #5 (no view this time) and started doing work related stuff. So cool that I can work (if I feel like it) during these treatments. I don’t really like to admit that I’m a multi-tasker, which I am at times, but I do like that I don’t always have to use my earned time when treatments happen. It’s tricky working on a lap top when I’m getting scanned or under anesthesia, but chemo infusions of this nature are another story.

I took out my pad once the chemo part of the drip started and the benadryl effects were wearing off and the above image just poured out with no thought on my part. This image enchanted me from the first mark I made. So as I was drawing and rocking out with my music, the woman mentioned above came over and tapped me ever so softly on the shoulder and asked if I minded if she visited with me for a few minutes. I unplugged myself and closed my pad to give her respectful attention. I felt blessed by the overture. Here’s a synopsis of what she said:

I am so sorry that I’m seeing you here after 22 years but at the same time I feel like it is an opportunity to tell you something that I may never have had the chance to tell you. I was always the white sheep in my black family. I didn’t feel like I looked like either of my parents, and my natural talents were from somewhere else apparently. It was an ok childhood, but I was unsettled. When I made my mask with the teenagers that day, I saw my face for the first time in 3-D. I saw my father here (she pointed to her chin and her nose), my mother here (her eyes), my father again here (her forehead). It was so profound it took my breath away. I had to excuse myself for a minute or two to gain composure. For the first time, what was I, late 20’s?, I felt that I belonged to these people on a very deep level.

I still have the mask hanging in my house. When I have days that I just don’t feel like I fit, it reminds me that I belong to that family. You were just so postive for the children in the workshop, and I benefitted in a way I never imagined I would. I wanted to thank you.

We spoke briefly about how amazing mask making can be and about the fact that she has been with her husband for 30 years now. A few minutes later she said “Can I get you anything? Some tea or something from the kitchen?” and I graciously declined, pointing to my water and thanking her for taking the time to visit with me. She got up and touched my shoulder again and joined her husband at chair #1.

This infusion went without a hitch. I was struck by how fast the time went and I was out of there in 3 hours flat. The nurses marveled each time the I.V. timer went off, and checked their watches to be sure 15 minutes had elapsed for whatever drip. Sure enough the timer was working correctly. It really flew. I completed my drawing and it was time to have the port access removed.

I went to work and attended staff meeting and a meeting with a colleague in person. I’d planned to go home to rest and work the rest of the afternoon there, and kept to the plan. When I got home my eyes were really in need of shutting. The katz were very pleased to find me in bed at 1:30 or so. I slept for maybe 1/2 hour and felt rested, and just hung out with the felines for another 1/2 hour before getting back to work.

I have noticed that I may be irritable on occasion. Skin’s dry. I am chewing on these great ginger chews (the only ginger stuff I actually enjoy). I am eating more frequent, smaller bits and just trying to be aware of my gut. I had a little headache going into chemo, but drank more and ate some and it has subsided. I feel, like other infusions, that I’m aware of the drug(s) going through my system. Not uncomfortable, just more aware of the path through my body than usual. I feel like I’m dodging the side effect radar. If I stay low to the ground and speak softly, maybe I won’t be detected.

I am humbled and so grateful that I WAS detected today by someone who had a wonderful gift for me.

Open to a New Day

Finally I’ve finished the drawing from cycle 4. I feel open.

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Since we moved to our home 12 years ago, we’ve been saying good bye to the old year and welcoming the coming year with friends in a way that has become so dear to me. We hike up a mountain near our home together, send wishes for the coming year out to the fresh air and beautiful vista, eat clementines and ultimately end at our home for a feast. This week there have been warnings of a storm of the century which had some of the usual attendees hunkering down in their homes. It was beautiful to wake to a light snow, branches shadowed in white, and the knowledge that it’s only Friday!

The festivities actually start out on New Year’s Eve when we make the capaleti that my paternal grandmother served on January 1st. We have been blessed over the past several years to have some friends come to help. As with most old Italian fare, making capaleti is a labor of love. It has become a ‘don’t blink or you might miss it’ experience for me since my kids and friends have joined in. We talk, we laugh, we get flour everywhere. I consult with my favorite picture of Pop and I on the texture and thinness of the pasta. In years past, Mom and Pop would be making their capaleti around the same time we were, and getting the dough as thin as possible was somewhat of a competition. There are other experimental dishes that B and I each make along with cheesebread, sausage bread, antipasto and delectible contributions from those who join us.

Today we joined our friends and the walk up the trail was spectacular. The white blanket on our trail took my breath away today. I was with some of the people I love most and out in the beautiful woods. My energy was good, I only halted when I got a hot blast and had to pull over to shed my hats. At the top we ate clementines, took pictures, spoke about letting go and opening to the new. Kids climbed trees and others tried to catch some zzzz’s on the snowy rocks. I quietly scattered the hair that was shaved off in September where I hope birds might find it for their wintry nests. I took my hats off and let the snow melt on my head.

At home the fire was just enough and the company more intimate than many years. The capaleti got the best ever vote, finally we used the right size cutter, got the combination of ingredients right and the simple broth was delicious. B’s Jalapeno Pork Stew with pickled onions and our vegetarian options of Curried Peanut Soup with fried bananas and an Indian curried black eyed peas were scrumptious! But the most delicious part of the day for me was my feeling of being cradled by love. Don’t blink or you’ll miss that one. I think I can speak for those who attend this each year. It’s a great way to start anew.

Today I don’t feel like I had breast cancer. I was not reminded much that I am in the middle of round 2 chemotherapy. I awoke in the quiet early of a snowy January 1st morning. I hiked with friends. I hugged my friends. I laughed and heard the laughter of children. I made angels in the snow. I had no trouble letting go of 2009.

I met an angel today

Yea today is Round 2 Cycle 4 Day 1. These numbers are becoming less of a focus for me. With the eye on the ball, we are keeping our stride. Cheerleaders on the sidelines are reminding me we are 1/3 the way through this portion, and that is WONDERFUL to hear! (thank you for carrying that part so I don’t feel the need to) The infusion (or invasion as brother M calls it) went fine. We have a regular nurse who is just wonderful. Actually they all are, but K is our nurse and is just the right match for us.

Technical information about today: the waiting room was PACKED early this am when I galloped in. I get comments on my boots at least once each visit. I usually go to the lab first to access the port and do the blood draw for the labs that have to be read before infusions begin. Today K came and took me back to my chair (another chair with a beautiful view of the fields and gardens behind the center – not all the chairs have views) and accessed the port and did the draws right there. All is well in my blood. As you may recall from previous entries, sometimes there is good blood return when the port is accessed (this is crucial to see that the port is working properly), and sometimes there is blood return but not enough for the labs. You may recall that sometimes we have to do creative positioning. Today we did that. If anyone who ever gets a port reads this, please have faith. Skilled nurses who know about ports know it’s about positioning much of the time. You will come to have confidence in knowing your port well. We reclined the chair and I put my hand behind my head this time. It worked like a charm. The benadryl and zofran were the first drips after the labs came back. Then the Taxol. 4 hours later I was on my feet.

A long side note: 4 hours at the center is not a long time. My particular regime is to get labs drawn which takes about 15 minutes if we succeed accessing the port quickly. I get a nursing assessment (weight, vitals, symptom check, medication check) and then we wait for the lab results which usually takes 15 to 30 minutes. (I’m in the chair by this point). Then they start the hydrating drip, and the benadryl (a very small bag) and then a flush and the antinausea med (another small bag). Then 1/2 hour wait. THEN the Taxol (1 hour). Once that’s all done the port gets flushed so it does not get clots and I’m outta there. There was a man next to me who started when I did and was on basically the same schedule, however after I was leaving he was starting a 3 hour drip and had another med after that one. There are so many cancers and chemo regimes. I am grateful, in a funny way, to have the cancer with relatively short treatment episodes.

The chemo room is completely open with curtains for semi-privacy when needed or requested. Conversations are fairly open. I am struck by how many people just starting out ask which of the 3-4 antinausea meds that they have been prescribed to start with. It seems that everyone gets told to just try them out. When I started out, I heard “stay ahead of the nausea” and asked “how do you know if you are even experiencing nausea if you are taking meds before you feel it?” “how do you know which one will work?” I heard “when you feel nauseous just take one and see if it helps…if it doesn’t help, try another.” and asked “how do I stay ahead of it if I am waiting to feel it and it comes on strong?” If I were going to give advice at this point, it would be to think about what feels right to you. I went with something else as my first line of defense. (acupuncture and herbs and careful eating) This is because I hate taking medications. I will avoid it whenever I can. B had me take the whole arsenal on the first day with AC (after I was completely empty from diarrhea and was just moaning with nausea) he couldn’t stand it any more. I eased back a lot and chose not to do any steroids. I also decided on the one drug I thought seemed to be the least harmful to me. I can be really stubborn in spite of myself, but this is what I chose. Remember when I asked what would you rather be nauseous or constipated? It’s a serious thing to consider. I have not felt nauseous during this phase of treatment so far.

I could not do any blogging during the infusion because of technical difficulties…alas. SO I worked on knitting a great colorful flap hat and did some other stuff instead. My drawing is not quite finished, so if you want to see the 4th panel of that drawing you might want to check back some time in the next day or two. Cycle-4-of-12-150x150

SO this is not what I want to spend time on. I feel I have to share an “if you blink you might miss something like this” story.

I left the center and had a couple errands to do. You know, bank, book store, gas up the car. I was about to exit the gas station and on my second look to the left a very small, older woman was trying to catch my eye. I opened my window (mind you, I had my glasses and a crazy hat pulled down over my ears) and here’s what transpired:

“Could you give me a ride to town? If you drop me off at W…. street I can walk the rest of the way.”

My immediate thought and comment was “Absolutely” and I made room for her in the front seat. My second thought as we were driving was “what reason would a person not do this?” I came up with a bunch of reasons and let them go as my passenger told me about some important things in her 77 years.

“You know I left my house this morning to do these important errands and when I got to the gas station (about a mile from her home) I stuck out my thumb and this really nice man picked me up in his truck and you know what? He took me right to the DOOR of the place I needed to go.”

She told me of her 26 year marriage and the death of her husband 10 years ago. She showed me the picture on her driver’s license and said how happy she was that they were going to use the same one for the renewed license. She had a perfect crescent smile, toothless, and the biggest brightest brown smiley eyes I have seen. Her wrinkles were like webs of light supporting the joyful expression on her face. As we laughed, she reached to touch my hand that was on the stick shift, two times. A gentle feathery touch.

She mentioned her road name at the start of our trip and I took her to her doorstep, 3 1/2 miles from our starting point. As she got out she said because of the arthuritis in her spine, it takes her a while to get out of cars…she handed me the papers from her errands and got out. She looked at me and took a great breath and said “I hope you are having a happy new year even though it hasn’t started yet. You are going to have many, many, many happy new years!” She took her papers, shut the door and continued talking all the way to her door (maybe 4 yards away). She turned and smiled at me and blew me a kiss and said “your first kiss for the new year”.

I smiled the whole way home and could not wait to tell the story.

I feel great emotionally. I feel really close to great physically. I met an angel today.

I especially like this rendition of Another Day In Paradise by Phil Collins because I like what he is doing with his hair. Don’t you?

Home on a rainy December Sunday

We left at 5 something in the AM on Wednesday for our holiday fiestas. We have the usual stops for bladder relief and coffee/tea. At our second stop about 3 hours from home, we pulled into the parking space that a very salty car vacated in the crowded parking lot. One of the kids said “Hey, look who’s next to us!”. Our neighbors and friends (my walking partner D and her family) spent the night 3 hours from home and had just started their trek south. It blew our minds! We arrived at a rather unfriendly and crowded roadstop and were greeted by warm and loving hugs, laughter, and OMG’s. The mighty leaf organic breakfast tea never tasted so comforting.

A bit further down the road I saw a billboard. It was pink and the woman was saying “I never gave up.”

Traveling went well. I was really into the music I was listening to and was almost over the top happy on the road. (Sometimes it’s a little much for my family when I’m like this, I must admit.) We pulled into our destination (a warm home to ourselves, vacated by our kind Aunt who was on her own adventure) and were followed into the driveway by a delivery of a fruit bouquet from a childhood friend and her family.

I am so glad we took the plunge and went down for a few days. The timing at the start of our trip was so cool. I am feeling well and am SO grateful for that. OK, my skin is a little dryer than dry, my nasal passages are winning the Sahara Desert Award and my family says that Taxol makes me act like I have Attention Deficit Disorder. I don’t really suffer with the ADD thing because it seems to just be an enhancement of my usual from inside my own body. The dryness, well, it is soothed by things like good skin cream and steamy showers. I’m not really sure how others feel about the Taxol effects but it seems tolerable.

Seeing Mom, all of my brothers and sisters in law, most of our nieces and nephews including some of the canines, some of our cousins and their children, other relatives and friends was wonderful. The love was a little more intense (if that’s possible). There was something slower about my interactions with everyone, a longer glance, a squeeze at the end, long cheek to cheek hugs, talking in whispers. I was accused of being like our kat Guiseppi who just gets right into head scratching as I leaned into anyone who was rubbing my head.

I was struck by many things. When I saw Mom for the first time, I had my cotton hat and my hat with the bells on and she said “Let me see you!”. I took one layer off and she said “What’s with all the hats?”. I took the other off and said that I had to do something to keep warm. She said “Why did they cut off your hair?” As we were hugging and I explained what chemo does, she looked at me with her failing eyes and said “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”

I was struck by the two children (ranging in age from about 8 to about 12) who asked me how I was doing. Each of them found me at a quiet moment and sat or stood next to me at the Christmas Eve party. The youngest one said “I am so sad that you have cancer. One of the teachers at my school had cancer and died. I don’t want that to happen to you.” She told me that when her hair was out of the pony tail that it came down to her waist and asked if my hair would grow back. Her sister found me just before the CRAZY gift swap. “How are you Aunt P?”, and she put her hand on my shoulder. The sincerity in her eyes and the way she tilted her head took my breath away.

I was struck by the optimism and open heart of another who is dealing with his own cancer. So up beat, so in the NOW. Seeing he and his family was wonderful.

I was struck by the love. It was everywhere. It was between our children. It was in our quiet Christmas morning, just the 4 of us…It was in the food we prepared, the food we ate, the laughter. It was in the air. It was intoxicating everywhere I went. B’s glances, arm around my shoulder, touch as he passed by, warm hand on my cold head, reminded my why I said “I do”.

I was struck by the conversations. I was GRATEFUL that conversations were not only about cancer. In fact, most of them were not. I am grateful to have seen my loved ones, and that they got to see me and my family.

Breast cancer did not make me feel sick…not at all. The treatments made me feel sick temporarily, the surgery made me feel sore temporarily. I don’t feel sick right now. The images we create of someone going through this must be tainted with fear and unknown because the common statement that I heard over and over was “You look terrific!”. I was with people who have known me forever. I know it was not my outfit or doo rag that they were seeing. It was my energy, the color of my skin, my eyes and smile. It was my posture and attitude and humor. They were finally able to see me without the breast cancer filter that distance creates, if that makes sense. I was just and still me.

Today it’s pouring in our neck of the woods. We are nesting after days away. We are preparing for the kids to have a week off, and for B and I to attempt getting them where they’d like to be, getting us to work and dealing with cycle 4 which starts tomorrow.