The farther away we are from the last infusion, the better I feel, the closer we are to the next one, CRAP.  The last one, YIPPEE.  I awoke the other day and said to B  “hey, more than half way there” and quickly realized how focused I am on this phase of treatment.  Keeping our eye on the prize and focusing on what I and we need to do to get through today is tricky some times. 

This cycle is different from the last, which was different from the previous.  I’m not sure what my body is feeling much of the time.  I know when I need to lay down.  I don’t know if I’m nauseous or hungry or neither or both.  I know that I cannot put two thoughts together sometimes, and thankfully, B and the katz understand this and do not expect anything of the sort.  I know A understands.  I felt it in her warm grasp during our entire walk today.  I know that E understands because he rode his bike past the window several times doing goofy stunts just for me and I was gratefully trapped in the moment of joy with him.

For someone who takes joy in putzing, I have to admit that I cannot putz to my hearts content now.  I putz in spurtz, and although it is sort of satisfying, it sure ain’t the Full Monte.  Being aware of what my body needs, and being ok with it is my primary job right now.  It is what it is.

Today it feels like chemo is wearing down some edges that will take time to sharpen.  In time.

I’d say things are going ok.  Yesterday I had the pleasure to have a friend I have not seen in too many years drive me to my herbalist and acupuncture appointments, and to get that darn old neulasta shot for my white blood cell production.   It was wonderful spending time and catching up.  Today I feel tired, so I have a mellow yellow day planned.  I’m hoping to draw what this looks like once I get the energy!

As far as nausea and other body stuff, I’m guardedly optimistic when I say that this round has not been as uncomfortable as tha last two so far.  I say that with a whisper, mind you.  I do know that I need to sleep, and that I will do.  The Katz are already positioned at the foot of the bed for their morning siesta.

After the 4th infusion, my surgeon is booking an MRI at the same place as the first one, and we will meet after the results come in to learn about the progress and next steps.  Oncologist wants to see a CT scan just to check out a bigger picture to make sure all is well. 

SO the painting of the bedroom and picking out flooring will have to wait, DARN IT ANYWAY!  Maybe tomorrow!

The love, support, emails, comments, prayers, thoughts, food, surprises, calls are all so wonderful.  We are grateful beyond measure.

While the family slept, a friend and fellow kat lover went on a hot pursuit of some kitty furniture.  This friend called a maker of such exquisite works to see what kind of deal she could finagle …in the mean time, others hearing of this mission offered to help raise funds to obtain the goods.  The short story is that the craftsman created a tree and scratching post for the katz and donated it.  It was picked up from the far off land by yet another, (who actually is the Cheshire Cat incarnate) and ultimately found the felines it was made for.  Upon delivery, Guiseppi, Sofia and Chuang Tzu sniffed and scratched and perched and played happily ever after, and it brought deeeelight to the humans.

Thank you D for this gift.  Thank you B from r6meows for your kind heart and craftsmanship.  If you have katz or know someone who does, please visit www.r6meows.com.  Thank you to all the others who helped blow wind in the sails of this vessel.  The katz are feeling very supported indeed!  Port-o-love strikes again!

I’m learning not to get whiplash when things like this happen.

My oldest and very loving, swell and attentive brother sent me an off line comment that I would like to share with permission.

“I’d like to talk about the whiplash thing.  I’m in Asia this week, staying in a nice hotel in Singapore, a thriving and very picturesque place.  Went over the bridge to Malaysia this morning where we saw a woman in front of her hovel washing what looked like the breakfast dishes while her little one did his business in the same stream (upstream).  So what’s my point?  We should all have whiplash.  I hope you don’t feel like you have to be perfect through this.  Fighting the good fight is important for you and the family, but it’s ok and maybe equally important to be real when it gets to you.  I think the kids see it for what it is.  You’re the best.”

He went on to say:  Anyway, I made a connection between my sighting and your comment about your ups and downs.  Maybe it makes sense, maybe I just wanted to talk about what I saw.  But I am intrigued by trying to find the balance between being too caught up in differences and being oblivious to them.  Whether it is as personal as your current ordeal or something as broad as the inequities in life.

I hope this makes sense. I know you don’t need the advice I am offering, but I needed to offer it to someone and your blog entry offered at least a vague invitation. I hope you’re feeling ok. I look forward to the next entry. It’s how we keep track of you.

Thanks R.  I’m so fortunate to have you in my life.  Anything you have to say to me is a gift. Truly.

I saw the movie “Angela’s Ashes” this weekend.  Somewhat like R’s experience in Malaysia, it had quite an impact on me.  Being a child in Ireland in the 1930’s is so far out of my realm of experience.

One way I’ve been working to avoid whiplash is by being more awake.  I like to think that my eyes are open most of the time.  (Thankfully I’ve inherited Pop’s sleeping gene, so I must confess that my eyes are CLOSED some of the time.  As I digress, I just have to say that I’m grateful that, to date, I have NOT inherited his peeing gene – hey, with 4 brothers, I must have some crude “Y” need to talk about bodily functions once in a while…those who know me really well might say it’s more often than that…)

Through your comments on this blog and off line, I’m learning that my family’s experience with breast cancer has ‘awakened’ a lot in many people.  If you are moved to comment, I’m very interested in what it has woken up in you. (click on the paper tacked with a push pin to the right of the entry title if you want to comment)  Now that I think of it, we developed this blog to ease some of the whiplash after being diagnosed.

I’m happy to say that I’m feeling quite well.  Days 7-14 of the cycle are groovy.  The carpet in the bedroom is history, the walls are were patched this morning.   I had the true honor of going to support an elder for a few hours today.  B and the man cub had quite an adventure camping this weekend.  A finished her Rube Goldberg project with some of her classmates JUST in time…and she told me today it was the only one that was successful the first try in class.  The things of every day life are so vivid today.

The people who live with me have quite a job.  They have seen me all calm and serene AND completely unraveled.  They see how the chemicals challenge my composure, my ability to think (to the capacity that I was able to before all this!) and they cannot avoid witnessing the  physical changes.  I can’t imagine what it’s like to see a loved one going through this.  It’s in their face every day.  They  must get whiplash from the extremes.  The past three days, I have had boundless energy.  I mean I cannot contain it at times.  Errands got done, calls made, visits were had, more carpet removal before dinner, wood is still getting stacked.  And I rest when I can reign that horse in.

I am so grateful that people have been thinking of B, A and E.  (For those of you who don’t know, B is my partner, A (15) is our daughter and E (13), or son.)  The kids got flowers, people ask about how B is holding up or how the kids are doing, we ALL enjoy the Calvin and Hobbs comics that are getting left in our mailbox (in fact some of us are hording them!).  People have asked about their food preferences and other needs.  That means so much to me.

Today is our son E’s 13th birthday.  B has taken him on a camping trip.   I love to think of this as a rite of passage of sorts.  I don’t think B will leave him in the middle of the woods all naked with a rock and a dagger, but I know he will put him to a test of skills that he has been learning over the years.  A and I get to spend time together after soccer practice, chopping wood and carrying water, closer to home.

Today I am dedicating this blog to my sweet and loving family.  They are goofy beyond measure and so real.  AND they have accepted me in my many forms.  I am so glad we are together.

UPDATE:  Please click on the Walk4Hope page to see our progress!

An image finally came to me yesterday in accupuncture.  I originally was calling it “Dig Deep”.   A few days this last week I felt like I was sinking.  The  earth surrounding me is  not devouring, however.  It is a quiet place, where it’s safe to be with sadness and dark.  I am reaching with my hand and foot for the vital energy that will join with the healing and nourishment of the rich soil.  This particular rendition sort of  looks like I’m a naked pirate on a mission, now that I’ve put it on paper.   AAARRRRR !

Each time I’ve had an infusion so far, my body / my horse has worked to get itself back into balance.  I am grateful that it has strength to find this each time.  Anyone reading this (that means you) is part of the sky colors, holding my family and I in thoughts and prayers.  This is especially helpful when I and we feel like we cannot hold ourselves up.  I could not ask for more.  We have been shown evidence of your love every single day since we spread the word.

There is a part of this journey that is just mine.  A part no one else can do for me.  I have to dig deep some days to find what I must to cope.  Thank heavens these days have been rare.

Today’s walk with D was especially fun.  I feel like tearing up some carpet now.

Not sure why boys need to get quite so specific, especially with someone else’s stuff (see post below).  However, like pregnancy, breast cancer and treatment seem to shine a bright light on just about everything about my body, so what the heck.  At first diagnosis I was saying ‘never have my breasts caused such a sensation’.   Now whomever reads this knows I have an exhaust system.

The phyiscality of it all gets tiresome.  For someone who has gone through many, many years with a body that was not calling much attention to itself at all, I find the constant awareness of body a drag at times.  Being able to laugh it off, especially after a heavy Sunday, is a blessing, I must say.  Thanks B.

When pregnant, the attention was excited and so many people wanted to touch the orb.  Now under the influence of chemo, so many have been willing to just let me rest my head on their shoulders at a whim. (like on the bleachers at a soccer game) I get compliments from the brave on my choice of doo rag.  And then there are others who just think it is terrific that I’m even trying to be an active mom.  Validation is such a cool thing.  But darn the whole idea that medicine that is supposed to help me heal, is also ravaging through all of my body like a wildfire at times, so that I don’t even recognize normal things like hunger.

Stacking wood when one feels able is also a cool thing and can get the eye back on the prize and out of the discomfort of the moment.  Thank heavens for silly boys and piles of split wood.  Today is a better day.

P has an excuse she after all is getting Chemo.  I on the other hand seem to be suffering Chemo Covade, or else, just disgusting man syndrome.  Dueling Bugle butts have our pre-adolescent in giggles and our girl-teen completely disgusted — which just may be a symptom of girl-teen.  The toots range from Moose bugles to Goose calls on a foggy morning, and some just squeak and chirp, rarely do SBD’s slide out.  I’m remined of Ludo in “Labyrinth” trudging in the bog of eternal stench; “Smell Bad!”   Walking through a room one can slide into a pocket of odiferousness; wafting and lingering, or perhaps malingering, at any moment.  Farts are funny mostly and since both P and I are feeling low at least we are able to giggle about this mild ignominy.

K sent this comment via email that I wanted to share with permission:

P and all,

E,  I loved your blog entry and how you looked out over those hills and found some kind of meaning for the steep declines. I never thought that it would be your mother either that would have cancer. I never thought that I would shave any one’s head. I never knew that your mother drew so beautifully even when her strength was tested. Your mom does have one of the strongest physical and emotional constitutions of anyone I know. That will serve her well.   P, the image of your curls next to your cowboy boots is as touching as that little French girl cutting her hair to match her brother’s. I can only imagine the angst of the hair thing, the anticipation, the unknown, the metaphors, the acceptance, the sadness, the acceptance.   P, you wanted a ritual around the shaving and what you got were friends, brilliant sunshine, the cats meandering, basil everywhere and the ominous clipper box that was ready and open.  I wanted to cry for all that you are going through but your bouyancy and your boots overtook the sadness and we dragged out the headwraps.    Love to you all K

When I think about staying afloat in a rough sea, it seems daunting.  Treading water is exhausting, and the life saving float is crucial.  I have moments where the only weird thing about my life is that I’m not working (not that I mind), and that people just keep sending love letters and dropping delicious food off at our house (yummmm and thank you).  I have moments like today where I cry very easily, or just feel really sad and don’t like this, not one bit.  My choice to shave my head was an important one for me.  Empowering, yes, but not something I like.  My friends and E being witness and partners were exactly what I needed that day.

Friday was my first venture out, my head wrapped in a cloth that A picked out for me.  I wore my boots to the soccer game (girls team won 4-0).  My boots had me standing tall(er than usual) and my wrap kept my head warm, protected from the sun, and there was a privacy about it, I don’t know how to explain it better than that.  I had all delusions of grandeur about going to the football game, but I was cold and really beat by the end of the game, so I went home with E.  I put my most comfy clothes on and built a great fire in our big fireplace.

I went to the Fair yesterday, a bigger step into the world.  ‘A’ rubbed my head from time to time during the long drive.  It felt very nurturing, I think, for both of us.  Getting used to a loved one suddenly without hair must be weird.  I appreciate how A and E are evolving and coming to terms with this part of our trip.  I am careful not to appear without a cover as it is fairly drastic.  The fair was fun. I was completely anonymous.  One can do or be anything there, I found it freeing.  When I got home I had an incredible nap.  The kids ended up going to friend’s houses for the night so after friends came to help us consume some of the delicious offerings, B and I got to just be.  I am touching his long hair more,  grateful that he has chosen to keep it for our strength.  I uncovered my head for the night just because I was sick of having something on it all day.  I hated feeling relief and vunerability all at the same time, but I was home, my safest place.

This is day 5 cycle 2.  I have had a relatively mild reaction to chemo this time.  I have felt a tentative sort of relief, with some annoying GI discomfort.  I don’t like that I tire more easily.  I may appear buoyant and graceful, but I feel like I am trudging today.  I think stacking wood and napping will generate a balance of energy for me.  It fits that it is raining.  There are times when I cannot put to words what I’m feeling and that is where I’ve been since last night.  I want to be quiet.