Month: September 2009

9/17 Sit

Sit-150x150I took time to sit this morning.  I’ve felt  good this week and have been so fortunate to have had some wonderful company.  I’m  interested in hearing about life and talking about other things besides intestinal discomfort and when the next infusion is.  Another one of my recipies for nourishment is quiet.   Our katz agree because they get a softwarmlap to nestle in and we purr together.

After completing this drawing my attention was captured by reds, oranges and yellows.  This drawing below is one I did many moons ago and it was precisely what was in my mind.  The archetypal ‘dragon fight’ as it were, of hot Come-back-150x150and cool, reds and blues.   Today, however I’m calling it Come Back as I feel better and better each day and my colors become more balanced.

As I look at the artwork I’ve shared in this blog, one might think that the artist is just a happy, joyous and free individual, full of bright rainbows.   G.O. as it were (see “about this blog” at the top if you don’t know what G.O. is).

Have any of you have ever looked back at journals from the past ?  I have Port-150x150recently and couldn’t get the pages into the shredder fast enough.  It served a purpose at the time, sure.  Looking back at this blog,  I’m starting to get that feeling at the idea of the port-o-love now that I’ve experienced what it allowed into my body.  I suppose thinking of it that way helped me stay positive.   I know its purpose and I’m grateful that I don’t have to get poked a million times in my arm.  It is helping me heal.  (that’s me flattened at the bottom right) 

My true port-o-love will not be surgically removed at the end of all of this.  I have been touched by all of you in ways  you can’t even imagine.

9/16 Nourish

By supplementing the chemo with herbs and accupuncture, I feel like I’m putting really good compost into a barron soil.  I am aware that the balance within my system is seriously being disrupted with chemo.  I drew “nourish” today, after drinking my astragalus root tea which tastes nutty and sweet.  Perhaps I’ll have to do a drawing another day after taking my herbs.  We call it the jar of dirt, and I’m grateful for the suggestion to use grape juice to help with the ingestion.Nourish-150x150I love working the soil.  My garden looks better today than it has all summer because I have been able to spend time out there.  Better than how it looks is how I feel when I’m elbow deep in nice dark earth, and the transformation that occurs within me when I eat garden candy al fresco.  It’s better than calgon.  Well, I imagine it would be if I ever tried calgon.

I’ve been making my Nonni’s chicken cacciatore today.  Speaking of nourishment.  The fresh rosemary I picked this morning simmering in the olive oil and garlic, tomatoes and chicken are just making me YEARN for supper time.  In case your mouth isn’t watering from that description, know that I attempted a picture of  it, but A and I both agreed, it didn’t do it justice, so you’ll have to use your imagination or fix some in your kitchen to get the true impact!

I feel terrific today.  Thanks to all of you following along.  Your presence, support and love is felt very strongly.  We’ll be eating around 5:30 if you’re interested.

9/15

I have been avoiding doing an entry because I didn’t want “A’s sacrifice” to get bumped out of first position.  It’s such a profound thing to me.  She’d say “Mom, it’s ok, just keep going.” or something like that.   

So I’m basically describing my life in terms of the 14 day cycle (how chemo-esque), I’m on day 7.  Since about day 5 I’ve felt really good, like I’m doing normal things, I’m back in the kitchen and looking forward to the soccer game tonight under the lights if it stops raining.  I’m getting ready to tear the last of the shag carpets out of this house,  one of the only remaining signs of the 70’s on the main level,  (if you completely overlook the orange countertops and parkay floor in the kitchen).   I’m walking a good distance every day and feel less fatigued, thankfully.  One day at a time.

I was walking around the house yesterday saying “ok, so who can come out to play today???”  and remembered that on Mondays some people do things.  I’m sure as the week progresses I may be leaving messages for people to go bungy jumping or something.

I have not been to my art pad in several days,  and I think something has to be done about THAT.

He said “that would be magic” and I said “I believe in miracles”.

Understanding what we were contending with took some time.  The short story is that our surgeon pegged it right from the start and this was seconded by the surgeon in NYC from whom we sought a second opinion.  The longer story is that I underwent an MRI, a CT scan and a bone scan in one day, and metastatic disease could not be completely ruled out because of some spots that showed up on a rib, my kidney and adrenal gland.  This lead to a PET/CT scan.

MRI/BONE/CT scan day:

Scan-1-150x150

MRI  At the first hospital I had an IV port put in my right arm.  The MRI machine has a special table for breast shots.  Basically there are two cups at the head of the bed.  One simply just hovers over and aims for the cups.  “Put all your weight on your sternum.”  Wow, what a concept.  Arms were over my head with the contrast IV easily accessible.  It was actually not too uncomfortable.  I was warned that it would be loud.  As each different sound came I had different visions.  I focused on the whoosh at first and imagined great waves washing away the cancerous cells and taking them way out to the cleansing sea.  The clanging reminded me of a rain dance where all my supporters were stomping their feet, pounding their fists on the ground.  The last sound that I cannot really describe had me thinking of pac-man eating up disease, an image shared with me by a sister in remission.  The contrast was put in about half way through the procedure.  I was told that the speed at which the contrast shows up in each area is indicative of how much cancer there is…or something like that.

Bone Scan injection  After B had lunch (I had water) we went to the Nuclear medicine area at the other hospital and another IV port was inserted.  The tech was extremely pleasant.  He used my other arm, noticing that I’d “already been abused” today.  He injected one syringe of clear liquid, and of course like most others I asked if I was going to glow in the dark.  I was to come back 3 hours later for the scan and was told to drink a lot.  The CT scan was going to require drinking of a special concoction, and he said that would suffice for the required liquids for the bone scan.

CT Scan We went downstairs and I was promptly given a choice between the flavors of lemon aid, strawberry kiwi or fruit punch for the CT scan.  The lemon aid was tart and sweet and B chided me to chug the thing rather than torture myself.  An attendant came out 45 minutes later with another tall drink and said I had 45 more minutes to let this all get into my system.  I chugged this one too.  It gave me the willies.  I was so done with drinking by the end of the day!!  When I was called in for the CT scan, B had to stay in the waiting room.  The scan took like 5 minutes.  It was interesting to see the machine, and to hear this English male voice tell me to hold my breath and release as the scanner moved me through.  They scanned my whole trunk from shoulders to pelvis.

We had about 1 hour to wait before the bone scan was scheduled, so we took a nice walk around the grounds.  A wonderful golden retriever (I think his name was Frasier) was outside and I got to mush him a bit and talk to his human grand-father.  The day enabled B and I to have conversations that we never seem to get to in our everyday life, and this was a good break for us.

Bone Scan We were accepted 5 minutes early for the bone scan.  It was so well choreographed.  The tech was waiting at the elevator for us and took us into the scanning room where there was a table with a scanning device hanging over it.  I lay down and it basically took me under the scanner very slowly. There were computer monitors all over for us to be able to see the image.  Tech told us that it would look like sparkling stars, with dense areas like my bladder and maybe my toes.  When I started I was completely under the scanner.  It moved down to within a couple inches of my face and the machine slowly moved me out as my entire skeleton was scanned.  I didn’t know what to look for, so I just enjoyed seeing my skeleton.  B was able to stay with me for this one which I appreciated.  He was marveling at the constellation that was me on the screen.  She also took images of the side of my head.  We got to leave 10 minutes later after the radiologist determined that she got good shots.  I must admit that I looked at her to try to get a glimpse of what she may have seen in the images.  She is not a diagnostician, I know that, but I can’t help but wonder what she was thinking.

I guess I’d describe the day as surreal.  B and I both seemed calm and present all day.  I recall saying that I felt and looked healthy.  I cannot imagine cancer spread throughout my body.  I scanned my body several times for the areas which may be affected by abnormal cells.  As hard as I tried, I kept seeing healthy cells in my organs; in my bones…my visualizations were as calming as my breathing.  I am very aware of how focused in the moment I am.  As we drove home, B asked what news I hoped to hear on Monday.  My first answer was that it has not spread.  My second answer was that it was already gone.  He said “that would be magic” and I said “I believe in miracles”.

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I like Cowboy{Girl} Songs, 9/12

I’ve been trying to make more sense of the Cow Girl metaphor.  Today I remembered favorite songs from a long time ago and far far away.

The last two lines of the refrain was a lot of how I felt when I was 18. 

“‘Cos they’ll never stay home and they’re always alone.
Even with someone they love.”

But, I’m 44 — I didn’t die young, and I’ve seen the power of community.  I’ve seen what people can do when they focus on the goal and the good and not on taking credit or making money.  I see it here too as we … deal with this situation.   I’ve seen how having children changes one as well.  But I think P really hit it on the head in her ruminations about mortality, hers, and watching her father’s passing.  That, “always alone”,  in the end we are strangers even to ourselves. 

Yet, this is different.  Breast Cancer, particularly the kind we have, can be overcome.  Long healthy happy lives can be led.  This isn’t a death sentence.   I’ve recalled watching P deliver both children and the amazing toughness and endurance.   I know the fabric she is made of.  This “bump” in the road will probably take about as long as gestation.  The outcome is a little uncertain, but it will be a new life much like children at the end.

Philosophical horse shit  and weak analogies aside. Chemo sucks;  friends who drop food by and give the kids rides are angels; and I like Cowboy songs.

Cycle 1 Day 4 Saturday, 9/12

Going to A’s soccer game and talking with parents and friends.  Taking a walk in the woods.  Napping with the katz.  Baking a  blueberry pie.  Picking scrumptious sungold and sweet 100 tomatoes from our garden and making pesto out of fresh basil.  Going to the dump with E and giving in to his request to pick up a hot dog on the way home.  Talking on the phone.  OK, so there is some normalcy in my life.

I’m sure B, A and E seeing me Wed night was no fun at all.  They have been incredibly attentive, and willing to give me space as I need.  We all have friends checking in with us, some cautious about calling, dropping of incredible meals, sending cards, giving rides.  We surely could not do this alone.

I’m so interested in this body’s ability to tolerate the substances that were infused on Wednesday.  The past two days I’ve not felt 100%, that’s for sure.  I have gone to my bed when body told me to.  I’ve done breathing exercises to settle my stomach.  Ginger tea, ginger ale, ginger tonic, an occasional drug.   I was nauseous on Wednesday evening.  I’ve been sort of nauseous on and off for the past 3 days.  Nausea sucks and being sort of nauseous is just annoying.

If every day gets better, I’ll be ready to do the jig by Wednesday.  Anyone want to join me?

Cycle 1, Day 2

End-of-day-12-150x150OK so this girl wasn’t seeing any technicolored hearts or anything last night.  No matter what I invisioned the port-o-love sending into my system, the end of  Day 1 had me relating to the mangy fox.  Actually she probably felt better than I did.  I went home and sat on the deck, writing yesterday’s blog, feeling pretty good.  About 2 hours later,  I noticed sweat beading up on my nose, could feel the flush leaving my face.  Right after I asked E if he wanted some dinner,  I was in bed and close to the loo in no time.  It felt like a red stopper was pushing down into my gut and oozing its way down.  Ginger tea, hot water bottle, massage, deep breathing, closing my eyes.  MEDICATION.  It took a good 3 or 4  hours before the waves went away.  I drifted off into a very sound sleep.  I can’t wait for accupuncture today.

Accupuncture-150x150Later: Someone to clean my house, a nice long walk with D in the beautiful September air, a 2 hour nap with my katz, accupuncture, a shot of neulasta to help my bone marrow kick into high production of white cells , and not one, but TWO delicious meals dropped off at our door.  If nausea was at a 10 last night, I’m at about a .5 this evening.  Accupuncture seems to be my thing.  The photo of this drawing does not really capture the soothing blue I visualized.   My family and I are so awed by your generosity, love, and attention.  I think tonight will be a good night.

Chemo Day One

So, P and I have differnt metaphors for this.  I’m fighting, she’s riding the range rounding up li’l wayward doggies.  I’m on  search and destroy mission.  So my take on chemo is a little bit different too.

Mainlining big bags of toxic stuff, that incidently causes you to empty your guts out, and loose your hair, probably will cause premature menopause, and might diminish your hearts ability to pump — is scary.

Yes, the staff at the Cancer Center are top notch.  The facilities are really nice.  But, it looks to me like we are in for 8 weeks of flu, on a 2 week cycle.  I can tell you that the week we were waiting for results from the PT scan I was in full Fight/Flight mode.   People bringing me their penny ante horse shit don’t know how close they were to having me rip their heads off and crap down their necks.  Well I’m not to that place yet with Chemo, but, I anticipate it could get there.

I’m struggling to articulate the spouses experience of this….  Sure fear is part of it, but, more just not being in control of much.  Kinda like the guy on the front of the sled on the luge run — hang on fool.   Basically, Chemo sucks, and my job is to just keep things going, Soccer, Jujitsu, Scouts, and school.  I guess an apt metaphor is some sort of draft animal, oxen, or mule, you pull cause there is something that has to be moved.  Perhaps, the Cow girl trope is more apt than I knew.  There is something more svelt about a cutting pony than an ox — maybe I should just go along with the G.D.O. Cow Girl — alas, folks, who know me, probably would see through that.  An ox in horse’s clothing as it were.