Cheese, Grommit?

I made cheese yesterday.

Ta Dah!  It's tasty too!

This is something I've been wanting to do for a long time and haven't gotten around to, or been successful at the one time I tried.  There's not much to it - milk and vinegar, plus salt and herbs to taste, but it took having Miriam (general food guru and semi-experienced cheese-maker) here to give me the courage to try it again.

I don't know what cheese has to do with cancer, but man is it satisfying! 

This week's irritation is a very minor pain -  muscle tightness? - in my mid-section.  The irritating part isn't that it hurts: it doesn't hurt unless I poke it right or move in the wrong way.  Six months ago I would have thought, "Oh, I must have strained some ab muscle pulling that cooler up on the roof!"  Now I wonder if it's from battling constipation, I worry that it's a sign of some bizarre infection, or maybe it's my other ovary going bonkers.  I even called my chemo nurses to see if they had any explanations or thought it needed to be checked out (watch it, don't worry).
That's what sucks about cancer (how often have I used this phrase?) - the nights I spend in fitful sleep, worrying if I have an infection or if the sore throat that won't go away is a sign of some larger nastiness.  Some days the worrying is much worse than the discomfort.  

But I don't spend a whole lot of time worrying - there's too much else to do.  I'm hoping to get in a contra dance tonight, in costume, if it comes together right.  And then there will be pictures.

Cancer and . . . Halloween

It was Bonus Bleomycin Wednesday today, and the closest day to Halloween I was scheduled to go into the chemo room.  Now usually I don't really get into Halloween that much.  But having chemo - and being bald! - near Halloween seems like a situation that begs to be taken advantage of, especially around other folks in the same, involuntarily bald situation.  So I put on the nicest wig I own and wore it into the chemo room.  I got a characteristic high five from Dr. Hank Hallum, Dr. Jennifer Hallum assured me it looked natural, and I got a lot of smiles from everyone else. 

In fact, it was such a good time, I wore it to the grocery store afterwards!  (Miriam is my witness).  I am developing even better costumed plans for Tucson's big deal Day of the Dead parade, as hopefully Grazelda will be quite gone by then.  I will definitely post pictures when that time comes.  

Incidentally, I googled "chemo" and "Halloween" and there were approximately 2 semi-relevant posts.  Is this not an obvious time to bust out an extravagant costume and socially cash in on months of baldness?!  

I'm feeling well, the drip was fine today, and I even went on a walk that required long sleeves, a sweater, a scarf, and the hat that I wore, well, it left me wishing I'd picked a warmer one.  Happy Early Halloween!

The Great Anti-K Vegetable List

I love vegatables.  Especially green ones.  Especially spinach, brocolli, mustard greens, beet greens, asparagus, brussel sprouts, and all the beautiful greens that are in season in Tucson in winter.  (It's winter in Tucson now - high today was 59!!!)  I'm not allowed to eat any of these things because they have lots of Vitamin K, which would work against my bloodthinner.  This is nothing new, but it remains very frustrating to me.  You have no idea how delicious a big green salad sounds until you haven't been permitted greens in months, and your first hope of one lies months away. 

And my eating habits have suffered.  It seems so stupid and backward that getting cancer encourages - and sometimes even forces - me to eat less healthfully.  And then those irritating books about cancer that try extra hard to encourage people to eat their veggies to build up their immune system and help their body to combat cancer say things like,  "Broccoli tastes much better when you think how it will help you get well."  Yeah, broccoli tasted pretty dandy to me too, when I was allowed to eat it!  I am trying my best to not become bitter, but it's hard work. 


So, yesterday, Miriam and I sat down with a cookbook and wrote a list of vegetables with low-to-moderate Vitamin K levels so I could have a list of positive things to look at.  (And I just love lists, of course).
So here it is:
 

The Great Anti-K Vegetable List
carrots
celery
corn
cucumber (peeled)
eggplant
green beans
mushrooms
onions
parsnip (what do you do with parsnips?)
green pepper
red pepper
potato
pumpkin
summer squash
winter squash
sweet potato
tomato

We had sweet potato black bean burritos for supper tonight and they were very good.  I think I can deal with this list for a few more months, but boy howdy will there be a Great Green Party when I get off my rat poison!

Further Adventures Without Hair

It happened again today: I walked out of the house without a headcovering of any kind.  I went back for it when Miriam patted me on the head to remind me, but I continued to almost-forget-it in the car every time we got out.  Tah Dah!  I've reached the point where I'm tired of wearing a headcovering. 

Part of it is physical - between chemotherapy and oopherectomy (your word of the day meaning "a surgical procedure to remove one ovary") my hormones are off enough to give me hot flashes.  The hair on your head is simply awesome breathable, flexible, portable insulation, and I miss its utter functionality.  My head is cold unless I get a hot flash, and then I need to not have fabric or yarn or anything up there and in very short order, too. 

But the other part of it comes down to Margaret the Minimalist winning out over Margaret the Lover of Textiles And Mirrors.  I have a sweet collection of adornments for my head that I can don, wrap, or tie with skill and look really good.  But it's one more thing to do before I leave the house.  If I'm not going to put on mascara, do you really think I want to take time to wrap a turban? 



Today the power in my duplex went out.  I went outside to investigate, and the meter was totally fried.  So I called the power company, and they (eventually) sent someone out, after we'd cooked a lovely candlelit supper.  I went to talk to the electrician and definitely didn't put on a hat.  Not only do I think I look tougher without hair (and I enjoy looking tough around other tradespeople), but it's my house:  I'm not going to dress up for some repair person to come fix my meter! 

So here I've arrived at the place that many of you probably knew I would end up all along.  I'll still wear headcoverings in public in general.  (As one of my inspirational cancer books says, "When you walk into a room, baldness announces your illness even before your name," and I don't want to be 'that chick with cancer').  But I am more and more consistently bald around those who know me. 

Medical Report: My blood still can't decide how thick it wants to be.  Very irritating.  I still can't eat green veggies.  Even more irritating.   The "bad weekend" after the "bad week" is over.  My throat's better, my bloating's down, and I have energy again.

The Rug

This is the rug my mother made.

The very large, very thick, every stitch hand-crocheted out of hand-cut strips out of hand-picked Tucson thrift store t-shirts. 

My mom flew back to Ohio yesterday, after her third trip to Tucson in three months, and I think that this rug (which took every bit as much work as it seems to have) was among the least of her labors while she was here.  Taking care of me, cooking, cleaning, moving, fetching, reading aloud, calling my friends, driving me to chemo, waking up with me in the middle of the night, keeping me as comfortable as she could.

Thanks for the rug, Mom.

Frozen Banana!

It was a hard week in Tucson, my chemo hometown, and kind of hard to describe beyond detailing my dynamic body mass (I don't have a scale, but I wouldn't be surprised if I'm back to 120 by this evening).  The expected side effects came on schedule and are abating - tender armpits, sore throat, fatigue, minor constipation.  And yet, by Thursday I just felt awful, just totally knocked down.  I didn't have the energy to write eloquently about it either.

I made it, though.  My friend Miriam is here to take care of me now, and I know enough about this yucky cycle to make plans for tomorrow beyond resting and reading.  Oooo, like blood test tomorrow morning!

My new favorite food:  frozen banana  (extra cold + extra potassium = yummy healthy goodness)

By the numbers

Like most visits to a doctor's office, every day at my oncologist's starts with me hopping on the scale.  I am always curious.  Regardless how much I eat, I can't get the numbers to go up, except on my bad weeks.  Then they jump by leaps and bounds.  And so, every day on the bad week, after being pumped full of saline and various forms of poison I pass the scale on my way out and am tempted to hop on it again, just to see how much weight I gained in the intervening 4-5 hours.  Today I went for it, and here is more information about my weight than you ever wanted to know:

Monday morning (as every Monday morning since I started this crud) I weighed 120 pounds.
Tuesday morning I weighed 124 pounds.
Wednesday morning I weighed 128 pounds.
This morning (Thursday 9:30 am) I weighed 133 pounds.
This afternoon (Thursday, 2:00 pm) I weighed 138 pounds.

Let's recap.  That's increasing my body weight by 15% in less than 4 days.  Today, while I was in the chemo room, I gained weight at a rate of more than 1 pound/hour.  But it's all the good stuff: saltwater, poison, and anti-nausea drugs. 

So I still feel the crummy kind of pudgy and at least 35% less adorable than this:

More Tired, More Bloated

Hard to believe, but it's true, so I'll make this one short and go to bed with a book.  At least the week's more than half-way done.

Good night,
m

Tired and bloated

Five days of chemo sucks, and it's only Tuesday.  The best part is sleeping I think, and I did get a Benedryl Drip Trip nap in today along with a Late Afternoon Nap.  Plus, they cut my steroid dose in half, which means more sleep and less bloating for me.  It's the simple pleasures in life that count, ja? 

Cancer and . . . Spa Treatment

Therapy 4.1 is complete.  I started off the week sitting next to a woman there for her first treatment.  She looked about as scared as I felt the first time I walked into the chemo room.  I didn't know which of my stories to tell her to find the balance between
"This is really crummy and the side effects (insert long list of my complications here) are no fun at all, and you'll get through it"
and "It's really not bad - by your second week off you might be feeling more or less back to normal !" [she doesn't even have Bonus Bleomycin on the off-weeks]
and "Every body's different, not to mention our drugs and doses and diagnoses (we do both have ovarian cancer) are totally different, so I can't begin to tell you what it'll be like, but the nurses are really nice and good at their job."
Even though I didn't know what to say, I kinda felt like an old pro at this whole chemo thing, so I showed her how I tie my bandanna.  And I got the best Benedryl Drip Trip Nap since Round 1.

For the more wholly enjoyable part of therapy today, Mom and I went to a foot reflexology place where a friend had given me an hour-long massage.  It was simply wonderful.  I'm used to going places to have people focus on my body, but usually in those places they poke me with needles and put their fingers where I'd rather not have them and measure embarrassing things like my urine and mostly make me feel crummy.  Here this great Chinese woman spent a whole hour focusing just on making my body relax and feel good.  Heck, it would have felt good just to soak my feet in the tub of hot water for an hour.  (Thanks, Betty & Harvey!!)

Also on the Spa Treatment theme, I got a haircut yesterday.  "A haircut?" you ask, incredulous, "Margaret, no offense, but you're Bald as a Ping Pong Ball!"  Well, it's hard to see in the pictures, but I'm not actually that bald.  I have very thin hair that up until yesterday was 1/8" long and, also up until yesterday, I had left my thining sideburns in tact in an effort to preserve the illusion of having hair under my headcovering.  In the past couple weeks, I've decided that this deception was failing entirely, not to mention the out-of-context sideburns giving me a disconcerting Elven aspect when I went bareheaded, which I almost always do at home.  So my friend and constant hairdresser in Tucson, Kristi, came over and got as much hair off with a clippers (no attachment) as she could.  We decided against a razor because my blood is so thin, so there's still a little little stubble, but in my personal opinion, going even balder and loosing the sideburns makes me even cuter than before.  I guess a little bit of arrogance and a very stubborn kind of vanity are good tools to have in one's Living With Cancer Toolbox. 

As I was walking out of the lobby at my oncologist's, I saw an elderly woman in the waiting room in a hospital gown and housecoat and no headcovering.  "We have the same haircut!!" she exclaimed.  She told me how hers was growing back like a stiff, white cotton ball, and I told her I've seen pins that say "Hair by chemotherapy."  I didn't point out that in fact, she had a lot more hair on her head than I do, hers being easily 1/4" long.  That would be splitting hairs, and ours are thin enough already, thank you.


In Exciting Medical News: I got my AFP (tumor marker) count from Friday.  Three weeks ago it was 27.  Now it's 14.  Score another 13 points against Grazelda.
This is good news because it's still above 8, which means I still have cancer and can continue to use it in conversation/plying my mother to rub my feet/general whining.  This is slightly less good news because it's still above 8, which means I still have cancer.  I'll talk to my doctor on Wednesday and get the details, but I think that essentially sets the bar for this round: I need 6 or more points to win.  Loser goes back for overtime chemo cycle(s).  Great pep-talk I guess, but it doesn't feel like there's a whole lot I can do to put more pressure on her besides sit in the chair with the drip in my port.

More Tales From The Drip tomorrow.

Cancer and . . . Camping

Church campout was this weekend, and I was pretty thrilled that it fell on the very best time in my chemo cycle. It was good for all the reasons I usually love Shalom (Tucson) church campout - get out of the city into beautiful mountains, hang out with some of my favorite people without any work to get done, doing creative things like making music and delicious camping food and acting bizarre skits, going on walks and hikes in the desert, and did I mention the mountains all around us?

This year there were some new reasons to love campout, too.
First, there are several families with young children who've moved in during the past year, so this year we had ample young folks with lots of energy for spontaneous games of badminton, Set, tree-climbing, dramatic acting, etc. That is to say, if my entire right side hurts tomorrow, it's not some weird chemo side-effect - it's because I got to hit around a birdie with some new friends who really, really like hot chocolate (making me, as the designated Bringer of Hot Chocolate Mix, a very, very important person).
Second, I took along the accordion, on which I can play songs just written as chords and melody (provided the chords are all major and one of these: A, D, G, C, F, or Bflat - bonus points if you're a band geek who recognized the circle of fourths!). But you can do a surprising number of songs with just three or four chords, so I got to play with the impromptu folk band that tends to assemble itself at such occasions, as well as for Sunday morning worship. If you haven't sung Over My Head accompanied by a free-reed instrument, you need to broaden your hymn-singing horizons.
Third, my Mom was there. Good things are even better when you get to share them with people close to you.

So maybe the title of this post is misleading, as camping had very little to do with cancer, which seems like a sensible sort of turn for my life to take. Ah, but of course, tomorrow (Monday) begins the "big" week again. I'll gain 12-15 pounds by Wednesday, get stopped up by Thursday, and feel like my whole upper body is bruised for all of Saturday and Sunday. They'll knock me down, but at least I know what's coming. And the plan is that this is the last chemo cycle, and then I'll be done with that nastiness.

Moving Day, Again

Today Mom and I moved all my stuff, again, to my duplex where I'll be spending the rest of the year. Well, mostly Mom packed and moved and did laundry and cleaned, and I unpacked. I felt less pathetic than last time; I did a little more than the sitting and pointing that was the last couple moves, but I still found myself lacking in energy and fortitude of the arm (the thrombophlebitis is a little worse today). So, I am very grateful for a Mother to do the heavy lifting (literally and figuratively).

There were also some friends to welcome me home - and they all wore their headscarves for the occasion!

Dante the Lion

Fredrich Bear the Great

Big the Dog

Gorge the Monkey
(This picture is especially for Adele, probably the youngest reader of this blog, who often wants to see pictures of monkeys - I don't know if a blue sock monkey counts, but it's the only monkey I could find in my house!)

Bald as a ping-pong ball

Today it happened. I walked out of the house to go to the store and totally forgot a hat or scarf. I probably wouldn't even have noticed before I got out of the driveway if my mother hadn't pointed it out. And something about it being dark or evening or today made me really just not want to go back for a headcovering. So I went to the store bald.

And it was really anti-climatic.

I didn't get arrested or stared at. No one came up to me to tell their cancer story or ask me about mine. It probably helped that I went to the pharmacy and stood in line with all the other sick-o's, so that was perhaps a more "acceptable" place to have alopecia.

I would note that the breeze feels pretty nice on my scalp.

Like I said. It was really anti-climatic.


Lest this post be the same, here's the sketch from Free to Be You And Me that's been going through my head since I lost my hair. It's the line "bald as a ping-pong ball," even though I'm not quite that bald:

Therapy 3.7

I had chemo today and am now done with round 3! The score comes out on Monday. My mother pointed out that if it's below 8 (8 being the new 6 due to a change in how they count), I may have to stop saying I have cancer.
Does this bump me into "milk it for what it's worth" mode? Possibly, but I can still rightfully claim to be on chemotherapy, and that stuff really does make me sick on my "big" week.
Do I have some trepidation that for whatever reason the AFP will start going up instead of down and I'll have to be sick for a long time or face mortality or something? Yeah, that too. Having text book germ cell tumor cancer almost seems too simple - it grew quickly, was discovered early, hit a young woman, responds well to a time-tested chemotherapy regimen, doesn't spread to my other ovary, doesn't come back. (oh yeah, except the blood clots). The odds remain in my favor, and my bad luck has to run out sometime, eh?

Meanwhile, worrying doesn't keep me up at night. I feel too good for that. I felt almost guilty, bouncing into the crowded chemo room today, taking my poke in the port without the numbing spray, talking to my nurse Shirley about the hikes we like to do around Tucson instead of about my bowels, and leave knowing that while most people leave feeling tired and various flavors of crummy, I would probably feel good enough to go shopping and bowling that afternoon (for t-shirts my mother will crochet into rugs and for my work, respectively) .

Although . . . (1) I did wake up this morning with what is probably some more superficial thrombophlebitis in two spots on my other arm that makes it hurt a little to straighten and forces me to bowl granny style or left-handed, the former being solidly more successful than the latter. This is not surprising, as my blood has tested as too viscous the last 3 times and so we're re-adjusting my dose. And (2) I think I've started to have little moments of hot flash. It's hard to tell as the weather has taken another turn for the warm, but in my situation, hot flashes would also not be out of the ordinary: it turns out that both chemotherapy and having 1/2 the ovaries my body is used to can mess with your hormones.

The Fall Fashion Guide

Fans everywhere have been clamoring to find out: What's on the head of the baldest gal' on the block these days?

Clamor no more! Wonder no longer! The Fall Fashion Guide is here with the most recent additions to Margaret's collection of fabulously cute headgear.

Turbans are definitely "in." This stylish wrap (available at Plowsharing Crafts, St. Louis' premiere fair trade boutique) was a birthday present (Thanks Sam & Rachel!), but it took some weeks perfecting my Turban Technique to push it into my "faves" stack for the fall.

Crochet hats are doubly "in!" These two lovingly hand-made toppers (by a wonderful woman in Topeka - Thanks Carolyn!) top my list for warmth and adorability.

And knit hats are "in," too! You just can't beat the variety of yarns with colors inspired by Arizona and hand-made by a wonderful woman in West Chester (Thanks Cynthia!), except if it's with the halo effect made by eyelash yarn on the brim. Dust off your accordion for an accessory that really shows the world your sense of get up and Polka!

As the weather gets cooler, and highs dip below the 90's, (or if right-wing ultra-fundamentalists take over the country), I hope this guide gives you some ideas to keep your noggin comfortably covered and warm, without sacrificing your good fashion sense.

Cancer and . . . Accounting

When I took on the project of killing Grazelda, it basically became my full time job. On the 5-day chemo weeks there's not much time for anything else after 4 hours of chemo, the drive, and the requisite nap. But there's plenty to do on the 1-day chemo weeks, too: Learn all my drugs (they now take up half my kitchen table), keep track of their uses and doses and interactions, memorize the Vitamin K tables, go in for bloodwork, brush my teeth 4 times a day, sort through insurance claims and bills, tabulate my medical mileage, practice accordion, post on my blog . . .

I don't think I've mentioned health insurance yet in this forum, probably because it's such a hot issue, and I don't know enough about what is going on nationally to write intelligently about health care reform. For now it's enough work to keep track of my own insurance and bills while dealing with chemo. I do have health insurance, through my employer. In fact, I have pretty good health insurance, for which I am tremendously grateful, because to put it simply, cancer is not cheap.

I don't make myself do anything on my bad weeks or when I'm not feeling well, but I do keep track of all my medical expenses and match them with insurance statements and bills and receipts. [Okay, so, actually I do this for all of my expenses. It's not that I'm anal, I just enjoy seeing the numbers reconcile at the end, along with knowing about my cash flow. I started as unit treasurer in VS and I simply can't stop.] Now, medical bills get their own spreadsheet and have their own special challenges. For example, my co-pay for chemotherapy is $25 except on Tuesdays and selected Fridays when it's $15. (That sounds like something I'd make up, but I didn't.) Of course it took 2 months of trial and error, and a couple rounds of phone tag with the billing office to figure that one out.


Obviously, the health care system is very broken and much could - and should - be said regarding how to make it better. But here are two reasons I am grateful today:

1) Today I had a breakthrough moment with a bill from my oncologist I'd been puzzling over for weeks, and it made me realize how glad I am to be addicted to accounting. If I didn't derive a strange pleasure from recording and manipulating all that data it would be a large burden in what could be an already very stressful situation (research seems to indicate that cancer causes stress).

2) While I was scouring this bill, my eyes wandered over to the other column of numbers, the ones paid by the insurance, and a really, really big one caught my eye. Now, I know chemotherapy is expensive. Each treatment can easily run about $1000 (charged to the insurance). That much I had gleaned from skimming the insurance statements as they arrived semi-weekly. But this bill was more thoroughly itemized and it charged $7901 on this one line. It turns out that's how much the immune-system-booster-shot (Neulasta) I get on Fridays of the 5-day weeks costs: $8000 for one shot!!! Once again, I am so so grateful I have good insurance.

Cancer and . . . Pumpkin Soup

When you get cancer you're supposed to use it as a call to finally realize all those dreams you had been dismissing as impractical or putting off till later, right? Like making pumpkin soup in its own shell . . .


Success!! The pumpkin held, and the soup was good and salty enough that I could taste it. Thanks to Rachel for having the mad impressive muscle and steely courage to get it in and out of the oven.

Other happy events today included:
My mother arriving from Cincinnati.
Baking chocolate chip cookies.
My first ever impromptu accordion recital.

Living the Dream,
mp

True Confessions of a Cancer Patient

It was caught on film, so I guess I should confess: I went hiking yesterday.

Not like just a walk in the park, or a stroll in the desert, but a bona fide destination hike, like the kind if you came to visit me in Tucson I might take you on if I didn't have cancer: I got some friends together and hiked out to seven falls. It was a little longer than I remembered. By the time you get to the trailhead and all the way there and all the way back it turns out to be a little over 8 miles. The weather was beautiful and we took it pretty easy with plenty of breaks for water and snacks. My friend Rachel who's visiting from St. Louis even carried all my extra water. I was tired at the end, and had puffy fingers (from blood pooling instead of chemo-induced liquid retention. Yes!!), but I don't really have sore muscles today. And then in the evening, we went to the international festival downtown to enjoy the ethnic food and variety of local performers with international flavor.

Now, in some books this whole episode is entirely against the Rules of Proper Behavior for Cancer Patients. I mean, I feel a little bit like a fraud, telling people I have cancer when I can hike 8 miles and still have the energy to stay out late eating greasy gyros watching Bollywood dances. It would be a more convincing act if I spent most of the day laying in bed being waited on and lit candles and took bubble baths and started oil painting.

This not an inspirational tale about the woman with cancer who wouldn't let torturous nausea and fatigue prevent her from going out and proving herself. The simple truth is, I feel great. I felt great yesterday, so I went hiking and festival-ing and had a blast. I don't always feel great (see posts from last weekend), and then I do spend a lot of time laying in bed being waited on - a bubble bath doesn't sound bad. But I feel great now and will probably feel great for the next week. Besides, the accordion has so much more . . . oom pah than oil painting.

Here's the rest of the photographic evidence of Margaret's Unorthodox Cancerous Adventures:
(Rachel's the one with the hair).

Tonight's project is dinner. We're hoping for pumpkin soup in its own shell, but can't promise anything about the integrity of our particular pumpkin's flesh. The recipe is from here.

Today's Cancerous Disappointment: Movie theater popcorn (at the rental store) is unsatisfyingly unsalty.

Vegetable Korma

It was a very leisurely sort of day here. My friend Rachel is visiting from St. Louis, so we did a lot of hanging out, enjoying the phenomenal weather that is October in Tucson, as well as some cooking of vegetable korma. It was creamy and delicious, exactly what I was craving.

Sometimes I worry that I might run out of Profound Insights On Cancer, or at least hit some periods lacking in Medical Novelty, and I wonder what I would write about when that time comes. It seems there is a de facto rule against people on the chemo drip writing food blogs: with the slightly altered state of my tastebuds, posting recipes would be a bad idea (way too much salt, etc.), and my chemo comrades could be nauseated just by reading affectionate accounts of double-decker-chicken-tomato-goat-cheese pizza (I didn't know such a thing was legal till I ate one).

But, I am hugely grateful that my senses of taste and smell (and my high-power meds) allow me to ingest adequate nutrition without nausea and even enjoy it much of the time. Being a Penner, and a Bartel Woman, food is pretty central to my well-being and so, lacking more directly cancer-related material (such as accordions and toenail clippings) it would be my tendency to write about whatever awesome lasagna or fajitas or blackbean dish was for supper. So if I start writing mostly about what's for dinner - and I'll try not to - take it as a good sign. I'm feeling well, eating well, and in good spirits.

Blood Test Results: Still too thick.
Note to self: Study harder.

High in Tucson tomorrow: 84.
Note to self: Go hiking.

Weekend Plan: Pumpkin Soup in its own Shell.
Note to self: Yum.

The Bonus Bleo Report

Bonus Bleomycin Wednesday 3.2 went off without a hitch. I was brave and took the stick without the numbing spray that was starting to irritate my skin. I dripped so fast, my nurse Shirley (who reads this sometimes because she's that awesome!) had to suck the air back out of my lines. And I got to take the surgical superglue off my port incision, so it looks like a very small scar now instead of a scary Frankenstein badge; It will protrude like a very misplaced anklebone until they take it out or I gain 30 pounds, but it's not that obvious if you're not looking for it. I was home by 11:30 and hung out and ate lunch and rested without incident. My friend Jeanne took me, and I really enjoy showing people my friends at the chemo room.

The downer was that my friend Liz, who's 80-something and also has ovarian cancer came in today, too. I was happy to see her, but she hasn't been doing as well and now has to come in every week for chemo, which is a change in her regimen because her tumor markers had gone up instead of down. Stupid cancer.


In all the excitement about the accordion, I failed to mention the very sweet collection of cards I received this week from the kids' Sunday school class at Shalom in Tucson. I guess I'm doubly impressed because I didn't really believe in cards till I was 15 or so, but now-a-days they really keep me going. Thanks for thinking of me, guys!!!

Cancer and . . . Accordion!!!

This morning, at 7:30 a.m. a friend of mine knocked on my door with a very special delivery: An Atlas 12-Bass. I just about did a jig I was so excited! In fact, I was late for work because I got distracted trying it out.

Okay, so maybe I should back up:
1. Accordions are awesome.
2. I have a little bit of time these days for sitting around feeling somewhere between icky and moderate, craving distraction.
3. When you have cancer, people - friends, and even strangers - do really nice things for you. (other cancer perks are few and far between. Like not flossing.)

Add those things up, and my friend Jennifer arranged for the Accordion Club of Tucson to lend me a beginner's instrument (very small so that my chemo-laden arms don't tire unnecessarily) and simple instruction booklet. All this, just in exchange for giving a recital at one of their meetings!! I've been giddy about it all day. I don't know that I have words to express my pleasure in the folky harmonies coming from the bellows . . .

So for now, I'll say a big THANK YOU (and even link) to the good people at Accordion Club of Tucson for granting me this wish. All that's left now is to practice.

P.S. I feel great right now and have all day (with the exception of the start of my first mouth sore - oh no!), but tomorrow is Bonus Bleomycin Wednesday. At least it should be quick.

the Monday After

Today, the Monday after a Bad Week is the turn-around day, the day I can usually stop thinking "ugggh, this sucks," and start thinking, "hmmm, maybe I'll be a 'normal' independent young adult again someday . . . I should fix my bike." I've learned when to expect the crud to retreat, and have become better at naming, describing, joking, and making utterly pathetic noises about it, all of which helps, but doesn't change the fact that the crud still really sucks. And so today I am, again, very happy to be feeling pretty durn chipper. Hooray!

As a sign of my eventually being able to return to my normal life, this morning on my very own two feet, I walked to my blood test. And then home again. Let me reframe that: I went to a medical appointment, without consuming fossil fuel. This is amazingly refreshing to me, as Life Before Cancer for Margaret was also Life Without A Car. I love biking, walking, and generally not driving wherever it is I have to go. Obviously I understand the merits and dazzling convenience of automotive transportation; no fear, I won't be biking the 24 miles to chemo and back anytime soon, nor will this turn into some didactic Greenpeace Hippie Blog. But today going somewhere meaningful, without getting in the car, made me feel that much healthier and on the road to wellness.

Also: Tucson is officially gorgeous right now, which means that invalids like me can venture out-of-doors without risk of heatstroke. So this evening, I walked another couple miles to the library and back.

What I really like: limeades.
What doesn't really spark my interest: chocolate

P.S. re: previous post. Yes, everything came out okay.

Lazy Sunday

It was a slow-moving kind of Sunday here. I stayed in bed for a while, lazed around with my sister, read some, talked on the phone some . .

Okay, I'm just gonna come out and say it, because I've been concentrating on it so hard for the past 3 days: I can't poo, and it really sucks. Constipation is a common side effect of chemotherapy, and even one I've grown to expect at this point in my cycle. But this time around is worse. I've sat and done my yoga-to-loosen-stools (even some improvised Hunker Down Asana), I've eaten prunes and prune juice, drunk my fluids, gone on long walks to get things going, taken three different, progressively potent moving agents with regularity (har! har!), and still, it's a slow-moving kind of Sunday.

Other than that I've decided that my lymph nodes have been sore. I haven't heard anything to indicate that this is a "real" side effect, but it's been a consistent experience for me at the end of my 5-day week: When I touch anywhere on my upper body with any sort of pressure, it hurts, like I'm bruised all over. The worst of it is in my neck and armpits, and my throat hurts to swallow, like I'm getting strep (but I'm not). It's getting better, and should be totally gone in a couple days, but it's the sort of thing that makes it hurt to get dressed or roll over. It's the sort of thing that makes me think, "Oh, this is what it must feel like to have cancer." And if I only have to feel like I have cancer for 5 days out of a 3-week cycle, I'll take it.

Well, I have a blood test tomorrow morning for my PTINR, so I'd better go and study.

Because he is AWESOME!

This gem appeared for my end o' the week Happy Basket Present. It was enough to make my Friday, despite the yucky chemo funk. So I think I'll just leave y'all with a picture.

Can I get an AMEN?!

Yoga & Prunes

On the upside #1: I had a milkshake for breakfast. My sister made orange julius with frozen banana and yes, ICE CREAM. It was absolutely delicious and I felt no remorse.

On the upside #2: I can tolerate prunes.

Disclaimer: To avoid depressing blog posts, just don't read anything after Thursdays of Bad Weeks (that would include the rest of today's).

The thing that sucks about chemotherapy, well, besides the hair loss, the fatigue, the change in your taste buds, the heartburn, the nausea, the bloating, the flue-like symptoms, the way it suppresses your immune system, and all manner of unmentionables (see Title for antidotes for Today's Pseudo-Secret Side Effect!) . . . the thing that sucks about chemotherapy is that the worst part doesn't usually happen when you're "hooked up" in the office. It's not like a challenging bike ride where you push and push and push and get home and can lay down on the couch and relax, drink a cold one and maybe deal with a few sore muscles. Or a rough day at work, when you can leave whatever irritating colleagues or clients behind and at least have a possibility to not think about them for the next 16 hours.

Nope, the thing that sucks about chemo is that it sticks with you, all day, even days later, and you just have to lay there and take it. It doesn't feel like a fight or a battle or a competition of any kind. It's just something to get through, just wait for your bags of clear liquid poison to drip in, in the good faith that ultimately it is kicking out the bad and at the end of the next cycle (or the next one if my numbers aren't down enough), I'll be cured (enough) (for now) (with a (good enough) chance that it won't come back). That's what sucks about chemo.