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.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
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!!!
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!!!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
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.
Monday, October 5, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
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?!
Can I get an AMEN?!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
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.
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.
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