Cutting My Toenails

So. I haven't written in two days. Not that I haven't been virtually prowling around this place. I must confess to a sort of narcissistic attachment to my own writing, but I usually confine my obsessive re-reading to my journal. There just hasn't been too much excitement to report. I mean, my stomach was a little upset yesterday, but I did feed it an In-N-Out burger, fries, and a shake for lunch after chemo. So here's a list of all the Normal People Kinds of Things I've been doing the past couple days. Because when you Have Cancer, people seem to get excited when you do Normal People Kinds of Things.

Went to the grocery store
Made a smoothie (as in, I made it myself, not had someone make it for me)
Went to work
Spent a bunch of time fawning over my new iPod
Talked to a few friends I haven't seen in a while on the phone
Cut my toenails
Went out to lunch with my Dad
Dried the dishes
Worked on my finances
Folded an origami elephant

While this makes for a pretty mundane post, it points to a much happier circumstance, which is that my body is feeling well enough to allow me to concentrate on other things. Like cutting my toenails.

Cheers!

wups

Today I'm feeling pretty good. Yesterday I felt pretty good. I could complain (and I still might complain) about how chemo has turned my hitherto iron-clad digestive system into a needy, sensitive, and irritable part of me. But that's mostly all that feels wrong.

Today's medical news is that my PTINR=1.0 Essentially that means that my blood is too thick now, pointing to Friday's reading of "ridiculously too thin" being false, probably due to it being drawn through my IV. Wups. So I'm back up on my Coumadin doses and will test again on Friday.

As expected, my doctor called me today to give me this news, and it made me think again, as I have several times in the past week, how much I really like my doctors. One would imagine that after a person performs major surgery on you, hands you a cancer diagnosis, and a 3-month chemo regimen to get through (all in the first week of knowing him), that you'd have some negative associations with this person, at least a little bit of dread or fear of seeing them. But I find it's basically opposite. Between excellent communication, being very available, competent, optimistic, friendly, and compassionate, when my doctor walks into the room I smile and usually feel just a little bit better. I don't know that I could ask for better people to steer me through this than Dr. Hank Hallum and Dr. Jennifer Hallum. And my nurses Shirley and Kerry are the same: The good part about the 5-day weeks is that I get to see them for a few hours every day. If you ever have gynecological cancer in Tucson, these are the folks to look up.

Tomorrow is Bonus Bleomycin Wednesday! I'm hoping for a good IV and no nausea.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Remember when you turned, oh, say 5 years old, and your birthday felt like the absolute biggest thing that happened that century? You probably had a party with your little friends in dress-up clothes and cupcakes with candles. Party games. Lots of presents. And a birthday card from just about everyone you knew?
Well, I don't think anyone dressed up, and I didn't have a party per se, but I turned 25 today with about as much good cheer, well wishes, and simple astonished wonder at how very very much I'm loved as I had when I turned 5. (and yes, there was a cupcake with candle)

The day started off with the usual sleeping in followed by Egg and Toast (Margaret's new absolutely favorite breakfast) and resting in between bouts of feeling mediocre. All this changed in the afternoon when my parents returned from picking up my mail at my apartment. I'd picked it up on Wednesday, so despite my roommate's warnings I wasn't expecting the armload they poured on me.
It was almost too much - like I wasn't sure I should be allowed to open it all at one time, but since it was my birthday, I just sat down and had myself a party opening card after card after card and even a few packages. It was so very wonderful to read your words and think of each person and how special each is to me. Cancer sucks, and chemo is pretty nasty, too. There's no changing that. But I am unspeakably grateful to be told in such a concrete way and know, for sure, that I'm not alone and that I am very, very, very loved. Thank you. Now, before I slip into cliches or weeping, I'll leave you with a picture.

Me, warming up and checking my email in my Cow Blanket and my Big Bald Head after a Birthday Smoothie.

Brought to You By The Letter K

Today I am very tired, my throat hurts, my body aches, and while I know I need to drink lots of fluids, finding fluids that don't taste gross is becoming a challenge.

Here's the good news: no nausea.

Here's the bleary health update from Grazelda-Ville (which might be too medical for some tastes. Feel free to ignore!):

Yesterday I went in for therapy feeling "punk-ish," as is to be expected on day 5. My rapid weight-gain had led me to have some weirdness by breathing. There's no problem with fluid around my lungs or anything; I guess when your body changes shape so quickly things just shift a little. But the kind folks at chemo really do their best to make life as comfortable as possible (and while it's hard to not feel sarcastic typing this, sitting here feeling awful, it really is true that they are very kind and do everything in their power to make the yuck bearable), and as the breathing thing was hurting a little when I lay down, they gave me some extra diuretics in my IV and sent me home with a prescription for more, and advice to bump up my nutritional potassium intake as much as I could. Well, I shed enough weight (and bulk - I can see my wrists, ankles, etc.) overnight to make me comfy enough without the extra help loosing fluids, but I'm still cranking up the potassium and the fluids to give my kidneys a break.

Meanwhile, yesterday, in the midst of investigating my breathing, since I still have those 7 or so blood clots hanging out in my lungs, they ran a test to check my blood thin-ness and it came back not just slightly too thin, but way out in ridiculously too thin land (PTINR=4.1 if that means anything to you). So, I'm off of my blood thinner for a couple days, have stopped shaving my legs (ha!), and go back for labs on Tuesday. And what this means for my Vitamin K intake? Well, all sources say the important thing is to stay consistent, so I'm still laying low on the green & leafy.

train wreck

I got an email from my boss today that reminded me of one of my less-obvious rights to frustration, which I will now proceed to complain about publicly. Now, largely because of company history, because Community Home Repair was started by and still has a strong volunteer force of retired church folks in Tucson for the winter, we only work 4 days a week. Yes, for the past three years of my life, I have been luxuriating in the most wonderful equation that Thursday=Friday. Well, this is not so in chemo-land. My "bad" weeks are literally Monday through Friday, a full five days of sitting in the chair, waiting for my fluids, my VP-16, my Cisplatin (and on Bonus Bleomycin days, that too) to drip into my arm and poison my cells, coming home to a nap, and whatever else I can eek out of my dwindling energy levels. In other words, I feel awful today, Thursday, and I have to go back for more tomorrow, even though it really feels like time for the weekend. ugh.

And yes, Allison, even those with head hair are welcome to wear Wise Womyn T-Shirt Turbans (and any other headwraps). I'll show you how to make one when you come.

There Were Shepherds, Abiding in the Fields

So, here's an American Cancer Society-recommended easy turban made from the bottom portion of a T-shirt (thanks, Jen!). Mom and I are trying to figure out whether it looks more like a shepherd or a wiseman. Thoughts?



I haven't been feeling too peachy today, suffering from some stubborn stools, if you'd really like to know. Since everything's connected, that brings on some low-level nausea, and with all the fluids I'm once again +10 pounds since Monday (when else can a woman just proclaim that with no shame whatsoever attached?!). I did get in a really quality Post-Chemo nap. My new sleep-inducing trick: Lake Wobegon podcasts. Also, Mom got me a blender today, so hopefully delicious milkshakes are soon to follow. And supper by friends is so so lovely, as it was again today. Thanks to all involved in that endeavor.

Two more days of chemo this week - and keep sending those positive vibes for this great IV to hold!

Therapy 2.2

Well, I woke up from my Post-Chemo Nap to my Blood-Thinner Alarm, and I'm still tired. Today was a busy day in the chemo room, my regular seats were taken, and I ended up for most of the time between two older women, one of whom I'd seen several times before. Liz was her name, and she comes in fairly frequently just for IV hydration. We had a long-ish conversation about international travels and how nice it is to get cards when you have cancer. The woman on my other side was on her first day of chemo who also had ovarian cancer (of a different sort) and she had some questions about loosing her eyelashes (mine seem to be firmly rooted, along with my eyebrows) and just general stuff. It was kind of crazy to feel like an "experienced" person, but I guess once your hair falls out, people assume you know something about life.

Speaking of hair loss, my big breakthrough this weekend was figuring out how to fold bandanna-sized scarves to that they cover my whole big bald head. This essentially triples my head-covering options, allowing me to wear great funky scarves such as the above (Thanks, Stacey!!), which went over well in the chemo room. And maybe someday I'll post a picture of something besides me . . .

Today's health report is that my IV worked well, and they left it in another day, so here's hoping it works tomorrow again, too. I also found out that the steroids I'm on make it hard to go to sleep, which explains my late-to-bed experiences of late. Fortunately I've still been able to get ample sleep, and have my indigestion almost entirely controlled.