Veering away from the cancer thing. As if there wasn't enough on our plates of challenges in 2012, my brother-in-law Phil passed away on December 28th. (Many of you had heard my mantra, "2012 can kiss my ass." It gained even more meaning when Phil passed away.)
We honored Phil yesterday at his memorial service. There were people who read poems, told funny stories, and reminisced about the great person he was. His brothers (fraternity and family), sister-in-law, and sister all told us about times they spent with him. A theme was woven through all of their eulogies. Phil was a person who lived in the moment, loved meeting and keeping friends, and loved for his people to have great experiences and great times.
Phil was young when he died. 52. Too young. He left behind a wife and two sons (14 and 16) and a ton of family and friends, many of whom packed themselves into the funeral home for the service. His health wasn't the best in the past few years, but the sad part is that in recent weeks he seemed like he was trying to turn his bad health around. He had a pace maker put in a couple months ago, got a machine to help with his sleep apnea, and had a knee replacement a little over a week before he died.
In the midst of his bad health, he was still concerned about those around him. Whenever I would see him after I was diagnosed with cancer, he always asked me how I was feeling. Even on the day his dad died and I gave him a hug, he said, "Now we have to worry about getting you better."
The day before his memorial, on New Year's Day, I went for a walk by myself in the woods. We still have a lot of snow around, so it was a beautiful walk through snow-covered trees with the sun shining through. I decided to wear my iPod on this walk because I wanted some distraction from my thoughts that have been pinballing around in my head for days. I set the songs on my iPod on "shuffle", but it seemed like the iPod intuitively knew what I needed to hear. The first song that came on was "Awake My Soul" by Mumford and Sons. The title alone made me think about Phil and my father-in-law Jerry. Then these lyrics really hit home:
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
And where you invest your love, you invest your life
Awake my soul
"Where you invest your love, you invest your life." A mantra that could have been one of Phil's. His life was about people and experiences, and he was always part of or creating a good time for others. The fact that music made me think about him is no coincidence, either. He always had music playing in the house or car, and loved to go hear live music.
As I continued my walk, more songs came on my iPod that reminded me of Phil or Jerry, or gave me some perspective about the year we left behind, or the year that lies ahead.
On the ride home from the memorial service last night, the radio in my car continued to play songs whose titles or lyrics reminded me of Phil. I know again it was coincidental, but some of the songs almost seemed eerie with their connections. Like the lyrics in "We Are Alive" by Bruce Springsteen:
We are alive
Oh, and though we lie alone here in the dark
Our souls will rise to carry the fire and light the spark
To fight shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart
The lyrics may seem a bit morbid, as they are about people "talking" from their graves. But I think that they are true in Phil's case. He will continue to be carried by us in our hearts and through the people he has touched. This song also reminded me of a Bruce Springsteen concert that we went to in Detroit. Stein was living with Phil and his wife at the time. It may have been the first time I met them when we stopped by their house on the way to the concert. Phil was so excited that we were going to see Bruce live, and I remember him saying goodbye to us with a hearty, "Have a GREAT time, guys."
So we go into 2013 with heavy hearts from our losses, but with hope for the new start and good things the new year has in store for us. Here's to you, Phil. May the music carry us through these hard times, remind us of the good times spent with you, and help us to keep in mind that it's the people and experiences that matter. Always.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Thursday, December 27, 2012
I'm Lucky. My Own Angels and Elves
I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday if you celebrate one. We had a nice, relaxing Christmas spent doing a little family stuff and a little alone stuff. We got to see cousins, aunts, grandma, siblings, sisters-in-law, brother-in-law, nieces, and nephews on Stein's side. Next week, we'll get together with some of my family, too.
The holidays always make me pause and think about the people in my life. This year, especially, I've been thinking about all the people who have been such an integral part of our lives. We are truly blessed to have the support of you all. We feel humbled by your generosity, good thoughts, and prayers that you send our way.
Along the way on this crazy-cancer adventure, there have been people who have made me stop and think how lucky I am to know such compassionate people.
I can't begin to tell you how much time and energy Stein has put in to make my life easier and more manageable throughout this ordeal. From wrapping Christmas gifts, to bringing more water to me at chemo, to scheduling and keeping appointments in the calendar on the iPad, to making dinner most nights when all I want to do is lie on the couch. He's been upbeat and caring, concerned and humorous, thoughtful and realistic. I keep saying to people, "I don't know how I'm going to repay him." He's truly taking "in sickness and in health" to heart. I'm lucky.
My sister-in-law and Chris have been rock stars on the Ann Arbor and Chicago fronts. They both have arranged meals to be delivered to us via folks from Chicago (we've had pizzas flown in - thanks, Patty! And take-out delivered - thanks, Shark and Jane!) and by folks in Ann Arbor. On the Ann Arbor front, people have been bringing us homemade meals on days when we can't possibly think about making dinner. Chris and Anne have also coordinated a cleaning person to come on the days I have chemo. It is so wonderful to come home to a clean house and not have to worry about dusting or vacuuming. What a luxury. And I can't forget to thank Anne for her bi-weekly delivery of Cheez-Its! Sometimes it's the only thing that sounds good to eat.
A great group of long-time girlfriends from Chicago have organized themselves to deliver a package to me every week before my chemo day. These boxes have been filled with useful goodies and treats that have made me laugh. Magazines, books, pens, cards, homemade kids' pictures, candies, and other useful items have been waiting for me on my doorstep. Meg, Kathryn, Jane, Patty, and Chris, you all rock.
My friend Amy keeps me supplied with movies, TV shows, and magazines to make the chemo time shorter. Every so often I find a package in school mail, or a bag hanging on my classroom door. So thoughtful.
Stein, my mom, Mickey, and Chris have sat with me at chemo. It's a pretty boring thing to sit and watch nurses change IV bags and watch me wheel a cart to the bathroom, but it's great to have the company. They've taken a lot of their own time to come and do this. I'm lucky.
So many of you have sent cards, texts, prayers, emails, books, and gifts our way. It's been great getting these surprises. Please know that these all go a long way. I stay positive because I know I'm going to be alright, I know that my prognosis is good, and I continue to hear good news from my doctor. I'm getting there (almost 1/2 done!). What has helped me keep my positive attitude has been all that you've done or said. I'm speechless.
I'm lucky. And grateful.
The holidays always make me pause and think about the people in my life. This year, especially, I've been thinking about all the people who have been such an integral part of our lives. We are truly blessed to have the support of you all. We feel humbled by your generosity, good thoughts, and prayers that you send our way.
Along the way on this crazy-cancer adventure, there have been people who have made me stop and think how lucky I am to know such compassionate people.
I can't begin to tell you how much time and energy Stein has put in to make my life easier and more manageable throughout this ordeal. From wrapping Christmas gifts, to bringing more water to me at chemo, to scheduling and keeping appointments in the calendar on the iPad, to making dinner most nights when all I want to do is lie on the couch. He's been upbeat and caring, concerned and humorous, thoughtful and realistic. I keep saying to people, "I don't know how I'm going to repay him." He's truly taking "in sickness and in health" to heart. I'm lucky.
My sister-in-law and Chris have been rock stars on the Ann Arbor and Chicago fronts. They both have arranged meals to be delivered to us via folks from Chicago (we've had pizzas flown in - thanks, Patty! And take-out delivered - thanks, Shark and Jane!) and by folks in Ann Arbor. On the Ann Arbor front, people have been bringing us homemade meals on days when we can't possibly think about making dinner. Chris and Anne have also coordinated a cleaning person to come on the days I have chemo. It is so wonderful to come home to a clean house and not have to worry about dusting or vacuuming. What a luxury. And I can't forget to thank Anne for her bi-weekly delivery of Cheez-Its! Sometimes it's the only thing that sounds good to eat.
A great group of long-time girlfriends from Chicago have organized themselves to deliver a package to me every week before my chemo day. These boxes have been filled with useful goodies and treats that have made me laugh. Magazines, books, pens, cards, homemade kids' pictures, candies, and other useful items have been waiting for me on my doorstep. Meg, Kathryn, Jane, Patty, and Chris, you all rock.
My friend Amy keeps me supplied with movies, TV shows, and magazines to make the chemo time shorter. Every so often I find a package in school mail, or a bag hanging on my classroom door. So thoughtful.
Stein, my mom, Mickey, and Chris have sat with me at chemo. It's a pretty boring thing to sit and watch nurses change IV bags and watch me wheel a cart to the bathroom, but it's great to have the company. They've taken a lot of their own time to come and do this. I'm lucky.
So many of you have sent cards, texts, prayers, emails, books, and gifts our way. It's been great getting these surprises. Please know that these all go a long way. I stay positive because I know I'm going to be alright, I know that my prognosis is good, and I continue to hear good news from my doctor. I'm getting there (almost 1/2 done!). What has helped me keep my positive attitude has been all that you've done or said. I'm speechless.
I'm lucky. And grateful.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Chestnuts
Yesterday morning, I sat in my classroom office (yes, I have an office in my classroom. It's a rarity, and I love it). My morning routine usually involves only turning on one small light in the classroom, and the light in my office. I don't want to be shocked in the day. I just want to ease into it.
Anyway, as I sat at my desk doing various pre-school activities, a woman came into my office. She's a T.A. at our school, and I've come to know her well. She was the T.A. two years ago in my friend Jan's classroom, and last year in my friend Allie's classroom (Hi, Allie!). Both of those years, my class teamed up to be reading buddies with the class where she was a T.A.
It's pretty unusual to see her on our wing of the school. We're kind of isolated on a fourth and fifth grade island, and she works on the second and third grade island.
She softly said, "Good morning. Do have a few minutes?" I always feel like that second sentence is loaded. I use it myself, so I know how it is to be on the other end delivering it. Sometimes it's a serious matter, oftentimes it ends up being an emotional matter.
"Sure," I said hesitantly. As I said that, she held out a fisted hand like she wanted me to open my hand to receive something. But she pulled her hand back when she started her story. "I don't know if I ever told you this story, but I've always liked Chestnut trees," she shyly explained. "Growing up, there was a Chestnut tree on the way to my school. When I would walk to school, my friends and I would always pick up the chestnuts. That tree evokes such great memories for me."
"But now," she further explained, "The neighborhood has really changed. The Chestnut tree is gone, and a lot of the houses have changed or have been torn down and rebuilt."
She went on to tell me that recently she went back to her hometown to visit her mother's and father's graves. "But before I went to the cemetery, I took a drive around the neighborhood. The house next door to the one I grew up in was having a garage sale [she LOVES garage sales] so I stopped by. As I got to talking with the people who were having the garage sale, they convinced me to go next door to see my old house."
So she did. She told me that the people were really generous and invited her into the house to look around. The house was the only one that had "Cemetery Road" as its address. She described to me the backyard and how it butted up to a cemetery. She said that she went into the backyard and walked toward the cemetery. "As I walked toward the cemetery, I felt something crunching beneath my feet. I looked down, and there were chestnuts. I looked up, and I saw that there was a chestnut tree there that hadn't been there before. I felt right at home. For one, I WAS home. For two, the chestnuts spurred so many good memories of home, my neighborhood, and my friends."
"So I think chestnuts are magical," she said while putting out her fisted hand again. "And I wanted to give this to you." I held out my hand, and she dropped a little chestnut into my palm. "I don't know if you'll think it's hokey, but I wanted to give this to you."
With tears in my eyes after giving her a big hug, I told her about the house I grew up in, and that at the end of the street there was a small park with a huge Chestnut tree. My friends and I would spend a lot of time in that park, picking up chestnuts, cutting our hands on the thorny husks, and collecting the nuts inside. A lot of memories flooded back to me. It was all bittersweet as I told her about my house and neighborhood. My brother and sister-in-law bought the house I grew up in from my parents. I was able to get back to see the house and the neighborhood on a regular basis until recently. They sold the house in August. I'm lucky that I had a more extended time than most people to see the house take shape under another family and watch the neighborhood do the same under new neighbors.
I kept the chestnut in my pocket the whole day. It was still in my pocket when I went to get blood drawn and to see my doctor. My doctor delivered some great news. The CT scan I had taken last weekend showed major shrinking of the tumors. He was really pleased.
Chestnuts. Memories. Family. Friends. Good news. Love.
Anyway, as I sat at my desk doing various pre-school activities, a woman came into my office. She's a T.A. at our school, and I've come to know her well. She was the T.A. two years ago in my friend Jan's classroom, and last year in my friend Allie's classroom (Hi, Allie!). Both of those years, my class teamed up to be reading buddies with the class where she was a T.A.
It's pretty unusual to see her on our wing of the school. We're kind of isolated on a fourth and fifth grade island, and she works on the second and third grade island.
She softly said, "Good morning. Do have a few minutes?" I always feel like that second sentence is loaded. I use it myself, so I know how it is to be on the other end delivering it. Sometimes it's a serious matter, oftentimes it ends up being an emotional matter.
"Sure," I said hesitantly. As I said that, she held out a fisted hand like she wanted me to open my hand to receive something. But she pulled her hand back when she started her story. "I don't know if I ever told you this story, but I've always liked Chestnut trees," she shyly explained. "Growing up, there was a Chestnut tree on the way to my school. When I would walk to school, my friends and I would always pick up the chestnuts. That tree evokes such great memories for me."
"But now," she further explained, "The neighborhood has really changed. The Chestnut tree is gone, and a lot of the houses have changed or have been torn down and rebuilt."
She went on to tell me that recently she went back to her hometown to visit her mother's and father's graves. "But before I went to the cemetery, I took a drive around the neighborhood. The house next door to the one I grew up in was having a garage sale [she LOVES garage sales] so I stopped by. As I got to talking with the people who were having the garage sale, they convinced me to go next door to see my old house."
So she did. She told me that the people were really generous and invited her into the house to look around. The house was the only one that had "Cemetery Road" as its address. She described to me the backyard and how it butted up to a cemetery. She said that she went into the backyard and walked toward the cemetery. "As I walked toward the cemetery, I felt something crunching beneath my feet. I looked down, and there were chestnuts. I looked up, and I saw that there was a chestnut tree there that hadn't been there before. I felt right at home. For one, I WAS home. For two, the chestnuts spurred so many good memories of home, my neighborhood, and my friends."
"So I think chestnuts are magical," she said while putting out her fisted hand again. "And I wanted to give this to you." I held out my hand, and she dropped a little chestnut into my palm. "I don't know if you'll think it's hokey, but I wanted to give this to you."
With tears in my eyes after giving her a big hug, I told her about the house I grew up in, and that at the end of the street there was a small park with a huge Chestnut tree. My friends and I would spend a lot of time in that park, picking up chestnuts, cutting our hands on the thorny husks, and collecting the nuts inside. A lot of memories flooded back to me. It was all bittersweet as I told her about my house and neighborhood. My brother and sister-in-law bought the house I grew up in from my parents. I was able to get back to see the house and the neighborhood on a regular basis until recently. They sold the house in August. I'm lucky that I had a more extended time than most people to see the house take shape under another family and watch the neighborhood do the same under new neighbors.
I kept the chestnut in my pocket the whole day. It was still in my pocket when I went to get blood drawn and to see my doctor. My doctor delivered some great news. The CT scan I had taken last weekend showed major shrinking of the tumors. He was really pleased.
Chestnuts. Memories. Family. Friends. Good news. Love.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Chemo 9 to 5, What a Way to Make a Living
Chemo #4. 1/3 of the way done! I think about countdowns this way. I think in fractional terms (although I was never good at fractions), and then I think about how many of those fractions I still need to do. So, two more thirds, and I'll be done. I can do it, not that I really have a choice.
So back to yesterday. Well, actually, I have to go back to Thursday. I was at school, standing on a chair so I could reach some stuff on a shelf. As I was sorting through the stuff, a grey shadow came over the side of my right eye. I blinked a couple times to try to clear it, but it didn't go away. Two thoughts ran through my head: Am I going to faint? and Am I going blind? I decided it was best to get down from the chair. I sat down and realized that I wasn't going to faint. Eventually the shadow got smaller, so I also realized I wasn't going blind. What was left was a small shadow/spot of black at the top left part of my eye.
So of course I consulted Dr. Google. Everything from migraines to detached retinas came up as search results. I decided to call my oncologist. Maybe it was chemo related. After waiting a while for the call back, I called again. This time, they called back pretty quickly. The nurse from the office said, "Are you calling from work? Because the doctor thinks that you just need to go home and rest. You're working too hard." Little did she know my student teacher had his first solo week, so I wasn't working that hard. But, I heeded her advice and went home. I rested all afternoon, but still had the spot when I got up.
My sister Mickey (Hi, Mick!) came that night so she could go to chemo with Stein and me the next day. We caught up a little and then went to bed. The next morning, I woke up and the spot was still there. I was told by the nurse the day before that I should inform the clinic if it was still there the next day. I got my blood drawn as planned, then went up to the clinic and talked to the nurse. She said it was probably ok to go ahead with chemo, but she would consult one of the doctors (mine was on vacation).
I got called into chemo (same room, same nurse!) and sat down in the chair. As we were just getting settled, the nurse from the clinic came in and said they got me a STAT appointment at the Eye Center (add another building to the list!) and I was to go right over there. We got over there around 9:15 and was told that my appointment was at 10:45. So much for STAT! I wasn't called in until 11:15, and then endured a battery of eye tests, including dilation of my pupils. At the end of the 3 1/2 hours, they said they couldn't find anything abnormal, but wanted me to go to a neuro-opthamologist on Friday. Can't have a week go by without seeing a doctor, I guess.
Needless to say, we got back to the Cancer Center late. I told the nurse at the clinic that they couldn't find anything, so I could go on with the chemo, right? She had to consult the doctor again, and then came out and said my blood numbers were low, so I couldn't have the chemo. I know it sounds crazy, but I almost started crying. I didn't want to have to postpone the treatment. I didn't want to have to delay my whole schedule. I'm supposed to be done at the end of March, and by golly, I will be done at the end of March. (Remember losing that control thing? Ahem.) Anyway, the doctor came out and said my white blood cell count was the same as the last time, and the time before that. He asked how I was feeling (just like last time except for the eye issue) and said that it was okay to go ahead with the chemo.
So in to the room I went (same room, different nurse) and Mickey and I settled in. Stein brought us some lunch (Thanks, Stein) and we kept ourselves busy for the next 3 hours. We were out of there at 5:30, and home by 5:45. Mickey dropped me off at home and went to the store to buy stuff to cook for dinner (Thanks again, Mick!). I slept a little on the couch, and then moved up to bed where I had a dinner of Cheez-Its (Thanks, Anne!) and went to bed for the night. I slept pretty well, but still had the small spot in my eye when I woke up. It hasn't gotten worse, just annoying.
I told Stein and Mickey that someone is again telling me to let go and slow down. This stuff is out of my control, and I need to learn to just take it as it is and go with it. A lesson to be learned for sure. Another lesson I learned yesterday as I was getting so annoyed with the circus the day became: I'm lucky. As I've said before, this sucks that I have this and have to go through it, but it could be worse. There was a woman in the chair next to me who was in her chair before I got there, and still there when I left. She was also packing up medicines to take home because she will have to be on a pump for 48 more hours once she got home. The nurse who administered my chemo told me about a friend she was going to visit whose husband just died of lung cancer.
I need to be thankful and accept that my lesson will have ups and downs and maybe a little waiting along the way, but I'm going to be okay at the end.
So back to yesterday. Well, actually, I have to go back to Thursday. I was at school, standing on a chair so I could reach some stuff on a shelf. As I was sorting through the stuff, a grey shadow came over the side of my right eye. I blinked a couple times to try to clear it, but it didn't go away. Two thoughts ran through my head: Am I going to faint? and Am I going blind? I decided it was best to get down from the chair. I sat down and realized that I wasn't going to faint. Eventually the shadow got smaller, so I also realized I wasn't going blind. What was left was a small shadow/spot of black at the top left part of my eye.
So of course I consulted Dr. Google. Everything from migraines to detached retinas came up as search results. I decided to call my oncologist. Maybe it was chemo related. After waiting a while for the call back, I called again. This time, they called back pretty quickly. The nurse from the office said, "Are you calling from work? Because the doctor thinks that you just need to go home and rest. You're working too hard." Little did she know my student teacher had his first solo week, so I wasn't working that hard. But, I heeded her advice and went home. I rested all afternoon, but still had the spot when I got up.
My sister Mickey (Hi, Mick!) came that night so she could go to chemo with Stein and me the next day. We caught up a little and then went to bed. The next morning, I woke up and the spot was still there. I was told by the nurse the day before that I should inform the clinic if it was still there the next day. I got my blood drawn as planned, then went up to the clinic and talked to the nurse. She said it was probably ok to go ahead with chemo, but she would consult one of the doctors (mine was on vacation).
I got called into chemo (same room, same nurse!) and sat down in the chair. As we were just getting settled, the nurse from the clinic came in and said they got me a STAT appointment at the Eye Center (add another building to the list!) and I was to go right over there. We got over there around 9:15 and was told that my appointment was at 10:45. So much for STAT! I wasn't called in until 11:15, and then endured a battery of eye tests, including dilation of my pupils. At the end of the 3 1/2 hours, they said they couldn't find anything abnormal, but wanted me to go to a neuro-opthamologist on Friday. Can't have a week go by without seeing a doctor, I guess.
Needless to say, we got back to the Cancer Center late. I told the nurse at the clinic that they couldn't find anything, so I could go on with the chemo, right? She had to consult the doctor again, and then came out and said my blood numbers were low, so I couldn't have the chemo. I know it sounds crazy, but I almost started crying. I didn't want to have to postpone the treatment. I didn't want to have to delay my whole schedule. I'm supposed to be done at the end of March, and by golly, I will be done at the end of March. (Remember losing that control thing? Ahem.) Anyway, the doctor came out and said my white blood cell count was the same as the last time, and the time before that. He asked how I was feeling (just like last time except for the eye issue) and said that it was okay to go ahead with the chemo.
So in to the room I went (same room, different nurse) and Mickey and I settled in. Stein brought us some lunch (Thanks, Stein) and we kept ourselves busy for the next 3 hours. We were out of there at 5:30, and home by 5:45. Mickey dropped me off at home and went to the store to buy stuff to cook for dinner (Thanks again, Mick!). I slept a little on the couch, and then moved up to bed where I had a dinner of Cheez-Its (Thanks, Anne!) and went to bed for the night. I slept pretty well, but still had the small spot in my eye when I woke up. It hasn't gotten worse, just annoying.
I told Stein and Mickey that someone is again telling me to let go and slow down. This stuff is out of my control, and I need to learn to just take it as it is and go with it. A lesson to be learned for sure. Another lesson I learned yesterday as I was getting so annoyed with the circus the day became: I'm lucky. As I've said before, this sucks that I have this and have to go through it, but it could be worse. There was a woman in the chair next to me who was in her chair before I got there, and still there when I left. She was also packing up medicines to take home because she will have to be on a pump for 48 more hours once she got home. The nurse who administered my chemo told me about a friend she was going to visit whose husband just died of lung cancer.
I need to be thankful and accept that my lesson will have ups and downs and maybe a little waiting along the way, but I'm going to be okay at the end.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
1/4 Way Done!
I guess if you put it in fractional terms, it makes it sound a little better than 3 down, 9 to go. Next week I'll be 1/3 done, and that sounds even better. This may be a good lesson to go over with my class. We are on the fractions unit, so it fits.
Anyway, thank you for all your kind words about my father-in-law. Yesterday we had the memorial service, and it was a beautiful tribute to him. All of his kids said a few words. Very touching.
We also had my side of the family here for Thanksgiving. It was great to have everyone here. Typical of most holidays - lots of food, laughing, singing, game playing, and drinking (them, not me). I'm thankful that we had the time together to just hang out. Needless to say, between the two events, Stein and I are just lying low today.
Some good news on the cancer front - I had a doctor's appointment before my last treatment, and he said that the tumors that could be felt are shrinking. I knew that they would start shrinking, but I thought that wouldn't happen until after the 3rd or 4th treatment. It's amazing, because the tumor that led to the diagnosis can barely be felt now.
In the meantime, we're getting used to the new normal. We have our treatment day routine down, from applying the numbing cream to keeping my "chemo bag" packed with all kinds of goodies. I usually don't need half the stuff I take with me, but it's nice to have it if I do. Treatment weekends are usually pretty casual, and then the week after is back to work and life as usual.
Chris was here for my last treatment (thanks again, Chris!), and we took count of the people around me who didn't have ports (3 out of 4!). At my last doctor's appointment, I said thank you to him for giving me a port. He kind of laughed, but I really wanted to let him know that he's doing a good thing when he puts it on a patient's "to-do list". It's not the most comfortable thing to have this bump coming out of my chest, but it's better than getting poked each time I have to give blood or get a treatment.
Also at my last treatment, I was lucky to have the same nurse administer my chemo who did the last time. It's always nice to have some consistency when you feel like just another number in a chair in the huge sea of chairs. We were able to chat about what's been going on with each other and talk about upcoming plans.
In the hair department - it's still hanging on. It's very thin, and my part is parting like the red sea, but I haven't had to break out the wigs, hats, or scarves yet. I'm fine just waiting. And while we're knocking on wood, knock one more time. I know that the effects are cumulative, but overall I haven't had any bad nausea. I definitely don't feel 100%, but I know I'm lucky to not be feeling a lot of the effects. Yet.
I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving spent with family and/or friends. I'm thankful for all of you and your continued prayers and support you send our way.
Anyway, thank you for all your kind words about my father-in-law. Yesterday we had the memorial service, and it was a beautiful tribute to him. All of his kids said a few words. Very touching.
We also had my side of the family here for Thanksgiving. It was great to have everyone here. Typical of most holidays - lots of food, laughing, singing, game playing, and drinking (them, not me). I'm thankful that we had the time together to just hang out. Needless to say, between the two events, Stein and I are just lying low today.
Some good news on the cancer front - I had a doctor's appointment before my last treatment, and he said that the tumors that could be felt are shrinking. I knew that they would start shrinking, but I thought that wouldn't happen until after the 3rd or 4th treatment. It's amazing, because the tumor that led to the diagnosis can barely be felt now.
In the meantime, we're getting used to the new normal. We have our treatment day routine down, from applying the numbing cream to keeping my "chemo bag" packed with all kinds of goodies. I usually don't need half the stuff I take with me, but it's nice to have it if I do. Treatment weekends are usually pretty casual, and then the week after is back to work and life as usual.
Chris was here for my last treatment (thanks again, Chris!), and we took count of the people around me who didn't have ports (3 out of 4!). At my last doctor's appointment, I said thank you to him for giving me a port. He kind of laughed, but I really wanted to let him know that he's doing a good thing when he puts it on a patient's "to-do list". It's not the most comfortable thing to have this bump coming out of my chest, but it's better than getting poked each time I have to give blood or get a treatment.
Also at my last treatment, I was lucky to have the same nurse administer my chemo who did the last time. It's always nice to have some consistency when you feel like just another number in a chair in the huge sea of chairs. We were able to chat about what's been going on with each other and talk about upcoming plans.
In the hair department - it's still hanging on. It's very thin, and my part is parting like the red sea, but I haven't had to break out the wigs, hats, or scarves yet. I'm fine just waiting. And while we're knocking on wood, knock one more time. I know that the effects are cumulative, but overall I haven't had any bad nausea. I definitely don't feel 100%, but I know I'm lucky to not be feeling a lot of the effects. Yet.
I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving spent with family and/or friends. I'm thankful for all of you and your continued prayers and support you send our way.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Hope and Courage
I'm going to veer away from me for a moment. Don't worry, won't be long until we're back in cancer land again! (I know you love hearing about all the intricacies of my procedures.) But first I have some sad news.
My father-in-law passed away yesterday. For those of you who knew him, or knew of him, know that he has been battling Parkinson's for over ten years, and has had a lot of other ailments that stemmed from the Parkinson's. In the last few years, it was hard for him to communicate, and you could tell this was extremely frustrating for him. He was a pretty social guy before the onset of Parkinson's, so the disease took a ton of his personality away.
Even though I'm the newbie in the in-law category of the family, I have always felt welcome in the family, in large part by Jerry. It became apparent even before I met him that he played a huge role in his kid's lives. When I finally met him (which is another post in itself), I felt comfortable immediately.
I'm glad to have known him, and it is obvious by the countless people who have connections to Jerry, that they are glad too. He will definitely be missed, but the memories that we have will help us get through.
Yesterday, when Stein called me at school to tell me he died, I immediately left school to get to the house. I was driving through Chelsea and noticed what was painted on "the rock" in the park on Main Street. It said "Hope and Courage". I thought this was so fitting for Jerry, who never gave up hope for his family and friends. He was courageous in trying times, and showed us all how to live a life fully despite being dealt some terrible cards.
Hope and courage is what's getting me through my hand of bad cards right now. I like to think that Jerry's influence has shown me how to handle it with grace.
My father-in-law passed away yesterday. For those of you who knew him, or knew of him, know that he has been battling Parkinson's for over ten years, and has had a lot of other ailments that stemmed from the Parkinson's. In the last few years, it was hard for him to communicate, and you could tell this was extremely frustrating for him. He was a pretty social guy before the onset of Parkinson's, so the disease took a ton of his personality away.
Even though I'm the newbie in the in-law category of the family, I have always felt welcome in the family, in large part by Jerry. It became apparent even before I met him that he played a huge role in his kid's lives. When I finally met him (which is another post in itself), I felt comfortable immediately.
I'm glad to have known him, and it is obvious by the countless people who have connections to Jerry, that they are glad too. He will definitely be missed, but the memories that we have will help us get through.
Yesterday, when Stein called me at school to tell me he died, I immediately left school to get to the house. I was driving through Chelsea and noticed what was painted on "the rock" in the park on Main Street. It said "Hope and Courage". I thought this was so fitting for Jerry, who never gave up hope for his family and friends. He was courageous in trying times, and showed us all how to live a life fully despite being dealt some terrible cards.
Hope and courage is what's getting me through my hand of bad cards right now. I like to think that Jerry's influence has shown me how to handle it with grace.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Treatment #2, Characters, and What Not
Treatment #2 went a lot like treatment #1, except I didn't really have the nerves to go along with it. I knew what to expect, knew somewhat of how I would feel afterward, and knew that eventually I would feel back to "normal". It's a whole new normal, let me tell you...
On the way into the Cancer Center, it's surprising to me how many people (patients and visitors) who I see smoking. In the parking garage, which is literally 50 feet away from the entrance, people exit their cars and immediately light up. It's like a person starting a diet on Monday, I guess. Eat all the junk food you can on Sunday before the diet starts!
This time, as I got out of our car in the garage, I looked down and saw that someone who had been there before us thought it was a good idea to empty their ash tray onto the ground of the garage. Lovely. Then, as Stein and I were walking into the Cancer Center, there was an older man leaning against a pillar outside, puffing on a cigarette like it was his last before his execution.
Speaking of characters, there are always quite a few when going for treatments or other appointments. Stein and I are very entertained by other people and their quirks. (We're laughing with them, not at them, of course.) It definitely makes the time go by and sometimes it just lightens the mood. Other times it makes me thankful that my neuroses are somewhat normal.
We were waiting at the lab for my turn to go in for blood work, and another woman went in before me. I could hear some of the things going on in the lab, and at one point a tech said to another one, "We need some help down here." I knew from experience that the help needed was probably for a person who didn't have a good vein, or they tried several times with no success. (Oh, I remember those days vividly).
I didn't pay much attention to it, because it was my turn next, and I had other things on my mind. Later, Stein said that a woman came out yelling to her friend that she will never go to the male tech in the lab because he was awful. From the way Stein described where she was sitting, I remembered the woman who had been sitting there.
Fast forward to my "spa hours" of treatment. About half-way through, another patient was seated in the chair next to mine. Stein motioned to me like he had a story about her. I recognized her from the waiting room at the lab. She was the yeller! I gave Stein the "I know exactly what you're talking about" look.
We came to find out that this woman doesn't have a port, so each time she goes in for blood work and chemo she has to get an IV started. The only problem? She's deathly afraid of needles. I guess they have tried sedatives and other ways to get her to relax, but it was obvious that this was a big problem. I looked at my port and said a silent thank you to my doctor. We learned that everyone doesn't get a port from the get-go. It's up to the doctor whether he/she will send you to get one before starting treatment. Sometimes it takes the nurses in the treatment rooms to recommend a port be put in because of issues that may come up.
. . . . .
In other news, I got my haircut on Saturday. I wanted to be a bit ahead of the losing game, and not have long clumps of hair come out. I got it cut up to my chin in a bob. It looks cute, it's easy to style, and it takes a lot less shampoo to wash it. I don't know how long it will last, because today when I washed it in the shower, a lot of hair came off. It's not like I have bald spots or anything, but the drain in the bathtub was certainly more stuffed than usual.
I have a line-up of wigs waiting to be worn, and some hats too. I'm thinking about getting some scarves, and my friend Johnny recommends that I bring back the turban. We'll see. I don't know exactly what I'll end up doing on a regular basis, but I like to have options available.
Lastly, thank you. Thank you for your continued check-ins to see how we're doing. Thanks for the laughs, the funny texts, the cards that crowd our mantle, and the thoughtful gifts and packages you send our way. Thanks for the food, the prayers, and recommendations of things to try for various ailments.
We're lucky to be surrounded by such great people. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
On the way into the Cancer Center, it's surprising to me how many people (patients and visitors) who I see smoking. In the parking garage, which is literally 50 feet away from the entrance, people exit their cars and immediately light up. It's like a person starting a diet on Monday, I guess. Eat all the junk food you can on Sunday before the diet starts!
This time, as I got out of our car in the garage, I looked down and saw that someone who had been there before us thought it was a good idea to empty their ash tray onto the ground of the garage. Lovely. Then, as Stein and I were walking into the Cancer Center, there was an older man leaning against a pillar outside, puffing on a cigarette like it was his last before his execution.
Speaking of characters, there are always quite a few when going for treatments or other appointments. Stein and I are very entertained by other people and their quirks. (We're laughing with them, not at them, of course.) It definitely makes the time go by and sometimes it just lightens the mood. Other times it makes me thankful that my neuroses are somewhat normal.
We were waiting at the lab for my turn to go in for blood work, and another woman went in before me. I could hear some of the things going on in the lab, and at one point a tech said to another one, "We need some help down here." I knew from experience that the help needed was probably for a person who didn't have a good vein, or they tried several times with no success. (Oh, I remember those days vividly).
I didn't pay much attention to it, because it was my turn next, and I had other things on my mind. Later, Stein said that a woman came out yelling to her friend that she will never go to the male tech in the lab because he was awful. From the way Stein described where she was sitting, I remembered the woman who had been sitting there.
Fast forward to my "spa hours" of treatment. About half-way through, another patient was seated in the chair next to mine. Stein motioned to me like he had a story about her. I recognized her from the waiting room at the lab. She was the yeller! I gave Stein the "I know exactly what you're talking about" look.
We came to find out that this woman doesn't have a port, so each time she goes in for blood work and chemo she has to get an IV started. The only problem? She's deathly afraid of needles. I guess they have tried sedatives and other ways to get her to relax, but it was obvious that this was a big problem. I looked at my port and said a silent thank you to my doctor. We learned that everyone doesn't get a port from the get-go. It's up to the doctor whether he/she will send you to get one before starting treatment. Sometimes it takes the nurses in the treatment rooms to recommend a port be put in because of issues that may come up.
. . . . .
In other news, I got my haircut on Saturday. I wanted to be a bit ahead of the losing game, and not have long clumps of hair come out. I got it cut up to my chin in a bob. It looks cute, it's easy to style, and it takes a lot less shampoo to wash it. I don't know how long it will last, because today when I washed it in the shower, a lot of hair came off. It's not like I have bald spots or anything, but the drain in the bathtub was certainly more stuffed than usual.
I have a line-up of wigs waiting to be worn, and some hats too. I'm thinking about getting some scarves, and my friend Johnny recommends that I bring back the turban. We'll see. I don't know exactly what I'll end up doing on a regular basis, but I like to have options available.
Lastly, thank you. Thank you for your continued check-ins to see how we're doing. Thanks for the laughs, the funny texts, the cards that crowd our mantle, and the thoughtful gifts and packages you send our way. Thanks for the food, the prayers, and recommendations of things to try for various ailments.
We're lucky to be surrounded by such great people. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
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