Day 3 and 4 are the worst of the week.
I wake up on Day 3 already feeling bad. My skin on my body is hyper-sensitive. My skin from neck to waist feels sore when you touch it, and it almost feels like I'm buzzing. Not sure why it's only from the waist up. I can't find any record of anyone else experiencing this side effect. Lucky me.
As long as I'm laying in bed, I feel ok (apart from when Bridger jumps up onto the bed and steps all over me), but once I get up, the nausea and headache set in immediately. I get up and take my meds (Claritin, Pepcid, Ibuprofen) and eat a bagel.
I lay on the couch pretty much all day feeling nauseous, sore, and heachachy.
I don't seem to be having the aversion to food that I had the first two rounds, but I don't really have any appetite, so I eat ramen for dinner around 5. Ironically, simple things with lots of salt actually taste pretty good. Who knew?
Around 7pm, I let myself fall asleep on the couch. I made it through the season finale of The Amazing Race (Yay for Joey and Kelsey for winning!), so I feel like I've been productive. I wake up at 9pm and take myself to bed. Nauseous again, so I switch to Ativan which helps me sleep. Unfortunately, it also makes me very unbalanced when I get up in the middle of the night to pee....which I do several times a night since I'm supposed to be hyper-hydrating. I think I barely missed stepping on Bridger.
Day 4 I don't even get out of bed until about 1pm except for a trip to the kitchen for meds and a piece of dry toast. I just try to lay as still as possible as horizontal as possible. A great time for listening to books on tape. I can't watch anything as even my eyes hurt to move.
Around one o'clock, Husband goes to get a haircut (one of us has to have good looking hair, I guess) and I drag myself to the shower. I've noticed that I don't smell very good. It's amazing how not having hair makes you lose track of when you need to bathe yourself. Also, as if cancer is laughing at me, I notice that I need to shave my legs. No hair on the head, but shaving the legs is still on the list of things to do. Irony abounds.
Afterwards, I crawl back under the covers and continue to curse my stomach. Husband comes home and we watch the Broncos game on his phone in bed. They lose. Hoorah.
Around 5, I feel myself perking up just a bit. Headache has subsided and after taking another Compazine, I'm not feeling quite as bad.
A weird metallic medicine taste is beginning to creep into my mouth, too. This is good and bad. It's good because it means I think I'm moving on to the next stage of nastiness and leaving the main nausea behind. It's bad because it means I will have a metal taste in my mouth for the next few days. I feel like I am in the Chemotherapy Hunger Games. As soon as one challenge ends, the next one rears its ugly head.
When medication is injected into the bloodstream, it also gets into your saliva. This can cause a bitter metallic taste in the mouth and/or can make food taste different. Last round I combatted it with spicy foods for meals and lemon drops in between. Gum, too, seemed to help. I just need to be careful with the candy because I don't want to end up with cavities in addition to the cancer.
So with Day 3 in the books and Day 4 almost over, I'm happy to be moving into the next phase of the week. The next few days will still have nausea in the mornings and headaches in the afternoons in addition to the metal mouth, and will also find me falling asleep on the couch by 7 every night. But these next few days should be better than the last two.
Day 3 and 4 this week were MUCH worse than last week. I am already dreading the next round. My tentative plan is to just start with the Ativan on the night of Day 2 and try to sleep through Day 3 and 4. The next one will be my last round of AC chemo, though, so even though I'll be dealing with it on Christmas, at least it will be the last one.
Every morning I give the cancer a squeeze and see if I can feel it getting any smaller. It would be great to visit with Dr. M on the 24th and have her say the magic "L" word (lumpectomy), but I'm not holding my breath. I still have plenty of chemo to go, though. Things can change.
Still no cocktails for me.
Looks like Husband is having Boulder Beer Shake (one of my favorites), so you should definitely join him.
Cheers!
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Day 2
Day 2 is not usually too bad.
Slight nausea always kicks in first thing in the morning, so I start the day with a plain bagel. Yum.
I'm pretty tired and slightly nauseous for most of the morning, but I manage to knock out a few chores and make it to the post office around 1pm. When I get back I'm exhausted and my stomach is doing flip flops. I hate taking the Ativan for nausea because it knocks me out, so I decide to try the Compazine again. It didn't work the first time I tried it, but this time it seems to do the trick. I lay down on the couch and knock out 3 episodes of the Great British Baking Show (thanks, BFF, for the recommendation!).
When Husband comes home, I rouse myself and try to act a little less slothsome. It doesn't last very long though.
Just as I finish my dinner (pizza - don't judge) the Neulasta injector on my arm starts beeping. Again, I feel like I'm about to blow up. The beeping is a signal that it is about to inject, which takes about 45 minutes. I can't feel anything, but I start feeling kinda bad - I think it might actually just be a mental thing, but it's all the same in the end. I take an Ibuprofen tablet to try to stave off the headache I know is coming, and wait for the injection to stop. I peel the injector off when it's done and settle back onto the couch.
Within 30 minutes I'm passed out. Husband lets me sleep for about an hour and then sends me off to bed. I take a few Senekot pills (hoorray!), gently wash my face (so as not to encourage my eyelashes and eyebrows to fall out), and crawl into bed.
End of Day 2.
No cocktails for me.
Hope you had one. :)
Slight nausea always kicks in first thing in the morning, so I start the day with a plain bagel. Yum.
I'm pretty tired and slightly nauseous for most of the morning, but I manage to knock out a few chores and make it to the post office around 1pm. When I get back I'm exhausted and my stomach is doing flip flops. I hate taking the Ativan for nausea because it knocks me out, so I decide to try the Compazine again. It didn't work the first time I tried it, but this time it seems to do the trick. I lay down on the couch and knock out 3 episodes of the Great British Baking Show (thanks, BFF, for the recommendation!).
When Husband comes home, I rouse myself and try to act a little less slothsome. It doesn't last very long though.
Just as I finish my dinner (pizza - don't judge) the Neulasta injector on my arm starts beeping. Again, I feel like I'm about to blow up. The beeping is a signal that it is about to inject, which takes about 45 minutes. I can't feel anything, but I start feeling kinda bad - I think it might actually just be a mental thing, but it's all the same in the end. I take an Ibuprofen tablet to try to stave off the headache I know is coming, and wait for the injection to stop. I peel the injector off when it's done and settle back onto the couch.
Within 30 minutes I'm passed out. Husband lets me sleep for about an hour and then sends me off to bed. I take a few Senekot pills (hoorray!), gently wash my face (so as not to encourage my eyelashes and eyebrows to fall out), and crawl into bed.
End of Day 2.
No cocktails for me.
Hope you had one. :)
Friday, December 11, 2015
Round 3 - Day 1
Many people have asked about chemotherapy - what do I have to do, how long does it take, how does it make me feel? So I'm going to attempt to capture the day by day for this round. Here we go:
Day 1 - Chemotherapy is scheduled for 10:30am at the Front Range Cancer Specialists Office at Poudre Valley Hospital. For the last 2 rounds, Husband has driven me down and back, but he's been really busy at work lately so I decided to see how it was to take myself.
First thing in the morning I got my "Chemo Bag" together: books, magazines, coloring books, food and snacks for lunch, kleenex, pens, chapstick, headphones and ipod, cup for water. I also take a Claritin and a Pepcid. These two normal everyday drugs apparently help counteract the mind-killing headaches I get from the Neulasta injection. I start them the day before to start getting my system ready. I jump in the car at about 9:15am and head down the hill.
When I get to the clinic, I check in with the receptionist (who sometimes remembers my name, but doesn't' recognize me this time with my koala bear face hat and lack of hair). The nurse comes to get me and weighs me in (my favorite part!). Ironically, before I got cancer I was very aware of my weight at all times and have been working on losing weight for the last, I don't know, 800 years. However, since getting the big C, I've been working out less and eating worse food, and have weighed the same at each session. Of course, I eat a lot less during the first week of each round, so maybe that evens things out. Either way, I try not to think about it too much - except at the weigh in.
After the weigh in, I'm taken back to the Chemo Clinic. It's a big room with 3 different groupings of big brown leather recliners. There are windows all around looking out at the surrounding fields and mountains. One wall has a long cabinet on it where people place snacks to share and things that they are passing on to other patients (hats, books, wigs, etc.) There is a refrigerator in the back part of the room for water and to stash lunch if it needs to stay cold. There is also a coffee machine that creates smells that I personally have trouble with when I'm going through my session. There are also about 6 private rooms where patients can go if they don't want to listen/watch others or if they have a bunch of people with them and they want to have some space to themselves.
I usually pick a chair in the back pod facing out at the mountains. This week there are a lot of people in the clinic. My pod has 3 other patients and 2 associated family members. The two ladies across from me are chatting away about their cancer journey - sharing their symptoms and side effects. They are both on their second to last session of Taxol (the drug I switch to in January). They are complaining about the muscle weakness, restless legs, and nueropathy that is causing them to lose feeling in their fingers and toes. They are also comparing how many nails they have lost to the drug. Super! Things to look forward to. The lady to the left of me has immediately fallen asleep and is snoring lightly. I find out later that she has been fighting cancer since 2009. Her breast cancer spread to her liver. She does, however, assure me that the mastectomy surgery was not that bad. I take what I can get.
So after sitting down, my nurse comes to "plug me in". You'll remember that I received a port in my right upper chest which I lovingly refer to as my alien. The nurse cleans off my alien with chemicals that smell really bad to me and make me slightly nauseous. My sense of smell has gotten really sensitive and picky during this process. Some strong smells are ok, but most turn me a little green. She tells me to take a big breath and inserts the needle for my IV into the port. There are three little bumps that you can feel through the skin that she aims for. Each time, the needle breaks the skin, but all it takes is a little band-aid when I'm done.
The nurse takes 3 vials of blood to send off for testing. My Complete Blood Count (CBC) is checked to make I'm handling the drugs ok. If I'm not, I would have to get a blood transfusion. I sit and wait (and eat my pretzels) for about 45 minutes until my CBC comes back normal. So now it's time for the drug therapy.
My first two drugs, Aloxi and Emend, are designed to block the signal that causes nausea and vomiting. The Aloxi also contains a steroid (Decadron) to help with general chemo symptoms. Possible side effects of these two lovely drugs include fatigue, headache, constipation, insomnia, hiccups, and loss of appetite. After the first round, I ended up with a horrible headache on day 1 so my nurse slowed down each of these drugs to be administered over about 45 minutes. It's important to be super hydrated during this who process, so I end up wheeling my little IV stand with me to the bathroom at least 3 times during this 90 minutes. I keep noticing people giving me side long looks and wonder about it until I remember I'm wearing my koala hat. It's so busy and there are so many conversations going on in the clinic that I have a hard time concentrating on anything, so I page through the magazines I brought with me, eat my lunch, and eavesdrop on all the conversations around me. Eavesdropping on cancer conversations is not good. It makes me kind of sad, actually, because it reminds me of all the things I have left to go through.
Drug #3 is my first cancer med - Adriamycin. This is one is delivered by IV push instead of IV drip, so the nurse comes and sits next to me and pushes the medication into the IV slowly through a couple big syringes. The side effects for this beauty are nausea/vomiting, bone marrow suppression (which causes a drop in red and white blood cell and platelet production, and makes you more prone to anemia, infection, and bleeding), hair loss (yup, got that one), mouth sores (I suck on ice chips during the delivery of this drug to shut down my mouth cells so they don't suck up the drug), heart toxicity (there is a lifetime maximum of this drug that you are allowed to be given so as to limit this side effect), urine color change (pink pee!), and fatigue. Needless to say, this one is a fun one. It only takes about 15 minutes to administer. I ask my nurse if it's hard dealing with cancer patients all day. She says, "No, dealing with my teenagers is worse." :)
The last drug is another cancer drug - Cytoxan. This one is another IV drip that is given over 90 minutes. By this time, the clinic is starting to empty out. I pull out my phone and watch an episode of NCIS on Netflix. Thank goodness for wifi! The side effects of this drug are nausea/vomiting, bone marrow suppression, hair loss, bladder inflammation, decreased fertility, and fatigue.
At this point, I've been at the clinic about 5 hours. Once I switch over to the Taxol, it will be a lot shorter, but for now it's a pretty long day. Once the Cytoxan is done, the nurse comes over to place my Neulasta injector. Neulasta is a drug that helps my body make more white blood cells and protect itself against chemotherapy complications like infection. Unfortunately, it comes along with mild to moderate bone pain (caused by your blood marrow going into super production). This is what caused my big headaches in round 1 and what the claritin and pepcid are supposed to help with. The Neulasta is given through an injection - or, in my case, through 2"x 1" auto-injector that it attached to the back of my arm. This makes it so I don't have to drive all the way back down to the clinic just to get an injection - which I appreciate. The nurse places the injector and about 30 seconds later is starts beeping like it's going to explode (maybe I've been watching too much NCIS). It shoots a tiny catheter into my arm so that 27 hours from now it can release the medication.
And that's it. Time to go. After my session, I feel relatively normal. It's hard to explain, but it's kind of like I'm buzzing.....or maybe like I've just been pumped full of drugs for the last 5 hours. Either way, I feel ok and walk back out to my car to drive home. It takes about 2 hours before I start feeling bad, so I have plenty of time to make my 1 hour and 10 minute drive home.
I've figured out how to handle the first day effects better and better as I have my sessions. Slowing down the anti-nausea drugs has lessened but not eliminated the first day headache, so I take an ibuprofen to help with that. I've been craving salty food lately, so I help Husband make some frozen Chinese food. My taste buds have been affected by this process, so spicy and salty foods have tasted pretty good lately. I eat a little food and then settle myself onto the chaise of our couch to await the shitty feelings I know are coming. I sip on club soda to keep my stomach from rolling too badly. Mostly I just try not to move. Even my eyes. If I just sit and not move, I can make it through with only mild discomfort. The nausea is almost always just right on the edge, but I just try not to think about it too much. I have a whole regimen of anti-nausea drugs they have prescribed me, but the only one of them that seems to work is Ativan, which knocks me out for about 8 hours if I take it, so I try only take it when I have to....especially when Husband is home. I try to stay awake for him to try to maintain some sense of normalcy. The dogs, too, seem to sense that something is up and try to squish themselves onto the couch next to me. With Bridger being 100 pounds, this is always a little entertaining to watch.
This week I actually stay up to a normal time and watch a few episodes of Top Chef and Survivor. When it's time for bed I take all my little bottles of medication into the bedroom with me and put them on the nightstand just in case I wake up in the middle of the night feeling sick. I also take 3 Senkot-S tablets to help with the constipation. I will not burden you with all the things I've learned about my digestive tract during this whole experience, but needless to say, it has not been a pleasant learning curve.
The one thing that hasn't been affected by this whole thing is my ability to sleep, so I drift off to sleep pretty easily and wait to see how the rest of this week will play out.
So there you go.....that's what going to chemo is like. On the whole, not too terrible, but not pleasant either. We'll see what tomorrow brings....
No cocktails for me today. Seems like it might be a bad idea. Husband bought some holiday beer on the way home. It's description says it has hints of cinnamon -which makes my stomach do a little flip flop just thinking about it. Sometimes just the suggestion of a particular food or smell is enough to set if off.
So I think you're on your own for a cocktail. Cheers!
Day 1 - Chemotherapy is scheduled for 10:30am at the Front Range Cancer Specialists Office at Poudre Valley Hospital. For the last 2 rounds, Husband has driven me down and back, but he's been really busy at work lately so I decided to see how it was to take myself.
First thing in the morning I got my "Chemo Bag" together: books, magazines, coloring books, food and snacks for lunch, kleenex, pens, chapstick, headphones and ipod, cup for water. I also take a Claritin and a Pepcid. These two normal everyday drugs apparently help counteract the mind-killing headaches I get from the Neulasta injection. I start them the day before to start getting my system ready. I jump in the car at about 9:15am and head down the hill.
When I get to the clinic, I check in with the receptionist (who sometimes remembers my name, but doesn't' recognize me this time with my koala bear face hat and lack of hair). The nurse comes to get me and weighs me in (my favorite part!). Ironically, before I got cancer I was very aware of my weight at all times and have been working on losing weight for the last, I don't know, 800 years. However, since getting the big C, I've been working out less and eating worse food, and have weighed the same at each session. Of course, I eat a lot less during the first week of each round, so maybe that evens things out. Either way, I try not to think about it too much - except at the weigh in.
After the weigh in, I'm taken back to the Chemo Clinic. It's a big room with 3 different groupings of big brown leather recliners. There are windows all around looking out at the surrounding fields and mountains. One wall has a long cabinet on it where people place snacks to share and things that they are passing on to other patients (hats, books, wigs, etc.) There is a refrigerator in the back part of the room for water and to stash lunch if it needs to stay cold. There is also a coffee machine that creates smells that I personally have trouble with when I'm going through my session. There are also about 6 private rooms where patients can go if they don't want to listen/watch others or if they have a bunch of people with them and they want to have some space to themselves.
I usually pick a chair in the back pod facing out at the mountains. This week there are a lot of people in the clinic. My pod has 3 other patients and 2 associated family members. The two ladies across from me are chatting away about their cancer journey - sharing their symptoms and side effects. They are both on their second to last session of Taxol (the drug I switch to in January). They are complaining about the muscle weakness, restless legs, and nueropathy that is causing them to lose feeling in their fingers and toes. They are also comparing how many nails they have lost to the drug. Super! Things to look forward to. The lady to the left of me has immediately fallen asleep and is snoring lightly. I find out later that she has been fighting cancer since 2009. Her breast cancer spread to her liver. She does, however, assure me that the mastectomy surgery was not that bad. I take what I can get.
So after sitting down, my nurse comes to "plug me in". You'll remember that I received a port in my right upper chest which I lovingly refer to as my alien. The nurse cleans off my alien with chemicals that smell really bad to me and make me slightly nauseous. My sense of smell has gotten really sensitive and picky during this process. Some strong smells are ok, but most turn me a little green. She tells me to take a big breath and inserts the needle for my IV into the port. There are three little bumps that you can feel through the skin that she aims for. Each time, the needle breaks the skin, but all it takes is a little band-aid when I'm done.
The nurse takes 3 vials of blood to send off for testing. My Complete Blood Count (CBC) is checked to make I'm handling the drugs ok. If I'm not, I would have to get a blood transfusion. I sit and wait (and eat my pretzels) for about 45 minutes until my CBC comes back normal. So now it's time for the drug therapy.
My first two drugs, Aloxi and Emend, are designed to block the signal that causes nausea and vomiting. The Aloxi also contains a steroid (Decadron) to help with general chemo symptoms. Possible side effects of these two lovely drugs include fatigue, headache, constipation, insomnia, hiccups, and loss of appetite. After the first round, I ended up with a horrible headache on day 1 so my nurse slowed down each of these drugs to be administered over about 45 minutes. It's important to be super hydrated during this who process, so I end up wheeling my little IV stand with me to the bathroom at least 3 times during this 90 minutes. I keep noticing people giving me side long looks and wonder about it until I remember I'm wearing my koala hat. It's so busy and there are so many conversations going on in the clinic that I have a hard time concentrating on anything, so I page through the magazines I brought with me, eat my lunch, and eavesdrop on all the conversations around me. Eavesdropping on cancer conversations is not good. It makes me kind of sad, actually, because it reminds me of all the things I have left to go through.
Drug #3 is my first cancer med - Adriamycin. This is one is delivered by IV push instead of IV drip, so the nurse comes and sits next to me and pushes the medication into the IV slowly through a couple big syringes. The side effects for this beauty are nausea/vomiting, bone marrow suppression (which causes a drop in red and white blood cell and platelet production, and makes you more prone to anemia, infection, and bleeding), hair loss (yup, got that one), mouth sores (I suck on ice chips during the delivery of this drug to shut down my mouth cells so they don't suck up the drug), heart toxicity (there is a lifetime maximum of this drug that you are allowed to be given so as to limit this side effect), urine color change (pink pee!), and fatigue. Needless to say, this one is a fun one. It only takes about 15 minutes to administer. I ask my nurse if it's hard dealing with cancer patients all day. She says, "No, dealing with my teenagers is worse." :)
The last drug is another cancer drug - Cytoxan. This one is another IV drip that is given over 90 minutes. By this time, the clinic is starting to empty out. I pull out my phone and watch an episode of NCIS on Netflix. Thank goodness for wifi! The side effects of this drug are nausea/vomiting, bone marrow suppression, hair loss, bladder inflammation, decreased fertility, and fatigue.
At this point, I've been at the clinic about 5 hours. Once I switch over to the Taxol, it will be a lot shorter, but for now it's a pretty long day. Once the Cytoxan is done, the nurse comes over to place my Neulasta injector. Neulasta is a drug that helps my body make more white blood cells and protect itself against chemotherapy complications like infection. Unfortunately, it comes along with mild to moderate bone pain (caused by your blood marrow going into super production). This is what caused my big headaches in round 1 and what the claritin and pepcid are supposed to help with. The Neulasta is given through an injection - or, in my case, through 2"x 1" auto-injector that it attached to the back of my arm. This makes it so I don't have to drive all the way back down to the clinic just to get an injection - which I appreciate. The nurse places the injector and about 30 seconds later is starts beeping like it's going to explode (maybe I've been watching too much NCIS). It shoots a tiny catheter into my arm so that 27 hours from now it can release the medication.
And that's it. Time to go. After my session, I feel relatively normal. It's hard to explain, but it's kind of like I'm buzzing.....or maybe like I've just been pumped full of drugs for the last 5 hours. Either way, I feel ok and walk back out to my car to drive home. It takes about 2 hours before I start feeling bad, so I have plenty of time to make my 1 hour and 10 minute drive home.
I've figured out how to handle the first day effects better and better as I have my sessions. Slowing down the anti-nausea drugs has lessened but not eliminated the first day headache, so I take an ibuprofen to help with that. I've been craving salty food lately, so I help Husband make some frozen Chinese food. My taste buds have been affected by this process, so spicy and salty foods have tasted pretty good lately. I eat a little food and then settle myself onto the chaise of our couch to await the shitty feelings I know are coming. I sip on club soda to keep my stomach from rolling too badly. Mostly I just try not to move. Even my eyes. If I just sit and not move, I can make it through with only mild discomfort. The nausea is almost always just right on the edge, but I just try not to think about it too much. I have a whole regimen of anti-nausea drugs they have prescribed me, but the only one of them that seems to work is Ativan, which knocks me out for about 8 hours if I take it, so I try only take it when I have to....especially when Husband is home. I try to stay awake for him to try to maintain some sense of normalcy. The dogs, too, seem to sense that something is up and try to squish themselves onto the couch next to me. With Bridger being 100 pounds, this is always a little entertaining to watch.
This week I actually stay up to a normal time and watch a few episodes of Top Chef and Survivor. When it's time for bed I take all my little bottles of medication into the bedroom with me and put them on the nightstand just in case I wake up in the middle of the night feeling sick. I also take 3 Senkot-S tablets to help with the constipation. I will not burden you with all the things I've learned about my digestive tract during this whole experience, but needless to say, it has not been a pleasant learning curve.
The one thing that hasn't been affected by this whole thing is my ability to sleep, so I drift off to sleep pretty easily and wait to see how the rest of this week will play out.
So there you go.....that's what going to chemo is like. On the whole, not too terrible, but not pleasant either. We'll see what tomorrow brings....
No cocktails for me today. Seems like it might be a bad idea. Husband bought some holiday beer on the way home. It's description says it has hints of cinnamon -which makes my stomach do a little flip flop just thinking about it. Sometimes just the suggestion of a particular food or smell is enough to set if off.
So I think you're on your own for a cocktail. Cheers!
Saturday, December 5, 2015
A Toast
My stomach churns as I think about heading into Round 3 of chemo.
This round wasn't horrible. At least that's what I tell myself.
I mentioned this to Husband today and and he said, "Really? You spent 6 days straight on the couch."
Hmmm. I stand corrected.
But nothing was really horrible. An extended course of Claritin headed off the horrible headaches that caused me the most problems during Round 1. Otherwise, I managed to escape with slight nausea and a slight headache for most of the first week.
My eating wasn't quite as affected by this round as it was by the last. I was able to break away from my "white food" diet a couple times. This round I was lucky enough, though, to experience a huge change in my tastebuds (I could eat things, but they didn't taste very good) and a lovely metallic taste in my mouth for the first week. Thank god for the friends who sent me lemon and peppermint candies to counteract the taste.
The second week has been ok, too. I've been run/walking 3-4 miles most days, and generally feel pretty good. I usually have to eat a couple small meals throughout the day to keep my stomach settled. Afternoons usually find me with a headache and a little more fatigue, but at least I haven't been passing out on the couch at 7pm like I did in Round 1.
So, overall, not horrible. But not great either.
Round 2 has, however, brought about the end of my hair. It was coming out in clumps, making a mess, and causing me great distress, so last Saturday I decided to take control and shave it off. Thanks to the support of BFF and Husband, I got through it with no tears.
I will admit that, although there were no tears at the actual shaving, the process of losing my hair is the hardest thing I've gone through so far. As a woman, a lot of my identity and self-image has been built around what I look like with hair.
I am not fond of myself with no hair. I do not enjoy the shape of my head. I will never "like" the way I look with no hair. Right now, I don't even have a nice cleanly shaven head. It's patchy and falling out at different rates depending on where it is on my head. It makes me look sick. And it makes it impossible for to fool myself into thinking that everything is fine.
However, after a week of being depressed and feeling sorry for myself (and a super pep talk by Husband), I have decided that I will get through it.
I am not fond of myself with no hair. I do not enjoy the shape of my head. I will never "like" the way I look with no hair. Right now, I don't even have a nice cleanly shaven head. It's patchy and falling out at different rates depending on where it is on my head. It makes me look sick. And it makes it impossible for to fool myself into thinking that everything is fine.
However, after a week of being depressed and feeling sorry for myself (and a super pep talk by Husband), I have decided that I will get through it.
I have had to do many things I haven't liked in my life. To date, I have gotten through them with grace, success, and courage. This is just another thing. I don't have to like it. I just have to get through it. And, in the process, I will own it.
I will wear many wonderful hats.
And I will break out the purple wig for special occasions.
Perhaps I will have a cocktail. I'm thinking hot chocolate with a little Bailey's Irish Cream?
I think you should have one, too.
A toast to my hair.....and while I'm at it....a toast to all the wonderful people who are taking care of me. Thank you for keeping my spirits high and thinking of all the things I haven't. Cheers!
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Being Thankful
My hair started falling out yesterday.
It's been a full week since I've had any real side effects from the chemo. I tend to get tired around 3pm (pretty reliably) and occasionally still get nauseous first thing in the morning and headaches in the afternoons. But I've been eating real food (YAY!) and feeling generally like myself. I even ran 3 miles this morning (although at a super slow pace).
So the hair thing was a little bit of a shock. But it's right about when they said it would happen - between 14-21 days - and I'm 15 days out today.
I've been trying to tuck my hair into hats and get used to seeing myself with no hair. It's weird though. I may just avoid mirrors for a few months.
Otherwise, I've received a few good pieces of news in the last week. A visit to Dr. M (my oncologist) last week revealed that the tumor appears to have shrunk a little in response to the chemo. I say appears because the first time she measured it was relatively soon after my biopsy and things might have been swollen. So measuring now may not be comparing apples to apples. But at least it hasn't gotten bigger. This is good news.
I also went in on Thursday for an MRI guided biopsy of the lesion in my right breast. Anything smaller that 6mm can't be seen with an ultrasound or a mammogram, so doing a biopsy of this spot required going back into the MRI machine and toughing it through one of the most uncomfortable procedures I've had to date.
Imagine laying on your stomach face down so you can't see anything with your sternum propped up on a hard piece of plastic (no padding) while holding your arms up above your head.
Now do that for about 35 minutes while they wheel you in and out of an MRI (and by the way you can't even move a little bit or they may end up sticking the needle into you in the wrong place), numb up your whole boob and then stick a needle into you.
I imagined it was a yoga pose and practiced deep breathing. "Get comfortable with being uncomfortable".
The news came back good, though. No cancer on the right side.
*Phew*
So tomorrow is chemo day #2. Because I'm trying to get to Thursday as my treatment days, we went a little longer between treatments this time than we normally will. I go on Wednesday this week because who really wants to spend Thanksgiving in the chemo clinic? Not me. But after this, we will be on Thursdays. I guess I should be thankful that I got a few extra days of feeling normal before descending back into the toxic fog.
Last time I had no idea what to expect, so I had nothing really to fear. This time I know what's coming, and although I think I'll be able to fend off the headaches this time, the chemo has a cumulative effect. Which means that side effects get worse each time......so again, I have no idea what to expect.
I am dreading the visual nausea I get from looking at food (Good thing Thanksgiving is the day after treatment!), but have stocked up on the staples I know I can eat. I also happen to be on furlough from work this week and next week, so at least I can just lay around and do nothing guilt free.
I must say, though, that going through this process during the holiday season is giving me a whole new perspective on being thankful for what we have and on appreciating this simple things in life. I hope my dilemma may help you all appreciate those things a little more, too.
Mostly though, I have developed a whole new appreciation for the immense amounts of love I have in my life and for the amazing people that I am blessed to know. I have been overwhelmed by the amount of support, love, and humor that has come my way. Emails, texts, videos, cards, gifts, care packages, flowers, and visits. It's humbling. And it is truly what keeps me going. Thank you to each and every one of you that has spent time thinking about me. It means more than I can ever say or ever repay.
I am constantly being asked, "What do you need?" and "What can I do?".
I have what I need. You all.
You are doing what I need you to do. You are being supportive. You are making me laugh. You are keeping my brain distracted from all the poison that is being pumped into me.
You are reminding me that no matter what happens in this world - love is the answer.
Love heals. Love conquers all. Love wins.
Be thankful for the love you have in your life. More than ever, I know I am.
And now, I am going to have a Thanksgiving cocktail because I can.
I suggest you have one, too.
Cocktail pairing: a nice glass of Murphy's Law Riesling. Cheers!
Friday, November 13, 2015
Feeling Human
Day 5 of chemotherapy.
I feel like a human today.
A very hungry human.
A very hungry human that cannot eat anything because everything she looks at makes her nauseous.
*sigh*
Chemo has been an interesting adventure so far. Mostly because a) I hate being sick, b) I hate being dependent on others, and c) I hate not being in control.
So I guess I should get over that.
So here's how it went:
The chemo clinic is set up to be a nice, comfy place to get toxins pumped into your body. I got to pick a recliner, and then the nurse inserted the catheter into my port which delivers the IV meds directly into my subclavian artery.
The first two bags they hooked up were anti-nausea drugs. They each took about 20 minutes. There is a chance that these drugs can cause headache, as well as a host of other side effects just as bad as the cancer drugs. But I guess its worth it to decrease the nausea.
The third drug the nurse pushed directly into the IV line. This was the first cancer drug - Adriamycin. The cancer drugs kill the fast growing cells in your body. These cells include cancer, hair, and cells like those in your mouth that are replaced quickly. So, since this drug has the possibility of causing mouth sores, I was provided with a popsicle - a green one - to suck on while the drug was being administered. I guess cold stops the cells from absorbing anything new, so with ice in my mouth the mouth cells are less likely to take in the poison. And I got a popsicle.
The fourth drug, Cytoxan, is the other cancer drug. This one took about an hour to drip during which I beat my husband at a nice game of Travel Scrabble (ha ha!).
And then I was done. Easy, huh?
I actually felt pretty good when I was done. No big deal. So we went to Costco and proceeded to buy lots of easy to fix food so that Bryan can feed himself when I'm sick and/or fatigued.
On the way home, things started going down hill.
By the time we got home I had a raging headache, chills, and a stomach that was trying to be anywhere except where a stomach should be.
Prior to my chemo session, I was provided with a whole protocol of what to do in case of nausea, so I started through the list as quickly as I could. First pill - Compazine - didn't work. Thirty VERY long minutes later, I tried the second - Ativan. Ativan is an anti-anxiety drug, but it is also a known reliever of chemotherapy-caused nausea. So not only does it make your stomach feel better, but it makes you feel less stressed about your stomach feeling better. It also "may cause drowsiness" which is medical speak for "It will make you pass the hell out". Which I promptly did. I woke up 6 hours later to no nausea, a slight headache, and a slightly worried husband. And then I went to bed.
Day 2 I felt fine. I went to work. I talked to people. I laughed. Ha ha ha. I actually ate dinner. This chemo isn't so bad!
Day 3 I woke up with a slight headache. I did a few chores around the house. I walked 3 miles on my new treadmill (thanks, husband!). And then the chemo beast reared its ugly head. Like the flip of a switch, I felt like crap. I took an Ativan for the nausea that had just moved in, laid down on the couch, and promptly passed out. Five hours later I woke up to the worst headache I have ever experienced. Every piece of food I looked at made me want to throw up. I tried Tylenol to no avail. I proceeded to lay and whimper on the couch. And then I went to bed just to stop feeling what I was feeling. Blah.
The headache woke me up on Day 4. It alternated between my ears, the top of my head, my temples, and my sinuses. No let up, no relief. I felt like my head was being stabbed repeatedly. I still couldn't look at food, so I ate a dry piece of white toast to keep my stomach from turning. Yum.
Day 4 was also the day for my plastic surgery consult. Lucky me. So not only did I feel like shit, but I got to go talk about the best way to chop off and replace my breasts. The doctor did not endear himself to me when he walked into the exam room and said, "So how can I help you today?"
Really??
He asked a few more stupid questions that I took as flippant and then I repaid him by bursting into tears. Take that!
He excused himself to bring himself up to speed on my case (i.e. actually look at my MRI) and then came back in apologetic and serious and regained my confidence by actually showing that he knew what he was doing. Based on my case, he recommended double mastectomy with a bilateral LD flap procedure. This was basically what I was expecting, so it wasn't too much of a shock. Even though right now I only have a confirmed tumor in my left breast, the right one has an undetermined spot that doesn't show up on mammograms. So how do you track that one? Go in every 6 months and have an MRI? No. Apparently, you just get rid of the breast so you don't have to worry about it and get two matching replacements.
The replacement surgery has lots of options to it, but because I will probably have to have radiation therapy afterwards, it is to my advantage to have a procedure that reuses some of my own tissue. Long story short, they take a large piece of the latissimus dorsi muscle from your back, slide it to the front of your body, and use it help remodel your new breast. Big scars everywhere. Decreased strength in your back for the rest of your life. Not a boob job. I won't go into more detail, but you get the idea.
This is where you have the conversation with yourself about self image and the value of normality. I've had it with myself. It doesn't make any sense.
So all of this occurred while my head was throbbing and I felt like I wanted to die. Perfect.
The one good part of the day was discovering that McDonald's Mango Pineapple smoothies are actually something that taste great and don't make me want to vomit.
After all this fun, I went home, placed a call to the chemo nurses begging for help with my headache, and went to sleep.
The next 8 hours were a blur of trying not to move so as to not get sick and not make my head throb any more then possible. I even tried putting ice packs on my head. Oh....and I was starving but couldn't eat anything.
The nurses eventually called me back and told me to try......wait for it......Ibuprofen. Really? But it worked. I woke up from my next nap with no headache. Hallelujah!
So that brings us to today. Day 5. Me feeling like a human being. I can move my eyes without suffering. I'm not nauseous. I still can't think about food without feeling a little sick, though. So far, I've been able to handle white toast, ginger ale, canteloupe, and, surprisingly, pumpkin spice muffins from Costco. Baby steps, I guess.
I'm hoping this will continue through the next week or so. I've got a check up with my oncologist on Monday to see how I'm handling things. (Hah!) I don't have another chemo session until the day before Thanksgiving which, if it follows the pattern, may mean that I'll feel ok for the holiday.
At least I know more about what to expect now. So I guess I'll work with it and just keep trying to feel human. Definitely something I've come to appreciate more lately. Funny how it takes things like this to remind us of the simple things. You're welcome. :)
There is no way in hell I can even think about having a cocktail right now.
But you should definitely have one for me.
I feel like a human today.
A very hungry human.
A very hungry human that cannot eat anything because everything she looks at makes her nauseous.
*sigh*
Chemo has been an interesting adventure so far. Mostly because a) I hate being sick, b) I hate being dependent on others, and c) I hate not being in control.
So I guess I should get over that.
So here's how it went:
The chemo clinic is set up to be a nice, comfy place to get toxins pumped into your body. I got to pick a recliner, and then the nurse inserted the catheter into my port which delivers the IV meds directly into my subclavian artery.
The first two bags they hooked up were anti-nausea drugs. They each took about 20 minutes. There is a chance that these drugs can cause headache, as well as a host of other side effects just as bad as the cancer drugs. But I guess its worth it to decrease the nausea.
The third drug the nurse pushed directly into the IV line. This was the first cancer drug - Adriamycin. The cancer drugs kill the fast growing cells in your body. These cells include cancer, hair, and cells like those in your mouth that are replaced quickly. So, since this drug has the possibility of causing mouth sores, I was provided with a popsicle - a green one - to suck on while the drug was being administered. I guess cold stops the cells from absorbing anything new, so with ice in my mouth the mouth cells are less likely to take in the poison. And I got a popsicle.
The fourth drug, Cytoxan, is the other cancer drug. This one took about an hour to drip during which I beat my husband at a nice game of Travel Scrabble (ha ha!).
And then I was done. Easy, huh?
I actually felt pretty good when I was done. No big deal. So we went to Costco and proceeded to buy lots of easy to fix food so that Bryan can feed himself when I'm sick and/or fatigued.
On the way home, things started going down hill.
By the time we got home I had a raging headache, chills, and a stomach that was trying to be anywhere except where a stomach should be.
Prior to my chemo session, I was provided with a whole protocol of what to do in case of nausea, so I started through the list as quickly as I could. First pill - Compazine - didn't work. Thirty VERY long minutes later, I tried the second - Ativan. Ativan is an anti-anxiety drug, but it is also a known reliever of chemotherapy-caused nausea. So not only does it make your stomach feel better, but it makes you feel less stressed about your stomach feeling better. It also "may cause drowsiness" which is medical speak for "It will make you pass the hell out". Which I promptly did. I woke up 6 hours later to no nausea, a slight headache, and a slightly worried husband. And then I went to bed.
Day 2 I felt fine. I went to work. I talked to people. I laughed. Ha ha ha. I actually ate dinner. This chemo isn't so bad!
Day 3 I woke up with a slight headache. I did a few chores around the house. I walked 3 miles on my new treadmill (thanks, husband!). And then the chemo beast reared its ugly head. Like the flip of a switch, I felt like crap. I took an Ativan for the nausea that had just moved in, laid down on the couch, and promptly passed out. Five hours later I woke up to the worst headache I have ever experienced. Every piece of food I looked at made me want to throw up. I tried Tylenol to no avail. I proceeded to lay and whimper on the couch. And then I went to bed just to stop feeling what I was feeling. Blah.
The headache woke me up on Day 4. It alternated between my ears, the top of my head, my temples, and my sinuses. No let up, no relief. I felt like my head was being stabbed repeatedly. I still couldn't look at food, so I ate a dry piece of white toast to keep my stomach from turning. Yum.
Day 4 was also the day for my plastic surgery consult. Lucky me. So not only did I feel like shit, but I got to go talk about the best way to chop off and replace my breasts. The doctor did not endear himself to me when he walked into the exam room and said, "So how can I help you today?"
Really??
He asked a few more stupid questions that I took as flippant and then I repaid him by bursting into tears. Take that!
He excused himself to bring himself up to speed on my case (i.e. actually look at my MRI) and then came back in apologetic and serious and regained my confidence by actually showing that he knew what he was doing. Based on my case, he recommended double mastectomy with a bilateral LD flap procedure. This was basically what I was expecting, so it wasn't too much of a shock. Even though right now I only have a confirmed tumor in my left breast, the right one has an undetermined spot that doesn't show up on mammograms. So how do you track that one? Go in every 6 months and have an MRI? No. Apparently, you just get rid of the breast so you don't have to worry about it and get two matching replacements.
The replacement surgery has lots of options to it, but because I will probably have to have radiation therapy afterwards, it is to my advantage to have a procedure that reuses some of my own tissue. Long story short, they take a large piece of the latissimus dorsi muscle from your back, slide it to the front of your body, and use it help remodel your new breast. Big scars everywhere. Decreased strength in your back for the rest of your life. Not a boob job. I won't go into more detail, but you get the idea.
This is where you have the conversation with yourself about self image and the value of normality. I've had it with myself. It doesn't make any sense.
So all of this occurred while my head was throbbing and I felt like I wanted to die. Perfect.
The one good part of the day was discovering that McDonald's Mango Pineapple smoothies are actually something that taste great and don't make me want to vomit.
After all this fun, I went home, placed a call to the chemo nurses begging for help with my headache, and went to sleep.
The next 8 hours were a blur of trying not to move so as to not get sick and not make my head throb any more then possible. I even tried putting ice packs on my head. Oh....and I was starving but couldn't eat anything.
The nurses eventually called me back and told me to try......wait for it......Ibuprofen. Really? But it worked. I woke up from my next nap with no headache. Hallelujah!
So that brings us to today. Day 5. Me feeling like a human being. I can move my eyes without suffering. I'm not nauseous. I still can't think about food without feeling a little sick, though. So far, I've been able to handle white toast, ginger ale, canteloupe, and, surprisingly, pumpkin spice muffins from Costco. Baby steps, I guess.
I'm hoping this will continue through the next week or so. I've got a check up with my oncologist on Monday to see how I'm handling things. (Hah!) I don't have another chemo session until the day before Thanksgiving which, if it follows the pattern, may mean that I'll feel ok for the holiday.
At least I know more about what to expect now. So I guess I'll work with it and just keep trying to feel human. Definitely something I've come to appreciate more lately. Funny how it takes things like this to remind us of the simple things. You're welcome. :)
There is no way in hell I can even think about having a cocktail right now.
But you should definitely have one for me.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
The Scar Project
This finally put words to some of the things I that have been going through my head.
I will be fine.
But I will never be the same.
More images from the The Scar Project:
I will be fine.
But I will never be the same.
More images from the The Scar Project:
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