December 19, 2006 § 9 Comments
I was told to post regularly, I ignored that. I was told to pass on posting if there’s nothing worth posting about. That made sense. I’m back, and a little transparent.
I felt great last week, so I didn’t write. Not just great for a person with cancer, I felt regular anybody great. Angst was at a minimum, there was a break in the battery of Dr’s appointments and the worst of the meds had managed to move through me with predictable albeit mild effect.
Last week was shockingly ordinary. I forgot about my condition. I packed lunches for my daughter and most days pulled off pick-up. There were the usual baths and later than usual bedtimes and we celebrated Hanukkah. I exercised, I had an appetite, I stayed awake, I made holiday cards and healthy dinners, I worked and even worked-out. I went to NYC for business and the only tell of things to come were two odd appointments to look at wigs.
There wasn’t much to blog about last week, so I didn’t.
My second treatment was yesterday.
Appointment reminder for Monday 12/18/206
1:00pm CHAIR 20
An appointment with CHAIR 20 just sounds nicer than an appointment with CHAIR 22. My luck turned for the better yet again, when last minute musical chairs placed me CHAIR 18. In my shtettle (little village), the number 18 is a very good number, one of the best. It’s associated with the Jewish word Chai, meaning life and good luck and I welcomed a good omen just before chemotherapy.
Two treatments down and I feel pretty good. My other Oncologist, Steve Rosenoff and the personal guardian angel of cancer girls everywhere (also Sarah’s dad), told me that the first chemo treatment often predicts tolerance over-all. This was tremendous news forme since other than exhaustion and vice grips in my gut I took the toxins well and the week after I was somewhat energized and in good spitirts.
All along I had been bracing myself for a cumulative awful effect and hideous physical surprises from rapidly dividing cell points. Stomach pain, mouth sores, nausea and vomiting and many more revolting things if you like at http://www.chemotherapy.com
The fatigue will increase as my bone marrow takes a beating, but if I did not wretch my guts out after the first treatment and suffer from sores and gastro disasters, I’m most likely off the hook. With that good news in hand, I feel so much better about going forward.
I’ve borrowed from the horticulturalists and am visualizing pruning. With every treatment I receive, I get stronger. One part action hero, one part of cheerleader, and nothing but positive thoughts.
Treatment weeks I’ll lay low, and the week after I’ll make up for lost time. I love having a plan.
While I’ve gone lazy on writing, the anecdotes have been piling up.
My dense dosing of chemo requires a shot to boost my white blood cells. I was in for the requisite prick today when my Oncologist Dr Steve Come approached me. He pulled up a chair and got comfortable and cozy as I awaited the injection. I was surprised that he took the time to hang with me, and more surprised that he closed his eyes and cringed when I received the shot.
I came the appointment wearing one of two new fetching wigs. I asked Dr Come what he thought and he was more hair-centric than expected. “Henna?” He was close. Indeed, I had ventured boldly into the world of red for fun.
“Blah blah blah you are doing well, that’s good. You are ½ way through the worst of it. Blah Blah blad. The new anti nausea stuff is pretty terrific blah blah blah. You know those pictures you took of the treatment area and of the nurse, Julie and of the chair.”
“The lawyers have very strict rules and they do not allow photography in the treatment area, blah blah blah they brought this to my attention.”
“The attorneys contacted you about the pictures of the treatment area on my blog!”
“I think it’s fine. I htink it’s great that you’ve been writing. but but but….the lawyers have rules and can you remove them from your blog”
Not even chemotherapy can stop me from making waves. The posting from December 5, was aptly titles, “before they put the cabash on photos”. Turns out they put the cabash on the photos. So much for that documentary.
Next post it’s all about my hair.