Chemo Number Six

You know it's going to be a rough day when you get nauseous from chemo before its even done being administered. Whew.

My sweet and very dear friend, Tami, joined me today and oddly enough we were both so excited about today's chemo! Anytime you give two stay-at-home moms a five hour stretch of uninterrupted, kid-free time, it's sort of like Christmas came early. Ok, the only interruptions were the IV insertion (which made me sweat with discomfort), going over my blood results (which are even lower than last time so I am very susceptible to infection and if they get lowered, treatment will be delayed or my dosage lowered) or the patient behind me hiccuping relentlessly (another lovely side effect of chemo) which sounded curiously like throwing up. I would be alright with a lower dose of chemo - this stuff is kickin' my too skinny butt right now.

At any rate, I have discovered how precious time with friends is. Two months ago I knew there was a chance I was going to meet my Maker and with that comes many goodbyes to my loved ones. And my group of loved ones extends even further than my family - so now that I have a new lease on life - however long that may be- I don't want to waste any opportunities spending quality time with dear friends. So if you hear me attempting to make coffee dates or movie nights or even MAC makeovers- you'll know why. I need to celebrate this life and the people that are in it. Too bad it took cancer to help me focus on the simple, beautiful things that are friendships.

Some random side notes:

1) Mouth sores are ridiculous. They give me a whole new respect for chemo patients everywhere. When I even feel like eating (many times I don't), it hurts. Bad. I've tried salt water swishing religiously. They have invented something called a "magic mouthwash" and if its as great as it sounds, I should be running to my fridge right now and grab it. As soon as I don't feel like I'm going to throw up, I'll do just that.

2) It's still very weird to not have hair. I look like Sinead O Connor. Minus the benefit of the good voice. It's those moments every morning before I get in the shower that cause me to pause in front of the mirror - definitely not out of vanity - but out of shock of my reflection. I look sick. I have no hair and my body is very thin, pale and dry-skinned. I don't even recognize that woman staring back at me. And don't get me started on the circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer can well, conceal. Again, I need to focus on the fact that its a small price to pay for these drugs saving my life. Letting me see my kids grow up. But it still doesn't lessen the blow when I see my own reflection.

3) These last three treatments are going to be rough - I already know that. I will try my best to see the silver lining. Feel free to comment some encouragement - I will need it in the weeks ahead. February 28th is my last treatment. I will make it through to the other side of this journey.

4) I am spacey. My new anti-nausea drugs do wonders (most of the time, apparently not today) for my stomach, but they make me unable to complete thought processes. I mean like staring at the TV and thinking very s-l-o-w-l-y "Hmm. He is wearing an orange shirt" and really not even absorbing what that means. Or staring at at my pills and not really comprehending what ones I should take. So that spaciness begins at 8 p.m. tonight and lasts for five days. You've been warned.

My favorite thing my husband has said in awhile? Me: "Babe, are you wierded out that I don't have anything on my head right now?"
Colin: "I don't love you for your hair."

Be still my heart.

Goodbye Hair, My Old Friend

After peering at the shower drain this morning and seeing a ginormous glob of my hair, I realized this was probably the time to shave my head. My hair has been steadily shedding for some time now, but it was this last treatment that was very effectively on my rapidly growing cells, apparently. I won't lie - I thought this step of my cancer journey would be fairly easy. It isn't. My head looks like Demi Moore's on the movie "GI Jane". Except I don't have the benefit of the shock of beautiful dark features like Demi. And it's cold. So cold. At any rate, this really is a small price to pay for chemo saving my life. Right? Right. I'll keep telling myself that when I have to wear hats around the clock.

This picture is very telling while Colin is shaving my head:

Colin said it would still be noticeable at the longer length when it continues to shed, so Samuel took it down even further:


I will now feel compelled to wear makeup equivalent to that of a drag queen to feel feminine.

My hair will grow back. I only have three more treatments. I can do this.

PET Scan

So I told you I would do a post about my PET scan and here it is. Below is a picture of the PET scan machine which I have come to loath for some reason. Shall we say that I have become a bit claustrophobic since having to go through all these medical procedures? I have. I've had two PET scans, numerous CT scans, a bone marrow biopsy, a few x-rays and they have all taken their toll on my mental stability. A week ago Friday I had my usual monthly meeting with my oncologist and she let me know that I had to get a PET scan in the next couple of days before my next chemo - and then she apologized for the "miscommunication". In my mind, I didn't have a need for a PET scan until I had done the full four months of chemo to see if the cancer was gone. However, they test for the cancer after only two months and if the person is in full remission at that point, then they finish up with two more rounds of chemo - just to make sure the cancer is good and gone. I have been dreading this next PET scan mostly because they strap my head down to the table (a "gentle reminder", as the techs always say) and I have to go in this tube for around 15 minutes - in and out, in and out. And since I let my mind run away with itself sometimes, as I am stuck in this tube, I start thinking how I can't get out. Even if I wanted to.

Well, when my oncologist told me I would have this PET scan on Monday, that meant I only had two days to panic over this next PET scan. Oh, and I also worry about the results of said scan, not just the claustrophobic part. So, I spent the weekend trying to forget about Monday, but shockingly, Monday still came. My appointment was at 2 p.m. and at about 8 a.m. that morning, I informed Colin I would be taking an Ativan (my pills meant for nausea, but also have a very nice relaxing effect) before the appointment. Why spend the entire appointment being nervous when I didn't have to be, right? Colin warned me that I could get pulled over for driving under the influence if I took that pill. I politely informed him that I would take my chances. On the drive, however, I decided that perhaps I should lean on God instead of these marvelous little pills. As scary as that decision was, I began to pray. I prayed for a supernatural calm to take over while I would be in that machine. And God never arrives early, does He? :)

After they injected me with the IV dye and I had to let it "soak" for sixty minutes (I spent the time listening to my pastor on my iPhone, which helped), I headed into the scan. I was still nervous at this point. It wasn't until I was literally in the middle of the machine that I completely calmed down. And we aren't talking just mildly calm. I actually was thinking-about-the-chicken-noodle-soup-in-my-fridge-at-home calm. What a relief and and incredible answer to prayer.

Of course, I wouldn't ever judge anyone for taking that Ativan :) - this was just my experience with this particular scan.

Chemo #5

Whew! I had my fifth chemo treatment today and can I be honest? Chemo is starting to kick my butt. Bone aches, nausea, fatigue, mouth sores, dry eyes - I have truly become a hot mess. And I'm not even sure about the hot part. Because I am stinkin' freezing half of the time. I miss being in church and just may sneak out with my gas mask on and go one of these Saturday nights. Not only that, we prepared our first bottle of formula ever tonight. For me, that's a big deal. It's sad and frustrating to not be able to provide milk for my baby. It also makes me tired to think that I may have four more months of "treatments" (that really is such a romantic word for chemo and often give the nurses a sinister chuckle when they refer to it as such) depending on how yesterday's PET scan lights up, or hopefully it won't light up at all. But I will do a entire post devoted to yesterday's scan because it turned out to be a pretty cool story.

So I have mentioned a few times to others that there really is no privacy for cancer patients - you sit in with a bunch of other chemo patients and hear all of their woes - and it always, I mean always, involves talk of bowel movements. Well, I called Hector the Pharmacist (my current favorite man on the planet (sorry Colin - but anyone that gives me shiny new anti-nausea meds is the man of the hour) over to my chemo station today and discussed a change in meds. The conversation always begins like this: "Hector, my meds ARE NOT WORKING. Please give me something stronger for preventative anti-nausea." And today I was that patient talking about bowel movements for everyone to hear. Did I mention my pride left me long, long ago? It does that with cancer. Right around the time you start chemo and hair starts shedding in droves and your eyes are always blood shot or you have to share openly how many times a week you poop in front of many other people. Yep, I'm pretty humble at this point. So, when Hector offered me an anti-nausea patch to put behind my ear and apologized that it would look a bit odd and did I mind? I laughed. I laughed hard and long and shared that I have no vanity left, Hector. We laughed about a lot of things. Like when he told me to take like six laxative/stool softeners tonight and for the next few days. I had to ask Hector if I could even go out in public in the next few days or should I stay close to home?? And then Hector laughed. Hard. I love Hector - and I just enjoyed his company today - and the prescriptions he sent me home with :)

I think I've had a pretty good attitude so far and I'm allowed a day to have a bad one, right? My white blood cells are hanging above neutropenic (the official term for low white cells), but as the nurse put it today "you don't have many soldiers fighting in your immune system" so avoid sick kids. Insert another cynical laugh :). Also? I have to use a separate bathroom than my family for five days after chemo because the chemicals are excreted in body fluids and I can't let anyone come in contact with that. Oh, and the nurse said no kissing and use condoms. Yep, she did it. Apparently she even tells eighty year old couples to use condoms. I didn't even know how to reply to that one.

This truly is a refining process and if I need four more months of treatment, so be it. I will just be really refined by the end of this, right?

Samuel's 7th Birthday

Samuel's birthday is on New Year's Eve and I think this one was his favorite yet. I asked him what he wanted to eat, start to finish, for the whole day. He requested pancakes for breakfast (and no, not the spelt blueberry ones, the white trashy ones :)), Vietnamese restaurant for lunch and homemade pizzas that we "decorate" ourselves for dinner. He didn't even want fun Sunshine pizza for an outing. So, he got all his food wishes granted. He also wanted to go bowling and ask a few friends to come along. Luckily these friends obliged even though it was completely last minute. Here are some pictures, totally out of order (sorry - I can blame my lack of organization on chemo brain, right??).

Juliet eating at the Vietnamese restaurant:And excited about it! My children LOVE the vegetarian rice noodle soup bowls - weird children, they are.
Samuel even attempted chopsticks.
This is what Abe did most of the time. Easy peasy!
And firs thing that morning, Colin bestowed Samuel with a bb gun. He was extremely excited! He also received a vat of Legos and some other specialty sets as well.
Such a cute picture of Wes, Samuel, Steve and Jude at the bowling alley.
Jude loves sugar more than life itself so he was pretty excited about this chocolate cake!
Here is the whole crew partaking in the birthday cake.
Samuel and I - do you mamas ever notice how little you are actually in family photos?
Yes, Jude chooses his own clothes.
Here's the whole crew! Ruby, Steve, Sissy, Wes, Samuel, Steve, Jude, Eli and Wyatt.

Eli bowling.

Ruby enjoying her cake.
Samuel enjoying thoroughly one of his presents.
Sissy is SUPER excited about bowling!

And she picked out her own very pink ball with Grandpa's help.
Samuel's about to blow out his candles.
Sissy really enjoyed helping me make frosting that morning - and of course she had to test it to make sure it wasn't poison.
John sweetly took Sissy to wash her hands.
Action photo.
And Tiffany was the baby whisperer for me. Bless her heart.

Half Way Done, Yo! (chemo number four)

Today was my fourth chemo infusion and this marks my halfway point assuming I get a clean pet scan after the next four. Today was amazing! I had my aunt, a breast cancer survivor and fellow believer, by my side to join for the fun. As soon as the IV started dripping, we bowed together, held hands and prayed. We prayed for less nausea, for the chemo to attack my cancer and leave my healthy cells alone, for my organs to be protected from these harsh drugs and for us to be shining the Lords light to those sweet souls around us. It really is cool to start chemo in prayer. It just feels right. We had so much fun laughing, hashing out family history, snacking, Facebooking, reading and studying those around me. My nurse was a bit brash and I definetly wouldn't choose her again, but in the end I got my seven drugs and went on my way. I have already been hit with queasiness, so I am giving myself permission to take the most effective pill (my happy pill) and not feel guilty about it. We had a man across from me who needed urgent medical attention with all staff pretty much running to his side and there was a call placed on the "red" phone to possibly transport him to the ER. I politely excused myself with my IV pole to the bathroom- the less of those images I have in my head, the better. Cancer is real tough sometimes and I am praying that doesn't become my story.

It's Colin and my fourteenth anniversary today. If you had a crystal ball on our wedding day and told me that 14 years from that day I would be "celebrating" in a chemo chair, filling my body with poison, I would have been certain I could never do that. We won't get to celebrate our anniversary today because I am wiped out and a bit loopy. We won't celebrate today because I am fighting for my life against these nasty cells. But two or so months from now, I am going to celebrate. Big time. That God got me through cancer mightily and I will live to tell my story. I will celebrate my husband and my bond that has become tighter than ever. I will celebrate every donated bottle of milk, every prayer raised up on my behalf, every encouraging message or card. I will celebrate that I am not cancer- it was just something I was diagnosed with once. Is it premature to make these declarations? Perhaps. But I don't feel like this isthe Lord's time to call me home.