Muslin

I think if anyone who is 40 were to sit down and think objectively about it, they would recognize that life on earth has a beginning, a middle, and an end.  Being realistic, they would agree that their life is likely closer to the middle or the end than the beginning.  Having stage 3 cancer certainly brings this fact into focus.  I was always aware that life can end at any hour, but being handed the garment of mortality and asked to try it on, I can see that it looks much different up close.  On the rack, it barely captures your notice.  It's more like a dress maker's cheap muslin that they use to fashion a pattern out of before they cut the expensive fabric.  When you try it on, it's something else.  It's costly and delicate and too rare and exquisite to replace.  Well, I've tried it on, and I've decided to leave it for another day.  I like my muslin.  It's quick, and it's light.  It doesn't hide my flaws, and it doesn't matter if I step on the hem while I'm dancing with Midori.  It's a good week.  I'm feeling well.  I'm hoping the off treatment weeks will continue to be kind to me.

The Spirit is Willing, but the Flesh is Weak

I had my first round of chemo on Friday which involves being infused with a bunch of stuff over several  hours.  There are a bunch of drugs they give you so you can tolerate the chemo.  The actual chemo drugs for the first four rounds are Adriamycin and Cytoxan which my oncologist describes as the "boot camp of chemo".  The Adriamycin is the more intimidating of the two.  Rather than let it drip like all of the other stuff, they bring it in a giant syringe and sit with you while they push it to make sure you don't have a heart attack.  It's red, and it makes your urine/sweat/tears red. The nurse didn't find a MUGA (?) heart scan in my  records so she was reluctant to give it to me.  We had to wait until she got hold of my doctor and received his confidence that my heart could handle it.  The anti-nausea drugs they give you post chemo work well so I only felt a general queasiness and was able to keep eating each day (though I have no appetite).  The biggest side effect so far is that everything, including breathing, is simply exhausting.

I went back to work yesterday.  It was not easy.  I tried to  go today.  I got up and laid around the shower floor long enough to wash myself.  I tried for 2 hours total to get ready between several rest breaks until I gave up.  I slept until 5pm.  I had a bunch of weird nightmares.  I'm feeling quite a bit better at the moment (able to sit upright in bed and type) so I expect tomorrow to go better.  Kevin is at rehearsal for  the Faure Requiem. His  school is doing it with orchestra and combined choruses the evening after round two of chemo.  It's been in the plan since before the cancer.  He said, it's too bad, because I've done it before and had mentioned I wanted to sing it.  It seems funny the things people think about who are able to do the things that people do.  It's funny how quickly you become someone who doesn't know what you'll be able to do tomorrow.

Crazy is the New Normal

Monday morning about 2am Kevin gets me out of bed with severe chest pain, can hardly breathe, move, talk.  I call 911.  The parmamedics come and take Kevin to Overlake ER with me following behind.  Thank God Shelley is there to stay with Midori while we take off in wee hours.  It turns out Kevin has gall stones.  They admit him and get him on the surgery schedule for Monday afternoon.  They expect him to go home that evening or more likely Tuesday morning.  Once he's got his pain under control and is in a room, I decide to drive home (before I fall asleep) and pack a bag.  The surgery went fine.  The doctor said his gall bladder was massively inflamed so they want to keep him overnight on antibiotics and monitor his liver function.

Later blood tests reveal his bilirubin is high which indicates an issue with his liver most likely, because a stone was left behind and is interfering with the entrance to the liver.  He will need another procedure to go in and see what the problem is and hopefully remove the obstruction which is hopefully a gall stone.  The earliest they can get him on the schedule is 3:30 Wednesday.  They say he might be able to go home the same day.  Being familiar with the number of hours in a day, again I am skeptical that given the start time that will actually happen.  The procedure involves putting a scope down his esophagus.  They described it like a colonoscopy but in reverse.

On the heels of getting this news, we get a call from Kevin's brother that his mother is in an ambulance on her way to Overlake with chest pain.  I was able to take Kevin downstairs in a wheel chair to sit with her.  Long story short, after several hours of testing, they determine it's most likely not a heart attack.  There are a couple of things the doctor suspects it might be so they and release her with instructions to follow up with the cardiologist and gastroenterologist.

I leave Kevin (who is now yellow) to take Kevin's mom to her car.  In the time I'm away they realize the I.V. has been displaced and the fluid has just been collecting in his right arm.  The I.V. tech is on the way to move the I.V.  

Reasons I am starting to wonder if I am caught in an M. Night Shyamalan movie: 

Kevin is yellow.

Two nurses come to Kevin's room today and say they are going to every room in the hospital doing a skin study and would it be okay for them to "look at his bottom".  They look for like three seconds.  After they leave, I say I think the study is really to determine how many people will consent to showing their bottoms.

Kevin's mom rides the ambulance all the way from work to the hospital.  When they are nearing the entrance, some lady is honking.  It turns out her purse rode the bumper of the ambulance and survived all the way from work, on the freeway, to the hospital.

When I get back to the hospital, because of the fluid collection, it looks like Kevin's right bicep is twice the size of his left bicep.  (Remember that guy in Lady of the Lake that only works out one side of his body?)

I've been going around since Monday wee hours without my prosthetic.  Retail price is $330.  I need to be careful with it, because insurance will not cover a replacement.  Need to store it in a special case when I'm not wearing it.  Didn't have enough space in the wheeled suitcase for the storage case, and I don't have enough strength to tote around several bags.  I did leave it in the car just in case. (Just in case of what I'm not sure).  It's amazing what level of bizarre becomes normal in a short time.

Happy Mother's Day

With Mother's Day just around the corner, I'm thinking of some of the women in my life that I love.

Lanae, you don't have children, and your mom is in heaven, but you collect wanderers and orphans to mother.  You are fiercely loyal to those you choose as family.  You suffer long with those you love, and you lift them up.  You nurse them until they can fly, and if that's never you keep their vigil just the same.  You have the fight and the hope of the frontier in your blood.  

Shelley, although you live on the other side of the country, our lives have run in parallel in many ways for many years.  We were born a week apart.  We were engaged and married in a similar time frame.  We were expecting our first children at the same time at the age of 37.  When our children were born a week apart from each other, my joy was complete.  I'm so grateful you're here now giving me the gift of simply being present.  There is a lot we could say to each other, but we don't actually need words to uphold the bond of our friendship nor to span the distance between us.  Although a lot of the biggest things in our lives have tended to run in tandem with each other, I'm so relieved that you are only my companion on this journey rather than having to fight this fight yourself.  I don't know how to describe my relief in a way that is not just an enormous understatement.  It makes me weep to think about how grateful I am.  

Kara, you are probably the best mom there is.  I've known you since I was six and you were five.  I neglected my friendship with you when I was going through a dark time.  I basically let it lapse when you were expecting your second child.  It had a lot to do with my own depression, broken relationship, and grief at the time, because I believed I would likely not be blessed with a child.  I'm so grateful you are part of my life again.  The fact that we have reconnected is truly one of the bright spots of this disease.  

Tina, you were such an important part of my childhood, and I was so happy to reconnect with you on facebook.  It was a delight to attend your fortieth birthday party while you were here.  I asked you to fill me in on your daily life as a reprieve from cancer talk, and I have been so blessed with your correspondence from afar.  It is a joy to hear about your family.  You have been so faithful in caring for me in this way, and you can't know what a difference it makes to me.

Alina, you literally came across the world to be with me when I needed you the most.  You put your life on hold to fetch and carry and fold laundry and feed me and take Midori to the potty and so much more.  Thank you so much for your sacrifice, practical support, prayer, and commitment to "shop for the cure". May God reward you richly.  

Alma, you are such a strong and Godly woman.  I stand in awe to see how you manage life's circumstances with love, faith, and grace.  You are beautiful and amazing.  I hope some of that will rub off on me.  

Anita, you are so fiesty and full of life and have such a heart for your grandbabies.   I think if I had to think of a way to describe your spirit I would say, life is short so don't beat around the bush.  If you love someone, tell em, and if you can't stand someone give em the finger.  (BTW, I'm glad I'm on the the loved list!)  

Amber, I'm so proud of the wife and mother you've become even though you started out so young.  I've told you this before, but I'll say it again.  I'm supposed to be the older sister and example, but I look up to you in so many ways.  

Then of course there is my mom.  She would sooner sprout a third hand than actually log onto blogspot, but what I'm thinking about her is that she suffered a lot of hardships in her life, but she did the best she could with what she knew.  Although she did not always demonstrate it well, I know she loves me.  She'll be 83 this summer.  I'm so grateful that she's lived to get to know her granddaughter.    

There are women I work with (and wives of men I work with) who balance work, family, and unfortunately breast cancer in some cases.   They have visited, sent gifts, cards, thoughts, prayers, food, beauty tips, etc.  I miss you gals.

There are all the women saints of the church who have also sent cards, gifts, food, prayers, advice, and encouragement without whom my days would no doubt be darker. 

I love you all and many others very much, and wish you a happy Mother's Day.  I know this occasion means something different to each of you.  To me, every day that I have life is Mother's Day, Fourth of July, Easter, and New Year's Eve rolled into one.

(p.s. Guys, I love you too, and am grateful for your love, help, and presence.  Let's make a date for me to sing your praises in June.)

Reasonable Looking

I've had a few fun days with my best friend from Florida.  She took a side trip up north to see her mom and will be back tomorrow.  Midori likes playing with Griffin who is a week younger than she is.  However, she needs to work on her sharing skills.  She's been talking in her sleep saying, "I don't want to share with Griffin!"  I met with the surgeon yesterday.  He said the wound is healing nicely.  I can start easing into some of my usual activity.  He said I'm not likely to hurt the wound, but I am likely to hurt myself if I over do it.  He advised me to "use common sense."  Midori spent the night with the nanny.  I can't wait until she gets home so I can pick her up, carry her, etc.  I'm not sure how commonly sensible I will be with her given that the surgeon gave me close to what I'm going to interpret as a green light.  I just miss carrying her, and she will see it as a sign that I am better if I can pick her up.  Still no bating or swimming for the full 6 weeks post surgery.  He referred me to a physical therapy program specifically for those undergoing cancer treatment.  It will address my frozen shoulder, lymphedema prevention, and other pain resulting from future treatment.  The physical therapy in this program is directed by a physician.  I have my first two appointments (one with the doc, and one with the PT) scheduled for 5/19.  The surgeon wants to see me again in four months.  The highlight of yesterday was getting my prosthetic breast.  It's much more reasonable looking and feeling than the cotton thing you get to wear following surgery.  Apparently, I'm about a size 7L.  Speaking of reasonable looking, I just ordered a book for my Kindle called, "Beauty Pearls for Chemo Girls".  One of my friends at work sent me an article about it, and it seems promising.  (Thanks T.)  Gonna go read it and lay around.  Happy Mothers Day!