Here's what I'm thinking. My husband has NO clue what it is like to live in the brain of a Mom. The things that keep me up at night, he blissfully sleeps through. I take care of the "management" of this family. I remember the kids' likes and dislikes (no, Brooklynn does not like mayo on her sandwich, how do you not know that yet?), I remember their schedules, I pay our bills and do our banking, I notice when we are on the last roll of toilet paper, I see grubby handprints all over the windows and light switches, I know that my kids are due for their eye exams and that their dentist appointments are next week, I remember how overdue we are for an oil change and I notice when we're almost driving on fumes, I know when the kids are on their last pair of socks and we'd better tackle the pile in the laundry room, I send out Christmas cards and wrap all the gifts, I plan the meals beyond his repertoire - frozen pizza, Subway, sandwiches, and mac and cheese... I know things behind the scenes that my husband doesn't seem to. Or is quite happy to remain oblivious to because they magically get taken care of. I have this constantly whirring Mom computer racing through my head that keeps track of this crap so that my husband doesn't have to. But suddenly, I feel like I need to let him into my brain. Because I honestly don't have room in my there right now for all the things that used to fit. I'm slipping in the Momanager department and need to help him step up and shine.
I quizzed him this morning. I need to start downloading my constantly whirring to-do list brain into his, so I thought I'd run a few basic knowledge questions by him.
What time does Sparks start?
- 5:30 - Well, wrong, it starts at 6, but at least if you go then you'll be early for the meetings.
What time does the kids' bell ring after school?"
- 3:05 - wrong, 2:53, but that was pretty close. I'll give you that one. Unless you have to pick them up. Then show up at 2:53 so they're not the last kids on the playground.
How do you register the girls for Girl Guides every September?
- Umm...phone Phoebe. She'll tell me how. LOL Okay, I'll give him that one, that would work.
How much did it cost to sign Connor up for Scouts this year?
- Too much. Okay, I'll give him that one, too!
What's the password for our email? Or hydro bill. Or Telus bill... or etc, because darnit, each password has to be slightly different.
- I don't know. I just pull up the email and it's saved on there. Maybe you should write that one down for me.
Who's our mortgage broker?
- The lady on the billboard. (Okay half points for that one)
And how do you get a hold of her?
- Drive to the billboard and copy down her number. (Alright, fine... I'll give him that, too)
Etc. etc.
He argued after the quiz, "See, we'd survive..."
Okay, I'll give him that,too. Yes, they'll survive. But I want them to thrive. And what I am learning that by micromanaging our marriage and family life for the past twenty years, is that I have actually done my husband a disservice. He has no clue what he is in for if I'm not around for the next 13 years to parent all of my kids through to adulthood. So, while I fully intend to fight this crap diagnosis until my body falls apart, there is a bit of a shift that needs to happen around here as a "just in case," because being a single dad to four kids is going to be the biggest slap in the face my husband has ever received.
So... I think I'm going to write him a manual. Of all things that I want him to know about running a household without me. Starting with easy stuff like, "where do I keep our will?" and "What's our online banking password," and "where would you find the kids' Care Cards and SIN numbers?" and "Where is the hot water shut off valve," and all of those things about this house that I selfishly have kept to myself. But not until January, because it's Christmas and that's another busy Mom time that I can't seem to delegate. (Picture my husband trying to be helpful with the duct-tape and Christmas bags - I am not joking, he goes through a lot of duct tape at Christmas trying to wrap gifts - and me rolling my eyes and saying, "Here, let me wrap that, you aren't doing it right..." instead of hand over hand showing him how the rest of the world wraps a gift)
It's not a novel, but it is a project. And it could be really enlightening and fun to do. I can picture it now, a giant binder with lovely colour coded dividers emblazoned with a clever title page like "How to be a Dad with a Mom Brain", or something like that. And 12 years from now, when I've beaten the odds and we stand there seeing our youngest off to University together, at least I'll know that I stopped assuming I have to keep track of everything and that it's okay to let some things go.
Now... where do I keep the binders?
Thursday 13 December 2018
Tuesday 4 December 2018
Random thoughts
So, much negativity, I thought maybe, while I'm feeling good, I'd update with a positive post.
Most exciting thing that happened today... my doctor has given me the go ahead to add salt to EVERYTHING! How often do you hear that from a medical professional? Yay!
What else is good?
My Christmas cards are done. My parcels are mailed. My tree is up and decorated. And the outside lights are lit. My shopping is about half done. One more day in the city should do it. I'm feeling like this is going to be a WAY better Christmas than last year. I've set the bar pretty low, I just have to stay out of the hospital to achieve that.
I've started actually using my to do lists and for the most part, the housework is under control. I'm still falling asleep on the couch during the day, but I've stopped beating myself up over it. A little bit of snoozing, a little bit of housework, a menu plan, drive the kids all over town from activity to activity, and then do it all over again the next day... I MIGHT be getting the hang of this "stay at home Mom" gig, finally.
The last couple of weeks were tough, physically. I ended up getting so dehydrated that my chemo was cancelled. So, I'm doing it tomorrow instead. Now I wish I hadn't enthusiastically written chemo in my planner in ink over the next couple of months because the cycle is a week off now and my beautiful planner has stuff crossed out in it. Still, now that I'm rehydrated, I'm feeling decent. And because I'm prone to dehydration on chemo, my doctor said to have as much salt as I want. Hah!
As for NaNoWriMo... well, I wrote just over 30,000 words. I didn't make it to 50K like I had intended. My last chemo cycle kicked my ass (literally) and I didn't have the energy to keep plugging away at a story I wasn't all that invested in. It's 30K words of fluff. It wasn't really heading anywhere. There is potential, but it really needs an outline. Ordinarily I'd be beating myself up for not "winning" this November, but I gave myself permission to walk away from the story and once I'd decided to fail, I stayed away from the story so that I wouldn't be tempted by it. I may take another look at it later, but not until the new year. One thing I did get out of the experience was that I can write while my kids are at school and enjoy the experience. So in January, after the holidays, I'm going to set a goal of writing and revising my novels at least three times a week. It'll keep me busy between chemo treatments and keep my mind active.
So, that's me. I'm going to make the best of this illness and assume that the chemo is going to buy me many years. Because that's how long my to do list is, years --- 8 novel drafts, umpteen unfinished scrapbooks, tons of unused wool to crochet, and most importantly, four kids to see grow up. So, I'm out of my funk and moving on... during the daylight hours, at least. Can't promise that the 3am insomniac me is going to be in the same space. But I'm going to try.
Most exciting thing that happened today... my doctor has given me the go ahead to add salt to EVERYTHING! How often do you hear that from a medical professional? Yay!
What else is good?
My Christmas cards are done. My parcels are mailed. My tree is up and decorated. And the outside lights are lit. My shopping is about half done. One more day in the city should do it. I'm feeling like this is going to be a WAY better Christmas than last year. I've set the bar pretty low, I just have to stay out of the hospital to achieve that.
I've started actually using my to do lists and for the most part, the housework is under control. I'm still falling asleep on the couch during the day, but I've stopped beating myself up over it. A little bit of snoozing, a little bit of housework, a menu plan, drive the kids all over town from activity to activity, and then do it all over again the next day... I MIGHT be getting the hang of this "stay at home Mom" gig, finally.
The last couple of weeks were tough, physically. I ended up getting so dehydrated that my chemo was cancelled. So, I'm doing it tomorrow instead. Now I wish I hadn't enthusiastically written chemo in my planner in ink over the next couple of months because the cycle is a week off now and my beautiful planner has stuff crossed out in it. Still, now that I'm rehydrated, I'm feeling decent. And because I'm prone to dehydration on chemo, my doctor said to have as much salt as I want. Hah!
As for NaNoWriMo... well, I wrote just over 30,000 words. I didn't make it to 50K like I had intended. My last chemo cycle kicked my ass (literally) and I didn't have the energy to keep plugging away at a story I wasn't all that invested in. It's 30K words of fluff. It wasn't really heading anywhere. There is potential, but it really needs an outline. Ordinarily I'd be beating myself up for not "winning" this November, but I gave myself permission to walk away from the story and once I'd decided to fail, I stayed away from the story so that I wouldn't be tempted by it. I may take another look at it later, but not until the new year. One thing I did get out of the experience was that I can write while my kids are at school and enjoy the experience. So in January, after the holidays, I'm going to set a goal of writing and revising my novels at least three times a week. It'll keep me busy between chemo treatments and keep my mind active.
So, that's me. I'm going to make the best of this illness and assume that the chemo is going to buy me many years. Because that's how long my to do list is, years --- 8 novel drafts, umpteen unfinished scrapbooks, tons of unused wool to crochet, and most importantly, four kids to see grow up. So, I'm out of my funk and moving on... during the daylight hours, at least. Can't promise that the 3am insomniac me is going to be in the same space. But I'm going to try.
Wednesday 31 October 2018
Twenty-three minutes to go...
...until November!
Hell yeah! Time to get off my ass and do something for myself. Writing makes me feel good. So, I'm going to treat this as a job and while the kids are at school, I'm going to set aside some time every morning for me! Just to write. I signed up for Nanowrimo and have done it every year since 2009 and I have 7 unfinished novels sitting on my computer. Some are really good, some are kind of crap. Two are almost complete, the other 5 need a lot of work. But each one was so much fun to write. And who knows, maybe this will be the kickstart I need to develop a healthy, daily writing habit. If I can't go back to work, I should be writing instead.
So, Nanowrimo 2018, despite my funky mood, why not! Time to focus on something lighter for a change. I've got a tiny morsel of a plot idea. Let's see where it goes.
30 days
50,000 words
Unfinished draft #8, here I come!
Yay November... next to Christmas, my favourite time of year!
Hell yeah! Time to get off my ass and do something for myself. Writing makes me feel good. So, I'm going to treat this as a job and while the kids are at school, I'm going to set aside some time every morning for me! Just to write. I signed up for Nanowrimo and have done it every year since 2009 and I have 7 unfinished novels sitting on my computer. Some are really good, some are kind of crap. Two are almost complete, the other 5 need a lot of work. But each one was so much fun to write. And who knows, maybe this will be the kickstart I need to develop a healthy, daily writing habit. If I can't go back to work, I should be writing instead.
So, Nanowrimo 2018, despite my funky mood, why not! Time to focus on something lighter for a change. I've got a tiny morsel of a plot idea. Let's see where it goes.
30 days
50,000 words
Unfinished draft #8, here I come!
Yay November... next to Christmas, my favourite time of year!
Friday 26 October 2018
Not so random thought...
I've had a poor attitude this week. Dwelling on the negative instead of embracing the positive. However, after an uniterrupted solid 8 hours sleep in which my brain actually shut down and let me rest, I'm in good head space today. I'm up, I'm showered, I've put a load of laundry in and I'm about to tackle the breakfast dishes. I feel like I've turned a bit of a corner. For today, at least.
But here's what I'm thinking.
My forties haven't been stellar, so far. And neither have the thirties or forties of some of my friends. Or the fifties and sixties of some of my family. A couple have gotten divorced. One has seen her spouse incarcarated. One is dealing with MS. Some are dealing with depression. One is on dialysis waiting for someone else to die so that he has a shot at life. And then there is the c-word. Cancer. I'm constantly amazed by how many of us are actually fighting for our lives. There is actually a lot of cancer in my family and my community. I keep meeting survivors. And fighters. And people that didn't make it as long as they would have liked. And it's sobering but also inspiring. But this week I've been focussed just on me. I'm not often self-absorbed, but this was the week for me. My pity party. I have incurable cancer. I am fighting for my life. And I'm determined to beat that diagnosis for as long as possible.
But why the hell should I have to?
We are all good people. I surround myself with good people. My friends and family are solid, lovely, good people. We've tried to live lives that, while not perfect, are pretty decent. We have good kids, supportive families, and solid friendships. And life has spat on us. Or shat on us. Whichever visual you prefer. And I can't help but wonder why. Why me? Why her? Why him? Whose ironic crap shoot dealt me this hand? Why not someone else for a change? Quit crapping on us, we're only so tough!
And then there are other people. Colossally arrogant, abusive, racist, downright lousy people. And they get to be in charge of the United States of America. How about sending a little shower of crap their way instead. Karma doesn't really seem to make sense right now. Just a random thought...
But here's what I'm thinking.
My forties haven't been stellar, so far. And neither have the thirties or forties of some of my friends. Or the fifties and sixties of some of my family. A couple have gotten divorced. One has seen her spouse incarcarated. One is dealing with MS. Some are dealing with depression. One is on dialysis waiting for someone else to die so that he has a shot at life. And then there is the c-word. Cancer. I'm constantly amazed by how many of us are actually fighting for our lives. There is actually a lot of cancer in my family and my community. I keep meeting survivors. And fighters. And people that didn't make it as long as they would have liked. And it's sobering but also inspiring. But this week I've been focussed just on me. I'm not often self-absorbed, but this was the week for me. My pity party. I have incurable cancer. I am fighting for my life. And I'm determined to beat that diagnosis for as long as possible.
But why the hell should I have to?
We are all good people. I surround myself with good people. My friends and family are solid, lovely, good people. We've tried to live lives that, while not perfect, are pretty decent. We have good kids, supportive families, and solid friendships. And life has spat on us. Or shat on us. Whichever visual you prefer. And I can't help but wonder why. Why me? Why her? Why him? Whose ironic crap shoot dealt me this hand? Why not someone else for a change? Quit crapping on us, we're only so tough!
And then there are other people. Colossally arrogant, abusive, racist, downright lousy people. And they get to be in charge of the United States of America. How about sending a little shower of crap their way instead. Karma doesn't really seem to make sense right now. Just a random thought...
Saturday 20 October 2018
Fighting again
So... after three weeks of uncertainty, I am officially fighting again. Started chemo, plan B this week. And I am exhausted! Which is hopeful because it feels like my body is again doing something.
Last round of chemo was Folfox (flourouracil, leukovorin, and oxiliplatin). It was considered "curative." Needless to say, it failed me. This round of chemo is GIFFIRB (Flourouracil - or 5FU cause that's funnier - Leukovorin, Irinotecan, and Bevacuzamib - or Avastin) and is considered Palliative. The intention is not to cure, as this is considered incurable at that point, but to slow the growth of the new tumours and keep me comfortable for as long as my body will tolerate it. And since you all know how stubborn I can be... ;)
A bit of downer, yes. But no one has given me an expiry date and I have way to much on my plate to not assume that I'm going to be round for a few years yet, so here's to cocktail #2 being more successful than cocktail #1. If the fatigue I felt yesterday after disconnect is any sign, my body is going to fight this on overtime!
5FUs to you, cancer!
Last round of chemo was Folfox (flourouracil, leukovorin, and oxiliplatin). It was considered "curative." Needless to say, it failed me. This round of chemo is GIFFIRB (Flourouracil - or 5FU cause that's funnier - Leukovorin, Irinotecan, and Bevacuzamib - or Avastin) and is considered Palliative. The intention is not to cure, as this is considered incurable at that point, but to slow the growth of the new tumours and keep me comfortable for as long as my body will tolerate it. And since you all know how stubborn I can be... ;)
A bit of downer, yes. But no one has given me an expiry date and I have way to much on my plate to not assume that I'm going to be round for a few years yet, so here's to cocktail #2 being more successful than cocktail #1. If the fatigue I felt yesterday after disconnect is any sign, my body is going to fight this on overtime!
5FUs to you, cancer!
Sunday 30 September 2018
Can't sleep
I'm awake. It's 6am. I've been up for well over an hour. I was hoping to find someone on FB to chat with, as I certainly can't phone anyone at this ungodly time of day. Even my dog won't get up and keep me company. I think this is the hardest part of this whole ordeal for me. Being alone with my thoughts in the dark of the night. It doesn't happen very often anymore. I've been feeling hopeful and eager to get on with my life. I've even embraced the stubbornly hanging on neuropathy as a quirky residual effect of what was, otherwise, not really that horrible of an experience with chemotherapy.
Yesterday I felt unreasonably optimistic. The autumn sun was out, the trees haven't yet shed their leaves. It's just stunning. It makes you feel immortal. I was googling things, reading statistics, looking up side effects, and thinking "all is not lost." The manic feeling started to wear off sometime during my nephew's birthday party as I watched my children patiently play with their toddler cousins and I wondered how many birthday parties stretch before me.
Right now, in the dark of the house, when I can't see out the windows and the only company is the buzz of the appliances, I feel less optimistic. I'm letting the darkness seep into my brain filling every recess with doubt and grief. It's keeping me awake. It's going to be a caffeine kind of a day for sure.
I had a reality check on Thursday morning. I went to the doctor to get the results of my post-chemo CT scan and to talk about my return to work and return to reality from this whirlwind blip on the radar of what I was fully prepared to write off as a bad chapter in an otherwise pleasant life. Turns out, I'm not over this. I'm not even remotely close to being out of the woods. I can't even see the trail for the trees. I have another tumour in my abdomen. And signs that cancer has spread throughout the lining of my abdomen. The chemotherapy didn't work. My cancer didn't respond the way the oncologist assumed that it would. I'm a carcinogenic enigma. And so, while I'm still dealing with after effects of the first rounds of chemotherapy, I'm facing the thought of further, more aggressive treatments. Of uncertainty. Of living the rest of my life with a chronic, incurable illness. And not knowing how long that might be.
Maybe I'll wake the dog up. We could go watch the sunrise and get that boost of Vitamin D that fueled me yesterday. If I can't sleep, neither should she!
Yesterday I felt unreasonably optimistic. The autumn sun was out, the trees haven't yet shed their leaves. It's just stunning. It makes you feel immortal. I was googling things, reading statistics, looking up side effects, and thinking "all is not lost." The manic feeling started to wear off sometime during my nephew's birthday party as I watched my children patiently play with their toddler cousins and I wondered how many birthday parties stretch before me.
Right now, in the dark of the house, when I can't see out the windows and the only company is the buzz of the appliances, I feel less optimistic. I'm letting the darkness seep into my brain filling every recess with doubt and grief. It's keeping me awake. It's going to be a caffeine kind of a day for sure.
I had a reality check on Thursday morning. I went to the doctor to get the results of my post-chemo CT scan and to talk about my return to work and return to reality from this whirlwind blip on the radar of what I was fully prepared to write off as a bad chapter in an otherwise pleasant life. Turns out, I'm not over this. I'm not even remotely close to being out of the woods. I can't even see the trail for the trees. I have another tumour in my abdomen. And signs that cancer has spread throughout the lining of my abdomen. The chemotherapy didn't work. My cancer didn't respond the way the oncologist assumed that it would. I'm a carcinogenic enigma. And so, while I'm still dealing with after effects of the first rounds of chemotherapy, I'm facing the thought of further, more aggressive treatments. Of uncertainty. Of living the rest of my life with a chronic, incurable illness. And not knowing how long that might be.
Maybe I'll wake the dog up. We could go watch the sunrise and get that boost of Vitamin D that fueled me yesterday. If I can't sleep, neither should she!
Thursday 14 June 2018
Dosage reduction...
So yesterday was a bit interesting. At the beginning of every cycle (I am currently on cycle 9 of 12!) I have to answer a bunch of questions about side effects and whether or not I'm struggling with them. I've been handling the side effects really well. Some have gotten more prevalent and some (like the hair loss and jaw pain) have almost disappeared, so overall, things are going ok.
But when she asked about neuropathy (the numbness I've been experiencing) I was honest and told my nurse that my fingers are pretty much numb all the time now and were still numb yesterday from the last treatment two weeks ago. But I told her I could still do things like typing and sewing, it just felt a little funny, like they're asleep. Then I told her that that numbness had also moved into my feet and sometimes it hurt to walk a little.
So she consulted with the other nurse and they phoned a couple of oncologists to consult, and they decided to reduce my oxapilaten dosage. I had to go home for about an hour an a half while I waited for the pharmacy to remix my new dosage, so I didn't get home from the infusion until after the kids were home from school.
While I appreciate the lower toxicity going into my last four treatments, I'm having mixed feelings. I do feel like I can handle the numbness as I have been so far, and I worry that lower dosages might be less effective.
I'm sure it's all in my head... the nurses are the experts, not me.
Anyway, 9 almost down (get unhooked tomorrow), three to go. Then we will see what my upcoming scan shows.
And... shoutout to my cousin, Joy, who has been dealing with the after effects of her kidney cancer for the last several years and had emergency surgery for a brain tumour that her oncologist discovered in January. She's been going through radiation and chemo pills and has been officially given the "No evidence of disease" diagnosis. So, YAY JOY!
Wait for me, Joy, I'll be joining your survivor's club, soon! Feeling optimistic these days.
Laura
But when she asked about neuropathy (the numbness I've been experiencing) I was honest and told my nurse that my fingers are pretty much numb all the time now and were still numb yesterday from the last treatment two weeks ago. But I told her I could still do things like typing and sewing, it just felt a little funny, like they're asleep. Then I told her that that numbness had also moved into my feet and sometimes it hurt to walk a little.
So she consulted with the other nurse and they phoned a couple of oncologists to consult, and they decided to reduce my oxapilaten dosage. I had to go home for about an hour an a half while I waited for the pharmacy to remix my new dosage, so I didn't get home from the infusion until after the kids were home from school.
While I appreciate the lower toxicity going into my last four treatments, I'm having mixed feelings. I do feel like I can handle the numbness as I have been so far, and I worry that lower dosages might be less effective.
I'm sure it's all in my head... the nurses are the experts, not me.
Anyway, 9 almost down (get unhooked tomorrow), three to go. Then we will see what my upcoming scan shows.
And... shoutout to my cousin, Joy, who has been dealing with the after effects of her kidney cancer for the last several years and had emergency surgery for a brain tumour that her oncologist discovered in January. She's been going through radiation and chemo pills and has been officially given the "No evidence of disease" diagnosis. So, YAY JOY!
Wait for me, Joy, I'll be joining your survivor's club, soon! Feeling optimistic these days.
Laura
Thursday 31 May 2018
Haven't blogged in a while...
Nothing really to update. I'm still doing well. I'm dealing with tingling and numbness in my fingers pretty much daily now and starting to feel pain in my feet now, too. I'm not getting any of the breaks in week 2 (my off chemo week) that I was at the beginning. On the plus side, though, I'm in the middle of treatment 8, so there are really only 4 infusions left and in 8 weeks I'll be saying goodbye to chemo (hopefully forever if my post-chemo scans look promising).
Tired is not adequate to describe how I'm feeling, though. It's a complete utter exhaustion that is affecting my every body part and my brain, and I'm sure my personality. Today is a good-day (steriods coursing through my body make chemo days actually quite productive) but tomorrow I will likely crash again.
I have to lower the expectations I have on myself and stop writing this "Oh, I have all this time off work, I'd better get stuff done around here" expectations I have of myself. Today's goal... laundry. Tomorrow's, relax. Keep it realistic!
I have all summer off with the kids; we can do the decluttering of the winter clothing that still clutter up the area surrounding our front door, the clothes that are outgrown but still in the kids' dressers, and the toys that haven't seen the light of day in years, during July (or August when I'm completely off the chemo).
So really, I'm doing good. The stereotypes I had in my head pre-chemo, have proven to be needless worries. Only had one bad day of vomiting out of the 3 months I've been doing this. Also only lost about a third of my hair and the loss seems to have slowed back to what it was before chemo --- normal, daily, clean-out-the comb, levels of hair loss. So, if you know me, you know I had insanely thick hair to start with. Now I have a lovely medium amount of hair. Cutting it short probably helped with stemming the loss, and for the first time with short hair, I don't resemble a mushroom!
On to the next two months of this adventure. Then... the recovery and eventual return to work. I miss my Monday to Friday people and the adult conversations, but I have to admit, I love being home in the quiet house during the day. I'm reading the third novel I've actually started and finished in May; I've scrapbooked a ton of pages; I've started stockpiling the homemade greeting cards; I've had to take a break from the crocheting because of the numbness in my fingers but for a while I was doing that consistenly; I can still type despite the lack of sensation, so I've even started writing again (read "proof-reading and revising" my Nano-novels. Maybe 2018 is the year I'll finish a book and start looking to publication. I have said that before, haven't I? :)
Oh, and the laundry and basic housework is almost being kept up. If you know my house, when I'm working it's a weekend slog to catch up. Now, not so much.
Children are home now... suddenly I can no longer hear myself type.
Logging off,
Laura
Tired is not adequate to describe how I'm feeling, though. It's a complete utter exhaustion that is affecting my every body part and my brain, and I'm sure my personality. Today is a good-day (steriods coursing through my body make chemo days actually quite productive) but tomorrow I will likely crash again.
I have to lower the expectations I have on myself and stop writing this "Oh, I have all this time off work, I'd better get stuff done around here" expectations I have of myself. Today's goal... laundry. Tomorrow's, relax. Keep it realistic!
I have all summer off with the kids; we can do the decluttering of the winter clothing that still clutter up the area surrounding our front door, the clothes that are outgrown but still in the kids' dressers, and the toys that haven't seen the light of day in years, during July (or August when I'm completely off the chemo).
So really, I'm doing good. The stereotypes I had in my head pre-chemo, have proven to be needless worries. Only had one bad day of vomiting out of the 3 months I've been doing this. Also only lost about a third of my hair and the loss seems to have slowed back to what it was before chemo --- normal, daily, clean-out-the comb, levels of hair loss. So, if you know me, you know I had insanely thick hair to start with. Now I have a lovely medium amount of hair. Cutting it short probably helped with stemming the loss, and for the first time with short hair, I don't resemble a mushroom!
On to the next two months of this adventure. Then... the recovery and eventual return to work. I miss my Monday to Friday people and the adult conversations, but I have to admit, I love being home in the quiet house during the day. I'm reading the third novel I've actually started and finished in May; I've scrapbooked a ton of pages; I've started stockpiling the homemade greeting cards; I've had to take a break from the crocheting because of the numbness in my fingers but for a while I was doing that consistenly; I can still type despite the lack of sensation, so I've even started writing again (read "proof-reading and revising" my Nano-novels. Maybe 2018 is the year I'll finish a book and start looking to publication. I have said that before, haven't I? :)
Oh, and the laundry and basic housework is almost being kept up. If you know my house, when I'm working it's a weekend slog to catch up. Now, not so much.
Children are home now... suddenly I can no longer hear myself type.
Logging off,
Laura
Wednesday 9 May 2018
Thoughts and Prayers
Just a thought that I didn't have the guts to say on Facebook (because you all know I'll get attacked for it)... This group I follow and occasionally comment on is full of very devout Christians who are dealing with cancer. They continuously post "Praise God, no evidence of disease," or "Praying for your recovery," or "thank God, I'm in remission," or the more dangerous, "I'm leaving my treatment in God's hands" (ummm... maybe he WANTS you to do chemo, did you ever think of that... he's up in Heaven rolling his eyes while you are taking the natural approach and praying for a miracle?) etc.
So anyway, good for those of unwavering faith. It's awesome! Please feel free to pray for your recovery and give all your thanks and credit to whomever you worship if it makes you feel better. But what I keep thinking, every time they thank God for their recovery, is...
Umm... who do you think gave you cancer in the first place? If it's his design that you recover, it kind was his design that you suffered, too. Right? Maybe I'm jaded, but it seems a little one sided to credit God for their recovery, and not credit him for the disease in the first place. You can't have it both ways. Or can you. I'm over-thinking this way too much!
I will wisely keep my smart-ass mouth shut on this one. At least on Facebook where opinions can easily be miscontrued.
So anyway, good for those of unwavering faith. It's awesome! Please feel free to pray for your recovery and give all your thanks and credit to whomever you worship if it makes you feel better. But what I keep thinking, every time they thank God for their recovery, is...
Umm... who do you think gave you cancer in the first place? If it's his design that you recover, it kind was his design that you suffered, too. Right? Maybe I'm jaded, but it seems a little one sided to credit God for their recovery, and not credit him for the disease in the first place. You can't have it both ways. Or can you. I'm over-thinking this way too much!
I will wisely keep my smart-ass mouth shut on this one. At least on Facebook where opinions can easily be miscontrued.
Thursday 26 April 2018
Conversation with my youngest...
So, this isn't a conversation I expected to have with my five-year-old last night, but she was very serious and not upset or overly anxious. Just curious. I'm thinking I'm not going to read more into it than I really need to.
Brooklynn: "Who's going to take care of us if you die?"
Me: "I'm not going to die!"
Brooklynn: "Yeah, but if you do, who's going to take care of us?"
Me: "Well, your Daddy will."
Brooklynn: "Okay, but who's going to take care of me if Daddy dies?"
Me: "I will."
Brooklynn: "What if you both die?"
Me: "We're not going to both die at the same time!"
Brooklynn: "You will when you're a hundred!"
Me: "Okay, fair enough. But you'll be sixty-four, then. You will definitely be able to take care of yourself."
Brooklynn: "No, I won't. Who will take care of me when you die?"
Me: "Well, if Daddy and I both die, Uncle Eric and Uncle Vince will become your parents."
Brooklynn: "WHAT!!! But they're both boys! I need a Mommy!"
And then she wandered away, neither perplexed nor upset, just having vocalized her opinion. Leaving Cory and I to wonder if we're still going to have a 65 year old Brooklynn climbing into our bed in the middle of the night when we're 100 and on death's door.
And leaving me to wonder if I actually ever let Uncle Vincent know that we have a will and it stipulates that my youngest brother is to be appointed guardian of our children. Did I ever mention that to him? That when he married my brother he was signing on to guardianship of four kids should Cory and I perish in some crazy accident when we turn 100. Might want to revisit the old will. Just in case! Because that's a pretty long-term committment!
Brooklynn: "Who's going to take care of us if you die?"
Me: "I'm not going to die!"
Brooklynn: "Yeah, but if you do, who's going to take care of us?"
Me: "Well, your Daddy will."
Brooklynn: "Okay, but who's going to take care of me if Daddy dies?"
Me: "I will."
Brooklynn: "What if you both die?"
Me: "We're not going to both die at the same time!"
Brooklynn: "You will when you're a hundred!"
Me: "Okay, fair enough. But you'll be sixty-four, then. You will definitely be able to take care of yourself."
Brooklynn: "No, I won't. Who will take care of me when you die?"
Me: "Well, if Daddy and I both die, Uncle Eric and Uncle Vince will become your parents."
Brooklynn: "WHAT!!! But they're both boys! I need a Mommy!"
And then she wandered away, neither perplexed nor upset, just having vocalized her opinion. Leaving Cory and I to wonder if we're still going to have a 65 year old Brooklynn climbing into our bed in the middle of the night when we're 100 and on death's door.
And leaving me to wonder if I actually ever let Uncle Vincent know that we have a will and it stipulates that my youngest brother is to be appointed guardian of our children. Did I ever mention that to him? That when he married my brother he was signing on to guardianship of four kids should Cory and I perish in some crazy accident when we turn 100. Might want to revisit the old will. Just in case! Because that's a pretty long-term committment!
Wednesday 18 April 2018
So funny!
I laughed so hard at this last night, that it felt like I popped a couple of stitches. But the pain was worth it, because I constantly forget our grocery bags and always feel guilty when the cashier asks, "Do you need bags?"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bG2vHlHqHqI
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bG2vHlHqHqI
Tuesday 17 April 2018
The eve of infusion 5
I've finished four rounds of chemo. Tomorrow is round 5. I have to say, I kind of got cocky about this whole chemo thing. Rounds 1, 2, and 3 were no big deal and the side effects more amusing than uncomfortable. So when round 4 knocked me on my butt, I had to admit, it's not so much fun!
Not sure if it was something I ate that disagreed with my new, super-efficient, digestive system or if it was the chemo, but after spending almost all day last Monday being a slug on the couch, I woke up to horrible stomach pain and incessant vomiting Tuesday morning. And sleeping. Seriously. I woke up long enough to barf, and then I passed out on the couch again. I have never slept so much in my life as I did last Tuesday. So chemo nausea... we can now cross that off the "side effects to experience" list. I ended up back up at the hospital getting 2 litres of fluids pumped back into me Tuesday night (which I pretty much slept through). Then I had four days of what I can only describe as a chemo hangover with residual stomach pain. I could barely move by Thursday. It tapered off by Saturday night, Sunday morning with the help of some lovely T3s. So, I had two good days this cycle where I felt relatively normal. One at the beginning, and yesterday. I'm ready to kiss this cycle goodbye and see what Cycle 5 has in store for me.
On a completely related note, I no longer have a PICC line in my arm. I am now sporting a "Power Port" (sounds like a superpower, hey? Where's my cape?) which I had surgically installed this morning. No more allergic reaction to the PICC line and, once my sutures heal, the world is my oyster again. I can get my PORT as wet as I want in the shower without having to worry about infection. Also I have full use of my right arm again; I can golf, do jumping jacks, and push ups (because we all know that I've been missing out on those activities) and I can lift heavy stuff and pack my purse full of bricks without worry about pulling out the line or clotting it, or whatever might happen.
Getting the PORT in was actually a relatively easy experience that was done under light sedation. I woke up when I as getting stitched up, but that didn't even feel all that bad. The worst part was the surgical tape that they ripped off my head at the end of the surgery. (Why didn't I think to ask them why there was tape on my head for a procedure on my chest?) And the nurses and doctors are just lovely at our tiny hospital; everyone was very kind and reassuring. The doctor that did the procedure, was actually the doctor that admitted me to the hospital after sending me for the x-ray and ct-scan last December. She saved my life. I was happy to be able to tell her that this morning.
So now I have this ugly lump of bloody dressings on my shoulder, hiding my new hardware, and I am a little uncomfortable with the sensation now that the freezing has completely worn off. It feels like my neck (incision 1) is connected to my chest (incision 2) (I think it is, one incision has the port, the other is where they inserted the tube into the vein) and I am having a hard time moving my head separately from my neck and my shoulder. Sleep might be a bit funky tonight.
Anyway, on to Cycle 5, with a little more trepadition than I had last time.
Not sure if it was something I ate that disagreed with my new, super-efficient, digestive system or if it was the chemo, but after spending almost all day last Monday being a slug on the couch, I woke up to horrible stomach pain and incessant vomiting Tuesday morning. And sleeping. Seriously. I woke up long enough to barf, and then I passed out on the couch again. I have never slept so much in my life as I did last Tuesday. So chemo nausea... we can now cross that off the "side effects to experience" list. I ended up back up at the hospital getting 2 litres of fluids pumped back into me Tuesday night (which I pretty much slept through). Then I had four days of what I can only describe as a chemo hangover with residual stomach pain. I could barely move by Thursday. It tapered off by Saturday night, Sunday morning with the help of some lovely T3s. So, I had two good days this cycle where I felt relatively normal. One at the beginning, and yesterday. I'm ready to kiss this cycle goodbye and see what Cycle 5 has in store for me.
On a completely related note, I no longer have a PICC line in my arm. I am now sporting a "Power Port" (sounds like a superpower, hey? Where's my cape?) which I had surgically installed this morning. No more allergic reaction to the PICC line and, once my sutures heal, the world is my oyster again. I can get my PORT as wet as I want in the shower without having to worry about infection. Also I have full use of my right arm again; I can golf, do jumping jacks, and push ups (because we all know that I've been missing out on those activities) and I can lift heavy stuff and pack my purse full of bricks without worry about pulling out the line or clotting it, or whatever might happen.
Getting the PORT in was actually a relatively easy experience that was done under light sedation. I woke up when I as getting stitched up, but that didn't even feel all that bad. The worst part was the surgical tape that they ripped off my head at the end of the surgery. (Why didn't I think to ask them why there was tape on my head for a procedure on my chest?) And the nurses and doctors are just lovely at our tiny hospital; everyone was very kind and reassuring. The doctor that did the procedure, was actually the doctor that admitted me to the hospital after sending me for the x-ray and ct-scan last December. She saved my life. I was happy to be able to tell her that this morning.
So now I have this ugly lump of bloody dressings on my shoulder, hiding my new hardware, and I am a little uncomfortable with the sensation now that the freezing has completely worn off. It feels like my neck (incision 1) is connected to my chest (incision 2) (I think it is, one incision has the port, the other is where they inserted the tube into the vein) and I am having a hard time moving my head separately from my neck and my shoulder. Sleep might be a bit funky tonight.
Anyway, on to Cycle 5, with a little more trepadition than I had last time.
Saturday 31 March 2018
Chemo Hair
So, despite the handout that clearly states that hair loss is "not common" with Folfox chemotherapy, I have experienced some. If you know me, you know that I can totally afford to experience hair loss. I have a ton of hair. So, I'm okay with a little thinning. However, the thinning made my hair very dry and coarse and tangled. Every morning for the last two weeks I would comb my hair and tug a knot out where the loosened hair was clinging on to the rest of my hair for dear life.
So... I have cut it.
And yes, of course I regretted it immediately. It's way too short for my liking. But as per usual, when you get it cut they spray it down, make it nice and wet, and then two hours after the cut, when it's completely dry, it's shrunk another couple of inches.
I do like it when it's wet, so I guess that's something.
Anyway, best case scenario, I just got rid of the dead, straw-like hair that I've developed. Worst case scenario, I'm easing my way into hair loss a little at a time. If it continues to fall out over the next four months, at least it wont' be such a shock to the system, as I've transitioned myself to short hair.
Here's my before and after photos of my new chemo do.
So... I have cut it.
And yes, of course I regretted it immediately. It's way too short for my liking. But as per usual, when you get it cut they spray it down, make it nice and wet, and then two hours after the cut, when it's completely dry, it's shrunk another couple of inches.
I do like it when it's wet, so I guess that's something.
Anyway, best case scenario, I just got rid of the dead, straw-like hair that I've developed. Worst case scenario, I'm easing my way into hair loss a little at a time. If it continues to fall out over the next four months, at least it wont' be such a shock to the system, as I've transitioned myself to short hair.
Here's my before and after photos of my new chemo do.
BEFORE my impulsive "solution" to my brittle hair.
And AFTER - feeling softer and looking a little healthier, but geez, what was I thinking?
It's hair. It'll grow back. And I still have lots!
On to round 4 this Wednesday.
Thursday 22 March 2018
Treatment 3
This week felt busy! Tuesday, anyway. I had an appointment with the oncologist and bloodwork in the morning; a half day at school for the kids in, followed by an ultrasound at 1:00 (because my remaining ovary, let's call the damn thing "Leftie" has decided to grow a mass --- that was NOT there in December.) So, the ultrasound is to determine whether it's a normal cyst or something more ominous that caused them to remove Rightie at Christmas. I will get the results next week. The positive thing is that if it's a third tumour, we're already battling it with this chemo, so Leftie can suck it, as far as I'm concerned. After the ultrasound I had to pick up Connor at Cubs and then take him home and head up to the Elementary School for Parent Teacher Interviews and then over to the High School for more P/T interviews. And I did it all by myself! :)
Wednesday was the third chemo infusion, so it was nice, actually, to sit back and read a book in a comfy armchair while forced to relax and let the medicine drip into my vein. And I seemed to have tolerated the hydration well, I only had to use the bathroom three times in the 3 hours I was at the hospital, as opposed to the every 15 minutes that the first two infusions had me going. So now I'm just going through the 46 hours of being hooked up to the pump, which comes off tomorrow morning. Then my 12 days of freedom. So far, I am counting myself among the lucky ones. This chemotherapy seems to have been kind to me, so far.
The first treatment was easy peasy! No nausea (my anti-nausea drugs work well), no bowel issues out of the ordinary (hey, I don't have an ordinary since I don't have a large intestine anymore) so it's really hard for me to answer the "any diarrhea" question. Enough said about that. Basically, other than some fatigue for a couple of days after disconnect (I'm blogging tonight because tomorrow I will crash), my only real symptoms were the neuropathy.
So, that's a weird one! It affects my fingers mostly, but also my jaw and my throat and my lips. Cold is not my friend. I get pins and needles in my extremities the second I touch something cold, like frozen food or milk or chopping vegetables. My lips and tongue go numb and I start to lisp when I go outside. And taking a bite out of anything gives me about 30 seconds of pain in my jaw before I can continue eating. Water has to be room temperature now to tolerate it, but I still get the stabbing in my throat sensation with room temperature, so I might need to start hydrating myself with warm water (ugh) or herbal teas all day.
Also, I seem to have 2 or 3 days of blurry vision after disconnect, but it goes away so I think it's related to the fatigue.
Second treatment, still easy. A little more tired and a couple of queasy moments. I took the Immodium a couple of times so that I could avoid the lecture the Oncologist gave me after the first week when she said, more than 5 BMs a day is a concern and I need to be using Immodium, but I argued that was a good day for me. Anyway, it's a learning curve, this rapid digestive system. Vegetables are not my friends!
So, what I've noticed is that the symptoms have been coming on stronger this week (treatment 3) and more painfully, but I can still deal with it. As long as I'm not vomiting, I consider myself lucky. I woke up at 5:45 this morning, very queasy, so at 6 I dragged myself into the kitchen and took my meds and tried to go back to sleep but I failed. So, no surprise that I fell asleep on the couch around 2:30. Poor Connor needed to be picked up at the school at 4:00pm and I jumped off the couch at 4:06 and raced up to the school. In record time, I might add. I got there in about 4 minutes. He wasn't too devastated. Three teachers were kind enough to wait on the steps with him. SIGH. Call it chemo neglect, then I get a pass on that one. And my stomach has been off most of the day, but again, not anything I can't handle (although if you ask my supervisor - I confided in her way TMI last fall when I was working and in pain --- apparently I don't have a good reference point for what constitutes pain or what I should and shouldn't have to handle, because I didn't call in sick until I was, literally, on death's doorstep.)
But, so far, so good. I am becoming a bit paranoid that my hair is loosening, though. There seems to be a lot more shedding than I'm accustomed to. But if you've seen my hair, you know I can afford it. I usually pay to get it thinned, so let's call this a free bonus in the fashion department. It's not enough for anyone but me to notice and it could just be my imagination. But when I run my hands through it, I pull out several strands throughout the day and even more when I comb it. And it's getting tangled easily, which isn't something that usually happens. Now I'm feeling more empathetic to my daughters who both have baby fine, easily tangled, hair.
Here's to freedom from the pump tomorrow, and a well deserved shower! I've got the hang of showering around my picc line and keeping it dry, but not the pump. That one, I'll just wait out.
Anyway, almost 25% of the way through chemo... and I haven't vomited. I consider that a huge accomplishment! :)
Wednesday was the third chemo infusion, so it was nice, actually, to sit back and read a book in a comfy armchair while forced to relax and let the medicine drip into my vein. And I seemed to have tolerated the hydration well, I only had to use the bathroom three times in the 3 hours I was at the hospital, as opposed to the every 15 minutes that the first two infusions had me going. So now I'm just going through the 46 hours of being hooked up to the pump, which comes off tomorrow morning. Then my 12 days of freedom. So far, I am counting myself among the lucky ones. This chemotherapy seems to have been kind to me, so far.
The first treatment was easy peasy! No nausea (my anti-nausea drugs work well), no bowel issues out of the ordinary (hey, I don't have an ordinary since I don't have a large intestine anymore) so it's really hard for me to answer the "any diarrhea" question. Enough said about that. Basically, other than some fatigue for a couple of days after disconnect (I'm blogging tonight because tomorrow I will crash), my only real symptoms were the neuropathy.
So, that's a weird one! It affects my fingers mostly, but also my jaw and my throat and my lips. Cold is not my friend. I get pins and needles in my extremities the second I touch something cold, like frozen food or milk or chopping vegetables. My lips and tongue go numb and I start to lisp when I go outside. And taking a bite out of anything gives me about 30 seconds of pain in my jaw before I can continue eating. Water has to be room temperature now to tolerate it, but I still get the stabbing in my throat sensation with room temperature, so I might need to start hydrating myself with warm water (ugh) or herbal teas all day.
Also, I seem to have 2 or 3 days of blurry vision after disconnect, but it goes away so I think it's related to the fatigue.
Second treatment, still easy. A little more tired and a couple of queasy moments. I took the Immodium a couple of times so that I could avoid the lecture the Oncologist gave me after the first week when she said, more than 5 BMs a day is a concern and I need to be using Immodium, but I argued that was a good day for me. Anyway, it's a learning curve, this rapid digestive system. Vegetables are not my friends!
So, what I've noticed is that the symptoms have been coming on stronger this week (treatment 3) and more painfully, but I can still deal with it. As long as I'm not vomiting, I consider myself lucky. I woke up at 5:45 this morning, very queasy, so at 6 I dragged myself into the kitchen and took my meds and tried to go back to sleep but I failed. So, no surprise that I fell asleep on the couch around 2:30. Poor Connor needed to be picked up at the school at 4:00pm and I jumped off the couch at 4:06 and raced up to the school. In record time, I might add. I got there in about 4 minutes. He wasn't too devastated. Three teachers were kind enough to wait on the steps with him. SIGH. Call it chemo neglect, then I get a pass on that one. And my stomach has been off most of the day, but again, not anything I can't handle (although if you ask my supervisor - I confided in her way TMI last fall when I was working and in pain --- apparently I don't have a good reference point for what constitutes pain or what I should and shouldn't have to handle, because I didn't call in sick until I was, literally, on death's doorstep.)
But, so far, so good. I am becoming a bit paranoid that my hair is loosening, though. There seems to be a lot more shedding than I'm accustomed to. But if you've seen my hair, you know I can afford it. I usually pay to get it thinned, so let's call this a free bonus in the fashion department. It's not enough for anyone but me to notice and it could just be my imagination. But when I run my hands through it, I pull out several strands throughout the day and even more when I comb it. And it's getting tangled easily, which isn't something that usually happens. Now I'm feeling more empathetic to my daughters who both have baby fine, easily tangled, hair.
Here's to freedom from the pump tomorrow, and a well deserved shower! I've got the hang of showering around my picc line and keeping it dry, but not the pump. That one, I'll just wait out.
Anyway, almost 25% of the way through chemo... and I haven't vomited. I consider that a huge accomplishment! :)
Monday 19 March 2018
Long live the maple leaf!
So, just after New Year's, when I was going through my "google everything there is to know about colon cancer, ovarian cancer, chemotherapy" etc. phase, I joined a Facebook group for people currently fighting colon cancer. And it's been enlightening. I've been able to learn all about what to expect from upcoming treatments, I've learned that most of us fall into the 30 to 40 age range (the colonscopy screening age really needs to come down from the current recommended 50), and I've met some pretty positive "warriors."
I've also learned a lot about the American medical system and insurance companies that hold your life, literally, in theirr hands. Their insurance won't pay for their treatments or, if it does, pays only a small part. People are losing their livelihoods, their homes, their credit, the shirts off their backs because they had the misfortune of getting cancer. Some of them have been fired from their jobs for not being able to fulfill their duties. Others have stoicly worked through their treatments because they have no other choice; they've run out of sick time.
It's disgusting. And heartbreaking! A lot of my counterparts have GoFundMe pages. Go Fund Me... you've seen them. They're webpages designed to canvas your friends and family for donations to help you get through tough times. They are relying on the kindness and generousity of their family, friends, and friends of friends, to pay for medical expenses that they have no control over.
Here's the thing. I don't have a Go Fund Me page. And I won't. I don't need one. I have a job to return too as soon as I'm on the other side of this illness. I don't have to fight with insurance to get my chemo covered, I just show up at the hospital and take it for granted that they'll give it to me. I didn't get a hefty bill in the mail after my hospital stay. I did have to pay for my anti-nausea meds, but only a few bucks because 80% of it is covered by my plan. They cut me open for free. I didn't even see a bill for the ambulance ride. We're living on less income right now because I cannot work while undergoing chemotherapy, but because I have decent benefits at work, we are still able to pay our bills, buy groceries, and make ends meet. My employer has been amazingly supportive which has given me the flexibilty to be on sick leave with pay, which will flip into long-term disability in three months time. I've got no complaints!
I am heartbroken each time I read about someone who has been denied insurance, or lost their home, or their marriage broke down due to the stress of bankruptcy. Or, they've decided not to pursue treatment because they cannot afford it. I do not understand how a country can claim to be a world leader in freedom and human rights, but doesn't take care of it's citizens when they need it the most.
I live on the right side of the 49th parallel. And for that, I am super grateful!
Long live the maple leaf!
I've also learned a lot about the American medical system and insurance companies that hold your life, literally, in theirr hands. Their insurance won't pay for their treatments or, if it does, pays only a small part. People are losing their livelihoods, their homes, their credit, the shirts off their backs because they had the misfortune of getting cancer. Some of them have been fired from their jobs for not being able to fulfill their duties. Others have stoicly worked through their treatments because they have no other choice; they've run out of sick time.
It's disgusting. And heartbreaking! A lot of my counterparts have GoFundMe pages. Go Fund Me... you've seen them. They're webpages designed to canvas your friends and family for donations to help you get through tough times. They are relying on the kindness and generousity of their family, friends, and friends of friends, to pay for medical expenses that they have no control over.
Here's the thing. I don't have a Go Fund Me page. And I won't. I don't need one. I have a job to return too as soon as I'm on the other side of this illness. I don't have to fight with insurance to get my chemo covered, I just show up at the hospital and take it for granted that they'll give it to me. I didn't get a hefty bill in the mail after my hospital stay. I did have to pay for my anti-nausea meds, but only a few bucks because 80% of it is covered by my plan. They cut me open for free. I didn't even see a bill for the ambulance ride. We're living on less income right now because I cannot work while undergoing chemotherapy, but because I have decent benefits at work, we are still able to pay our bills, buy groceries, and make ends meet. My employer has been amazingly supportive which has given me the flexibilty to be on sick leave with pay, which will flip into long-term disability in three months time. I've got no complaints!
I am heartbroken each time I read about someone who has been denied insurance, or lost their home, or their marriage broke down due to the stress of bankruptcy. Or, they've decided not to pursue treatment because they cannot afford it. I do not understand how a country can claim to be a world leader in freedom and human rights, but doesn't take care of it's citizens when they need it the most.
I live on the right side of the 49th parallel. And for that, I am super grateful!
Long live the maple leaf!
Thursday 8 March 2018
Bald is beautiful
I spent 4.5 hours up at the hospital today. I was dreading (with a weird, "let's get this over with" anticipation) chemotherapy this morning, but it turns out that the small town friendly charm extends to the oncology room as well, and aside from the IV and the funky side effects that have started again, and will continue for the foreseeable next few days, I actually quite enjoyed myself today. People come and go as treatments are staggered throughout the day since the room only accommodates four patients at a time. So I got to chat with four different women and three different men during my own time frame. Everyone was friendly and positive and radiated hope and healing.
During the time I was there I had the pleasure of meeting three very different woman who were all very beautiful! One was rocking a wig that I never would have known was a wig had she not told us. The second woman was sporting an inch or so of lovely, soft grey hair that had recently started to grow back. The third woman, who I spent an hour chatting with after my treatment, was completely bald. And she was beautiful! Each of these women has embraced this side effect with courage and grace and were rocking it! They were friendly, encouraging, and happy to share their own stories. It was sad to be surrounded by breast cancer warriors, but it was also inspirational to see the grace and humour with which each one was dealing with her journey and this particular side effect of their common cancer.
Hair loss is not a given with my particular chemo cocktail. If it does happen, I hope that I can be an inspiration to others too. Because from what I saw today, bald truly is beautiful.
During the time I was there I had the pleasure of meeting three very different woman who were all very beautiful! One was rocking a wig that I never would have known was a wig had she not told us. The second woman was sporting an inch or so of lovely, soft grey hair that had recently started to grow back. The third woman, who I spent an hour chatting with after my treatment, was completely bald. And she was beautiful! Each of these women has embraced this side effect with courage and grace and were rocking it! They were friendly, encouraging, and happy to share their own stories. It was sad to be surrounded by breast cancer warriors, but it was also inspirational to see the grace and humour with which each one was dealing with her journey and this particular side effect of their common cancer.
Hair loss is not a given with my particular chemo cocktail. If it does happen, I hope that I can be an inspiration to others too. Because from what I saw today, bald truly is beautiful.
Wednesday 7 March 2018
Round Two tomorrow
I spent a couple of hours up at the hospital today in preparation for my second round of chemotherapy. Everything was good. My blood tests were perfect (white blood cell count, I think), my blood pressure, temperature, and O2 were perfect. I had an ECG which apparently was normal, and I spent about 30 minutes talking to a very thorough GPO (General Practitioner Oncologist) about the side effects that I've experienced so far. She gave me the green light for round two.
The only slight glitch is that I may be having an allergic reaction to either the bandage on my arm or the antiseptic that they use to keep it sterile. I've had two dressing changes now (every seven days) and both times my arm has been very red underneath the dressing. After the first one I developed a burn blister along the edge of the bandage, which has since gone away. After the second one, my arm itched like crazy for a few days. Today when she pulled off the dressing she used one of the antiseptic cleansers instead of two, and washed it with saline afterwards to see if that helps eliminate the burning. To rule out the bandage as the culprit, I'm wearing one on both arms to see if my other arm gets angry and red.
So far, so good... not itchy under either bandage, so with any luck, it was the cleaner that she did not use today. Other than that, today was easy peasy! I'm a model patient.
So... on to round two tomorrow morning.
The only slight glitch is that I may be having an allergic reaction to either the bandage on my arm or the antiseptic that they use to keep it sterile. I've had two dressing changes now (every seven days) and both times my arm has been very red underneath the dressing. After the first one I developed a burn blister along the edge of the bandage, which has since gone away. After the second one, my arm itched like crazy for a few days. Today when she pulled off the dressing she used one of the antiseptic cleansers instead of two, and washed it with saline afterwards to see if that helps eliminate the burning. To rule out the bandage as the culprit, I'm wearing one on both arms to see if my other arm gets angry and red.
So far, so good... not itchy under either bandage, so with any luck, it was the cleaner that she did not use today. Other than that, today was easy peasy! I'm a model patient.
So... on to round two tomorrow morning.
Monday 5 March 2018
Signs I ignored
Okay, so here's my little PSA --- colon cancer does NOT only happen to older adults. Since my diagnosis, I've joined a facebook group and met a whole host of people in their thirties and forties that are reeling with the same shock I've been dealing with.
So... if you're worried, get screened!
Now, way too much information is coming, so if you don't want to know, don't keep reading. Just be your own advocate and get screened!
I remember going to the doctor when I was 36, just after Brooklynn was born and talking to her about my family history of colon cancer. I asked her when I should have a colonoscopy. She gave me the same answer that the doctors I spoke to last year gave me. Screening is recommended at 50, or ten years younger than your nearest relatives diagnosis. Well, my Mom was diagnosed at 60, so that makes my screening age... 50. I was okay with that because, you know, I'm invincible. I should have pushed harder. My body couldn't wait until 50. On the plus side, my brothers and my children now get to tell their doctors that their nearest relative was diagnosed at 41, so their magic number is 31. Both of my brothers, who are nowhere near 50 themselves, have made appointments for screening based on me, so for that, itself, this is worth it. I also heard that one of my cousins is going to have a colonoscopy now, too. I'm very proud of her!
So... what symptoms did I ignore? Turns out, a hell of a lot! And, in my defense, I didn't totally ignore it. I was more "in denial" and coming up with every other possible explanation for what my body was doing to me. Because it couldn't possibly be cancer. I have four kids, for god's sake, I don't have time for cancer.
Things started getting lousy right around my fortieth birthday. But it was subtle and easy to think that it was all in my head. I suddenly went from being a night owl to being someone with no energy to even make it to the children's bedtime without wanting to curl up with a blanket. I was irritable, depressed, unethusiastic about all the things that usually made me happy (like scrapbooking) and I avoided them. This went on for several months and affected me at home as well as at work. I was burnt out! I was picking fights with my husband. I had no patience for the volunteer work that I used to be so passionate about. I was forgetful and disorganized. And I couldn't cope. I remember last winter having an emotional breakdown in my office and sobbing to my boss that I thought I was going crazy. The next day she sent me an article about "Peri-Menopause," to which I of course replied, "No effing way I'm old enough for that." But after reading it, well, it kind of made sense, so figured that was as good as an explanation as anything. And it was a relief because it actually explained a lot.
I lost twenty-three pounds last year, between January and August. Not a symptom, because I totally wanted to lose the weight. And I was kind of half-heartedly trying, but it did come off remarkably easy. But as my pants got looser, my shirts got tighter. And the baby fat that I've been carrying around since become a Mom was not going anywhere. I looked pregnant. As was pointed out to me. "Oh, when are you due?" Umm, four and a half freakin' years ago, thank you very much! And so I watched my stomach get bigger and bigger while people said, "You've lost weight!" And instead of enjoying the compliments about my weightloss, I was embarassed and depressed because all I could see was this volleyball sized gut that I was growing.
And there was other stuff, too. Girl stuff that suggested that my reproductive system was going hayire. Things were happening more frequently and with a lot more intensity. But if you google peri-menopause, that's normal for people my age, so I totally ignored that. Completely ignored it, actually. When the surgeon told me that there was a tumour on my ovary, I was blind-sided. Now, looking back, there's a lot that makes sense.
But here is what I really want you to take away. And where you might want to stop reading if you don't want to know too much about my pooping habits. Around January, I started to be keenly aware that my bathroom abilities had very subtly started to change. Without being overly descriptive, let's just say there was more urgency, but far less satisfaction. You know... when you know you've done a thorough job, you feel pretty good about yourself. It sets the tone for your whole day. And I used to be really good at emptying my bowels. Until last year. I started to get urgent cramps that in no way matched my output. I would visit the bathroom and leave thinking, "Well, that wasn't worth the effort. There's gotta be more in there than that." It's was a little disheartening.
But I ignored that one. Because really, that's embarassing. And we don't talk about it. Everyone poops but no one admits it. And it started so subtly that I assumed it was my imagination. And it wasn't until later on in the year that it got to the point where I started thinking, "Okay, this really isn't all in my head."
At first the cramping only happened right before I went to the bathroom. But right around the summer time, it took on a whole new level of pain. It wasn't just a few stomach cramps that went away after using the bathroom, it was like being in freaking labour. It's the only way to explain it. Doubled over for a few seconds, then reprieve for a few minutes, then doubled over again. The first episode lasted about six hours. And then I was good for a couple of weeks. Well, okay, not good, but certainly not bad. I was able to go about my days relatively easily, only having to breathe through the "contractions" a few times a day. Then in September it happened again, only it lasted longer, this time I was doubled over for a couple of days before the pain subsided. And then it was kind of just constanly there, a teaser that I was able to ignore for the most part.
So I went to the doctor. I'm not a complete idiot. I know stomach pain is not a good thing. And she ordered bloodwork and an x-ray, and a stool sample that was recalled the day after I did that traumatic act of collection. And I got a couple of diagnoses that made sense. One was iron-deficiency and the other was constipation. The iron deficiency made a world of sense. It was as if a light-bulb went on and as soon as I got that one, I felt so much better! There was an explanation for my brain-fog, my depression, and my exhaustion after all. The constipation diagnoses I was less convinced of. But I was willing to try anything to stop the pain, so for the next three months I lived off of WAY too many laxatives. At one point the doctor had me on four doses a day. And I will admit, I wasn't having stomach pain. But I wasn't having fun, either. And when the blood appeared, I backed off of those laxatives of my own accord, which only served to bring back the pain with a vengeance.
In October I got the referral I'd been seeking! Yay, I was about to have my first colonoscopy --- oh happy day! I was on the waiting list and due to be called in for January. It took some work, but I had convinced them to screen me a decade earlier than the textbooks recommend. Now all I had to do was make it through Christmas and there was light on the other side of the tunnel. This was a relief. I knew that I would get some answers
But the pain returned, with a vengeance, after I detoxed from the laxatives that were scraping my colon raw (so, here you go, anytime you see blood in the toilet, get yourself to the hospital stat, I don't care if it's a fissure or a hemorroid, or you ate beets yesterday and forgot, it is better to be safe than sorry). So... back on the fibre I went. But the pain just got worse and my production level went down. And suddenly those classic "pencil-thin stools" that every website about colon cancer warns you about... they were there. And that was scary. January's scope couldn't come fast enough for me.
On December 17th, on a Sunday morning, after a particularly painful weekend where my stomach was grumbling so loudly my children could hear it across the house (that's not an exaggeration) and there had been NOTHING coming out for days, I went to the emergency room and said, "I think I have a blockage." I was sent home with different laxatives to try because, "if you had a blockage you'd be vomiting", an anti-inflamatory to shut up my vocal stomach, and a prescription for a pro-biotic. Okay. This is where anyone other than me would have argued. But I've never been my own best advocate. So I went home, frustrated, and I drank the syrupy drink that was supposed to clear me out. And I popped the anti-inflammatories that were to ease the pain. And by 3pm that day, I was vomiting. And vomiting. And then for good measure, I vomited a little more. All afternoon. All evening. And all night. Those new meds didn't stand a chance because they weren't staying in my stomach.
Monday morning I phoned the clinic and got an emergency appointment. I hugged my kids a little tighter as I watched them leave for school, told them I loved them, and just had a really bad feeling that my day wasn't going to end well. We went up to the clinic and I met with a doctor who had never seen me before, but when you call at 8am on a Monday morning for an emergency appointment, you take whoever will see you. And she specializes in colons. And she saved my life. I told her I was sure I had a blockage and I couldn't take anymore laxatives, the blood was too scary and I really couldn't wait until January for the colonoscopy. And she believed me. And sent me to the hospital for an emergency x-ray which showed... a complete blockage!
On December 18th my healing journey started. I spent 12 days in the hospital, 8 weeks recovering from a massive surgery (I'll blog about that later), and now the next six months will be taken up with me blasting my body with chemotherapy. We caught the cancer at stage 4, colon cancer that has metastasized to another organ (my right ovary, may she rest in peace) which sucks, but what can I say, I've always been an overachiever. Go big or go home, right? And at least I'm here to talk about it. Because blockages are serious. They could rupture and poison you. Mine didn't. But apparently, which I didn't know, my Great-Grandma's did. Yikes.
And those are the signs I (almost) ignored. So don't you ignore them! Please! Don't be like me and think "I'm a hypochondriac," or "I'm just imagining this," or "my bowel movements are too embarassing to talk about." If it seems odd, it probably is. Better to be safe than sorry. Don't wait until you are in pain to mention your concerns to the doctor. Please. Especially if you are one of my family members on Mom's side. I'm officially a fourth generation colon cancer patient. Me, Mom, Grandpa, and Great-Grandma. If I can get it, then our whole family can. Use me as an example as to why you should not wait until you are fifty.
That's all!
So... if you're worried, get screened!
Now, way too much information is coming, so if you don't want to know, don't keep reading. Just be your own advocate and get screened!
I remember going to the doctor when I was 36, just after Brooklynn was born and talking to her about my family history of colon cancer. I asked her when I should have a colonoscopy. She gave me the same answer that the doctors I spoke to last year gave me. Screening is recommended at 50, or ten years younger than your nearest relatives diagnosis. Well, my Mom was diagnosed at 60, so that makes my screening age... 50. I was okay with that because, you know, I'm invincible. I should have pushed harder. My body couldn't wait until 50. On the plus side, my brothers and my children now get to tell their doctors that their nearest relative was diagnosed at 41, so their magic number is 31. Both of my brothers, who are nowhere near 50 themselves, have made appointments for screening based on me, so for that, itself, this is worth it. I also heard that one of my cousins is going to have a colonoscopy now, too. I'm very proud of her!
So... what symptoms did I ignore? Turns out, a hell of a lot! And, in my defense, I didn't totally ignore it. I was more "in denial" and coming up with every other possible explanation for what my body was doing to me. Because it couldn't possibly be cancer. I have four kids, for god's sake, I don't have time for cancer.
Things started getting lousy right around my fortieth birthday. But it was subtle and easy to think that it was all in my head. I suddenly went from being a night owl to being someone with no energy to even make it to the children's bedtime without wanting to curl up with a blanket. I was irritable, depressed, unethusiastic about all the things that usually made me happy (like scrapbooking) and I avoided them. This went on for several months and affected me at home as well as at work. I was burnt out! I was picking fights with my husband. I had no patience for the volunteer work that I used to be so passionate about. I was forgetful and disorganized. And I couldn't cope. I remember last winter having an emotional breakdown in my office and sobbing to my boss that I thought I was going crazy. The next day she sent me an article about "Peri-Menopause," to which I of course replied, "No effing way I'm old enough for that." But after reading it, well, it kind of made sense, so figured that was as good as an explanation as anything. And it was a relief because it actually explained a lot.
I lost twenty-three pounds last year, between January and August. Not a symptom, because I totally wanted to lose the weight. And I was kind of half-heartedly trying, but it did come off remarkably easy. But as my pants got looser, my shirts got tighter. And the baby fat that I've been carrying around since become a Mom was not going anywhere. I looked pregnant. As was pointed out to me. "Oh, when are you due?" Umm, four and a half freakin' years ago, thank you very much! And so I watched my stomach get bigger and bigger while people said, "You've lost weight!" And instead of enjoying the compliments about my weightloss, I was embarassed and depressed because all I could see was this volleyball sized gut that I was growing.
And there was other stuff, too. Girl stuff that suggested that my reproductive system was going hayire. Things were happening more frequently and with a lot more intensity. But if you google peri-menopause, that's normal for people my age, so I totally ignored that. Completely ignored it, actually. When the surgeon told me that there was a tumour on my ovary, I was blind-sided. Now, looking back, there's a lot that makes sense.
But here is what I really want you to take away. And where you might want to stop reading if you don't want to know too much about my pooping habits. Around January, I started to be keenly aware that my bathroom abilities had very subtly started to change. Without being overly descriptive, let's just say there was more urgency, but far less satisfaction. You know... when you know you've done a thorough job, you feel pretty good about yourself. It sets the tone for your whole day. And I used to be really good at emptying my bowels. Until last year. I started to get urgent cramps that in no way matched my output. I would visit the bathroom and leave thinking, "Well, that wasn't worth the effort. There's gotta be more in there than that." It's was a little disheartening.
But I ignored that one. Because really, that's embarassing. And we don't talk about it. Everyone poops but no one admits it. And it started so subtly that I assumed it was my imagination. And it wasn't until later on in the year that it got to the point where I started thinking, "Okay, this really isn't all in my head."
At first the cramping only happened right before I went to the bathroom. But right around the summer time, it took on a whole new level of pain. It wasn't just a few stomach cramps that went away after using the bathroom, it was like being in freaking labour. It's the only way to explain it. Doubled over for a few seconds, then reprieve for a few minutes, then doubled over again. The first episode lasted about six hours. And then I was good for a couple of weeks. Well, okay, not good, but certainly not bad. I was able to go about my days relatively easily, only having to breathe through the "contractions" a few times a day. Then in September it happened again, only it lasted longer, this time I was doubled over for a couple of days before the pain subsided. And then it was kind of just constanly there, a teaser that I was able to ignore for the most part.
So I went to the doctor. I'm not a complete idiot. I know stomach pain is not a good thing. And she ordered bloodwork and an x-ray, and a stool sample that was recalled the day after I did that traumatic act of collection. And I got a couple of diagnoses that made sense. One was iron-deficiency and the other was constipation. The iron deficiency made a world of sense. It was as if a light-bulb went on and as soon as I got that one, I felt so much better! There was an explanation for my brain-fog, my depression, and my exhaustion after all. The constipation diagnoses I was less convinced of. But I was willing to try anything to stop the pain, so for the next three months I lived off of WAY too many laxatives. At one point the doctor had me on four doses a day. And I will admit, I wasn't having stomach pain. But I wasn't having fun, either. And when the blood appeared, I backed off of those laxatives of my own accord, which only served to bring back the pain with a vengeance.
In October I got the referral I'd been seeking! Yay, I was about to have my first colonoscopy --- oh happy day! I was on the waiting list and due to be called in for January. It took some work, but I had convinced them to screen me a decade earlier than the textbooks recommend. Now all I had to do was make it through Christmas and there was light on the other side of the tunnel. This was a relief. I knew that I would get some answers
But the pain returned, with a vengeance, after I detoxed from the laxatives that were scraping my colon raw (so, here you go, anytime you see blood in the toilet, get yourself to the hospital stat, I don't care if it's a fissure or a hemorroid, or you ate beets yesterday and forgot, it is better to be safe than sorry). So... back on the fibre I went. But the pain just got worse and my production level went down. And suddenly those classic "pencil-thin stools" that every website about colon cancer warns you about... they were there. And that was scary. January's scope couldn't come fast enough for me.
On December 17th, on a Sunday morning, after a particularly painful weekend where my stomach was grumbling so loudly my children could hear it across the house (that's not an exaggeration) and there had been NOTHING coming out for days, I went to the emergency room and said, "I think I have a blockage." I was sent home with different laxatives to try because, "if you had a blockage you'd be vomiting", an anti-inflamatory to shut up my vocal stomach, and a prescription for a pro-biotic. Okay. This is where anyone other than me would have argued. But I've never been my own best advocate. So I went home, frustrated, and I drank the syrupy drink that was supposed to clear me out. And I popped the anti-inflammatories that were to ease the pain. And by 3pm that day, I was vomiting. And vomiting. And then for good measure, I vomited a little more. All afternoon. All evening. And all night. Those new meds didn't stand a chance because they weren't staying in my stomach.
Monday morning I phoned the clinic and got an emergency appointment. I hugged my kids a little tighter as I watched them leave for school, told them I loved them, and just had a really bad feeling that my day wasn't going to end well. We went up to the clinic and I met with a doctor who had never seen me before, but when you call at 8am on a Monday morning for an emergency appointment, you take whoever will see you. And she specializes in colons. And she saved my life. I told her I was sure I had a blockage and I couldn't take anymore laxatives, the blood was too scary and I really couldn't wait until January for the colonoscopy. And she believed me. And sent me to the hospital for an emergency x-ray which showed... a complete blockage!
On December 18th my healing journey started. I spent 12 days in the hospital, 8 weeks recovering from a massive surgery (I'll blog about that later), and now the next six months will be taken up with me blasting my body with chemotherapy. We caught the cancer at stage 4, colon cancer that has metastasized to another organ (my right ovary, may she rest in peace) which sucks, but what can I say, I've always been an overachiever. Go big or go home, right? And at least I'm here to talk about it. Because blockages are serious. They could rupture and poison you. Mine didn't. But apparently, which I didn't know, my Great-Grandma's did. Yikes.
And those are the signs I (almost) ignored. So don't you ignore them! Please! Don't be like me and think "I'm a hypochondriac," or "I'm just imagining this," or "my bowel movements are too embarassing to talk about." If it seems odd, it probably is. Better to be safe than sorry. Don't wait until you are in pain to mention your concerns to the doctor. Please. Especially if you are one of my family members on Mom's side. I'm officially a fourth generation colon cancer patient. Me, Mom, Grandpa, and Great-Grandma. If I can get it, then our whole family can. Use me as an example as to why you should not wait until you are fifty.
That's all!
Friday 2 March 2018
My PICC line
So, this is my travelling companion for the next six months or so...
It's a PICC line, which stands for Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter. It's basically a tube that goes into my arm, through a big ol' vein, and hovers somewhere just above my heart. It's how the chemotherapy is delivered into my body and it's also how all my blood can be drawn from here on.
Very handy.
Except when it's not. Like when I want to shower and wash my hair but I'm not allowed to get it wet due to the risk of introducing infectious bacteria into my body. Or when I might accidentally snag it on my clothing and yank it out (I'm not actually sure that would happen, but you never know).
I've had four showers since it was inserted and each one came with it's own challenges. But we've figured out that if I use approximately half a roll of cling wrap (the pricey Press and Seal apparently works the best) wrapped around my arm and then taped along the seams, I can shower fairly easy whilst keeping it dry.
Of course, my mobility with half a roll of saran wrap around my arm is much more limited.
So I went online and googled "Waterproof PICC line covers" and now I am eagerly awaiting my new shower accessory that scored 4.5 stars on Amazon.
In the meantime, noting that the mesh "sleeves" that the hospital gives me to cover the PICC to avoid potential snags, get really grungy, really fast and do not hold up to the washing machine, I decided to try my hand at creating a reusable, washable sleeve.
Very handy.
Except when it's not. Like when I want to shower and wash my hair but I'm not allowed to get it wet due to the risk of introducing infectious bacteria into my body. Or when I might accidentally snag it on my clothing and yank it out (I'm not actually sure that would happen, but you never know).
I've had four showers since it was inserted and each one came with it's own challenges. But we've figured out that if I use approximately half a roll of cling wrap (the pricey Press and Seal apparently works the best) wrapped around my arm and then taped along the seams, I can shower fairly easy whilst keeping it dry.
Of course, my mobility with half a roll of saran wrap around my arm is much more limited.
So I went online and googled "Waterproof PICC line covers" and now I am eagerly awaiting my new shower accessory that scored 4.5 stars on Amazon.
In the meantime, noting that the mesh "sleeves" that the hospital gives me to cover the PICC to avoid potential snags, get really grungy, really fast and do not hold up to the washing machine, I decided to try my hand at creating a reusable, washable sleeve.
What do you think? I'm not sure how long this one will maintain it's shape before it rolls down all stretched out and useless, but for now, it's fitting over my arm quite nicely and the itchiness that the mesh ones gave me seems to have vanished. I'm going to wear it to bed and see how it holds up. Tomorrow I'm going to try making one with a stretchier, softer, wool to see if I can't tighten it up.
Who knew... cancer has provided me with another hobby!
Friday 23 February 2018
Chemotherapy begins!
So, I'm officially fighting this with all guns blazing. And I do want to document it. But right now, the most difficult thing that my first chemo infusion has taught me... is that it is REALLY hard to be a Mom at bedtime when I just want to crawl into my own bed and sleep, hours before I can justify sending them all to bed!
So... with the last of them tucked in... I say a relieved "Good night!"
ZZZZZZZZZZ
So... with the last of them tucked in... I say a relieved "Good night!"
ZZZZZZZZZZ
post Christmas blues...
I think I handled the whole Christmas holiday pretty well. I kept things as upbeat as I could, considering the circumstances. But today, as I was scrapbooking my Christmas photos from (already?) two months ago, I felt myself becoming a bit sad. Which is silly because my children had a very good Christmas at their grandparents. And there will be many Christmas do-overs for me in the future. But I couldn't help getting a little teary as I looked at photos of my children opening gifts that I had wrapped, anticipating their faces Christmas morning.
What a crappy time to get diagnosed with cancer!
What a crappy time to get diagnosed with cancer!
 |
| My Christmas Eve selfie. |
 |
| Our family on our Christmas Day visit. Love this photo, despite the tale that it tells. |
Sunday 18 February 2018
Best Before Dates
I was reading a blog written by a cancer surviver who, twelve years ago, was given two months to live. Her motto is "No one should be given an expiration date!"
I think I will adopt that motto for my own, too.
"No one should be given an expiration date." (Some people deserve best before dates, though!)
Happy Sunday!
Three days left in my chemo countdown.
I think I will adopt that motto for my own, too.
"No one should be given an expiration date." (Some people deserve best before dates, though!)
Happy Sunday!
Three days left in my chemo countdown.
Monday 5 February 2018
What I did this morning...
Feeling a little radioactive now! But I'm feeling equally confident that this morning's CT scan is going to be much more positive than the one I had in December. Just another small hurdle in the path to health.
Thursday 1 February 2018
The C-word
So... I have cancer. Or, I did have cancer. I'm not sure which. Does someone ever really go from being a cancer patient to being cancer free? Depends which websites you google. If you google. I'd advise not to, but then I'd be a hypocrite because I find myself googling cancer. Every single day. Symptoms. Prognosis. Side effects of chemotherapy. It's all very sobering. Did you know that Stage 4 colon cancer (cancer that has spread to other organs) has an five year survival rate of 11% ? I didn't know that. Until I googled the damn thing. But a stage 3 colon cancer has a survival rate between 53 and 89%, depending on how many lymph nodes were impacted. Cancer and math. Not a good combination, if you ask me.
So it's been one month and 13 days since my diagnosis. If I'm being honest with myself, though, I self-diagnosed this months before that. But denial is strong in me, so I had myself convinced that it was something else. Anything else. IBS. Diverticulosis. Crohn's. Anything but the C-word. It wasn't until the pain started to accompany the other more vague symptoms, that I really took notice and said, "Okay, something is seriously wrong."
And so here I am. Spending way too much time googling and not enough time enjoying this reprieve from work that I suddenly find myself with. I'm in a funny kind of limbo right now. I had surgery to remove two tumours from my body six weeks ago. One in my colon and one that had metastasized to one of my ovaries. While they were removing body parts, they found cancer in two of my lymph nodes, too. I technically have Stage 4 colon cancer, but my oncologist (how weird that I have an oncologist; not everyone can say that) was quite pleased with the surgery and the very small amount of localized lymph nodes that were affected, and feels that we can consider it a Stage 3 colon cancer instead. Stage 3 colon cancer is typically treated by surgery followed by 12 rounds of a FOLFOX chemotherapy regimen. Google that. Fun symptoms on the horizon.
So I am six weeks post surgery and officially allowed to "vacuum" and lift heavy stuff again. I'm starting my chemotherapy regimen in three weeks, so I figure I have about three weeks to feel human and get a functional "stay-at-home" mom routine figured out before I start to feel like a cancer patient again.
Or, I could just hang out on the couch all day, like I've been doing, watching crappy daytime television (the 'who's the baby daddy' cliff hangers on the daytime talk shows are so compelling), drinking my easy to digest smoothies, and avoiding reality. I have every right to give myself permission to do that. I've earned it. But I think it makes me feel worse. Guilty about not accomplishing anything. Guilty about not enjoying all the free hours to scrapbook or organize those cupboards I've been meaning to tackle. Or walk the dog. Or plan menus and crock pot meals for future use. Instead, it allows me to spend too much time in the dark recesses of my brain where the "what if" zone lies.
What if I had gone to the doctor earlier?
What if I had been more assertive when they told me that I didn't need a colonoscopy until I was 50?
What if I had gone to the hospital in August when the pain first started instead of waiting until September, after it happened again?
What if I had eaten healthier for the last several years? Or got more exercise? Or slept better?
What if I don't beat this?
What if I die?
These are all questions that I try not to dwell on. But sometimes I want to ask them. I don't expect answers. I just want to be able to ask them. I want someone to say, "Yes, what if you don't beat this, how are we going to move on?" instead of always hearing, "You've got this. You're not going to die. Everything will be alright." End of subject. No, not the end of subject. I want to talk and to vent and be angry and self-absorbed. Or sad and scared. I don't want to always protect everyone else's feelings. After 40 + years of being the positive, kind, considerate good girl, I want to be mean and miserable for a while. Or not. Maybe not. I just want that option.
So, I guess that's what this blog is going to look like for the next several months. I can't promise not to be too negative, but I won't always be. I'm pretty good at keeping things positive. But occasionally the blues kick in and I go dark. You're welcome to go dark with me. Or ride it out until I can be funny again. My "Laura's Family", oft neglected blog, will be less about my children and the funny things they say and do, and more about me needing an outlet to record my thoughts about how my body has betrayed me. A rambling, unedited, written diarrhea of thoughts.
Now... speaking of diarrhea...
So it's been one month and 13 days since my diagnosis. If I'm being honest with myself, though, I self-diagnosed this months before that. But denial is strong in me, so I had myself convinced that it was something else. Anything else. IBS. Diverticulosis. Crohn's. Anything but the C-word. It wasn't until the pain started to accompany the other more vague symptoms, that I really took notice and said, "Okay, something is seriously wrong."
And so here I am. Spending way too much time googling and not enough time enjoying this reprieve from work that I suddenly find myself with. I'm in a funny kind of limbo right now. I had surgery to remove two tumours from my body six weeks ago. One in my colon and one that had metastasized to one of my ovaries. While they were removing body parts, they found cancer in two of my lymph nodes, too. I technically have Stage 4 colon cancer, but my oncologist (how weird that I have an oncologist; not everyone can say that) was quite pleased with the surgery and the very small amount of localized lymph nodes that were affected, and feels that we can consider it a Stage 3 colon cancer instead. Stage 3 colon cancer is typically treated by surgery followed by 12 rounds of a FOLFOX chemotherapy regimen. Google that. Fun symptoms on the horizon.
So I am six weeks post surgery and officially allowed to "vacuum" and lift heavy stuff again. I'm starting my chemotherapy regimen in three weeks, so I figure I have about three weeks to feel human and get a functional "stay-at-home" mom routine figured out before I start to feel like a cancer patient again.
Or, I could just hang out on the couch all day, like I've been doing, watching crappy daytime television (the 'who's the baby daddy' cliff hangers on the daytime talk shows are so compelling), drinking my easy to digest smoothies, and avoiding reality. I have every right to give myself permission to do that. I've earned it. But I think it makes me feel worse. Guilty about not accomplishing anything. Guilty about not enjoying all the free hours to scrapbook or organize those cupboards I've been meaning to tackle. Or walk the dog. Or plan menus and crock pot meals for future use. Instead, it allows me to spend too much time in the dark recesses of my brain where the "what if" zone lies.
What if I had gone to the doctor earlier?
What if I had been more assertive when they told me that I didn't need a colonoscopy until I was 50?
What if I had gone to the hospital in August when the pain first started instead of waiting until September, after it happened again?
What if I had eaten healthier for the last several years? Or got more exercise? Or slept better?
What if I don't beat this?
What if I die?
These are all questions that I try not to dwell on. But sometimes I want to ask them. I don't expect answers. I just want to be able to ask them. I want someone to say, "Yes, what if you don't beat this, how are we going to move on?" instead of always hearing, "You've got this. You're not going to die. Everything will be alright." End of subject. No, not the end of subject. I want to talk and to vent and be angry and self-absorbed. Or sad and scared. I don't want to always protect everyone else's feelings. After 40 + years of being the positive, kind, considerate good girl, I want to be mean and miserable for a while. Or not. Maybe not. I just want that option.
So, I guess that's what this blog is going to look like for the next several months. I can't promise not to be too negative, but I won't always be. I'm pretty good at keeping things positive. But occasionally the blues kick in and I go dark. You're welcome to go dark with me. Or ride it out until I can be funny again. My "Laura's Family", oft neglected blog, will be less about my children and the funny things they say and do, and more about me needing an outlet to record my thoughts about how my body has betrayed me. A rambling, unedited, written diarrhea of thoughts.
Now... speaking of diarrhea...
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