The new me

Here I am with my current head of hair.

Yes, it’s a little graying on top.  I’ll decide later if I’ll do anything about it or just let my freak flag fly.

It’s grown in a bit more since my last blog entry, which I can’t believe was over two months ago.  I guess when chemo ends, there’s less to talk about.  But, really, there shouldn’t be.  I should be letting everybody know what life post-chemo is like.  Well, here goes a bit.

The Arimidex, the post-chemo oral medication that I’m taking to suppress estrogen stores, is no barrel of monkeys.  However, it’s not nearly as bad as the Tamoxifen and Megace that I took after my first round of chemo.  I do get mild hot flashes — not the wake-you-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night with sheets soaking wet kind — but they do interrupt my sleep occasionally with the need to fling the covers off.  The effect on my mood and fatigue are more difficult to deal with.  I’m combating that with exercise, journaling, and, soon, getting back into community service.  There’s nothing like helping others to change your perspective and bring on the feel goods.

I have been feeling good enough to do some traveling.  To celebrate the end of my chemo and great last PET scan results, Paul and I went to Sonoma Valley to do some wine tasting back in October...the day after the wildfires started.  We had to adjust our winery visits, but we still managed to have a great time.  We didn’t realize it had been so long since we’d had a trip just the two of us.  It was a great way to reconnect and look ahead toward the future.

Additionally, last month, I went on a 10-day solo trip to visit friends in Oklahoma and Texas, and, yes, I can affirm...there is no basement at the Alamo.  I can also attest that Oklahoma wines are terrible and driving on highways around Dallas require nerves of steel.  However, I had lots of laughs with several great friends, and the entire trip was beyond wonderful.

We went to the family farm in South Carolina for Thanksgiving, and while many of my thoughts turned to my mom and the incredible meals she prepared for Thanksgivings past, it was heartwarming to see extended family and share some quality time together.

So, here we find ourselves in the midst of the Christmas season.  In usual Moore fashion, we don’t yet have a tree up, but we’ll take care of that soon.  I find myself feeling well enough to host both Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day brunch, and for that, I am very grateful.  I might need to take a few breaks to put my feet up for a few minutes along the way, but I’m so glad to be able to play hostess for the holidays.  

I’ll have an appointment with my oncologist at the first of the year, and then we’ll talk about scheduling another PET scan a few months after that.  But, I’m not focusing on that part of my life.  It’s not like I can ever forget that I’m a stage IV cancer patient, but thoughts of it don’t invade my every moment.  I have too much else to think about these days.

That dreaded little pill

I saw my oncologist last week, and she prescribed an oral chemotherapy drug for me to attempt to keep my cancer at bay.  It’s an aromatase inhibitor called Arimidex.  It’s side effects are like going through menopause again:  hot flashes, moodiness, insomnia...plus the additional possibility of joint and bone pain.  Not looking forward to this, but it is what it is.

I paused this morning before I swallowed my first dose and said to that dreaded little pill, “I hate you.”  I just had to get that out of my system.  I don’t really hate it.  I do wish I didn’t have to take it, but I’m very appreciative of the potential effectiveness of it.  Aromatase inhibitors stop the production on any residual estrogen in my body, at this point likely stored in my fat cells.  See, even if you go through menopause, you still have estrogen stores in your body.  Since my cancer is estrogen-receptor positive, taking an aromatase inhibitor is the best defense I have against another recurrence.

I’ll have another follow up appointment in three months and another PET scan in six months.  In the meantime, I’m looking forward to life getting on to its new normal.  Already, the fatigue from the IV chemo is abating, and I’ve got some fuzz growing back on my head.

New fuzz on my head...and a hat imprint on my forehead.

Today, I’m going to the drug store to buy some B12 to help get over the fatigue and some Biotin to hopefully help with hair regrowth.

I’m still coming to terms with the loss of my mother.  We now are the owners of her car, a 2001 Buick LeSabre, definitely a “granny car,” and every time I pull in the driveway and see it there, I remember all her trips to our house to help with the boys when they were young.  We got it to have it available to Allen when he’s home.  He’s not particularly thrilled with the make and model, but to him, it’s a free car, at the ready for his use.

I’m also investigating ways to get out in the community in some form of service.  I’ll keep you all posted as developments occur.

The best news ever

I received the best news ever!  My PET scan done Monday showed absolutely no cancer!  Once again, I’ve beaten this thing.

Even though I’m overjoyed, I proceed with cautious optimism.  I think once you have a recurrence, you realize only too well how easily it can happen again.  I’m not going to live my life waiting for the next shoe to fall.  I plan to get out there and really enjoy myself, but there’s always going to be a wonder, an inkling, a worry.

But, right now I’m celebrating!  As luck would have it, I’m with girlfriends

Because when you find a giant peanut on the side of the road, you have to stop and take your picture with it.

on our annual weekend getaway, and we are rejoicing together.  There’s nothing like spending time with these old friends that I met as a young mother.  We provided the network of support for each other while raising our children through those difficult early years.  Now we’re sending them off to college.  We’ve been there for each other through some of us returning back to the workforce and the sickness and death of parents, providing the help to navigate through rough waters.  I can’t imagine my life without them.

While my heart still grieves over the loss of my mother, I can see the light ahead, and there is great promise for what the future holds.  I think mom would have liked that.  She was a resilient woman who withstood a lot in her life.  What a great example to me as I follow through to the next stage of this journey.

Mom’s service Tuesday was lovely.  My siblings and I all gave brief eulogies, each offering our own unique memories.  We laughed together and cried together.  Mom would have been pleased with her sendoff.  It was a fitting classy affair for a classy lady.

Next week, I meet with my oncologist to discuss the next phase.  I’ll have many, many more PET scans while I’m in surveillance mode.  I’ll very likely start some oral medication, like tamoxifen or megace, to attempt to keep the cancer from returning, and my hair will start growing back in!

But, what I’m most looking forward to is the sense of getting my life back.  Less doctors appointments, more energy, the freedom to pursue whatever the next stage of my life will bring.  I’m searching for something.  Something to stave off this empty next syndrome I’ve been fighting since I sent both my boys off to college.  There’s a calling out there for me.  I just have to look for it.

So, rejoice with me, dear readers.  You’ve all been such a source of strength for me during this bout with the beast.  Thanks to all of you for all that you’ve done to help me reach this place.  I’ll keep you posted about future developments.

The long good bye

Mom as a child

My mother passed away last night after a long battle with the horrible disease of dementia.  So many times, I wished I could have talked to her about my journey with cancer, but she was beyond understanding when I was diagnosed.  Perhaps that’s for the best.  She didn’t need that worry.

Mom started to decline in 2011, about a year before my diagnosis, and it’s been a process of stages of saying good bye as we watched her slowly slip away.  The long good bye.

But, there are many wonderful memories, including the last time I saw her.  Paul, the boys, and I visited her at her assisted living home, and she knew all of us, even cracking a few jokes.  It’s times like those that I will focus on to carry me through this difficult period.

Mom’s obituary can be found by clicking here.  We’ll be traveling back to my hometown in South Carolina early next week for the funeral.

Thankfully, this is week 3 of my treatment cycle, so my energy levels are pretty good.  I have my follow up PET scan on Monday, when I’ll find out how effective the six cycles of chemotherapy were.  Even if the scan reveals good news, I suspect I’ll still be prescribed some oral chemotherapy, like tamoxifen and/or megace, to be proactive in keeping the cancer at bay.

That’s all the news for now.  I mostly just wanted to share about my mom.  She was a great lady, and I will miss her beyond measure.

Chemo number last

I’m currently sitting in my recliner at the infusion center at Northside Hospital, having my sixth (and, hopefully, final) chemotherapy treatment.  I’m feeling a little woozy, so you’ll have to excuse any incoherent expressions.

I’ve had all my pre-meds to prepare me for the chemo drugs I receive, taxol and carbo.  There’s two anti-nausea medications, a steroid, an antihistamine, and lots of saline...which means lots of trips to the restroom.  I’m currently receiving the taxol, which takes three hours to infuse.  After that, I’ll get the carbo, which takes an hour to infuse.  It should all be finished up in time to drive back home in rush hour traffic.

I’ve got a corner spot in the infusion center, with windows on two sides...a prime location.  My infusion nurse, Brittany, is very sweet and attentive.  I thought I’d met all the infusion nurses before, but she’s a new one to me.  All the nurses here have been phenomenal, making this horrendous process a little more palatable.  I can’t recommend this place more to anyone fighting the good cancer fight.

In about three weeks, I’ll have another PET/CT to assess the chemotherapy effectiveness.

Of course, my thoughts still turn to the boys and wondering what they’re up to.  Allen’s classes started yesterday, and Boyce’s start tomorrow.  I’ve had fleeting texts with them, but no substantial communication.  I know they need their space, and I want to give it to them.  But, gees, I miss them.

I do have something new on which to focus my attention.  Paul and I decided to celebrate the end of my chemotherapy and getting the boys off to college by taking a short trip to the California wine country.  We won’t leave until late October because we’ve got parent weekends at both the boys’ schools in late September and early October.  I’ve had fun researching wineries and varietals.  I’m embarrassed to admit that, even though I’m very familiar with French wines after living there for three years, I know little about wines in my home country.  We plan to be educated.

Well, that about all I can get out for right now.  I think lunch and a nap is in order.

Life is interesting, isn’t it?

It’s the early morning hours again, and I’m wide awake in my generic hotel room near the college where my son Boyce will be going to school for the next four years.  I’ve been here for the three-day long student and parent orientation program.  At first I thought three days was waaay too long, but it’s given me time to process, time to watch Boyce settle in and start to make friends, and I will be able to leave today in much better shape emotionally than I was three days ago.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do as a parent.  I’ve gone through the gamut of emotions over this life transition.  I’ve been unsure, worried, ready to pack him up and bring him back home...and then magically, I’ve seen him start to bond with his roommate, speak to people as he crosses the campus, develop an assurance in his step and a confidence in his being.  He’s ready...and I think I’m ready.

I had to laugh to myself yesterday as we were chatting between orientation sessions.  He asked me if his sheets and comforter can be washed in the washing machine in his residence hall.  Have I always washed his bed linens for him?  I must have.  He’s been washing his own clothes since middle school, but I guess he’s never been instructed about sheets and other bedding.  How could I have missed this mundane life lesson?  But, I know I’ve prepared him for the big stuff, the stuff that will make him successful and grow in yet unknown exponential ways over the next few years.

I will miss him horribly...his easy-going manner, his incredible sense of humor, his sensitivity to others, but it’s time for him share those gifts with the world.  I couldn’t feel more gutted, but I also couldn’t feel prouder.

His twin brother, Allen, has transitioned to his new life too.  He moved into his university on the same day that Boyce moved in here.  Paul and I had to split ways to make this move happen simultaneously, so I wasn’t able to be there to help Allen make his bed and find the perfect spot for all his belongings.  I didn’t get to meet his roommate...all things I regret, but it had to be that way.  Reports from Paul is that all went well...they found room for everything in his cramped little cell-like dorm room.  It went so well that Allen was really a bit anxious for Paul to leave so he could get out and explore his new world, hook up with friends old and new.  Allen’s university is close to home, so I will be able to go see his new digs soon.  I’ll feel more complete about this parenting stage once I’m able to do that.  Yes, I’m such a mom.

So here Paul and I go, launching ourselves into our own new lives.  We talked on the phone at length last night about the things we’re looking forward to doing, just the two of us.  It helped to look to the future and see all the possibilities that still lie ahead for us.

My energy levels have held up amazingly well during this goodbye process.  Luckily, it’s week three of my treatment cycle, when typically I’m at my best.  I have my final chemo session on Tuesday of next week, and I’m ready to get that under my belt.  Then, in a couple of weeks I’ll have another PET/CT to assess how successful my six sessions of chemotherapy have been in eradicating the cancer.  My CA-125 continues to drop, and my immune system continues to hold up to the rigors of treatment.  I’m ready for some good news, ready to put this chapter behind me and move forward with living my life without the restraints of scheduled treatments, lab work, and doctors’ appointments.

All these transitions coming at once.  Life is interesting, isn’t it?

Between stages

Today, I made an early morning trek to Starbucks.  It’s not that I didn’t have coffee here at home.  Paul had already left for work, and it would be hours before the boys are up.  I just needed something to do.  I got caught behind a few school buses, wistfully watching the school kids climb aboard while smaller siblings and parents waved good bye.

I’m in that in-between mode right now.  Between treatments.  Between high school agendas and getting ready to move the boys into their respective colleges next week.  NEXT WEEK!  How did that happen?

The guest bedroom is brimming with XL bed linens, desk lamps, and plastic storage bins.  Almost all is done but the crying, and I’m finding myself a little lost.  After Paul went to bed last night, I was feeling a little lonely, so I went upstairs to visit with my still-awake boys.  I didn’t have anything in particular to say.  I just wanted to be around them.  “Is my room going to stay the same after I leave?” Allen asked unsurely.  “Yes, of course.  It will still be your room.  Well, maybe I’ll put in some new bed linens and drapes,” I said, “at least until you graduate from college.”

I don’t think any of us quite know what to do with ourselves.  Trapped right now between phases in life.

This chemo cycle has been a difficult one for me, and I still have one more to go.  I really got mowed over by fatigue after last Tuesday’s treatment.  There were several days that I was in bed more than out.  But, still no nausea and still no bone pain or tingling in my extremities.  I know in the grand scheme of things, I’m still lucky, but the relentless fatigue had me worried that I’d be able to muster the energy to get me through the next few weeks of packing and traveling.  I’ll just have to take it as it comes and do whatever I need to do.  It’s hard not to know how I’ll be feeling during this most life changing of eras in my boys’ lives.  I am very thankful that a dear friend will be traveling with me to take Boyce to his move in and orientation, a three-day affair, and my brother is meeting us there to help unload and settle in.  Meanwhile, Paul will tackle Allen’s move in, the same day as Boyce’s.  Born the same day; moving into college the same day.  How could it possibly be any different?

So, here I am.  Getting bored with the waiting and preparations and yet anxious about the fruition of all these months of planning, acquisition, and packing.  And worrying about my ability to rise to the occasion required of a parent seeing her twin-born young men off to this next phase.

It will be what it will be.  Send all the extra energy you can muster my way.

Kayaking without the dolphins

The weather was perfect last evening. Broad Creek was at near low tide, and the wind was only a whisper.  It should have been the ideal time for kayaking with the dolphins, but other than one faint unseen spurt from a blow hole just as we were coming back into dock after a two-hour paddle to experience what became the illusive sea creature, there were no dolphins to be seen.  “Eighty per cent of the time, we see dolphins,” boasted our guide.

Oh well.  It was still a great paddle under ideal circumstances, and I’m most proud of the fact that my kayaking skills remain intact...not that I’m a veteran, by any stretch of the imagination...but I do enjoy getting out on occasion.  The ease of the paddle rotating through the water when you get your rhythm just right.  The silence of it all, except for the swish-swish of paddle to water.  I kept up, mostly in the front of our tour group, and was determined that this chemo woman, this cancer patient, was not going to tire out and hold the group back...and I didn’t, and it was glorious.

Ester Williams has nothing on me

Perhaps it’s been since the Ester Williams era of the 1950’s that you thought of women wearing a  bathing cap, but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing this week at Hilton Head Island.  Not only do I want to disguise my bald pate, I want to protect its tender skin from the harsh rays of the sun.  Hence, my retro bathing cap.

My eyes are squinted a bit more than usual, as the wind was whipping up a bit of a sand storm, but let it never be said that I didn’t want to make a statement with my headwear.  Yes, I’ve gotten more than the occasional sideways glance from the masses along the beach, but I truly don’t care.  I’ve got my beach read, my adult beverage, my comfy beach chair, and my family around me.  What more could a girl ask for?  It’s a lovely way to escape the regimen of chemotherapy and cancer worries for a week.  So what if i don’t have long curly locks to tie up into a stylish bun?  That time will come again.  In the meantime, I’ll take my Ester Williams look in exchange for healthier times in the future. 

A welcome respite

Well, my new normal seems to be waking up about 4:00 a.m., as I did this morning.  I don’t mind, anymore, because I went to bed at 10:00 last night and had a long three-hour nap yesterday afternoon.  The house is very quiet, and I’ve come to like this contemplative time to myself.

I got my Day 10 blood work results yesterday, and they’re great!  My neutrophils are hanging in there at 2300, a little below what’s normal for the average person but well above what’s considered acceptable to continue treatment without any bone marrow support.  Additionally, the cancer marker, CA-125, continues to drop, indicating my cancer is receding.  I’ve got four chemotherapy treatments under my belt with two more to go.  I really couldn’t ask for better.

My energy levels are okay, probably great for this stage in the chemo game, but I certainly look forward to the day that I feel fully myself again.  I did have a little scare about a week ago when my temperature spiked up to 101.6, but it resolved within six hours with some ibuprofen and Tylenol, and no other symptoms.  My oncologist wasn’t too concerned, and with the positive Day 10 blood work, we consider it of no consequence.

Paul, the boys, and I leave for Hilton Head Island today for a week long family vacation, perhaps our last together for a while with the boys starting college in a few short weeks.  I want to cherish this time we’ll have together, and I look forward to many hours reading my book in a comfy chair under the beach tent.  Since the boys had solo experiences with no parents down at Hilton Head earlier this summer, I hope Paul and I don’t cramp their style too much.  I have to keep reminding myself that they’re young men now with their own agendas.

I’m lucky that this trip I planned back in February before I knew of my cancer recurrence so nicely fits into my chemo schedule.  It’s during the third week of the cycle, just before my next treatment on the 30th, and typically the week when I’m feeling at my best.  I don’t know that I’ll feel up to climbing the Sea Pines Lighthouse, but we do plan on going on an evening nature-guided kayak tour in the interior marshes of the island, near dolphin feeding grounds.  We’re all hopeful to kayak alongside the dolphins.  I’ve done this once before, and it was magical.  The touring company has named several of the dolphins, so I think this is a good indicator that they often appear.

However, I have to admit that the chemo regimen is getting old about now.  I’m tired of feeling tired, and I’m tired of parsing out my days based on someone else’s agenda.  I’m ready to plan my life at my own whim, but I remind myself that I’ve only got about another month to go before I’ve got all six treatments under my belt.  And then, hopefully, another long remission when I’m the captain of my own ship, heading to whatever new lands that ship takes me.  I’ve already got tentative plans of some travels I hope to undertake when I’m done.  It’s nice to have those goals and be an armchair travel agent, taking myself to both familiar and unfamiliar places.

But, then there’s my new life of an empty nester coming up and all the uncertainties that brings.  I know I’ve got to find something meaningful to occupy my time, and I enjoy finding myself sifting through the possibilities.  Cancer has a way of changing your perspective of what’s important, and though I only have inklings of where I’ll end up, I know I want to participate in something that matters, to give back to the universe some of the positive energy it has given me to get through this journey.

However, right now, I just need to focus on packing my suitcase and hitting the road to the coast, a welcome respite with my own agenda at the top of the list.  I think I’ve earned this one.

Four down, two to go

Just a quick post to let everybody know my fourth session of chemo went well yesterday.  One of my sons accompanied Paul and me, and he sat with me the majority of the time while Paul “worked remotely” from the waiting room.  We had good conversation together, and I’m glad we were able to share some quality time.  He’s not squeamish about needles and such, so I think he actually enjoyed watching my chemo nurse access my port to get the ball rolling.

Paul went back to work full time on Monday and seems to be managing well with the schedule.  He’s been tired in the evenings but not so much so that he isn’t able to recover for the next day.  I think he’s enjoying getting out of the house on a regular basis after being largely cooped up for several weeks recovering from surgery.

This morning, I’ve been feeling pretty good.  Not very tired at all, though I know an afternoon nap is probably in order, if the residual steroids will allow it.

We’re thoroughly enjoying having meals brought to us from friends in the community during chemo weeks.  I’m so thankful for this help.  It makes our lives so much easier, and — if I’m awake when the food arrives — it’s so nice to have a brief visit from the meal provider.  Thank you all again for your assistance.  It really means the world to us to have such caring friends.

And thank you to the rest of my readers.  I now have over 60,000 page views of my blog!  Your support and comments make this girl feel loved.

On the right path

Two days ago, I had my mid-treatment PET scan to assess the progress of the three chemotherapy sessions I’ve had thus far, and I got the results yesterday.  I still have a ways to go, but the cancer is receding.  Not only were the nodules in my lungs less reactive to the radioactive glucose that they love to lap up during a PET scan, they had decreased in size.  I’m not out of the woods yet, but we’re definitely on the right path to eradicating them...the best news a cancer patient can receive when midway through treatment.  My chemo cocktail of carboplatin and placlitaxel is working, and I am on the road to being cancer free again!

This drug combination worked well for me the last time I had chemo seven years ago, so I’ve been expecting the same results this time.  But, to receive confirmation is a joyous occasion...so joyous, I threw aside my afternoon fatigue and had happy hour with the girls yesterday.  I shared with them my good news, and they reveled in it with me.  Then, we got down to the business of conversation about our daily lives over gin and tonics.  The best way to celebrate.  Just being ourselves without the heavy cloud of cancer hanging over my every thought.  It was so liberating.

I am beyond grateful for my doctors with their knowledge of how best to treat me, my family and friends for their constant support and encouragement, and for the positivity in the universe that I’m able to tap into to keep me going.  This third cycle has been a more difficult one for me, as fatigue has been more challenging, but this news is worth every nap I’ve had to take.  It sort of puts it all in perspective for me.  I need my rest so my body can do its best to let the chemo repair it.  I’ll sleep all day for these kind of results and not complain about it...well, maybe once or twice.

On other fronts, Paul was able to have his staples removed yesterday from his emergency appendectomy about two and a half weeks ago.  He’s not 100% either just yet, but he’s definitely improving every day.  He’s had to learn the power of a healing afternoon nap too.

So, life is pretty good in the Moore household, and for that I am very thankful.

Restless and tired

It was a 3:00 am morning for me today, but I was exhausted yesterday afternoon and went to bed very early.  Today is Day 10 of my treatment cycle, so that means I’m off to the lab to get my blood drawn to test out those neutrophils.  This cycle had been more fatiguing for me, but I know that’s a predictable trend.  The further along you go, the more tired you become.  Plus, I had the added challenges of taking care of Paul in his post op recovery period, and I took a trip to North Carolina to take my son Boyce to a freshman retreat in the throws of preparing him for his college experience starting in August.

Paul is doing much better, though neither of us realized how long it would take him to recover from surgery.  He will get his staples out on Tuesday of next week, and I know that will be a real turning point for him.  It’s been interesting having two convalescing parents in the house.  Unfortunately, Paul wasn’t able to go to college orientation with our other son, Allen — of course, scheduled at the same time as the retreat for Boyce.  Luckily, Allen was able to go with a friend and seemed to negotiate the process just fine on his own.

So, now both sons have roommates and dorm rooms assigned and class schedules in place.  This stuff is getting real!  The guest bedroom has become a landing zone for all the flotsam and jetsam that will accompany them to their respective schools.  Amazon and I have become best friends, even though my Amazon account was hacked last week by someone who thought it would be fun to hijack my credit card information and send me some nipple covers from my own account...the kind of things a much younger woman would wear with a skimpy dress that doesn’t allow her to wear a bra.  I guess the cyber thief got a real giggle out of that.

In general, I’m finding myself getting very restless with this chemo process.  Restless and tired.  It’s hard not to think of life stalling while you go through this three month ordeal, even if I have managed to distract myself with my day-to-day life.  Some days I’m more successful at it than others.  I find myself fantasizing about life after getting a hiatus from being a constant patient.  I say hiatus because I know now that I’ll be a cancer patient for the rest of my life.  My oncologist has warned me that cancer will likely be an ever present part of my existence, constantly on watch and potentially having to go through various treatments heretofore.  Yes, that information is daunting, but I try not to let it get me down.  Like I’ve said before, there’s lots of living left to do, and I plan to be fully engaged in it.  But, today, I think I’ll just take it easy.

Three down, three to go

Yesterday, I had my third of six chemo treatments, and all went well.  I’m pretty much on a steroid high today, with rosy red cheeks to prove it.  Paul had planned to be out of town for this session, so my dear friend Lisa took me.  She was a gem.  We chatted.  She entertained herself while I napped (and snored), and she brought me my favorite sandwich from Alon’s for lunch.  I couldn’t have asked for a better companion in Paul’s absence.

And, speaking of Paul’s absence, for those of you who haven’t yet heard, he had an emergency appendectomy on Saturday.  He’d been having symptoms for nearly a week but wrote them off to indigestion, but when he couldn’t sleep Friday night because of intense discomfort and was running a fever over 101, he knew something was wrong.  So, off to the emergency room we went.  The surgeon thought, at first, that he could do the surgery laparoscopically, but after getting Paul into the operating room, he realized Paul’s anatomy wasn’t suited for a laparoscopic procedure.  Consequently, he had to convert to a laparotomy and made a 12-inch incision to remove the infected appendix.  Paul had to stay in the hospital for four days and can’t go back to work for two weeks.  He’s resting comfortably at home now and hasn’t needed any pain medication since yesterday, but he’s very fatigued.  On the upside, we couldn’t have chosen a better week to have meals brought to us.  Even though I’m feeling good today, I know my down days will be tomorrow through Saturday, and with Paul laid up too, having a nourishing meal brought to us is a tremendous help!  Many, many thanks to those of you who have signed up to feed our family.  I can’t tell you how much it means to us.

Before my next chemo session scheduled for July 9th, I’ll have another PET/CT to get a look at the progress I’ve made.  As I’ve mentioned earlier, if the presence of cancer in my lungs has at least stabilized — or even better started to disappear — we’ll continue with the same protocol.  If it’s gotten worse, we’ll try something different.  Even though it’s diagnostic ability is limited, my CA-125 marker has encouragingly dropped, indicating less cancer in my body, so that’s definitely a good indicator of progress.

So, Paul and I are both taking it easy.  Although I wish it were under different circumstances, it’s really nice to have him with me all day.  Two peas in a pod.

Well, that’s all the news that’s fit to report.  Thanks again for all the support from you dear readers.  It lifts my spirits more than you’ll ever know.

About Face

I had the most wonderful experience yesterday.

We have dear friends who own a full service skin care studio called About Face Skin Care right here in Snellville, and they made me aware of a program they have called SideStep.  Funded by donations from the community and other clients, they are able to offer free facials to cancer patients.  What a fabulous idea!

When you lose your hair, your focus turns especially to your face, and after yesterday’s experience, I have a glowing, smooth, refreshed visage.  Plus, it was so relaxing!  Soft music plays in a dimly lit room, while your skin care provider pampers you with an expertly applied facial.  All the products used are very gentle and appropriate for the sensitive skin of a chemotherapy patient.  If you are a cancer patient or know of one, please, please pass on the word about this program.  It’s so worth it!

My provider was LaTrenda Wilson, and she was a real gem.  She knew when to talk and when to just let me be.  I enjoyed myself so much, the hour went by too fast, but at the conclusion I felt so renewed.  I can’t recommend this experience enough.  Even if you don’t live in the Snellville area, it’s worth the drive to this fantastic place.

In addition to being a skin care studio, they also offer exercise classes, including yoga, which I love.  Very reasonable prices too.  You can find out about this part of their business here.

On another front, I got my Day 10 bloodwork results, and I’m doing really, really well.  My neutrophils were 4100.  (Remember, 2500 and above is considered normal for anybody.)  So, my immune system is holding up amazingly well to the rigors of chemotherapy.  Additionally, the cancer marker CA-125 was lowered, a great sign that the chemo is doing its job.

After my next chemotherapy session on June 18th, I’ll have another PET/CT to assess the presence of cancer.  This is the best diagnostic tool available to check on my progress, so, of course, I’m anxious to get it done.  If the cancer has at least stabilized or diminished, we’ll continue with the same course of treatment.  If it’s gotten worse, we’ll try another protocol.

All in all, I’m a pretty happy camper, but I wouldn’t be this way without all the help and support I’ve gotten from all you dear readers.  Thank you.  Thank you.

Grown and flown

It’s another early morning for me.  Up at 5:00 am, wondering about the world.  I’m doing well, however, just can’t seem to sleep in much these days.

Today is Day 10 of this chemo cycle, the day I have my bloodwork done to check my neutrophils levels.  I’m feeling strong, though, so I’m guessing my count will be good.  I would think fatigue would be a strong indicator that my levels were low.  I should know the results by tomorrow, though if they’re good, I usually don’t get a call, but my chemo nurse knows I like information. So, perhaps she’ll call me any way, regardless of the results.

I talked to an old friend last night who’s also been through chemo and had trouble with her white blood cell counts during treatment and had to go on Neupogen.  She’s praying that I don’t have to ever take it.  She said it felt like her bones were being stretched.  I understand you just have to tough it out.  There’s not much that can be done to offset the side effects.

But, I’m not going to wish for complications.  There’s too much else to think about.  I sent one of my 18 year-old sons off on a trip to Hilton Head with three of his friends in a loaded down 2007 Toyota Avalon.  His first independent trip.  He was very excited, and I was excited for him...with some minor trepidations as he pulled out of the driveway.  It’s a practice run of seeing him off to college in a little over two months.

His twin brother will follow next week with a car load of friends too.  A rehearsal for his college departure, as well.

My boys have grown up, and I find myself reflecting (and tearing up) a lot these days about their journey leading up to this point in their lives.  My reaction to this new manhood is starting the process of accumulating all the stuff they’ll need to take to college:  desk lamps, bed linens, a bathrobe to go padding down the halls to the communal dormitory showers.  I’ve even put together the mother of all first aid kits, condoms included (I’m a cool mom).  My husband was laughing at me with all the paraphernalia I included.  He thinks they’ll stuff the kits under their beds and never use them.  Ah, but I’m a Boy Scout mom, and I want them to be prepared, whether they use those instant cold packs I included or not.  I think I left home with a tube of Neosporin and some Band Aids as my first aid kit.  But, this is my project right now.  Preparing them to leave the nest.  Grown and flown.

I’m so very proud of the young men they’ve become.  They’re self-assured, kind, inquisitive people, and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for them over the next few years.  One is pursuing an aerospace engineering course of study, the other wants to be an actor on the silver screen.  Twins, yet so different in their aspirations.  One is attending a medium-ish sized engineering school, the other a small liberal arts school with a strong theatre program.  The engineer will be close to home, his brother a five-hour drive away.  And, of course, their orientations and move-in dates fall on the same days.  My husband and I will have to wistfully divide and conquer for both events, each of us wanting to be there for both boys.  Ah, the trials and tribulations of raising twins.

Once again, I’m grateful to feel well enough to be fully engaged in this process.  As my only children, I only get to do this once, see them off to their exciting new lives.  Lives where they won’t need me as much.  I know once they’re off, I must find new ways to occupy myself, as my time has largely been devoted to volunteering in their various activities.  The challenges of letting go and hoping we’ve done the best parenting job possible to bring them to this point.  Fly little birds.  Fly.

There is a real life with cancer

Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means

understanding  that something is what it is

and that there’s got to be a way through it.

— Michael J . Fox

It’s another one of those 5:00 a.m. mornings, when I’m up alone with my thoughts.  It’s been a tiring couple of days, days that are predictable for fatigue, and I’ve been taking my fair share of naps.  Today, however, is Day 6 of my treatment cycle when, hopefully, the fatigue will abate somewhat, and I’ll start to feel more energy.  However, still no nausea, and I’m likely past the point when that might set in.  So, all in all, I’m feeling pretty good this morning.

Last night, reinforced by a long afternoon/early evening nap and a lovely meal brought over by a friend, I found myself wanting to spend some time with my boys.  They’d already retreated to their rooms for the evening, but I inserted myself into their private domains for a little conversation.  My days are numbered that I’ll be able to do that, anticipating their departures to college in about 2 1/2 months.  Our talks were not particularly deep — what kind of lamp do you want me to order for your dorm room desk? do you need a new backpack? let’s go buy you a new pair of shoes tomorrow — but for me they were meaningful.  Sometimes being able to focus on the mundane is a treat.  I was much too tired earlier in the day to be able to do much of anything but sleep, so I stole a little of their time just to be alive and feeling well with them.  Just living life can be a real comfort.

The next sentinel event in this treatment cycle is getting my Day 10 (June 6th) bloodwork done to check my white blood cell count.  It’s the neutrophils, I’ve learned, that are the important white blood cells that are most closely monitored.  They’re the first line of defense against infections, so the status of their levels are important to determine how my body is tolerating the chemo.  Last cycle, my neutrophils performed spectacularly.  A normal level for just the average Joe is 2500.  I started the cycle at 4600, well above the acceptable mark to begin a chemo cycle.  My Day 10 level had dropped to 2900, still well above what’s considered normal for someone who’s not undergoing the assault of chemo.  Anything under 1500, I learned, and I would need bone marrow support medication, like the Neulasta or Neupogen I’ve mentioned before.  I passed that test with flying colors.  The body is strong in this one.

Then, I’m tested again on Day 20 (June 17th), the day before the next scheduled chemo session to be sure my neutrophils have recovered sufficiently.   The ebb and flow of cancer treatment.  But, I’ve learned that I can’t spend my time focusing on those test dates or counting the days until the next chemo.  There’s too much living to be done.  The one thing that has surprised me is that there is a real life with cancer, and if I’m careful in parceling out my energy reserves, I can live amazingly well.

It’s in the acceptance, I think.  Acceptance that something has gone terribly wrong with my body, but there are exceptional things that can be done to combat that situation.  I’m lucky to be living in this era of medical miracles.  Lucky to have the friends and family that I do.  Lucky to have the life I have.

Doubts

Doubt is an uncomfortable condition, 

But certainly is a ridiculous one.

— Voltaire

I guess this is my down morning of this cycle.  I’m feeling all out of sorts, which is ironic, because physically I’m feeling pretty good.  This is Day 3 of this cycle, the day that the meds they gave me during chemo to help me manage the side effects start to wear off, and the potential for nausea and fatigue sets in.  However, I’m feeling great...and I think that’s playing into my sense of doubt about the effectiveness of the chemo.  If my body is undergoing major changes, shouldn’t I feel something?  

Yes, my hair stubbles are falling out; there is that indicator.  But, I don’t feel bad physically, just having an angst-filled morning of worry that nothing else is happening.

After my third round of chemo, which is scheduled for June 18th, I’ll have another PET scan to check on the progress of the treatment.  At that point, my oncologist will let me know if we keep the same course or try something different.  So, I’m too early for any kind of confirmation or denial.  Right now, I just am, and, as I’ve said before, the waiting is the worst.

On the upside (there should always be one), I’ve appreciated all the love and support from all of you dear readers.  Whether it be bringing me a meal or sending a card or a text or responding to my blog entries, you each help to lift me up, and I’m eternally grateful.  

It’s just that this morning, that gratitude is tainted by doubt.  Thanks for listening.

Two down, four to go

My second chemotherapy session went well today.  It didn’t start until 11:00 am, so it was a late return for us, about 8:00 pm.  Boyce went with Paul and me so he could see what all the fuss was about.  I was very touched that he wanted to come.  Allen is planning to come with me at a later date. My young men.

Here I am all hooked up and ready to go:

Well, it’s getting late for me.  And, I’m having to correct too many typos.  It’s time for bed.  

Tonight Paul shaves my head

This morning I can coax small tufts of hair out of my scalp.  It’s time.  Paul’s trimmer is ready.  Tonight I lose what’s left of my hair when Paul comes home from work.  I get to wear that great hat to graduation after all.

I don’t mean to sound so cavalier.  I will miss my hair, especially during the six-month regrowth period after chemotherapy is over.  But, as I’ve written before, losing my hair is a sign that the chemo drugs are working, going after fast growing cells like cancer...and hair.  And, oh, do I have hats for all occasions to cover my bald pate!

I’m still feeling good, but I did get remarkably tired Saturday night after Allen’s Eagle Scout Court of Honor.  I had to skip out during clean up (lucky me!) and head home for my pajamas.  The evening was lovely, though, and I was so proud of both my boys.  Allen gave a wonderful speech about his time as a Boy Scout, and Boyce emceed the entire event.  AND, I didn’t get teary-eyed once, even when Allen pinned my Eagle mother pin on me and said a few words of thanks directly to me.  Here’s a picture of my freshly minted Eagle Scout:

Well, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me with preparations for the next big event, graduation on Wednesday.  I can’t promise I’ll remain tearless then.

P.S.  No word on my lab work from Thursday.  I’m assuming no news is good news, but I’ll be checking in with my chemo nurse today just to make sure.  Hang in there white blood cells!

My wake up call

Here it is.  Another 4:00 a.m. morning, wide awake.  This time, however, my mood is pretty good.  My physical condition is good.  I’m just awake a little under two hours earlier than my alarm is instructed to make me so.

I’m in more of a wondering frame of mind.  What’s happening inside my body?  Is that carbo/taxol cocktail doing its job?  Is the growth of my hair slowing down?  What are those little cancer cells doing at this very moment?  Are they starting to sense the assault that is upon them?

Even though I probably won’t start losing my hair for another three to seven days, I stare down at my hands every time I wash it, checking to see if those follicles have given up the ghost, reacting the way they’re supposed to act when undergoing chemo.  As distasteful as it may be, hair loss is a signal that the drugs are doing their work.  Yes, I’ve heard stories of people who didn’t lose their hair during chemo, but last time, under the exact same treatment, I did lose mine, except for a little peach fuzz.  Goodness knows, I’ve got plenty of hats and caps and scarves at the ready, enough planned for every important upcoming social event and then some.

I just reread the early days of this blog, when I began chemo the first time in 2012.  I started losing my hair on Day 15 of my first cycle of treatment.  Today is Day 9 of my current cycle.  I could have another week or so of hair!  My current oncologist predicted Day 10 to Day 12.  There’s no telling...and, yet, still I wonder.

One thing I remember from that first cycle was the loving offer my niece gave to shave my head for me when the time came.  This time, Paul has made the offer.  His trimmer is at the ready.  And I remember the unexpected freedom of having my hair removed.  I was taking control over a situation that was largely out of my control.  Dare I say, I’m kinda looking forward to the first sign of hair loss?

Weird as that may seem, watchful waiting is an ever present part of the cancer journey.  Your life is parsed out into sentinel events:  the next blood test, the next PET scan, the next doctor appointment, the next treatment.  For me at this point, my next red letter date is tomorrow, Day 10, when my blood is drawn and my white cells are counted.  They will definitely be low.  That’s what chemo does to you.  Day 10 is the lowest day of the cycle, then — if all goes as it should — your bone marrow recovers from the chemo assault and begins firing off higher levels of white blood cells.  But, hopefully they won’t be too low and require some medical intervention to get them raised again.

It is so easy to let all this wondering (worrying?) take over, but there are other things to focus on, most importantly, just living every day of your life with all its normal ups and downs.  Parties to plan, friends to visit with, children to guide, husbands to partner.  Every day the sun rises and the sun sets, and life just...goes on.

So maybe I’m a little preoccupied with my hair and my white blood cells, but I am determined not to let them define me.  I’m still a mother, a wife, and a friend, and each day has its share of joy to be experienced.  Perhaps my 4:00 a.m. awakening was just so I could process this and move on to the day at hand.  My wake up call.

Normal reactions to an untenable situation

I woke up in a funk about 4:15 a.m., and it seems there’s no going back to bed for me this morning.  I’m wide awake and full of negative feelings.  I guess this is the other shoe falling in my treatment cycle.  I have been blessed with largely avoiding the physical side effects of chemotherapy, but I think the emotional ones have caught up with me.  It’s not an unusual thing to happen during treatment, but it has caught me off guard.  At the moment, all my positive mojo fails me, and the worries have settled in for a bit.

I think the relief that my first treatment was relatively easy on me gave me a real boost.  Yeah, my body is behaving like it should again!  But, I think that’s why this slump feels so profound.  The enormity of what I’m undertaking is hitting home.  Having cancer feels like betrayal.  Where did it come from in the first place, and why is it back now?  Why do I have to fight the good fight...again?

This slump won’t last.  At least I have the experience and perspective to know what I’m going through right now is natural.  Anger.  Frustration.  Sadness.  Perfectly normal reactions to an untenable situation.  I know I have to acknowledge my feelings in order to work through them.

I could have kept this post to myself.  I could have resolved to make my way through today by just grinning and bearing it and hoping for better tomorrow...but, it didn’t feel honest.  If part of the reason I write this blog is to share the experience of cancer, then I need to share the not-so-great stuff too.

The raw fact of the matter is that I’m down, and I have the right to feel whatever I’m feeling.  I don’t deserve cancer, but I do deserve to the right to be wherever I am, working through whatever I’m working through and feeling no need to apologize for it.

I’m off to find a blanket to wallow under.

I could open a hat shop

A few days ago, the most mysterious box arrived at my house.  I nice-sized box that portended of delightful contents.  Upon opening it, I was not disappointed.  Out sprung the hugest collection of hats I’ve ever seen outside the accessories section of a fine department store in London.

My silly, indulgent, whimsical friend Morgen put together all this headwear for me.  She must have hit up every vintage hat store in the Four Corners area of Colorado, where she lives.  I squealed with joy.  Sun hats, fancy wide-brimmed hats, engineer caps, scarves to accessorize.  Here’s a look, as best I could capture it:

My dearest Morgen, thank you.  Your thoughtfulness overcomes me.  I almost can’t wait to lose my hair!

I’m very foggy-headed today from the chemo, so I’m not good for much of anything.  A little hat therapy will do me good.

Well done, my dear friend.

I feel fine

Well, it’s the third day of my cycle, the day that all the feel-good meds they gave me with chemo wear off and the potential for side effects like nausea and severe fatigue can set in for a few days.  It’s early in the day yet, but I feel fine.

Yesterday was a great day!  I felt energetic (likely brought on by the steroids they gave me during treatment) and got a myriad of things accomplished, including driving myself to a doctor’s appointment.  Some of you may not know, I have type II diabetes — likely brought on six years ago from the chemo drugs I had — and steroid use can significantly raise my blood glucose levels.  During this cycle, they did, but they’ve already resolved and my levels have normalized.  My appointment yesterday was to get bloodwork done to check on my diabetes.  Just another factor to keep an eye on.

I might have overdone it a bit yesterday, but I wanted to get things done while I felt like doing so.  It’s a busy time of year with one boy having his Eagle Scout Court of Honor on the 18th and the festivities of graduation just a few days after for both boys.  I’m so grateful that I felt good yesterday and could accomplish so much.

I’m taking care of myself, though, so don’t worry.  I took a long nap in the afternoon yesterday, and I don’t have any errands to run today, so I can spend the day in my pajamas if I feel like it.  And, I’ve got some anti-nausea medication at my side in case I feel the need to take it.

My next step in the cycle is to have my white blood cell levels checked at the nadir of the cycle, the known low time for WBC levels.  I’ll have that blood draw done on May 16th.  If my levels are too low, I’ll likely have to take some medication to stimulate replenishment.  I’ll cross that bridge if I get there.  With each treatment cycle, the chance of this happening increases.  Last time I had chemo, my levels never got so low that I needed any of this support, but I do know the more chemo you have in your life, the more likely you’ll need bone marrow support to get those white blood cells firing again.  Hope for me that my bone marrow rises to the occasion on its own.  Side effects from the medications to stimulate WBC projection can be rather unpleasant.

So, perhaps I’m being a bit of a Pollyanna, but right now, I’m feeling great and very positive.  Thank you, again, for all the positive energy you’ve all been sending my way.  I feel it and it helps more than you’ll ever know.

Even under the best of circumstances, chemo sucks

Just a quick note to let everyone know my chemo went well today.  I napped through a lot of it, and most importantly, I had no allergic reactions to the carbo or taxol...just like the first time.  I was exhausted in the most profound way by the time I got home and had no choice but to take a nap.  However, now the steroids have kicked in, and I’ll probably be awake to the wee hours.

I’m rather foggy-headed, so I’m having trouble coming up with anything especially meaningful to say, except that I’m very sad I had to miss my boys’ last high school band concert tonight.  Even under the best of circumstances, chemo sucks.

And, we’re off...

...on Tuesday, any way.  I’m insurance-approved, blood level checked, and scheduled to begin my first chemotherapy treatment on May 7th!  I’m anxious to get underway.  However, I won’t be able to go to the Atlanta location of Northside Hospital because their infusion facility is completely booked for the 7th.  If I did my first treatment there, I’d have to wait until the 14th.  This would have been a disaster for my energy levels recovering in time for several very special events in mid and late May, so my chemo nurse coordinator worked a little magic and got me in at their Forsyth County location.  It’s a bit further of a drive — not by much...those of you familiar with the north end perimeter in Atlanta at rush hour know what I mean — but I have to be there at 8:00 a.m.  It will be an early morning in the Moore household on Tuesday, though luckily, my future treatments will be scheduled back at the Atlanta facility.  In the grand scheme of things, this is a MINOR inconvenience.

So many thoughts running through my head.  Will I tolerate chemo as well as I did almost seven years ago?  Will the chemo be as effective?  Will I feel well enough to fully participate in all the May festivities and summer preparations to get my two boys to college?  Will my diabetes behave with the bolus of steroids that comes with every treatment?  (Steroids have been known to jack up blood glucose levels.) Will I be able to enjoy what may be our last family vacation together before my boys — my young men — have their own summer agendas?

So many questions whose answers will only come with time.  And patience.  And a little faith.

With love and patience nothing is impossible.

— Daisaku Ikeda

A plan

Paul and I went to see the gynecological oncologist this morning, the doctor that will oversee my chemotherapy.  A few things have to fall in place, not the least of which is a strong starting white blood cell count, but I am tentatively scheduled to have my first treatment next Tuesday, May 7th.  It will take the better part of the working day.

Also, I haven’t used my port (the semi-permanent sub-dermal access point for the chemo drugs) since I finished chemo the first time, so it may need to be replaced.  We’re going to wait to the first treatment to find out if it’s still unclogged and usable.  If not, I’ll have my first treatment through IV and work out the port issues before the second treatment.

I will, at least, start with the same drugs and protocol as six years ago:  a drug combo abbreviated carbo/taxol, administered once every three weeks for six treatments.  It worked well for me last time, and I tolerated it well.  There’s no reason not to think it won’t do the same this time.

However, my doctor did warn me that sometimes in subsequent chemo treatments, bone marrow support becomes necessary, and if my white blood cell count drops too low, I’ll have to take something like Neupogen or Neulasta to stimulate my bone marrow to make white blood cells.  I understand these drugs can cause excess fatigue and perhaps bone pain, but I’ll just cross that bridge if I come to it.

I’m feeling very positive about this plan.  Yes, I’d rather be doing any number of other things for 18 weeks of my life, but there are certainly worse issues to face.

I’ll post more as the immediate decisions are made about the beginning treatment...but right now, I need to go buy some hats.

A little retail therapy

Waiting is the worst.

I’m sure any of you who have faced the diagnosis and treatment of a disease know what I’m talking about.  Monday morning, when I have my oncology consultation will not come soon enough to get my chemotherapy plan made.  I’m ready.  Bring it on.

It’s so hard not to wish the hours away.  But, I as I learned the last time I went through this, each hour is precious.  So, I’m trying to live in the moment as much as I can.

There’s lots to do in the next month, aside from my illness.  One of my sons will have his Eagle Scout Court of Honor.  To celebrate this highest of Boy Scout achievements, there are invitations to design and mail.  A program and reception to plan.  A slide show to put together.  Food, drink, decorations, paper plates...the list goes on.  Luckily, there are three other boys celebrating with my son and three wonderful moms to share in the planning and execution.  My posse.

Then there’s a graduation dinner, graduation itself, a graduation party.  All events I’m grateful that demand my attention.  My boys only graduate from high school once, and I want their experience to be one they carry with them the rest of their lives...or at least until college starts in August.

In the background of all this planning and preparation, though, is the wonder of how I’ll be feeling while I go to these events.  And, maybe it is trivial in the grand scheme of things, but I wonder if I’ll still have hair and if I have the proper hats for my clothing ensembles.  Luckily, I love hats (and conversely hate wigs), and I still have the hats from my last round of chemotherapy.  So, even though I’ve been a little preoccupied with my hair — or potential lack there of — I’ve distracted myself with a little retail therapy.  I have found the *perfect* hat to go with my graduation outfit.  I might just order it if I haven’t lost my hair.  To be totally frivolous, I’ll share a link to it.  Very chic, don’t you think?

So, even though cancer is looming over my head (no pun intended), life does go on.  Perfect hat or not, I’m ready for this battle, and I can’t begin to tell you how uplifting it is to know that I’ve got an army of family and friends ready to back me up.  Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers and encouragement and wishes of good outcomes.

Hair or hat, I’m prepared for the fight that awaits me.

Here I go down this wretched path again

”We acquire the strength we have overcome.”  — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Once again, I am facing the challenge of metastasized uterine cancer in my lungs.  However, this time, it’s multiple nodules in multiple lobes.  I’ll begin chemotherapy again soon to get rid of those wretched little pulmonary dance partners.

I had a PET scan earlier this month that indicated the nodules, one of which was biopsied and declared cancerous.  I am waiting for an appointment with my gynecological oncologist on Monday to make a plan to get underway with the chemo.

There’s a huge part of me that can’t believe I’m going through this again.  Damned cancer.  But, there’s also a huge part of me that knows I beat this once before, over six years ago, and I can beat it again.

I don’t yet know what my protocol will be...last time is was one treatment every three weeks for a total of six treatments.  However, what I do know is that I have excellent doctors and nurses, and I’m in an excellent facility, Northside Hospital.

Send good thoughts my way, especially to my twin boys who are in the final weeks of their senior year and don’t deserve to have to deal with this...again.

I’ll keep you posted as I know more.