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