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.