Apologies

 At long last I sit down to my computer to file an update on my cancer treatment journey.  Apologies to those of you who have been waiting for word of my progress.  Between building a new house, more doctors' appointments than I would like to count, even more naps, and getting our current house ready to put on the market, I've let my responsibility to you, dear readers, fall by the wayside.  Again, I apologize.

Treatment hasn't been too difficult, and when I had my mid-treatment PET scan back in late November, all indications were that the chemo was doing the trick.  My last chemo session is this coming Tuesday, a few weeks after which, I'll have another scan to determine if I'm done with treatment for now or need to start down a different path.  Of course, I'm hoping to be done and re-enter surveillance mode again, where I'll have annual CAT scans to determine if the cancer remains at bay.  I'm looking forward to regrowing some hair too, though I've been bold enough to go hatless a few times.

Thanks to all of you who've had me in your thoughts and prayers.  I promise to be better about keeping you up to date.

The bald head cometh...again

 It's that time.  I'm sporting my new look of headwear.  Earlier this week, little tufts of hair started coming out when I gently tugged on them, a now familiar harbinger of what's to come.  That afternoon, I had Paul give me a very short buzz cut, and I pulled out my old hats and caps and cut the tags from some new ones I'd bought.  The rest of the really short bits of hair are starting to fall out now.  I'll be totally bald soon, but I'm really not bothered by it.  It's kinda freeing.  Getting showered and dressed in the mornings has one less step, and all I need to wash my head is some gentle Dove soap.  And, I like hats.  Last time around with chemo, back in 2019, I splurged and bought myself a Stetson that I love, but you've got to have the right outfit to pull it off.  All I've been wearing these days have been my yoga clothes or something similarly comfortable.  Perhaps for my upcoming birthday, I'll sport the Stetson.

I'm currently in the middle of week 3 of this chemo cycle, and I'm happy to report that I'm feeling much better than I was in my last post.  Paul and I have started walking every day unless it's raining, and it feels great!  I get such an energy boost from it.  Granted, some days when I'm not feeling my best it's hard to get motivated to put on my shoes and go, but I've learned that I always feel better afterwards.  I saw my oncologist earlier this week and told her I really didn't like one of the anti-nausea medications I was prescribed to take, even if I wasn't feeling nauseous, a preventative kind of thing.  However, I felt terrible when I took it.  The doctor said it likely was why I was feeling so different this time around with chemo and that I could stop taking it.  What a relief!  

Tuesday will be my second round of chemo, and I'm looking forward to seeing if I feel better without the evil anti-nausea med.  At least I know that week three of the cycle will be a good one.  Luckily, that will be the week of Thanksgiving.  Christmas is a different story.  It falls on a chemo week.  I think I'll be handing out cooking assignments.  I may make it to the Christmas dinner table in my pajamas, but there are certainly worse things to endure.  

This time around is...different

Patience, child, that little voice inside my head tells me. It's only been six days since your first session of chemo this time around. You're supposed to be lightheaded, tired, a little frustrated. But I don't remember this from the two times before. Even just by day seven I was getting out of bed and eagerly showering and dressing, getting out a little bit. Doing things. But, this time around is...different. You must rest when your body says rest, the voice resonates, no matter what day of the cycle it is. Perhaps it's being almost 61, instead of in my fifties or forties. I don't know the rhyme or reason. I just know I don't like how I'm feeling. I feel like an almost-61 year-old petulent child who wants the red lollipop in my outstretched hand. I want to feel normal, as if there was something as crazy as normal during chemotherapy. I guess normal is just whatever you get. Don't get me wrong. I'm incredibly grateful that this therapy exists, that there's a magic elixer to prolong my life. You've got some strong drugs coursing through your body, my husband Paul reminds me. I'm also incredibly grateful for all you dear readers out there, supporting me along this journey. I'll settle in and let myself be what it needs to be. I just had to get a little whining out of the way first.

Just when you least expect it, another cancer recurrence

This blog has gotten a bit out-of-date, but it's, unfortunately, time to blow the dust off and devote some time to it again. My cancer has recurred again, and I'll be going through chemo a third time, starting as soon as everyone can get their ducks in a row. I don't have an exact date yet, but it should be within the next three weeks. It's the same cancer as before, uterine adenocarcinoma metasticized to my lungs again, stage IV. It was discovered during my routine annual scan. I've had a biopsy of a nodule that lit up on my PET scan that confirmed the diagnosis. The good news is, the treatment protocol will be the same, and I respond very well to it. While there are many other things I'd rather concentrate on right now...like building our retirement home, which we started earlier this year...there are much worse scenarios I could be facing. My oncologist and I feel very positive about my prognosis, and hopefully in 21 weeks or so, this will just be another one for the books. I'll keep everyone up-to-date as things develop. In the meantime, I'll keep busy trying to find all my hats and scarves for my inevitable hair loss, which will likely happen about three weeks after the first chemo session, if memory serves. Paul and I are also preparing some soups and stews to go in the freezer for those evenings when we won't feel like cooking. For those of you who don't know, Paul retired last month, so he now has two projects: a new house and a wife going through chemo. He's a pretty good sous chef too. So, dear readers, here we go again.

Moving on

Wow!  I can’t believe it’s about 20 months since my last entry. I guess I can blame COVID for putting me into a state of suspended animation. We’ve all used that excuse, haven’t we?  But, there’s nothing like wanting to shout the good news from the mountain top to bring you back to living in the real world. 

Yesterday, I got my latest PET scan results, and I remain cancer-free!  I see my gynecological oncologist in two days to go over the results together - for the last time. More on that in a second. 

Through some sort of failed negotiations between our insurance company and my husband’s employer, the Northside Hospital System is no longer a part of our health insurance coverage. Since 2012, I’ve received all my oncologic care from the Northside network, probably the most robust gynecological oncology program in the state of Georgia. So, I’ve got to find a new oncologist, a new thoracic surgeon, a new radiation oncologist, and a new infusion center. I’m sure my current oncologist will have some suggestions for me, but I’m devastated nonetheless. Northside has saved my life at least three times. Going somewhere else is just unthinkable. 

But, I will persist. I will find what I need. Right now, however, it seems an impossible task. 

Thank goodness I’ve got a clean bill of health at the moment, so I won’t have to rush to find my new oncologist. I’ll have time to do my research and come up with an alternative that will be receptive to my myriad of questions at each encounter. 

So, I celebrate, albeit with a slightly heavy heart. Good bye, Northside. You’ve been very good to me. 

Six-month PET scan results: cancer free!

Yesterday, I went in for my six-month post-chemo PET scan and already got the results back:  I remain cancer-free!  Not even the tiniest sign of malignancy.  I do have an appointment on the books with my oncologist on April 14th, but it remains to be seen if I’ll be able to keep that appointment.  Perhaps, we’ll have a teleconference, at the least.  I’d like to find out if my next scan will be in three months or six.  I’m sure I’ll remain on the Arimidex, and I’m never going to complain about it again, if it helps me maintain the status quo.

Good news like this is a bright moment during these surreal days of COVID-19.  All is currently well in the Moore household.  We’re all healthy and trying to keep busy.  I’m lucky that my husband Paul works in a necessary industry (they make paper products, like toilet paper), but he is able to do his job from home.  My son Allen is completing his university coursework online, at least for the remainder of this semester.  He wants to go to summer school and, like so many college students, hopes that he can return to campus for this.  Boyce is taking some time off from college, but he hopes to restart again in the fall...again, hopefully on campus and not on his computer at home.

For those of you living in other countries, I thought I’d give a little update on life in Snellville, Georgia.  Most small businesses have had to close for lack of clients and concerns about infection.  Large gathering spots like movie theaters, playgrounds, and churches have closed.  Grocery stores, pharmacies, gas stations, and some restaurants remain open.  Restaurants that are open are for curbside pickup or delivery only.  The shelves at the grocery stores are not well-stocked, especially not for canned goods, meats, and the ever elusive toilet paper.  Our supply lines are well in place, but people are buying frantically, creating the effect of shortages.

We used to eat out a lot, and that has certainly changed.  One of my main tasks is food requisition and preparation.  However, dinner has become the highlight of the day.  I’m a reasonably good (though sometimes reluctant) cook, and my family has enjoyed finding out what each night’s offering is going to be.  We sit around the table — not in front of the television watching Jeopardy — and have conversation.  Today, I was reminded of a time when the boys were six (that’s 13 years ago), when I began reading them a chapter a night after dinner of Harry Potter.  I think I’m going to restart this tradition.  I enjoy reading aloud, and I’m going to search our bookshelves to find something suitable that we’ll get into.  Something fictional and engrossing, with lots of characters I can give voice to.  Feel free to offer suggestions.

In the meantime, please keep the health of a dear friend of mine in your thoughts and prayers.  She’s having to go through chemotherapy a third time in the midst of a pandemic.  Her immune system is very unstable due to the chemo, and she needs all good juju you can muster right now.

I also want to take just a few moments to let all reading this entry to know how much you all mean to me...close relatives and friends down the chain to acquaintances I’ve never met.  These are uncertain times.  I encourage all of you to take a few minutes to get in touch with those you love and tell them what they mean to you.

I love you all.

Remain safe and sound

These are confusing, challenging times.  I struggle to find the words for what I want to say in this post.

First, I guess I should say that I’m doing fine.  Health is good, as is the rest of the family, who are all home for the duration of the COVID-19 pandemic.  Even Paul’s company has a work from home plan right now.  We are limiting our outings, which consist mostly of searching for toilet paper.  Ironic that Paul’s company makes it, but even their online employee website is out of stock.  I’ll probably make an early-morning outing tomorrow to see if I can score some.

The other challenge has been finding alcohol prep wipes to sanitize my skin before making an insulin injection.  However, a dear friend sent me some to hopefully get me through until an order I placed online arrives.  All local resources are exhausted.  I hear a rumor that people are buying them up to sanitize their cell phones.

I have a PET scan scheduled for next week, but I’m beginning to wonder if it will happen, with all the required precautions for spreading the virus.  March 19th represents my 6-month anniversary since my last chemo treatment.

My hair is growing in very, very curly.  Think 1970’s perm that your mom got at the beauty parlor.  I’m looking forward to it growing out further and perhaps stretching out the curl.  But, in the grand scheme of things, this is such a minor concern.

I’ve suspended my volunteer work at a local food pantry, which I really struggle to accept.  I don’t want to believe that I’m in a high risk category, but with metastases to my lungs, I guess I’m in that group, even thought I have no active cancer.  I was truly enjoying my time spent there, and I’m broken-hearted that I’m not there helping out at a time when they face true challenges.

So, in the Moore household, thing are certainly going as best as can be expected.  I think of all of you out there who may be facing difficult times, and I pray that you will all rise above those challenges and remain safe and sound.

I’ll be in touch later when I found out if I’ll have my PET scan...and hopefully the good results that it shows.

Happy New Year!

There are two ways of spreading light — to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

— Edith Wharton 

New Years Greetings to All!

I rang in the new year by going to sleep about 10:30 on New Year’s Eve.  Just didn’t have it in me to stay up for the festivities.  That’s okay.  I’m glad the new year has arrived, so far with good news.  I had my check up with my oncologist on Friday, and my physical exam was good.  I’m scheduled for my next PET/CT scan in late March, with a follow up appointment with my oncologist two weeks afterward.

Though perhaps the best news is I’ve begun volunteering with a local food pantry, two days a week, for a four-hour shift each day.  I’ve been set to the task of answering the incoming phone calls for the organization, which is much more than it sounds like it might be.  I’m the front line of contact with people who are in dire straits.  They’ve probably been considering making their phone call for days, desperate in some area of their lives and needing help.  I’m there to listen to them, offer them some comfort, and hopefully find a way to help them out.

The organization does much more than just feed the stomach.  They have utilities and prescription medication assistance, as well as a job board, homework help, and various activities for their clients through out the year.  My first volunteer job was taking pictures of the clients with Santa at the pantry’s annual Christmas party.  I went to Walmart to find the most ridiculously decorated sweater I could find, wore my knee-length Santa hat, and dusted off my old Canon SLR camera for some good shots.  The kids had crafts projects to do, cookies and milk, and each received a stocking with small toys and other treats.  It was a wonderful evening.

I go in today for the tougher work, answering those phones.  I’m still on a learning curve.  I want to connect up potential clients with the correct services we offer, but I also want to be a resource of other services in the community that we don’t offer...like help with rent or house payments or clothing sources.  I’ve spent hours on the Internet educating myself about similar organizations in the community that offer compatible services.  I want every caller who makes that difficult phone call to hang up with some sort of resources, some sort of hope.

The magical thing about volunteering with this organization is the energy I receive back from my work.  Four hours is a long shift for me, but every time I leave with a sense of purpose and gratitude for what I have and what I have to give.  This is probably the best cure for my moodiness and fatigue I get from the post-chemo drug I’m taking, Arimidex.  I feel very fortunate.

So, my new year begins on a very positive note.  I wish the same for all of you dear readers.

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.