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.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Sunday, May 5, 2019
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.
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
Monday, April 29, 2019
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.
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.
Saturday, April 27, 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
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.
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.
Friday, November 30, 2018
An update and a higher calling
The most profound thing happened to me this morning.
For one of my sons Eagle Scout project, he chose to raise money to make personal hygiene kits for people in area shelters. This morning, I helped out by conducting a quality control assessment of the kits, making sure each kit had the proper items. I personally opened and checked the contents of each and every one of the kits he made.
At first, this was just an item to check off my to-do list today, but as I opened each kit, I found myself thinking about each person that would receive it. I couldn’t help but contemplate the horrible circumstances that would bring the recipient to a place where the gift of a small bag of toiletries would make a difference in their life, the sort of stuff we mindlessly throw into our suitcases when visiting a hotel.
I’ve never been without anything I needed. I’ve always had a roof above my head and plenty of food to eat. I go on vacations, and Christmas morning is always filled with presents galore. I’ve never walked a day in that recipient’s shoes.
My son (and, de facto, my family) has spent so much time managing the mechanics of meeting the Boy Scout requirements for an Eagle Scout project that we hadn’t paused a moment to think about the impact of what we were trying to accomplish.
I took a break from my morning task to have a cup of coffee in my warm, professionally decorated house. I quietly sat, drinking my coffee, and tears started to fill my eyes. How many people out there are in want? How many need help? An unmistakable voice came to me from deep within. Don’t ignore these feelings, Beth. Act on them.
I don’t know yet where these feelings are taking me, but they are so overwhelming that I know I’ve got to do something. Something that connects me to the greater world around me. Something that feeds my soul and helps warm other people’s hearts. Ignoring these feelings just isn’t an option.
In this cancer journey, I’ve learned not to take my health for granted. I think now I’m learning not to ignore my ability to help those who don’t have it as easy as me.
Yesterday, I had my follow up appointment with my radiation oncologist, hopefully for the last time. By clinical examination, it’s good news. There appears to be no evidence of the tumor any longer. I’ll have an MRI in late December to confirm, but my doctor was especially encouraging. Soon, I’ll be transferred back to the care of my gynecological oncologist for maintenance monitoring, and I’ll be finding my new normal...again.
I’m thankful for this process because it’s brought me to where I am today...and where I’ll be tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted as developments occur.
I wish all of you the happiest, healthiest of holiday seasons...and be on the lookout for an opportunity to help somebody. The simplest act of kindness can make a huge difference in someone’s life.
For one of my sons Eagle Scout project, he chose to raise money to make personal hygiene kits for people in area shelters. This morning, I helped out by conducting a quality control assessment of the kits, making sure each kit had the proper items. I personally opened and checked the contents of each and every one of the kits he made.
At first, this was just an item to check off my to-do list today, but as I opened each kit, I found myself thinking about each person that would receive it. I couldn’t help but contemplate the horrible circumstances that would bring the recipient to a place where the gift of a small bag of toiletries would make a difference in their life, the sort of stuff we mindlessly throw into our suitcases when visiting a hotel.
I’ve never been without anything I needed. I’ve always had a roof above my head and plenty of food to eat. I go on vacations, and Christmas morning is always filled with presents galore. I’ve never walked a day in that recipient’s shoes.
My son (and, de facto, my family) has spent so much time managing the mechanics of meeting the Boy Scout requirements for an Eagle Scout project that we hadn’t paused a moment to think about the impact of what we were trying to accomplish.
I took a break from my morning task to have a cup of coffee in my warm, professionally decorated house. I quietly sat, drinking my coffee, and tears started to fill my eyes. How many people out there are in want? How many need help? An unmistakable voice came to me from deep within. Don’t ignore these feelings, Beth. Act on them.
I don’t know yet where these feelings are taking me, but they are so overwhelming that I know I’ve got to do something. Something that connects me to the greater world around me. Something that feeds my soul and helps warm other people’s hearts. Ignoring these feelings just isn’t an option.
In this cancer journey, I’ve learned not to take my health for granted. I think now I’m learning not to ignore my ability to help those who don’t have it as easy as me.
Yesterday, I had my follow up appointment with my radiation oncologist, hopefully for the last time. By clinical examination, it’s good news. There appears to be no evidence of the tumor any longer. I’ll have an MRI in late December to confirm, but my doctor was especially encouraging. Soon, I’ll be transferred back to the care of my gynecological oncologist for maintenance monitoring, and I’ll be finding my new normal...again.
I’m thankful for this process because it’s brought me to where I am today...and where I’ll be tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted as developments occur.
I wish all of you the happiest, healthiest of holiday seasons...and be on the lookout for an opportunity to help somebody. The simplest act of kindness can make a huge difference in someone’s life.
Sunday, November 18, 2018
Thankful
Yesterday, I gratefully celebrated my 54th birthday. I remember those scary times a little over 6 years ago when I wasn’t sure I’d make it to my 48th. But, miracles abounded, and I’m still here...and, plan to be for quite some time.
Thanksgiving approaches in a few days, followed by the hustle and bustle of the coming Christmas season, and I’m particularly thankful that I’ll be fully involved in all that the holidays bring. It’s going to be a busy one in the Moore household. One son is having his wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, hopefully regaining his ability to eat by Thanksgiving day. Then there are Eagle Scout projects, 18th birthdays to celebrate, college applications due at the first of the year, a follow up PET scan to check on my progress fighting this most recent occurrence of cancer, and the usual festivities associated with the season.
I’m feeling much myself these days, mostly recovered from my radiation treatments in September and October. I’m sleeping much better...none of those 3 a.m. angst-filled awakenings. It’s a lesson I’ve learned following this journey. There are challenging days, but if I keep the faith, they do pass, I find my new normal, and I march on. The further I get from my challenges, the less I think about my cancer, and the more appreciative I am that modern medicine is what it is and that I’ve got plenty of loving arms to help me through the rough times and rejoice with me through the good ones.
Thanks to all of YOU who have followed my story and send me well wishes. I love getting responses to my blog posts and find them most uplifting. Also, the cards, flowers, gifts of dinner on nights when cooking is too exhausting, and just plain old thoughts and prayers for me are a wonderful reminder that “No one fights alone,” the inscription in the teal bracelets that my friends and family wear in solidarity of my situation. Cancer certainly is not a path for sissies, and I gain great strength from the support of others.
I have a follow up appointment with my radiation oncologist the week after Thanksgiving, where she’ll probably order my next PET scan. Luckily, I have lots of activities and responsibilities to keep me busy while I wait for those sentinel events. I’ll keep everybody posted on my progress...and remain grateful that you’re all out there cheering me on.
Thanksgiving approaches in a few days, followed by the hustle and bustle of the coming Christmas season, and I’m particularly thankful that I’ll be fully involved in all that the holidays bring. It’s going to be a busy one in the Moore household. One son is having his wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, hopefully regaining his ability to eat by Thanksgiving day. Then there are Eagle Scout projects, 18th birthdays to celebrate, college applications due at the first of the year, a follow up PET scan to check on my progress fighting this most recent occurrence of cancer, and the usual festivities associated with the season.
I’m feeling much myself these days, mostly recovered from my radiation treatments in September and October. I’m sleeping much better...none of those 3 a.m. angst-filled awakenings. It’s a lesson I’ve learned following this journey. There are challenging days, but if I keep the faith, they do pass, I find my new normal, and I march on. The further I get from my challenges, the less I think about my cancer, and the more appreciative I am that modern medicine is what it is and that I’ve got plenty of loving arms to help me through the rough times and rejoice with me through the good ones.
Thanks to all of YOU who have followed my story and send me well wishes. I love getting responses to my blog posts and find them most uplifting. Also, the cards, flowers, gifts of dinner on nights when cooking is too exhausting, and just plain old thoughts and prayers for me are a wonderful reminder that “No one fights alone,” the inscription in the teal bracelets that my friends and family wear in solidarity of my situation. Cancer certainly is not a path for sissies, and I gain great strength from the support of others.
I have a follow up appointment with my radiation oncologist the week after Thanksgiving, where she’ll probably order my next PET scan. Luckily, I have lots of activities and responsibilities to keep me busy while I wait for those sentinel events. I’ll keep everybody posted on my progress...and remain grateful that you’re all out there cheering me on.
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