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.