Yes, I do still have my eyebrows.
Am finally befriending various pharmaceuticals to deal with unpleasant side effects. Better living through chemicals!
Oncologist's nurse threw cold water all over the NYT piece that's been giving me agita since I read it. She says that the greatest chance for recurrence occurs within the first two years. After that -- and especially after the 5-yr milestone -- it goes down. I can barely describe how happy this makes me.
So. let's do this again. I'm stage 2b.
Chance of recurrence out of the gate: 25%
Treatment cuts that in half: 12%
Thus, the 5-yr survival chance: 88%
After 5 years: 88% OR HIGHER
Not 50%, you crazy bitch. You owe me -- and all the other freaked out cancer patients out there -- an apology.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
and
Thankyou to my sister in Seattle for both shaving her head in solidarity (we actually look like sisters now!) and for signing me up for the Exotic Fruit Of The Month Club! First shipment was pomegranates, blood oranges and sapotes. MM-mmm good.
Thankyou to my other sister for sitting through my chemo sessions with me. First I thought it was silly, but now I find it comforting.
Thankyou to Butch for taking doggie on long walks with his doggies.
Thankyou to Eric and Laura S for being smiley and comforting and good friends in my hour of need.
Thankyou to my other sister for sitting through my chemo sessions with me. First I thought it was silly, but now I find it comforting.
Thankyou to Butch for taking doggie on long walks with his doggies.
Thankyou to Eric and Laura S for being smiley and comforting and good friends in my hour of need.
Three down, five to go.
Cytoxan was a bit nauseating today, but I'm ok now.
Turns out what I'd thought was overly severe seasonal allergies, due to a weakened immune system (all-day itchy eyes and drippy nose) is just the chemo, which means it'll be gone after the next treatment, yay.
When the toddler turned two and suddenly had loads of energy that was preventing me from accomplishing any productive evening activity, my friends said, among other things, "Put away Julia (Child), get out the peanut butter." And they were right. But we can't live on peanut butter.
Happily, I've realized the answer to both the aforementioned dilemma and treatment exhaustion: the crock pot! Hurrah for slow-cooking! 15 minutes of prep in the morning, and you're done. Experiment #1, chicken with tomatoes and olives, wasn't great.. the chicken was dried out and flavorless... but I think I took too long in browning it, and cooked it instead. Next stop: root veggies.
Thankyou, Nana and Poppy, for taking the toddler overnight on treatment day.
Turns out what I'd thought was overly severe seasonal allergies, due to a weakened immune system (all-day itchy eyes and drippy nose) is just the chemo, which means it'll be gone after the next treatment, yay.
When the toddler turned two and suddenly had loads of energy that was preventing me from accomplishing any productive evening activity, my friends said, among other things, "Put away Julia (Child), get out the peanut butter." And they were right. But we can't live on peanut butter.
Happily, I've realized the answer to both the aforementioned dilemma and treatment exhaustion: the crock pot! Hurrah for slow-cooking! 15 minutes of prep in the morning, and you're done. Experiment #1, chicken with tomatoes and olives, wasn't great.. the chicken was dried out and flavorless... but I think I took too long in browning it, and cooked it instead. Next stop: root veggies.
Thankyou, Nana and Poppy, for taking the toddler overnight on treatment day.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Worry about what you can control
Or, slightly more helpfully, don't worry about what you can't control. My friend Eric keeps reminding me of this oldie-but-goodie.
So I shall try. I can control making sure all the financial and social ducks are in a row for the toddler, in case The Thing comes. So this week I am reviewing all of that with the financial and legal folk, plus retirement (i.e., health care) funding, and how to protect her inheritance from being consumed by The Thing, if it comes.
Oh, and let's be clear on "mouth sores" for a moment: They're not canker sores. It (not "they") is a state in which all the soft tissue in your mouth aches, and eating the slightest bit of crunchy thing will tear up your cheek and gums... like you've been chewing glass.
I anxiously await the arrival of a box of perfect fruit, sent by my sister. And then another one next month. And then another, and another, and another!! Mad love, yo!!
So I shall try. I can control making sure all the financial and social ducks are in a row for the toddler, in case The Thing comes. So this week I am reviewing all of that with the financial and legal folk, plus retirement (i.e., health care) funding, and how to protect her inheritance from being consumed by The Thing, if it comes.
Oh, and let's be clear on "mouth sores" for a moment: They're not canker sores. It (not "they") is a state in which all the soft tissue in your mouth aches, and eating the slightest bit of crunchy thing will tear up your cheek and gums... like you've been chewing glass.
I anxiously await the arrival of a box of perfect fruit, sent by my sister. And then another one next month. And then another, and another, and another!! Mad love, yo!!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The mind game
When I'm through with treatment, I won't be a "survivor." I won't join a support group or wear pink ribbons or raise money for breast cancer research. This thing will not infringe on my identity or time any more than is necessary.
But I do need to figure out how to live with the hovering black cloud of metastasis. My chances are 15% (from what I can figure). But they feel more like 85%. The answer is probably to figure out the chances of other horrible things... speeding busses, etc. If they're over 15%, I can forget about cancer, I guess. Until then, I feel like the walking dead, waiting for the next set of symptoms to start. Regardless of my tendency toward depression and downright moping, that state does the toddler no good. I don't want her to show up in therapy someday talking about her mopey, walking-dead mom who sat on the couch for 10 years waiting to die.
In other news, the hair has started to go, right on schedule. Am especially excited about losing my eyebrows.
But I do need to figure out how to live with the hovering black cloud of metastasis. My chances are 15% (from what I can figure). But they feel more like 85%. The answer is probably to figure out the chances of other horrible things... speeding busses, etc. If they're over 15%, I can forget about cancer, I guess. Until then, I feel like the walking dead, waiting for the next set of symptoms to start. Regardless of my tendency toward depression and downright moping, that state does the toddler no good. I don't want her to show up in therapy someday talking about her mopey, walking-dead mom who sat on the couch for 10 years waiting to die.
In other news, the hair has started to go, right on schedule. Am especially excited about losing my eyebrows.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Nanny!
Found a lively Polish nanny to start on Monday and continue through Christmas, perhaps til the end of radiation if I need it. The toddler took to her immediately and enthusiastically, which she does not do with everyone.
I was hoping for a Russian, in the bilingual department, but Polish is ok too.
What a relief!
I was hoping for a Russian, in the bilingual department, but Polish is ok too.
What a relief!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Round Two
Two down, six to go. After-school babysitting provided by a young neighbor was helpful, if not strictly necessary. Other than that, hot flashes and arrhythmia. Whoo hoo.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Thank you
I've had several reports, lately, that I've been added to people's prayer lists. Some of these people have never met me. I've also had a report today from the catering service, which informed me that I've a healthy balance in place, ready to be used whenever I can't stomach the idea of cooking a meal for the toddler. Or myself, I suppose.
I am grateful for every thumbs-up, every postcard with good wishes, every offer to do "whatever you need," every sounding board that doesn't flinch at my rage and misplaced blame and mis-spent energy in trying to wrestle with this situation. And every child who likes my mohawk. And there are several, I'll have you know. I'm a huge hit with kids, with this thing. Go know.
I am grateful for every thumbs-up, every postcard with good wishes, every offer to do "whatever you need," every sounding board that doesn't flinch at my rage and misplaced blame and mis-spent energy in trying to wrestle with this situation. And every child who likes my mohawk. And there are several, I'll have you know. I'm a huge hit with kids, with this thing. Go know.
Monday, October 3, 2011
"Breaking Bad"
Been re-watching this series on Netflix. (For those who've not seen it, the series is about a straight-laced high school chemistry teacher who, when diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer, decides that the best way to try and provide for his pregnant wife and disabled teenager with what little time he has left is to use his chem knowledge to cook methamphetamine.)
Cancer plays an interesting role in the show. It's not the melody or the harmony, not even a dramatic horn solo. It's the drone note. The low and persistent hum. And yet it is the premise of the show. And it's a brilliant premise, really ... exploring the limits of what reasonable people are capable of when facing terminal illness, when nothing matters to them anymore except trying to ensure the health, safety, and happiness of the children they're going to leave behind.
I don't believe I'll go shopping for beakers and chemicals any time soon. But I can relate to the desperation of it.
Buy lots of life insurance while you're still healthy, people. I know -- it feels like throwing money away. Just do it.
Cancer plays an interesting role in the show. It's not the melody or the harmony, not even a dramatic horn solo. It's the drone note. The low and persistent hum. And yet it is the premise of the show. And it's a brilliant premise, really ... exploring the limits of what reasonable people are capable of when facing terminal illness, when nothing matters to them anymore except trying to ensure the health, safety, and happiness of the children they're going to leave behind.
I don't believe I'll go shopping for beakers and chemicals any time soon. But I can relate to the desperation of it.
Buy lots of life insurance while you're still healthy, people. I know -- it feels like throwing money away. Just do it.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Mouth sores
Several. On top of that gross omnipresent taste in my mouth. I've read it tastes like metal, but mine doesn't. It just makes me want to brush my teeth every five minutes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)