A New Year and...??

(A coupla pix of me when I looked more like the "normal" people do. It's all I have to hold on to, so you gotta indulge me...)









Well, here it is, 2012. And I actually DID make it to midnight (unlike someone else who shall remain nameless), although I watched the ball drop @ Times Square an hour earlier than that.

Had a low-key day (New Year's Eve): Saturday night church, dinner @ a good local restaurant, and then a drink at a local establishment closer to this place. Was probably back here by 10:30.

The hair is just about gone now. But amazing, how much you can still shed, given that so much of your scalp is showing. Now have two wigs, and the first one (which I bought via the American Cancer Society because the color was similar to mine and the style was, also) will need some further trimming. I knew, based on the description, that it would be too long, but as my stylist said, she prefers to under-trim the length and let me wear it, before I decide I need more length removed. I'll try to post some photos.

I cried in the shower again yesterday. The loss, the loss... Ironically, my health appears to be just fine: good energy level, decent appetite, and so on. But it is just so hard to accept the hair loss. Wigs are truly a pain in the ass (if this offends you, you should never read my blog again), because when you are mostly hairless, it is difficult to keep that damned "dead cat" on your head. Think of it: it SLIDES, folks. And truly, I do NOT like the hats and turbans - I don't want something to scream "cancer" the minute I walk into the room, truly I do not. I want to live my life as normally as possible, although being under the medical micro-management that this requires, IS irritating, at best, and at its worst, really pisses me off when I am very down or feeling unjustly "blessed" with another thing that SOME believe is a situation that "God doesn't give you anything you can't handle". Yeah, early widowhood isn't enough, is it? So for all of you blissfully leading happy, carefree lives, you can thank me for handling something that apparently YOU cannot handle? You see how ridiculous that statement is?

Other statements: don't drown in the "pity pot" (said by someone who has NOT talked to me in person and does not read this blog and had not gone thru this, either); and countless folks who say that I am strong and I can handle it. Trust me, I would have to a friggin' brick wall to be THAT strong. Especially when the chemo gave me the heart attack symptoms. I am only 5'3" and weigh under 115. (Maybe less without hair??) How strong should I be, at this size - and at this age, too?

Oh, and I would appreciate it if you do not mention any of your family members who have died from cancer. I already am facing my own mortality in a way that I never, ever thought about before. If you can't say something positive, then don't say anything at all. People told me (following my husband's death) that they could relate, because their father, brother, in-laws died. Not. The. Same. At. All.

Anyway, I am trying to be positive as I face chemo #2 on Wednesday. We will head to the Cities Tuesday afternoon and stay at my nephew and his wife's place for the short drive to the Mpls. campus for a medical check-in plus the chemo scheduled after that. I don't know if they will try to start #2 at a slower rate or not. From what I have been told, each round of chemo can be different from the other one(s). I hope the assigned nurse noted my symptoms from round #1. Plus they do NOT know about the bleeding and lowered hemoglobin which occurred a few days after that, either.

Sorry to keep returning to the hair thing. But. Don't. Tell. Me. It. Is. Only. Hair. So far from being true that I cannot even relate to someone who says that. Just please shut up, if that's the only "supportive" thing you can say.

So (for other cancer sufferers who are also wading thru some of these same statements) what CAN you say? How about a hug, or a comment that you can appreciate what a struggle this is for you. Truly, those same movements and comments also apply to widows and widowers.

Getting off my soapbox. Hope to post some photos with this blog later tonight. I want to be as open as possible (don't worry, none of 'em will be nudes), and I am shedding my desire to hide away, so that others can see just what some of the treatment entails. Not trying to shock, but instead to share.



First photo: all the hair products and accessories that I will not be able to use for probably over a year (if I am that fortunate).







Second photo: hair loss for about a day-and-a-half, before I had most of it cut off. There's a up-ended shot glass behind the pile, just for perspective.



Third photo: hair on its way out, me with my face covered. This openness is not as easy as I had hoped.





Fourth photo: face uncovered. Again, not so easy to do.




Fifth photo: the hat (or something similar to it) that I will be wearing for months (or maybe a year -- who knows), in order to not freeze my naked head and to not look so ugly to anyone who might pop in, or to my significant other. You have no idea what a hassle it is, to wear a wig. Maybe I'll post some wig pix tomorrow.

Anyway, this has been a tough post to publish. So I'm outta here for tonight.

Non-eventful week?

Warning: this is not an upbeat post.

Dear God, I know that you cannot give me what I most desire for Christmas, my health. So I am aiming for a little easier-attainable goal.

Could you please give me a week or so, WITHOUT complications?

I had my first chemo Dec. 13th. And I felt pretty good about the whole thing, considering: that I experienced male-symptom heart attack symptoms about 20 minutes after the introduction of the first chemo drug. Yes. It felt like ye olde Mack Truck sitting on my sternum (breast bone). My partner flagged down a nurse, telling her that "we need HELP here". The young gal apparently thought he was kidding or overreacting? Then my gluteus max muscles knotted and constricted, very painfully (I don't cry easily folks), enough to bring me to tears. L went looking for "my" nurse, and she practically ran to the side of my chair. (Didja know they give you chemo in a recliner-style chair?) And stopped the chemo. And asked very pointed questions about the level of pain, location of pain, etc.

She started me on a heavier-dose of Benadryl-style drug(s), which made me sound as though I was auditioning for an understudy role for Foster Brooks (an old-time comedian, who sounded like someone genuinely inebriated). And then she resumed the chemo, but at a much slower drip-rate. Plus still had to administer the second drug. So the expected 5 hours was about 6.5 hrs. Sigh.

But I felt pretty good, and we even went to dinner following this incident. Even had a beer, just like "real" people are known to do.

Returned to Duluth on the 14th, still doing pretty well.

Yeah, dumb me. Expected this would last. On the 16th, I started bleeding. Spent Friday night on the futon, which L had draped with a plastic tarp and then an old towel over that. When I was still bleeding Sat. morning, we went to the emergency room. After tests (don't want to go into details), I was admitted to the hospital, where I spent a restless night on one of those little crib-sized beds. The only good thing I can say about that evening is that L picked up a pizza that we shared. Food of the gods...

Finally begged and pleaded for a release Sunday morning. The wonderful female gyn who had hospital duty Saturday/Sunday said she wanted to see me today (this afternoon). I was glad that she was on duty, for I am switching to her (from the male doc that I never really "warmed up" to). One good thing that came out of this.

Dropped a couple of more pounds (hospital food SUCKS) by Sunday morning, so I am on a "junk food" diet until my weight stabilizes. Any excuse to eat ice cream, chocolate, steak, mmm....

And so it goes...

Oh, folks: please stop telling me that attitude is everything, that I am strong, that I will get thru this, that "it's only hair". When YOU are yourself experiencing this, then I give you leave to make these statements. So far, all a "positive" attitude has gotten me, is another "downturn". So (pardon my language) piss on that positive attitude shit. It is hard enough to be upbeat about where my life has headed. So please, PLEASE back off.

Christmas Eve in two days, and I hope I will be around for yet another one next year. Should we put that on a "board" and everyone can take chances? Not a positive week, can you tell?

47%

Went to find any support blogs, those kind written by women who have "been there, done that". It's the same method that helped me find other women who had lost their spouses when they were NOT elderly. In the long run, it was very helpful to me following Greg's death.

So, I found one website, which split off the testimonials by cancer types. Helpful, you would think. However, some of what I read (by those whose experiences were several years back) was truly frightening. And so I will have a LOT more questions, specifically in the area of radiation. One woman was horribly blackened during these treatments (it was painful, to the point of tears, for her to urinate and defecate). She did not have chemo, btw. So not sure how to interpret that one. More than one of those mentioned digestive (bowel) problems that did NOT resolve itself fully after treatment. More scary stuff. The woman who had only the radiation, was scarred so badly that she can no longer have sex. Whoa, let's address THIS issue NOW. I am sexually active and I want to continue that.

The worse statistic was when I went looking for prognosis. Should never have done that. More than one site quoted only a 47% chance of survival at the 5-yr mark, for those with my stage 3C cancer. So tell me again - WHY should I go thru all of this misery? More questions... more sadness.

Peace to all at this holiday season. A lighted Christmas tree brings a little bit of sparkle to my life... thanks, sweetie, for cutting a real tree. The first one I've had the pleasure of enjoying for years and years.

Too tough to handle

Well, my life has taken its usual turn into the toilet.

I start chemo next Tuesday, 3 sessions, 21 days apart. Then 21 days after the 3rd session, 5 weeks of radiation, every weekday, weekends off. (cause to celebrate, yes?). Then resume chemo, 3 more sessions. That effectively screws me for the next 6 + months.

Bald and freezing in this frostbitten part of the country. Lowered white cell count (hello, infections), lowered red cell count (hello, fatigue and anemia), disappearance of all body hair. As if the very treatments are not enough, I will spare you (for now) the other probable side effects.

Had to order a wig and pay extra for the expedited shipping. Otherwise, it will not be here soon enough to insulate my bald head. And a cap to just wear around the house and to sleep in. Homes are pretty cool during the winters up here, and if I am too cold, I awaken and shiver. Already bought myself an electric throw (smaller than an electric blanket - just need enough to cover ME). And I regularly sleep with sox on (don't like to be cold AT ALL).

I am angry -- so SO angry. I wish God would find another Job. This particular one wants so badly to resign from the position that she did NOT sign up for. I thought I cried a lot when my husband died. That is nothing, compared to the tears I am shedding so frequently now.

I know that I will be the subject of gossip, although people who DO talk about these kinds of things, just do not see it that way. I have a few CLOSE friends that I do and will talk with. But those phone calls about "how are you doing?" just do not fly. If you can't be supportive and genuinely mean it, don't bother. Don't tell me what has worked for you (unless you have gone thru these treatments). A very nice acquaintance recently contacted me via e-mail. She went thru chemo for breast cancer several years ago and has already mentioned some good things to me.

The septic-system guy told her that someone undergoing chemo can "kill" a septic system. Huh. Poison for me, poison for someone's septic system when I visit 'em. If it was warm outside, I would volunteer to pee outside. But it isn't, so I won't.

Every time I brush my hair, or wash or comb it, or dig it out of the collar of my winter jacket, I remind myself that I won't be doing this much longer. And I am sad. Hair is so much of what a woman perceives herself to be. Those who remark that "it's only hair" (said by those who have NOT had this wonderful experience) - you can take a flying (fill in the blank). This is not comforting to tell anyone, and especially not to tell a woman. I will spend the next 6 + months feeling and looking absolutely crummy. Trying to eat when there is no appetite, trying to sleep when I am absolutely exhausted yet too miserable to nap, trying to keep warm when my body weight is still not that great, trying to avoid infections (yeah, no one ever coughs or sneezes in this wintry area), trying to get things done when the energy level is down.

My friend (who lives in Texas' Hill Country) told me that Robin Roberts (an ABC news person) merrily went about her "usual" life while dealing with breast cancer. And this friend told me that she discovered that Ms. Roberts was able to do this because she could afford a drug that costs $6,000 dollars and which really beefs up ones energy level. My friend was not that fortunate. Finally, towards the end of her treatment and with her blood counts very, VERY low, she had this drug and realized how nice it would have been, if she could have afforded it all along. There is no justice, no mercy, no equality, where cancer is concerned.

I have some photos of myself with hair. I had them taken, so that I can go into the hairdresser with my wig (delivery next week) and have it trimmed into a reasonable resemblance of my "old" look. When my head is shaved (probably the week after next), I hope to be able to be brave enough to have photos taken and to post them, too. But no promises.

Well, I have probably written a depressing blog that most will not want to read. But it IS my blog, and for me it is a public journal. My life goes on, but I am no so sure that I want it to. Too tough... I will break soon.