This is going to be a brief post. I had my 3rd round of AC chemotherapy today--Mai was kind enough to keep me company while Matthew was at his stats class. Like usual, I felt the effects right away. And I had my 4pm acupuncture appointment. And during acupuncture I felt better--I mean, I was still really tired/fatigued, but the nausea wasn't bad, at all--in fact, I felt fine in my belly during and then 10 minutes after the treatment.
But then, on the way home, I started to feel bad.
And then, when I got home, I immediately went to sleep.
And as I was waking up, or rather, what woke me up was that I thought I might have to rush to the bathroom because I felt so nauseous I could throw up (but I didn't).
To top it off, I'm either having an awful allergy attack or I caught a cold--my nasal passages are semi-stuffed up and I'm sneezing and constantly blowing my nose (sigh).
My symptoms seem to be getting worse as the chemo accumulates in my body. The only thing I am *hoping* for is that the taxol will be easier on me--I've been told by the nurses that it will (at least in terms of the nausea) and that the muscle and joint pain may not be something I experience because I'm relatively fit and I walk 1-2 miles every morning.
So that's the latest from me. Will try to write more about how I'm doing when I start to feel better.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Still sad but adjusting
It's now day #4 of me being bald--without hair--feeling like I look like an alien every time I look in the mirror (when I'm not wearing my wig that is).
I've gotten so many email and voice mail messages and comments on this blog that have said that I don't look weird or funny and that my hair doesn't define me--and I really and truly appreciate all those sentiments. Especially because I do feel like one of those hairless cats right now (and those hairless cats have always freaked me out). And if any of you were going through this I'd say the same thing: beauty is within. The external stuff is just that, external. And this is temporary--it will grow back.
Yet, I feel ugly. Or maybe more precisely, I don't feel good about myself. Which has to do with not having hair but I think it also has to do with the reality of the cancer sort've sitting with me. And the reality of my chemo treatment, which is really taxing. While I think the folks at Lineberger are right in saying that the first round would be an indication of how I'd do with subsequent rounds, I also think (or wonder) about the cumulative effects of the chemo in my body. Because I'm definitely tired--I feel more tired this time than I did the last time. Of course, the fact that I have a low level depression going on probably doesn't help. But I also still have a fair bit of nausea, and I was expecting this to be subsiding more by day #7. So I do wonder what rounds #3 and #4 will be like. And there is a part of me that feels like this should be a case of mind over matter. That I need to just tell myself that I'm fine and I'll be fine and that's that. I can't not go to yoga or keep sleeping or watch movies all day long.
I think I make a bad sick person. Because I'm antsy to actually do work, as crazy as that sounds. I don't want to feel tired and queasy. I want to have my normal energy level and I want to be reading and writing and thinking about my book project. And planning my syllabus for next semester. And I want to turn my tenure file in and have that over with.
And maybe, what I should be doing, is to let myself just be with all of this. Maybe that's what the meltdown was for. And maybe the stuff about me not feeling good about myself, physically (in terms of my external features) and bodily (in terms of my internal cellular distress because of the chemo) and emotionally (because of all the disturbances I'm dealing with) is to give myself time to just BE with ME. And to be OK with being bald. And to be OK (as much as I can be OK) with going through the chemo. And to be OK with what this means in terms of my energy level and not feeling like myself. Because I don't feel like myself. I don't look like myself.
But maybe that's OK for now. To be sad. To feel a bit ugly. And to be OK with those things and to just figure out, hour by hour, day by day, what is going to make me feel good again. Maybe this is my time to slow down and sit with myself because I can't really do anything else or be anywhere else. So maybe I just need to be.
And on that note, I'm actually going to leave you with something pretty awesome that my friend Kathy by way of another friend Becky sent to me (all you lit folks should LOVE this):
I've gotten so many email and voice mail messages and comments on this blog that have said that I don't look weird or funny and that my hair doesn't define me--and I really and truly appreciate all those sentiments. Especially because I do feel like one of those hairless cats right now (and those hairless cats have always freaked me out). And if any of you were going through this I'd say the same thing: beauty is within. The external stuff is just that, external. And this is temporary--it will grow back.
Yet, I feel ugly. Or maybe more precisely, I don't feel good about myself. Which has to do with not having hair but I think it also has to do with the reality of the cancer sort've sitting with me. And the reality of my chemo treatment, which is really taxing. While I think the folks at Lineberger are right in saying that the first round would be an indication of how I'd do with subsequent rounds, I also think (or wonder) about the cumulative effects of the chemo in my body. Because I'm definitely tired--I feel more tired this time than I did the last time. Of course, the fact that I have a low level depression going on probably doesn't help. But I also still have a fair bit of nausea, and I was expecting this to be subsiding more by day #7. So I do wonder what rounds #3 and #4 will be like. And there is a part of me that feels like this should be a case of mind over matter. That I need to just tell myself that I'm fine and I'll be fine and that's that. I can't not go to yoga or keep sleeping or watch movies all day long.
I think I make a bad sick person. Because I'm antsy to actually do work, as crazy as that sounds. I don't want to feel tired and queasy. I want to have my normal energy level and I want to be reading and writing and thinking about my book project. And planning my syllabus for next semester. And I want to turn my tenure file in and have that over with.
And maybe, what I should be doing, is to let myself just be with all of this. Maybe that's what the meltdown was for. And maybe the stuff about me not feeling good about myself, physically (in terms of my external features) and bodily (in terms of my internal cellular distress because of the chemo) and emotionally (because of all the disturbances I'm dealing with) is to give myself time to just BE with ME. And to be OK with being bald. And to be OK (as much as I can be OK) with going through the chemo. And to be OK with what this means in terms of my energy level and not feeling like myself. Because I don't feel like myself. I don't look like myself.
But maybe that's OK for now. To be sad. To feel a bit ugly. And to be OK with those things and to just figure out, hour by hour, day by day, what is going to make me feel good again. Maybe this is my time to slow down and sit with myself because I can't really do anything else or be anywhere else. So maybe I just need to be.
And on that note, I'm actually going to leave you with something pretty awesome that my friend Kathy by way of another friend Becky sent to me (all you lit folks should LOVE this):
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
THE MELTDOWN
Yesterday afternoon I had the biggest meltdown that I've had since receiving my cancer diagnosis. I know that a lot of folks have commented on how brave I am. Or how stoic. Or strong. And in the face of my initial diagnosis, I did seem to be all these things. It was like a door closed when I heard the news "positive for breast cancer" and I immediately went into business mode, trying to learn the jargon, figure out what I needed to do immediately in terms of surgery, treatment options, who I should talk to, how I should break the news to people, when I should tell my grad students, how this would interfere with the wedding shower, with the wedding, with my trip to Okracoke.
I have been business-like throughout most of the diagnosis and surgery and treatment, so much so that I know that folks have been worried about whether I'm in touch with my emotions or whether I'm in denial about all of this. But I knew (and those closest to me know) that this is my M.O. When faced with news of a particularly tragic nature (the death of my favorite uncle, for example) I do not cry--I figure out what I need to do. And then at an unexpected moment, I have my meltdown.
Now, I have had minor breakdowns along the way. Who wouldn't?! There's SO MUCH TO PROCESS. The meeting about the chemotherapy alone was like a clusterfuck in my head--feeling like every part of my female sexuality and feminine identity was being attacked and compromised simultaneously (click here for the blog entry on that particular subject). And it's just stressful--hearing statistics about survival rates and rates of recurrence and all the horrible side effects of chemo and the eventual bi-lateral mastectomy I will have to have. If you try to hold it all in your head at once, you feel like your brain (or heart) is going to explode. So since I'm great at compartementalizing, I've just been letting in what I need to let in, in order to get through on a day by day, week by week basis.
Yet I suspected that the day that would be hardest--the time that would truly have me at the end of my limits, would be today. Because today, I'm going to have Matthew shave of all my hair. Today is when I become bald. Today is when there is no masking the fact that I am a cancer patient. I have cancer.
I know my hair will grow back--many people have tried to reassure me of this fact--I've read books that have reassured me of this fact. And it is, somewhat, reassuring. But that's not all that has me freaked out right now. It's the mark of baldness that means you HAVE CANCER. I mean, of course not all people who are bald have cancer, but here's where gender norms really come into play. A bald man may just have elected to be bald or have male pattern baldness or perhaps he has cancer.
A woman who is bald in public? She has cancer. Or alopecia (the loss of hair that is not going to come back). Or perhaps she is just a woman who is very comfortable in her body and likes to have her head shaved. But seriously? Most women who are bald in public are iconoclasts--and it is one of the biggest badges, markers, and signs that screams I HAVE CANCER.
And while verbally I may be comfortable telling people that I have breast cancer and am going through chemotherapy, it's another thing to have my head betray me through its loss of hair--to have others see me as a cancer patient first rather than my own control and confirmation of my status--my ability to hide or mask my cancer and only reveal my situation when I want to reveal it.
Which is I know what the wigs are for. I mean, they are there for my vanity--I picked them out because I thought they would flatter me--and it's why I particularly love my strawberry syrup wig. But these wigs are also a necessary emotional and mental buffer against me and the world. They are part of my arsenal--part of the protection of my very being--the part that is really terrified with what it means to have cancer and be going through chemo and who has to look ahead, at some point, to a very debilitating surgery that will remove both my breasts and send me to a physical therapist to learn how to be in my body without my breasts.
All of this is anxiety producing and strikes at the most vulnerable part of me. And I know that this is now the public face I show with friends and family and on this blog. But like every other human on this planet, I am fully of the soft mushy stuff that gets frightened and scared and feels absolutely vulnerable and who can't keep it all inside--can't just be strong and stoic and brave.
So I'm not. Not yesterday afternoon when I cried, hysterically, for well over half an hour, just sobbing over and over again, with Matthew by my side, that I didn't want to lose my hair and I was scared and I didn't want to have cancer. And this morning, when I took a shower and tried to wash my hair, as I was lathering up, I literally had clumps of hair in each hand, and I started to leave a big mound of it in the corner of the shower, so that when I was finally done washing my hair and rinsing all the hair off my body, I'd say I left about a 1/4 - 1/3 of my hair in the bathtub. And when I went to dry my hair, as gingerly and tenderly as possible, I found clumps of my hair within the towel. I look absolutely ghastly right now because I have bit patches of hair missing from my scalp. And I called my parents and just cried and cried on the phone with them long distance, because I feel like my heart is breaking. Because I don't want this to be real--and the loss of my hair, the fact that it's coming out in such big clumps, the reality of having it shaved off this afternoon, makes it all very REAL. It makes this cancer absolutely real.
So I sit and wait. Matthew will be off work by 11am and we'll have lunch with Mai, who has agreed to be our official photographer (and I picked Mai because I knew I'd be comfortable having a break down in front of her--you can only pick people you can go really low with and I trust Mai to be able to go really low) and in a few hours I will be bald.
And I'm just incredibly sad. Because I LOVE my hair--I've always loved my hair. I've always felt that my hair was one of my better features and always tried to take care of my hair and always get a great hair cut. But beyond all the vain things associated with my hair, I'm just incredibly sad because this all feels way too real. And I wish it wasn't.
I have been business-like throughout most of the diagnosis and surgery and treatment, so much so that I know that folks have been worried about whether I'm in touch with my emotions or whether I'm in denial about all of this. But I knew (and those closest to me know) that this is my M.O. When faced with news of a particularly tragic nature (the death of my favorite uncle, for example) I do not cry--I figure out what I need to do. And then at an unexpected moment, I have my meltdown.
Now, I have had minor breakdowns along the way. Who wouldn't?! There's SO MUCH TO PROCESS. The meeting about the chemotherapy alone was like a clusterfuck in my head--feeling like every part of my female sexuality and feminine identity was being attacked and compromised simultaneously (click here for the blog entry on that particular subject). And it's just stressful--hearing statistics about survival rates and rates of recurrence and all the horrible side effects of chemo and the eventual bi-lateral mastectomy I will have to have. If you try to hold it all in your head at once, you feel like your brain (or heart) is going to explode. So since I'm great at compartementalizing, I've just been letting in what I need to let in, in order to get through on a day by day, week by week basis.
Yet I suspected that the day that would be hardest--the time that would truly have me at the end of my limits, would be today. Because today, I'm going to have Matthew shave of all my hair. Today is when I become bald. Today is when there is no masking the fact that I am a cancer patient. I have cancer.
I know my hair will grow back--many people have tried to reassure me of this fact--I've read books that have reassured me of this fact. And it is, somewhat, reassuring. But that's not all that has me freaked out right now. It's the mark of baldness that means you HAVE CANCER. I mean, of course not all people who are bald have cancer, but here's where gender norms really come into play. A bald man may just have elected to be bald or have male pattern baldness or perhaps he has cancer.
A woman who is bald in public? She has cancer. Or alopecia (the loss of hair that is not going to come back). Or perhaps she is just a woman who is very comfortable in her body and likes to have her head shaved. But seriously? Most women who are bald in public are iconoclasts--and it is one of the biggest badges, markers, and signs that screams I HAVE CANCER.
And while verbally I may be comfortable telling people that I have breast cancer and am going through chemotherapy, it's another thing to have my head betray me through its loss of hair--to have others see me as a cancer patient first rather than my own control and confirmation of my status--my ability to hide or mask my cancer and only reveal my situation when I want to reveal it.
Which is I know what the wigs are for. I mean, they are there for my vanity--I picked them out because I thought they would flatter me--and it's why I particularly love my strawberry syrup wig. But these wigs are also a necessary emotional and mental buffer against me and the world. They are part of my arsenal--part of the protection of my very being--the part that is really terrified with what it means to have cancer and be going through chemo and who has to look ahead, at some point, to a very debilitating surgery that will remove both my breasts and send me to a physical therapist to learn how to be in my body without my breasts.
All of this is anxiety producing and strikes at the most vulnerable part of me. And I know that this is now the public face I show with friends and family and on this blog. But like every other human on this planet, I am fully of the soft mushy stuff that gets frightened and scared and feels absolutely vulnerable and who can't keep it all inside--can't just be strong and stoic and brave.
So I'm not. Not yesterday afternoon when I cried, hysterically, for well over half an hour, just sobbing over and over again, with Matthew by my side, that I didn't want to lose my hair and I was scared and I didn't want to have cancer. And this morning, when I took a shower and tried to wash my hair, as I was lathering up, I literally had clumps of hair in each hand, and I started to leave a big mound of it in the corner of the shower, so that when I was finally done washing my hair and rinsing all the hair off my body, I'd say I left about a 1/4 - 1/3 of my hair in the bathtub. And when I went to dry my hair, as gingerly and tenderly as possible, I found clumps of my hair within the towel. I look absolutely ghastly right now because I have bit patches of hair missing from my scalp. And I called my parents and just cried and cried on the phone with them long distance, because I feel like my heart is breaking. Because I don't want this to be real--and the loss of my hair, the fact that it's coming out in such big clumps, the reality of having it shaved off this afternoon, makes it all very REAL. It makes this cancer absolutely real.
So I sit and wait. Matthew will be off work by 11am and we'll have lunch with Mai, who has agreed to be our official photographer (and I picked Mai because I knew I'd be comfortable having a break down in front of her--you can only pick people you can go really low with and I trust Mai to be able to go really low) and in a few hours I will be bald.
And I'm just incredibly sad. Because I LOVE my hair--I've always loved my hair. I've always felt that my hair was one of my better features and always tried to take care of my hair and always get a great hair cut. But beyond all the vain things associated with my hair, I'm just incredibly sad because this all feels way too real. And I wish it wasn't.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Live from Chemo Chair #26 -- and so it begins (again)
[No new medical updates--just more of the same about my chemo treatment, but read on if you want to know my musings as I sit and get this second round of the AC cocktail]
So I've been here since 10am, in chemo chair #26 (it's now almost 1pm). I've had my anti-nausea medicine, the "A" part of my AC chemo cocktail, and now I'm just waiting for the "C" part to be dripping into my iv line.
When I got here in the morning I felt great--I mean, not great about having to come to chemo, but great in terms of no side effects/symptoms, no fatigue or diziness. I felt like my normal, healthy self.
And now?
Already I can feel my brain fog over and a slight headache come on. And my body feels heavy--like it's filling up with lead. And my stomach? Lets not even start to talk about my stomach (which is up to it's old queasy business--the pharmacist, Chris, confirmed that if I were NOT on the regimen of anti-nausea meds, I'd certainly be throwing up, so the queasiness may be something I am just going to have to deal with while doing the AC cocktail. The good news is that the Taxol apparently isn't as hard on the system, nausea wise--there are other mean side effects that Taxol has up its sleeve, like joint and muscle pain and neuropathy--but we've got time to experience all that). And, of course, there's that horrible taste that has returned.
(sigh)
I have a new nurse this time, Amy, who is also very efficient, no nonsense, and very friendly/reassuring. Stacy is assisting her (this is her 5th day on the chemo ward--she's brand new here from Omaha), and Julie, the nurse I had last time, came by to say hi and see how I was doing. And in my appointment with Dr. Carey, Delma came by to say hi and I met Dr. Carey's nurse practitioner, who looks and sounds a lot like Heather Graham.
Anyway, the cycle begins anew. I lost 5 lbs from my last chemo--so if this pattern holds, I'll be 20 lb lighter when I'm done with the AC cocktail portion of my chemo. And the first 5 days will be hard, but then it'll get better. Plus, I have high hopes for the acupuncture that I'm now doing!
I had my first appointment with Tory (who specializes in working with people who have cancer and are going through chemo) at Triangle Acupuncture. She said that my symptoms wouldn't go away but that hopefully the side effects would be lessened through the treatment. It was really trippy--my first time with the needles--and I have to say that I liked it. First, it was just very relaxing--the needles are so small and thin, you really don't feel them at all. And then you lie there in this room semi-lit room with soothing music playing, and I just fell asleep. But as I was drifting off, I could feel all these tingling sensations through different parts of my body, places that were NOT the parts where she had inserted a needle. For example, I thought that I was feeling a bit of a pinching feeling in my right kneecap, so I mentioned this to Tory as she was inserting needles in my left leg. She touched the inside of my right calf and asked if this was what was pinching, but I said, no, it was definitely my knee cap. And then she told me she hadn't inserted a needle in my kneecap--that what I was experiencing was deferred pain--and so she pulled the needle out a bit from my calf, which lessened the effect, and she said that it was actually a good sign because it meant that my channels were open and it was working.
I have to say, I was tingling for a good half hour after my appointment. So cross your fingers for me--I really hope it helps with the queasiness and dizziness.
Now for the sad news: yesterday I scratched my head and a clump of my hair came out in my hand. Not a huge clump, just a few dozen strands. But when I saw them come out in my hand, I put my book down and just stared at them. For a few minutes. And I felt my heart sink. And I felt my stomach just lurch. And I got sad. Really sad. Really, REALLY sad. And when Matthew got home I told him and he hugged me and then I promptly went upstairs to bed and stared at the ceiling. Because I think this was the moment when my FEELINGS about everything that is happening to me sort've caught up to me. Because I DO NOT WANT MY HAIR TO FALL OUT AND I AM TOTALLY FREAKED OUT BY THE FACT THAT IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN AND I'M REALLY UNPREPARED FOR THIS TO HAPPEN EVEN THOUGH I HAVE THESE COOL WIGS AND I KNOW MY HAIR WILL GROW OUT.
I mean, intellectually I'm OK with it all. I know that all of this is necessary to give me the best odds of remission and recovery. But the reality of having my hair fall out? That is just something I'm really unprepared for. And I have been telling folks, who have called or written or stopped by that I'm dealing with everything fine but that the minute that my hair starts to fall out I'll probably start to lose it.
Well, that time has come. I think it's a manageable kind of freaking-out--in other words, it's not preventing me from functioning or coming to my chemo appointment. And I've tried to be nice and cordial to all the staff here because they are nice and cordial and professional with me. But on the inside? I'm sort've freaking out--worried to touch my hair--worried to lie down, because each time I do, I see a few stray hairs lying on the pillow. And when I showered this morning, it was really distressing because I shed a lot of hair in the shower and then while toweling off. And it just makes me so incredibly sad.
Anyway, that's what's new with me. I'll probably be returning phone and email messages very slowly over the next few days, if anyone intends to write or call. You can always try Matthew--he's good as a go-between and can give people the inside scoop about what's going on at the Grady-Ho homestead. I'm just not sure what to do about the hair thing. I suppose I need to consider when I should think about shaving it off--balancing how freaked out I am each time a new clump comes out versus how freaked out I'll be to actually have my head shaved.
(sigh)
Hope everyone is well! And take care of your hair!
So I've been here since 10am, in chemo chair #26 (it's now almost 1pm). I've had my anti-nausea medicine, the "A" part of my AC chemo cocktail, and now I'm just waiting for the "C" part to be dripping into my iv line.
When I got here in the morning I felt great--I mean, not great about having to come to chemo, but great in terms of no side effects/symptoms, no fatigue or diziness. I felt like my normal, healthy self.
And now?
Already I can feel my brain fog over and a slight headache come on. And my body feels heavy--like it's filling up with lead. And my stomach? Lets not even start to talk about my stomach (which is up to it's old queasy business--the pharmacist, Chris, confirmed that if I were NOT on the regimen of anti-nausea meds, I'd certainly be throwing up, so the queasiness may be something I am just going to have to deal with while doing the AC cocktail. The good news is that the Taxol apparently isn't as hard on the system, nausea wise--there are other mean side effects that Taxol has up its sleeve, like joint and muscle pain and neuropathy--but we've got time to experience all that). And, of course, there's that horrible taste that has returned.
(sigh)
I have a new nurse this time, Amy, who is also very efficient, no nonsense, and very friendly/reassuring. Stacy is assisting her (this is her 5th day on the chemo ward--she's brand new here from Omaha), and Julie, the nurse I had last time, came by to say hi and see how I was doing. And in my appointment with Dr. Carey, Delma came by to say hi and I met Dr. Carey's nurse practitioner, who looks and sounds a lot like Heather Graham.
Anyway, the cycle begins anew. I lost 5 lbs from my last chemo--so if this pattern holds, I'll be 20 lb lighter when I'm done with the AC cocktail portion of my chemo. And the first 5 days will be hard, but then it'll get better. Plus, I have high hopes for the acupuncture that I'm now doing!
I had my first appointment with Tory (who specializes in working with people who have cancer and are going through chemo) at Triangle Acupuncture. She said that my symptoms wouldn't go away but that hopefully the side effects would be lessened through the treatment. It was really trippy--my first time with the needles--and I have to say that I liked it. First, it was just very relaxing--the needles are so small and thin, you really don't feel them at all. And then you lie there in this room semi-lit room with soothing music playing, and I just fell asleep. But as I was drifting off, I could feel all these tingling sensations through different parts of my body, places that were NOT the parts where she had inserted a needle. For example, I thought that I was feeling a bit of a pinching feeling in my right kneecap, so I mentioned this to Tory as she was inserting needles in my left leg. She touched the inside of my right calf and asked if this was what was pinching, but I said, no, it was definitely my knee cap. And then she told me she hadn't inserted a needle in my kneecap--that what I was experiencing was deferred pain--and so she pulled the needle out a bit from my calf, which lessened the effect, and she said that it was actually a good sign because it meant that my channels were open and it was working.
I have to say, I was tingling for a good half hour after my appointment. So cross your fingers for me--I really hope it helps with the queasiness and dizziness.
Now for the sad news: yesterday I scratched my head and a clump of my hair came out in my hand. Not a huge clump, just a few dozen strands. But when I saw them come out in my hand, I put my book down and just stared at them. For a few minutes. And I felt my heart sink. And I felt my stomach just lurch. And I got sad. Really sad. Really, REALLY sad. And when Matthew got home I told him and he hugged me and then I promptly went upstairs to bed and stared at the ceiling. Because I think this was the moment when my FEELINGS about everything that is happening to me sort've caught up to me. Because I DO NOT WANT MY HAIR TO FALL OUT AND I AM TOTALLY FREAKED OUT BY THE FACT THAT IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN AND I'M REALLY UNPREPARED FOR THIS TO HAPPEN EVEN THOUGH I HAVE THESE COOL WIGS AND I KNOW MY HAIR WILL GROW OUT.
I mean, intellectually I'm OK with it all. I know that all of this is necessary to give me the best odds of remission and recovery. But the reality of having my hair fall out? That is just something I'm really unprepared for. And I have been telling folks, who have called or written or stopped by that I'm dealing with everything fine but that the minute that my hair starts to fall out I'll probably start to lose it.
Well, that time has come. I think it's a manageable kind of freaking-out--in other words, it's not preventing me from functioning or coming to my chemo appointment. And I've tried to be nice and cordial to all the staff here because they are nice and cordial and professional with me. But on the inside? I'm sort've freaking out--worried to touch my hair--worried to lie down, because each time I do, I see a few stray hairs lying on the pillow. And when I showered this morning, it was really distressing because I shed a lot of hair in the shower and then while toweling off. And it just makes me so incredibly sad.
Anyway, that's what's new with me. I'll probably be returning phone and email messages very slowly over the next few days, if anyone intends to write or call. You can always try Matthew--he's good as a go-between and can give people the inside scoop about what's going on at the Grady-Ho homestead. I'm just not sure what to do about the hair thing. I suppose I need to consider when I should think about shaving it off--balancing how freaked out I am each time a new clump comes out versus how freaked out I'll be to actually have my head shaved.
(sigh)
Hope everyone is well! And take care of your hair!
Monday, June 21, 2010
It's back! My appetite!
Today has been the best day I've had since I started chemo on Thursday, June 10. This is technically day 12 of chemo and again, I feel like a textbook case: the first 5 days are the hardest and my symptoms are the most severe and the following days I feel better and better until the last few days I actually start to feel like my old self again when BAM! I start the cycle all over again.
(sigh)
I hope I do run true to course, because feeling crappy for 5 days out of 14 isn't so bad. Although I suppose I still have to deal with decreased energy (I basically spent Saturday lying around the house--on my couch, curled up in my arm chair, napping on the futon in my home office, and finally in bed by 9pm, sound asleep), but the good news seems to be that my taste buds return back to normal around day 12.
Because I HAVE MY APPETITE BACK!
I have to eat smaller portions (odd, not sure why) but the good news is definitely that food tastes good to me again. Which is such a relief! I mean, ice cream that tastes like cardboard is just a sad, Sad, SAD world. But I suppose for a week at a time, I'll just deal with that (although, there are always Massa Organic almonds to get me through the bad week, as well as Trader Joe's lentil-potato snacks and rice crackers--these are my staples during the bad days--as well as everything ginger).
Today I went to yoga and had no problem with any of the poses, and I've also managed to walk a mile every morning--the one constant during this treatment (exercise is actually really helpful in dealing with the chemo, at least I think so--although I definitely can't push myself like I normally do--a mile or mile and a half is just about right for me).
So that's the latest update from me. I'll write again on Thursday when I'm back at the Lineberger Center, and I'm sure I'll be writing to all of you when my hair falls out...I should have another 10 days before that happens (sigh). Anyway, I hope everyone reading this is having a good day, and if you're not, then I hope it gets better very soon. And most importantly, I hope that you enjoy a good meal today--and savor every bite. I think I've neglected to appreciate my taste buds in the past and I'm just SO GRATEFUL for them right now that I'm going to savor every meal that I can taste until Thursday!
(sigh)
I hope I do run true to course, because feeling crappy for 5 days out of 14 isn't so bad. Although I suppose I still have to deal with decreased energy (I basically spent Saturday lying around the house--on my couch, curled up in my arm chair, napping on the futon in my home office, and finally in bed by 9pm, sound asleep), but the good news seems to be that my taste buds return back to normal around day 12.
Because I HAVE MY APPETITE BACK!
I have to eat smaller portions (odd, not sure why) but the good news is definitely that food tastes good to me again. Which is such a relief! I mean, ice cream that tastes like cardboard is just a sad, Sad, SAD world. But I suppose for a week at a time, I'll just deal with that (although, there are always Massa Organic almonds to get me through the bad week, as well as Trader Joe's lentil-potato snacks and rice crackers--these are my staples during the bad days--as well as everything ginger).
Today I went to yoga and had no problem with any of the poses, and I've also managed to walk a mile every morning--the one constant during this treatment (exercise is actually really helpful in dealing with the chemo, at least I think so--although I definitely can't push myself like I normally do--a mile or mile and a half is just about right for me).
So that's the latest update from me. I'll write again on Thursday when I'm back at the Lineberger Center, and I'm sure I'll be writing to all of you when my hair falls out...I should have another 10 days before that happens (sigh). Anyway, I hope everyone reading this is having a good day, and if you're not, then I hope it gets better very soon. And most importantly, I hope that you enjoy a good meal today--and savor every bite. I think I've neglected to appreciate my taste buds in the past and I'm just SO GRATEFUL for them right now that I'm going to savor every meal that I can taste until Thursday!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
It's been a week since my first chemo and I'm feeling...
Fine actually. Today was a good day--I had somewhat of an appetite and my energy level is good. However, I should qualify this. Here are some constants in my life post-chemo:
*A yucky aftertaste in my mouth. Sometimes it is stronger than at other times--sometimes it tastes metallic, at other times, it's just this weird film/off taste that is a constant presence in my mouth. I sometimes will suck on a lozenge or candy or will gargle with mouthwash or brush my teeth and tongue, just to get some temporary relief, but it is a constant presence in my mouth, this aftertaste--which I'm sure is contributing to my lack of appetite/change in taste buds.
*Stomach issues. Right now it's mild--in the sense that I am aware that I have a stomach. I know that sounds odd, but I want you to stop and think about the last time you thought about your stomach. It was probably either when you were last hungry or when your stomach was last upset after eating something or experiencing motion sickness. For me, I am constantly aware of my stomach and it's various states of queasiness, from the very mild (my current state) to the downright rocky/revolting state (which is when I was at my worse).
*Low energy. This has fluctuated from me being at my lowest (40% energy capacity) to today (85% capacity). But I am more tired and things take a bit longer or I need more time to rest between activities than I normally do (including simple phone calls/conversations--which may be why I'm not picking up the phone or returning phone calls from time to time).
Anyway, it's been a week since my first round of chemo, and I have another week before I go back (Thursday, June 24 at 9:30am I'm back in the infusion chair--sigh). So I'm *hoping* that the pattern, at least while I'm on the "AC" cocktail will be one bad week and one good week. I suppose once I start taxol and once the chemo starts to build up in my system that all might change, but if the next 2 months are one bad and one good week, then overall this isn't so bad--annoying and frustrating, yes. But workable.
So on that note, let me leave you with two videos, just for kicks. The first is compliments of my colleague Elyse, and it may be surprising that I'd get such a kick out of it, but first of all, it's not pink ribbons, it's pink gloves, and secondly, I love random dancing. I especially love amateur random dancing--when folks get together to create goofy dance routines or to just dance together in random places (which explains my love of the second video on this post).
Enjoy!
PINK GLOVE DANCE--Providence, St. Vincent
WHERE THE HELL IS MATT?
*A yucky aftertaste in my mouth. Sometimes it is stronger than at other times--sometimes it tastes metallic, at other times, it's just this weird film/off taste that is a constant presence in my mouth. I sometimes will suck on a lozenge or candy or will gargle with mouthwash or brush my teeth and tongue, just to get some temporary relief, but it is a constant presence in my mouth, this aftertaste--which I'm sure is contributing to my lack of appetite/change in taste buds.
*Stomach issues. Right now it's mild--in the sense that I am aware that I have a stomach. I know that sounds odd, but I want you to stop and think about the last time you thought about your stomach. It was probably either when you were last hungry or when your stomach was last upset after eating something or experiencing motion sickness. For me, I am constantly aware of my stomach and it's various states of queasiness, from the very mild (my current state) to the downright rocky/revolting state (which is when I was at my worse).
*Low energy. This has fluctuated from me being at my lowest (40% energy capacity) to today (85% capacity). But I am more tired and things take a bit longer or I need more time to rest between activities than I normally do (including simple phone calls/conversations--which may be why I'm not picking up the phone or returning phone calls from time to time).
Anyway, it's been a week since my first round of chemo, and I have another week before I go back (Thursday, June 24 at 9:30am I'm back in the infusion chair--sigh). So I'm *hoping* that the pattern, at least while I'm on the "AC" cocktail will be one bad week and one good week. I suppose once I start taxol and once the chemo starts to build up in my system that all might change, but if the next 2 months are one bad and one good week, then overall this isn't so bad--annoying and frustrating, yes. But workable.
So on that note, let me leave you with two videos, just for kicks. The first is compliments of my colleague Elyse, and it may be surprising that I'd get such a kick out of it, but first of all, it's not pink ribbons, it's pink gloves, and secondly, I love random dancing. I especially love amateur random dancing--when folks get together to create goofy dance routines or to just dance together in random places (which explains my love of the second video on this post).
Enjoy!
PINK GLOVE DANCE--Providence, St. Vincent
WHERE THE HELL IS MATT?
Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.
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