There's a sewer

swirling around in my body. Don't sit next to me. Or do so at your own risk. I'm not sure what's happening. I realize my descending colon is seven inches shorter than it used to be. And that must create activity at a quicker rate. There is less space for the bacteria to bang around like bumper cars, and so the sparks are more frequent and more severe.

I read a story recently in the Chicago Tribune about how to clear a room. You guessed it; a story about flatulence. "Gastroenterologists say most people pass gas about 10 to 20 times a day," according to the story. I exceed that quota by 10 a.m. It also says women "break wind" fewer times a day than men. That may be true, generally, unless you are a woman with a short colon.

I'm at home getting ready for work, so I thought I would post this quick note. I have a long day ahead me, I have to work late. And I'll be irritable because I'll be around people and I'll need to be polite. And being polite means you cannot do anything that might clear the room.

Recently, someone asked me why I haven't been posting lately. Clearly, I have nothing much to say.

I should not read about cancer

if I don't want to pop an anxiety pill. So here's the way I got to the cancer Web site. An author of a book called Compassionate Caregiving wants our magazine to review her book or let her write an article about caregiving. So I was looking through the book, and the Caregiving Web sites chapter caught my eye. I turned to those pages. There I saw the reference to cancer.org. I logged on and saw Cancer Facts and Figures 2007. Well, of course I'm going to look at that.

I scroll down to the section on colon cancer (naturally). I looked at the survival rate (and the fact that eating a lot of red or processed meats [I AM a member of the SPAM fan club] can cause colon cancer). The one and five year survival rates for colon (and rectal) cancer are 84 percent and 64 percent, respectively. OK, that's respectable. Detected at an early, localized stage, the five year survival rate is 90 percent. Really good. However, when it is discovered in the lymph nodes (me) or adjacent organs, the five-year rate drops back to 68 percent. OK OK, that's better than half, I guess. But if it has a distant metastases (I'm not sure how distant, preferably in a nearby swine), the five-year survival rate drops to 10 percent. Really bad.

You see, an acquaintance in Nashville has just died of colorectal cancer, and she was only 41. I've been keeping up with her on her Caring Bridge Web site. One month, she was back teaching school and the next month (or so) she was dead. I didn't know her well, but her death has really affected me. I don't think it's because she also had colon cancer, but maybe. It's just that she was so loved and seemed to be a happy person. She was not going to let this cancer get her. And yet it did.

I was looking at the photos of her they used at her memorial service and tears came to my eyes. I prayed for her a lot. Lots of people did. Once when I was praying for her complete healing, the question popped into my head (from God?), "But would you trade your life for hers?" And guiltily I must admit, the answer was no.

I'm no Jesus.

What a great holiday

I spent a wonderful two weeks away from the office. We had a nice Christmas, then my sister and her partner (my sister in law) Jana came to visit. We ate and ate and drank and drank and visited downtown Chicago. They saw the ice skaters and we even got some snow. Jana got to build a snowman. For Decatur, Alabamians, snow is rare.

In addition to their visit, my favorite part of time off was sleeping until 7:30. That's late! Then ambling downstairs to the living room to get my coffee (with a squirt of holiday whip cream in it) and reading the paper. Puttering around the house (learning a new video program) and then taking a nap around 1 or 2. Man, that's the life. I hate to add years to my age, but retirement looks pretty good. A couple of times I got bored, so when I do get to retire, I'll have to have some daily goals, I guess. But for now, I think resting and taking it easy is just fine.

I sure am back to eating. I knew this would happen of course. I can taste food again and it is heaven. We blew our dining budget in December. And the numbers on my scales are rising (I have to put my body on it first, of course). But it's the new year, so I can make some resolutions. Like eating my fruits and vegetables and staying away from all the sweets that tasted so good during chemo. And going back to the gym with a vengeance.

My aunt Margene died over the holidays. She was my mother's younger sister. (She was in her mid 70s.) She got pneumonia and never recovered. Terrible. She was part of the reason I like cowgirls. When I was a kid, I used to visit her family on the "farm" in Oklahoma. That's where I rode (and fell off) my first horse. What was that white horse's name....I can't remember. Anyway, Margene, I hope you're having a great time. It's really cold here.

I'm still racking in the presents. Bob got me a computer, which I didn't expect!, and a DVD recorder, among lots of other things. My friend Teresa from Nashville sent me an unexpected gift she picked up at a yard sale. A Kate Spade cowgirl purse!



The photo above is Bob and me wishing you a happy 2008. We've taken this picture every year since 2000, when it was easy to hold up our fingers. One of us would hold up a two and zero; the other would do two zeros, forming an "O" with our fingers. But as we moved into 2006, we didn't have enough fingers. So we had to move to the Roman numeral system. That's me holding up two "M"s for 2000 and Bob holding up two and three fingers for "eight." That makes 2008, right?

Happy New Year!

We have snow!

I don't know exactly how much, maybe six to eight inches. It's higher than Spunk. I had to shovel her a path to go out and pee-pee and poop. Louie loves it. He jumps in it. But it's about 22 degrees out so they are happy to come back in.

Last night Bob and I decorated our Christmas tree. We were supposed to go to friends' house for a festive dinner, but Bob had some trouble with his digestive system and was afraid to leave the house (and bathroom). We hated to miss the party, but the snow was coming down furiously so it was more safe being at home.

Every year we debate about the Christmas tree -- real or fake? We say we will go after Christmas to buy a fake tree, but we never make it. So, each year, we end up buying a real tree at the YMCA. Real trees are beautiful and they smell great, but they require a bit of upkeep. Watering, vacuuming up needles, disposing of when Christmas is over. We're getting older and the work required is more difficult. (You have to crouch under the bottom limbs for the daily watering the tree needs.)

The dreaded task of decorating the tree began. For me, it's not very fun. I haven't figured out why; maybe the disorder it creates with boxes and ornaments and lights everywhere. But Bob loves it. We have almost zero storage room at this house so we have to put all our decorations in the garage. Bob trekked back and forth in the snow to bring in the decorations. I stayed at the door for the hand-off so that he didn't track snow in the house. He made us some hot-buttered rums (the fun part) and we set to work.

We finished and were cleaning up, admiring our beautiful newly decorated tree when ... it toppled over, breaking many of our glass ornaments and spilling water all over our wooden floor and area rug. After staring at the mess for a few stunned seconds we sprung into action. Righted the tree, sopped up the water, salvaged the ornaments. (Photo at right of me vacuuming up the broken ornaments.) We got it all fixed and put the ornaments back on, but I think the tree debate is settled.

Fake.

It's not over till it's over I guess

Well, the doc gave me the results of my CAT scan today. They found a new spot on my lung. It might be nothing, he said. Most of the time, colon cancer navigates its way into the liver first, before reaching the lung. But, I said, if I ask you whether you can give me a definitive answer, you would say "No." Right? Yes, he said, but you can ask me my opinion. Ok, what's your opinion? "It's not cancer," he responded. Even if it is, he said, they can pluck it out at a later date.

So I still wait.

I have another CAT scan in four months; they handed over the bottle of barium today. I will drink it the night before and the morning of. He would not agree to remove my port. We should wait, he said. I wanted it out. Because if it was out, I would think that my waiting period was over. I would think that I was cured if he allowed my port to be taken out.

In eight weeks, I go back to get my port flushed and my blood taken. The port has to be flushed out every eight weeks (another reason I don't want it in my body).

The tingling and numbness in my toes and fingers may last forever, he said, "but you'll get used to it."

What am I learning from this cancer? Is it teaching me patience? I certainly hope so. I could use it. A friend at work said "Look at the news on the bright side. You can play the C-card a little longer."

Hey, I hadn't thought of that. More presents please!

I got my CAT scan yesterday

which my doctor will read Dec. 12 to tell me if he sees cancer still in my body. I feel pretty good, so my guess is, he won't see it. Let's hope. (I'll hope even if you don't.)

It's been nearly four weeks since my last chemo session and my appetite has returned. I do get hungry and I do like to think about food. I can almost taste it. I'm not quite there yet. But almost. It's not icking me out like it has in the past. I ate a whole jumbo chile today and Fritos and then an apple. In the midst of chemo, I could only eat about half a jumbo chile. A couple of Fritos, and no apple. So the scale should be going up very soon, though I like the weight I am now.

The only real symptoms that remain of the chemo are numb fingers and toes. The tips of my fingers and the tips of my toes are numb. When I get in the shower in the mornings, the numbness moves up my hand, nearly to my wrist. And up my foot into my ankle. But that goes away quickly.

I've googled these symptoms and read that this is common after chemo, but some people say it has lasted for years. Yikes. Hopefully, this is not true.

So my CAT scan went OK. I drank lots of thick gunk. Barium. So even though I couldn't eat solid foods, the thick gunk kept me from being hungry. There was a woman in the waiting room where we were all sitting around wearing our hospital gowns and socks waiting to be called in to get zapped who was little and bent over and talking to herself. She walked in talking to herself, walked into the changing room talking to herself, walked out of the changing room talking to herself. It wasn't a low murmur either. It was a conversation. I was thinking, this is what it would be like to read someone's mind. You could hear them thinking inane, uninteresting thoughts. "Now where'd I put my keys." "What am I going to eat for supper?" "My knees and ankles hurt." It just isn't worth the ability to read someone's mind. Well, maybe sometimes it would be interesting. If they're thinking about you.

It snowed in Chicago yesterday and today. What a surprise.

People have asked me

if I am going to continue this blog since I'm no longer on chemo. The answer is: I don't know. The blog was mostly about keeping friends and families up on what was happening with me without having to detail it out individually. It was a time saver. A voice saver.

Other than cancer and chemo, I guess I live a rather bland life. Like most of you, I go to work, work, come home from work, go to the gym or walk the dogs or ride my stationery bicycle or sit in front of the television and veg out. Then I go to bed and read for a few minutes before I fall asleep holding my book. I might wake up with a jolt with my book in my hands or Bob might nudge me and say, "Terri, you're asleep." How he knows, I'm not sure. But usually I am.

I'm a pretty good sleeper I think. At least I fall asleep easily. Lately in menopause, I wake up more frequently, probably because of the hot flashes. But I don't seem to get night sweats anymore. So perhaps I've graduated to the next level.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Bob and I are going to saunter down (or up) the street to a friend's house who throws a Thanksgiving feast every year for misfits like us who have no where to go. It's always a great party. You never know who might be there. Many of them are wacky, which makes the party even more interesting. We can have a few glasses of wine without worrying about driving. When the party ends, we just get on our feet and stagger home.

Friday, we're going to the circus. Barnum and Bailey. I think this might be the first time I've ever gone to a circus. I don't have any memory of ever having been to one. I guess my parents didn't want to take five kids (already a circus) to a circus. Makes sense.

Anway, the answer is I don't know if I'll keep blogging. We'll see. I should do video blogs. They're kind of fun, but they take forever to load.

It is finished.

It's all over but the symptoms!

My anxiety is palpable

I had to walk around the house in circles breathing deeply in and out before I could force myself to walk to the car for my last treatment. Sure, this is the final one, and in two to three weeks, I'm going to be normal, but that doesn't lessen the fear of the symptoms that will surely come.

I didn't take my half Valium, but I probably should. It always calms me down some, but it also makes me ignore the blog. Because the pill makes me feel normal, I don't feel compelled to blog.

I'm sitting in the hall waiting to get my blood drawn. The final stick into my port. Next, I'll visit the doctor and he'll tell me I'm doing great. Congratulate me maybe on making it to the final treatment and let me know what comes next (I hope.) Oops hold on, I'm being called in to get my blood drawn.

OK, that's done. Ouch. The stick hurt a little this time. Probably cause I was sans Valium. The nurse said she always feels like she's driving a nail into somebody's chest when she sticks the needle into the port. Well, that about conjures it I guess.

Next, I see the doctor but I have to wait awhile to make sure the blood work is processed. So I'm looking around the waiting room and I see some of the regulars. An elderly women I went through chemo orientation with. She doesn't remember me, but I have a good memory for faces (not names, unfortunately, but at least I can say Hi to a person I've seen before). There's a lady with a red sequined baseball hat on. She doesn't look like she's lost her hair so maybe it's a fashion statement. I might think so if she didn't have on a royal blue velor sweat suit. There are at least three people in wheelchairs. Wonder why. Theres someone with a mask on. Nobody's really smiling except the woman who just rammed her husband's (or brother or friend's) wheelchair into the side of a chair. And that's more of a crooked, embarrassed smile. Not a happy smile like I should have.

I think I'll upload this later in the day. I'm going to read my Anne Lamott book, Traveling Mercies. It's a St. Helena's book club book and I have to lead the discussion on it. Not quite sure how I'm going to do that; it's sort of a collection of disparate essays. They connect in some ways, but not entirely. It's fantastic though. This will be my second time reading it.

Well, it's 3 p.m.; I've been here since 10:30 and I'm not hooked up to chemo yet. I saw the doctor, who said I wouldn't need another white blood cell shot, but was concerned that my red blood cells were "big." I asked if that meant I had more cancer and he said, "Oh no, it's probably a result of the chemo, but it could mean a vitamin B-12 deficiency." I can live with that. So I was off to get more blood work. I checked in to chemo at about 12:30 and have waited until now to get a pink chair. At least I got most of my book read.

I've taken my nausea medicines, but haven't actually gotten hooked up to my chemo, which takes two hours. I'm ready now. I have to go home and eat nachos and watch a movie. I probably won't get home until 6. Dogs are going to be really hungry. This has taken longer than usual, which probably means I won't get my pump taken out until a little later on Sunday. So the finish line might be later in coming.

I've got my CAT scan appointment Dec. 4 at 7:30. I see the doctor on Dec. 12 and should get the port out shortly after that if my tests all look good. Doc indicated I didn't need another colonoscopy for awhile. He didn't believe it would really show anything. But he said he would "think about it."

So I'm signing off. I'm now hooked up, so I'm going to watch a Netflix movie.

My heart is jumping

for joy. I go to my last, very last chemo treatment tomorrow. I am just so excited that I'll be able to enjoy the holidays, meaning I can taste my food and I'll feel good and I won't have a chemo pump hooked up to me any more.

I will not miss:
My hairy tongue
My runny nose
My tingly fingers
My thinning eyelashes
My unpredictable pooping
Feeling pooped out
Enjoying only sweets
Getting stuck with a two-inch needle in my port
My port

I will miss:
The concern
The nice nurses
The chemo Fridays off (well not off really, but waking up later and reading the newspaper and drinking coffee)
The ability to eat anything I want knowing I'll be sick enough after chemo to loose the few pounds I gain when I'm feeling good
My pants fitting loosely

Tomorrow is the day. The last day. I'm thrilled. The end really did come.

Thank God.

Oh, I forgot

to show you a photo of what I would have looked like had my hair fallen out and I needed a wig.

For more cowgirl party pictures, click here.

Score!

What a great birthday celebration I had in Nashville this past Friday. I scored with some great gifts again. This was really not a landmark birthday. I turned 51. But I think my mother was worried I wouldn't be around for the next birthday, so she thought she would make me feel special. And I did. Two sis-in-laws sponsored the party and my Mom paid for the dinner of ribs, chicken and fixin's. Everybody dressed like a cowboy or cowgirl, and they seemed to really get into it. I did have one nephew and wife come as a redneck cowpoke, but aren't they attractive? (See photo above right.) I actually have a good looking family. Everybody looked pretty darned good in their duds. (Bob is not in many of the photos because he took them.)

It was a terrific weekend in Nashville. The weather was gorgeous. We had a little picnic outside a local winery near my brother's house on Saturday. And Sunday we just lounged around (I skipped church!) and then went to lunch at a Mexican restaurant.

Coming up this Friday is my final chemo treatment. Hallelujah!!! Unless you've been through it, you just can't imagine how thrilled I'm going to be to put an end to all this. (Not a literal end; like I said before, I plan on living quite a few years past my 51st birthday!)



Here's a photo of my four brothers and sisters, my mom and Dad. From left to right: Doug, Jennifer, Daddy, Terri, Becky Jimmy and mom out front. (You can click on the photos to make them a little bigger.)

The unpredictabililty of it all

Today as I sat at my make-up mirror getting ready to go get my bi-monthly chemo treatment, I noticed blood running out of my left nostril. Why is this happening now? Right before my treatment. I have dealt with the blood in the past, but over the last few weeks, I have had no problem with it. It's the unpredictability of chemo that unravels me. Well, not exactly unravels, but contributes to uncertainty and floundering.

For example, lately I can't predict whether the chemo is going to make me sick on Sunday or Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or not at all. Will I be tired, practically unable to move, and too sapped to go to the gym or will I feel fine and breeze through my work day and my workout? I just don't know and I just can't predict.

If I knew exactly what was going to transpire after chemo, I could prepare for it, but it's always different it seems. So there is no heading symptoms off at the pass. You just wait for them to happen and deal with them as they come.

Perhaps that's a good life lesson. Don't worry about what has not yet happened. Deal with it as it comes.

Is that even possible?

I'm famous!

A Baptist church has me on their sign:

Ok, so you can be famous too. Make your own sign.

Want to get regular?

Watch this ad to find out how.

What a birthday

Wow! I racked up. I've got to come up with a disease to contract for my next birthday. This was terrific. Bob bought me, in addition to the $50 box of Fannie Mae candies, a VIDEOCAMERA. Zowie. I asked for one for Christmas, but I didn't think I'd get it for my birthday! Now, I'll have to learn how to use it, and especially how to edit what I take. I think that's the most important part of taking videos.

Also, Jennifer got me the cutest sign. Since pictures speak louder than words (really?), I'll just show it to you. Amazing that she found something like this. I just can't believe it.

Mom sent me a check; money is always handy. And Becky and Jana sent me a box of really weird stuff mixed in with good stuff, like two cowgirl shirts and a fleece jacket and a CD by Emmylou Harris called Cowgirl's Prayer that I listened to on the way to work. It's fantastic. Also, a book by Mitch Albom, the Five People You Meet in Heaven. I wonder if she's trying to tell me something.

I got lots of e-cards and some real cards too! (Thanks Susan and Michelle.)

So, not a bad haul at all. (That rhymes too.)

Happy birthday to me

Great day so far. Bob woke me up with a wrapped present. [He didn't wrap it but it was wrapped!] A big box of Fannie Mae chocolates. Yum. I hadn't told him that I was so starved for sweets (chocolate) that I had to break into the Halloween candy. If I told him that, it would disappear. So now, after I eat a meal that usually tastes metallic, I can wash that taste right away with a piece of Fanne Mae. That rhymed.

So I brought cookies to work this morning to celebrate my birthday. I wanted to bring Hostess Twinkies and Cupcakes and Snowballs, but the store didn't have them so I had to settle for Oreos and Nutter Butters. When I got here there were two presents on my desk from Kate. And a really funny card. (Eva gave me another funny card, both of them sing; one had the Chicken Dance song and Eva's had a country song on it.)

One of Kate's presents was a Cowgirl calendar that I had in fact investigated on the Web yesterday. I almost bought the exact same one. Another was a book, Final Exits, an encyclopedia about the way people die. I'm very interested in strange deaths and wanted to write a book like that myself. Now, I guess I'll have to change tacks, and write a children's book. Maybe called Everyone Dies (like Everyone Poops.)

Then, a little while letter Beth brought in two boxes of assorted bagels for my birthday and after lunch Mary brought in some more treats. So we're all groaning around here. It's been a great day.

I have three boxes waiting for me at home to open and whatever Bob got me. I don't even have a clue about what he got me. I'm going to stop and get some Thai food on the way home so he doesn't have to cook and I don't have to wash dishes. So that's my report for now.

More later.

Cancer is lucrative

My birthday is coming up (Oct. 17) and cancer seems to be paying off. My brother is sending me a present from Shepler's (see photo at top left of this blog). My mom is throwing me a party in Nashville where everybody has to dress up like a cowboy (or girl). Well, she arranged it, my sister-in-laws are doing all the work I think. Bob says he's bought be a lot of presents. Jennifer sent me a big box in the mail (which I won't open until my birthday). And I just now in the mail today received a package from Becky. Wow, I think people feel kind of sorry for me and so are getting me gifts. Of course, Phyllis' e-vite invitation did say bring gifts to the party, but I don't require them. Really I don't. But I don't mind them either. I bet I get a bunch of new cowgirl stuff. That's great!

I had a white blood cell booster shot this morning. Doc didn't say my count was down, just that he wanted me to have the shot. So, I got it. This time it's making my bones feel 30 years older. And chemo has gotten to me a little yesterday and today. Not terribly. But I've been tired, and food tastes AWFUL. I can just barely stand to eat it today. I have not been hungry since this past treatment. Feeling hungry made me feel kind of normal. I liked it.

I know I only have two more treatments, but it's starting to get to me. I really want this to be over. I don't even care if I get fat now. I just want to be hungry and I want everything to taste good. I want to feel like I have energy. I want my fingers and tongue to quit burning.

I want to be normal again. Please, please, please.

I'm hungry all the time

Just like old times. I don't understand it. I haven't been hungry since I started chemo in June. (Except when I skipped a week in Germany.) So this is all odd to me. It's almost like life is getting back to normal even though I have three more treatments to go. I can't say I like to be hungry all the time. Because only sweets taste good. And that's fattening. I haven't gotten my taste buds back. I still can't taste anything (especially if it's bland). I know when I'm eating peanut butter because I can sort of smell and taste it. But the fuzziness on my tongue is still there, so food (except for sweet stuff) kind of gags me out. I don't know how to explain it, really.

It's odd. I suppose women who have been pregnant might be able to understand it. I've heard some foods gagged them so much that they could never return to eating them.

The problem with being hungry is that I EAT, despite not being able to taste. Yesterday, sin of all sins, I went to McDonald's and ordered the fish sandwich combo (comes with a drink and fries). I was very excited to be hungry enough to eat it. But I had to force it down finally because something about it irked me. Even the fries (which everyone loves) got to me in the end. The only thing that satisfied was the coke (because it was sweet).

So even though I am hungry, I'm not enjoying the food I eat and I'm gaining weight! Today I weighed a pound more than yesterday and yesterday I weighed a pound more than the day before.

Why is it that pounds are so slow to come off and so fast to go on. I wish Einstein were still alive and I'd ask him. I bet he would have an answer.

I'm listening to Charlotte's Web for my book on tape right now. It's charming. Can't remember if I ever even read it. Probably. Before that was Whose Body by Dorothy Sayers (fun! especially when the reader is great) and before that Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. I highly recommend this book for everybody. Absolutely delightful. At home, I'm reading Only Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins. Now that one is tough. Very hippie like. Should have been an adult in the 60s to enjoy that one. But I was a kid. Oh yeah, and for my book club at church I'm reading The Heart of Christianity by Marcus Borg. A good book that delineates the difference between earlier (distasteful) and emerging (more open minded) Christians. At least that's my take so far.

And that's that for now. Tomorrow is chemo. Joy.

A miracle has occurred

I haven't had any bad symptoms after this last chemo. I mean, really, nothing to speak of. Not nauseated; not tired. And my white blood cell count was even down. I got the shot Monday (this is Thursday) and have had no ill effects as a result of the shot either. (I was to expect some achy-ness of the bones).

Mary, our new marketing person here, prayed for me while she was in Paris at Chappelle Notre-Dame de la Medaille Miraculeuse (or Chapel of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal). She also brought me a medal to keep with me at all times.

The story goes (loosely) that in the 1830s Sister Catherine (born Zoe Labouré to a middle-class farming family in Burgundy on May 2, 1806) saw three apparitions of the Virgin Mary. In one instance, the Blessed Virgin told her that graces would be poured out on those who prayed at the altar of the chapel. In another, Mary showed St. Catherine a design for the Miraculous Medal (which I hold). On one side of the medal is an image of Mary, surrounded by the prayer, "O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to you." On the other side is the letter "M" with a cross over two hearts, one circled by a crown of thorns, the other pierced with a sword.

Those who carry the medal (me) will receive grace in abundance (especially if they wear it around their necks).

The third apparition was on December 30, 1830. (almost my mother's birthday, but not the year). Catherine was meditating in the chapel when she saw a vision of the medal behind the altar with rays shooting out of it and heard, "These rays are the symbol of the graces that the Blessed Virgin obtains for those who ask them of her."

So perhaps because of Mary's prayer (and others!) I received the grace of no symptoms during this treatment. And maybe because I hold the medal, I'll round the next three treatments with ease and slide into home base free not only of cancer, but of chemo's miserable side effects.

(Sorry for the baseball metaphors; the Cubs are in the playoffs.)

My doctor called last night

He told me my white blood count was low, and that he might not have given me chemo yesterday if he had had all the test results back. Hmmm. That's why I go in and get my blood drawn early in the morning. Well, all in all, I'm glad I had the chemo. That's one more treatment down (three to go).

However, I have to go in for shot early Monday morning to stimulate creation of white blood cells. They say it may make my bones hurt because marrow is where they are produced (I guess).

Low white blood cells means I am at higher risk of infection (which may be life-threatening, according to my chemo notebook they gave me before I started treatments). Ikes.

I am supposed to notify the doctor immediately if I have a fever over 100.5 F. (My normal temperature is about 97.5 so I wonder if that makes a difference). Other symptoms are chills and sweating, sores in throat or mouth. Constant cough, shortness of breath, pain when breathing in. Earache, headache, (had both), changes in vision. Sinus pressure or pain (had some of that).

But we (doc and me) were both surprised counts were low since I felt so good. I still feel pretty good. But Audrey (at work) has shingles and that scares me a little bit. But too late, because we've been in each other's offices (well cubicles) several times within the last week.

So. We'll see. Hope I don't die from an infection. Lots of people are getting colds right about now. And there are several cases of West Nile virus around here.

Wonder if I should climb in a bubble.

I do not want to do this

I feel so good right now that it took every ounce of gumption in my body to drive to chemo today. The weather is gorgeous; autumn is my time of year. I was strong enough to go to the gym twice this week and walk the dogs when I didn't go. I was getting really close to being able to taste again. I feel so normal that I wanted to cry this morning knowing I have to start feeling bad again.

I thought I would tell my doctor that everybody on a 6-month/12-time regimen of chemo needs a week off, but now I'm not so sure. Feeling so good makes it twice as hard to voluntarily sit calmly for more poison. Especially when you don't even think you need it.

I still have to act normal. I still have to go out with people on the weekends, work in the yard, go to church--all hooked up to my weekend pump. It's embarrassing and inconvenient. All I really want to do is curl up and not talk, drink tepid water (because water with ice burns going down), eat crackers, not real food. If I were alone, that is probably what I would do.

I don't mean to feel sorry for myself because I don't really. I just want to do what I want to do when I feel bad. And maybe I won't feel bad. Who knows. Maybe I'll breeze through this treatment because I had a week's break. Part of the anxiety is in not knowing and anticipating the worse. That is NOT positive thinking, I'm afraid.

I have to keep up appearances, smile while I'm here getting poked, act like this is no big deal. And really it's not compared to what some people go through. There is some hacking going on in this waiting room, people with masks, but mostly everybody looks normal today. No green people. They're all reading or working crossword puzzles. Just waiting to see the doctor or to get hooked up to chemo.

It's so beautiful outside; I can't wait to bask in it, put my face to the sun, squint, sit, sip a beer (or even apple-cranberry juice, which tastes really good.)

Maybe next year.

Chemo Woman (simulates) eating on a plane

Here is a video of Bob and me eating at a small cafe outside of the Schloss Charlottenburg (Sophie-Charlotte Castle) in Berlin.

I feel great

We returned from Berlin Monday the 24th. No photos yet cause Bob's still editing them. He took a couple of videos with his camera and I'm going to see if I can get any of them up on this blog. I'm not quite that technically sophisticated yet, so I'll have to do some reading about it. Berlin was great, but I'll wait to get the photos before I post on some of the places we visited.

I really feel almost normal. Yesterday, I went to the gym and it didn't even tire me out. I can taste food and I even get hungry sometimes. I think everybody on a six-month regimen of chemo (12 times every two weeks) should get a week off just to experience normalcy again. Just a little break from the icky-ness of it all.

I'm in a book club at church and our first assignment was The Secret. Now, I am totally against that book. I think it's silly, but one of our members wanted us to read it just to see how silly it really is. The book has been No. 1 on the New York Times bestseller list for weeks, so somebody must get something out of it. Basically, it's a power of positive thinking book. And I do agree that positive thinking is essential to a good life. But this book says that if you just wish hard enough for a million dollars, you'll start getting checks in the mail very soon. Bah humbug. First of all, I don't think people should wish for wealth or a new car or the huge house of their dreams. I think wishing for the perfect job or happiness or a clean bill of health is fine. World peace and no war is even better. But wishing for material things seems a little un-biblical to me, though the author offers Bible verses that claim it is biblical. Bah humbug.

She mixes new age thinking with biblical thinking throughout the book. (The universe vs. God.) So she's working the whole crowd. And it's paying off for her. She must have positively thought about having a best seller and millions of dollars.

The book is a good reminder that we should think positively about our lives and circumstances. I do believe in that. I'm convinced I don't have cancer anymore, but maybe I should think more positively about chemo treatments. Instead of ruing the side effects, I should be glad that one more treatment is over and look toward the end. I feel so good right now that I can imagine the end.

And it feels good.

Off to Berlin

where I plan to eat boiled potatoes and Bratwurst (or Knackwurst: knock on noggin) and drink a couple of hausbiers (as Audrey instructed). And maybe they have something sweet that will taste good. I don't know nuthin' about Germany. (Though I've heard of Hitler and the trouble he caused.) So this will be an adventure.

I'm pretty much packed. Just need to gather what I want to take on the plane to read and eat. I'm sure I've packed too much stuff, but how do you know until you get there? Can't buy much because the dollar is 1.40 to their 1.00 (Euro) [or is the other way around.] Whatever. It's pitiful. Thanks Georgie for all you've done for our country.

I don't know whether I can post some photos from there. If I can, I will. Bob's taking his computer (of course; though he did talk of not taking it; Right, I thought). So if I can download photos, perhaps I can post a few.

I get to skip a chemo treatment. Hurray! I'll feel good for an extra week. I feel pretty good right now. Hurray!

Gespräch zu dir später (talk to you later).

Auf Wiedersehen

I'm losing my eyelashes

I just know I am. Everybody says they can't tell. But when I wash my face at night or take a shower, I find stray eyelashes all over my face. I guess I'll take that over losing my hair, which I'm not. Well, maybe I am because I do find a lot of hair in the shower drain in the mornings. So I'm constantly cleaning that out. And I seem to find more strands on the floor after I dry my hair in the mornings. But it's not noticeable because my hair is so thick to begin with. And for that I am thankful.

I'm reading a little book I saw in Sundance catalog called Cowgirl Smarts: How to Rope a Kick-Ass Life, Life Lessons from Cowgirls Who Tamed the West. (How's that for not quite being able to decide on a title.) So far, I haven't really learned anything mind-boggling, life-changing, but it's a cute book and it describes the lives of some real-life (well, they're real-dead now) cowgirls who bucked male hegemony in their day. We do that more these days but probably not enough. It also makes me want to be a real cowgirl and go out West and ride the ponies. Better take some lessons first. The more I read these types of books, the more I think I'm a real cowgirl at heart. For example, she has 17 (why 17? I don't know) Cowgirl Creeds like:
"Dare to be a cowgirl,"
"Buck the rules" (I like that one),
"Stay balanced in the saddle,"
"Ride the trail of adventure,"
"Dress for success--the cowgirl way," (Yes!)
"Give others a leg up,"
"Always get back on the horse,"
"Recharge your cowgirl spirit," and
"Die with your boots on."

I hope I don't die, but if I do, I'll try to do it with my boots on. I felt a little like I was going to die after my last chemo treatment, but I feel pretty good now. So it's over. It's the chemo that gets me. I know in my heart I don't have cancer anymore, it's just this damned "extra insurance" as my doc calls it that's wearing me down. Making me mad. Keeping me from "Riding high in the saddle," (another cowgirl creed).

To make it through my next four treatments (I skip one next week; off to Berlin!), I'll have to pull from the book's Cowgirl Spirit Words and be "determined," "dauntless," and "spirited."

Maybe I should add a Cowgirl Creed:
"Lasso those eyelashes and hang on for dear life."

I'm here

in chair 11, waiting to get hooked up to chemo. I like this nurse I have today. Bess. She's quick and efficient. The nurses are all different here in the Loyola chemo ward. Some like to chat; some seem preoccupied; some get right down to business. Which is what I like. The sooner I get hooked up, the sooner I get out of here.

Today I was a little anxious about coming in because I know I'll feel icky for a few days. So I took a half-Valium and that seems to have helped. I got these Valium when I moved from Nashville to Chicago. I was stressed to the max. Bob was in India and I was trying to get us all packed up. I had to get rid of a ton of stuff, and I was quitting a job I had had for 18 years. My eyes were as big as saucers. Somebody in my office (Janet) told me to go to the doctor and get some Valium. So I did. Lo and behold he gave them to me. They have served me well lately, when I feel anxious before a chemo appointment. I wish I could get more. Everybody needs a stash of Valium for various reasons. Even to sleep well. Maybe I'll beg a new doctor for some.

I saw the doctor and when he asks about my symptoms, I always seem well. "You're good to go," he says, ushering me out of his office and into the chemo lobby waiting room. "But my nose drips, sometimes blood, and I can't taste anything," I wail. (not really wail). And he says that's common with F5U, one of my treatments. I don't have tingling in my fingers or toes or numbness in my limbs. None of the bad symptoms they look for. So I'm fine, good to go.

This is treatment No. 8 out of 12. I have three weeks until my next treatment because Bob and I are going to Berlin in a couple of weeks, right about the time my 9th treatment is due. So I'm really happy to have a week's reprieve. I might even be able to taste German sausage and potatoes. Won't that be exciting? Well, it will for me.

I meant to bring a camera today so I could take a few pictures of Chair 11 and the nurses, but I forgot.

Chemo fog.

Tomorrow I voluntarily walk into

the torture chamber. I do not want to do it. I do not want to do it. But I will--calmly. And I will take the poke in my port with a good sense of humor. I'll hold my breath, allow the nurse to poke a three-inch needle into my body, and even smile, and say thank you.

Then I'll visit with the doctor who will tell me I'm doing just great. All my chemo symptoms are normal, to be expected. The drippy nose, the vacillation between constipation and diarrhea, the fact that I can't taste anything I put into my mouth (excepts sweets, which is fun, but not healthy), my extreme tiredness for the first few days after chemo and slight nausea. And I will be cleared to get more poison. To kill what? I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. These are the consequences I must endure if I hope to live a good, long life. And I do. Relatively long. I've always said 86 will be the age I die. That's fine with me. I have no need to make it to 90, especially if my bones only make it to 83 or 84. I want to live only as long as my body wants to live. No longer.

I do not sound much like a cowgirl. But I am. Because tomorrow I will mount my Honda and ride into battle.

Yee Haw.

No. 7 slammed me

I don't know what was different, but this seventh treatment (who says seven is lucky) has worn me out. By Sunday at noon (Sundays are usually good days), I was flat on my back, napping most of the day. When I did get up, I felt like I was walking through water. I could barely move. I did my laundry, but it was tough. I even forgot the towels, which I never do. Bob took care of those the next day.

We had a guest over the weekend, but he was a delight, no trouble. (Bob took him out touring, so I actually had more time to myself than I would have). He left some lovely gifts for us, in addition to paying for our dinner and appetizers the night before. He left Bob some expensive single malt scotch and me some See's Candy. Oh man, that candy is good and it hits the spot. About the only things I can taste are sweet. I already couldn't taste very well before treatment no. 7, but now I can't taste at all. Bob made me a baked potato and steak last night, but I couldn't eat either. Even the potato, which normally tastes good to me. So the candy and some watermelon are my salvations.

So for my co-workers (and husband), if I'm acting like I'm under water, I am.

But this too shall pass. I will surface and take air.

My sister got upset

well, her co-worker really, because I haven't yet posted anything about my trip to her house last weekend. Jennifer, my sis, lives in Liberty, Mo., (just outside of Kansas City) in an adorable, old, refurbished home that looks like a bed and breakfast. One night, I took a long, hot bath in her whirlpool tub. (The house is for sale, if you're interested and want to live in Liberty.)

It was Jennifer's 55th birthday! So our goal was to go to movies all
weekend, and we did. We went to three at three different theaters. In one, you could even sit in red leather loungers and drink mixed drinks or beer with your popcorn. Let's see, I'll have to remember what we went to. A documentary on Broadway musicals, the Jane Austen movie, and one called Death at a Funeral. All were great or at least pretty good. Death at a Funeral was pretty light, but funny. I just love to go see movies and rarely get to go at home. So that was a treat.

I got to Jennifer's house late Friday night (her husband Steve was out of town) and stayed until Sunday afternoon. We had a great time of eating, sleeping, movie going and SHOPPING. I bought a few things, yes I did.

I would like to buy a couch from Ethan Allen store where she works if Bob would give me the OK. I know he would like it, but he doesn't always trust my judgment (even though I bought our house without him seeing it and he loves it). He's worried about the stock market right now.

Jennifer made me crispy okra (yummy!) and cut up a lot of watermelon. When I got home, I cut up some watermelon too because she gave me the idea and have been eating it like crazy. It makes me regular. We are pretty good companions because we both like to read, watch movies, go to bed early, and get up early.

Perfect if we ever have to live together in the "home."