Just back from the hospital having had my weekly bood work done, and I am here at home with nothing "scheduled" for the day. Kelly (our nanny) is back, having been off for almost two weeks as she was hit by a car (yes, you read correctly... and she is 8 months pregnant... talk about my not needing any more drama in my life at the moment... Luckily, she and baby are well). So James is in her good hands in the living room - I can hear him giggling and babbling away - and I can finally take time to write on this blog.
Body
- Health news first, as it is good! I completed my first three-week cycle of the new chemo combo (oral and IV) and it seems that my body is responding very well to it. Aside from not having much appetite and feeling very easily fatigued, I feel okay. No nausea, no feeling "unplugged", and no significant effects on my mood. So, the question that crosses my mind so many times throughout my day is, "Is the chemo working?", and my only way of trying to gauge this is by feeling my breast for the lumps and feeling my lymph node. I go through periods of obsessing about it, constantly "checking" them ("Have the lumps changed in size? Shit, they feel bigger, nope they seem smaller..." It is such a mind game). Anyway, without a shadow of a doubt, within the first two weeks of the cycle, I noticed a huge change. Whereas before I could feel my lymph node under my arm pit even just by having my arm down at my side (it was like feeling you have a golf ball under there), now I had to "feel for it to find it", more the size of a small almond. My breast used to have hard lumps, where you could literally feel their edges - now my breast is no longer lumpy, no longer hard. So, feeling good about things, and having finished the three-week course, off I go to the hospital to start cyle #2 and have my regular meeting with Dr. Plowman. I have Alex, my favourite nurse, in the room with me when Dr. Plowman arrives (By the way, Alex is one of the nicest, most helpful, and kind-hearted people I know - example: he works days as an oncology nurse, several nights a week as a police officer helping to get youths off the streets, and spends half of his yearly vacation time volunteering at an orphanage and village in Kenya where he uses his savings to pay for the children's medication.... Is he an angel in disguise?). Anyway, Dr. Plowman arrives, and examines my breast and lymph node and gives me a huge smile, saying that he is very pleased. When he leaves the room later on, Alex turns to me and says, "You were studying Dr. Plowman's face so intently as he examined you. I can see that his reaction means the world to you." I replied, "Of course it does. I want to hear, see, sense positivity. I am fighting so hard for this". So Alex added, "Well then, did you catch the comment that Dr. Plowman made about you to his colleague as he left the room?" No, I hadn't heard him. Alex grinned and shared, "He said - 'That's amazing!'" And you know me, hearing that, I burst into tears. Happy tears. Come on, body, you can do this. You can do this.
- So, I have started cycle #2, though with a change in my protocol, as Dr. Plowman wants to take advantage of this momentum. I continue to get the oral and IV chemo combo on day #1 of each cycle, but now also get a third drug (again IV) which is an antibody compound that aims to cut off the blood supply to the tumors and to prevent them from developing new blood vessels. A second dose of IV chemo (usually scheduled for day #8 of each cycle) may have to be skipped, as my white cell count takes such a hit every time and may not be able to hack the double hit.
- So, things feel positive, although admittedly, I still ride a rollercoaster at times. Hard not to be a hypochondriac when you have a pain here, and cramp there. My sternum still bothers me, but I remind myself to be patient, to believe, to trust. I can't know what is going on in my liver, so again, I have to be patient, to believe, to trust. My eyebrows and eyelashes have completely gone, but the hair on my head is growing back, so I can only be described as a "fuzz ball". I have really ramped things up on the supplement and nutrition front, as I am convinced that I am doing "better" because my immune system is being given a chance to fight back under this "milder" chemo regimen. Chiara has bought me a state of the art juicer, Julian continues to research natural interventions, and my father seeks second opinions and complimentary avenues, all with the shared goal to attack this from all sides in the best way possible. I believe in the perspective that the body is capable of healing itself if you give it the tools... I continue to try to understand and learn how my body works, what it needs, and how I can actively help it fight this f*?ker.
Mind
- My mood has been good, for the most part. I have not taken any of the anti-anxiety meds (barring that first 24 hour trial), as I did not like how they made me feel, and have found it better, at least at this point, to concentrate on how I can refocus, reframe, and relax. While I still can get very agitated in moments, I no longer experience that deep, gut-wrenching panic. I went to a meditation/healing workshop a couple of weekends ago, and it was wonderful. Hosted in a sunny loft of a yoga center, I spent the day learning the basics of Chi Kung, listening to lectures on energy and the mind's role in healing the body, and participating in group activities of healing. Led by Guy Burgs, an accomplished meditation teacher, the message was clear: in order to heal the body, you need to calm the mind - to take the mind from its restless and disorganised state, to one that is "present" and in the moment. Easier said than done, but the exercises and the thoughts that Burgs encouraged rang very true. I need to breathe. And even in the midst of this nightmare of mine, I need to be happy, for so many things. Burgs kindly took the time, during one of the breaks, to come over and sit down with me to discuss my illness. He commented that, after all of my horrendous journey so far, "I can see that you still have a lot of energy in your eyes" - I was having one of my more "vulnerable" days, and so I interpreted his comment negatively at first, dwelling on the word "still" (Yep, you're "still" here, you're not dead yet....), while later on, after a big pep talk from Chiara who helped me put the comment into the positive context of what he had spoken to me about, I took it on as he meant it: that despite how hard this fight has been so far, my body and spirit were still strong and he was impressed. Anyway, it was a wonderful day, and I am going back for a two-day weekend workshop next week. I am also attending a lecture tomorrow night given by one of his mentors, who is over from Bali. Anyway, if any of you are interested, the link for Guy Burgs' website is http://theartofmeditation.org
- James continues to be what lifts my mood the highest, in the many wonderful ways that he shows me how great it is to be him. He has found his voice in babbling strings of expressions, in giving operatic exclamations, and in testing out the many tones of language he discovers when he tries to speak with something in his mouth. He insists on standing whenever possible, and will walk across the living room, toes pointed, as you hold his hands and cheer. He seeks cuddles and hugs, and loves rough and tumble play. And music... this child adores music, and he will sit there, very still, eyes open wide, taking it all in. That is, until we dance around the room together, and then it's smiles, giggles, squeals, and the clapping of hands.
Life
- Overall, the rhthym of things feels much better, although life is far from "normal". It has been good to take on some cases at work, but I have tired myself out, and know that I must accept a much much slower pace of things. I still struggle so with my fears, and I continue to have at least one good cry a day. I still find it difficult not to worry about how everyone else is holding up and the stress that my illness has placed on their lives. It is strange to be entering "the summer" with no break or respite planned - blood work, chemo and scans dictate the weeks ahead and tie me to the hospital for now. But as the weather continues to improve, I shall spend more time in the parks near home, on my patio, and some occasional day trips to Julian's home in Sevenoaks. I hope to make the most of time with family and to plan future get-togethers with friends. And I think a lot about what I will do once I win this fight of mine - how I can help those who may not have the wonderful troops that I have, how I can put into practice what I have learned so far about self and adversity, and how I can one day "own" and represent the statement once made to Lance Armstrong that, "Those of us who have had cancer are the lucky ones in life".
Hugs to all.
No comments:
Post a Comment