"We Have a Pill for That" or "The Side Effect Chain"

I successfully made it through another chemo treatment--and Steve didn't even have to use his rope (although he threatened).  My doctors--I have 2 now--were very interested in my struggle with side effects last time and gave me advice for how to use the right pills to counter them better.

I've said several times that I feel like a walking pharmacy.  I get these strong medicines that cause awful side effects (like nausea), so they give me pills to counter those side effects.  Guess what?  Those pills have side effects too!  (Like heartburn)  So, I need more pills to counter those side effects . . . and so on and so forth.  For someone who doesn't really like to take a lot of medicine, it's a dizzying Domino effect.

But I have to admit that I'm feeling better today after following the doctor's advice--taking my pills more often, adding a couple to my regime.  Hopefully, I can avoid some of the misery of last time.  And now I only have to do this twice more.  Hurray!

P.S.  I'll give a travelogue of my vacation in my next entry.  :-)

It's the Little Things

I'm coming out of one of the most difficult times I've had so far with cancer.  I guess knowing in your head that it will be hard, and actually experiencing it are two different things. My morale has been at an all-time low.  But there is a light at the end of every tunnel. 

Yesterday, I finally pulled free of the worst symptoms, and the relief sent my spirits soaring.  Cancer is very much the proverbial roller coaster ride.  There are days when I'm at the bottom, and I wonder how I can go on.  But then I climb back out and find faith and light again.

I'm also learning to feel joy in simple things and use it to battle the blues brought on by those low spots.  Steve took me for a drive in the mountains.  He stopped to hop out of the car and pick me a wildflower because I thought they were pretty.  The sun sparkled on its leaves.

We had a five minute rain storm that brought a short respite from the drought and a clean fresh scent to the air.  I watched the storm clouds from my bedroom window until it was too dark to see.

I saw my first rainbow in months, and it occurred to me that all of these small beauties are God's way of sending us peace to soothe us through the hard times, if we just make enough effort to notice them.

Hog-Tie Me

Before I had cancer, chemo treatment conjured up images of bald women constantly hanging over the toilet because they can't keep down their breakfast.  Not a pretty picture, I admit.  Well, I've had the bald part down from the start, but I thought I'd dodged the upset stomach bullet.  Until now.

This week, I discovered just how good I had it with my old chemo regime.  Not that I've been hanging over the toilet--I've been popping pills like a maniac to keep myself from that unpleasant activity--but my stomach still makes its misery known.  Actually, it's been a lot like the first trimester of pregnancy, except I have no bundle of joy to look forward to at the end of this ordeal.

With the new regime, I'm also fighting a greater fatigue than I've had before.  Shopping for clothes the other day required me to constantly stop and rest my arms.  I felt like I was lifting weights, just from pushing clothes on the rack and trying on shirts. 

And then there are the body temperature issues.  One minute, I'm freezing and huddled in blankets; the next minute I'm broiling hot, throwing off my hat and blanket to get some air.  But, I guess you can't expect to get hit with the big guns and walk away unscathed.

My biggest worry is: how in the world will I get myself to go to the next treatment?!  Every time I think about it, I want to pitch a world-class temper tantrum.  Steve said he might have to hog-tie me to get me up there.

The only bright spot is that I don't have to place myself in the line of fire again for 3 weeks.  Maybe by then, I'll be able to work up my courage enough that Steve can leave his rope at home.

Being On the Receiving End

This week, as we drove into town from the latest treatment, we noticed a car wash going on at the Visitor's Center, with lots of kids and teens hosing down cars and waving signs to flag down more customers.  Their signs proclaimed they were the "Service Club."

We hadn't been home long (I was exhausted) when we got a call from our sister-in-law.  She wanted to ensure we were here, and warn us we'd soon have visitors.  Sure enough, after awhile, the kids ecstatically informed us (and half the neighborhood) that a lot of cars and people were coming to our house.  I nearly ran out the back door to hide.

Instead, I braved the crowd on our front porch.  I recognized them as the group we'd passed earlier, running the car wash.  They handed me a fat envelope.  When I opened it and saw the wad of cash inside, I burst into tears.  As one of their adult leaders explained, they'd just formed a service club for kids in our community, and decided to make me and my family their first project. I was deeply touched.

I've always tried to be an independent person, so being on the receiving end of service doesn't come naturally.  If I know someone else needs help, I jump in without hesitation; but I'm not so good at asking for help when I need it.  I find it very difficult to admit to others that everything is not so hunky-dory as I make it seem.

Steve and I constantly get the question: "How are you doing?"  My standard reply is: "Fine. I'm handling the treatments really well."  I like to pretend that my life is still pretty normal.  But reality has a way of bursting my bubble every so often.  Even though I've had it relatively easy so far, this battle takes its toll on my morale.  There are days when I feel that my battle with cancer is slowly stripping me down to nothing--when I realize that my life will never be the same again--and I mourn.

That's why I'm so grateful for sensitive friends and family.  They brighten my day by diving in and doing things for me, often without being asked, because they know I need help . . . even if I stubbornly refuse to admit it.

So, this shout-out goes to all the people who have brought in meals, watched my kids, given me a home during treatment days, dropped off flowers, washed cars for me, quilted for me (a mysteriously anonymous group), and told me I look like a movie star in my wig when I feel like a circus sideshow.  You guys are all awesome--and I am so grateful for each one of you!

Vacation

For the first time, the nurse had some trouble last Monday with my port.  I guess it was clogged or something.  After flushing it with saline several times, he finally got it working.  So, that was a little out of the usual routine.

I only have 1 more treatment of abraxane left, then I switch to a different drug for 4 three-week treatments.  That means I'm almost halfway through chemo.  Hurray!

I haven't written anything for awhile because I've been away from home for a week and a half.  We decided to stay with my parents for the week between 2 treatments and get "2 for the price of 1."  All the kids are out of school now, so we also had the whole crew with us. 

To keep everyone sane, I planned a simple activity each day that would get us out of the house, but not be too exhausting for me.  It was a fun week, and I found myself actually forgetting, at times, that I have cancer.  Here's some highlights:

Feeding the only duck on the pond.  He wasn't very hungry.

The fancy studios at the new KBYU building we toured.  I used to run one of those cameras for real!

The whole gang at the Bean Museum...being charged by an elephant? ;-)

All the kids were enchanted to meet Hedwig (Harry Potter's pet) at the museum!

Eating ice cream at the BYU Creamery--YUM YUM!

Touching animal furs at a "mini" Mountain Man Rendezvous.

You Will Be Assimilated

When I got my "port" put in--which is a device surgically placed under my skin that allows easy access to my veins--I joked that I felt like a Borg, from the Star Trek series.  Having the port is lots easier than getting an IV each time.  I feel like I get plugged into the "collective" every week.  The other day, someone asked me when I would post a picture of my bald head on here.  Well, here it is.  And now that you've seen it, watch out--because the Borg like to "assimilate" everyone they come in contact with! ;-)

This week, Steve is still recovering from his surgery, so my sister-in-law took time out of her own busy life to drive me up to treatments.  Here at home, the Relief Society took care of my family with more food than we can eat in about a month--so we're sitting pretty for awhile.  I'm so amazed and grateful for all the support and help we've gotten--and are still getting--from our family and friends.  You've all been fantastic!

I met with my oncologist Monday and found out the plan for my summer.  I have 3 more weekly treatments, and then I will change to a different chemo medicine.  I'll only have to get it every 3 weeks, but it's a stronger medicine and I may have more trouble with symptoms.  A huge relief to me is that my kids are out of school now, so we'll be able to take them on our treatment trips this summer (or am I really assimilating them?....hmmmm).

When It Rains, It Pours

Whenever I start to feel sorry for myself, the Lord snaps me out of it by sending me someone who needs help.  This time, it was my own husband.

The night before my last treatment, Steve woke with terrible pain in his abdomen.  I took him to the emergency room, and we eventually discovered that he has gallstones.  This means he will need surgery to remove his gallbladder.  Fortunately, the pain has subsided for now.  He's scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning here at home.

Our roles are reversed, as I drive him to doctor appointments and hospitals.  I'm grateful, once again, that I don't have any difficult chemo symptoms, because it's my turn to be the strong one and take care of him, for a change.