Cancer Limerick Sunday
Six weeks out and my head is still bare
And although I think I look fair
I looked up on top
Where I once had a mop
And noticed I'm now growing hair
26 January 2012
Nuts and Bolts
I've had some questions and I think maybe I haven't been keeping people informed how I'm doing as well as I had been during my more intensive treatment.
I finished chemo just over five weeks ago. I no longer feel sick from it. My taste has returned, although some foods I no longer find palatable. The muscle spasms have subsided, with only an occasional eye twitch. My left eye still routinely runs. It is worse when I am out in the cold. My digestive system has settled down. I don't pee like an old man anymore. I still have some remnants of my hair, it's all white. I read somewhere that grey hair is more coarse than colored hair, and thus the roots are stronger. I lost almost all my grey, but lost all of my brown. The stubble of my still-active follicles looks like a halo around my head when it catches the light. My hair has not started to grow back. My lashes and eyebrows thinned out but I did not lose them all. My nails were unaffected. My skin is still very dry, but it's the middle of winter and I am usually parched this time of year.
My period has been MIA since I started chemo in October. The reproductive tract, (along with the digestive tract, hair, skin and nails,) are fast splitting cells. They are targeted by the type of chemo I had. Not sure if my period will return or not. If not, then I will be switched from the tamoxifen to an aromatase inhibitor in about a year.
The joint aches from the neulasta have stopped. I still have muscle tiredness and achiness.
I've been off my Zoloft about eight weeks. I can feel the difference and if I could, I would re-start it. At this point my depression is tolerable and I am not prepared to try another drug. I haven't taken and pain killers, tranquilizers or sleeping pills for over a month. I don't have as many headaches.
I've been on the Tamoxifen for about three weeks. The hot flashes that started while I was on chemo continue. They are not as severe as I have read about 'real' menopausal hot flashes. I flush, my head sweats, I take off my hat and sweater and I cool down in about five minutes. They wake me up at night and sometimes I can't get back to sleep. I unnerve people when I take off my hat in public.
The diminished range of motion from my surgery continues. I am having some trouble regaining mobility in the arm where they took the lymph nodes. The diminished fitness from six weeks of being a potato in bed post-surgery, and then the additional time I spent in bed while going through chemo is profound. I may not pee like an old man anymore, but I pee like an old woman now... don't make me laugh. I need to build my core strength back, inside and out.
I will be doing my final surgery (to finish my reconstruction,) some time in March. It should be a piece of cake, relatively speaking.
I've had some questions and I think maybe I haven't been keeping people informed how I'm doing as well as I had been during my more intensive treatment.
I finished chemo just over five weeks ago. I no longer feel sick from it. My taste has returned, although some foods I no longer find palatable. The muscle spasms have subsided, with only an occasional eye twitch. My left eye still routinely runs. It is worse when I am out in the cold. My digestive system has settled down. I don't pee like an old man anymore. I still have some remnants of my hair, it's all white. I read somewhere that grey hair is more coarse than colored hair, and thus the roots are stronger. I lost almost all my grey, but lost all of my brown. The stubble of my still-active follicles looks like a halo around my head when it catches the light. My hair has not started to grow back. My lashes and eyebrows thinned out but I did not lose them all. My nails were unaffected. My skin is still very dry, but it's the middle of winter and I am usually parched this time of year.
My period has been MIA since I started chemo in October. The reproductive tract, (along with the digestive tract, hair, skin and nails,) are fast splitting cells. They are targeted by the type of chemo I had. Not sure if my period will return or not. If not, then I will be switched from the tamoxifen to an aromatase inhibitor in about a year.
The joint aches from the neulasta have stopped. I still have muscle tiredness and achiness.
I've been off my Zoloft about eight weeks. I can feel the difference and if I could, I would re-start it. At this point my depression is tolerable and I am not prepared to try another drug. I haven't taken and pain killers, tranquilizers or sleeping pills for over a month. I don't have as many headaches.
I've been on the Tamoxifen for about three weeks. The hot flashes that started while I was on chemo continue. They are not as severe as I have read about 'real' menopausal hot flashes. I flush, my head sweats, I take off my hat and sweater and I cool down in about five minutes. They wake me up at night and sometimes I can't get back to sleep. I unnerve people when I take off my hat in public.
The diminished range of motion from my surgery continues. I am having some trouble regaining mobility in the arm where they took the lymph nodes. The diminished fitness from six weeks of being a potato in bed post-surgery, and then the additional time I spent in bed while going through chemo is profound. I may not pee like an old man anymore, but I pee like an old woman now... don't make me laugh. I need to build my core strength back, inside and out.
I will be doing my final surgery (to finish my reconstruction,) some time in March. It should be a piece of cake, relatively speaking.
25 January 2012
I Do It My Way
I know I have touched on this on an earlier blog, but since I do not routinely re-read my posts, and my brain is hardly the steel trap it used to be before chemo, (and babies, for that matter,) I am just going to have to issue a blanket disclaimer about repeating myself. Sometimes I think the same thought and need to get it out of my head. Feel free to skip this post if you've already heard it.
I am not a very private person. Sure, there are some parts of my life I do not discuss with the general public, some parts reserved for family only, or mama friends, or just my husband. Some things I only talk to my therapist about, but for the most part, I don't mind sharing things that others would not. That's just how I am.
As I get older, I care less and less about others' judgments. It's one thing to be mindful of my behavior. I strive to be polite and kind, and I do care that others see that. But what other people think of my opinions and tastes is a different story.
I know many people who have suffered quietly, alone, with cancer. That's how they were comfortable dealing with it. I'm more comfortable knowing that people know my situation, are not afraid that they will say something that might upset me, and clearly know where I stand on things. This position has made it easier to ask for help when I need it, has made it easier for people to offer help and has generally made conversation much more pleasant and much less a mine-field. Yes, sometimes I don't want to talk about it, and when that happens, I let people know, too. (In fact, I don't really like talking at all, especially on the phone. I'd rather write, or if I'm up to it, talk in person if I must. And although my posts are becoming less frequent, I still let the world know what is going on with me.)
I don't find my position on this to be remarkable, although several folks have commented about the way I address this illness in such an open manner. Frankly, I think suffering though this alone, in secret, or otherwise unacknowledged would be infinitely harder. (And for those of you who choose this way, kudos.)
I have found that I don't have nearly the piss and vinegar in me that I did when I started. Yes, I'm tired, but more than that, I'm humbled. I didn't really get sick from cancer, I was sidelined by the treatments for it, and while it was my choice to be very aggressive with that treatment, my discomfort pales in comparison to the individuals who are actually sickened and weakened by cancer, then have to undergo treatment. I am thankful I had no nausea - me(!) who gets motion sickness if I read on a plane, or if I sit on a swing. I spent most of my childhood feeling like I'm going to throw up and most of my adulthood doing the driving so I didn't have to. But I was spared that during chemo.
Having said that, I am also humbled by the ravages of the treatments themselves. I've never felt so out-of-shape. Four months off (laying in bed,) really does a number on you. I am blown away by how much I CAN'T do.
I am also humbled by the remarkable support I received while undergoing the worst of my treatment. I feel incredibly blessed to have so many caring family and friends, and so much of a community.
So my posts are not nearly as emphatic as they were when I began this journey - not as loud, not as frequent. But I'm hoping I will continue to use this as a way to sort out my thoughts on where I am.
I know I have touched on this on an earlier blog, but since I do not routinely re-read my posts, and my brain is hardly the steel trap it used to be before chemo, (and babies, for that matter,) I am just going to have to issue a blanket disclaimer about repeating myself. Sometimes I think the same thought and need to get it out of my head. Feel free to skip this post if you've already heard it.
I am not a very private person. Sure, there are some parts of my life I do not discuss with the general public, some parts reserved for family only, or mama friends, or just my husband. Some things I only talk to my therapist about, but for the most part, I don't mind sharing things that others would not. That's just how I am.
As I get older, I care less and less about others' judgments. It's one thing to be mindful of my behavior. I strive to be polite and kind, and I do care that others see that. But what other people think of my opinions and tastes is a different story.
I know many people who have suffered quietly, alone, with cancer. That's how they were comfortable dealing with it. I'm more comfortable knowing that people know my situation, are not afraid that they will say something that might upset me, and clearly know where I stand on things. This position has made it easier to ask for help when I need it, has made it easier for people to offer help and has generally made conversation much more pleasant and much less a mine-field. Yes, sometimes I don't want to talk about it, and when that happens, I let people know, too. (In fact, I don't really like talking at all, especially on the phone. I'd rather write, or if I'm up to it, talk in person if I must. And although my posts are becoming less frequent, I still let the world know what is going on with me.)
I don't find my position on this to be remarkable, although several folks have commented about the way I address this illness in such an open manner. Frankly, I think suffering though this alone, in secret, or otherwise unacknowledged would be infinitely harder. (And for those of you who choose this way, kudos.)
I have found that I don't have nearly the piss and vinegar in me that I did when I started. Yes, I'm tired, but more than that, I'm humbled. I didn't really get sick from cancer, I was sidelined by the treatments for it, and while it was my choice to be very aggressive with that treatment, my discomfort pales in comparison to the individuals who are actually sickened and weakened by cancer, then have to undergo treatment. I am thankful I had no nausea - me(!) who gets motion sickness if I read on a plane, or if I sit on a swing. I spent most of my childhood feeling like I'm going to throw up and most of my adulthood doing the driving so I didn't have to. But I was spared that during chemo.
Having said that, I am also humbled by the ravages of the treatments themselves. I've never felt so out-of-shape. Four months off (laying in bed,) really does a number on you. I am blown away by how much I CAN'T do.
I am also humbled by the remarkable support I received while undergoing the worst of my treatment. I feel incredibly blessed to have so many caring family and friends, and so much of a community.
So my posts are not nearly as emphatic as they were when I began this journey - not as loud, not as frequent. But I'm hoping I will continue to use this as a way to sort out my thoughts on where I am.
24 January 2012
Do It. Overdo It.
It's been a slow couple of weeks for me. I was very frustrated trying to get back to the gym and starting to walk again. It made me very tired to do so. So tired that I was taking to my bed after exercising, and sleeping, like a log, in the middle of the day, for hours. I'm a month out of chemo. Maybe I'm not ready to start rebuilding yet. I'm tired and cranky. I can't tell if I still feel bad from surgery and chemo or if I feel bad because I've been doing nothing for four months. Or if it's a new side effect of my current treatment, the Tamoxifen.
So after the week where I walked 15 miles and went to the gym three times, but spent the rest of the day in bed, I'm going to ease into it. I snagged a ride up to school this afternoon, but walked back with the kids. I'm doing heavier housework, (lugging laundry and groceries, cooking,) and trying to stay out of bed during the day. I hope this works.
My left arm, where they took the lymph nodes, is still bothering me. My range of motion is quite diminished. When I raise my arm above my head, I cannot straighten it. I've been doing stretches for it but I may have to seek some PT.
It's been a slow couple of weeks for me. I was very frustrated trying to get back to the gym and starting to walk again. It made me very tired to do so. So tired that I was taking to my bed after exercising, and sleeping, like a log, in the middle of the day, for hours. I'm a month out of chemo. Maybe I'm not ready to start rebuilding yet. I'm tired and cranky. I can't tell if I still feel bad from surgery and chemo or if I feel bad because I've been doing nothing for four months. Or if it's a new side effect of my current treatment, the Tamoxifen.
So after the week where I walked 15 miles and went to the gym three times, but spent the rest of the day in bed, I'm going to ease into it. I snagged a ride up to school this afternoon, but walked back with the kids. I'm doing heavier housework, (lugging laundry and groceries, cooking,) and trying to stay out of bed during the day. I hope this works.
My left arm, where they took the lymph nodes, is still bothering me. My range of motion is quite diminished. When I raise my arm above my head, I cannot straighten it. I've been doing stretches for it but I may have to seek some PT.
23 January 2012
It's Cancer Limerick Monday!
I frequently have the hot flashin'
I'm lucky I'm so unabashin'
I whip off the lid
My bare head like a squid
Even 'though it appears out of fashion
I frequently have the hot flashin'
I'm lucky I'm so unabashin'
I whip off the lid
My bare head like a squid
Even 'though it appears out of fashion
16 January 2012
Cancer Limerick MLK Jr Day
You know what I really don't like?
The days when I walk or I hike
My posts become sparse
Because moving my arse
Makes me crash, both body and psych
You know what I really don't like?
The days when I walk or I hike
My posts become sparse
Because moving my arse
Makes me crash, both body and psych
8 January 2012
It's Cancer Limerick Sunday!
Although the poison was scary,
My head is still sporting some hairy
And while chemo was dire
I have a spare tire
I gained weight which is quite contrary
Although the poison was scary,
My head is still sporting some hairy
And while chemo was dire
I have a spare tire
I gained weight which is quite contrary
7 January 2012
Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
After a terrific start to the week, I fizzled out on Thursday. I'm fighting some weird rhino-virus: makes me cough, bad-ass post nasal drip that burns my throat like acid and gives me heart-burn. Popping Tums like Pez and up all night, even threw up a little.
Even so, I was back on track Friday and met with my trainer at the gym. We did a full re-assessment and I am weaker, fatter and bigger than I've ever been. My legs seem to have weathered ok, (thanks in part to walking over 30 miles a week building up to my surgery,) but my upper body strength is gone - and I had really worked hard to increase it. I've always been a little weak up top and I'm incredibly demoralized. I did manage to walk 15 miles last week. A drop in the bucket o' goo around my middle.
I've also taken a hit mentally. Now that I'm through the surgery and chemo, the initial fear and panic that gripped me from my diagnoses until now has dissipated. I now have five years of disruptive hormone therapy to look forward to. Five years is a hell of a long time. Side effects include menopausal symptoms - hot flashes, joint pain and leg cramps, and increased risk of blood clots, stroke and uterine cancer. Five years!
Additionally, I am just now starting to feel the emotional effects of having my breasts amputated. When first diagnosed, I was full of piss and vinegar and couldn't wait to get rid of the boobs that turned on me. Now I'm grieving the loss of a part of my identity and sexuality. Compounding this is the incredibly alien look and feel of my foobs. They look great under clothes but they are gross naked and uncomfortable on my body. I still have the feeling that I'm wearing something cut too tight under the arms. There is no give to them, so when I move my arms in front of me, they squish to the middle and the compression of the tissue attached to my sternum and charged with holding them apart actually hurts. It's a little embarrassing that because I can't feel them, I can be brushing up against someone or something and not know. The other day I tried on a t-shirt in a store and the sharp corner of the cardboard tags scratched my foob, drawing blood. I didn't realize it until I saw the stain on my shirt when I got home.
Why did I opt for reconstruction? A lot of the literature out there talks about being made whole again, but that is just not the case. They will never look real when naked. They will never feel like a part of me. They will always be alien. The one thing that they will do is stop quizzical stares from strangers and save me from having to explain I had cancer. I guess in my heart of hearts I was hoping for more.
Even though my initial treatment decisions were made while under a cloud of fear, I still maintain I made the right choice going the aggressive route. I am just finding out now that I have emotional scars every bit as real as the physical ones.
After a terrific start to the week, I fizzled out on Thursday. I'm fighting some weird rhino-virus: makes me cough, bad-ass post nasal drip that burns my throat like acid and gives me heart-burn. Popping Tums like Pez and up all night, even threw up a little.
Even so, I was back on track Friday and met with my trainer at the gym. We did a full re-assessment and I am weaker, fatter and bigger than I've ever been. My legs seem to have weathered ok, (thanks in part to walking over 30 miles a week building up to my surgery,) but my upper body strength is gone - and I had really worked hard to increase it. I've always been a little weak up top and I'm incredibly demoralized. I did manage to walk 15 miles last week. A drop in the bucket o' goo around my middle.
I've also taken a hit mentally. Now that I'm through the surgery and chemo, the initial fear and panic that gripped me from my diagnoses until now has dissipated. I now have five years of disruptive hormone therapy to look forward to. Five years is a hell of a long time. Side effects include menopausal symptoms - hot flashes, joint pain and leg cramps, and increased risk of blood clots, stroke and uterine cancer. Five years!
Additionally, I am just now starting to feel the emotional effects of having my breasts amputated. When first diagnosed, I was full of piss and vinegar and couldn't wait to get rid of the boobs that turned on me. Now I'm grieving the loss of a part of my identity and sexuality. Compounding this is the incredibly alien look and feel of my foobs. They look great under clothes but they are gross naked and uncomfortable on my body. I still have the feeling that I'm wearing something cut too tight under the arms. There is no give to them, so when I move my arms in front of me, they squish to the middle and the compression of the tissue attached to my sternum and charged with holding them apart actually hurts. It's a little embarrassing that because I can't feel them, I can be brushing up against someone or something and not know. The other day I tried on a t-shirt in a store and the sharp corner of the cardboard tags scratched my foob, drawing blood. I didn't realize it until I saw the stain on my shirt when I got home.
Why did I opt for reconstruction? A lot of the literature out there talks about being made whole again, but that is just not the case. They will never look real when naked. They will never feel like a part of me. They will always be alien. The one thing that they will do is stop quizzical stares from strangers and save me from having to explain I had cancer. I guess in my heart of hearts I was hoping for more.
Even though my initial treatment decisions were made while under a cloud of fear, I still maintain I made the right choice going the aggressive route. I am just finding out now that I have emotional scars every bit as real as the physical ones.
3 January 2012
This Week I'm Even Amazing Myself
So when the yuck wears off from chemo, I all of a sudden feel like myself, even after thinking I'll never feel like me again. Last week I wasn't sure I'd ever get my momentum back and this week I'm kicking ass. I am flabbergasted by how motivated I am this week after a couple of weeks in bed where it felt like I was going to just melt into the mattress and fade away.
Starting Sunday, I began walking again. I'm not doing nearly the mileage I was before I was diagnosed, but for the first time in months, I feel like I can. Adjusting to the weather will have its challenges, but I'm confident I can roll with the weather punches. I have the elliptical downstairs and if it gets really nasty I'll just do that. Plus I can always go to the gym and use the treadmill there. But honestly, nothing short of an ice storm should keep me from my appointed rounds. I've got weather-proof stuff.
I was shooting for three miles this morning and fell short as the sidewalks were icy and I was unprepared. Same thing happened yesterday, although it was also snowing and too cold for me yesterday, (and I was kinda scared walking next to the road since cars kept sliding all over the place.) Tomorrow I'll break out my Yaktrax and see if they solve the problem. I bought them last summer on closeout, of course, in anticipation of this day. This day being - winter. Winter has finally arrived, albeit late, to Ohio. The kids got one good day in playing outside in the snow yesterday. At least their break wasn't a total waste. We only had about an inch but they were desperate and ended up with a whole pack of snowballers on our side lot. They attempted sledding to no avail.
I'm so ambitious this week that I'm starting to do taxes, which is about 7 months early for me. This may be the first year in the last decade we won't have to file for an extension. If I get them filed on time, Dan owes me a steak dinner. I'm thinking Bern's in Tampa.
Next week I have an appointment with Two-Drain and Doc Kimo. I'm assuming Two-Drain will want to schedule my surgery to switch out my expanders to permanent implants. Dan has knee surgery scheduled at the end of the month and I'm travelling in February so I assume it'll have to wait until March. Doc Kimo will start me on Tamoxifen. I'll know more after both of those appointments. For now my focus is to regain my strength and fitness and be patient until I can tackle another stepping stone in my treatment.
So when the yuck wears off from chemo, I all of a sudden feel like myself, even after thinking I'll never feel like me again. Last week I wasn't sure I'd ever get my momentum back and this week I'm kicking ass. I am flabbergasted by how motivated I am this week after a couple of weeks in bed where it felt like I was going to just melt into the mattress and fade away.
Starting Sunday, I began walking again. I'm not doing nearly the mileage I was before I was diagnosed, but for the first time in months, I feel like I can. Adjusting to the weather will have its challenges, but I'm confident I can roll with the weather punches. I have the elliptical downstairs and if it gets really nasty I'll just do that. Plus I can always go to the gym and use the treadmill there. But honestly, nothing short of an ice storm should keep me from my appointed rounds. I've got weather-proof stuff.
I was shooting for three miles this morning and fell short as the sidewalks were icy and I was unprepared. Same thing happened yesterday, although it was also snowing and too cold for me yesterday, (and I was kinda scared walking next to the road since cars kept sliding all over the place.) Tomorrow I'll break out my Yaktrax and see if they solve the problem. I bought them last summer on closeout, of course, in anticipation of this day. This day being - winter. Winter has finally arrived, albeit late, to Ohio. The kids got one good day in playing outside in the snow yesterday. At least their break wasn't a total waste. We only had about an inch but they were desperate and ended up with a whole pack of snowballers on our side lot. They attempted sledding to no avail.I'm so ambitious this week that I'm starting to do taxes, which is about 7 months early for me. This may be the first year in the last decade we won't have to file for an extension. If I get them filed on time, Dan owes me a steak dinner. I'm thinking Bern's in Tampa.
Next week I have an appointment with Two-Drain and Doc Kimo. I'm assuming Two-Drain will want to schedule my surgery to switch out my expanders to permanent implants. Dan has knee surgery scheduled at the end of the month and I'm travelling in February so I assume it'll have to wait until March. Doc Kimo will start me on Tamoxifen. I'll know more after both of those appointments. For now my focus is to regain my strength and fitness and be patient until I can tackle another stepping stone in my treatment.
1 January 2012
It's Cancer Limerick Sunday!
What can I say of this year?
Aside from it sucked, that is clear
Next year I want health,
And happiness and wealth,
Same to you, and those you hold dear.
What can I say of this year?
Aside from it sucked, that is clear
Next year I want health,
And happiness and wealth,
Same to you, and those you hold dear.
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