An improvised life

Cancer and cancer treatment somehow failed to make a real impression on me; assuming the cancer didn’t kill me, I figured after treatment I would return to my normal level of physical function and ability. But with last month’s hospitalizations, I experienced the new and unsettling reality of a possibly chronic condition affecting my ability to inhale, along with everything that requires a good solid breath of air. I felt vulnerable and disheartened, unsure of my recovery, overwhelmed by blood draws, recurring symptoms, and the accompanying pharmaceutical armada that arrived. Last Thursday, as I started the third week of my tapering dose of corticosteroids, the now-familiar chest pain returned. At radiation I asked the staff to take my vitals and sure enough, my blood pressure was down and my heart rate was up: pericarditis symptoms were back. By Friday I had taken another spin through the ER, which is a pretty handy one-stop shop when you need a quick echocardiogram,

I’m overdue for posting! Many thoughts, but I’ll start with an update. For the past few weeks I enjoyed a bit of a holiday from being a cancer patient. Chemo toxins purged, arm and shoulder recovered from surgery, eyelashes and eyebrows flourishing. I even got a falsie (aka breast prosthesis), so I am feeling downright human again. The feeling might be short-lived, as I started radiation today and already feel like I have a mild sunburn in the irradiated area. I’m slathering it with something called Manuka cream and plan to procure more potions; apparently the impact is cumulative and the discomfort and fatigue tend to worsen through the six-week course of treatment.   I’m getting used to my scar and zone of no-sensation, and so is Alder. I don’t know if I’m creating (yet more) fodder for future therapy sessions, but I don’t always bother to kick him out when I’m getting dressed. I was careful about the surgery area for a while because I thought it might be a jarring vis

I finished chemo last week. By some minor miracle, I still have a respectable collection of intact eyelashes – almost 20 on the bottom of each eye and too many to count on top, according to Brian. Likewise with my eyebrows. I wish I could say the same for the friendly flora in my gut, which seem to have taken a beating, but I figure in about ten days I’ll be clear of residual toxins, if not entirely over their effects. Here’s hoping I’ll also be clean of cancer – the surgeon plans to cut it out in five days.   I never did break into the make-up haul I scored at a free Look Good … Feel Better® workshop I attended in July. I thought it would offer tips or encouragement for dealing with hair loss and keeping skin healthy through chemotherapy and radiation. There was some of that, but mostly we just went through our goodie bags and put on make-up under the guidance of a 60-something esthetician who volunteers on the side to help women like me. When we signed up for the class, w

Apparently I was overly cocky last week--this week I have not run once! There seems to be a bit of a pattern to this chemotherapy, where week one is kind of low, and week two is a rebound week. Like parenting and other things I have experienced, cancer is yet another lesson in letting go. Knowing that these poisons are circulating in my body is a little discomfiting for someone whose normal drug intake averages 1 Advil annually. I've always been kind of a control freak about drugs and alcohol--everything from antibiotics to wine to pot to cigarettes. I even limit my coffee intake. I am just innately, almost prudishly, averse to things that take away my sense of control over my body. There are strange and subtle ways the chemotherapy makes itself known--a slight metallic taste, pinkish pee, lethargy, a sense of inner imbalance. A friend warned me that her mother didn't drink enough and has permanent numbness in her toes because the chemo pooled in her extremities. Don't