Age is Just a Number

Steve says I'm making him old before his time, but he did turn 40 last Thursday, so I don't think he can blame it all on me. This being such an important birthday, I had spent weeks worrying over how to make it special, especially given that when I was diagnosed he backed out of the birthday trip of a lifetime - a 10-day ski trip to Chamonix, France. Though I had objected, someone pointed out that I wouldn't think twice about doing the same for him, and this is true. Luckily, this birthday fell during my second week off chemo, and I felt great.

On Thursday, we had a special dinner at The Flagstaff House, up on the hill overlooking the lights of Boulder. From the amuse-bouche (the chef's bite size interpretation of a BLT), past the intermezzo course of grapefruit sorbet and through to the final sweet spoonfuls of maple panna cotta, this was a memorable meal. As this was our first night out just the two of us since this all started, it was even more delightful.

Mary Ellen, a very wise colleague, reminded me early in the week that I should spend some of my good days at home too, and she was right. Steve and I both took Friday off, and right after radiation Friday morning we trekked up to Frisco for the weekend. Much of our Denver family joined us on Friday night, so we were rolling deep. (To ensure that Steve stays hip as he ages, I picked him up some slang flashcards. FYI, 'rolling deep' means to travel with a big entourage.)

Saturday, Alty and Brooke watched Van so that Steve and I could ski with the gang, and it was just what I needed to clear my head - four inches fresh on a warm, blue bird day, plenty of fast turns, some time spent on the kiddie hill teaching sweet Riley how to snow plow, and as there is more to skiing than skiing, beers on the deck afterward. That night we all gathered under one roof to sing happy birthday and toast Steve for being young at heart. Throughout the evening, it was just so easy to take in the joy around us; there were friends both old and new, friends quite obviously falling in love, two couples planning weddings, two expecting, half a dozen giggling children with icing smeared across their faces, champagne corks popping and wave after wave of laughter. I don't think I could have imagined a more perfect way to re-energize and prepare for these next two weeks of treatment than this.

Side Effects

There was a lot of healing this week. While there still isn't any firm answer as to root cause of the abdominal pain, the further I get from the chemo the better I feel. I'm certainly not 100%, and as I'm starting to see some impact from the radiation I think it will be awhile before I am, but there's marked progress. The pain is infrequent and much less severe now, so much so that I'm eating again (though I'm careful to limit myself to bland and easily digestable foods), and most of the other side effects are gone altogether. This morning, Steve went skiing, while I happily made Van breakfast and played hide and seek.

As I visit with my doctors, read up on the materials I've been given and provide friends and family updates, there's so much focus on the side effects. It makes me think about all of the positive side effects that don't get near as much attention...

• I'm learning that no matter how strong I thought I was, I'm even stronger.
  
• My family and friends have all stood up to help bear this burden, and I'm learning that each is even more creative, kind, generous and resourceful than I had already given them credit for.
  
• I'm figuring out how to ask for and receive help, hopefully with grace - Steve might argue the graceful part and I think Jen may have mentioned something about 'unrelenting bossiness', but I'm giving myself the benefit of the doubt here.
  
• I feel a new depth of love and respect for all of those supporting me through this - and for myself.
  
• I'm finding new ways to interact with Van that are just as enjoyable. Thanks for the suggestions, Kristy.
• I have to change fewer diapers and it doesn't look like I have to cook a meal until Thanksgiving.
  
• I have renewed friendships from high school and college that, purely due to geography and the usual complications of life, had been dormant the last several years - and not surprisingly, I'm finding as much joy, humor and comfort in those relationships as I did years ago.
  
• I threw away the Weight Watchers book and points calculator.
  
• I'm slowing down and really appreciating everything around me, especially the simple pleasures. Service with a smile AND fresh scones at the bank on a Saturday morning? What a great day!
  

So much anxiety, fear, courage, laughter, pain, relief, love, appreciation - it's quite the rollercoaster, this journey!

The Honeymoon is Over

The last few days have been very tough. Although the chemo pump came off it seems to have been just in time, as my body started to react. The nausea and fatigue really kicked in, as did an unexplainable and paralyzing sharp pain that would radiate out from my stomach through my abdomen. I can tell you it brings no comfort when your team of doctors scratch their heads and tell you they haven't seen this before. Perhaps you've given yourself an ulcer? Possible, I have been under a wee bit of stress lately. Gall stones, do you have any history of gall bladder problems. No, I don't even know where my gall bladder is. Heart burn, does it feel like heartburn? No, it feels like my stomach is eating itself. Hhhhmmm, keep taking Advil and let's keep our eye on it. &%$#@*&$@!!

With the better part of 36 hours sans chemo now I can feel myself healing though. The nausea has dissipated and the pain is now more a dull ache with only the occasional sharp pang reminding me not to get too comfortable.

As dark as this was physically, it was a challenge emotionally as well. Up until Friday night, I had largely been the same, albeit a bit more prone to naps. This weekend however I spent most of my time clenched into the fetal position, reminding myself that the end justifies the means and gritting my way through a little mantra cross stitched on the waiting room wall of the comprehensive cancer center, 'Every cell in my body is well'. At some point, I did abandon that in favor of 'Find a happy place, find a happy place.'

I would periodically croak out parenting instructions and essential chores; Van needs a diaper change and a bath, we need to wash his nap mat for school on Monday, no more cookies - he needs some fiber! For his part, Steve played Mr. Mom perfectly. He even managed a trip to the train show at a local coliseum, which was a huge hit. But this was the toughest part for me. Not being able to take care of Van, of Steve, of our family, is harder to stomach than the physical pain. Skipping the family pillow fights, missing the last kiss before he runs off into his classroom, trying to explain to a wide eyed 2-year old that Mommy can't play hide and seek just now, is unbearable.

Week Two of Treatment

I wrapped up my second week of treatment yesterday. This last week really wasn't bad, although it seems like a bit of a cheat week as I didn't have to do too much - Mom was here and in her usual Energizer Bunny way she cooked, cleaned and shopped enough to get us through the week and prep us for the next couple.

All in all though, I think I've been lucky as side effects go, at least so far; fatigue of course, a touch of nausea periodically, and the last two days some abdominal pain that is not insignificant, but still a mild response.

On Monday, the chemo pump will be removed. Though I'll still have daily radiation, I'm looking forward to the two-week break from chemo. With the pump on showers are not allowed, unless you wrap your upper body in saran wrap and stand with your back to the water, and then what's the point? So I've been taking baths, using great care not to get the pump and the bandages securing the needle in at the port wet. While I might have previously enjoyed a bubble bath once or twice a year in our antique clawfoot, daily before work is just not that enjoyable - and bending over to wash your hair upside down even less so. Then again, I still have a full head of hair to wash!

Stopping to Smell the Roses

I have been thinking quite a bit about how I can learn from this experience, and what good I can extract from it. While I'm sure this will lead to many epiphanies along the way, the first is an instant and intense appreciation for the life I have - the people, the experiences, the love, joy and sense of deep, deep satisfaction. I certainly wasn't oblivious to this before, but perhaps I didn't appreciate it quite as much as I should have?

In discussing with a friend, Tasha, she shared that she and her family keep a journal, each day writing down something that made them happy and something that they hope for in the future - then she sent me a journal, with a pen, thereby robbing me of any excuse. Not surprisingly, I found the greatest joy in very simple pleasures that might be easily overlooked in the chaos of the average day.

Here are just a few of the things that I have noted the last few weeks.

Things that made me happy;

• Listening to Steve and Van playing the guitar together
  
• Skiing with Steve, my Dad and friends at Vail on a blue bird day, with a chaser of beers and pizza on the deck at Vendetta's
  
• Ramon, Bella and Van having tickle fights
  
• Being awoken from a really delicious nap on a Saturday afternoon by a tiny 'Hi Mama' from the edge of the bed
  
• Brooke's braised short ribs and Beth's midnight madness pie - yes, I may be the only patient in the history of cancer to put weight on during treatment, but I figure now is not the time to deprive myself
  
• Van started asking for family hugs - over and over
  
• My sister-in-law Karen sent me an amazing box of books including old titles that bring a flood of memories from Mrs. Krinsky's high school English class, and new titles that will expand my horizons
  
• Holding little Lila for the first time and breathing in that aroma of hope and promise that newborns naturally exude
  
• Seeing Scott (a rough, gruff, 230 lb. Gulf War veteran) take time out from watching football with the boys to gently brush his little girl Riley's hair into a ponytail
  
• Van and Yenny (his Grandpa) having pillow fights, just as Pop did with us every night when we were kids
  
• My mom coming to visit.
  

Things that I hope for in the future;

• Despite the great distance between New York and Colorado, Van will come to know Keira, Jimmy and those that follow more as brothers and sisters than as cousins
  
• A long trip to Vancouver and the surrounding areas during a big snow year - doesn't it look gorgeous?
  
• A year from now, I will reach a point where no doctor will need to write on my body with sharpie markers again - or at least until I am a very, very old woman
  
• I will be able to pay forward the many great kindnesses that are being shown to my family and to me every day by friends, family, colleagues and in some cases, absolute strangers.
  

One Down...

Treatment started Monday. Radiation bright and early at 7:45. For those of you that have seen me early in the morning, you know this is not my shining hour, but it seems inappropriate and risky to be rude to people working to cure you of cancer, so I muster as much courtesy as I can.

For the moment, radiation is easy. I just lay there while the techs line me up just so, and the machine and its ray of light does the rest. I can't see them as I'm face down on the table, but on occasion their 'adjustments' feel more like the three of them are just standing around and poking me. I might be less paranoid if I had pants on.

Following radiation, I went to chemo. After a brief visit with my oncologist, he walked me up to the 3rd floor to begin my first round of chemo infusion. My oncology nurse promptly introduced herself as a 7-yr survivor of rectal cancer - a good omen I think, and certainly a reminder that cure rates are high and life goes on.

So, after several hours of tests, port prep and instruction, I left hooked up to a pump about the size of a walkman, full of the 5-FU chemo. I get to wear this 24x7 for the next week, with a refill scheduled for next Monday. The pump comes with some heavy warnings; don't get anything wet, keep a spare battery handy, check your 'dose given' reading periodically to make sure it is working, and the most concerning - should the tube be damaged and start to leak, double bag it and seal it, as the drug can cause a chemical burn. I asked what the odds are of damage and was told that the most frequent issue is cats chewing through the tubes...I'm willing to bet that while Mr. Jingles is gnawing away, the Jerry Springer show is on in the background.

Despite all of the poking, the needles, the waiver forms outlining possible side effects, what I felt most yesterday was relief. From this point on, the tumor will only get smaller and weaker, destroyed cell by cell, until it ceases to exist and I am cancer free.

Locks of Love

In April of 2007, a colleague at Avnet, Chuck, was diagnosed with a particularly rare cancer. At the time, I had two other friends, Greg and Dave, in cancer treatment as well. Only weeks away from Van's due date, the contrast of our life changing events weighed heavy on me.

In a show of solidarity, several of Chuck's pals shaved their heads with him as he began to undergo an intense regimen of biochemotherapy - an even more poisonous version than your run of the mill chemotherapy. Bald not being my best look and my hair being one of my better assets, I went the other way - I started growing it out with the intent of donating.

It has taken me 22 months to grow the minimum 10 inch ponytail, and on Friday I finally made my donation. During that time, some friends have won and others lost their battles, while still others continue to fight or have been diagnosed - I dedicate my donation to all of them.