For My Good People

Each year we spend the last weekend of June at Red Rocks for a three day run of Widespread Panic shows. Panic Weekend is always an adventure, but this year was special for many reasons. For starters, they skipped last year, so for some of us this was the first show since an epic 2009 New Year's Eve weekend in a VIP box. This is Kerri's first big event post baby, and she needs it real bad. A recent count indicated that somewhere over the course of the weekend, pretty much all of us were going to hit our 50th show. Then of course, there is the pure and simple fact that we always do this, together, and this spate of normalcy has shown like a beacon for me the last few months.


There's a lot of build up to this boondoggle. We kick off with a mad scramble for tickets about 60 days prior. The day tickets go on sale, at least half a dozen of us, including out-of-state relatives recruited for their admirable computer skills and high speed connections, hover over our lap tops double checking battery power and making sure we've got the latest Mozilla upgrade downloaded. At 10 am sharp, furious keyboard action commences, along with much cursing of Ticketmaster and frantic shouting through cell phones - 'I've got six Saturday, Aunt George you've got Friday covered?! Jen, Mike and Alto have Sundays, Cuddie go for more Saturday, buy, buy, buy!" It's all over in about six minutes and assuming you've cornered the frozen orange juice market, you start parsing out spares to pals.


We roll deep, with an entourage 20 strong, so there's some real effort involved here. There are pre and post parties to organize, elaborate plans to smuggle in contraband, babysitters and designated drivers to hire, vehicle seating charts to maximize capacity. This all takes careful planning and attention to detail. You don't want realize a week out that you let someone tally the tickets from her hospital bed 5 hours after major surgery, clearly before the good drugs had worn off, and now you're short a few Saturday tickets! Craigslist...


By the time the Friday night show rolls around, the build up has reached fever pitch. Mike hears the birds outside his window whistling Panic tunes, and Steve has developed the kind of temporary ADHD that he usually reserves for big storms in the San Juan mountains. At least he has the day off - most of us are just useless, huddled in our offices trying, really trying to focus on that TPS report.


The plan is wheels up at 4:30 and much to everyone's credit, we pull away from the curb at 4:39. They won't come on until about 7:20 but we will steep ourselves in the parking lot scene for a few hours before showtime. Though we are older, and arguably wiser and more mature than when we started doing this 12 years ago, we pretend we aren’t.


So the weekend rolls by, drinks outnumbered only by laughs. We dance for hours, in the sunshine and the rain, under a rainbow and by the light of the full moon. My people come to play. And I feel the love, couldn't miss it really, because everyone is looking out for me. Jen's free with the hugs, Alty's on massage duty at intermission, Steve is telling all of us how much he loves us, Trent's got my name on a prayer flag as he leads Team Carter up Pike's Peak to raise dough for cancer, Cuddies have an extra bottle of water ready at every turn, Percell hands over his only rain poncho (securing a place in my heart for the second time, having been solely responsible for saving our wedding cake from disaster years ago.) Kurens, as usual the most prepared by far, is ready to chronicle the weekend in pictures.


Originally, Sunday was going to be a game time decision for me. When picking my chemo start date, I had a few options, and I chose wisely, making this past weekend (and a few other critical summer events) 'off weeks'. I knew the nine-day rest was going to be critical but might not be enough. I skip the late night post show goings on, hydrate well, and Steve is in charge of picking Van up so I can sleep in. Plus, 'they' say never miss a Sunday show, and I think they are right. The strategy pays off, I'm in and feeling good.


Brooke, eight months pregnant and fresh off two days of toddler duty, digs deep and makes it too, so we score her an extra ticket and a ride up the hill in a convertible with a handicapped sticker and an empty seat. Another widespread miracle. Danielle, four months pregnant, makes an early entrance to secure seats - row 22, Jimmy side, where you can feel the music in your chest. And then the band shows up. Never miss a Sunday show.


So, in summary...we got down to business and busted it big in that valley full of surprises, cleansing ourselves in the chilly water, driving that love tractor all weekend, climbing to safety out of this blight, every show worth a postcard home, seeing that last dance through like it was a disco...Ain't life grand? It makes sense to me.

Run Your Ass Off

This past weekend Mom led the hometown posse through the Relay for Life, a fundraising event for the American Cancer Society. The 24-hour plan was squashed due to lack of budget for full time security, but this is just as well - neither Mom or my very pregnant SIL, Kerry, are really prepared to sleep on the ground.

So, throughout the evening family and friends walked and ran laps around the quarter mile track at my high school. And they did it in style; Hawaiian shirts, flower leis, baked goods, lots of laughs, and though I cannot confirm as jobs may be at stake, I heard rumors of vodka smuggled in water bottles. Sounds a lot like a Jimmy Buffet show actually, but with one major difference - they raised over $6K...donations and solicitations from team members, pennies from the kids at school, a 60 lb. jar of PTA change worth more than $900. A pretty solid grass roots effort if you ask me.

The fundraising aside, I think the gathering was important in and of itself. I'm certainly not in this alone, and my village needs a village to help it cope and heal, too. Once again, I find myself awed and inspired by the support and love offered up to us...

One Down!

I wrapped up the first of eight treatments yesterday morning, and without intending to tempt fate, it went pretty well. I'm exhausted, as those red blood cells the chemo attacks really do drive energy levels, but hope that will pass with plenty of rest throughout the weekend. I had a few nasty headaches, am a touch dehydrated, and have some general feelings of weirdness, but for the most part, I'm pleasantly surprised by my body's response.

Thanks as always for your encouragement and support!

It's gonna be a long hard drag, but we'll make it... ~Janis Joplin

This round of chemo is going to be a very different experience.

After a quick visit with my oncologist, I went to the infusion center. This is really a wonderful facility. The nurses and support staff are friendly, knowledgeable and efficient - all have years of experience as an infusion nurse, and several have overcome their own battles with cancer. The amenities are extensive and intended to make you feel at home as much as possible; comfy recliners, soft pillows and blankets straight out of the dryer, personal DVD players with a slew of movie options, a massage therapist, snacks and beverages. You start to think you could get used to this, that this isn't a bad way to spend a morning. Then they sling your chemo cocktail with a large orange 'BIOHAZARD' sticker up onto your rack, and suddenly you remember you're not here for the free sandwiches.

It's a bit like a visit to the twilight zone. Cuddled up in a warm blanket, taking in all the gorgeous scenery in Under the Tuscan Sun, I was thinking someone should offer me a glass of wine. But then a nasty headache sets in from the anti-nausea IV, and I can feel an uneasy warmth churning in my belly. The girl two seats over is getting a neck massage and I can see the therapist trying to inconspicuously dispose of the handfuls of hair that she's shedding, while a doctor makes a rare, interloper's visit to the nurse managed center to discuss a possible blood transfusion with the older women across the room. Despite all the lovely amenities, we're all here for an oxymoron, a poison that will strip us down to the most raw and vulnerable versions of ourselves, to hopefully saves our lives.

While my prior visits were short at the infusion center, this time around I'm receiving some portion of treatment 'in the big chair', with the remainder via the take-home infusion pump. Instead of 45 minutes, there's now a four hour layover - there's the usual accessing and flushing of the port, and blood tests to make sure I'm treatable. Then they load me up on various intravenous pre-meds for clotting and nausea (half hour), before delivering the full dose of the new drug, Oxaliplatin (2 hours). Finally, they hook me up to the take home pump and send me on my way until Wednesday morning when it comes off.

In each of the first two rounds last February and March, I received 100 ml of 5-FU over a fourteen day period. This time, for each of these eight rounds I'll receive 86 ml of the same drug, but in just two days. Fast and furious. Sure, I get a 12 day break until it starts again, but the more of these eight sessions I complete, the longer the recovery in between will take.

A mere 10 hours in now though, things are still OK and certainly manageable. I was warned of the headaches and insomnia from the anti nausea drugs, and am prepared with Tylenol and ambien. I quickly discovered that straight salt offers the same burning sensation in the mouth and throat that carbonated beverages do, so I'll be avoiding sodas and pretzels for the next three months. And, I've already left an oven mitt near the fridge, to avoid nueropathy and the intense, painful reaction to cold that it creates in the hands, fingers and feet.

We'll see what the next few days and sessions brings, but whatever it is, I hope to take it in stride.

Rocky Mountain High

This weekend, we went up to the mountains with friends. Though the weather was variable and our picnic at the lake was rained out, the weekend as a whole was just what I needed to clear my head; a nap with Van while it drizzled outside, a few hours at the spa with the girls, a fabulous dinner courtesy of the guys, wine and laughter around the fire pit long after the kids were asleep. It was soothing, as time at altitude always is for me. Despite the physical and emotional trials the last few weeks, I'm feeling calm and ready for tomorrow.

Happy Thoughts

I haven't been feeling myself lately. I went back to work last week. I think it was time, as I was feeling well and starting to climb the walls a bit after four weeks on leave for recovery. The fastest way to get through to October is to keep myself busy, and they are being very gentle with me at the office, for which I am very grateful.

Nevertheless, I'm exhausted. Not sleeping well, emotionally stressed, physically drained...and all of this leads to annoying little kinks here or there. I feel like my body is betraying me a bit and I'm not used to this. We've always had an understanding. I offer up regular and vigorous exercise, copious amounts of fruits and veggies, a touch of chocolate, moisturizer and sunscreen, and the occassional spa treatment. In exchange, my body is strong and capable, it tolerates extremes, including the occassional binge party weekend or grueling hike above tree line in ski boots, and it never fails me. Now however, I know that this next and final phase of chemo is critical, but I'm worried that I'm not going into it as strong as I did the first two phases of treatment.

So, I'm doing what I can - trying to get to bed earlier, reserve my energy during this last week before chemo begins again, focus on the positive, center myself.

All that said, it seemed like a good time to count the many things that have made me happy lately...

• The roses are in full bloom in the front yard, and the backyard is perfumed with honeysuckle and bee's balm. A family of humming birds have taken up residence in the yard and appear each night at twilight to feed - if you sit still and quiet at the edge of the flower bed, you can get a good look and they'll occassionally buzz up to inspect you.
• The power went out last night due to an explosion at the local substation. Though Steve is a bit like a caged animal without TV or air conditioning (pacing, growling, swatting at imaginary bugs) it was a lovely evening - we three sat in the backyard eating melting ice cream for dinner, searching for roly-poly bugs and blowing bubbles. Then we read bedtime stories by flashlight. Maybe we'll pretend the power is out more often.
• Donovan had many firsts this last week. His first ice cream headache, his first time running through the sprinkler, and his first really successful trip to the potty - each priceless.
• When I started back at work last week, my team welcomed me with a new photo to hang in my office - a framed version of the view from Greg's bench, which I talked about in an earlier post. Though I generally believe there is no crying in business, I couldn't help tear up. The thought and effort that went into the gift was tremendous.
• When wandering around the yard or on his way upstairs, Van will often look up, reach out and say 'Hold my hand, Mama.' So powerful...
• My husband tells me each day that he loves me and thinks I'm beautiful. He is amazing.
• We saw Tom Petty and Joe Cocker last week at Red Rocks. An evening of classic tunes with good friends in a gorgeous outdoor setting is always good for the soul.

Karma

When I left the hospital they gave me a page of written discharge directions which instructed me to 'ambulate', so I've been making an effort to get out and walk regularly. I started with jaunts around the block, Van pushing his bubble lawnmower along beside me. I've been building up to longer, albeit slow walks a few miles across the park. These are usually followed by a nap, but I digress.

On the east side of the park, just below the Museum of Natural History, there's a fountain - around the fountain are a series of benches, one of which is dedicated to our friend Greg, who succumbed to colon cancer in February of 2009, after a truly valiant battle.

I've been finding myself drawn to the bench lately. About a mile and half from the house, it provides a perfect pit stop. And it boasts arguably the most stunning view in all of Denver. It overlooks the lake and pavilion on the west side of the park, backed up by the downtown skyline and beyond that, the Rocky Mountains, the peaks still frosted with the last of Spring snow. In the summertime, the fountain alongside will be surrounded by picnicking families, giggling children dashing through the water spouts.

Sitting around in the sunshine, there's a lot to think about. On my last visit, I mused a bit about karma. Greg's diagnosis had derailed what was a faint interest/belief in the idea. I certainly appreciate the Hindu concept of an immortal soul's journey to a higher spiritual existence, but I really didn't like the idea that his cancer in this lifetime was cultivated through some past life action. Oddly, I've been rethinking the concept lately and it doesn't bother me as much in the context of my own diagnosis. I'm actually OK with the idea that I might be paying off some grand debt to the universe. I feel like I'm generating good karma in this life, and if conquering cancer now makes me square for any past life transgressions, I think I should be solid as I approach the next spiritual plane. In the meantime, I'll do my best not to screw up this power position as I enjoy the next 50+ years of this lifetime...