Monday was the start of treatment number six, though it almost didn't happen. I've hit that point where my counts have kind of bottomed out, particularly my white blood cells, platelets and potassium. Platelets and white blood cells I get. Not being able to fight off infection is an obvious danger and something I think about each day as I see the list of confirmed illness on the board at Van's school...pink eye, croup, fifth's disease.
But potassium? Is that really critical, I asked? Silly me...your muscles need potassium to contract, your heart to regulate blood pressure and the rest of your body to maintain cellular processes. Low potassium, or Hypokalemia (check out the big brain on Brad...), makes you weak. I'm sure this is contributing to my staggering out of bed each morning completely zapped of energy after a solid 10 hours of ambien induced sleep, as if I've slept all night with a lump of kryptonite under my pillow.
So, after I promised to stock up on potassium rich foods and shun all sick people, the doc agreed to treatment. Van and I are now locked in competition to see who can eat the most bananas and canteloupe, although he still gets the highly valued 'sticker banana'. After he proudly peals that sticker off and hands it to me I wait until he isn't looking and then stick it back on another banana in the bunch, so we never run out.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
No Whining Please!
Last week was an 'on' week, chemo Mon-Wed. My doctor had told me that it would start to run downhill at the fourth treatment, but then the fourth went so well I almost didn't believe him. Still, the evening before the fifth I felt a sense of dread and self pity, something I can honestly say I've been able to easily side step up until then. I just want to be done and get back to life as we know it. And on top of that, I had tried to go for a run, but four months of doing little more than walking to the park made for a demoralizing experience. My legs were tight, I was out of breath, and I had to link spurts of walking and running just to get to the the 2 mile mark! Throughout Sunday evening, I was feeling sorry for myself and my inside voice was emitting a high and constant whine. Even online shopping and some smokin' deals on last year's ski wear wasn't enough to pull me out of my funk.
So, needless to the say, the fifth treatment arrived anyway, and it was, as the doctor predicted, worse. The side effects I do have like nausea and nueropathy are a little more extreme and lasting a little longer with each treatment. Plus, a few new side effects have started to pop up. I've noticed a little more hair on the bathroom floor when I'm done with the blowdryer, but luckily given the amount of hair I have, even my hairdresser of eight years can't tell the difference. I do however, seem to be missing most of my lower lid eyelashes suddenly. And I've started to get bloody noses, as the chemo can effect the membranes throughout your body. Super.
So all of last week I felt pretty crummy. And then Steve went off to the mountains for three days of golf, mountain biking and bbq, for Mike's bachelor party. Though I insisted he go, as again this takes nothing from us unless I let it, I knew being a single parent was going to be exhausting!
Despite the pity-party-for-one earlier in the week, as the weekend arrived I started to gain back some perspective, helped in large part by a casual girls night on the back patio with plenty of wine. I only have three treatments and five weeks left, with a long weekend in Napa sandwiched in on a good week to look forward to. And for all the poison being poured into it, my body is still hanging tough! Even as side effects worsen I know that I've metabolized the drugs much better than most, and as a result, I've experienced fewer and less severe side effects than most. I need to be proud of and kind to my body, despite it's wobbly bits and missing eyelashes, as this vessel is carrying me through rougher waters than anyone could have predicted, and we haven't been swamped yet!
So, needless to the say, the fifth treatment arrived anyway, and it was, as the doctor predicted, worse. The side effects I do have like nausea and nueropathy are a little more extreme and lasting a little longer with each treatment. Plus, a few new side effects have started to pop up. I've noticed a little more hair on the bathroom floor when I'm done with the blowdryer, but luckily given the amount of hair I have, even my hairdresser of eight years can't tell the difference. I do however, seem to be missing most of my lower lid eyelashes suddenly. And I've started to get bloody noses, as the chemo can effect the membranes throughout your body. Super.
So all of last week I felt pretty crummy. And then Steve went off to the mountains for three days of golf, mountain biking and bbq, for Mike's bachelor party. Though I insisted he go, as again this takes nothing from us unless I let it, I knew being a single parent was going to be exhausting!
Despite the pity-party-for-one earlier in the week, as the weekend arrived I started to gain back some perspective, helped in large part by a casual girls night on the back patio with plenty of wine. I only have three treatments and five weeks left, with a long weekend in Napa sandwiched in on a good week to look forward to. And for all the poison being poured into it, my body is still hanging tough! Even as side effects worsen I know that I've metabolized the drugs much better than most, and as a result, I've experienced fewer and less severe side effects than most. I need to be proud of and kind to my body, despite it's wobbly bits and missing eyelashes, as this vessel is carrying me through rougher waters than anyone could have predicted, and we haven't been swamped yet!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
NY State of Mind
When I moved to Colorado (has it really been 13 years!?) I vowed that I would never skip an important family celebration because of geography. Add to that my commitment to not just surviving cancer but conquering cancer - the difference, I believe, being that I will not let this take anything more away from me than is absolutely necessary. So, I may not miss that six inches of colon, but I absolutely would not miss my brother's 30th birthday weekend.
It was a very quick trip, a total of about 72 hours on the Island, but just what we needed.
A little family time at Jones Beach Friday. Hot dogs, cold beer, feet in the sand, waves rolling in, watching Van and Keira try to figure out this new substance under foot. And if it wasn't already perfect enough, after the playground and ice cream at Friendlies, there was a Motley Crue cover band at the little ampitheatre along the boardwalk. I'm on my way, I'm on my waaaa-aaay, home sweet home...
Saturday was Stephen's big day. A bus full of family and pals spent the day touring vineyards and a vodka distillery, sharing our favorite Stephen tales along the way. From what I can remember, we were all good and boozy by the time the bus dropped off us at the 'rents place. Now, at 30, Stephen's friends are only really just getting into the married with kids phase, and so across the group they seem to be doing a pretty impressive job of keeping the early 20s lifestyle going. As would be expected of any good Metz bash back in the day, there was a lot of tossing of bodies into the pool, Matty spent most of the late night naked, and there was the requisite beer chugging contest - the winner of which was, in a former life, the 1998 Ward Melville chugging champ, but is now by day a respectable high school math teacher. At 4 am, I could still hear the last of the bunch giggling out on the deck. I wondered how they have the energy and when Steve and I grew so old, but at 2 pm the next day, when several of them were still asleep upstairs, I was reminded that they have no children...
Sunday, the entire DeKoskie clan made the long trek down from K-town, along with more local family and friends. Pool time for the kids, bbq, good conversation and lots of hugs and photo ops. Is it me or was Donovan the only child that spent most of the day clad in a diaper or altogether naked?
By Sunday night I was torched, but it was the kind of complete, deep and happy exhaustion one gets after a vacation full of laughs and love. Thanks to all who planned, traveled, cooked and otherwise contributed to make the weekend as spectacular as it was.
It was a very quick trip, a total of about 72 hours on the Island, but just what we needed.
A little family time at Jones Beach Friday. Hot dogs, cold beer, feet in the sand, waves rolling in, watching Van and Keira try to figure out this new substance under foot. And if it wasn't already perfect enough, after the playground and ice cream at Friendlies, there was a Motley Crue cover band at the little ampitheatre along the boardwalk. I'm on my way, I'm on my waaaa-aaay, home sweet home...
Saturday was Stephen's big day. A bus full of family and pals spent the day touring vineyards and a vodka distillery, sharing our favorite Stephen tales along the way. From what I can remember, we were all good and boozy by the time the bus dropped off us at the 'rents place. Now, at 30, Stephen's friends are only really just getting into the married with kids phase, and so across the group they seem to be doing a pretty impressive job of keeping the early 20s lifestyle going. As would be expected of any good Metz bash back in the day, there was a lot of tossing of bodies into the pool, Matty spent most of the late night naked, and there was the requisite beer chugging contest - the winner of which was, in a former life, the 1998 Ward Melville chugging champ, but is now by day a respectable high school math teacher. At 4 am, I could still hear the last of the bunch giggling out on the deck. I wondered how they have the energy and when Steve and I grew so old, but at 2 pm the next day, when several of them were still asleep upstairs, I was reminded that they have no children...
Sunday, the entire DeKoskie clan made the long trek down from K-town, along with more local family and friends. Pool time for the kids, bbq, good conversation and lots of hugs and photo ops. Is it me or was Donovan the only child that spent most of the day clad in a diaper or altogether naked?
By Sunday night I was torched, but it was the kind of complete, deep and happy exhaustion one gets after a vacation full of laughs and love. Thanks to all who planned, traveled, cooked and otherwise contributed to make the weekend as spectacular as it was.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Girls Gone Wild
This past weekend was yet another celebratory event in the YOJ (Year of Jen), as she prepares for her upcoming nuptials in September. An entourage of nine bright and beautiful women headed up to Beaver Creek for a lovely mountain getaway - an afternoon at the spa, dinner and dancing in one of Vail's finer (or only) clubs, and for the first time in awhile for me at least, lots upon lots of champagne.
So, just a few observations from the weekend...
- Given the attention from an entire soccer team and a large bachelor party (most of whom started out conversations with something like 'We're married with kids and not trying to pick you up, but you all seem like fun...), despite being in our mid 30s and almost all having children (some as recently as June), we are still cute, ladies. And it is validation that my personal approach is working, that being that as long as you can possibly avoid it you should never look like you have cancer.
- Occasionally pulling the cancer card is OK - like when it gets you the hot stones add-on for free during your massage.
- Has anyone tried a Cherry Bomb? A shot of cherry vodka mixed with red bull...not only surprisingly tasty, but very helpful in avoiding a nap in the corner when you're going to be up until 3 am.
- Cocktail, cocktail, water, cocktail, water, cocktail, water...
- Jeni C., I love when you let your freak flag fly - and I'm pretty sure that was NOT the first time you worked a whip.
- I've been so lucky that the timing of this and other events has been just right, usually falling during an off-chemo week, allowing me to do more than just participate, but to really engage and enjoy my time with family and friends - and that is what feeds the unconquerable soul and keeps me motivated through each treatment.
- I reject the term 'victim' with my whole heart and mind.
- Though Steve is absolutely willing to let Van be the dirty kid and feed on nothing but cheese and chips, Van himself is thankfully getting smart enough to tell Dad when he needs a shower or a banana.
- Time away is wonderful, but so is coming home to shouts of 'It's my Mommy, my Mommy's home!'
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Three Times a Charm
Wrapped third round of chemo yesterday. 37.5% done. Five more to go. I actually feel better than I did on the first two rounds, largely because of my brilliant husband.
You see, though I don't have an addictive personality, I'm somewhat freaked out by the Ambien prescription my oncologist dished out at our first visit. No, I'm sleeping like a baby, I said back in January...now that I know I have a really fantastic excuse for being tired, I'm demanding a little less of myself and accepting an early bedtime before the sink is empty, the laundry is folded and the bills are all paid. Great, take it anyway, he said. It won't always be so easy.
Fast forward and he was right. The damn anti-nausea medication is a steroid that feeds insomnia, I can't sleep on my belly like I normally would so there's lots of tossing, and then there's the hot flashes. So the first two sessions I had very little sleep and the one-two punch of that and the declining red blood cell count meant that by Wednesday when the pump came off, I was just completely exhausted. Thursdays were worse - I wandered the halls at work with a dazed look and wan complexion, and most took pity on me, speaking slowly and in gentle tones so as not to startle me.
This Monday evening however, Steve suggested I give the Ambien a shot, retire early to the spare room where I could sleep diagonally, and crank the air conditioning. I love this man, people. I slept better than I have in months. So well in fact that I decided to rinse and repeat on Tuesday night. Three nights seemed a little much for a drug induced slumber, so Wednesday I skipped the Ambien and still slept soundly, the soothing hum of the A/C in the background. So, while I'm still riding out various other side effects, and there's a general feeling of fatigue, I'm sleeping, and that goes a long way.
You see, though I don't have an addictive personality, I'm somewhat freaked out by the Ambien prescription my oncologist dished out at our first visit. No, I'm sleeping like a baby, I said back in January...now that I know I have a really fantastic excuse for being tired, I'm demanding a little less of myself and accepting an early bedtime before the sink is empty, the laundry is folded and the bills are all paid. Great, take it anyway, he said. It won't always be so easy.
Fast forward and he was right. The damn anti-nausea medication is a steroid that feeds insomnia, I can't sleep on my belly like I normally would so there's lots of tossing, and then there's the hot flashes. So the first two sessions I had very little sleep and the one-two punch of that and the declining red blood cell count meant that by Wednesday when the pump came off, I was just completely exhausted. Thursdays were worse - I wandered the halls at work with a dazed look and wan complexion, and most took pity on me, speaking slowly and in gentle tones so as not to startle me.
This Monday evening however, Steve suggested I give the Ambien a shot, retire early to the spare room where I could sleep diagonally, and crank the air conditioning. I love this man, people. I slept better than I have in months. So well in fact that I decided to rinse and repeat on Tuesday night. Three nights seemed a little much for a drug induced slumber, so Wednesday I skipped the Ambien and still slept soundly, the soothing hum of the A/C in the background. So, while I'm still riding out various other side effects, and there's a general feeling of fatigue, I'm sleeping, and that goes a long way.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Tree Skiing
Chemo started again Monday. A few hours in the big chair, back in the office by early afternoon. Poison on pump for 48 hours, and then freedom Wednesday morning. I must admit, though I had every intention of going straight to the office after pump removal, I had to go home and lay down for an hour. I'm realizing that I rev myself up to make it through treatment, but then I crash for about 48 hours after its all over and I just want to sleep...but wouldn't you know it, one of these damn drugs causes insomnia.
I've been told that my side effects will get worse with each of the next six treatments, but that if I haven't had a side effect yet, I likely won't get it going forward. Big sigh of relief. I can live with the headaches and how the new drug changes the taste of food. I keep asking Steve if this or that is bad before dishing it out to Van, and my vanilla yogurt is altogether tasteless. It makes everything feel much, much colder too, to the point of burning, so I'm now drinking lukewarm water. And just when Van has discovered the ice cream man.
I feel like I start to mend by Friday or Saturday though, and by middle of the following week, that full week off between treatments, I'm more like myself. I've been asked several times why I don't take it easy - working full time, entertaining, weekend long festivals, plans for Napa. Am I pushing myself too hard? Wouldn't I rather take some time off?
My best answer is tree skiing. The trick to tree skiing is not to look at the trees, because you'll surely hit them. You have to look between the trees, at those narrow spaces of light that, when navigated just right, offer you safe passage and one hell of a run. Yes, occassionally, there is the errant tree stump lurking beneath a deceiving pillow of fresh powder, waiting to toss you ass over teakettle - but you've got to know your terrain and anticipate variable conditions. And when you do need to sit a run out, there's usually a fireside bar serving cold beer on tap...
I've been told that my side effects will get worse with each of the next six treatments, but that if I haven't had a side effect yet, I likely won't get it going forward. Big sigh of relief. I can live with the headaches and how the new drug changes the taste of food. I keep asking Steve if this or that is bad before dishing it out to Van, and my vanilla yogurt is altogether tasteless. It makes everything feel much, much colder too, to the point of burning, so I'm now drinking lukewarm water. And just when Van has discovered the ice cream man.
I feel like I start to mend by Friday or Saturday though, and by middle of the following week, that full week off between treatments, I'm more like myself. I've been asked several times why I don't take it easy - working full time, entertaining, weekend long festivals, plans for Napa. Am I pushing myself too hard? Wouldn't I rather take some time off?
My best answer is tree skiing. The trick to tree skiing is not to look at the trees, because you'll surely hit them. You have to look between the trees, at those narrow spaces of light that, when navigated just right, offer you safe passage and one hell of a run. Yes, occassionally, there is the errant tree stump lurking beneath a deceiving pillow of fresh powder, waiting to toss you ass over teakettle - but you've got to know your terrain and anticipate variable conditions. And when you do need to sit a run out, there's usually a fireside bar serving cold beer on tap...
Monday, June 28, 2010
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.
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.
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