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.

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...

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.