Eric doesn't want me to post a picture of him in his adorable pirate costume! I can't imagine why he's being obstructionist.
I had an appointment with my oncologist yesterday. It was cursory. He's a fast-talking-you-look-great kinda doctor.
He said I looked good bald... that not every woman can "pull it off". "Good for you", was his comment when I told him I don't have a wig.
Odd.
I didn't expect anything to come from the appointment and nothing did.
Last night I had a fever. It was all about the couch, and apple juice, and the soft, lovely, blanket I confiscated from my mother-in-law.
The jury's still out on today. BUT... a day devoted to ghouls and ghosts and horrors is an appropriate ending to Breast Cancer Awareness month, in my opinion.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Monday
This morning Eric is still 300% more handsome than the next most handsome man. Wait 'til you see him in his pirate costume!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Sunday
It was a quiet post-chemotherapy weekend. Now it's nearly over. I'm going to the hospital on Monday, Thursday, and Friday of the upcoming week.
It's close. That's good, right?
I mean, I guess this is it. This is what my life is now...? It's hard to believe it. I just don't know. Live longer or die sooner -- feel better now, or feel worse sooner rather than later...? This feels like a constant narrowing of possibilities. I guess on accounta it IS a constant narrowing of possibilities.
I love Eric. I want to spend as much time with Eric as I can, now, because I'm afraid my bones will continue to miss him when they're ground to dust. Dramatic, I know.
It's close. That's good, right?
I mean, I guess this is it. This is what my life is now...? It's hard to believe it. I just don't know. Live longer or die sooner -- feel better now, or feel worse sooner rather than later...? This feels like a constant narrowing of possibilities. I guess on accounta it IS a constant narrowing of possibilities.
I love Eric. I want to spend as much time with Eric as I can, now, because I'm afraid my bones will continue to miss him when they're ground to dust. Dramatic, I know.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Let's see...
I had chemo yesterday, Friday, and it was a loooong day of sitting in the blue plastic recliner. First I had a 30-minute treatment with some drug to dissolve whatever was blocking my port. Then I had two antihistamines and one steriod to avoid an allergic reaction. Next I had Avastin, Taxol, and Aredia. The whole shebang took 6.5 hours, which is actually 6.75 hours longer than I ever want to be there again (using the new math).
I can't complain this morning. Eric is handsome and makes a good cup of joe. It looks like it'll be another sunny, breezy, day. I'm content.
OH, and remember the woman who asked me for my prognosis in the parking lot? Turns out that she's one of those super sen-see-tive (and least in regards to herSELF), crying, weak, the-world-must-take-care-of-me types. Apparently she has a history of having "nervous breakdowns", gaining 100 pounds, and leaving her job for a year or two. She did this twice.
SO... she wrote me an email that wasn't an apology, even though the subject line read "Apology".
Essentially it said that she's a very caring a woman, and wanted to show her concern for me, and she's sorry if her asking about me appeared insensitive.
I read it, I laughed, and I ignored it -- not knowing all of the above re: her teary, wounded, nature.
I intended to respond in a day or two with something nice, because who needs to be mean? Who has time for it?
But, when I did not respond quickly, she took her show on the road. Apparently she went crying near and far. She told many people that she-was-just-trying-to-be-nice and marthas-so-sensitve and (my favorite part) SHE CAN'T STOP CRYING ABOUT IT, and she can't sleep. She can't concentrate on her work, she doesn't know what to do...
She feels sick, her hands are shaking....
She called her sister LONG DISTANCE (Wow. Did she have to get Johnboy to drive her to Ike's store to make the call?) and cried to her sister....
So. A couple people came to me with this story, and one person came to NM with this story. I had been having a lovely day up till that point! But NM reported to me that the person she spoke with was very concerned about The Crier, and felt that I was being unrealistic in expecting no one to ask me how I'm doing. Mary explained what had REALLY happened, but seemed to think that it was the tip of the iceberg in terms of all those folks the crier had told.
Okay.
Some people are snivelers, and some people get on with their lives. At first I thought it was pretty dumb that I had to take care of the sniveler -- who had engendered so much sympathy -- when EYE'm the one who's sick. But then I saw it the larger context. I don't want people treating me like a crying child, and I don't want to be that manipulative (which is the flipside of being a crying child as an adult).
So I wrote her a sweet and funny email, and told her that of course we were friends, and that it was all good.
Her response was effusive. She wrote that she had tears in her eyes as she typed.
Whatever.
Now I'm off to get breakfast.
I can't complain this morning. Eric is handsome and makes a good cup of joe. It looks like it'll be another sunny, breezy, day. I'm content.
OH, and remember the woman who asked me for my prognosis in the parking lot? Turns out that she's one of those super sen-see-tive (and least in regards to herSELF), crying, weak, the-world-must-take-care-of-me types. Apparently she has a history of having "nervous breakdowns", gaining 100 pounds, and leaving her job for a year or two. She did this twice.
SO... she wrote me an email that wasn't an apology, even though the subject line read "Apology".
Essentially it said that she's a very caring a woman, and wanted to show her concern for me, and she's sorry if her asking about me appeared insensitive.
I read it, I laughed, and I ignored it -- not knowing all of the above re: her teary, wounded, nature.
I intended to respond in a day or two with something nice, because who needs to be mean? Who has time for it?
But, when I did not respond quickly, she took her show on the road. Apparently she went crying near and far. She told many people that she-was-just-trying-to-be-nice and marthas-so-sensitve and (my favorite part) SHE CAN'T STOP CRYING ABOUT IT, and she can't sleep. She can't concentrate on her work, she doesn't know what to do...
She feels sick, her hands are shaking....
She called her sister LONG DISTANCE (Wow. Did she have to get Johnboy to drive her to Ike's store to make the call?) and cried to her sister....
So. A couple people came to me with this story, and one person came to NM with this story. I had been having a lovely day up till that point! But NM reported to me that the person she spoke with was very concerned about The Crier, and felt that I was being unrealistic in expecting no one to ask me how I'm doing. Mary explained what had REALLY happened, but seemed to think that it was the tip of the iceberg in terms of all those folks the crier had told.
Okay.
Some people are snivelers, and some people get on with their lives. At first I thought it was pretty dumb that I had to take care of the sniveler -- who had engendered so much sympathy -- when EYE'm the one who's sick. But then I saw it the larger context. I don't want people treating me like a crying child, and I don't want to be that manipulative (which is the flipside of being a crying child as an adult).
So I wrote her a sweet and funny email, and told her that of course we were friends, and that it was all good.
Her response was effusive. She wrote that she had tears in her eyes as she typed.
Whatever.
Now I'm off to get breakfast.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
G'morning
I'm drinking coffee and taking inventory -- wiggling my toes, listening for wheezing, making tiny adjustments to my hyper-calibrated "internal sense" of cancer pro-and-hopefully-re-gression.
I have chemo on Friday. I shaved my head 11 days ago. Luana is coming to visit from Hawaii this weekend. ONE of those statements is a good, good, thing!
I have chemo on Friday. I shaved my head 11 days ago. Luana is coming to visit from Hawaii this weekend. ONE of those statements is a good, good, thing!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Oh well.
I went to a grocery store at lunch today to scan the aisles for otc products to fix my various chemotherapy complaints. I needed something for my hands and feet, which are cracked and painful. I needed an alcohol-free mouthwash for the sores in my mouth.
The woman who rang up my items asked: Did you find everything you need, Mr. Price?
I drove back to work, and was hailed in the parking lot by a woman whose name and position I don' t know. She told me that she hadn't known that I was sick until I started wearing a hat.
She asked me if I was going to be okay, and she asked for my prognosis.
I told her that I wasn't going to be okay, and that I was terminally ill. She gasped. I told her to be careful about asking for prognoses. I walked away mad.
She called after me, and wanted to know if she could give me a hug. I told her I was good.
Why the hell would a woman I don' t know ask me for my prognosis in a parking lot? What was I supposed to say? Should I lie, or speak in vagaries, or tell the truth? For fuck's sake. It's not fair.
It's not fair that I have cancer, and it's not fair that my cuticles look like they've been buffed with sandpaper, and it's not fair that eating and drinking is painful, and it's not fair that I'm cornered in a parking lots by well intentioned and poorly mannered dimwits.
Just a cranky day, I guess. I'll work on a better mood tomorrow.
The woman who rang up my items asked: Did you find everything you need, Mr. Price?
I drove back to work, and was hailed in the parking lot by a woman whose name and position I don' t know. She told me that she hadn't known that I was sick until I started wearing a hat.
She asked me if I was going to be okay, and she asked for my prognosis.
I told her that I wasn't going to be okay, and that I was terminally ill. She gasped. I told her to be careful about asking for prognoses. I walked away mad.
She called after me, and wanted to know if she could give me a hug. I told her I was good.
Why the hell would a woman I don' t know ask me for my prognosis in a parking lot? What was I supposed to say? Should I lie, or speak in vagaries, or tell the truth? For fuck's sake. It's not fair.
It's not fair that I have cancer, and it's not fair that my cuticles look like they've been buffed with sandpaper, and it's not fair that eating and drinking is painful, and it's not fair that I'm cornered in a parking lots by well intentioned and poorly mannered dimwits.
Just a cranky day, I guess. I'll work on a better mood tomorrow.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Yawn
It's Monday, alright. I'm sleepy this morning and could use another hour or three of warm-in-bed time.
I've been aware of the groups Breast Cancer Action and Think Before You Pink for a while now. There was an article in The Chronicle about the October's pink madness.
The rest of the article can be found here .
I've been aware of the groups Breast Cancer Action and Think Before You Pink for a while now. There was an article in The Chronicle about the October's pink madness.
But today, there's a growing "pinklash," made up of critics who fear that pink has become just another marketing tool. Some critics are put off by such pitches as "Eat a Gummy Bear, Save a Life." Others bristle at the mere notion of "Shopping for the Cure."
The rest of the article can be found here .
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Actually, I'll say a little prayer for YOU.
I worked all of last week. It was my first week of baldness, and also my first week off from chemo.
Despite the fact that I'm doing as well as can be expected, and that I'm generally in fine humor, I can't say anything positive about this chemo experience. It would just rankle. So, yes, while having a week off from chemo is better than NOT having a week off from chemo, I can't exactly say that I'm turning back flips about it.
Graham and Leah are here, and it's good to see them.
I'm drinking coffee and checking email. Eric is drinking coffee and reading the paper. I suppose that the world continues to spin on its axis.
Several folks at work have come to me with their cancer tales. They come with intensity and tears or with billows of puffy pink hope, sweet as cotton candy and spun by their mothers, cousins, neighbors, who refused to die and are still alive 112 years later.
There's the woman who cried and cried as she described her mother's valiant fight against The Beast. She told me to never give up... never give in....
There's the fella whose 19 year old son is dying from an inoperable brain tumor. He cried and showed me the picture. His shoulders shook and he gulped for air. He said his son's life is nearly over, and his family is devastated and broken.
There's the nurse who told me story after story of the friends, family, and patients she's known who've died from cancer. They suffered greatly. She-told-me-and-I-quote: Martha, I know that you're praying for a quick death.
I am bald and I am dying and I am trying to live until I die (which is the trick and the toughest part, only made easier by my darling and most wonderful husband).
My circumstances have changed, but I haven't changed. I listen to their stories and I offer tissues. I think about how I wouldn't trade with them. Not ever. Not even now. They're all nice folks. Just... wow.
Despite the fact that I'm doing as well as can be expected, and that I'm generally in fine humor, I can't say anything positive about this chemo experience. It would just rankle. So, yes, while having a week off from chemo is better than NOT having a week off from chemo, I can't exactly say that I'm turning back flips about it.
Graham and Leah are here, and it's good to see them.
I'm drinking coffee and checking email. Eric is drinking coffee and reading the paper. I suppose that the world continues to spin on its axis.
Several folks at work have come to me with their cancer tales. They come with intensity and tears or with billows of puffy pink hope, sweet as cotton candy and spun by their mothers, cousins, neighbors, who refused to die and are still alive 112 years later.
There's the woman who cried and cried as she described her mother's valiant fight against The Beast. She told me to never give up... never give in....
There's the fella whose 19 year old son is dying from an inoperable brain tumor. He cried and showed me the picture. His shoulders shook and he gulped for air. He said his son's life is nearly over, and his family is devastated and broken.
There's the nurse who told me story after story of the friends, family, and patients she's known who've died from cancer. They suffered greatly. She-told-me-and-I-quote: Martha, I know that you're praying for a quick death.
I am bald and I am dying and I am trying to live until I die (which is the trick and the toughest part, only made easier by my darling and most wonderful husband).
My circumstances have changed, but I haven't changed. I listen to their stories and I offer tissues. I think about how I wouldn't trade with them. Not ever. Not even now. They're all nice folks. Just... wow.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Why not orange? It's nearly Halloween, isn't it?
Pink. Pink. Pink.
I read a few blogs written by women who have or have had breast cancer. This is one situation where the Have Nots are sitting prettier than the Haves. For reals.
So... I'm reading a blog, and the woman writes excitedly about all of the pink pink pink pink everywhere.
She makes reference to pink products by Serta mattress, KitchenAid, and Tic Tacs. There are pink Fuji digital cameras and Ford Motor Company has a line of cancer pink clothing. Wilson is selling pink tennis balls. There's a Better Homes and Gardens special edition pink plaid cookbook. She couldn't be more delighted. And then she writes:
Hmmmm. There's no honor in dying of cancer, I suppose.
Money for research is a good thing. Money for research is a good thing. I'll keep telling myself that when I start to feel that I'm drowning in a sea of...
Pink.
I read a few blogs written by women who have or have had breast cancer. This is one situation where the Have Nots are sitting prettier than the Haves. For reals.
So... I'm reading a blog, and the woman writes excitedly about all of the pink pink pink pink everywhere.
She makes reference to pink products by Serta mattress, KitchenAid, and Tic Tacs. There are pink Fuji digital cameras and Ford Motor Company has a line of cancer pink clothing. Wilson is selling pink tennis balls. There's a Better Homes and Gardens special edition pink plaid cookbook. She couldn't be more delighted. And then she writes:
Dear fellow survivors, we are being honored this month. Not for having this disease, but honored for beating it. These people and companies want us to keep on living! This is also a good time to share your experience with co-workers, neighbors and acquaintances.
Hmmmm. There's no honor in dying of cancer, I suppose.
Money for research is a good thing. Money for research is a good thing. I'll keep telling myself that when I start to feel that I'm drowning in a sea of...
Pink.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Will October never end?
Sigh.
Thursday's "Grey's Anatomy" features breast cancer storyline and Ford Warriors in Pink gear. What makes ABC's hottest show even hotter? How about the entire cast sporting Ford's Warriors in Pink gear and helping to educate millions of viewers through a breast cancer story line!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Well, that's done.
I'm at work and I've made the rounds of my immediate co-workers -- smiling, laughing, complaining about how cold my head is (which is true). I've probably acted more jolly than I feel, but I think that's a good thing in the long run.
Getting to be bald was hard. I didn't want it, I didn't like it, and the hair falling, falling, falling was upsetting. Getting here was hard, but being bald is okay. It's not my preferance, but it's okay. It's funny... it's like for a little while I'd forgotten who I am, which is someone who largely doesn't give a damn.
Somehow I was transported back to the seventh grade. And I'll tell you the truth: walking to Marshall Junior High School each morning (before I started walking to El Dorado Park every day instead) was a hell of a lot harder than walking into work today without hair. Today I have a right to take up space in the universe, and then I wanted to apologize for every step and misstep and breath.
I'm sure that someone will say something dumb today, because why should today be any different from any other day? And I know that as long as I'm bald, there will be times when I think it sucks.
But right now, today, it's ooookay -- a happy work precedent, and a trend that I think will continue.
Getting to be bald was hard. I didn't want it, I didn't like it, and the hair falling, falling, falling was upsetting. Getting here was hard, but being bald is okay. It's not my preferance, but it's okay. It's funny... it's like for a little while I'd forgotten who I am, which is someone who largely doesn't give a damn.
Somehow I was transported back to the seventh grade. And I'll tell you the truth: walking to Marshall Junior High School each morning (before I started walking to El Dorado Park every day instead) was a hell of a lot harder than walking into work today without hair. Today I have a right to take up space in the universe, and then I wanted to apologize for every step and misstep and breath.
I'm sure that someone will say something dumb today, because why should today be any different from any other day? And I know that as long as I'm bald, there will be times when I think it sucks.
But right now, today, it's ooookay -- a happy work precedent, and a trend that I think will continue.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
YakYakYak
I guess I've been grousing quite a bit lately. It's real enough, but it doesn't paint the full picture of my days. I go to work and get stuff done and laugh & laugh -- NM is a laugher, and CN is fodder for hilarity if I've ever seen it. Along with NM I laugh more at work than anyone else. People wander by and tell me (half-jokingly) to get back to work, or they wished that THEY were having such a good day, etc. Whatever. So I have a pretty good time at work, and then there's Eric at home. Eric at home is the icing on the cake, and the cake, and the cake plate.
Still, these days aren't my favorite among days. I'm trying to do things I know will help. I'll probably... probably... feel better when I chop off my hair this weekend. Keeping it though this week is pushing it, and the falling hair is hard to manage.
It makes me feel defeated. If I was a poster child for cancer five years ago, I was in that group that I was fighting to be "cured". Now I'm just some dying wretch, with no good answers for the inevitable questions. How long will your treatment last? I've gotten that one already.
What can the doctors do for you?
I've been prepping people at work for my hair loss, and they have lots o' questions about cancer. They're nice, and they're fearful. I have to explain things a few times ... that breast cancer is still breast cancer, even when it's in your bones. How it gets there. Why they can't just make it go away.
At lunch yesterday I had a disagreement with a woman about chemotherapy. She felt that my current treatment is NOT chemotherapy, and wouldn't be dissuaded. Eventually I just gave up with a shrug. It doesn't matter.
This is the boringest blog entry ever.
Somehow this blog ended up on an online list of resources for women with breast cancer -- for women seeking information and support. This is a very bad idea.
If you're one of those women: Welcome! I'd be delighted to have you stay... but this is just one person's story, and she's been grousing quite a bit lately.
I'm off to work!
Still, these days aren't my favorite among days. I'm trying to do things I know will help. I'll probably... probably... feel better when I chop off my hair this weekend. Keeping it though this week is pushing it, and the falling hair is hard to manage.
It makes me feel defeated. If I was a poster child for cancer five years ago, I was in that group that I was fighting to be "cured". Now I'm just some dying wretch, with no good answers for the inevitable questions. How long will your treatment last? I've gotten that one already.
What can the doctors do for you?
I've been prepping people at work for my hair loss, and they have lots o' questions about cancer. They're nice, and they're fearful. I have to explain things a few times ... that breast cancer is still breast cancer, even when it's in your bones. How it gets there. Why they can't just make it go away.
At lunch yesterday I had a disagreement with a woman about chemotherapy. She felt that my current treatment is NOT chemotherapy, and wouldn't be dissuaded. Eventually I just gave up with a shrug. It doesn't matter.
This is the boringest blog entry ever.
Somehow this blog ended up on an online list of resources for women with breast cancer -- for women seeking information and support. This is a very bad idea.
If you're one of those women: Welcome! I'd be delighted to have you stay... but this is just one person's story, and she's been grousing quite a bit lately.
I'm off to work!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Hmph.
I left work yesterday in the early afternoon. I was tired and worn out and tired. I tried to cancel my appointment in chemotherapy for a blood draw -- the normal lab-types can't access my port -- but the chemo nurse on the phone harangued me into coming in. She really did. All I wanted was to sleep.
When she saw me she said that I didn't look myself. She took my vitals, asked a few questions, and couldn't successfully access my port for the draw. It was very frustrating. Why did I have surgery to have a permanent port installed in my body, effectively turning me into some sort of Borg, if I'm still going to wind up teary eyed and desperate while some thoroughly-rattled nurse tries to find a vein?
So, over an hour and I don't know how many pricks later, I limped my way home.
I went to bed at 7:30 PM, and instantly fell asleep. Now I'm just up, twelve hours later, and I'm getting ready to go back for more chemo and fun.
The nurse reminded me that the drug I'm taking is one of the best tolerated. Yeah, okay. I understand that it could be worse. Being really tired, having my hair fall out in small clumps, and having a perpetually bloody nose... these things are small potatoes in the range of possible chemotherapy side effects. Is this another one of those blessings I'm supposed to count?
It's too goddamn early to be having such a bad fucking day.
When she saw me she said that I didn't look myself. She took my vitals, asked a few questions, and couldn't successfully access my port for the draw. It was very frustrating. Why did I have surgery to have a permanent port installed in my body, effectively turning me into some sort of Borg, if I'm still going to wind up teary eyed and desperate while some thoroughly-rattled nurse tries to find a vein?
So, over an hour and I don't know how many pricks later, I limped my way home.
I went to bed at 7:30 PM, and instantly fell asleep. Now I'm just up, twelve hours later, and I'm getting ready to go back for more chemo and fun.
The nurse reminded me that the drug I'm taking is one of the best tolerated. Yeah, okay. I understand that it could be worse. Being really tired, having my hair fall out in small clumps, and having a perpetually bloody nose... these things are small potatoes in the range of possible chemotherapy side effects. Is this another one of those blessings I'm supposed to count?
It's too goddamn early to be having such a bad fucking day.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Sleepy
The thing is ... if I felt okay, I wouldn't be all that worried about dying. I could ignore my impending death fairly well, in much the same manner I used to ignore overdue library books and parking tickets.
I have a well developed ability to ignore stuff. Life most gifts, it's a blessing and a curse. It's a nifty trick, though, when trying to live happily during trying times.
I find these times to be trying.
I'm having a hard time stringing words together lately. I don't know what to say about this treatment. Tomorrow I'm getting more blood work done, and Tuesday I'm having chemo again. I guess I'm not going to say anything about it at all. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to do it for another cycle, and then I'm going to reevaluate the treatment plan. We'll see.
I've been missing my friends. You know who you are. You're the folks who've called and written and who haven't received responses. I know you know that I love you -- it's just the way it is right now. I'm a little sick and a little sad and a lot tired. I don't know what's coming around the corner. I hope that it's better.
I have a well developed ability to ignore stuff. Life most gifts, it's a blessing and a curse. It's a nifty trick, though, when trying to live happily during trying times.
I find these times to be trying.
I'm having a hard time stringing words together lately. I don't know what to say about this treatment. Tomorrow I'm getting more blood work done, and Tuesday I'm having chemo again. I guess I'm not going to say anything about it at all. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to do it for another cycle, and then I'm going to reevaluate the treatment plan. We'll see.
I've been missing my friends. You know who you are. You're the folks who've called and written and who haven't received responses. I know you know that I love you -- it's just the way it is right now. I'm a little sick and a little sad and a lot tired. I don't know what's coming around the corner. I hope that it's better.
Friday, October 06, 2006
The Ladies Surf
I feel kinda bad because I can see what searches bring people to this blog, and I know that most of them are women with cancer.
I want to post a permanent disclaimer for them... that their mileage may vary... that they're going to live for a long, long, time.
I hope they do.
I want to post a permanent disclaimer for them... that their mileage may vary... that they're going to live for a long, long, time.
I hope they do.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Does anybody really know what time it is?
I'm at work, just-under-half-way done with the elementary school immunization audits. It's a big project.
I feel okay. I have some bone pain at the proximal aspect of my left femur. Beyond that I can't complain.
I've started telling my co-workers that I have cancer on accounta I'll be losing my hair soon. It's funny... the higher ranking folks (psychologists, directors, etc) have all gabbed. I told only the two directors who are in my chain of command, but apparently they told everyone else at their level.
But the two or three secretary-types that I told didn't say a word. None of the people who I have so much more interaction with have any idea.
The response has been warm and supportive. It's interesting that across the board I've been asked if it "runs" in my family.
There's a need to make sense of it, I think. Also there's a need to distance themselves from it. Just in general, these folks are fearful. They're afraid of immigrants and they're afraid their children will have less they had, and they're afraid of crime and they're afraid of cancer, and they really don't understand any of it.
But... they look sad when I tell them I have cancer. They say they think it's awful. They tell me that I have a great attitude and they never woulda guessed. And then they keep eating lunch with me and lauging at my jokes. I don't think I could ask for much more than that.
I feel okay. I have some bone pain at the proximal aspect of my left femur. Beyond that I can't complain.
I've started telling my co-workers that I have cancer on accounta I'll be losing my hair soon. It's funny... the higher ranking folks (psychologists, directors, etc) have all gabbed. I told only the two directors who are in my chain of command, but apparently they told everyone else at their level.
But the two or three secretary-types that I told didn't say a word. None of the people who I have so much more interaction with have any idea.
The response has been warm and supportive. It's interesting that across the board I've been asked if it "runs" in my family.
There's a need to make sense of it, I think. Also there's a need to distance themselves from it. Just in general, these folks are fearful. They're afraid of immigrants and they're afraid their children will have less they had, and they're afraid of crime and they're afraid of cancer, and they really don't understand any of it.
But... they look sad when I tell them I have cancer. They say they think it's awful. They tell me that I have a great attitude and they never woulda guessed. And then they keep eating lunch with me and lauging at my jokes. I don't think I could ask for much more than that.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Nurses Nurses Everywhere
I slept through much of the infusion yesterday. The benadryl made me sleepy, sleepy... I napped away much of the afternoon at home, as well.
At night I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned until the wee hours. It must have been 3:00 or 4:00 AM before I finally fell asleep. I'm still going to work, though. It's a particularly busy time of year and I don't want to fall too far behind. It's good for my head to go to work. I don't want it to become a burden.
I didn't even see Unsolicited Advice Nurse. I had Frog Nurse. She collects frogs, and her scrubs often are covered with frogs. She has frog pins on her ID. She's a jovially efficient nurses, and I have no problems with her.
I also had a visit from Berkeley Nurse. She also works at the Comprehensive Cancer Center, and she's big on empowering patients to seek complimentary therapies. She stuck her head in to talk to me about supplements to stave off neuropathy (which I believe I'm already developing .... not a good sign).
I also saw the nurse who I most liked from the Infusion Suite. She's back from maternity leave with pictures of a beautiful shining smiling baby who she says wakes up laughing. She was obviously sad that I'd moved on to chemotherapy. It definitely showed in her voice and demeanor. She hugged me twice, and admired my port. More times than anyone she had struggled to find a vein for infusions. For some reason it didn't bother me as much when she did it, though.
Finally, though -- the icing on the nurse cake -- there's Crazy Nurse. At work on Monday, Crazy nurse talked to me about illness. I need to go get ready for work, so I'll make this brief. CN had this to say:
1. My hair is looking thin.
2. The hardest part for her would be not knowing exactly when she would die. She didn't think she would be able to do that.
3. Have the doctors told me how long I have exactly?
4. Did I have any idea, a gut feeling, about how long I have to live?
5. I couldn't just die, just like that, and leave them (work).
6. Oh, also, or leave Eric.
7. How did I feel about leaving Eric?
8. Liver mets are very, very, bad.
9. The way I feel about the disease can change the course of the disease. Was I going to fight it?
10. Have I started the stages yet? Grief, anger, acceptance....?
She stood very close to , withing two feet of me, as I sat. The above is a monolgue that took her about 30 minutes.
It made me laugh.
Here's what I said to her:
I don't think that it's linear progression through stages. I don't like to talk about cancer very much because it's not where I choose to focus my attention. I don't believe that the cancer cells are going to respond to my thoughts. There are millions of biochemical interactions in our body every moment. Our thoughts have some effect on a few of them. Thoughts aren't going to save my life.
There are certain statistics that are true for people in my situation. They can predict life span for a population. A statisic can't predict lifespan for an inidividual. My intention is to live life as happily as I can, while I can. In some ways, My situation is no different from anyone else. I have today to live and tomorrow is an illusion. I've been stripped of the comfortable dream of immortality. Yes, I know you don't think you're immortal with your head, but you don't carry the knowledge of your mortality in the forefront of your brain. You don't carry it in your heart. Mostly want I want is to live as normally as possible, and toward that end I'm asking people to not address the issue of my disease unless they really must.
I think that effectively shut her down for a while.
Can you believe that she's a nurse?
Off to work!
At night I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned until the wee hours. It must have been 3:00 or 4:00 AM before I finally fell asleep. I'm still going to work, though. It's a particularly busy time of year and I don't want to fall too far behind. It's good for my head to go to work. I don't want it to become a burden.
I didn't even see Unsolicited Advice Nurse. I had Frog Nurse. She collects frogs, and her scrubs often are covered with frogs. She has frog pins on her ID. She's a jovially efficient nurses, and I have no problems with her.
I also had a visit from Berkeley Nurse. She also works at the Comprehensive Cancer Center, and she's big on empowering patients to seek complimentary therapies. She stuck her head in to talk to me about supplements to stave off neuropathy (which I believe I'm already developing .... not a good sign).
I also saw the nurse who I most liked from the Infusion Suite. She's back from maternity leave with pictures of a beautiful shining smiling baby who she says wakes up laughing. She was obviously sad that I'd moved on to chemotherapy. It definitely showed in her voice and demeanor. She hugged me twice, and admired my port. More times than anyone she had struggled to find a vein for infusions. For some reason it didn't bother me as much when she did it, though.
Finally, though -- the icing on the nurse cake -- there's Crazy Nurse. At work on Monday, Crazy nurse talked to me about illness. I need to go get ready for work, so I'll make this brief. CN had this to say:
1. My hair is looking thin.
2. The hardest part for her would be not knowing exactly when she would die. She didn't think she would be able to do that.
3. Have the doctors told me how long I have exactly?
4. Did I have any idea, a gut feeling, about how long I have to live?
5. I couldn't just die, just like that, and leave them (work).
6. Oh, also, or leave Eric.
7. How did I feel about leaving Eric?
8. Liver mets are very, very, bad.
9. The way I feel about the disease can change the course of the disease. Was I going to fight it?
10. Have I started the stages yet? Grief, anger, acceptance....?
She stood very close to , withing two feet of me, as I sat. The above is a monolgue that took her about 30 minutes.
It made me laugh.
Here's what I said to her:
I don't think that it's linear progression through stages. I don't like to talk about cancer very much because it's not where I choose to focus my attention. I don't believe that the cancer cells are going to respond to my thoughts. There are millions of biochemical interactions in our body every moment. Our thoughts have some effect on a few of them. Thoughts aren't going to save my life.
There are certain statistics that are true for people in my situation. They can predict life span for a population. A statisic can't predict lifespan for an inidividual. My intention is to live life as happily as I can, while I can. In some ways, My situation is no different from anyone else. I have today to live and tomorrow is an illusion. I've been stripped of the comfortable dream of immortality. Yes, I know you don't think you're immortal with your head, but you don't carry the knowledge of your mortality in the forefront of your brain. You don't carry it in your heart. Mostly want I want is to live as normally as possible, and toward that end I'm asking people to not address the issue of my disease unless they really must.
I think that effectively shut her down for a while.
Can you believe that she's a nurse?
Off to work!
Monday, October 02, 2006
G'night
I'm working tomorrow (today, really... Monday), although I'm leaving a bit early to get some blood work done. On Tuesday I'm having my second infusion of Taxol. I'm not psyched. My scalp is starting to have that funny, buzzing, tingley sensation that I remember as a precursor to hair loss. I guess I should find my soft hats for cold mornings.
The weekend was fine. The best part of it, as always, was spending time with Eric. He's still the sweetest man and my favorite person. That will never change.
The weekend was fine. The best part of it, as always, was spending time with Eric. He's still the sweetest man and my favorite person. That will never change.
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