This was as close to a 'normal' week as any I can remember over the last 6 months.
Beyond some pain that isn't worth discussing, I had no medical issues. No chemotherapy, no surgery, noone digging, cutting, piercing or poisoning. Noone touching me.
It's odd how something so banal can be so sweet. I took real pleasure in having a week off any kind of treatment.
What if doctors would consider this when planning a course of treatment? Would the benefit of a week off just outweigh rushing into the next step of treatment?
On Monday I'm due to be measured and kitted out for my forthcoming radiation experience. After that, the rest of the week off again. I'm going away for a few days. My first flight since December 31st. Long dreamt about, but now that is is looming, I'm not so sure. Staying home is quite an adventure unto itself.
Slowly, I feel myself healing from the chemotherapy. Hair has begun to grow. Horribly, in the least desireable places first. Did I expect anything different? I suspect my new head hair is going to be a lot whiter than before, but we shall see. My skin is starting to feel human again. I probably never wrote about the clammy creepy crinkly feeling my own skin gave me towards the end of chemo. Noone else noticed, but I could feel it. Most of all, I seem to have more energy than before and lots of enthusiasm, without too much to direct it at.
I started walking/running. Very little. Very slowly. Once again I smelled the earth of the early morning and once again, thrilled at the sweetness of the quiet and loveliness of the world before people start to wake up.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
springing a leak & a man on the job
How odd!! Can you imagine that there's not much difference between us and a blow-up toy that can be punctured? Make a hole big enough and you will leak.
Last week, we were amazed at the size of the paraphenalia that unfurled from the unlikely space near my ribs. Following that, I 'imagined' being sticky in the general area, but along with a lot of less pleasant sensations, I ignored it. On Sunday, I discovered that my blouse was quite stained, so there was no avoiding the fact that yes, I am leaking.
Not to be alarmed. Today, I 'phoned the office of Dr D to check and the reply was that this is actually preferably to not leaking, which can cause problems. So, leaking is good.
Today, very exciting meeting with Dr H, who is going to be my radiation specialist. I have dates and I have times and instead of living in fear, I am enthusiastic to get going and hopeful that it will go well. Dr H inspires confidence and if he is nearly as great as the trio of ladies who have thus far saved my life, he is great enough. A cockerel amongst the hens? Certainly, he is the best dressed of them all.
I know that this sounds like boasting and it probably shows just how pathetic I really am, but I was prety bucked when it was clear that Dr H knew all about my case. Seems they have all been following it closely. Is this a form of negative attention?
Some other little bits of news:
I finally got out for a walk/trot quite early this morning. It was pleasant as anything outside. One cheeky mosquito tried to land on my arm, but I smacked it away, almost bruising myself in the process.
I am taking advantage of the gap in treatments and popping up to NY and CT next week. I know it's a bad time of the year to be in Manhattan, but it's always good to get away after so long at home. I look forward to seeing some of my family too. Actually, I'm scarilly used to being home and almost fear the idea of going away. Who'd have thought?
Last week, we were amazed at the size of the paraphenalia that unfurled from the unlikely space near my ribs. Following that, I 'imagined' being sticky in the general area, but along with a lot of less pleasant sensations, I ignored it. On Sunday, I discovered that my blouse was quite stained, so there was no avoiding the fact that yes, I am leaking.
Not to be alarmed. Today, I 'phoned the office of Dr D to check and the reply was that this is actually preferably to not leaking, which can cause problems. So, leaking is good.
Today, very exciting meeting with Dr H, who is going to be my radiation specialist. I have dates and I have times and instead of living in fear, I am enthusiastic to get going and hopeful that it will go well. Dr H inspires confidence and if he is nearly as great as the trio of ladies who have thus far saved my life, he is great enough. A cockerel amongst the hens? Certainly, he is the best dressed of them all.
I know that this sounds like boasting and it probably shows just how pathetic I really am, but I was prety bucked when it was clear that Dr H knew all about my case. Seems they have all been following it closely. Is this a form of negative attention?
Some other little bits of news:
I finally got out for a walk/trot quite early this morning. It was pleasant as anything outside. One cheeky mosquito tried to land on my arm, but I smacked it away, almost bruising myself in the process.
I am taking advantage of the gap in treatments and popping up to NY and CT next week. I know it's a bad time of the year to be in Manhattan, but it's always good to get away after so long at home. I look forward to seeing some of my family too. Actually, I'm scarilly used to being home and almost fear the idea of going away. Who'd have thought?
Saturday, June 16, 2012
it's out
ON Thursday I had an appointment with the amazing Dr D. She told me that I am healing very well and that the nurse would remove my drain. I expected a little piece of rubber tubing, like the rest of it on the outside, to come out.
Reuven, who has to have his nose right inside whatever's going on, nearly fainted and the look on his face gave me cause for alarm. After a little painful interlude, it was over and I could see why he responded like that: half a ton of 'stuff' had just been pulled from my body. Enough for a good cobbler to make at least two pairs of shoes.
From there, on to the lymphodema specialist, a lovely lady from England. In her quiet accent, she told us that I am in better shape than 99% of the people who come to her following the same procedures. Once again, thank you Dr D.
It's a little more than a day later and I feel very good. Slight nausea from the herceptin last week, which a single tummy pill early in the day fixes. Some pain at night, when I'm tired. We are going to drive up to Gainesville to visit Guy.
Lee is back from Boston and I have yet to hear all of her adventures. Adam is home too, being exploited by a pizza parlour, but no doubt learning about what makes the world tick.
I managed to spend a ton of money last week - work related - but it shows I must be getting back to normal. For me, normal is spending tons of money and then worrying myself stupid about how to make it back.
Reuven, who has to have his nose right inside whatever's going on, nearly fainted and the look on his face gave me cause for alarm. After a little painful interlude, it was over and I could see why he responded like that: half a ton of 'stuff' had just been pulled from my body. Enough for a good cobbler to make at least two pairs of shoes.
From there, on to the lymphodema specialist, a lovely lady from England. In her quiet accent, she told us that I am in better shape than 99% of the people who come to her following the same procedures. Once again, thank you Dr D.
It's a little more than a day later and I feel very good. Slight nausea from the herceptin last week, which a single tummy pill early in the day fixes. Some pain at night, when I'm tired. We are going to drive up to Gainesville to visit Guy.
Lee is back from Boston and I have yet to hear all of her adventures. Adam is home too, being exploited by a pizza parlour, but no doubt learning about what makes the world tick.
I managed to spend a ton of money last week - work related - but it shows I must be getting back to normal. For me, normal is spending tons of money and then worrying myself stupid about how to make it back.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
what's for lunch?
Recently, our pool went off colour.
Our pool guy, Terri, hasn't been around in years, being a boss now, and having people who work for him. But when things go wrong, Terri can be relied upon to come and fix it. So, Reuven talked to Terri, and being Reuven, managed to make the connection between the colour of the water in our never-used swimming pool and the fact that I have cancer. (there is no connection).
The response was atomic and Terri arrived, equipped with magazines and videos and a highly eloquent talk about 'the foods we eat'. To cut a very long story short, he is a vegan and believes you should not cook food above 180degrees ie all food should be eaten/drunk raw. I understand that to start the day, he devours the equivalent of 3 farms, in liquid form. Later on, he eats the debris.
Irony aside, it got me thinking: my food habits are utterly atrocious. I don't have to buy into the entire theory, but I do agree that there is a lot to be said for taking better care of ourselves - that is in my family. Could it be that cancer would have been avoided had I never eaten from another living being? Maybe, some day, we will know. According to Terri, the government has vested interests in keeping the real truth from us, and I do agree with that. But this is not a political blog, so we won't go there.
Terri is passionate and recommended a vegan retreat up in Palm Beach. I looked up the rates, which begin, for dormitory conditions, at over $5000.- per person, per week. They go up a lot. That really puts me off. Benevolence ain't their motivation. But, I would like to go and have a good 'detox' and maybe a massage or Aryuvedic treatment. Anyone know anything good?
Everything is going well. I look forward to having my drains removed and feeling even more 'normal'. I believe my hair has started to grow imperceptibly on my head, more noticeably in other places where I really don't wish it would happen. My blood counts are still low, but acceptible and despite it all, I feel absolutely well (when I don't look in the mirror).
Our pool guy, Terri, hasn't been around in years, being a boss now, and having people who work for him. But when things go wrong, Terri can be relied upon to come and fix it. So, Reuven talked to Terri, and being Reuven, managed to make the connection between the colour of the water in our never-used swimming pool and the fact that I have cancer. (there is no connection).
The response was atomic and Terri arrived, equipped with magazines and videos and a highly eloquent talk about 'the foods we eat'. To cut a very long story short, he is a vegan and believes you should not cook food above 180degrees ie all food should be eaten/drunk raw. I understand that to start the day, he devours the equivalent of 3 farms, in liquid form. Later on, he eats the debris.
Irony aside, it got me thinking: my food habits are utterly atrocious. I don't have to buy into the entire theory, but I do agree that there is a lot to be said for taking better care of ourselves - that is in my family. Could it be that cancer would have been avoided had I never eaten from another living being? Maybe, some day, we will know. According to Terri, the government has vested interests in keeping the real truth from us, and I do agree with that. But this is not a political blog, so we won't go there.
Terri is passionate and recommended a vegan retreat up in Palm Beach. I looked up the rates, which begin, for dormitory conditions, at over $5000.- per person, per week. They go up a lot. That really puts me off. Benevolence ain't their motivation. But, I would like to go and have a good 'detox' and maybe a massage or Aryuvedic treatment. Anyone know anything good?
Everything is going well. I look forward to having my drains removed and feeling even more 'normal'. I believe my hair has started to grow imperceptibly on my head, more noticeably in other places where I really don't wish it would happen. My blood counts are still low, but acceptible and despite it all, I feel absolutely well (when I don't look in the mirror).
Friday, June 8, 2012
CPR
Just back from Dr D.
Best news possible: CPR ie Complete Pathological Response. That means that right now, there is not a single cancer cell to be found in my body. From Stage IV, highly aggressive to nothing at all. Thanks to Herceptin, I hope to stay clean for a very long time.
We are told that there are a number of new drugs in the offing that will work with Herceptin, so that the prognosis will be even better for more people. I hope that I won't even need them - so far Herceptin has saved my life. Two years or so ago, I would have been a 'gonner'. We live in a truly miraculous medical age and may it just go from strength to strength.
Still have drainage tube and little rubber bag coming out of my arm. The plasters sticking into me are driving me nuts. But I feel well and am going to be returning to normal functioning very soon. I also hope to visit NY in the gap before radiation begins. I was going to start thinking about a diet, but then Channah said: wait until after radiation and why not put off something so horrible as a diet?
I am profoundly grateful to everyone: from my wonderful doctors who literally saved my life, to all of the people who gave me support, without which the doctors' work would have been fruitless.
Just think: all this has taken less than 5 months from beginning to end. What a world!!!!
Best news possible: CPR ie Complete Pathological Response. That means that right now, there is not a single cancer cell to be found in my body. From Stage IV, highly aggressive to nothing at all. Thanks to Herceptin, I hope to stay clean for a very long time.
We are told that there are a number of new drugs in the offing that will work with Herceptin, so that the prognosis will be even better for more people. I hope that I won't even need them - so far Herceptin has saved my life. Two years or so ago, I would have been a 'gonner'. We live in a truly miraculous medical age and may it just go from strength to strength.
Still have drainage tube and little rubber bag coming out of my arm. The plasters sticking into me are driving me nuts. But I feel well and am going to be returning to normal functioning very soon. I also hope to visit NY in the gap before radiation begins. I was going to start thinking about a diet, but then Channah said: wait until after radiation and why not put off something so horrible as a diet?
I am profoundly grateful to everyone: from my wonderful doctors who literally saved my life, to all of the people who gave me support, without which the doctors' work would have been fruitless.
Just think: all this has taken less than 5 months from beginning to end. What a world!!!!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The day after
We arrived at the Women's Center, next door to the hospital at about 11am. I was there for the radiologist to insert wires into the appropriate places in my breast and underarm. A quick mammogram before that, to make sure where the two markers, left from the original biopsy are.
After the first 6 or 7 mammograms, I realised something was up. By then, I had 3 radiology technicians pushing, pulling, prodding - all with extreme kindness, but no success. Maybe an hour later, they finally gave up and off we went to try an ultrasound. Squishy gel all over me (so much for being sterile), she could have ironed 5 full loads of laundry, which is more-or-less the same movement around my armpit, in search of the markers. No success.
Off to have an MRI, with by now, about 7 in the entourage. I was promised it would be a quickie. Ha ha. For the uninitiated, an MRI is lieing with one breast in a hole in a very narrow, hard table, the other on an even less comfortable contraption, your face and neck set up for minimal support and maximum breathing obstruction and all this while noise that makes a pneumatic drill sound like a requim to peace, is blasting your whole body. Very quick: at least an hour without moving. But... success must have been part of the deal, because in the midst, Dr Schilling came to pinch and clinch and the wires were inserted. Not out of there before another MRI and then back to the mammogram, where another 30 or so efforts were made to locate whatever was there. I was told not to look.
Finally, I was led back to the waiting Reuven and Channa and with 'just one more mammogram' to interrupt (actually another dozen or so), the quick stage one was over. Besides generally cooperating, I did mutter that if I don't die of breast cancer, I'll definately die from the radiation received yesterday.
By then, I was way late for surgery, which had been scheduled for 2pm. A lady with a wheelchair and chart was adament that 55 years practicising walking wasn't good enough. I had to go to the van in a wheelchair. The van was broken and there was RR talking to a security lady. Oh G-d.. what has he got up to now?? But it turned out that the security lady was due to take us all to the hospital in lieu of the van. RR and Channa hopped in, but the lady with the wheelchair was left behind, so there was a mini drama when we arrived at the hospital without her and the all-important wheelchair and chart.
I finally arrived in a little cublicle to get ready for surgery - seemingly a minor detail after the morning's adventures. The nurse, Fran, is the Mom of one of Lee's best friends from grade 1 or so. What joy to reunite with her - we rushed right out of the surgery area to the waiting area to update RR. As anyone can see, there were much more important issues than having a large slice of my breast removed and a bunch of lymph nodes chopped out too. I was dead to the world for all of that - thank you kind doctors and woke up trussed up like Madonna in all her glory.
Everything is good. with the aid of pain killers, I feel great and hope that we can continue with such success. Dr D did a marvellous job from what I hear. Thanks to absolutely everyone at the hospital for their kindness and great work.
After the first 6 or 7 mammograms, I realised something was up. By then, I had 3 radiology technicians pushing, pulling, prodding - all with extreme kindness, but no success. Maybe an hour later, they finally gave up and off we went to try an ultrasound. Squishy gel all over me (so much for being sterile), she could have ironed 5 full loads of laundry, which is more-or-less the same movement around my armpit, in search of the markers. No success.
Off to have an MRI, with by now, about 7 in the entourage. I was promised it would be a quickie. Ha ha. For the uninitiated, an MRI is lieing with one breast in a hole in a very narrow, hard table, the other on an even less comfortable contraption, your face and neck set up for minimal support and maximum breathing obstruction and all this while noise that makes a pneumatic drill sound like a requim to peace, is blasting your whole body. Very quick: at least an hour without moving. But... success must have been part of the deal, because in the midst, Dr Schilling came to pinch and clinch and the wires were inserted. Not out of there before another MRI and then back to the mammogram, where another 30 or so efforts were made to locate whatever was there. I was told not to look.
Finally, I was led back to the waiting Reuven and Channa and with 'just one more mammogram' to interrupt (actually another dozen or so), the quick stage one was over. Besides generally cooperating, I did mutter that if I don't die of breast cancer, I'll definately die from the radiation received yesterday.
By then, I was way late for surgery, which had been scheduled for 2pm. A lady with a wheelchair and chart was adament that 55 years practicising walking wasn't good enough. I had to go to the van in a wheelchair. The van was broken and there was RR talking to a security lady. Oh G-d.. what has he got up to now?? But it turned out that the security lady was due to take us all to the hospital in lieu of the van. RR and Channa hopped in, but the lady with the wheelchair was left behind, so there was a mini drama when we arrived at the hospital without her and the all-important wheelchair and chart.
I finally arrived in a little cublicle to get ready for surgery - seemingly a minor detail after the morning's adventures. The nurse, Fran, is the Mom of one of Lee's best friends from grade 1 or so. What joy to reunite with her - we rushed right out of the surgery area to the waiting area to update RR. As anyone can see, there were much more important issues than having a large slice of my breast removed and a bunch of lymph nodes chopped out too. I was dead to the world for all of that - thank you kind doctors and woke up trussed up like Madonna in all her glory.
Everything is good. with the aid of pain killers, I feel great and hope that we can continue with such success. Dr D did a marvellous job from what I hear. Thanks to absolutely everyone at the hospital for their kindness and great work.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
June 5th 2012
It's 10.19am and I'm ready to rumble.
Fasting, showered, wearing the requisite button-down shirt.
At 11.30 I will sign into the 'Women's' facility next door to the Boca Raton Regional Hospital, where a radiologist will put wire markers into my chest. A van will then take me next door to the hospital, where, eventually, I am going to be chopped and pithed. I hope to be home tonight.
If I could write huge letters, they would say: thank youuuuu to everyone for all of the support.
Hope to be back with some gruesome, good news as soon as possible.
Again thank youuuu all, and love.
Brenda
Fasting, showered, wearing the requisite button-down shirt.
At 11.30 I will sign into the 'Women's' facility next door to the Boca Raton Regional Hospital, where a radiologist will put wire markers into my chest. A van will then take me next door to the hospital, where, eventually, I am going to be chopped and pithed. I hope to be home tonight.
If I could write huge letters, they would say: thank youuuuu to everyone for all of the support.
Hope to be back with some gruesome, good news as soon as possible.
Again thank youuuu all, and love.
Brenda
.JPG)
Saturday, June 2, 2012
June 2nd 2012
No title to my blog today. It's very difficult for me to write as it's been the toughest time since I was initially diagnosed. All the usual existential questions come to mind: why do things go wrong at the worst possible moment? ; why is everything such a big mess? ; why me? ; and all the rest.
Backing up a little, I probably explained that instead of having a ball between my last major chemo and my surgery, due on June 5th, I got pneumonia. The first week was so horrible that I didn't think about anything at all. After that, I realised that my surgery was in jeopardy. Now, besides a little cough, I have no symptoms and I feel healthy and pretty strong, but, apparrently, it takes about 6 weeks for a catscan to show a change in your lungs and so, the question is do we go forward with the surgery or don't we? With an exponentially aggressive cancer return risk, can I afford to wait?
Doctors don't all know everything about everything, and we have backs and forwards, tests that may not be so necessary, differing opinions, doctors that can't be located, a weekend in the middle and the d-date looming very close. For me, the bottom line so far is what Reuven's cousin, a pulmonary specialist said: you have no temperature, your white blood count is normal: you don't have pneumonia.
This morning, quite early, Reuven and I walked for two miles. A little later, my wonderful yoga teacher, Val came over and game me a special lesson. She told me I'm very strong. Are you listening doctors? I'm very strong.
My new resolution: I'm sick of being jealous in the worst possible way of everyone who tells me about their exotic travels. I am now going to be a person who is happy to stay at home, has no desire to go anywhere and is perfectly content within her own 4 walls. My first project is to think of a project. I have not yet thought of anything that vaguely interests me around here. Too hot to garden, so keep that idea at bay. So far, all I've come up with is the laundry and repeatedly washing dishes. I don't think those are tasks to be ecstatic about, so I have to think of something else. Or maybe not.
Backing up a little, I probably explained that instead of having a ball between my last major chemo and my surgery, due on June 5th, I got pneumonia. The first week was so horrible that I didn't think about anything at all. After that, I realised that my surgery was in jeopardy. Now, besides a little cough, I have no symptoms and I feel healthy and pretty strong, but, apparrently, it takes about 6 weeks for a catscan to show a change in your lungs and so, the question is do we go forward with the surgery or don't we? With an exponentially aggressive cancer return risk, can I afford to wait?
Doctors don't all know everything about everything, and we have backs and forwards, tests that may not be so necessary, differing opinions, doctors that can't be located, a weekend in the middle and the d-date looming very close. For me, the bottom line so far is what Reuven's cousin, a pulmonary specialist said: you have no temperature, your white blood count is normal: you don't have pneumonia.
This morning, quite early, Reuven and I walked for two miles. A little later, my wonderful yoga teacher, Val came over and game me a special lesson. She told me I'm very strong. Are you listening doctors? I'm very strong.
My new resolution: I'm sick of being jealous in the worst possible way of everyone who tells me about their exotic travels. I am now going to be a person who is happy to stay at home, has no desire to go anywhere and is perfectly content within her own 4 walls. My first project is to think of a project. I have not yet thought of anything that vaguely interests me around here. Too hot to garden, so keep that idea at bay. So far, all I've come up with is the laundry and repeatedly washing dishes. I don't think those are tasks to be ecstatic about, so I have to think of something else. Or maybe not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)