The Color Purple...

If you have ever shopped for white paint, you know that there are a crazy amount of different white tones. They range from a neon/bluish white to a yellowish/khaki white. This range of whites represents my skin tone from spring all the way through summer. I don't tan, but I can turn a dark shade of white. Even when I taught windsurfing one entire summer, I did not tan.

If I don't use sunscreen, my skin would represent the pink tones. I am careful about not sunburning my skin because I want to look as good as my grandmothers did in their golden years. They never sunned their skin, and aged beautifully. In her 90's, my grandmother looked better than most face lifts. However, radiation has turned the skin on my left chest and underarm from white to light pink to bright fuchsia.

My newest color is the color purple. I didn't even know that one's skin could turn this color. On the color wheel, my purple skin is closer to red than blue. (blue + red = purple) My toasted skin often itches, and sometime aches. My skin also feels thick and tight, especially under my left arm which looks the most purple. I had to cancel my physical therapy because I couldn't bear someone pulling and stretching my colorful skin.

I look like a doll that was colored by a little girl who loves pink and purple.

Today Chubba drove me to radiation because I was very dizzy this morning. I saw Dr. Dad's nurse about the dizziness, and she told me that is could not be related to radiation, and that I could possibly have a virus. She checked all my vitals, and they were normal. Chubba saw the whole radiation routine. He thought the radiation machine looked like something from "Honey I Shrunk the Kids." There are three radiation rooms, and I am assigned to room #2. Sometimes I will have a new tech rotating in from another room. Today I had a new gal that made a couple of mistakes. Over an intercom, a tech instructs me "inhale" before they turn on each radiation zap, and "breathe" after it goes off. The new tech forgot to tell me to breathe after I had been holding my breath for 20 seconds. Fortunately I had danced these steps a few times, so I knew the routine and that it was okay to breathe. Her second mistake was more disconcerting. She forgot to tell me to "inhale" before she turned on the machine. I heard it go on and quickly inhaled, and moments later she said "inhale." I wanted to yell - "too late!" I hope this one zap of radiation wasn't enough to damage a lung. If she is there tomorrow, I am going to remind her to warn me to "inhale" before the radiation is turned on.

I have two more weeks of radiation. However, I have four weeks of side affects left. I will have a lot to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. Bring on the stuffing and the gravy! (Just don't tell my oncologist who keeps telling me to lose weight. She's right - I can read the scale too.)

This whole cancer - surgery/chemo/radiation thing is getting old and wearing on me. I have never run a marathon, but I imagine this is what the last few miles must feel like. I just need to suck it up and get over the dang finish line.

Whacky thought for the day...
Is "dark shade of white" an oxymoron?

Let It Grow, Let It Grow, Let It Grow...

Oh the weather outside if frightful,
And the fire is so delightful,
New stubble is beginning to show,
Let It Grow, Let It Grow, Let It Grow.

Last week I thought I saw hair growing on my legs so I shaved them for the first time in three months. I might have been premature because they are still as smooth as a baby's behind. However, my head is beginning to show signs of growth. The top of my head is starting to look a little darker, BUT the sides in the front are coming in light - yikes! I am going to look like a reverse skunk - dark in the middle and gray on the sides! I am one of those that doesn't believe in gray hair, but coloring is not an option when it first begins to grow back. There must be some natural, organic, gentle hair coloring that I can use.

I was so cold last night that I wore a ski hat and ski socks to bed. Yes, I was very attractive. I guess if you bald gradually, getting cold at night from the absence of hair is not an issue. In middle of the night, my internal heating mechanism kicked in, aka hot flash, and suddenly the hat and socks sailed across the room.

My radiation rash itched so badly tonight that I thought I was going to lose my mind. It reminded me of the time my brother Roco, as a little boy, broke his leg, got a full leg cast, and then got chicken pox...talk about itching that you can't scratch! (No matter how bad I feel, I know someone has it worse, so I shouldn't whine.) I just kept putting more and more radiation cream on it, and finally it subsided. Are you starting to scratch as you read this? You know, like when someone starts yawning and you begin to yawn too.

Whacky thought for the day...
Why is yawning contagious?

A Walk In The Park...

Many people told me that radiation was going to be easier than chemotherapy. Several doctors, who clearly have not personally experienced radiation or chemotherapy, said that radiation was the "easy part." The only people who did not say that radiation was going to be easy were my radiation oncologist, Dr. Dad, and people who actually walked down the chemotherapy and radiation paths.

I just completed my fourth week of radiation, and it has been no walk in the park. I am battling exhaustion daily. My radiated skin feels tight, and being stretched out on the table/couch reinforces the tight feelings. The techs call the table "couch" when they are adjusting and spinning it to a specific angle to the machine. Believe me, I have napped on several couches, and this table is no couch. I have a rash that looks like an terrible heat rash on the left side of my chest, and behind my left shoulder. The reason I have a rash behind my left shoulder is that even though I am laying on my back, the radiation goes all the way through my body from front to back, affecting the skin on my back. Dr. Dad told me this might happen. The rash itches and I try to regularly put radiation cream on it to sooth the itching and burning. Where there is no rash, the skin if sunburned pink. I look like that person who feel asleep at the beach their side, getting sunburned on one side, and still white on the other. I have three more weeks of radiation fun.

Today I counted the duration of each radiation zap. The first zap lasts 16 seconds, requiring me to inhale and hold my breath for about 18 seconds. I think this long zap targets the chest area where my skin is red and bumpy. The next longest zap was 6 seconds. The rest of the zaps only last 1-3 seconds. I get zapped 10 times each visit.

I actually prefer chemotherapy over radiation. I know this sounds strange. At least with chemotherapy I could take a pill and get over whatever was ailing me. Plus, I was fortunate to have only four cycles of chemo that only took a few hours each treatment. Recently, a breast cancer survivor told me about her neighbor that is going through 17 hours of chemotherapy each cycle for a different kind of cancer. This makes my chemotherapy look like an easy stroll through the park.

Last week Molly went with me to radiation again because she was having asthma issues, and Chubba was on the road. This time she was allowed to stay in the control room and watch everything. She told the techs that I said that part of the machine looks like "noodles." I had to clarify that I said dried spaghetti pasta. They showed her all the parts of the machine, and she saw the spaghetti pasta-like teeth open and close to form different shapes. She said that this was a fun field trip.

Whacky thought for the day...
Hair is more than a head accessory, it provides warmth.
I didn't realize how cold I would feel being bald.

Sadism...

When I signed on for this cancer gig, I didn't realize that torture/physical therapy was part of the package. After surgery, I quickly learned why physical therapy is a necessary part of recovery. During a mastectomy, lymph node removal, and reconstruction a whole bevy of muscles are cut and compromised. In the beginning, it was difficult to do simple things like getting dressed or reaching for a glass in the cupboard. The more I used my arm, the more movement I gained. As they say, "Use it or lose it."

I just complete my first 3 weeks of physical therapy. I went twice a week. Today I graduated to once a week. During physical therapy the therapist stretched and manipulated my left arm in all directions. I didn't realize how many muscles run up and down my chest until these muscles screamed back at me. Several times I almost cried out "uncle" as the therapist stretched my chest, shoulder, and side (lats) muscles to their max. I think that physical therapists must have a slight sadistic side to them.

Whacky thought for the day...
I am thinking of dressing up as Uncle Fester for Halloween.
I have the right hair style, and before make-up to cover my dark circles under my eyes, I am a dead ringer for Uncle Fester. Is he from Addam's Family or The Munsters? We watched both when I was growing up, and I'm not sure which one I favored.

Field Trip...

Today I took the girls out of school so they could accompany me to radiation. Last week they asked if they could go with me one day to radiation, so I asked my radiation oncologist, Dr. Dad, if it was allowed, and he thought it was a good idea to take them on this field trip. Dr. Dad even came to the waiting room this morning to introduce himself and say hello to the girls. Dr. Dad is the perfect nickname for him.

When we arrived, I let Molly check me in by scanning my card. We had to sit in the waiting room an unusually long time. They were running behind by about 20 minutes, which is a first since I began treatment. The girls didn't mind waiting because it meant they were missing more school, and they got to watch tv - which is something they are not allowed to do during the school week. I know, I know...I am a mean, strict mom.

When we entered the radiation treatment room, Riley said that it just looked like a big x-ray machine. I pointed out the 12 inch thick door. They watched as the techs marked me with a felt-tip pen, and then lined the table and me up with green and red laser lights emanating from several places in the walls and ceiling. For some reason, the girls were not allowed to stay in the control room and watch on the monitor as I was getting zapped. I will ask Dr. Dad on Monday (I see him every Monday) why they are not allowed in the control room. Riley thought the reason that had to leave was just in case radiation leaked into the room. I think it's an insurance issue. I'll find out on Monday if either one of us was correct.

I am on week two of seven weeks of radiation. The skin under my left arm is beginning to feel a little sensitive, like a very mild burn. I wore a cotton sweater with a cami , and the thickness and texture of the sweater felt abrasive against my skin. I discovered that the most comfortable top to wear against my sensitive skin in one of Chubba's cotton t-shirts that has been washed 500 times. This look is okay for hanging around the house, but not so great in public...I would be a poster child for What Not to Wear.

I am not sure if my hair is beginning to grow. A few people that have seen me without a head covering said that it look likes it is beginning to grow, but I think they are just seeing the leftover stubble that never escaped. I use my legs as a hair-growing barometer, which I have not needed to shave in over two months, and nothing is growing yet. Not needing to shave my legs is a cancer bonus. My eyebrows and eyelashes thinned a bit, but I never lost them. The other day I was going to pluck a couple of stray eyebrows hairs, but I was afraid that if I plucked one hair, the rest would fall out - kind of like pulling a loose thread and then the entire seam unravels.

Whacky thought for the day...
Sweden must make the best military tanks.
Today Molly and I were on our way to an away high school soccer game, when the traffic on highway 128 stopped, somewhat abruptly. I was afraid that we were going to get hit from behind so I told Molly to "hold on." The guy behind was going to stop okay, but the lady behind him barrelled hard into him, and he smashed into me. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Molly was very scared and shaking. The other two cars, a Jeep Cherokee and Dodge Caravan, had to be towed away. The front bumper of the Jeep - the part that hit me - pushed up and into the engine, destroying the right headlight and socket, and doing something to the radiator causing fluid to leak all over the ground. The back of the Jeep was crushed all the way into the left rear wheel well. The front hood of the Dodge buckled, partially covering the windshield, and exposing a damaged engine leaking fluid. It was in very bad shape, and is probably totaled. I am surprised that the Dodge's airbags didn't deploy.
My Volvo wagon has two little scratches on the middle of the rear bumper! We didn't even get pushed forward upon impact!

The Real Deal...

Monday I had a practice radiation treatment. The set up and machinery is the same as a real radiation treatment, but instead of shooting radiation into me, they shot x-ray pictures of me. The x-rays were another way to verify that they marked the correct areas to target the radiation.

The radiation treatment room is similar to an x-ray room, except the radiation is much stronger than a normal x-ray. The door from the control room to the treatment room is about 12 inches thick. Three radiation techs watch me on a monitor from the control room; there is no window into the treatment room. I think there are at least four computer screens in the control room. The treatment room has the most interesting ceiling. Two rows of ceiling tiles - you know the ones you count while lying in a dentist's chair - look like they are made of rice paper with leaves fixed to the inside. The leaves look real. The colors are brownish and greenish. It is very pretty and zen-like. I have never seen anything like this, but I think medical offices should be required to install these ceiling tiles - especially dentists. (No, I don't have a problem going to the dentist. It just seems like time goes by so slowly in a dentist's chair.) The techs play good music too.

Yesterday and today were the real deal. The set up and positioning of me on the table takes longer than the actual radiation. Radiation set-up requires three technicians. Technicians stand on each side of me while I am on the table, lining me up with green laser lights that shoot down from a cross cut into a plain ceiling tile. The third technician stands at the foot of the bed, positioning it too, and reads off some numbers from a computer screen. Sometimes they move me the tiniest bit to line up the numbers - it is all about precision. My arms are stretched over my head in a somewhat uncomfortable position, stretching the limits of my physical therapy for my left arm. My head rests in a little cradle. During the radiation, I turn my head to the right, away from the radiation field. I get radiated eight times in different locations on my left chest and left underarm each visit. Each time I must hold my breath while the machine is doing its thing. They talk to me from the control room telling me when to hold my breath and when I can breathe. The breath holding has something to do with protecting my left lung from accidentally getting radiated. Normally, holding my breath isn't a big deal, but I still have this dumb cough! I am going on 6 weeks! Maybe if my lung was radiated, it would kill this cough. Other than a couple of coughs between radiation zaps, I have managed to make through okay.

The machine that administers the radiation is called a linear accelerator. (I thought that a linear accelerator was the mile long building at Stanford used to break up atoms.) First, the machine is positioned on my right side, and after a couple of zaps, the techs come in, reposition the table and me, and move the machine to the left side. The machine is a very large circular disc on the end of a long arched arm, with a small glass panel about the size of a sheet of paper in the middle of the disc. When it is on my right, I can look directly into the rectangular glass plate that has two rows of teeth on the inside, similar to the teeth on a comb, but the thickness of spaghetti pasta noodles. Each tooth moves independently, and the opening between the two rows of teeth changes shape, depending on the target for radiation. It's pretty interesting and entertaining. I make up different images for the shapes - kind of like imagining clouds are animals, flowers, a piece of apple pie, etc.

The entire process goes fairly quick. I am in and out of the building in 30 minutes or less. It is too soon for side effects, so I feel like I am just getting x-rays in a strange contorted position. Maybe I will have some interesting side effects to report in a couple of weeks. For now, the worst thing I am dealing with, besides this cough, is some burnt fingers. I spastically burned some fingers last Friday while taking something out of the oven. They are taking an unusually long time to heal. For some strange reason, my left pinkie go the worst of it, and it will spontaneously throb with pain - during the day or when I am sleeping at night. I am guessing that along with a weakened immune system, my self-healing from burns or wounds was compromised too. I have never had a burn act like this. During chemotherapy they warn you about being careful in the kitchen, but I think that was related to knives, not burns. I should have stayed in that burn-proof bubble.

Whacky thought for the day...
Most underarm deodorants have metal in them and interfere with radiation. Some believe that the metal in deodorants can be a contributing factor to breast cancer. The only deodorant that I know for certain that does not have metal as an ingredient is Tom's of Maine.

The Bubble...

After my first two chemotherapy cycles, I lived in a bubble to protect my weakened immune system from germs. I didn't go to a grocery store, movie theater, restaurant, pediatrician's office, Target, or any germ-ridden places. Because I stayed healthy for the first month of chemotherapy, I got a little lax and over-confident, and started venturing out. I still washed my hands constantly, and took a bath in hand sanitizer when I got in the car, but some tenacious germs popped my bubble.

I have been coughing for over a month, and it has progressively worsened. Ten days ago I went to see my nurse practitioner at my primary physician's office; she prescribed antibiotics. Under normal circumstances, she would prescribe prednisone, but prednisone weakens one's immune system, and mine is already compromised from chemotherapy. The antibiotic only slightly lessened the cough, but over the weekend, it flared up so badly, that I almost went to the hospital. I am a world-class cougher, with over 40 years of experience, but this cough, combined with asthma, even challenged my fortitude. I went back to see the nurse practitioner on Monday, and I am now taking prednisone. It has helped tremendously. (My last chemo cycle was three weeks ago.) I am still coughing, but at least now I can sleep for more than an hour at night. I might crawl back into my bubble for a couple of more weeks.

Whacky thought for the day...
Who doesn't love bubbles? There is nothing more innocent and sweet than a child blowing bubbles.

Whacky thought for the day #2...
Why do pediatricians have toys in their waiting room? Almost every single pediatrician's waiting room in America has a large bead and wire maze attached to a table for patients to play with while they are waiting. Sick children who put their fingers in their mouths and noses play with this toy! Sick children sneeze and cough on this toy! To make matters worse, when you go into the examining room, there is usually a box of germ infested toys and books tempting children! I am that germiphobe parent who brought her children to the pediatrician's office in a bubble, and wouldn't let them touch any of these germ-laden toys or books. I always brought our own toys and books that I sterilized when we returned home. Hello.......I don't want to make my healthy children sick or my sick children sicker! (Now we bring homework instead of toys to entertain the girls while waiting for the doctor.) I once thought that these toys were placed in the offices to guarantee repeat business, but soon discovered that pediatrician's offices are so busy, that getting a same-day appointment is like winning the lottery.

The Tattooed Lady...

Yesterday I had my own personal mapquest; I was "mapped" for radiation. The process was interesting and, of course, modesty crushing.

The first part of my appointment was called "teaching." My oncologist's nurse explained the procedure of radiation and the side effects. The teaching lasted a long thirty minutes. What I learned is not to be late for my appointment or the next person will be put in your slot, and that my radiated skin is going to get very red, and sensitive. She explained the different creams that may be applied to the skin to relieve some of the burning and itching. (I began applying Jean's Cream today.) It took thirty minutes for me to retain all this information that is written in a packet. After the teaching she walked me to the radiation area and showed me the changing room.

After I changed into the stylish, faded blue-patterned "robe", aka johnny, Dr. Dad met me in the CT Scan waiting room. He explained in greater detail the side effects of radiation. The radiated skin will get very red and possibly blistered like a very bad sunburn. The other major side effect is feeling tired. He said that the more I walk, the less tired I will feel. (So how do you walk if you are too tired, but you need to walk so you don't feel tired?) I will feel very little side effects during the first two weeks of radiation, but the side effects will linger for two weeks after radiation ends. The major risks associated with radiation involve the lungs and the heart because they are the next layers underneath the radiated area. The lung is the first layer under the chest wall, and sometimes the outer edge can get a little radiation resulting in some breathing issues. (I have so many breathing issues right now, I wonder if I would even notice.) He explained that during the scan, they might have me take a breath and hold it so that he could get a better image by separating the lung and the radiated area. He said that issues with the lungs are rare. Because my left side is radiated, the heart is in the neighborhood. It is extremely rare for the heart to become involved resulting is heart-related issues. After this happy conversation with Dr. Dad, a radiology tech took me into the CT Scanning room.

Like all x-ray and scanning rooms, it was cold, and my hot flashes made it feel even colder. The CT Scan is the big donut-shaped scanning machine. The narrow table moves in and out of the machine several times during the scanning process. When I looked at the table, it looked like something out of a torture movie - it had two pairs of stirrups at one end, a cradle-like restraining holder between the stirrups, and a triangular block at the other end. I could not figure out how I was going to lay on this table, and all I could think is that this does not look comfortable! The cradle was for my head, the stirrups were for both my arms and the triangle foam block was for under my knees to relieve the pressure on my back. It wasn't as bad as it looked. When I put my arms over my head, Tech Guy adjusted the stirrups/holders to a more comfortable position. I don't have full range of motion on my left side, so it felt a bit strained. On the ceiling and both walls, situated just outside the CT Scan, were panels that projected red lasers onto me, that I think formed a laser grid. The set up takes longer than the scan.

After my first scan that took about five minutes of me moving in and out of the machine, Tech Guy and Tech Gal came in and place "bebes" all over me - stickers with a metal center to mark locations. Tech Guy read off numbers from the computer screen in the room while Tech Gal place the markers. After she placed the markers, Tech Gal used a sharpee marker to draw lines adjacent to the bebes. After I was all marked up, I finally got to put my arms down while Dr. Dad read the scans. Tech Guy brought in warmed sheet and placed it over me. It felt so good. Dr. Dad ordered another scan, but this time he wanted me to take a breath and hold it during one of the passes through the scan. The second scan confirmed that the first markers were correctly placed.

Next it was time to make the markers permanent so that when I get radiation treatments, the machines will precisely line up with the markers each time, and insure the I am radiated in, and only in, the correct areas. I received six tattoos the size of big freckles. Six! And it hurt! I may have been sliced, diced, poked and needled over the last several months, but these dumb tattoos really hurt. What must a big tattoo feel like when it is getting applied? How did two of my siblings manage to get such large tattoos? (Oops, did I just spill some beans? Oh well, beans are good for you.)

Before this appointment, Molly warned me that "tatoos are addicting." Where does this 10-year-old get her material? It can't be from t.v. because I don't allow the girls to watch WTT - White Trash Television. There goes my future as a side show at the carnival...(Do you remember when people once paid to see a tatooed lady at a carnival? Now , if go to a mall, you can see several of them walking around, and it's free!)

After I got up from being stretched, scanned, marked and tattooed, I unexpectedly felt a little queasy. Fortunately, the radiation area has a "nutrition room" stocked with water, ginger ale, Sprite, and crackers. I felt better after ginger ale and a few soda crackers.

Radiation begins next Monday, September 20, at 8:45 a.m. It will be the same time every day, five days a week, for six and a half weeks. I selected 8:45 because I want to get it done early in the day, and it coincides with dropping off Molly at school. The first treatment on Sept. 20 will be a dry-run, with just x-rays and no radiation. This dry-run is to insure that they marked exactly the right areas to be radiated. I have a radiation ID card that I scan for check-in, no receptionist, just a bar code scan. The scan sends a message to the radiation techs that I have arrived, and that I am in the locker room changing into lovely gown. The ID card is scanned again before the radiation treatment to insure I receive the correct treatment. You gotta love technology!

Whacky thought for the day...
Does anyone but me have a difficult time with the usage of "effect" versus "affect?"

Sept 13th - Happy Birthday Jane!

Heat, Hurricanes and Radiation...

There are several reasons why I have not written in a many days: 1. I am in a holding pattern between chemotherapy and radiation, so I don't have anything medically exciting to report. 2. I normally write after midnight, and I have been sleeping instead. (It is 1:25 a.m. right now -my post time doesn't match the actual time. If I were a real writer, I know that I would become truly nocturnal, and only see my family at dinnertime.) 3. My mood experienced a dip, and I had to wait for it to rebound.

I was warned that sometime I will hit an emotional wall. Fortunately, my wall bashing lasted only one late afternoon/evening last week. I just could not stop crying. The more I tried to gather my composure, the more I cried. (It was like the more you try not to scratch the mosquito bite, the more it itches.) I felt bad for the girls because it is very disconcerting to see a parent cry. They came in and tried to read me a book to cheer me up, but I was non-responsive. Riley confessed to me later that she was upset by my crying, but she worked very hard to "hold it together." Molly hasn't said anything about it. I wasn't going to write about this episode in my blog because I am embarrassed by it, and felt that it makes me look weak. After some thought, I realized that crying one night after major surgery to remove cancerous tumors, recovering from having my entire mid-section cut open for reconstruction, and then going through eight weeks of chemotherapy, is probably humanly normal. Normal is okay, I think.

Hot flashes are my battle du jour. They are a great combination with the heat wave we are experiencing in Massachusetts. Like Oregon, not all homes have air conditioning. (I know you Californians and New Mexicans are thinking we are uncivilized, but we have great heating systems!) Our home has only one small air conditioning unit for the master bedroom. Guess where everyone is sleeping? The only good thing about the heat is that I don't feel that hot flashes because my entire day is one continuous hot flash. The only time I feel them is in air conditioning, making air conditioning a mixed blessing. When I have a hot flash my entire face gets flushed red. Strangely, my white, bald scalp doesn't get red during a flash, only red, mask-like face.

I met with my radiation oncologist, Dr. Dad, this week. He referred to me as the "Californian." We must be rare in this part of the world because many of the doctors refer to me as the "Californian." I wonder if they put it next to my name in the Mass General records. He asked me a lot of questions about my chemotherapy, wanting to know what was the worst part about it. I responded that the a worst part was the extreme exhaustion after the third cycle, but that actually chemotherapy wasn't that bad. Throughout our appointment he said to me, "I like you easy going Californians." (To all of you out west, I am doing my best to represent my birth state well.) We set a date of September 14 to get mapped. If I understand correctly, on the 14th Dr. Dad will make a grid of the left side of my chest, and map out exactly where they want to target the radiation. I will get a couple of tattoos - little dots, that will designate the exact locations for for radiation. (I can confidently say that these will be the only tattoos that I will ever get. I know, no fun.) Radiation will begin around September 21st. I will have radiation every day, Monday through Friday, for six and a half weeks. After the mapping which can take up to two hours, and the initial radiation that is a double check on the mapping, each radiation appointment will take no more than an hour. I will be in the radiation room for about 20 minutes, and the actually radiating takes only about 4 minutes. Most of the time is dedicated to set-up of the machine and me. The main side affect of radiation is feeling tired. After a couple of weeks, my skin will also feel sunburned. Someone, I don't remember who, told me about a cream called Jean's Cream, that works wonders for the skin during radiation. I found it at the cancer boutique at Mass General, and bought a tube of the $45 cream. It was highly recommended by the staff too. It is helps radiated skin, I wonder what it would do for non-radiated skin, like my face?!

It is 2:14 a.m. and Earl if finally arriving. In the four years we have lived on the east coast, this was our first hurricane warning! Yep, we were pretty excited. However, it looks like it might just ended up being a tropical storm. The rain is coming down hard, but the wind hasn't picked up yet. Everyone around here was fairly nonchalant about the whole thing - kind of like native Californians and earthquakes.

Whacky thought for the day...
What would your rather experience...an earthquake or a hurricane?

Made...

When the foredeck person on a sailboat completes jibing the spinnaker pole - a somewhat tricky maneuver that requires a certain amount of finesse, she/he yells "made." Today I had my last chemotherapy cycle! Afterward I felt like shouting a loud "MADE!" (Translation: A foredeck person is responsible for the stuff that happens in front of the mast -the pole sticking out of the middle of the boat that holds the sails ; jibing means the boat is changing directions; the spinnaker pole is a long metal pole that connects to the mast at one end and the end of the spinnaker sail at the other end; the pole helps the spinnaker - the big colorful sail that sticks out over the front of the boat -stay full of air and helps the trimmer(person pulling a lot of ropes) pull the spinnaker sheet(rope) to keep it full of air; the foredeck person yells "made" so the trimmer knows when she can start pulling the ropes. During a race this all needs to be done quickly. When it is done well, the boat maintains it speed. Yes, I have done this a couple of times, but I often forgot to yell "made.") Now you know more than you ever needed or wanted to know about sailing stuff. Snore.

Over the past two days several people at Mass General Hospital congratulated me on my last chemotherapy treatment. Yesterday I met with my oncologist, Dr. Banana Split, for my pre-chemotherapy check-up. She appeared as thrilled as I am about my last chemotherapy treatment. I told her that I am constantly battling exhaustion. She said for some inexplicable reason, most people feel exhaustion after their third cycle, but not after their fourth. We'll see. She was also concerned about my asthma cough. She wanted to make sure I only had asthma and wasn't sick. Actually, she seemed a little freaked out about the tight sounding cough I was involuntarily demonstrating throughout my appointment. (The sound of my cough worries Chubba and the girls too.) I have lived with this type of cough my entire life, so it doesn't phase me at all. My mom states that I have coughed more in my lifetime than anyone she knows. I had only been taking my albuterol inhaler and not taking my steroid inhaler because I thought steroids were off limits during chemotherapy. I was wrong. Dr. Banana Split anxiously asked if I had the steroid inhaler in my purse, but it was at home. I took it when I got home, and I'm fine. I must admit that I was a little amused by Dr. Banana Splits reaction to my cough. I know, I am also a little warped.

Dr. Banana Split described how my hair will feel and look when it grows back. The hair will be fine and soft like baby hair, but it grows back thicker and curly. What?! Thicker? I will look like Harpo Marx! (I know, those with thick hair want a little less, and those with thin hair want a little more - "the grass is always greener..." or is it "the grass is always thicker...") I hope that I may color the gray hairs that dare to grow back. Hello 1980's short-hair perm that I sported so stylishly. I will be going retro!

I was given a private room again for my infusion. Molly was our ticket to the private room. I learned that when a patient brings an elementary school aged child with them to treatment, they are required to have a private room. Riley is too old to be a ticket. The private room makes chemotherapy much more palatable. I like that it is not totally isolated with a glass door and a large window. If someone wants total privacy, a curtain can be drawn.

Riley survived the chemotherapy experience. She only turned her head a couple of times, but never left the room. Before we walked into the infusion area, she asked if I can talk during chemotherapy. She thought that I wore an oxygen mask. She was a little uneasy when she saw the two very large and wide circumference syringes of the red Adrymiacin that were injected into my port. She said they looked like shots for an elephant. She thought the red color looked like blood. Actually, the red color is much brighter than blood red. After it was over, she said that chemotherapy wasn't so scary. Without the red poison, it reminded her of the i.v. she received when she was admitted into the hospital for dehydration.

Laverne and Shirley, the trial study nurses, stopped by to check on my progress. They manage 16 women with breast cancer who volunteered to be part of a study to compare the effectiveness of two different chemotherapy treatments. When I signed up, the study need 200 more volunteers, but now it is full. During the trial study orientation, I explained to Laverne and Shirley that I have a very tender stomach, and was concerned about vomiting. Both they and I are surprised at how well I have done over the past two months, without one single vomiting incident. I shouldn't get too cocky because it's not over yet. However, I do hear the fat lady warming up her voice.

I will now go through 2-4 nights of very little sleep. I get so keyed up internally for several days before my chemotherapy, that I think it takes a couple of days of me to rid myself of the nerves. I really do not know if it is the nerves, chemotherapy, or post-chemo medications that affects my sleep following infusion, but I am going with nerves. After I got home today following chemotherapy and a celebratory lunch, I slept for four hours. I will put this in my tank for reserves.

Helpful Hint: If you have seven prescription bottles on the bathroom counter, get a black Sharpee pen and write in big letters the name of the prescription on top of the lid and down the side of the bottle. The eliminates searching for glasses to read the name of the prescription written in microscoptic print.

I AM THRILLED THAT CHEMOTHERAPY IS "MADE!"

Whacky thought for the day...
I love the saying, "It ain't over until the fat lady sings!"

Mirror, Mirror...

Every time I look in the mirror, I am caught off guard by the person looking back at me. I don't think I will ever get accustomed to the bald-headed me. I used painter's tape to remove some of the stubbles, but found that rubbing a washcloth against my scalp in the shower worked well to remove the remaining signs of hair. My head is not shiny bald like Uncle Fester, which I think would be kind of cool. It is a flat white with a few remaining stubbles clinging for their existence. The freshly exposed skin is very white, and I wonder if this is the color I was as a baby. My face is a different color than my scalp, making me look as if I am wearing a mask.

I no longer walk around my yard or the neighborhood without my head covered. I am afraid that I will scare one of the eighteen children who live in my neighborhood. Stubble was just weird. Bald is scary.

Next Tuesday, August 24, I go in for my last chemotherapy infusion. It will be a family affair with all four of us going to my final treatment. Tonight Riley was already freaking out about the needles, which is precisely why I want her to go. She needs to see that chemotherapy isn't as scary as it sounds. I feel very lucky that I was prescribed only four cycles of chemotherapy. If my cancer would have travelled to more than one lymph node, I might have needed three more months of chemotherapy. Note: Early detection allowed me to have only two months ,and not five months of chemotherapy - Have you had a mammogram this year?

The past two weeks between cycles presented a shorter laundry list of side effects, but much more lethargy. I had very little nausea, and didn't need to take a single compazine. I had some strange joint pain in my wrist, hip and ankle. For four days I had a very sharp pain in my heal that shot up my leg to my hamstring. But my biggest battle was against exhaustion. I spent most of today in bed again. If I have a high or regular energy day and do something physical, like working in the yard, I pay for it the next day. I am very fortunate that I am able spend the day in bed. However, I'm tired of being tired.

Before chemotherapy menopause was knocking on my door. Once chemotherapy began, menopause walked right in and made itself at home. I was warned that this would happen. The hot flashes are a strange sensation; first my face gets very warm as if I have a sunburn, and then the rest of my body gets hot, like someone turned up the heat. Alcohol seems to exacerbate the situation. I am not sure if alcohol is a good thing during chemotherapy. As one ob-gyn said to me during pregancy, if you need a drink, go for it - the stress is worse than the alcohol on your body; just don't overdo it. I've had only about 5-6 drinks over the past 6 weeks. I know, I'm a real boozer.

I noticed my first staring incident this week. While shopping at our local grocery store with a scarf on my head and my pink ribbon earrings, I noticed a woman in her mid-30's with a young daughter couldn't keep her eyes off of me. We kept passing each other in the aisles, and later were in view of each other while paying for our groceries. Each time we were in sight of one another, she kept looking at me. It didn't bother me at all. As a matter of fact, at the time I was thinking that I hope my "look" makes her think about getting a mammogram.

Whacky thought for the day...
Who came up with the term "laundry list?" If I made a list of items in the laundry, it would take pages. And...How does laundry pile up overnight with only two kids in this house? Is there a dirty laundry fairy that comes at night when we're all asleep?

Aug 19 - Happy Birthday Meg!

Vertically Challenged...

I have the energy of a deflated balloon. For the last 4 our of 5 days, I could barely get out of a horizontal position for more than an hour at a time. I didn't know that my body could attain this level of exhaustion. I almost feel asleep while eating dinner! I wonder if all the weeks of sleepless nights have caught up with me, or if my body finally realized that it is going through chemotherapy. The good news is that I need less make-up to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

(Vertically challenged doesn't only apply to my energy level. I have been vertically challenged my entire life ... I'm short. However, I do not mind being, or being called short. The smaller the package, the higher the value!)

The prickles on top of my head are starting to evacuate my scalp and cover my pillow. I think it is tape time! I might try blue painter's tape to defuzz my head. I don't know if I am brave enough to try the New Mexico duct tape dance. I just hope I have enough energy to stay vertical long enough to finish the job.

Whacky thought of the day...

My brother, J, is a Grandfather!

His daughter, Morrigan (almost 28) had a baby girl on August 11.

Welcome to the family Evelyn Irene Blatsos. She looks exactly like Morrigan as a baby, and a McNamara, except for the Greek black hair.

A Picture Is Worth...

Three Out Of Four...

Yesterday I went to Mass General Cancer Center for my usual day before chemotherapy lab work. I would normally have my check-up on this day, but because I changed nurse practitioners, I had my check up today, before chemotherapy.

There was a little misunderstanding about the lab check-in procedure, making me wait almost an hour. I didn't mind too much because people watching was as good as inside an airport. While I was waiting, a very pretty young woman in her 20's, or maybe early 30's, came over, introduced herself and asked me about the technique I used to wrap my head with my scarf, a beautiful Hermes scarf. (Neighbor Mary loaned me three gorgeous Hermes scarves.) To explain how I wrapped my head, I whipped the scarf on my head and demonstrated how I folded, wrapped, and twisted it around my head. Yes, I did this in a waiting room full of people. I have no problem baring my head in public. I just don't walk around with a naked head, except in my neighborhood. Back to the young woman from Salem...she was waiting with her young husband for her first chemo treatment. She has stage 3 Hodgkin's lymphoma, blood cancer. She told me that stage 3 lymphoma is curable, but stage 4 lymphoma is most often fatal. Very scary. She has 6 months of chemotherapy, with cycles every other week. This make my 2 months of treatment look like a cake walk. Miss Salem has beautiful long hair, and is concerned about losing her hair. She is going to buzz or shave her head before it begins falling out. Her doctor told her that it would take a month before her type of chemotherapy makes her hair fall out. I think shaving is a good idea, especially with long hair. Waking up in the morning with a giant spider web of hair in your face, and a nest of hair on your pillow, is disgusting. I send her many good wishes and prayers.

Today my 8:00 a.m. check up with the new nurse practitioner went well. She knew everything about me before she came in, perhaps except my shoe size. She knew that we moved here from just outside Napa, she knew that I have two girls, and she knew that I was having strange and painful ankle pain, and best of all she knew about my surgeries and cancer treatment. She grew up in San Francisco, moved to New England when she was 12, but moved back to California after nursing school. We had a lot of California talk. (You can take the girl out of Northern California, but you can't take Northern California out of the girl.) I just now realized that I forgot to pick up my medicine for thrush that I developed as a side effect of chemotherapy. My sore throat is caused by thrush. Thrush is a bacteria that forms in the mouth, and is most commonly found in babies.

I am having difficulties with my memory, and I forgot to tell Nurse California about my memory loss when I gave her my laundry list of side effects. I talked to my mom on Saturday, and she mentioned that I was repeating some of the same stuff from our Friday phone call. After I hung up, I told Chubba that I had no recollection of speaking with her on Friday. This bothered me, and the more I tried to recall our conversation, the more I was sure I didn't speak with her. Chubba and Riley assured me that they saw me sitting on the couch and talking with her on Friday. I forget other things as well, but nothing major. I also tend to repeat myself because I don't remember what I said to whom. Not only am I losing my hair, but I am losing my marbles.

My laundry list of side effects for these two weeks: hair loss, sore throat-thrush, difficulties sleeping, metallic taste, slight nausea, exhaustion, memory loss, and some bathroom related stuff of which I will spare you the details. Other than these minor inconveniences, I feel great!

Molly (9) went with us to chemotherapy today because I wanted to take the mystery out of it for her. Holding hands while walking into the hospital she asked me, "How many years do you have to go to medical school?" She liked observing the needle as it was inserted into my port and the I.V. drips hooked up. She said that it looked the same of the I.V. she had when she was hospitalized two years ago for severe asthma, except she had the needle in back of her hand. She was very intrigued with the reflexology/accupressure on my feet. She asked Magic Hands several questions. She asked about the map on the feet and where the spine is located. She asked if I feel it in my body as she works that part of the body. She also asked if you can use this technique to work on emotions. The monster called chemotherapy didn't seem so monstrous after all. Much to Riley's (15) chagrin, I am taking her to my last treatment in two weeks. When the needles come out, she will definitely look away.

I have three out of four cycles completed. I am going to celebrate after the fourth chemo, but not sure how I will celebrate. My sister would say, go buy a new pair of shoes.

Whacky thought for the day...
I believe that there are three places where it is appropriate to dress up a bit: church, travelling via airplane, and the doctor's office. Church is obvious, I hope. Spending at least $300 for flying - I would dress well for any $300 event. Plus is you need something, and the airline employee must make a judgement call, (they have more power to make changes than you know,) Chubba and I observed that you will get much further with them if you are dressed well and are polite. (Chubba travelled three out of four weeks with Nike, tons with New Balance, and numerous trips to Asia the past 18 months and with JMI.) I try to dress well for the doctor's office, even when I don't feel well. I think they take you more seriously when questioning the prescribed treatment for aches and pains when you put a little effort in your appearance. We all don't want to believe that we are judged by how we dress, but it is a proven fact. Too bad, because I love comfy sweats!

Are We There Yet?...

I am half way through chemotherapy. With the risk of sounding like a whiner, I am ready for it to be over now. The last few days I have felt somewhat normal, with the occasional queasy stomach. Knowing that I am going to feel not so great after Tuesday, for an entire week, is bumming me out. I feel like I'm a little girl, back in the car, whining to my parents, "Are we there yet?" (I hear that question anytime we drive to a destination further than the mall.)

After chemotherapy I have morning sickness type of feelings that can creep up on me at anytime, but medication zaps it right away. The second week after chemo, I am exhausted. However, this second week, I am picking up my own leash and taking myself for a walk every morning. But, after I eat breakfast, I go back to sleep for 3-4 hours. I have two other side effects that are bothersome: a metallic taste in my mouth and a sore in my throat. My taste buds are shot. Water tastes metallic. Food doesn't taste like it should. I get a craving for something, but am disappointed when I eat it because it doesn't taste right. Unfortunately, it doesn't keep me from eating! My throat feels like they just pulled out the tube from surgery. I knew before chemotherapy that sores in the throat and mouth could form as a side effect. Gargling with hot salt water helps.

I don't know why I am bumming because I only have to go in for chemo every two weeks. My oncologist told us that they type of chemotherapy I am taking, CA, used to be given even three weeks because patients would get so sick. She said that it would take patients three weeks to recover from vomiting and other side effects. Medicine has come a long way in a short time; the Emend and Compazine are taking care of the nausea for me.

My head still looks like an anorexic porcupine. A few more white spots are beginning to show. I asked my mom about the scar on my head, and she said to blame my brothers. That sounds about right, but it probably is from one of the "agony of defeat" falls I took skiing as a kid. If you ski hard, you fall hard. My head always feels like I have wet hair - not like I have phantom hair syndrome, but the coolness of the scalp. (I don't know if there is such a thing as phantom hair syndrome - I just made it up.) If I am outside in the garden early in the morning without a hat, I can feel the sun the moment it touches my head. I am never in the sun without a hat, nor do I leave my neighborhood without some type of head covering. My most popular hat is one that says, "Cancer Sucks" on the front. It got the best reactions at the hardware store. I love the smell of hardware stores; it reminds me of my childhood, Merced, McNamara Hardware, and all the men standing around telling lies.

Whacky thought for the day...
Yesterday I walked to and on the beach. At 7:45 a.m. a woman had her camp set up: beach chair, blanket, ice chest and stack of magazines. Can you say "Massachusetts raisin?" (Note to Californians: Most east coasters are obsessed with tanning. I see more real dark tans here than I ever did in California.) Can you say "melanoma?"

Feel Better, Look Good...

On Monday the girls and I attended a program sponsored by the American Cancer Society, "Feel Better, Look Good." For two hours, experts demonstrated how to wear scarves and hats, and how to apply make-up to make to enhance our features. The goal is to make you feel your best during chemotherapy.

I was clearly the youngest person by 15 years. I think the next youngest person must have been 65 years old. So technically, I was the youngest by 16 years, but who's counting? Every woman in there could have been the girls' grandmother.

The scarf tying demonstrations were the most helpful for me. We learned that a silk scarf doesn't stay in place on a slippery bald head - makes sense, but never thought about it. To keep silk scarves in place, you must first put on a cotton cap that is made specifically for chemotherapy patients, similar to the caps placed on newborn babies. The scarves will cling to the cotton. We also learned how to make a head-wrap from a t-shirt! First you cut off the upper part of the shirt, straight across from armpit to armpit. Then, you strategically place the remaining tube on your head and start wrapping and twisting. It really worked and was super easy. I volunteered to be a demonstrator - surprise, surprise. I haven't cut up any t-shirts yet, but I'm close.

There was a small discussion on wigs. The presenter warned about wearing wigs by the BBQ or cooking in the kitchen because they melt! Naturally I had to comment out loud, "Now there's a reason for not having to cook." Just call me "Ice Breaker."

I was the only woman with an exposed head, a freshly buzzed head. I wore a hat, but took it off during the class. One woman wore a scarf, and every other woman, about 20 of then, either wore a wig or had not lost their hair yet.

We were warned about problems with bacteria forming on the scalp. More grossness. We must keep scarves, hats, and headbands worn under hats clean.

The make-up portion was the most fun for the girls. I was given a large cache of free make-up & moisturiser by companies such as: Chanel, Clinique, Bobbie Brown, Mary Kay, Origins, Estee Lauder, Maybeline, Max Factor, Aveda, and NYC. Some of the other ladies had products by other companies that donate make-up to the American Cancer Society. The make-up artist gave us some great tricks of the trade, such as dabbing vs. rubbing on concealer. I learned how to draw on eyebrows if mine should happen to fall out. (So far, eyebrows and eyelashes are intact.) By the end of the session, all the women looked fabulous!

The organizer had to open an extra stash of make-up to fill in missing items for a few women. She ended up with some excess items, and kept feeding them to Riley and Molly. Riley was pleased to receive a $40 Chanel mascara, even though she doesn't wear mascara. It was the "Chanel" part that excited her. Molly was excited to receive her first "lipstick." She has owned lip gloss before, "but never lipstick!" The thrill of new make-up starts at an early age, and never gets old! (I rarely wear make-up, but without my hair to hide behind, I try to wear make-up every day. I don't know how you beautiful make-up wearers do it on a daily basis. However, I do feel good, and look better with it. )

With our freshly painted faces, the girls and I decided that lunch and shopping would round off the day. I wore my hat and pink ribbon earrings, but it was fairly obvious that I don't have any hair. Our local mall if just across the freeway from Mass General North, the location for the "Feel Better, Look Good" program. The Northshore Mall has kiosks located down the center, selling cell phones, lotions and potions, hair accessories, etc. Some of the sales people are as aggressive as carnies trying to get you go throw darts at neoprene balloons. These sharks usually approach with the line, "Can I ask you a question?" I always reply, "You just did," leaving then puzzled. However, on Monday, I got a hall-of-fame line thrust at me by a hair crimper and flat iron kiosk salesman: "Excuse me, can I talk to you about your hair." Without even slowing down, I replied with a chuckle, "I don't have any hair!"

Whacky thought for the day...
I was an independent sales rep for 23 years. For some reason, I thought that in sales, it was important to know your customer before you try to sell them something. Maybe I would have sold more if I tried the kiosk method.

Hair Raising Event...

I'm bald! I'm bald! Actualy...I have stubble! I have stubble!

Last night about 81 people came by to witness the most visual side effect of chemotherapy, hair loss. It was also an opportunity for me to say "thank you," first hand, to many people who continually support me through this adventure. But, before, I could muster the willfulness to shave my head in front of a crowd, many boys stepped up to shave their heads; and girls, moms, boys, 3 dogs, and one old "townie" dad added pink their hair! The first brave, maveric head-shaving volunteer was an 8th grade boy who is a caddy at a private golf course - he better keep his hat on! Not only did get his head buzzed by and electric shaver, he lathered it up and shaved bald! His 6th grade brother followed suit! Amazing! Yes, this was voluntary on their part, and their mom looked on the entire time. Their scalps were very white, almost bluish, compared to their skin color. I thought they looked like a couple of fireflies guiding their mom in the dark. My 4th grade neighbor lathered up again for a fresh clean shave of his perfectly round head, and then his father (who was already follically challenged) went for the freshly shaven look! Two second grade boys are now sporting pink mohawks around town! One second grader cut off his beautiful curls to get a close buzz, and one 5th grade boy got a very close (almost bald) buzz, revealing the biggest, bluest, Irish eyes in town. Every single one of the boys looked so handsome - their eyes and attitude sparkled!

I am at a loss for words to describe how touched I am by the conscious decision by the boys to shave their heads out of concern and respect for breast cancer and my journey. (I am especially moved by the older boys because they are aware of all the fallout (no pun intended) that can result from shaving their heads.) Angels come in all forms.

Manchester has gone pink! There are a lot of people walking around Manchester today with pink highlights and streaks in their hair. This is the real deal hair color, not that spray on stuff in the drug store. Fortunately, it will wash out in about 2-3 weeks, without any grow-out lines.

Just before dark, I stepped up to the plate ( bar-type stool) for my big shave. My mom, dad & brother T watched the shave in Green Valley, CA and my sister and her husband watched in Los Gatos, CA via skype. Riley and Chubba each held a laptop so that they could witness my buzz. I removed my pink hat to reveal my pink hair that had not been washed in two days. It was a little matted down, and not so pretty, but realtively intact. With many eyes watching, I stood on the deck and demonstrated how I cold effortlessly pull chunks of hair out of my head. I didn't feel a thing. Watching the faces in the crowd as I was pulling out the hair was interesting. The expressions ranged from shock, to horror, to amazement, to awe. Because I still had thick hair - in certain areas, the master barber, Sweeney Steve, had to cut some of it with a scissor. (I chose Sweeney Steve to cut my hair because he was an expert after shaving all the kids, and I trusted he wouldn't cut off an ear or take an eyebrow. Plus, he has a little experience with his own head!) I only closely buzzed my head, I didn't lather and shave. My scalp is a little sore in the front/crown area, as if I had a deep bruise, but it was sore before the shave. It must be the cells dying. Upon completion, complements were generously offered to me. Some said that my eyes look bigger. Some said that I have a nice shaped head. What I was hoping for was "taller and thinner." Oh well.

My only comment is that my ears are very small. Really. I didn't realize that I have such small ears. Have you seen my dad?! He wasn't called "Dumbo" as a kid for no reason.

When I look in the window or mirror, it is hard to believe that this fuzzy headed person is me. It doesn't make me sad or depressed, just puzzled. There are some white spots where the hair had already fallen out to the follicles amongst the dark fuzz . In no time, I will look like a dalmation. At that point, I might need to think duct tape. Pictures will be posted soon.

I hope last night shed a little light on breast cancer for young and old, and possibly instigated unique family converstaions. Maybe it ignited a spark in one of the many children running round to become the Jonas Salk for breast cancer.

Last night is an incredible memory that I will keep with me forever...

I feel truly blessed.

I'm Molting, I'm Molting...

Wow, is my hair falling out fast! When I took a shower this morning, I made all kinds of noises as clumps of hair kept coming out in my hands. Molly checked in on me to make sure I was alright. It is definitely a strange sensation because you don't even feel the hair as it leaves your scalp. Hair is everywhere...all over the bathroom, my bed, the keyboard. I need to wear a hairnet in the kitchen. It's disgusting. I'm a witch with no hair, "I'm molting, I'm molting!" (Well, Salem, MA is only a few miles away from Manchester.)

I now need to wear a hat or head scarf all the time when I go out. It is embarrassing to have the fur flying as I walk down the street.

The head shaving party is mainly a celebration of thanks for all the wonderful support I have received during the past several months. Generous hearts have presented themselves in many forms. Yesterday I spoke with a Santa Clara University, Class of 1983, old friend, Jimmy Neutron. He lives with this family in the Seattle area. He said that he feels like he talks with me every day because he reads this jibber jabber. He even wears a pink wristband in honor of me - it takes a real man to wear a pink band! Knowing that he and his wife read this, makes me feel like I am talking to him, and all of you every day.

I don't say THANK YOU enough to all of you for your support, prayers, wishes and good thoughts! (Am I getting too mushy?)

Whacky thought for the day...
Duct tape is so versatile!
This priceless example is complements of my llama raising, New Mexico living, generously supportive, cousin Laura...
A year ago she performed her own version of the breast cancer dance. She buzzed her head because she didn't enjoy the flying fur either. However, the little stubbles that remained kept falling out and she felt as if she was shedding like a cat. SO, she got out the old duct tape and "defuzzed" her head! Yes, duct tape! She wrote that it didn't hurt. He husband and her sister caught her in the act, and after they got over the shock, they rolled around the floor in hysterics. I think this should go in the 3M Duct Tape hall of fame annals!

Head Shaving Party!!!

Well...Dr. Banana Split was off by one day. Today my first chunk of hair came out while I was washing my hair. It was a small chunk of about 10 strands of hair. Several single strands subsequently came out. Throughout the day I shed single strands of hair. When Riley woke this morning, I told about my hair coming out, she said that she didn't want to hear it. When way off Broadway star, Molly, woke up from a long sleep and I told her about my hair falling out, she gave me a big thumbs up. Later Molly said that I am molting!

It felt a little freaky and shocking to be holding a chunk of my hair. I had surgery with a long recovery, I have scars all over my body, I had two chemotherapy cycles, but having my hair fall out makes it seem all the more real. Gulp! My head constantly tingles as strands of hair are trying to escape my head. I took a 4 hour nap today because the two previous nights totalled 8 hours. After I woke up, I checked for hair on the pillow, but didn't find any. I gave my hair a good brushing, and filled up the brush. Now I know how the cats feel when the girls brush them. I wore a scarf on my head for the first time tonight because I didn't want my hair flying all over the people seated next to me at "The Music Man." It took three female neighbors to help me get the scarf placed correctly on my head so that I didn't look like a pirate. I was going to wear hoop earrings, but Riley and I agreed that I looked like a gypsy. I settled on the pink pearls that Chubba and the girls gave me when I got home from the hospital, post surgery. (Another local business shout out: N. Larson jewelry is a wonderful jewelry store in Manchester! http://www.larsonjewelrydesign.com/ Nancy is so warm and nice, and not pushy or intimidating like many jewelry designers and retailers. She makes most all her jewelry using colorful and clear crystals, unique stones, and traditional valuable gems. The prices range from very reasonable to investment-priced black diamonds for that special occasion- like a 50th birthday. Hmmm, anyone turning 50 next year?)

HEAD SHAVING PARTY!!!

THIS SUNDAY, AUGUST 1st
5:00 - ?
8 Burnham Lane

BBQ (east coast translation = "cookout") Hamburgers, Hot Dogs, Potato Salad, etc
Libations - soda & beer

ALL ARE WELCOME - IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOUR ARE INVITED! ADULTS AND KIDS (if it's hot, have kids (or you) wear swimsuits for a first class water gun fight.)

RSVP would be nice, but not necessary (don't want to run out of food or beer)
kevalmc@earthlink.net

Whacky thought for the day...
Bald is bold and beautiful! (I hope. Yikes!)

Hair Watch, 48 Hours and Counting...

48 hours ago, oncologist, Dr. Banana Split said that I would be losing my hair in 48 hours. Not even a single strand has fallen out. However, my head is feeling a little more sore - like tight pony tail sore. Riley keeps grabbing my hair to see if she can pull out any hair, but no go. She is actually a little worried about how I am going to look without hair. I told her that I will look shorter. My thoughtful, Dr. Seuss pajama wearing, giggly, classmate of Molly, 9 year old neighbor boy shaved his head last week in honor of me. He looks very cute! His big blue eyes look twice the size! I told Riley that I will look just like Spencer. She didn't buy it.

I did the goofiest thing yesterday during my chemotherapy. I had to go to the bathroom, and when I got out of the infusion chair and grabbed my IV pole, I could get the pole to only roll a short distance. It felt like the wheels were locked. I was next to the nurses station, so I asked over, "Do I need to be smarter than the pole because it feels like the wheels are locked?" They looked over and saw that I forgot to unplug it from the wall! So I acknowledged that indeed it is important to be smarter than the pole! We all had a good laugh. (I don't know why I forgot to unplug the pole because I did it twice last time I was there. It was probably the forgetfulness thing...)

Molly gave me my bone marrow producing shot tonight. She cleaned the shot area with the alcohol swab, and pushed the plunger after I injected the needle into my thigh. She was pushing a little hard, so the needle went in a little deeper, but it didn't hurt. However, a bit of blood come out upon removing the needle. Dr. Molly opened a sterile gauze pad and cleaned up the blood and put a Barbie band-aid over the site. She was quite pleased with herself. The girls are going to the next chemo appointment because I want them to see what it is all about. I don't think they will stay the entire time. I am hoping that Molly can practice injecting the shot with the shot practicing toys. Riley will probably leave the room the minute she sees a needle. When I took the shot out of the refrigerator tonight, the paperwork was still in the zip-lock bag. I discovered that each shot cost $3300. The total bill was $6600! I paid $30 total; $15 each for the shots. Thank goodness for insurance!

Chubba's mom is visiting. She has been very helpful with the girls while Chubba and I attend doctor's appointments. The girls are schooling her in the card game, Crazy 8s. Molly can't seem to lose!

Last night I went to sleep at 4:00 a.m. I guess technically I went to sleep today. I woke up at 7:30. I think I remember having difficulties sleeping right after my last chemo date. I look like I got 3 1/2 hours sleep too...not pretty. Strangely, I did not feel too wiped out today. I sense a crash in the future.

Whacky thought for the day...
Would you believe that I was a math major in college because I was a terrible writer and didn't like writing papers? Not that I'm any Jane Austen now, but I enjoy writing this jibber jabber.

My Teeth Are Floating...

Yesterday I had my pre-chemotherapy appointment. At this appointment, I meet with my oncologist and nurse practitioner on alternating appointments, and I have blood drawn for testing. The first words from Dr. Banana Split, my oncologist, with a tone of excitement, was,"You still have your hair!" (This reminded me of the times my gynecologists exclaimed "It's a girl!" -We never peaked.) Chubba asked her is this meant I wasn't going to lose my hair. She responded, "Oh yes! She will definitely lose her hair, and possibly within 48 hours." Well, it has been over 24, and I'm holding strong. Maybe my hair hasn't fallen out because it's so thick or because it's pink. My scalp is beginning to ache a little bit, as if I had a tight pony tail in my hair for a long time and I just let it down. Dr. Banana Split said this is a sign that it's coming out soon.

The girls asked me if my hair was going to grow back gray! When Chubba told Dr. Banana Split about the girls' inquiry, she told us that many women are shocked when their hair comes back gray. When Dr. Banana Split asks these women what color their hair was before it fell out, they usually reply, "I've been coloring my hair for 15 years." With this thought in mind, my hair will probably grow back salt and red pepper. My gray had just beginning to show around the front with only a few up top. (Hey Clean Machine, my friend and hairdresser - don't go telling my secrets in the comments section!) Getting less young is the pits.

Dr. Banana Split was pleased with my mild or lack of side effects. However, the last four days I have had annoying and sometimes terrible pain in my ankles and feet. Sporadically I get a pain shooting up my left leg, starting at the ankle and stopping in the back and middle of my left thigh. This pain made falling asleep difficult two consecutive nights, explaining my 3:00a.m. shut eye. Dr. Banana Split said that this is the first she heard about foot pain during chemotherapy. She believes that the pain is due to menopause. What?! If your are even on the fringe of menopause, chemotherapy throws your body into full-on menopause. During menopause, joint ache is common. Yep, chemotherapy is making me less young. By the way, I was assigned a new nurse practitioner. No more physical torture.

I forgot to tell Dr. Banana Split and the Clinical Trial Nurse, Laverne, about one symptom - forgetfulness. Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind because I forget things, or I repeat myself. It is so frustrating. I feel like the biggest space cadet! "Earth to Keval, Earth to Keval, are you with us?"

I was a little unsure how the chemotherapy doses and potency works? Do they get stronger each time. Does one dose (cycle) build on top of another dose, building it up in the system? Dr. Banana Split explained that yesterday, I probably didn't have any chemotherapy left in my system. The poison lasts just about two weeks in my system. Each dose (cycle) will be exactly the same, so my side effects for today's cycle should be consistent with the previous cycle. YES! Yahoo! (I hope I'm not counting my chickens before they hatch.) She also explained that during the 5-7 days after the cycle, the chemotherapy is mainly attacking any bad cells. The remaining days the poision attacks the healthy cells. This explains why the body crashes anywhere from day 5-7. I crashed on day 6, not being able to get off the couch all day.

Today was chemo day. Two down and two to go!

I was told that my lab work came back looking good. My white blood count, platelet count and iron all looked good. I take iron pills on top of the long list of other medications. I must write all my meds in my calendar/daytimer, or I lose track of what pills to take ,what time of day to take them, and with or without food. Tomorrow I give myself another shot to help produce more bone marrow; Molly can't wait.

Today I got a foot massage with acupressure during chemotherapy. It was heaven! The therapist, Magic Hands, uses the foot as a map of the body. She presses or manipulates the area relating to your needs: nausea, bowel issues, headaches, hiccups, upper GI burning, etc. Magic Hands worked on my foot/ankle pain and the pain shooting up my leg. So far, no pain today, and I even wore my high, sassy shoes to opening night of "The Music Man!" ( Molly is in her first off,off, way off, Broadway production.) This therapist made a believer out of me on the effectiveness of foot acupressure. I already have a time for the next cycle.

The chemotherapy seemed to go by quickly today. I still had the very toxic red medicine that cannot be given via a drip, it must be injected by the nurse. The nurse told me that I am fortunate to have a port-a-cath because the "red devil," Adriamycin, is very dangerous if it leaks into your skin. It binds with the DNA in the skin, instantly killing the skin cells. As I mentioned before, a plastic surgeon is scheduled soon after this happens. "Lucky" comes in all forms.

I was also visited today by a social worker. We talked about how things are going - great. She gave me a flyer titled, "Feel Better, Look Good." Next Monday, Mass General Hospital in Danvers is having free seminar/clinic on how to wear scarves in various ways, how to apply make up- eyebrows, eyelashes, etc, and other tips with wigs or hats. They give each woman a free supply of make-up to keep, and scarves will be available for demonstration. I signed Riley, Molly and I up to go. I will bring my own scarves. My neighbor, Mary, is going to lend me some of her Hermes scarves. I will look so designer! I think the girls will have fun helping me with the scarves and make-up. There will be a few laughs and giggles. The timing will be perfect because I am tentatively scheduling my hair shaving party for Sunday - but, only if my hair begins to fall out between now and Sunday. Stay tuned for confirmation of date and time. All are welcome - kids, grown-ups, anyone that wants some good laughs, some food, libation, etc. If you are reading this, you are definitely invited!

When I got home, and went to the bathroom, my pee was orange again. I called Riley and Molly in to look at it. I know, grossly strange. Riley said, "This is so gross, do I have to?" She looked and walked out mumbling "disgusting." Molly came bouncing it because she was eager to see this strange sight. Upon viewing the orange pee, she said, "Cool! We could dye eggs in that!" Where does she get her weird, sarcastic sense of humor? (She's only 9 1/2 years old!)

Today, and for the following several days, I am suppose to drink about a gallon of water each day. I have so much water in me, my teeth are floating! Needless to say, I am constantly trekking to the bathroom. I am pleased to report that my pee is now normal color - just in case you wanted to know.

Whacky thought for the day...
Three different people in Manchester have offered me pot (marijuana) for nausea. I will not reveal my sources (suppliers.) When I told one supplier that I have terrible asthma, and don't think I could last one inhale (Sorry Pres. Clinton-I think inhaling is necessary,) this supplier smartly suggested making brownies. I very nicely declined because so far, I surprisingly and happily have this nausea thing under control

Belated Birthday Wishes :
(Would you believe that all my birthday wishes have been just for my large immediate family?)
Happy Birthday Daniel! - July 25
Happy Birthday Brenna! -July 23

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow...

I have not lost any hair, yet. Today I realized that I haven't shaved my legs in a long time. In the shower this morning, I shaved a small nubble off my legs, and they are smoother than a newborn baby's behind. I don't think they have ever been this smooth. I am guessing that my hair has stopped growing, and that the next phase will be it falling out.

How many times have I mentioned that I am not wearing a wig? I just couldn't imagine putting that on my head in this heat and humidity. I tell everyone that it would be like wearing a fur hat in the summer. I probably am repeating myself because although I have not lost any hair, I feel like I am losing my mind. I forget stuff like orthodontist appointments that are written in bold Sharpee on the refrigerator calendar, even with a phone call the day before. I repeat myself unknowingly, telling the same stories or asking the same questions repeatedly to the same people. (My poor neighbors and family have several months ahead of the same things being repeated over and over by me.)

Stay tuned for the head shaving party...

Whacky thought for the day...
I don't understand the saying, "...slept like a baby." It usually means that someone had a great night of sleep. Babies don't sleep through the night! They barely sleep 3 hours at a time. After a restless night of sleep, then I say that I "slept like a baby."

"Slept like a teenager" is a much better phrase to define a good night of sleep.

Strange Side Effects...

I have read several lists of side effects from chemotherapy and medications. All the side effects are scary and have a negative impact on one's life. However, I am experiencing some positive side effects of chemo and its corresponding meds.

My fingernails are growing like crazy! In the past week, my fingernails must have grown half an inch. This could be a side effect of the chemo or the Neulasta, the bone marrow generating shot. I didn't read anything about crazy nails in all the literature given to me by Laverne and Shirley, the clinical trial nurses. My pedicure, an uncommon treat, looks tired after just two weeks because my toenails are growing so fast. If messing up a pedicure is one of the worst things that happens in these two weeks between treatments, then I am a very lucky person.

The second strange side effect is the increase in my niceness. Yep, niceness. Some rare people are just genuinely nice, and as most of you know, I don't fall into that category. (That's okay if you agree with me. We all know I'm right on this one...I have texture!) But, since chemotherapy, I feel like Polyanna, happy and nice. What??? I know...this is very bizarre. My mom and my sister have noticed, and so has Chubba and the girls. Maybe the chemo killed some of my "bitchy" cells that sometimes mask the "nice" cells in my body. Whatever the cause, my family likes it, and so do I.

Exhaustion is the only "normal" side effect that I am beginning to feel. Today I hit the corner. (Hitting the corner is similar to hitting the wall, except that you have two walls for support, preventing a very hard crash.) Today at around 3pm, I had to take a nap right away. It was a funny feeling, similar to having to go to the bathroom right away, except I had to sleep immediately. I passed out for almost two hours. I think that I actually fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. When I awoke, I felt great. All so strange...

I can't believe that my body is still recovering from the surgery. I can feel the nerve endings, muscles and other internal stuff beginning to work or reattach inside my stomach. The tightness and stretching are a bit uncomfortable, especially when I need to bend over to pick up something. The reconstructive left breast is still healing too. So far, I can say that the surgery, or surgeries -depending if you count a mastectomy by one surgeon and a tram flap reconstruction by another surgeon as multiple surgeries, have been much tougher to deal with than chemotherapy. Let's hope it stays that way.

Whacky thought for the day...
Why does your sweat have a different odor after surgery? Anesthesia? It returns to normal after about a month. Gross.

Chemo Clarification...

I have been asked a couple of times if chemotherapy is radioactive. It is not radioactive, it is a combination of some medications/poisons meant to kill any cancer cells and unfortunately healthy cells. I had two radioactive scans. It was clearly evident when you are in an area with radioactive materials. The triangular "Warning: Radioactive Materials" signs are posted everywhere. Some of the techs wear special protective aprons. The materials are delivered in special lead boxes, or in the case of my PetScan, the injection was pulled out of a deep smoking box - it kind of reminded me of cryogenics.

The nurse delivering the chemotherapy medications wears a special "chemotherapy proof" protective over-garment that kind of looks like a hospital gown, but made from different material. I think, but am not sure, that she wore clear protective eyewear and, of course, heavy gloves. The delivery nurse, not to be confused with those delivering babies, works with my infusion nurse, and the two nurses together double check for accuracy. They both sign the chart listing the meds before they ever leave her hands. They also ask me my date of birth to make sure that I am actually Keval McNamara, born on 3-25-61. I would be surprised is they had a patient named Keval McNamara born on another date. I appreciate the attention to detail.

I now know why all the doctors during this 5+months of cancer dance said that I was so young. Other than the 24-year old guy across from me, most all the other patients looked to be in their 70's-80's. There were a few young whippersnappers in their 60's.

I'm still feeling okay, and I am still walking around barefoot. I thought that since I have wood floors, I can stomp on them a few times during the day, and it would be like "knocking on wood" throughout the day.

Whacky thought for the day...
I was messing around in my garden early this evening, and a mosquito landed on me. I was wondering if it bit me, would it instantly die from the chemotherapy inside of me? Actually, the mosquitoes have been staying away from me and attacking everyone else. Maybe the chemotherapy provides me with constant bug repellent.