"Tell them you want the 'Telly Savalas'..."

Everything I read about cancer treatment (and the side effects thereof) said I could expect to lose my hair at about 14 - 17 days after my first chemotherapy infusion.

My first chemo was on 9/12... 2 Thursdays ago.

So, like clockwork, my thick, curly mane waited until Thursday to start falling out in earnest.

Sabbatical for Chef Lola

This week has been a long one. I haven't really done anything, and I'm pretty exhausted. The irony is that I've been waking up every hour, on the hour, every night this week. Waking up frequently isn't really new for me. Ever since I was a little girl, my sleep has been mediocre at best. It's a rare thing for me to sleep through the night, and honestly, I can't remember the last time I did.
Nevertheless, here I am... at midnight... writing.

So far this week, I've managed to work every day. I cooked dinner every night this week.
(Granted, I made sandwiches one night and basically re-heated something from the freezer tonight, but I'm counting it. I have high hopes for a gigantic pot of marinara sauce tomorrow night, which I will transform into myriad dinners through the first part of next week.)
But once dinner was cooked, and I finally got to sit down to eat, I've been ready to go to sleep.

I've got one week before I have chemo again. It's possible that this is my new baseline, and I'm OK with that, really.  It's also possible (or more likely) that I'll be even more tired for the next round. It also means that I need to be a bit more organized and efficient with planning my meals.
Luckily, everything tastes funky right now, so I'm not interested in cooking elaborate things for dinner.

I have several days next week covered with my marinara, but I'm looking for different "cook once, eat several times" types of dishes to make over the next few months. I need extra protein. Sadly, I can't tolerate anything remotely spicy right now either.

Any ideas, readers???

Water Water Everywhere

This weekend, I managed to walk 1.5 miles on Saturday and about 3 miles on Sunday.
My knees started hurting before I even finished Sunday, but I just figured I'd go home, put some ice on them, and carry on. Wrong answer.

I'm retaining water. This is also a new experience for me. A miserable new experience...
Everything aches. My knees, my ankles, my hands are all swollen and tight. I can't bend my knees past a 90 degree angle, and they're so stiff that I hobble instead of walk right now. My hands hurt if I try to make a fist.

My aunt is calling in a prescription for a mild diuretic. I would have my fingers crossed that it's all I need, but my fingers are too swollen to cross right now.

Insomnia Aids Rude Awakenings

I developed a mysterious rash just after chemo. It doesn't hurt or burn or itch, but it looks red and blistery and nasty. I did what every lucky cancer patient does. I called my aunt, who just happens to be my oncologist's nurse practitioner.

Genuinely Happy WBC Dancing!!!

I remember a few weeks ago, pining over the lack of genuine-stand-alone Good News when I went to see any of my doctors.

Today, I got my Good News.

Elegant Sledgehammers

There's a reason why leeches are still used in modern medicine. Yes, their purposes used to be wide and varied, but mostly ill-advised and deadly... We've "learned" how to use them, though, and now, what used to be a Swiss-Army-Knife application has become a very effective way to coax blood into a body part if you were "relieved" of your possession of that body part too early. (Think "Shop Class.")

Hydration & TMI & Other Side Effects

I normally don't have trouble staying hydrated. Most days, I carry around a liter-sized Nalgene bottle, full or mostly full of icy cold water, and I refill it at least once every day. The past 2 days, though, I've been struggling with it. I've not moved more than a few feet from my couch or bed. I've not had my trusty Nalgene. I've been drinking water or ginger ale through a straw from a pint glass. It makes it difficult to gauge the amount of fluid I've been taking in.

Here comes the TMI part:

Third Day's the "Charm"

When MJ picked me up from our friend's house around 1 on Sunday afternoon, I said, "I think today's my bad chemo day."

Post Chemo, Friday-Saturday

MJ made sure that I have lots of visitors the next 2 days... Not that it mattered much, because mostly I just wanted to sleep. I did get out and about for a little while, because staying at home for me is a tough thing to do. Other than feeling sleepy (which is kind of standard for me, with the narcolepsy and all,) I haven't really experienced many truly terrible side effects.
I did have to invest in a large bottle of Tums (the wintergreen flavor, please-&-thanks) because I've had some heartburn. I *never* have heartburn, so I'm not sure if it's just stress or a legitimate side effect.

Saturday, I travelled to Augusta for a short visit with a few friends. We had pizza, of which I ate very little. I think my appetite is not great at this point. We walked around quite a bit, but nothing strenuous, and I am used to walking around a lot. I did start to feel the fatigue set in around midnight. Luckily, that's about when we stopped walking around so much. Once we made it back to our hotel room, though, I was done.

When I woke up the next morning, things had taken a decided turn. I definitely had a fever. I was achy, exhausted, and a little over an hour away from home. I felt like I got hit by a truck...a very large truck that dragged me all the way back to town....

Lola's First Chemo, Part One

I'm sitting in the infusion room at my oncologist's office right now.
I opted to have my blood sample(s) for labs drawn through my Port-A-Cath in my chest so that the nurses would only have to poke me one time. It'll extend my stay in the infusion room for a little while today, but in the meantime, I get a bag full of saline for extra hydration. I just got some anti-nausea solution and antihistamine in my IV to prepare for my first chemo drug. The three infusions are given separately. The first infusion of each of the drugs goes more slowly for the first visit, so the nurses can make sure I'm not going to have any allergic reactions. Today, I'll be in this recliner until 3 pm.

Lola's First Chemo, Prequel

I had a rough night's sleep last night. You know that anxiety one gets the night before something exciting happens? Usually, the excitement is "good," like a visit from Santa, or a trip to the beach.
Yes, I am oddly "excited" about starting chemo. It sounds weird to you, I know. It feels weird to me. I'm not excited, like today's my birthday and I'm having a big party. I'm excited, like I'm in uncharted waters, like I don't know what's going to happen next, like things could go perfectly well or horribly wrong, and I get to roll with either direction. I have no control over whether this concoction of systematic poison is going to work well or not at all.

Final Countdown

After weeks of waiting, eleventy tests/biopsies/doctor visits, I finally got my official chemo schedule today. I start chemotherapy on 12 August 2013, at 9:30am. The first treatment should last until about 3pm. I have to pick up a round of steroids to help with some of the side effects of some of the chemo cocktail.

It's official. I'm a hard ass.

It's been an exciting day. I worked half a day today because, once again, I got to visit the  hospital for a "procedure" this afternoon.
Since my bones lit up like Christmas on my PET scan last week, my oncologist thought it would be prudent to order a bone biopsy to test for type (we're rooting for HER2+, kids!)

My aunt, the Oncology nurse, called me yesterday with the appointment time: today, at 1pm. **Mind you, I have tickets to see Muse in Charlotte, NC, tonight. So, like the little trooper I am, I took the appointment, and I'm currently doped up on Percocet, on the way to Charlotte.**

I got to the hospital at 12:15pm and waited for the nurse to call me back for pre-op. JBB generously donated her chauffeur skills, and also recommended an evil little game called "Dots" to keep me distracted while we waited. (Thanks, JBB! Just what I need: another time-sucking addictive game. I love it. And hate it. :-P )

I learned some things today:
1. My new Port-a-Cath rocks. It took the nurse no time at all to hook up my IV.
2. The doctor that did my bone biopsy was hot... and he basically got 30 minutes of one-on-one time with my ass this afternoon.
3. My bones are surprisingly very hard. The hot doctor said so.
4.  I know what a bone drill sounds like. And it is very disconcerting.

The Good, The Bad, The Bony

Just once, I'd like to visit my oncologist or my surgeon (or my GP for that matter!!,) and get some genuinely *good*  news. Especially news which is good, which stands on its own, which isn't good by comparison to the "bad" news.
Sadly, today was not really that day.

I finally got the results of my PET scan from last Saturday.
Don't freak out; I'm not, yet.

The good news? All of my internal organs are clear.
The bad news? My bones were not so lucky.
The ugly news? I get a bone biopsy next week for confirmation.

Needless to say, chemo is on hold until we get more biopsy results.  Tentatively, I'll start chemo the second week of September...

Here's why I'm not exactly losing my mind right now: there's a fancy-pants chemo drug that targets bone.

Let's cross our fingers.... again.

Limbo

I'm in the weird post-diagnosis, pre-chemo state of cancer.

I've already had the strange glances at the port on my chest, people asking if I'm OK while pointedly staring at the incisions... Is is wrong that I said, "No, I'm fine..." to someone at work? Is it worse that I told the truth to the very next person who asked? I feel almost guilty when I tell the truth to some people and withhold from others. I feel strange when I say "I'm fine" when, technically, I'm not. I feel even more strange if there's a rush of emotion, and I find my voice cracking when I say, "I have cancer." That makes me feel like a fraud.
I feel like I've already failed to live up to the "survivor" label every time I have to assure someone that it's not a matter of *if* I lose my hair, but *when* I lose it, and that my preparation is not a sign that I've (already) given up.

I probably sound ungrateful right now, but really, I'm not. I know that I'm profoundly lucky to have so many people thinking about me and praying for me and helping me.

It's a dichotomy.
I'm supposed to be appropriately somber. I must be unapologetically courageous. I should have ridiculous optimism.
Unfortunately, on my best days, I'm crass. I have a twisted sense of humor. I'm a cynic.

I'm much more likely to tell a off-color cancer joke than lead a kumbaya.

If my joke is funny, though, please laugh with me.