Still red and puffy today,
but walked 40 minutes on the treadmill this morning,
and I have had a massage!
Taking a Bendaryl right now!
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Chemo #8 Finished!
Final Day - brought donuts and oranges for everyone (staff and patients), made "Thank You" t-shirt for Scott and me to wear. Took lots of pictures. Got sick the last 10 minutes of treatment, had to be redosed up with Dexamethasone (steroids), Phenergen, and Benadryl, and then some fluids added - you can see I'm puffy. Then tried to get up, legs too weak, hobbled over to the ship bell to ring out "I'm Finished." Forgot to pick up my bottle of bubbly, but I'll be back on Friday for more hydration and 3 times next week, so I'm really not "finished," but chemo is over!!! Rolled out of the chemo room in a classy wheelchair - what a way to go!
Breaking News
Late last night Nick Stone found our dear Ronda Walker Weaver.
She has been spending time at the Oncology and Chemotherapy Lab at UVRMC.
She has changed, but not so much that Nick was not able to find her through the lens of his camera.
Scott saw glimpses of her during the day - keen observation, he was able to be by her side, and then Nick captured her image around 8pm that evening.
Please note that while we have Ronda at home, she will need months of reintegration therapy including 3 months of radiation, and up to 6 months of naps, exercise, healthy diet, and occasional company.
Thank you to all who have helped so much these past 4 months in caring for Ronda as she has struggled to care for herself.
She has been spending time at the Oncology and Chemotherapy Lab at UVRMC.
She has changed, but not so much that Nick was not able to find her through the lens of his camera.
Scott saw glimpses of her during the day - keen observation, he was able to be by her side, and then Nick captured her image around 8pm that evening.
Please note that while we have Ronda at home, she will need months of reintegration therapy including 3 months of radiation, and up to 6 months of naps, exercise, healthy diet, and occasional company.
Thank you to all who have helped so much these past 4 months in caring for Ronda as she has struggled to care for herself.
The Green Jacket is a nod to Mike Peters and his Love Hope Strength organization (see yesterday's post.)
The Thank You Pink Ribbon t-shirt is a nod to doctors, nurses, and other staff who have kept Ronda healthy.
And the henna head was a blessing from Malissa Shaw of Body and Soul Tattoo.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Last Chemo Day
Hip-hip-hurray - chemo #8 today! My hands are tingly, my fingertips numb, my fingernails and nail beds ache, my toes are cold, but not really - they just feel that way, and I am so very very tired - physically, emotionally, spiritually. And yet, here I am, like a lamb going to slaughter - submitting myself to one more treatment of poison. Odd, very odd. I hope to never, ever, ever walk this way again.
So, to commemorate today, I'm sharing an angelic act by my dear friend Russ Kendall. We've known each other for years; he knows my love for music, and he is gentle, kind, and thoughtful man, plus a dang good producer and director of "The Song That Changed My Life" and other shows, and you should all get online and watch this particular series.
The surprise from Russ was this November, 2012 video card from Mike Peters, of the 80s and 90s band, The Alarm. Mike is a 2-time cancer survivor and the co-founder of Love Hope Strength.
Thank you Russ, thank you Mike, for your support - Onward!
So, to commemorate today, I'm sharing an angelic act by my dear friend Russ Kendall. We've known each other for years; he knows my love for music, and he is gentle, kind, and thoughtful man, plus a dang good producer and director of "The Song That Changed My Life" and other shows, and you should all get online and watch this particular series.
The surprise from Russ was this November, 2012 video card from Mike Peters, of the 80s and 90s band, The Alarm. Mike is a 2-time cancer survivor and the co-founder of Love Hope Strength.
Thank you Russ, thank you Mike, for your support - Onward!
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Peace in the Night
This post made me think about my sleepless nights, the nights when I'm scared, feeling alone, have a bad dream, some anxiety, or just cannot shut my brain down. I haven't written much about my religious perspective in this blog, but I will share a bit of my spiritual perspective.
When I can't go to sleep at night, I play some games with my mind - letters of the alphabet - have to find one emotion word that matches each letter: anxiety, boredom, comfortable, dread, eager . . . ; I find an adjective for each letter of the alphabet: funny, greedy, heightened, jittery . . . , or, what I do most often is count my blessings - sometimes it's people's names, sometimes it's acts, sometimes it's life events, sometimes it's general: kids, life, me, naps, oncologist, positive thoughts, quiet, recovery, soup, tomorrow, Uncle, V-neck t-shirts, Walker family, x-tra blankets, yoga, zucchini bread. Last night, I listed all of the people I love, alphabetically!
Another get-to-sleep game I play is that of singing, in my mind, my favorite spiritual songs. My favorites include, "Be Still, My Soul." Another, "A Child's Prayer." Another is, "Tis a Gift to be Simple."
I've had my share of funky dreams, some of them are probably medicine induced, but some of them are that unconscious fear I'm sure I'm processing this way. Some nights I wake up in a sweat because of a bad dream, sometimes I'm not sure where I'm at when I wake up, and there are nights when I'm actually afraid to get up and go to the bathroom! It has been interesting to find these dreams, these thoughts, these fears - whether it's the end of my/the world, my past lives, being alone, dealing with my cancer or another type of cancer - and when I'm wide awake, feeling like I'm 8 year's old again, I become that 8 year old and pray. "Please bless that this bad dream will go away." "Please bless that I can go back to sleep." "Please bless that my house will be safe." And if that doesn't calm me, and the ABC game doesn't still my soul, I tell God, "Please God, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what a ride. Please sit beside me; please be near me; please don't forget me; please give me peace; please give me sleep." Or, "Please God, help me make peace with the night."
And with the little faith I have and all the hope I can muster at 2am, I trust, and I sleep.
When I can't go to sleep at night, I play some games with my mind - letters of the alphabet - have to find one emotion word that matches each letter: anxiety, boredom, comfortable, dread, eager . . . ; I find an adjective for each letter of the alphabet: funny, greedy, heightened, jittery . . . , or, what I do most often is count my blessings - sometimes it's people's names, sometimes it's acts, sometimes it's life events, sometimes it's general: kids, life, me, naps, oncologist, positive thoughts, quiet, recovery, soup, tomorrow, Uncle, V-neck t-shirts, Walker family, x-tra blankets, yoga, zucchini bread. Last night, I listed all of the people I love, alphabetically!
Another get-to-sleep game I play is that of singing, in my mind, my favorite spiritual songs. My favorites include, "Be Still, My Soul." Another, "A Child's Prayer." Another is, "Tis a Gift to be Simple."
I've had my share of funky dreams, some of them are probably medicine induced, but some of them are that unconscious fear I'm sure I'm processing this way. Some nights I wake up in a sweat because of a bad dream, sometimes I'm not sure where I'm at when I wake up, and there are nights when I'm actually afraid to get up and go to the bathroom! It has been interesting to find these dreams, these thoughts, these fears - whether it's the end of my/the world, my past lives, being alone, dealing with my cancer or another type of cancer - and when I'm wide awake, feeling like I'm 8 year's old again, I become that 8 year old and pray. "Please bless that this bad dream will go away." "Please bless that I can go back to sleep." "Please bless that my house will be safe." And if that doesn't calm me, and the ABC game doesn't still my soul, I tell God, "Please God, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what a ride. Please sit beside me; please be near me; please don't forget me; please give me peace; please give me sleep." Or, "Please God, help me make peace with the night."
And with the little faith I have and all the hope I can muster at 2am, I trust, and I sleep.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Surrreal
When I was dating Scott (9 years ago) there were times I would just shake my head in amazement/disbelief that I was dating him, the next-door neighbor (to my parents). There were times when we were newlyweds that I would drive toward my old home and have to shake my head to jog my memory that I no longer lived in Springville! As well, times when I would be at work/school/grocery store and have to stop and remind myself that the life I was leading at that time was not the life I had previously lived. There were folks I'd see at the grocery store/mall/school/work, and wonder which life I had known them from.
I felt like I could divide my life into two themes - Pre-Scott and Post-Scott. I think part of this was due to the fact that I didn't have much time to transition from one life to the next - so things were kinda muddy there for awhile. Of course, now home is with Scott, this is a second marriage; I did live another life, and there are elements of that past life that are a part of this life, but now I sometimes stop and wonder if this or that life event was pre or post-Scott. And I'll be brave here and say that the transition from one marriage into another, so very quickly, was hard, tough, not easy, and there were times that I wanted to go back to the old me, the other life, the life I had willingly left.
The past month I've found myself (take this literally) shaking my head in disbelief, over and over again. I step outside of my body, and then look at myself wondering how on earth I got to where I am today and how much of "today" is real. Take for instance yesterday - sitting in the movie theater, I scratched my head, my fingers ached in this small act, and I fully expected them to land on hair rather than on a fleece hat. I thought, "Woah, this isn't me, what I'm seeing here is someone/thing else scratching someone else's head, but I'm feeling it." This is just one example - this has happened several times - specifically when I'm in the chemotherapy room - it's someone sitting in that chair receiving chemo, but it's not me, or even more often, "How on earth did I get here?" Or, when I'm getting ready for the day - me without my hat, is not me. Me with my hat, I recognize, but I'm still unsure. Me naked - definitely not me. Me clothed - still leery.
You would think that 4.5 months would be enough time for me to adjust to having cancer. But just like in my newlywed days, the habit of turning south rather than north to go home then jolted me into shock or surprise, which took a year or two of undoing, so is the awareness that I have cancer, and the habits of my daily life pre-cancer still are more present than the shock and surprise that I have cancer and the subsequent effects of cancer.
Last night I cried to Scott - I do miss me; I am afraid, I don't know if I want the new me, or even if I have a choice; chemotherapy may be almost over, but that's just another step in this entire surreal cancer journey. I'm on this road, on this journey, and I don't remember gassing up the car, packing my bags, preparing for the journey. It was a more an "All aboard, you're coming aboard" action rather than any form of transition to this next phase. I see this me, and I wonder who she is, when she'll be leaving, and when the old me will be returning.
I went to church yesterday, the second time in 4 months, and I couldn't help but wonder if those in the congregation see me, or me.
See, I don't want to be a warrior, a survivor, a patient, a tough/strong/brave lady. There are times that I want to go back to the old me, the old way me, the life I had left, the life, and here's the difference, I did not willingly leave.
I have to go back to the faith/hope and Serenity Prayer thoughts - otherwise, like last night - I wallow in sleepless misery. When, when, when am I going to be able to accept that although I didn't choose this journey, it is mine to travel? It's just so surreal . . .
This morning, my friend and I were walking and talking. I was whining to her about this above contradiction. She said that maybe it's a good thing that I think I still have hair, that I don't recognize myself. Perhaps, she said, this means I'm not cancer. That makes sense. Then this thought came via e-mail: "Nothing that had happened in the past could be taken away. This was an amazing gift. The past was done and over and settled; you couldn't get it back, but still, whatever good you had gotten from it, spiritually, emotionally, would be yours for your lifetime."(Nancy Werlin)
The below video stunned and pleased me. This really is the life the current me is living right now. It's joyful, blunt, victorious, and it also shows the port I have and what chemo (the hours of sitting while chemo is dripping) is like.
I felt like I could divide my life into two themes - Pre-Scott and Post-Scott. I think part of this was due to the fact that I didn't have much time to transition from one life to the next - so things were kinda muddy there for awhile. Of course, now home is with Scott, this is a second marriage; I did live another life, and there are elements of that past life that are a part of this life, but now I sometimes stop and wonder if this or that life event was pre or post-Scott. And I'll be brave here and say that the transition from one marriage into another, so very quickly, was hard, tough, not easy, and there were times that I wanted to go back to the old me, the other life, the life I had willingly left.
The past month I've found myself (take this literally) shaking my head in disbelief, over and over again. I step outside of my body, and then look at myself wondering how on earth I got to where I am today and how much of "today" is real. Take for instance yesterday - sitting in the movie theater, I scratched my head, my fingers ached in this small act, and I fully expected them to land on hair rather than on a fleece hat. I thought, "Woah, this isn't me, what I'm seeing here is someone/thing else scratching someone else's head, but I'm feeling it." This is just one example - this has happened several times - specifically when I'm in the chemotherapy room - it's someone sitting in that chair receiving chemo, but it's not me, or even more often, "How on earth did I get here?" Or, when I'm getting ready for the day - me without my hat, is not me. Me with my hat, I recognize, but I'm still unsure. Me naked - definitely not me. Me clothed - still leery.
You would think that 4.5 months would be enough time for me to adjust to having cancer. But just like in my newlywed days, the habit of turning south rather than north to go home then jolted me into shock or surprise, which took a year or two of undoing, so is the awareness that I have cancer, and the habits of my daily life pre-cancer still are more present than the shock and surprise that I have cancer and the subsequent effects of cancer.
Last night I cried to Scott - I do miss me; I am afraid, I don't know if I want the new me, or even if I have a choice; chemotherapy may be almost over, but that's just another step in this entire surreal cancer journey. I'm on this road, on this journey, and I don't remember gassing up the car, packing my bags, preparing for the journey. It was a more an "All aboard, you're coming aboard" action rather than any form of transition to this next phase. I see this me, and I wonder who she is, when she'll be leaving, and when the old me will be returning.
I went to church yesterday, the second time in 4 months, and I couldn't help but wonder if those in the congregation see me, or me.
See, I don't want to be a warrior, a survivor, a patient, a tough/strong/brave lady. There are times that I want to go back to the old me, the old way me, the life I had left, the life, and here's the difference, I did not willingly leave.
I have to go back to the faith/hope and Serenity Prayer thoughts - otherwise, like last night - I wallow in sleepless misery. When, when, when am I going to be able to accept that although I didn't choose this journey, it is mine to travel? It's just so surreal . . .
This morning, my friend and I were walking and talking. I was whining to her about this above contradiction. She said that maybe it's a good thing that I think I still have hair, that I don't recognize myself. Perhaps, she said, this means I'm not cancer. That makes sense. Then this thought came via e-mail: "Nothing that had happened in the past could be taken away. This was an amazing gift. The past was done and over and settled; you couldn't get it back, but still, whatever good you had gotten from it, spiritually, emotionally, would be yours for your lifetime."(Nancy Werlin)
The below video stunned and pleased me. This really is the life the current me is living right now. It's joyful, blunt, victorious, and it also shows the port I have and what chemo (the hours of sitting while chemo is dripping) is like.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Somebody Oughta -
All of my life I've been taught the Ghandi phrase - "Be the change you want to see in the world." My folks would often say, "It takes as much energy to whine as it does to act." "Quit your whining and do." And they taught by example. I was also taught, "Actions speak louder than words."
I'm bothered by folks who say things such as, "I wonder . . . " "I wish . . . " "Somebody oughta . . . " "Tomorrow I'm going to . . . " I was taught, "For crying out loud, quit your crying and do!"
So I don't talk about dreaming, I talk about action. I don't talk about "If only," because I know the "only" is me. "If you want something done, do it." And I pride myself on being a get-'er-done kind of person. In fact, dreaming scares me - because then they must turn into action - or the dream is lost.
The past few months I've been a couch-potato, or better, a chemo room recliner babe. I see things that should be done. That I should do. And I can't. And that's been torture. Asking, reaching out to others - I feel almost apologetic - sorry, excuse me, ummm could you . . , and neglecting or not doing - ouch!
On Wednesday the nurse practitioner I see every other week told me, "Don't take on anything other than yourself until at least May. People will be asking you to do things, because I know the kind of person you are, but you must say 'No.' You do not have your doctor's permission to begin anything new, big, more, until May, and then we'll evaluate. Heal, you hear me? Heal." She also told me, "As soon as you finish chemo, go find a rock, someplace warm, and sit, soak in the goodness, you need this time, you need this for you."
So I've been thinking, if I can't do, then at least I can be. "BE the change you want to see in the world." The word DO is not in this phrase. I can: Be patient, Be kind, Be thoughtful, Be gentle. And in the being, perhaps I will find a different type of doing - that internal growth, the internal change that would be wonderful for the rest of the world, but fundamentally has to start with me - I need to be patient with myself first; be kind to myself first; be thoughtful for me, first; be gentle to myself first. Then it will move from the inward being to the outward doing - to others.
As I've been thinking about this, I am reminded, and I have been reminded multiple times over these past few months, of the prompting I had way back in August (another lifetime), "Take care of yourself. You need another year to take care of your body." I now know this means my physical body and as well as my spiritual body. I can exercise, eat right, get my strength and stamina back - these are all doings. While I'm doing, I can also be - contemplate, meditate, think, read, pray, be still. I can't force my hair to grow, the sun to shine, my wounds to heal, the tulips to grow. But I can be still and watch, hope, enjoy.
Be the change . . . the change that I need is to "Be."
I'm bothered by folks who say things such as, "I wonder . . . " "I wish . . . " "Somebody oughta . . . " "Tomorrow I'm going to . . . " I was taught, "For crying out loud, quit your crying and do!"
So I don't talk about dreaming, I talk about action. I don't talk about "If only," because I know the "only" is me. "If you want something done, do it." And I pride myself on being a get-'er-done kind of person. In fact, dreaming scares me - because then they must turn into action - or the dream is lost.
The past few months I've been a couch-potato, or better, a chemo room recliner babe. I see things that should be done. That I should do. And I can't. And that's been torture. Asking, reaching out to others - I feel almost apologetic - sorry, excuse me, ummm could you . . , and neglecting or not doing - ouch!
On Wednesday the nurse practitioner I see every other week told me, "Don't take on anything other than yourself until at least May. People will be asking you to do things, because I know the kind of person you are, but you must say 'No.' You do not have your doctor's permission to begin anything new, big, more, until May, and then we'll evaluate. Heal, you hear me? Heal." She also told me, "As soon as you finish chemo, go find a rock, someplace warm, and sit, soak in the goodness, you need this time, you need this for you."
So I've been thinking, if I can't do, then at least I can be. "BE the change you want to see in the world." The word DO is not in this phrase. I can: Be patient, Be kind, Be thoughtful, Be gentle. And in the being, perhaps I will find a different type of doing - that internal growth, the internal change that would be wonderful for the rest of the world, but fundamentally has to start with me - I need to be patient with myself first; be kind to myself first; be thoughtful for me, first; be gentle to myself first. Then it will move from the inward being to the outward doing - to others.
As I've been thinking about this, I am reminded, and I have been reminded multiple times over these past few months, of the prompting I had way back in August (another lifetime), "Take care of yourself. You need another year to take care of your body." I now know this means my physical body and as well as my spiritual body. I can exercise, eat right, get my strength and stamina back - these are all doings. While I'm doing, I can also be - contemplate, meditate, think, read, pray, be still. I can't force my hair to grow, the sun to shine, my wounds to heal, the tulips to grow. But I can be still and watch, hope, enjoy.
Be the change . . . the change that I need is to "Be."
Yes, that's where I'll be-gin; Begin within -
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