Team DeAnne

Summer’s here, and I’m not!  It seems that I’m only home long enough to mess up my house, then sleep, then go out for more fun!  I scarcely even think of cancer these days…except for when I have to put on my darn wig. 

Yes, the chicken feathers are getting darker like my old natural hair color, but they are still so short. 

But yesterday I did actually go out of the house sans-wig!  An old friend is still in town from last weekend’s reunion, and she and I and her two children met two other old friends from school and rode canoes down the Russian River.  There was lots of splashing and looking at wildlife and generally having a lovely time.  Cancer is so much a thing of the past! 

The Tamoxifen turned out to not be such a big deal!  Chemo did wierd things to my system, leaving me with the occasional hot flash.  When I’d asked the oncologist what to expect, he said the hot flashes would probably get worse.  (Oh, no!  It seemed that I was getting them on the hour already!)  After a day or two on Tamoxifen, the reverse happened!  They didn’t go away, but they became less frequent, and not as terrible.  So there!  AND!!!  I’ve got my eyebrows!  Huh! 

I remember back in January, before I began the chemo, I went to the UCSF Medical Center/Osher Integrative Clinic to meet with notable and famous oncologist who also happened to run the Integrative Clinic.  I wanted to talk to this head hancho, because I was trying to build my case against taking chemo!  I figured he’d know alot about other ways to successfully treat cancer without resorting to toxic medicines.  If I could get him to say I wouldn’t benefit from chemo, then the other doctors might listen!  But he listened politely and thoughtfully for a while, read my charts, and told me that I could eat all the kale and blueberries I liked, but if I had microtumors hanging out in a bone or an organ somewhere, those veggies wouldn’t be any match for it.  Then he gave me a ton of good info. on what to eat, which supplements to take and when, how much green tea to drink.  He assuered me that I could AND SHOULD continue to run as much as I felt able to.  (All the better to sweat those toxins out!) He assured my mom, who is always a bit skeptical of me and my crazy running vegetarian status, that I was on the right track, and that she should drink more green tea and cut out dairy and meat, too!  Then he said a shocking thing: that I’d be wise to learn to embrace the experience of chemo.  (What the ——-?!!!  No way!)

Well, I tried to embrace, but I’m still always going to be a bit adversarial toward the illness that could have been the end of me! Also, I don’t like taking medicine, adding substances to a system that felt like it was finally starting to work well.  But for any of you ladies out there that might have to be on Tamoxifen for a few years, take it from me:

IT’S NO BIG DEAL!!!  And if it helps, roar about it, or find someone close who will let you complain for a while until you get over the worrying!  ROAR!

My side effects have been non-existant, and several other people I know say the same thing about their treatment.

Now I’m off to the gym.  Still no upper body weights, until next week or so.  But I’m in the process of relaiming my life from cancer, and so I guess I’ll have to reclaim my body as well, even if it’s one limb at a time. 

Bottom line:  There totally is life after cancer, even though I didn’t really believe that until really recently!

I’m still having computer problems, and that’s why my postings have been so few.  But every day I have so much that I look forward to!  I could write something every day and still have things to say.  But for now, I’ll keep it to major updates.

For one, I like to think that cancer is all behind me now.  Yet a part of my mind says that I’ll never be free of it.  One oncologist that I consulted with confirmed that…that the people with “hormone-receptor positive” cancers tend to have more recurrences.  BUT!!!  I’m doing everything that I can to stay healthy.  There’s this wonderful book I read when I was first diagnosed, called “50 Things To Do If You Have Cancer”.  When I was too scared to sleep at night, I stayed up and read this, and other books like it.  I implemented the six things on the author’s Wellness Pyramid:

I)  I went to the best doctors I could find, and when my insurance decided to be poopy, my lovely yet ferocious sister came up with a plan.  I have recieved the best medical care available!  I feel like my doctors are part of my team.  I respect them and sometimes even do what they tell me to do! 

II)  Exercise!  I no longer do it because I ate too many skittles at the movies the other night.  Nor do I eercise to fit my clothes.  These days I exercise for the sheer thrill of being truly alive in the moment, and in Nature!  Is there anything more life-affirming than a run through the wildflowers?  Acting like a healthy person is being a healthy person!  Besides, when people start to give me that sad little “How are you, dear?”, I get a gloating, obnoxious bad-ass feeling when I can say, “Oh, I’m doing well!  I just ran 6 miles and swam another!  How are you?”

III)  I have completely re-worked my diet, from being a “pizza-terian”, consuming large amounts of frozen pizza and vegetarian taco bell, to being a fairly strict macrobiotic vegan. This diet plan wouldn’t make everyone happy, but it works for me.

IV)I’ve done a major overhaul on my attitude!  I’ve learned to make time for fun times with my friends and to celebrate the good times.  If there don’t appear to be any good times on the horizon, then I’ve learned to make some! 

V) I’ve learned to surround myself with love and support. I now trust that I am worthy of that!  I’ve learned that I’m not an island, that I am loved, unconditionally, by many.  I’ve learned to be more loving, and to live in the moment.  (I used to always long for the glories ofthe past, or wish for a brighter future…but having had cancer, you learn really quick that all any of us has is RIGHT NOW!) Are we going to live in the moment, and use our powers for good or evil, Hahaha!?

VI) I’ve never been a religious person.  But I have found my place on this planet, become comfortable, and have come to appreciate the positive and downright miraculous side of our Universe.  Cancer or not, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, because I’m pretty darn content! (it’s been proven that happy people don’t get recurrences as much!  Hooray for Happiness!) 

OTHER NEWS:

My hair is still MIA, except for a sort of 5:00 shadow.  But I have eyebrows and eyelashes!  I woke up this morning, and lo and behold, they’re back!  Woohoo!

I went for my post-surgery appointment with the reconstruction surgeon.  All’s well, doing fine, can’t complain.  BUT!  he said no running or swimming for at least another two weeks.  GRRRR!  I’m feeling the lack of endorphins.  I can go for little short walks, he said.  (He’d probably be mad at me if he found out I’ve been walking 4 to 6 miles each day, at a 17 minute pace, on hills.)  He said I could go to the gym, but only if I lifted no more than 5 pounds on either side.  Shoot!  Why bother, then?  (What about the 40 pound sacks of groceries I’ve been hoisting?) 

At this rate, the plastic surgeon’s gonna have to work his magic on the rest of me, since I’ve been sitting around so much!  I haven’t put on weight since the surgery, but I feel sloppy and dumpy.  Sigh…this too shall pass!

Then there was the big stink about starting Tamoxifen.  I hate using any kind of unnatural substance.  And I’ll need to take this medicine once daily for the next five years, to prevent a recurrence.  I know a few people who are also taking it, and they haven’t had any serious side effects.  But I’ve read about the scary stuff it can sometimes cause.  I also know that, by law, doctors and pharmacists have to tell the patient all about these “rare but serious side effects that may occur”.  It shouldn’t have surprised me that the pharmacist handed me a textbook-sized pamphlet about Tamoxifen, and all the nasty things it could do.  She went over it all in detail.  She kept saying that there are risks and if I’ve been prescribed this medicine that hopefully the benefits outweigh the risks.  I explained that I’ve already had treatment, and this wasn’t just to prevent a cancer to occur.  With trepidation, I took the first little pill that night, right before bed, so that, in the words of the pharmicist, I could “hopefully sleep through the worst of the side-effects”.  It was tiny, about the size of a baby aspirin.  How bad could this be?!  I ate a raw carrot, to top off my ten servings of veggies for the day, did some core exercises while watching the 10 o’clock news, and went to bed. 

the next morning I awoke, well-rested and happy, ready for breakfast, a bit sad to  not be able to run for yet another day…but also gald to see that I haven’t turned into a werewolf or anything, yet!  See Chapter One, in the above-mentioned book, “Stop Awfulizing!”

I think I’m bullet-proof!  Roar!  Or maybe I’m medicine proof!   

So far, all’s well.

I keep looking for excuses to wander past mirrors, to admire my new chicken feathers that are sprouting from the top of my head!  It seems like such a short time ago that I was sitting at the computer, trying to laugh instead of cry, as I wrote “A Bird of Different Plummage”, after realizing that my hair was falling out, whether I liked it or not, in spite of my holier-than-thou nutritional habits and superior attitude. Sure, chemo treatment is fraught with potential problems, some much scarier than hair loss.  But once the hair was gone, there was no denying it…I looked like a sick person.  And I’ve never done sick graciously.  (Remember, in opera I’m typecast not as the love-lorn maiden who dies tragically, but as the parody of the love-lorn maiden!)

Anyhow, you can just imagine how thrilled I was to see a little 5:00 shadow on my normally shiny pate when I awoke the other morning!  And now it’s more like chicken feathers!  Not real hair, but a glimmer of hope.  That’s all I need!  I’m starting to believe that I won’t always look like a sick lady!  I remember getting a Neulasta shot one day after chemo, and I was lamenting to the nurse how I felt great until I started to look like a sick person.  She practically snorted with laughter.  “DeAnne, I’ve never given a Neulasta shot to a lady with cancer who has such big strong arms as yours.  No, you’re not that sick, and soon you’ll be fine.”  As she slapped a band-aid on my arm where the shot was given, I wanted to believe her. 

But soon couldn’t be soon enough!

Since the last week I have been starting to act more like myself.  No running until the day after tomorrow, when the stitches come out.  I couldn’t sing until Friday, exactly a week after the surgery, because my throat was still pretty sore from the surgery.  It would have been fine in a day or two, but I was so overjoyed that I couldn’t stop talking in the car all the way home.  By the next day I sounded like “The Godfather”. 

I’ve got my energy back too!  Just in time for the holiday weekend!  Saturday was a July 4th BBQ at my parents’ with my sister and her family, then I met up with an old friend from high school to watch the fireworks.  A few other friends were there too, whom I hadn’t seen in about 20 years.  Was I worried that I was bald?  Not particularly!  These people remember when I looked like a dork 20 years ago.  Even more, I remember when they looked like dorks, too, so THERE!!!

Everyone looked at me very carefully after the round of hugs and squeals and “Oh-my-go-it’so-great-to-see-you!” ” Where did you park? ” (I’d met them there two hours later, and the parking was limited when they had arrived. 

“Oh, I knew the parking would be a mess, so I just walked down from my house.” 

“DeAAAAAAne!  Should you really be exerting yourself like this?”  asked one of the old friends.

“Nahhh, don’t worry,” I said. Really, the day before surgery, I ran 10 miles and loved it, because I knew I wouldn’t get to run for at least a couple of weeks.  

 I spent the day at Point Reyes with Mom and Dad, then went to see that silly new vampire movie with my sister that evening.  Huh!  Cancer?!  I don’t even feel like I have to defy and deny, because, for one thing, I have chicken feathers under my wig, and for another, I have so much energy that I’m unstoppable! 

Next weekend, the same old friend from high school that planned the gathering at the fireworks has also cooked up an even bigger reunion with all the old band friends.  There will be house parties, a rendez-vous at the pizza parlor where we all used to hang out after band events, and a picnic at the park.  BC (that’s “before cancer”), I would have politely declined the invitation.  Even though this friend of mine has worked all year to get in touch with everyone and extend the invitations and to coordinate the dates and places, I would have found a reason to stay home, even though she and I were very close friends in high school and have managed to stay in touch.  BC, I used to lock myself away if I had bad hair, or had gained a few pounds or looked old or tired, or if I didn’t think my clothes were fashionable enough.

Not now, though!  I feel as though I’ve got some wild oats to sow!  I’m gonna make up for all the fun social events I’ve missed for foolish reasons over the years.  Because I’ve got chicken feathers!  (And I’ve learned to get over myself even under strange circumstances.) 

As the fireworks burst overhead, I said a silent little prayer of thanks to the Universe.  Not only am I alive and thriving, but I am starting to see what they mean when they say cancer survivors often find a new sort of peace within themselves. 

And I’m thankful for my chicken feathers.

Said feathers make me as happy as when I finally got my first brassiere, even though there was nothing to put in it!  (Same kind of happy!)

Score another victory for Team DeAnne!

The night before surgery, of course I couldn’t sleep.  I try to stay positive, but the depths of my mind were full of all the things that can go wrong.  My Mom said I could call her during the night if I couldn’t sleep.  We weren’t going to get much sleep that night anyway, as I had to check in for surgery by 6:00 am.  It takes about one and a half hours to get to UCSF Medical Center.  We had to leave practically in the dead of night!

I dozed until about 3:00 am.  I still had to make a deposit at the bank, I wanted to set up the cat food for my Dad when he comes down to feed him while I’m away.  I wanted to  fold the mountain of laundry.  But I was tired.  To distract myself ont he day before surgery, I’d gone to my voice lesson and before that I ran 8 miles, and after all that I taught 13 lessons.  The laundry didn’t get folded.  Oh, well! 

Mom picked me up at 4:45.  Jenny was to meet us there.  If I needed to stay overnight, Jenny would be my guardian angel.  We sailed right through the traffic, found parking, no problem.  All these little miracles!  We managed to find the check in place, and lo and behold, my surgery time was changed!  Not 7:30 am, but 2:40 pm!  Everyone had known about the change but us!  For my, it was OK, because I wasn’t supposed to eat or drink prior to surgery, and if I were at home, it would be torture.  But Mom had thrown her back out staging the day before and was looking at 12 hours of sitting in uncomfortable chairs, watching bad TV and eating even worse food.  We called Jenny to tell her she could stay home for a while.  I was relieved to hear she was already on the road.  You see, Jenny goes everywhere with more technological gadgetry than the MIR space station.  She would certainly have a movie or something to keep us busy.  Or they could go eat.  My tummy rumbled at just the thought of food! 

At about 8:00, a nurse led us to a room.  Naturally, I was having trouble with the hospital gown staying shut in the back.  It was making mom laugh.  I was laughing too.  Jenny fixed the offending button or snap or whatever it was.  “Thank God I’m here,” said Jenny.  “Mom would just laugh at you and let you run around with your butt hanging out!”

I sat on my butt, in the bed, with my IV in place.  I tried to watch a silly movie on Jenny’s computer.  I tried to read a book.  I tried to nap.  But I was just SO nervous!  I don’t know why!  I felt better after the doctor came in and then finally the anaesthesiologist came by as well. 

“I don’t want you to get nauseous, because today’s a happy surgery day!” She assured me that they’d be very careful with the breathing tube, so as not to hurt my larynx, and that I’d be absolutely fine.  Then she startted the silly juice.  That’s when the fun really began.  I guess they were trying to get me to sing for them.  And I kept trying to sing one of my Rossini songs, but I couldn’t remember the words, and my voice wouldn’t work.  I remember wheeling through the double doors, passed a male nurse who was gaping at me.  I smilled and waved, and kept trying to sing, and he started to laugh.  The three ladies with me, the aneasthesiologis andt two nurses, were all giggling too.  We got to the operating room.  I saw my surgeon, and all kinds of stuff.  “Hey! I think this is a different OR from last time!”

“Yup, it probably is!”

All I remember after that was alot of giggling and shiny silver and blue.  I was OK!  The doctors and the nurses were sure it was all good, and so was I. 

*********

I openned one eye.  Then the other.  I saw a clock…6:45 pm…hey!!!!  I’m awake!  We did it!

I sat up…hey!  it doesn’t hurt!  I flexed my arms back and forth in front of my torso.  Hey!  this is much better than the last time I had surgery.  And I wasn’t nauseous, I was starving!  A middle-aged blond nurse looked up, and I smiled and waved.  I tried to say Hi, but my throat felt like sandpaper. 
“Be careful!  Sit still, What are you doing?!”

“I’m feeling great!  Hey, do you have anything to eat?”

She brought me a packet of saltine crackers, and a glass of water.  I slurped the water then crunched up the ice, then snarfed down the crackers.  Another nurse, a man, came over.  They both watched me and he said, “Take it easy!”

I found enough voice to tell them the unjustice of going without food since midnight the night before.  They laughed and brought me about four more packets of crackers, and a cup of peppermint tea.  Nice!

I was given the option of going home, or spending the night in the hospital.  I pondered a moment…my eyes still didn’t want to look in the direction that my head was pointing.  But other than that, I was ready to go.  Why would I stay there, and make Jenny spend another night sleeping in one of those uncomfortable chairs?  Nahh!!!  I’m going home!

The nurses got me up and walked me over to a little private room.  Jenny and Mom came back, while I was still drinking my tea.  I was given back my belongings, and got dressed, and with a bit of a concentrated effort walked very well out through the lobby with Jenny while Mom got the car.

“Congratulations!  You’re doing great!  Good luck!”  There was an Indian family sitting in the lobby.  Mom and Jenny had made friends with them, and another family in the waiting room.  Everyone had come out of their surgeries successfully.  It was a miraculous day.

Now, I’m getting ready to go home to my house after staying two nights with Mom and Dad.  The only thing that hurts is my butt, from sitting around on it.  I went for a nice walk with Mom and the dogs around the park, and that seemed to help. Truly, I’m a lucky girl.

Thanks again for all the encouragement and happy thoughts and prayers. Please feel free to keep those comments coming.  they really lift my spirits!  Team DeAnne, We did it!  Now, lets pray for some hair!

We are pleased to have spoken with DeAnne’s surgeons, and all is well. She should be awake soon, and we may even get to bring her home tonight. Thanks for all the good thoughts

We are at UCSF for DeAnne’s final surgery today! She is in good spirits, and we are looking forward to having this all behind us! We will update this afternoon, but all is well

Hey!  I’m still here!  I feel like a ninny for not posting for so long!  I’ve never been very savvy when it comes to technology, and I’ve been inundated with computer problems.  GRRRR!  (I think my computer has cancer.  Huh.  Better it than me!)

Anyhow, ever since the chemo treatments ended, I’ve been happily going about the business of getting my life back!  I’m not tired anymore.  I’m usually in a good mood, my appetite is back and I can’t believe I’m no longer skinny like I was a few weeks ago.  I’m waking up every morning looking forward to the day’s events. 

This morning I ran 8.5 miles with “The Herd”, a group of lovely ladies that run around Sebastopol and it’s gorgeous country roads at 6:00 am.  I used to not run with them very often because it was too hard to get up and function that early.  Maybe it was due to fatigue caused by the mutant cells I was growing.  But now, no more mutant cells!  No more excuses!  Life is for the living, and nothing speaks to me of living (vigorously) as running through the mist and greenery, breathing in the scent of honeysuckles and sweet grasses and the occasional cow dung!  And food tastes better after a good run!

And now that I’m going macrobiotic, living mainly on whole grains and veggies and beans, I have to eat alot in order to keep up with myself.  Luckily, I’m a gourmand rather than a gourmet…quantity is good, and as I experiement in the kitchen, the quality is getting better, too. 

So, ten days after chemo ended, I was on a plane to the East Coast with the parentals, to see my darling little nephew!  I was excited, but I hadn’t been so far from home with my bald head and one and a half eyebrows before, except to go to Marin for my treatments.  I had the wig on, but still felt self-conscious.  Even worse, the night before we left I was rough-housing with my cat.  My face got in the way of his paw as he batted at me, and a claw swiped my eyelid!  I did what every good girlscout knows to do, and applied pressure!  And somehow the blood seeped under the skin and I ended up with quite a shiner.  So there was that, too.  Not only was I looking like a middle-aged wanna-be edgy Celtic rocker chick, but I looked like I’d lost a bar brawl, too! 

But this trip wasn’t about me!!!  I got over myself, and enjoyed spending time with my family and the Sweetest Little Baby in the World!  He has red hair like his daddy, pretty wide-set eyes like his mommy, and We’re all so impressed and delighted with him that we’re sure he’ll be speaking 3 languages by the time he’s two!  The beach house was delightful with the ocean waves coming right up to the back deck during high tide.  Every day I ran through swanky, shady green neighborhoods.  My brother and his wife went grocery shopping and brought me organic kale and sweet potatoes. 

I was starting to feel so much better, that I forgot that I had cancer one evening.  I was sitting out on the back deck, watching the waves and talking to my brother.  I was running around with nothing on my head.  What with Grandpa and the baby being bald, I figured I could join the trend!  But then the neighbor’s little girl caught a glimpse of me, and gaped, and ran into their house.  Pretty soon, she came back out with her mom, and I could tell they were trying hard not to stare, but i could see them sneaking glimpses while pretending to watch the waves.  This is Greenwich.  You don’t see hard-core looking bald ladies running around like you do in more urban areas.  GI Jane is not a commonly seen look in these parts! 

So, I smiled and waved.  I guess they put two and two together, that I wasn’t a degenerate or a skinhead, (well, I am, but NOT in that way!), and when I ran past their house the next morning, and she was out front, she smiled and waved and said, “You go, girl!”

Upon returning home, I have continued teaching.  I enjoy the more relaxed summer schedule.  I went last week to see my oncologist, and we both agreed that I’m doing great.  I didn’t want to seem focused on the trivial, but after he congratulated me on my excellent prognosis and continuing good work in exercising and eating well and staying positive, I blurted, “When will I have hair again?!”

Get this…NOT FOR SEVERAL MORE MONTHS!!!!!  

SHOOT!  This is gonna be the long, bald summer. 

Oh well.  Remember, I’ve had prior experience in successfully looking like a dork.  I’ll survive this experience, too.  And I’ll beat my own record in dorkiness!  Hey!

What’s really great, on the other hand, is how awesome the little things are in my life.  I get so much satisfaction from little things!  When my voice came back enough to return to my singing lessons, it was a day to celebrate.  I’m happy when the rose bush that I dead-headed a few days ago is filled with new blooms a few days later.  They smell better than I remember, too.  Immense joy comes from a new recipe tried actually works out and tasted edible.  When I play the piano, and my fingers no longer are numb, and my voice is no longer hoarse, I feel like maybe I did, if fact, die and go to heaven.  When I lay in the sunshine on my chase-lounge, it’s not just an escape, it’s bliss!  I awake and find myself humming that old Louie Armstrong song “It’s a Beautiful World”!  When people around me are cranky and intolerant, I become annoyingly sage and benevolent…life is too precious to waste on anger and petty emotions.  I probably sound annoying right now, but these are all things that I truly feel.  It’s part of the experience of being the new and improved DeAnne!

Besides, I need to be as positive as possible, because on Friday, I have surgery again.  It’s my final reconstructive surgery, but I’m much more nervous about this one than I was about the bilateral mastectomies.  I feel like I lucked out the first time, with everything going off without a hitch.  Will my luck continue? 

Stay tuned!  The saga continues….

Woo Hoooo!!!!  I’m so happy!  Chemo…been there, done that!  AND, lived to tell the tale!  I’m here to tell everyone that yes, chemo is a different experience for each person who needs it.  But I’m the biggest wimp in the world, and if this ever happens to you or someone you love, tell them you know of a really wimpy girl and she survived it, and so can anyone!

People make me nervous when they say how brave they think I am.  I kid you not, I wimped and whined my way through, even before the treatments started…come the think of it, especially before they started!)  I don’t deal with even the slightest form of discomfort without beoming very unpleasant to be around.  I don’t take change well at all.  I may roar and swagger around, but it’s usually just a big show.  That  is why, of all race distances I prefer the marathon…I know it sounds strange, but in a marathon, I can wimp out.  When the going gets tough, no one thinks anything of it if they see me parked on the side of the road eating the blackberries growing over the fence.  Once when I pulled my blackberry-eating stunt in a 1oK, however, a race official was alarmed that I wasn’ running fast like the others, and sent the “roadkill crew” out to pick me up.  (That was my first 10K, and also when I learned that not all races are run in the same manner…)  A marathon is all about pacing and eating and drinking, and keeping your attitude in gear.  The way I eat and sightsee my way through a course, I even make merry while I eat and drink.  It’s not an uncomfortable sort of effort.  That’s why towards the end of chemo I was comparing it mre to speedwork, which I enjoy, but  it isn’ t ever about eating, drinking and making merry.  Speedwork is about making your body meet the demands of the challenge, not about being comfortable over the long haul!   But I digress!

The day after my last infusion, I looked in the mirror as I was putting on sunblock and my pink cap that I wear when I run.  I don’t look so good.  But I also don’t look so bad, either.  I understand that while I may be done with chemo, it may not be done with me, just yet.  For a few more weeks I’ll probably continue to look sort of weird.  Oh, well!  (I repeat…I’ve lived whole decades looking weird…like, uh, adolescence?!  Or the lovely years between ages 7 and 13, when Daddy’s little “Princess Moonbeams” was transmogrified my some virus that the toad she kissed shared…funnly-looking, with braces and headgear and choppy short haircut.  The boys that I played little league with didn’t even know I was a girl.)  Needless to say, if I have to look weird for a while longer, it’s OK, because I’ve been there, done that.  I can do it for a bit longer.

I may not look like my old self, but I’ m starting to feel normal again!  For instance, I’m generally a peaceful sort of person.  I avoid confrontation.  But for some reason, I will argue to the death about the stupidest things with my mother.  Though I avoid debating and arguing, I’m pretty good at it.  Ironically, the one person I can’t win is the one I argue with the most, my Mom!  When I wasn’t feeling so well, I didn’t have the energy to fight.  Now, though, if she says black, I say white.  It’s like a reflex.  I know I shouldn’t argue with her, or anyone…but the first time I started getting mouthy about two weeks ago, she was almost happy about it, because I was starting to sound like the DeAnne we all knew and loved.  Hahaha!

Anyhow, the day after my last infusion, I drove out to the redwoods.  That place is like church for me.  It’s where I go to heal my mind.  Just knowing I was done with chemo was enough for me to feel light and easy on my feet as I headed out on the trail!  I went up the hill where I hadn’t been able to go without walking part of it since about the time of the 3rd infusion.  It was almost like a reflex to stop and walk at this one curve in the trail.  But not today!!!  I thought to myself, “Hey!  You don’t need to walk anymore!  You’re not on chemo!  Getcher happy a– up that hill!”  And I gleefully charged up the hill, stifling the urge to whinney like a horse!

I trotted out to the picnic area, and there was my mom, out for a walk and a picnic with an old friend.  Perfect timing!  I sat down with them and ate all their food, then ran back to my car.  Aw, shoot, I’d left my keys back on the picinc table!  Wht did I do?  Well, a week before, I would have had to hope they saw the keys and drove them out to me.  ( I STill have the bad habit of forgetting to take my phone with me.)  But not today!  I RAN back to get my keys, and yes, I ran back to the car.  Unstoppable!  That’s me!  I feel better, and now I just have this urge to take to my feet and migrate like a wildebeast every day!

I tried to sing a few days later.  The thing I love the most is the scariest.  The neuropathy in my hands nd feet was present but not unbearable.  I am finally able to play the piano again.  But singing was scary.  The chemo left my voice tired and stiff and dry, no matter how much water I drank.  Being so tired, I wasn’t always breathing and placing and supporting everything right.  AFter the second round f chemo, I decided to not sing aloud, lest I should develop bad habits.  My teacher and I agreed that dying dormant was better than developing a whole new set of quirks.  Then there was also my narcoleptic tendencies while on chemo.  I would possibly make it ino San Francisco for my lesson, but then would be so exhausted I’d need to take a nap before driving home! 

Well, no more lying dormant!  My voice, after a few tentative scales and arpeggios is…not so different!  Oh, what a relief!  There was so much that could change and or go wrong…and after 3 days of gentle vocalising, I’m not having to get acquainted with a new instrument…it’s just my same old voice, just dormant for a while!  I wont’ have to learn how to live as a baritone!!!  Hallelujah! 

And now, I really should get a few hours of sleep, because I’m off to connecticut with th parentals tomorrow, to meet my new baby nephew!  My life is so full of miracles!  Team DeAnne, we did it!  I know we started celebrating about a week before the finnish line…it’s good to just celebrate all the time, because you never know what the next day will bring, right?!  But right now, each new day seems to bring us more little miracles, one of which I’m going to see and hold and snuggle with and fuss over, until Saturday!

Lucky me!

The night before chemo, I can never sleep.  I’m not sure why.  I’m no longer afraid.  I’ve adapted my lifestyle in a way that I can deal with the side-effects and keep going with my priorities…at least, the ones I’m capable of. 

Anyhow, for this last round of Taxol, I stayed up late, reading funny books and practicing piano, now that the tingling in my fingertips has subsided a bit.  My voice was still too stiff and hoarse to sing, I think because the Taxol is so drying.  I don’t think I can ever drink enough water while I’m on that stuff! 

Finally, at about midnight, I washed up before bed.  I took note of the damages…my bald head, my tired eyes and old lady hands.  Yes, chemo has an aging effect.  But I couldn’t help grinning at myself in the mirror, because after this last treatment, I will have survived chemo!  I won’t have to do this anymore!  I’ll be able to focus on getting better, and doing good things in the world, and doing the things I love! 

Jenny showed up at about 7:15.  I was still getting dressed, so she ran to the store to get my favorite chemo food, an Odwalla B Monster drink and an “energy bar”, a sort of whole grain bagle type of thing with raisins and cinnamon. 

The snack of champions—aw, yes!

When we got to the hospital, after we got off the elevator, we saw a bunch of cops standing around in the corridor as we went on our way to the infusion room.  Some inmate from the prison was there!  I tried not to crane my neck to see him, but Jenny started singing under her breath, “Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do when they come for you, bad boy bad boy” from the TV show “Cops” .  We both started cracking up, and the cops looked sort of alarmed.  They didn’t hear us, but hospitals tend to be very solemn, quiet places, and here I was, looking like death warmed over, laughing from the pit of my gut, seemingly at them!  (Maybe it’s true…after facing the thoughts of one’s own possible death, a corridor full of cops glaring a you seems like no big deal!)  Who says cnacer patients shouldn’t laugh and smile and be silly?  Whatsa matter with you?!

We were met by Fran and Angela, our two favorite nurses.  We all danced around and there was alot of “Woo-hoo!”  and other cheering.  I signed the consent forms, and went for the last time into “my” little room, #4.  I settled into the bed after setting up my snacks and reading material, and fluffing my fleece blanket with the little hearts all over it on the bed.  I presented the nurses with cards and a big pink orchid plant.  Pink for breast cancer, and also, the orchid is fragrance-free, so other patients wouldn’t get sick from the smell. 

“I think orchids live for a long time, maybe even forever, sort of like your patients!”  I told Fran.

Then I hopped into my bed, and Jenny set up her computer to do some work.  Carol, who started her treatment the same day as I did, stopped by to say hi.  We all know eachother so well, the nurses didn’t even need to put our bracelets on us, and as one nurse put my arm in a hot compress, the other walked in and handed Carol a hot compress for her arm, too. 

After a few minutes, my IV was in, luckily on the first try, and I was happily chatting with Jenny.  Once the benedryl got into my system, though, I was out like a light!  And even funnier, I heard a nurse in another room lecturing another patient, telling her to keep moving her feet while laying still, to avoid blood clots.  Well, something n my medicine gives me total restless leg syndrome.  She stuck her head in my door.  “Am I wiggling my feet enough?”  I slurred through a benedryl haze. 

She laughed, because my poor feet were acting like they were possessed.

I was surprised when the nurses informed me that I’d need not 2 but 4 Neupogen shots!  I hate those things!  The shots themselves are no big deal.  The aches and pains they cause a few hours later, though, makes me feel like my bones are full of cement!  I whined and complained so much that the last two treatments my oncologist agreed to let me ge away with only two shots.  But this time my bloodwork said my cell counts were too low, and he was worried because I’m going back to Connecticut next week to see my brother and sister in law, and their beautiful new baby boy! 

“Wouldn’t I have been really tired and miserable last week, if my counts were so low?”  I asked.

“Oh, yes,”  Fran said.  “You would have been pretty exhausted.”

“But I was back to running 5 days a week, and teaching full time didn’t leave me pooped out at the end of the day, and I had the energy to play some piano AND do my laundry AND go to the grocery store, and still not—”

Fran shushed me.  “That’s just the kind of mind you have, DeAnne.  You tell yourself you’re OK, and you believe it.  But that’s very dangerous to be this way when you’re recovering.  You need to take it easy!”

Shortly after that I fell into a deep sleep, only to wake up and eat , then sleep some more.  I awoke for good about a half an hour before the taxol drip ended. I was too dazed to be all that excited.  It was a bit anti-climactic, really!  I felt relieved, that I got through it without any major drama.  I’m pretty sure I won’t end up with any lasting ill -effects from the medicine.  I’m petty sure my hair and fingernails will grow back.  My mom says she can tell I’m on my way back, because I’m arguing with her about stupid things again, like how far is too far to run, and where it’s safe to run.

It really took me until the morning after the last chemo, this morning, to realize that I”M NEVER GOING TO HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN!!!!!

I heard the Superman theme in my head!  I know, It should have been Wonder Woman, but her theme was so cheesy!  I have 3 more Neupogen shots (and all the achy-breakiness that comes with them) to get through, and then I can focus on becoming myself again.  100 days of chemo, over and done!!!  Mom thinks it isn’t done yet.  “No, Deedee, it usually takes you about 10 days to recover from a round of chmo.  Remember, you usually have 3 or 4 sort of normal -feeling days until the next treatment.  So you won’t be feeling very good until…I figure, June 1st, which is when we leave to go see Rick and Amanda and the baby.”

But the wayI see it, after every marathon I’ve run, there’s a recovry period, which is when I do alot of swimming and slow, short runs.  The idea is to keep moving, but to also let the body heal.   But that’s Ater crossing the finnish line.  Just like this recovery time is after the last drop of chemo fell! 

So I said, ” No, Mom!  REally I feel fine!  I’m going to drive out to the redwoods after this shot, and take a nice 6 mile run! ”  And then we started to argue.  “It’s not good for you!  What if ou get tired and dehydrated!  You’re just determined to get yourself sick before this trip coming up!  What if there’s a weirdo at the redwoods?”

“No, Mom, Oxygen in large doses is good for fighting cancer!  It helps my cells regenerate!  I’ll bring lots of water and I’ll go slow, and I won’t get sick!  And whenever I’m there, there is a weirdo inthe woods, and that weirdo is me!”

“Oh, DeAnne, fine, I’m sick of arguing with you!  Obviously, you’re feeling like yourself again.  If you insist on doing this, (implied: adding all this stress to my life that I don’t need right now…) please call me as soon as you get back.”

I decided to run around my neighborhood instead.  I don’t need to be so selfish and make her worry.  4 miles was all I croaked out, anyway.  I came home and drank some herbal tea, and ate some wild rice with veggies and fell into a stuporous sleep on the heater vent, snuggled up with my cat, only to wake up starving.  I finnished the pot of rice!  Ate a sweet potato, and some green tea, and a pint of raspberries, then fell into another stupor.  OK, Mom and the nurses are right. Recovery won’t happen just because I think it should.  I’m still tired! 

I’m sort of the same way I am at the finnish line of a marathon.  It always feels a bit anti-climactic to me.  It’s the moments during the race that stay with me.  It’s the act of doing something that is heroic and exciting.  At the finnish line, though, all I am is dazed and hungry and a bit tired.  Happy, too, though!  Congratulations to my team!  You got me to the finnish line, and in a few days, I’ll realize, all the way to the bottom of my heart, how lucky I am.

I’m luckyto live in a time and place where my illness is treatable and my prognosis is excellent.  I’m lucky to have medical care that is truly phenomenal and cutting edge!  (My doctors and the UCSF Medical Center is one of the top 10 cancer treatment centers in the country!)  I have my new passion for healthy eating and positive thinking and learning to love and accept myself and others around me.  having faced some major fears, I’ve learned that life and love are precious and I will re-dedicate myself to the things that make me happy, and try to use my skills and knowledge in some way that will help others.  I’ve felt the love of not only my family and friends but many other people as well.  I’ve learned wht I’m truly made of!  And I’ve discovered a faith in the goodness of the Universe;  that all things work themselves out regardless of whether I fight and worry and stress.

Thank you to all of you.  I hope to be there for you someday when you need me!  For now, I wish for all of us to have great health, weath and happiness, and the joy of out dreams coming true!

Approaching the finnish line of a distance race, there is what’s called the shute, leading up to the finnish line.  And Team DeAnne is ALMOST IN THE SHUTE!!!!!

I have wimped and wailed and roared my way through this chemo marathon.  (Sometimes I even acted sort of normal, too.)  I  have worn a variety of wigs and hats, ranging from Marie-Antoinette, to biker momma, to a cute little auburn bob that is much more coiffed than the rest of me will ever be.  I’ve only threatened to throw my hair once, at one ornery student who hadn’t practiced.  I even answered the door a few times wearing a fake ‘coon skin cap acquired on some long-ago trip to Disneyland.  (That’ll teach those critters to stop comiing in through the cat door at night!  Hah!)

I’ve had the best team…from Mom who thinks bald is beautiful and wouldn’t dream of letting me go into a doctor’s appointment alone, ever; to Dad, who shows up and does my yardwork, and heads out in the car when mom can’t reach me on the phone, to look for me.  (My continued running habit has caused the parentals some stress.)  I think of Jenny, who rocks my world in so many ways I ‘d need another whole year to list them!  And Riley, my little panther kitty, who is totally unfazed by emotional outbursts and other cancer related weirdnesses.  And my voice teacher who sends me happy little messages and updates, to my running buddies a/k/a “the Herd”, who walk and swim with me when I’m too tired to run…to my dear friends who are there for me even when I’m not there for them…

Honestly, am I blessed or what?!  With a team like this, how could cancer even stand a chance?!  (Roar!)

I think back to the day I was diagnosed.  Just the night before, Mom was saying, “We don’t get cancer in our family!  Why would you have cancer?  It’s good they’re checking it out, but really, all this drama is not necessary!!!”

After I drove up to her house that Saturday morning, and we both had a royal conniption about it, she called Dad at work.  He is more like my sister, and didn’t freak out as outwardly as Mom and I do.  (Really, there’s a reason I’m an opera singer, right!?)  He said we should take te afternoon and go out to Point Reyes.  “Deedee always likes it there!”

Good thinking, Dad!  So we headed out through a golden October afternoon.  Dabbing tears every so often, we held it together enough to eat a late lunch in one of those cool little restaurants, though I was imagining what it’d be like to be chemo’d and radiated, and couldn’t eat very well.  I also kept hearing the death scene from “La Traviata” echoing through my head.  Ironically, faced with my own mortality, I realized that maybe, if I survive, someday I could sing that role convincingly.  (Before, other teachers and agents always said I was filled with a bit too much “piss and vinegar” to be a demurely fading heroine…come to think of it, maybe that still hasn’t changed…I still say, “Never say die!!!”  And I don’t think Violetta (from Traviata) would roar when she’s scared and/or victorious feeling!)

Actually, I’ve come a long way!  I’e learned to live with cancer.  I don’t like it.  I’d prefer my own hair.  I’d like my eyelashes back, and the rest of my eyebrows, and my energy, and all that good stuff!  I’d like not to have to get poked in the arm by needles! 

But nowadays, when Jenny and I drive down to Marin for my chemo infusions, it no longer feels like the launching of a war party.  It’s more like business as usual.  It’s like the tail end of what had once been a “mission impossible”.  Now the novelty has worn off, and it’s time to get this done and over with.  We all have lives to get on with!

A while back, I was in the shower after a really cold run in the rain.  Suddnely the lights went out!  No big deal.  Besides, this warm water felt too nice to get out of in a hurry.  But then I kept hearing a weird buzzing sound.  It was really loud, and seemed to be coming from my house!  Sure the house was going to blow up, I leaped from the shower, and flailed to the phone to call PG and E!  As I manuevered through the phone loop, I really got my priorities in line…I put my wig on.  I realized that if the house were to explode, I didn’t want to be caught without my hair!  Underwear…important, but not as crucial as the ‘do…

I’ve come a long way from the girl who cried her way home on a bicycle because her hair was blowing off in the wind.  I’ve come a long way from the girl who needed her mommy and sister and daddy to go into the doctor’s with her.  (Now, Mom and Jenny go because they’re curious and have read al the magazines in the waiting rooms.)  (Dad got a pass to go to work.)

So, coming up on Round 8, better known in my heart as Mile 26.2!  I’ll be curious to experience what this finnish line will be like!  Cheers!  (ROAR!)

Even though we haven’t finnished this one quite yet, I’d like to say thank you as well to my  readers.  Your comments and support have been so helpful and insightful!  We did it!  (Almost!)