Team DeAnne

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!

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 23rd, 2010 at 12:21 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.