Is what Nancy said this morning as we were driving down Ventura Blvd. on our way to the cancer center. It was one of those moments when we both had the same exact thought as we were watching all the people going about their business at 7:30 in the morning. (That's one of the side effects of being together for 30 years.) The cancer world makes you forget what your old life used to be like pretty quickly. We were both in agreement on that little observation.
However, it seems that we are in some disagreement on how she did last week in terms of the chemo. I am of the opinion that she handled this round much better than the first time. Nanc has a different opinion because it was still very difficult on her physically and emotionally. For a third perspective, Dr. Lang confirmed that this round was like night and day compared to the last round. She was severely dehydrated three weeks ago, hadn't eaten or drank anything in days, and was so weak she could barely walk. We even had to delay her treatment for 2 days.
I won't deny that it was hard for her because it really was. Sunday and Monday were the worst of them all. Nothing tasted good, it was hard just to drink. Not that she couldn't keep things down, she couldn't get anything down. The mere thought of certain things made her gag. And forget about tasting or smelling things - even water smelled funny.
It's really hard to see someone you love so much have to go through something like this. Some days, it takes all your energy just to get even so you can stay positive and keep up the fight. Tears seem to be stuck at the back of your throat and can start flowing for no reason. And the only thing that tastes good to you is vanilla ice cream. Am I having sympathy side effects? More likely it's the stress of being a care giver, a position I was will to take on but had no idea how hard it can be. I am not feeling sorry for myself, don't get me wrong. I am just going back to our main theme this morning for a second.
However, no matter what Nancy says, she still did a lot better this time than last time. Besides, you can't trust her opinion right now - she has chemo brain - and I have the keyboard...
We are at Cedars today, getting some hydration, waiting for the blood work to come back so we can start the IP Taxal. She's feeling better right this minute, sitting up in bed, chatting on the phone and nibbling on a pbj sandwich. But even that was "mealy" she said so she's sticking with an orange. Then it's on to chocolate pudding to see how that goes. Sometimes we try 8 or 9 things until we hit on something that works.
Her blood work shows a slight drop in white blood count, she's a little anemic and has a lowered potassium count, again. So, along with the chemo today she will get a shot of Aranesp for the red blood count and more potassium through the IV. Tomorrow, along with more hydration, she will get something to raise her white blood count called Neulasta.
And if you want to read and listen to another perspective on what the world of cancer can be like, there's a great blog on NPR written by Leroy Sievers, a real writer, suffering from brain cancer. He also produces weekly podcasts that are broadcast on NPR. Yesterday's entry "Cancer Doesn't Care Whether You Want to Go" is worth listening to or reading. There's a link to the audio on the site.
If you don't want to read through his blog, here are two of my favorite quotes that I related to when I was browsing around yesterday:
"After that day, your life is never the same. "That day" is the day the doctor tells you, "You have cancer." Every one of us knows someone who's had to face that news. It's scary, it's sad. But it's still life, and it's a life worth living. "My Cancer" is a daily account of my life and my fight with cancer."
"When I was first diagnosed with cancer, when the doctor looks at you and tells you that your old life is over, that you're about to enter a strange and terrifying new world, your brain is screaming, "I'm not going, I'm not going." You only have a few seconds to process the doctor's words, and then, whether you want to or not, you're going into Cancer World.
"And at each fork in the cancer road, you scream those words to yourself, over and over again. Starting chemo? I'm not going. Brain surgery? I'm not going. Radiation, Radio Frequency Ablation, Cryoablation. Verterbroplasty? I'm not going, I'm not going, I'm not going.
"Except that you know you are. Even though that next step is going to be scary, probably painful, you know that you're going to go. You don't really have a choice."
"Sometimes I try to fool myself into believing that I have some control over what happens to me too. But I know better. Even when you have a pretty good idea of how the battle's going to turn out, sometimes you have no choice. You get out of the helicopter and hope for the best."
It's now 2:00 and she is almost done with the chemo for today. She had quite a bit of difficulty today with joint and limb pain. It was explained by the nurses as a result of the low potassium and a side effect of the taxol. Not easy to take at all but heat helps. And then comes her version of "I'm not going" which is "I'm not doing this again."
We should be home by 3:30 or so unless she has me driving all around LA in search of something that tastes like it's supposed to taste. We will at least be stopping to pick up some soft French rolls to make a sandwich she remembers from high school. I'll do just about anything if it gets her to eat.
Oh, and we discovered Pedialite freeze pops too. Great electrolyte replacement alternative to Gatorade or pills for that matter.
So, that's a little glimpse into our normal life, or cancer world right now....
xoxo
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I love you...
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