3-4-10

Happy Easter!

Had a crappy day yesterday. I learned that one of the nursing home patients died-of breast cancer. She was in her 60's, which is young in nursing home standards. She found out she had cancer a month ago, found out it had spread two weeks ago, and it now dead.

Hmmm, I have told my kids that no one drops dead from breast cancer, that you have warning, you have time to to prepare for it. I wrote about this before when the lady from "Survivor" died and reading about how quickly the actress who played the mom on "Eight is Enough" died. I wonder if a couple of weeks is long enough to let your family wrap their brain around your impending demise.

Of course, I could get hit by a truck tomorrow, or get shot and my foob won't deflect the bullet, blah blah blah.

I am concerned what happens to you mentally when you get comfortable with your mortality. Plan for the best, prepare for the worst, I think that is what my oncologist said. Plan... prepare... those are both action words. There was no "hope for the best". It was more of a cover all your bases. That is such a weird way to think. Do you put money away for retirement or take that vacation on your bucket list? If you have to make a choice, which do you do?

I am getting a little tax return. I think I will use a rule of thirds. One third for long term survival, one third for five year survival and one third to improve quality of life today. I need to play the lottery more, so I can cover my bases, better.

Here is a moment to remember the nursing home lady, you had a great laugh and sparkly eyes. I wish you Godspeed, I assume there are no wheelchairs in Heaven. I remember how kind you were to your former roommate who was on hospice care. I hope that someone was looking out for you they same way during your brief transition period. Here's to you Mrs S.

4-3-10

I was wondering if I got shot in the chest, would my foob soften the blow of the bullet any??

Bloody nose this morning, that is new. Tingling in fingers is increasing but not bad enough to stop chemo, in my opinion.

My ass keeps growing bigger. Chemo mouth and lack of self control, eating what doesn't taste like dryer lint. But I have changed to No-Salt. I was salting so much I figured I would die of high blood pressure before the cancer gets me.

3-28-10

This weekend, one of my patients told me that I really seemed "plugged in" to the people that I am working with. That was pretty cool and I think, I hope, that she was right. I seem to make eye contact more, I seem to be engaging people more. I tend to be where I am more.

I think part of that, is because my brain cannot process as many things as it used to. So when I am talking to someone, I am listening, not thinking of the next question. I cannot multi-task these days. Whatever I am doing gets all of my attention. Now, that is not that great, since I am running at 1/2 capacity. But if I continue to be plugged in once my brain is at full power, well that would be great.

I had a nice errand run today. I needed to pick up a part for the lawnmower. The guys at Lowe's were so incredibly "plugged in" and helpful, I called the manager to brag about those two guys.

I do realize that they may have just felt sorry for the bald cancer chick... but I will give credit where credit is due. It is just a sad state of affairs when one is so surprised by good customer service, that it is the exception rather than the rule.

3-28-10

I read other cancer blogs and they are so witty and profound and I have nothing..

This past week has been a little crappy, very unpredictable as to how I will feel on any given day. Some days, I can stay vertical and I "over parent" the kids to try and compensate for the days I am horizontal and leave them pretty much to parent themselves. I imagine they will need therapy for this, or they are going to say to me "we raised ourselves during cancer year, we don't need you to start parenting us now".

I do realize I am being over dramatic. I am still raising them, I am just tired of being limited.

I do feel the need to apologize or at least acknowledge how hard this must be for my Mother. I do really hate how hard it must be to see someone you love going through this. There is a part of me that feels it must be harder to watch it than it is to live it.

I carry fear with me of someone I love being diagnosed. This seems odd to me, but in a way that I am very comfortable with, being odd and all.

Tomorrow I see the lymphedema specialist for my truncal lymphedema situation. I am looking forward to this as it will be a learning experience plus it will hopefully, help me with this swelling I am toting around.

Someone else asked me yesterday, why I shaved my head... so interesting. Maybe I don't look all sick and cancer-y. So I guess I should put in a plug for Mineral Silk make-up. It seems to be doing the trick to make me look less corpse-like. So thank you, Mineralsilk.com!

03-23-10

Today, I will get number 6 out of 12 of the second phase of chemo. The kids want to celebrate the halfway point. The kids would also like to celebrate the 1/4 point and the 3/4 point, because the kids like eating out.

Yesterday, my 10yo DD said "Mom, I hope this doesn't offend you", (this is always a bad sign, she is going to say something offensive), "but if you are still alive when my sister gets married, will you help pay for the dress?" This was interesting to me since I am pretty sure that 10yo DD was questioning the depths of my cheapskate-ness and not questioning my mortality.

I chuckled aloud which may have scared them if she was indeed, asking if I would be alive to see 12yo get married one day. But this was more of a question about my frugal ways and would I be bargain hunting for a wedding dress. There was an unspoken message, though. A quiet acceptance that we don't assume anything. I think most kids assume their parents will be alive for their wedding, we have lost that. We don't talk about it often, I don't think we have really talked about it at all. But there is an understanding that has happened. I have never sat them down and talked to them about my long term prognosis.

No one wants to have that conversation with me. I can't even talk to my Oncologist since my Mom stays in the room with me when the Oncologist is there. I have considered asking her to wait in the waiting room for me, but that would freak her out. I will see him next week, I do have some questions for him, but I don't want to ask in front of my Mom.

Having the "safe sex" talk with the Oncologist, in front of Mom, was pretty awkward. So I am pretty sure that asking the Oncologist if I need to stress about my lack of a retirement fund would be pretty uncomfortable.

The kids and I were shopping (at the thrift store, of course). Someone was giving me the weird eye trying to figure out what was up with my hair. 10yo picked up on this and asked loudly "When is your next chemo, Mom?" She admitted later that she asked that in front of weird eye lady to get her to stop staring.

I have to believe that this is teaching the kids valuable life skills.

3-20-10

Feeling very blessed to have slept for 6 hours straight last night. Feeling blessed that eyeball is healing well and eye doctor said I must be a good healer, a skill that I hope will serve me well. Feeling blessed for my wonderful children and how well they are adapting to this experience.

I had a few hairy moments this weeks (hairy is funny when you are bald). A bad chemo day, feeling all toxic and yucky. A bad mental day, mourning this assholes that are gone from my life (glad they are gone but sad that they are assholes).

I am experiencing truncal lymphedema, puffiness at a side boob location where there is no boob. I am grateful to have been referred to an actual lymphedema specialist and will see her in a week.

Nothing much is going on, I just feel like I am living on the outskirts of actual life. I go through the motions like normal people but I am not actually "plugged in". It is a very strange feeling.

3-17-10

State of my hair check-up. Ignore the bad skin and the bags under my eyes, I'm not sleeping well.