Chemo #2 and New Friends

Chemo #2

Dave is on a very big time crunch to finish his thesis project within a month. April 8th is his deadline. We agreed that sitting at the infusion center with me for 3 plus hours is not a good use of his time. So off I went on my own, which I was actually looking forward to because I have a few good books I'm working on, and thought I'd have a nice lay back in the recliner and ask for a heated blanket or two. You know you're jealous!

One perk of being on chemo: prime parking!

Well, the day was rainy, I hadn't been sleeping well, and I discovered my hair was falling out in handfuls. All this made for a melancholy, tearful morning for me. I thought of all the intentions I had of livening up the infusion room---the feather boas, the pom-poms, the cheers. I just wasn't feeling any of it. In fact, there were some lively-old-man patients in the corner talking and laughing and really brightening up the place, and I wished they'd just shut up. I used my recliner to its full extent, I drew the curtain around me like a sourpuss, I got not one but three heated blankets, and I read almost not at all. My brother Jon had me looking up some reference material for a book project, after which, much to my surprise, I fell fast asleep.

You can hardly tell this is a recliner, not a hospital bed.
Those heated blankets come directly from Heaven.

The picture below was my view when I woke up. These are my lovely chemo pushers. First I was given a steroid, an anti-nausea med, and one other thing, taking about a half hour each to infuse, and then it is time for the red push of Adriamycin. It is literally pushed by hand with a syringe into my tubing, so the people doing it have to wear these blue hazmat suits. They push some in for about 30 seconds, then pull some out, checking to see there is still a healthy blood return (I can't tell the difference in color between the red of the chemo and the red of the blood, but they say one is darker), and keep alternating like that for about 10 minutes. Once that manual push is over, I get Cytoxn, then blood thinners to help keep me from clotting. All told, I am there for a little over 3 hours. Dr. Mazj did come in for a brief visit, and I wish I'd had the umph to get him to guffaw and take a good picture of the man who is saving my life behind the scenes.

Had I been feeling myself, I would've learned more about these angels.
The one on the left has a husband, three cats and three dogs.
The one on the right is Rachel. That's all I remember.

I was taught to always leave a place cleaner than you found it. Oops.

When it was all over, this is what I left on my pillow. I was embarrassed and took it to the wastebasket to wipe it off, but the volunteer there said not to worry. She's seen it all before. Yes, I guess she would have. The following video I made in the bathroom before leaving the infusion center.

 

New Friends

After my infusion was finished, I had about 45 minutes to wait and then there was a free class put on by a local dermatologist teaching about skin care during chemo. It was very informative and we got a bag full of free products, which was very generous and wonderful.

 I learned that sunscreen is key 12 months a year, and that you should use lotion in the warm months, cream in the cold months, and ointment for special cases. But the most valuable thing I got from my time there was a new set of friends.

LaDawn and Cindy

Here I am with Cindy, in a lovely hair color she would never normally choose (sound familiar?). She also has HER-2 positive breast canser, but her treatment has been very different than mine. She has to have chemo a total of 22 times, and I think she said she's on number 17. She already had her total mastectomy, which she was not shy about showing me, and gave me permission to show here.

Cindy doesn't know yet what her options are for reconstruction, since so much is yet to be determined in her treatment. She has had to have radiation, which narrows her options. But her spirit was exuberant and life-giving. She brought me up out of my stupor in no time flat. She is a beautiful hero!

DeAnna

 And this is DeAnna, in her darling hat. She too has HER-2 positive breast canser with a very different treatment than mine. She is also post mastectomy, but pre-reconstruction, and she has spacers in place. She had to have all or nearly all of her lymph nodes removed, and in their place for a while were drains which hung out of her body for the purpose of mitigating the effects of lymphedema of the arms. This woman ran the Disney 5K with drains flapping in the wind, can you believe it? DeAnna is writing a book called Cancer Follies, where she describes the crazy things she's been through on her journey. One is that she was waiting in a treatment room to be seen by a doctor who was going to take some stitches out and adjust some things on her drains. Not unusually, she waited quite a while there. So long, in fact, that she fell asleep. When she awoke, the lights were out and the building was all but closed. Her doctor, in full operating room gear, happened to walk by and see her and asked why she was still there! "You never came!" she said. He was mortified. He had sent his intern to do it, but he or she had obviously never showed up! DeAnna says there are other stories like this, and I for one will look forward to reading her book. We are bummed to know that our treatment days never coincide. If I had one of these great ladies in the chair next to me, perhaps I'd resurrect the feather boa after all. Then again, maybe I should just join the old man banter.


One result of meeting Cindy and DeAnna for me is an influx of gratitude for the way my treatment is planned. Although I am aware that my all-in-one mastectomy and reconstruction will be a very long and difficult surgery and recovery, I feel fortunate that I am a candidate for it, and that my lymph nodes turned out not to be an issue.

Once again, I am GRATEFUL!

As a P.S., I'd like to share something that really struck me yesterday, knowing that I risk violating privacy laws in the telling. In the waiting room before going back for infusion, my stake president and his wife showed up at the reception counter. We said "hello," and "fancy meeting you here," and smiled. As you'll recall, I was feeling blue and wasn't in the mood for more in depth interaction. What struck me was the difference I saw in the man who leads our stake. At church and behind the pulpit he is a man of incredible stature. His spirit soars from him into the hearts of all who hear and see him. He is quick with a hand shake and calls everyone by name. I consider him a powerhouse. But what I saw yesterday was a meek and worried husband, one entirely consumed with the well-being of his sweet life partner and eternal mate. It was just as it should be. I want to extend my love and prayers to President and Sister Brown in their ongoing battle with this incredibly unifying, horrible, beautiful, character-giving, good-bringing, eye-opening, terrible, awful thing called canser.