Peach Fuzz

Good news. I am now officially not bald. I might, just might, still appear bald from a distance of, say, two feet, but if you look closely there are no longer only three lonely hairs (holdouts that refused to die) but a whole bunch of little ones, hence the title of this post. If I were a drinking woman, which I'm not at the moment, I would have a Fuzzy Navel (although I haven't a clue what that is) or a Bellini in honor of the life returning to my scalp.

Another reason to celebrate is that yesterday would have been time for another ride on the toxic train but !HA!, that train has left the station without me. Adios! Auf Wiedersehn! Adieu! B'Bye! And don't you come back no more no more!

And a post-chemo PET scan ordered by my radiation doctor came back completely clean. No evidence of active disease whatsoever. I saw the scans myself. Big blue spots on the "before" picture and nothing at all on the "after" picture. Nada, nothing, zippo-patootie! Remember those little hard-hatted guys I described in a previous post? The ones I imagine inside my body directing the poison to all the right spots? Well, I'd say they've been doing their job spectacularly well. You go, little guys!

Details on the last chemo. I really felt completely flattened, like a ball that you accidentally let the air out of and can't stopper up quickly enough before some life has come out of it. I've been sleeping sitting up except in the last few nights because if I lie flat, I feel sick to my stomach. I'm definitely starting to feel better now - all the side effects are much muted - but the smallest activity makes me completely pooped and if I'm not careful, the tiredness can turn into nausea in an instant. It's very frustrating: Wake up, brush my teeth, take a shower, need to sit down for awhile. Get up, feed the dog, put some dishes away, need to sit down for awhile. Get up, get some breakfast, eat, need to rest (napping is elusive despite how tired I am) and on and on. I know this will actually get worse while on radiation, as its main side effect apart from the obvious burns is fatigue. But I've found the Food network and HGTV to be highly absorbing. And an old season of America's Top Chef on Bravo. Oh my word! Did that Tiffani lie or what?! Poor Dave. I was rooting for him and then he had to help the evil Tiffani. Um, okay, you can see that I'm not up to much intellectually. My brain is a bit mushy.

The good thing was that my sister Debbie, who I don't get to see very often, came two days before the last awful infusion and was here for a week. Mike came with me on chemo day and my sister took me for fluids for three days following the chemo. The fluids and a host of other pills and remedies were my doctor's suggestions for alleviating the nausea and other stomach problems that had made #5 so much worse than the previous four. She arranged four days of fluids but I skipped Day 3 because I wasn't sure they were helping at all. It took so much out of me just to get there, stay there to get them, and come home that I opted out on the Sunday. That day turned out to be one of the worst days so I went back the next day. Guess they were doing some good after all. Debbie took excellent care of us and our home (she is not one to sit still ever so there was baking and cooking and home repair during her visit). Also, Joey turned 19 while she was here. He's so darn tall and and and adult-looking! And during subsequent doctor's visits I got to see Roxie, who is the best therapy dog ever. There are always silver linings.

Details on radiation. Mike has posted on this visit and I second what he wrote. We did find this visit scary for whatever reason (perhaps because they review everything that has happened so far and it was just too much to hear). The doctor was nice, though. He ordered the PET scan because there was a spot near my collar bone that lit up on the last one (pre-surgery), which has never been dealt with. He wanted to see what that spot was like now as he might want to radiate it in addition to my tata. Since the scan was clean, that means it was probably a diseased lymph node that had the stuffing kicked out of it by chemo. The doctor said he'll include this area in my radiation plan.

The PET scan was a long day and the tech that did the scan did not know how to deal with my port-a-cath. He injected me with the radioactive stuff with no problems, but then he couldn't get the needle out. It was half in and half out and not moving one way or another. It was sticking out of me like a bee that having stung me found it couldn't fly off (the needle is yellow). It was a Saturday so no one at the Cancer Center was answering the phone, but luckily it was just up the street. Mike drove up there and found a nurse to call the tech and talk him through removing the needle. Phew! Thank you, Mike. Thank you, D (the CC nurse).

I've since also had my "simulation", which is a fancy word for using a CT scan to set up the radiation plan and get tattooed. This was okay but a long day because they needed us to go home and come back. And I forgot that the tattoos really sting when they're doing them. Who would go through this voluntarily? I have a lot of respect for people who get tattoos for the beauty of them (although mine are just dots). Plus you have to hold your arms above your head for about an hour and my shoulders got really stiff and felt like dead weights when I was done. Now we're just waiting for a call to schedule the first treatment. Once this process begins, I'll be going to radiation every day for 6 weeks. Bring it on because I am ready to rumble!