Finding Chemo

Almost every year since Cancer #1, Mike and I have participated in the Race for the Cure. We get up at o'dawn hundred in order to get a good parking space near Reid Park and then spend the pre-walk time browsing the exhibits and getting free stuff (score!), going to the survivors tent for free breakfast and to sign the big long survivors ribbon. On the ribbon, you are supposed to put when you were diagnosed and how long you've been cancer free. Since Cancer #2, I've been flummoxed as to what to put...12 years? 5? and next year, should it be 0? Maybe I should simply write: "2000, 2007, 2012, and I'm still here!"
     "Finding Chemo" is the team name for the staff from the cancer center. They show up every year wearing t-shirts and hats with little stuffed Nemos attached. They cheer loudly and walk proudly. They are the nurses and staff who work to make the center less a place of fear and more a place of comfort and caring. If there was ever a year where they did not show up, it would be a far less enjoyable walk for me. After the race, there is always a survivors ceremony where all of us are invited onto the stage and someone sings "I will survive". I've done this once and as schmaltzy as the song is, it still brings tears to my eyes. It was a pretty powerful thing and something I can't bear to do again.
     Over the last three months, I've been finding my own chemo and not to put too fine a point on it: it has royally sucked. My doctor recommended a 6 month regimen, which started in late May. This means I'll be getting treatment through the end of October. There are 6 cycles of two weeks "on" and two weeks "off". At the beginning of a cycle, I go for an infusion of two of the drugs and the same a week later. For those two weeks, I take one of the drugs by mouth at night before I go to bed. 7 pills. Every night. My biggest fear about this regimen is that my stomach has never been well-behaved even when I am healthy. Three months in, my fears have proven well-grounded. My stomach is a mess. The first two cycles, I was so nauseous and having so many gastric problems that I despaired of making it through to the next one. I wanted to quit, I threatened to quit, and scared the bejeezus out of Mike by saying that. My doctor advised eating only starches before bedtime (bread, rice, potatoes) and maybe a little chicken for protein. No fruits or vegetables or anything that could upset my stomach at any time during the day. My body is one big craving hampered by abdominal pain and other nasty things. I basically eat nothing for two weeks. I dream of gourmet food. I watch the Food Network and pretend I am eating the delicious things I see. I plan what I will eat in November when all this is over: fruit, salad, ice box cakes (there were 10 in Sunset Magazine. I want them all), fish, steak, hamburgers, chocolate, coffee, roasted asparagus. The list is endless.
     True to her word, my doctor has worked with me each time on finding ways to minimize and manage the side effects. I've had prescription after prescription filled and discarded. The latest seems to be working a little better, but I still lie on the sofa and try not to notice my stomach. I try not to feel miserable and tell myself to be stronger. I tell myself that some people live with pain and discomfort much worse than this - and still manage to be cheerful. I hate these phantom people. I tell myself to do something, anything to keep my mind off how I feel. Read, do a puzzle, watch TV, something, anything. But sometimes I am too tired to even open my eyes, although I can't sleep. I wake up at 3:30 almost every night and slink out to the living room. I imagine phantom women who still work, take care of their kids, go to the gym while undergoing treatment - and I feel like a loser for not being like them. I try to give myself pep talks, and I try to celebrate still being alive. Sometimes it works, sometimes it devolves into a pity party.
     We are at the cancer center at least three times a week, hours at a time. The drive alone from our house is 45 minutes. Mike is a rock. He never complains when we have to go at unexpected times. He packs his computer case and sits on a less than comfortable chair and goes through everything with me insofar as he can. I worry about him and have instigated a plan for him to get regular massage. I hope it  helps. I hope that I don't keep him up at night. I hope I'm not a pain in the ass.
     I now have daily appointments for fluids in case I need them. Chemo has been postponed once for several days because I got a fever and an infection, which I am still being treated for. Last week we spent 6 hours there in one day because my potassium was low and you can only get 10mg an hour. I'd already been there three hours when they decided to give me 30 mg (they actually wanted to give me 40, but then we would have been there after they closed). Last Wednesday, I went in for fluids because I was so utterly miserable and I hoped they would help. My abdominal pain was so bad I was near tears. My doctor turned around after being on her way home to come see me in person after a call from the nurses.That day was the last day of my "on" cycle and I was worried about having to take the pills that night. She told me not to and I felt so much relief, I cannot even describe it. She held my hands, she told me I was not a problem child (my term, not hers). She reiterated how rough this regimen was and how strong I was to have gotten halfway through. I want to believe her.
     But there is always a silver lining and I often focus on that. I have a loving family and many loving friends. I get warm fuzzies logging into Facebook every day and looking at my Facebook Zoo (thanks to Lise for that term and to all of you who post there). I have family that visit and call and check in almost daily. I get cards and hugs and warm blankets (the cancer center gives you them when you are treated). I get to read mysteries, snuggle with my dog, and watch sunsets and sunrises. I have a freezer full of the best ever pumpkin bread and hot fudge sauce (thanks Mom and Cath!) that I can eat when I feel better. I get text pics and phone calls from Joe. I get flowers and calls from my yard guy just to see how I am doing - and flowers from Mike every time he goes to the grocery store. I get healing hands from my good friend Pat who sometimes drops everything to help out when I am feeling my worst. I get treated to spas in my "off" periods and can even sometimes eat real food then. I get emails from caring friends that always boost my spirits, even when I don't feel well enough to answer right away. Often when I sit out on the pool deck and watch the sunrise, listening to the birds, watching the dragon flies drink from the pool, and the way the sky changes colors, I think: Life is good. I am truly blessed.