Tuesday is, I hope, my last day of chemo. My head and heart are both quietly singing "Hallelujah," in all its varieties. Last week, my CA125 count measured 11 (lower than expected), but my white counts are still wobbly. If my white count is high enough (over 1500) Tuesday, I'll have four hours of the drips, four days of steroids and anti-nausea meds, then hopefully an all-clear for yoga and other activities. In time, my hair and good humor will return. I hope so. I miss them both. There's a meanness / paranoia / colossal insecurity / distraction that descends over me lately. I hate it. I'm embarassed by it. It's not like me to be so afraid. But I have been. Especially the days immediately following chemo ... and it lingers until the first days of the week following.
Until last week, I thought I was losing my mind, or, from deep inside in my paranoia / insecurity, I thought that P had lost love and moved on to loving job, others, anything instead, but its neither.
In all the talk about losing hair, losing my sense of taste and touch, hot and cold flashes, and possible weight gain, we never spoke of psychosis as a side-effect. During a visit with Dr A last week, I asked. "Oh, yes," she said. "It's called 'steroid psychosis.' Very common. And it's temporary. Don't worry ... " I don't have enough experience with steroids to know that they can make you crazy. Damned drugs: love them, hate them.
Back when we initially spoke about all of this, the doctors told me that tests had proven that three courses at three-week intervals are as good as six at three-week intervals ... easy, I thought. But last week Dr A explained a little more ... the reason it works is that it's the same dosage as six, just three doubles; i.e twice the pre-chemo steroids, twice the chemo dosage, twice the post-treatment steroids. Any of it enough to make a person crazy for a while; all combined feels perfectly horrid.
But at least now we know it's drug-induced and nothing permanent, just an altered "reality." Still, for now, I want P to lock me away for a couple of weeks, hide knives and other sharp objects, take nothing seriously, know in his heart that no matter how bitchy I am, I love him more than I'll even be able to say--or show. It's all a phase. I feel so bad for being such hard work. Really. Enough is enough.
When I suggested he might just want to be gone next week, P said "No travel. Let's cook. I don't want you to be crazy alone."
He's making seafood risotto tonight--shrimp, mussels, and clams. I might need a martini ... I wonder how alcohol and steroids work together?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Three weeks later ...
Well, funny how time flies when you're having fun ... Actually, I mean that with no sarcasm.
There have been weird days, sobbing, fearful, angry days, especially about three days after my last post when handfuls of hair fell out all over the place (I looked like a Chinese Crested dog), and then two days after that when I went in and had the tufts shaved. I had no idea how odd I'd feel bald, how conspicuous I'd feel wearing hats 24/7. I had no idea how cold wintery baldness would be (hats or not--but now that I've been bald for a couple of weeks, if it was summer, I think I'd be all over this--bald head and big earrings and sundresses). And I had no idea that when they said "your hair will fall out," in my case it meant everything but eyebrows and eyelashes--even the odd invisible hairs on the top of my feet are gone. I had no idea that the tufts of hair shaved off my head would start growing again right away, but that the hair that fell out would begin to grow much more slowly. I had no idea how this would change the way the world looks, how priorities would change ... I had no idea about my own odd vanities.
On February 9th I sat with my drips for round 2. The first week afterward, I was worried about the toxins bubbling around inside. The second week, less so. But really, I had no idea how "ok" most of this would be. So far, no nausea or other gastro-intestional adventures (many, many drugs...). No shaving my legs. No worries about bad hair days. And in spite of all the warnings, there have been only minimal changes in the way I taste things. I can't taste sweets well (ironic that among the kazillion things on the plate these days, I have to modify and taste-test 20 sweet recipes for work), but I'm enjoying everything else very much. My appetite waxes and wanes, but I had no idea how much I'd like weighing 15-20 lbs less than I did at Christmas. (Yesterday, finally, I broke down and bought a couple of pairs of size "smaller" jeans, the others were always slipping off. I'm approaching "smaller" as a temporary situation, though I'd like to make it permanent. Must work on that plan.)
P has begun traveling again and I've begun cooking. It's so satisfying ... First effort: yellowfin tuna rested overnight in coriander seeds and olive oil, then seared and served with brown rice and a chard/shallot/fennel saute. Tonight he's at the stove again, then he's gone for a week. My mother will be here--our food changes to accommodate, but we'll mix eating in with eating out during her visit. And next week ... back to working out, or maybe the week after, depending on the doctor's visit Friday.
If all goes well, final chemo on March 3. And then really back to food, beyond what's on the plate: it's time to dig into life in Chicago. Snow looms tonight, but spring is just a few weeks away and gardens will again bloom. I have volunteer appts at the Chicago Botanic Garden and Garfield Park Conservatory. We'll see ... Finger crossed.
There have been weird days, sobbing, fearful, angry days, especially about three days after my last post when handfuls of hair fell out all over the place (I looked like a Chinese Crested dog), and then two days after that when I went in and had the tufts shaved. I had no idea how odd I'd feel bald, how conspicuous I'd feel wearing hats 24/7. I had no idea how cold wintery baldness would be (hats or not--but now that I've been bald for a couple of weeks, if it was summer, I think I'd be all over this--bald head and big earrings and sundresses). And I had no idea that when they said "your hair will fall out," in my case it meant everything but eyebrows and eyelashes--even the odd invisible hairs on the top of my feet are gone. I had no idea that the tufts of hair shaved off my head would start growing again right away, but that the hair that fell out would begin to grow much more slowly. I had no idea how this would change the way the world looks, how priorities would change ... I had no idea about my own odd vanities.
On February 9th I sat with my drips for round 2. The first week afterward, I was worried about the toxins bubbling around inside. The second week, less so. But really, I had no idea how "ok" most of this would be. So far, no nausea or other gastro-intestional adventures (many, many drugs...). No shaving my legs. No worries about bad hair days. And in spite of all the warnings, there have been only minimal changes in the way I taste things. I can't taste sweets well (ironic that among the kazillion things on the plate these days, I have to modify and taste-test 20 sweet recipes for work), but I'm enjoying everything else very much. My appetite waxes and wanes, but I had no idea how much I'd like weighing 15-20 lbs less than I did at Christmas. (Yesterday, finally, I broke down and bought a couple of pairs of size "smaller" jeans, the others were always slipping off. I'm approaching "smaller" as a temporary situation, though I'd like to make it permanent. Must work on that plan.)
P has begun traveling again and I've begun cooking. It's so satisfying ... First effort: yellowfin tuna rested overnight in coriander seeds and olive oil, then seared and served with brown rice and a chard/shallot/fennel saute. Tonight he's at the stove again, then he's gone for a week. My mother will be here--our food changes to accommodate, but we'll mix eating in with eating out during her visit. And next week ... back to working out, or maybe the week after, depending on the doctor's visit Friday.
If all goes well, final chemo on March 3. And then really back to food, beyond what's on the plate: it's time to dig into life in Chicago. Snow looms tonight, but spring is just a few weeks away and gardens will again bloom. I have volunteer appts at the Chicago Botanic Garden and Garfield Park Conservatory. We'll see ... Finger crossed.
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