But first things first ... the seafood risotto was amazing. Perfect. Might have to swear off restaurant food for a long while. Home cooking is just better. And I've concluded that P really only likes his own cooking. No matter, it's absolute comfort in all of this. I'm learning to deal with life only marginally in control. Strange thing to begin to let go of so much that's been so true for so long.
On March 2, just when it seemed to be going swimmingly and the end was just hours away, my white cells tested too low and we were unable to proceed as planned. We waited a week, they spiked back up (hooray for feisty marrow), and last Tuesday, March 9, was the last day with Agnes the Amazing Ambulatory Oncology Nurse and her drips. That night I celebrated with Kallari chocolate from the Ecuadorian Amazon, by way of Whole Foods in Austin, and sent by the delightful Julie, one of P's high school buddies. (It's the best chocolate I've ever tasted, and it's direct trade and sustainably grown to boot. Fabulous stuff. Find it. Now.)
This time, to avoid the steroid psychosis, we cut the post-chemo regime in half, and so far, five days since the treatment, nary a tear or paranoid / insecure / fearful thought. But this morning, for the first time, I was nauseated (the steroids kept it at bay). It's raining and chilly, and P is out of the house working this weekend. It's nice and quiet, perfect for laying low, sipping tea, waiting for my stomach to settle and the fog to lift.
This time, taste buds and olfactory glands have metal filters on them, fingers and feet are increasingly tingly (like "needles and pins" awaking), and I'm tired.
This time there's a new thing creeping in ... "chemo brain." It's apparently common for chemo to cause a loss in cognitive function as it accumulates in the system. Memory, multi-tasking, following instructions (even when written), language, etc. have all become problematic. I'm just dumb as mud. It's odd, frustrating, and hopefully temporary.
This time I know it's to be expected, it's not a surprise. All in all, still minor inconveniences.
Just one more blood test to check the CA125 scale and then we settle into something more normal. Dr A says that recovery time should match treatment time. So if we consider treatment time from January 4 to March 23 (the 9th + 2 weeks to hit the nadirs), then by June, give or take, I ought to be "me" again. Please God. P and I joked about a countdown calendar--advent style, Julia suggested chocolate and toys behind each tab--as a way to measure progress. Day-by-day seems too slow.
My hair has begun growing back--part of it at least. The white hairs are far more eager than the dark. The dark hairs are still just little stubblies, the whites are about 1/4 inch long and poking straight out. Very funny. But it's progress, small steps back to "me."
Last week, I visited the Chicago Botanic Garden and was mesmerized (again) ... the lakes were still frozen, twigs showed tender buds, and Canadian geese circled so low I could hear their wings thumping the air. I'd gone with the intention of a good long walk away from city noises, to check out the new Plant Science Center (so inspiring/engaging), and to learn about volunteer opportunities this spring. Next week, I meet the head of interpretation to talk about volunteering in the Culinary Gardens and Japanese Garden. And I'm plotting a vegetable container garden on the front porch (again). This time I know how the sun shines, the temperatures flow, and the rain falls. I'm looking forward to life with dirty fingernails and fresh produce.
And please keep Tracey, Marty and Jill in your thoughts. Marty, at 45, has stage 4 colon cancer. Just yesterday his oncologists ruled out myriad possible causes--genetics, lifestyle, eating, etc., etc., and attributed it to cosmic rays. No kidding.
Here's to it all. You're in my best thoughts.
[P's friend Julie wrote on FB this morning: "What if, when we're feeling lost and forsaken, we really open our eyes, with courage and with humility, and realize we're not only not falling, but that feeling, that open, that vulnerable, that free, that honest is forgiveness itself, like floating in a sea of new, the possibilities big as the universe, and that with intention, we can love and live there always?" ... and she loves socially responsible chocolate?!]
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