The Meaning of Life

Today was a good day. After nearly three decades of being me, I had long since accepted that I had no self-esteem. I was ok with it. Did I want to be different? Sure, but it was the same kind of wanting that I employed when I dreamt of being in prime physical condition: I WANTED it, but only if I didn’t have to do anything to get it. I WANT my house to be remodeled, but I don’t want to do any of the extensive work required for that to happen. I’m lazy, is what I’m trying to say.
Not now. It all changed as I lay face down on the beach this afternoon, marveling at tiny little shells that could bury themselves in the sand. As I took another swig of my warm, slightly sandy pear-vodka-and-water beverage, it hit me with an almost physically-jarring jolt.
I’m amazing.
I’m not just amazing, I’m the most incredible person I know. I not only want to be around myself, I enjoy my company.
This realization was based on a few key truths, which I will graciously detail for you now, and also for me, should I forget once I sober up and/or sleep.
1. Everything that I think is funny is VERY funny. I totally agree that everything I laugh at is, in fact, laugh-worthy. EVERYTHING.
2. Things that make me angry are very reasonable things that SHOULD make one angry. If not, why would I get angry about them?
3. Things that make me sad are sad. They just are. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sad.
Unless you’re very slow, you get the picture. I GET me. I understand me. I don’t have to talk when I’m with myself. I can just sit in companionable silence. If I want to play spider solitaire for several hours and drink, that makes sense. If I want to sleep in and not shower until late in the day, well, there’s nothing wrong with that! If I’m being moody, it’s for good reason!
As I came out of this once-in-a-lifetime epiphany, I heard my husband (another good, solid person, but one who I don’t always agree with or understand, therefore making him not as great as me) call for me. He’d caught a freakin’ shark. From the shore.
So, yeah, he’s pretty amazing. But he’s no me.

Radiation

Three radiations down, 30 to go. Not bad so far. I should probably stop reading other accounts of it though, because I don’t know what will happen in my experience and the things I’m reading are kind of frightening. “Skin loss” is not a good term, for example. Also, I am grateful I don’t have throat or butt cancer. I know that’s terrible to say, but it’s true. Those stories sound like the very worst.
The treatments themselves take like, three minutes, and feel like nothing. This large round disc rotates around me, first one side, then the other, and I feel nothing. There’s no visible beam, there’s no burning sensation when it’s happening. The room has a large, backlit mountain scene on the ceiling, which is peaceful. There is a light on the wall near the entryway that flashes on, accompanied with a buzzing sound, when it’s happening, and I always think of an “On Air” light during a radio broadcast. The first treatment, the technicians hurried out of the room, saying “We can still see and hear you, we just won’t be in the room.” Then, the light and buzzing. I thought, “WAIT! I CHANGED MY MIND!” It seemed so dramatic, like I was in lockdown and would emerge with horrible disfigurement and extreme superpowers, but neither happened (yet! HA!). It really feels like nothing, and takes almost no time, which is weird. From what the technicians tell me, I can’t wear a bra after the first week, because I will not want anything touching my skin. Awesome. I’ll have my arms crossed in front of me for six weeks.
I also keep reading about extreme fatigue. We’ll see. So far, so good. I have a mental paper chain to count down with, and I’ve already gotten to tear off three links!

Enjoy Every Sandwich

Warren Zevon, probably most famous for his song “Werewolves of London” died on September 7, 2003 of, you guessed it, cancer. I heard the news when we were leaving my son’s seventh birthday party.

Zevon, to me, was way more than one song. Do yourself a favor and listen to some of his other greats, like “Something Bad Happened to a Clown” and “Hit Somebody!” (Yes, that is David Letterman on the chorus).

When Zevon was on Letterman, the impression was always left that they had more than a host-guest interaction. They were friends. When Letterman and Zevon spoke of his cancer, Zevon said something that has stayed with me ever since.

“I enjoy every sandwich.”

Sadly, I didn’t heed this advice until recently.

There were a couple of things that I never took for granted before that. Since 2008, I have only had custody of my son, the light of my life, 50% of the time. Of that 50%, take out school and sleep and his social activities, and I don’t even want to think about how little time we actually spend together. Thus, I soak up as much time as I possibly can. Bless him for not pushing me away.

Similarly, my husband is on the road at least a third of the year. Again, take away sleeping and my work and just time that we’re in different places, and that’s very little time that I’m with him. So, again, I soak up the time I do have with him. People have told me that it’s better for our marriage. I don’t know about that – I’d much rather spend more time with him. But I understand the point.

But now, I enjoy the everyday, mundane things. Every day I get to work with Tami, I thank God for letting me be with her again. I’m grateful for new friends, like Corie and Nathan and Miriam and Julie and Sue and Jenny. I’m grateful for all the people who check on me. I’m grateful for my family. My stepsons are amazing. So, I guess I have cancer to thank for that.

My oncologist sealed the fate of our relationship yesterday when she told my husband he was “trippin’” when he asked her to clarify a vague statement she made about my “second chemo.” I told her I was about to ask her the same thing, so I guessed that meant I, too, was “trippin’”. Then she signed my prescription “dispense as written” and I made her change it. Her sigh was so loud I almost laughed. Then her nurse told Billy that if I didn’t take eight chemos, they would not allow me to have radiation treatment until I did.

Additionally, there was a new chemo nurse yesterday. She only gave me two of my three pre-meds, and I think I know which one she forgot, because I almost lost my lunch midway through the chemo. She lectured me on not eating more before chemo and I said, “Well, don’t base my chemo on my weight then.” She rolled her eyes. Yeah, I know I’m taking the weight thing too seriously, but come on, if your chemo was based on your weight, wouldn’t you try not to gain any? Then she set my infusion rate for way too slow – two hours instead of thirty minutes on the second chemo drug. Thank God the other nurse, wise to her at that point, came to make sure it was right.

I see a new doctor in Springfield on Tuesday. It was originally for a second opinion, but now I think I just don’t want to go back to Pittsburg. It’s my body, and I feel like it should be my choice. I also can’t help but think that no matter how many treatments I get, no matter how much I put my body through or how much poison gets pumped into me, that it’s ultimately God’s will.

Finally, I want to say how thankful I am for Billy. He treats me like a queen. Like the cancer vixen I am. He makes me laugh and tells me I’m beautiful even as I sit there all bald and puffy and weepy. He listened without complaint to my cancer cd’s even though they’re full of music he doesn’t like. He held my hand yesterday and told me I better not even think about going anywhere because he needed me. “Who else,” he said, “can mismatch my socks like you do?” That’s another thing I love – he can save the moment by making me laugh. I’ll fight this for myself, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fighting it for us too. And he did it all on his birthday. What a guy.

And Then There Was One.

All the support in the world is not enough to make me want to go to chemo. It just sucks. It’s as pleasant as something that sucks can possibly be, because of the chemo nurses. They’re amazing. They seem to genuinely care. Nonetheless, it sucks.
But we’re going to focus on all the things that didn’t suck today. First of all, when my awesome sister, Shannon, picked me up today, she had burned four cancer cd’s for me. A Going to Chemo CD (“My Little Runaway vs. I Feel Like Going Home”), a during chemo cd entitled “Hell…A Visitor’s Guide,” another one entitled “Dear Cancer, I’m Going to Make it Out Alive. So Bring It.” and finally, a relaxation-style one for the post-chemo ride home called “How to Live.” She had put a lot of time into making these, and Ryan helped a lot with input for the songs. It made what would have been an unpleasant drive (because, face it, I don’t ever want to go to chemo) very nice.
We got there, and the obstacles began. First, so many people were in the waiting room. Then, magically, a new form to fill out. Then, the wait. Then, the blood draw and the blood pressure. This time, my blood pressure was low-ish on the high end, 109/79. Whatever that is, systolic? hydraulic? diabolic? I don’t care.
When I went for the pre-chemo check with the doctor, I found out that 1)I had some kind of rash all over my back and 2)I have an irregular heartbeat. I didn’t like any of this news, but at least they weren’t concerned that I had too many things wrong to not get the chemo.
By that time I had long since ditched my wig. That’s the one place I feel like I can do that, though I noticed I was the only bald chemo person in the room. I didn’t care.
What I love about chemo…the warm blankets. The chair. The little tv. Shannon had brought games, but we didn’t end up playing. I didn’t even read. We just talked. It was nice. Tami had bought me these fancy little chocolates last night, so as soon as I had my weigh-in I went crazy. Bananas Foster – freaking amazing. Then Champagne Chocolate – didn’t really taste champagne but it was still great. Finally, Tupelo Honey. LOTS of honey. Really, really good.
Shannon got me an awesome salad (Billy had sent her instructive texts this morning for an hour. He was so worried and upset that he couldn’t be at this one. He’s awesome.) fixed with all the best salad stuff, and I inhaled that, too. And of course I sucked my ice chips to prevent mouth sores. I get sick of ice chips, but I would get more sick of mouth sores. Thus, the ice chips are a staple.
Right now, I’m just tired. Kind of stressed and depressed, but glad that I’m halfway done. The next one will be my last Adriamycin/Cytoxan, then I switch the Taxol for the last two. I want to be done. I’m ready to say, “Yeah, I had cancer. A long time ago. I beat it.” I want to tell people it can be done. Yeah, that’s the part I look forward to.

The Chemo Diaries, Session Two/Hey, my Hair Jumped Ship

I felt fantastic the last four days – it was a natural high the likes of which I had never known (in a natural state, that is). Last night Bill and I went to dinner with Stacy and Kelly, and we had so much fun. Then I went to the bathroom. After I washed my hands, I reached up to pat down my staticky hair, and a (to me, very) large cluster of hair remained on my hand after I took it away.

Even though I had been losing hairs the last three days, I wasn’t worried. I lose a lot of hair on a daily basis anyway. This didn’t seem excessive. But this stalk o’ locks told me otherwise.

Then, of course, I was ready to GO, which was great, timing-wise, because they were about to close. I was sure the whole mess of hair was going to slide right off my head any minute, and I wanted as few people as possible to know what my head looked like, at least until I knew what it looked like.

We drove home and debated, but Bill’s cool logic prevailed, and so we had one of those romantic evenings many couples only dream of, in which he buzzed my hair totally off and made jokes and I laughed. Then Hunter decided he was next, though he didn’t want to go quite as extreme as I did. I understood this, as I didn’t want to go quite as extreme as I did either.

So now I know what my head looks like. It’s not too bad. No lumps, no bumps, and no disturbing discoloration. My ears look bigger, obviously. And I look a lot shorter, which makes no sense, because I had some of the flattest hair known to man.

Second chemo today, and Bill had to almost physically force me into the car. I kept remembering all the things I needed to do (oh, my vitamins! oh, my purse! oh, which hat shall I wear on my freakin’ bald head?). You know, the basics. But we did get there, and they hooked me up, only to make me move because Dr. Reed wanted to see me but didn’t feel like going to the chemo room. They explained it away by saying she wanted to examine me. Well, she could have had me breathe with her stethoscope in the chemo room just as well, but whatever. I had a bone to pick with that woman, anyway.

I hate confrontation, so I jumped in as soon as she entered the room.

“You and I agreed on six chemotherapy sessions of Adriamycin and Cytoxan. Last time I was here, the chemo nurses told me I was down for eight – four of Adriamycin/Cytoxan and four of Taxol. Why is that?”

“Well, you delayed your treatment to freeze eggs, so that made it necessary to change the protocol.”

This made me angry.

“YOU were the one who told me I could do that. You said it was built into your plan, the same plan we went over here during my second appointment with you. AND I also came in three weeks ahead of your deadline.”

“Yes, but it’s necessary now due to your delay.”

“OK, then how about the fact that you didn’t TELL ME? EVER? I had to hear it from a chemo nurse I had never met before!”

“Well, the Taxol isn’t as bad.”

“Well, I’m doing six sessions.”

All in all, right now I don’t feel too bad. I have another wig now, and the woman at Riddles on 20th in Joplin is so amazing. Her wigs are all half price for chemo patients, and she taught me a lot about the wearing of wigs. I had mine on about 60% cockeyed every time. She was very patient.

I’m so grateful for Bill. He has done so much for me. We have chickens now, so I can have hormone-free meat. He bought me the wig. He has cooked and cleaned relentlessly. He told me I was so cute with a bald head. He took me to dinner so I could see Stacy last night, someone I haven’t seen in I have no idea how many years. He set it up himself.

I love him. I’m glad he’s here.

And what would I do without my amazing kid and his shaved head?

Thank you for your support, guys. It helps the dark days stay several shades lighter than black.