Escape...and adventure

It is amazing how your prospective changes with the vicissitudes of life. I had an appointment downtown (SF) today, so I drove myself to the BART station. My timing was perfect. The train got to the station just after I did. I settled myself in comfortably and started to knit for the journey downtown. A youngish man sat in the seat in front of me with a Ipod blasting away. I asked him to turn it down and he got up and moved--just not far enough away. I suppose I can take a small amount of joy knowing that he will be deaf before I will. When I rule the world, all people who use Ipods and the like that I can hear will be sent straight to the gulags.
Anyway--I got to San Francisco in good time, deposited a check at the ATM--I love the ones that don't need an envelope, that just read your deposits. I had my appointment, then I walked (for the exercise, of course) down to the San Francisco Centre. I went to Bloomingdales and got something I didn't need for the sheer joy of shopping. I went on to Nordstrom, just to see if there was anything I really needed, but by then I was getting tired. So down to the concourse level I went, got a Jamba Juice with protein, sat and drank it so that I wouldn't break the BART rules by taking food or beverage on the train, paid a courtesy visit to Mrs. Fields, then descended into the bowels of the earth. Once again, my timing was excellent. The train pulled up just as I got to the platform. I settled in--now here comes the adventure part. We were moving along, fine as could be till we left 24th and Mission. We pulled out from the station and stopped. The driver announced that a tree was on the tracks just past Balboa Station. So we sat for a while. Eventually, he took the train back to 24th where we all got off and waited for them to send a train on the wrong tracks to take us on our way. I suppose it was only 15 or 20 minutes, but by then I was tired and had another appointment at 3. They must have worked pretty hard, because I couldn't see anything on the track. There were several CalTrans vehicles on the freeway adjacent to the BART tracks, but nothing on the tracks. I came home long enough to check the mail, and then went off to see my primary care physician, who pronounced me doing well.
I'm counting down the days to the next chemo session--not because I'm really looking forward to it, but because I want it over with. I'd like all of them over with when you get right down to it. Three weeks is too short for a vacation, but a really long time between treatments.
It was good to get out by myself today. The last time I bought gas was March 22, and with today's travels, I've put on almost 50 miles since then. It's pretty pathetic when the height of my adventure is getting off the BART midtrip and waiting to be rescued. Now I think I will cook something I don't really want to eat.
xxooxx

One year ago

One year ago, Lee and I arrived in London, staying literally steps away from Freemason's Hall. Lee wanted to see that so badly that I'd resolved to take him on the trip even if I had to bring him home in a baggie. I was the caretaker. Cancer was nowhere near my radar screen--at least not my mental radar screen. It was probably already growing in my body. My concern that trip was seeing to it that Lee had a good time. I knew that even if the worst happened, we would be taken care of. That is one of the real joys of the Masonic Family. And we did have a good time. There was a great deal Lee couldn't do, but also a great deal he could do. We had a grand time.

So much has happened since then. So--what have I been doing lately. I've been getting better. The orcs in my body seem to be retreating. I know they are just gathering strength for the next assault, but right now, the orc drums are just a murmur. Do not for a minute think that the world stops for cancer. Tuesday, Glenn and I were getting ready for an outing--don't get too excited, it was only to the market--when he discovered a flood in the basement. Plans were put on hold while he swabbed the deck and put in a call to our favorite Handyman. The upshot was a backed up sewer, courtesy of tree roots. All is now fine and flowing, but Glenn put in several hours as a plumber's assistant and decided that plumbing would not be his chosen career.
I made Glenn get up early (for him--he works swing shift four nights out of seven), to take me into the City for a follow-up with my surgeon. He made the wound a little bigger to keep it open to heal from the inside out. He wants my plastic surgeon to dig around and find the offending stitch sooner rather than later, since it is still draining. The plastic surgeon wants to wait till I'm done with chemo. I personally would like it all done yesterday. I have a huge box of wound dressing supplies, I suppose it would be a waste not to use them all up.
So, there we are for now. I'm feeling better, about half way through the first cycle. Guess it is time to tackle the mounds of junk--or knit my way through pounds of yarn. Maybe I'll knit.

I may live

I think I'm starting to feel a little less bad. Mornings are good-mornings are when things seem almost normal. That would be the blessing of ritual, because I do the same things every morning. Now mornings are also when I miss Lee, because most of the rituals were his jobs. He would get up first, make the coffee, bet the newspaper, lay out my cereal bowl, spoon, and juice. The first time he was in the hospital, I actually had to get step by step instructions for the coffee maker. So I miss him in the mornings. Of course, I've learned to handle all the mundane tasks. I actually enjoy doing them--doing the same task at around the same time every morning. Sometimes my routine is thrown off by a late newspaper, but I can rise above that.
Anyway, I've had my breakfast, taken my morning meds, and am ready to settle down under the duvet and inhale another James Patterson book. I might even throw caution to the wind and hit the grocery store to have an actual outing that doesn't include a doctor. Yes. I think I'm starting to pull out of round one.

Not so good, thank you

I've come back from a long hike with no part of my body that didn't hurt--that was NOTHING. There is now, officially, a war going on inside my body. I'm not sure, but I think the orcs are winning right now. Intellectually, I know that I will feel better in a few days--that few days are looking very long. I just hung out yesterday. The one joy was a Giants win. This will be another "just get through it" day. I will. I'm still tough.
xxooxx

I'm thinking the honeymoon may be over

I woke up at about 4 this morning in a lot of pain. They weren't totally unknown pains, so I wasn't really sure if they were old friends back to visit or harbingers of things to come. I can definitely tell that something is going on. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop--or maybe even a closet of shoes, and I may have moved from "in the pink" to "in the puce." If this is as bad as it gets, I can deal with it. If it gets worse, I guess I can deal with that too, but I won't much like it. On the whole, I think I'd rather be in Paris.
xxooxx

So it wasn't so bad

Long, but not so bad. Glenn got me to the infusion center at about quarter to nine--no traffic along the way. It took them a while to find my records, but they found them and we got started right about on time. The port worked like a charm--I'm SO glad I had that done. First came IV Benedryl and Pepcid, then came Dexamethasone and Aloxi--all of these are to conbat nausea and possible allergic responses. Then came the Taxol--that took forever--and finally Carboplatin--about 40 more minutes. They flushed my port and I was good to go. I had a liter of water and protein bars with me--next time I'm bringing a sandwich. Dory picked me up and we finally left just after 2. When I got home, my daughter, Elaine, was here. She didn't go to the infusion center because she's had a bit of a cold. But that didn't stop her from doing my laundry, changing the sheets, vacuuming, and trying to clean the bathroom without all the stuff on the counter crashing down. Maybe I'll work on the bathroom after I clean off the hope chest in the bedroom...At the infusion center, I finished a baby sweater and made the matching bonnet and booties. I have to get hot on the baby stuff--my stash is down to three items. I have tons of yarn to work with and now lots of time to complete projects.
I ordered two wigs yesterday--they should be here and ready by the time my hair starts falling out. One almost matches my hair perftctly--the other one is in case I want a change and to startle everyone.
The adventure continues.
xxooxx

Since you asked--or didn't

I'm fine. Right now, this minute, I'm fine. As long as I don't think about what's happening tomorrow at 9 in the morning, I'm fine. I didn't have that early childhood Christian Science upbringing for nothing. I can think about other things just fine. Yes, I'm apprehensive. 9 AM will come tomorrow and I will be hooked up to toxic chemicals, and there will be side effects. But I'm tough. I can get through it. And I'm fine as long as I don't have to think about it right now. I think I'll knit and watch the tape of my soap opera.
xxooxx

OK, then

I saw my oncologist today. She is pleased with the progress on my incision and we are set to start chemo on Wednesday the 16th at 9 in the morning. I had been praying for courage or patience, whichever was required, just in case they put off the chemo again. so now we know--prayers for courage in this new adventure. I told Dr. Chee that I'm still in the denial phase and asked her if I really have cancer. She said, technically, no, I had cancer, they removed it, now they want to make sure that it is all gone. I'm anxious, but this is just another virgin experience in a year full of them. I suppose at my age I should be thrilled to have a virgin experience.
xxooxx

Everything has a beginning

Well, that was easy. So now I'm a blogger! I hope that I will really be able to write about my real trips in the future. For now, the journey is into the medical mystery of cancer. I'm still wrapping my mind around the word. Occasionally I will ask myself "You have WHAT?" So--how did this all start? February 15, 2008, I flew to Calgary, Alberta, for a much anticipated winter trip to Lake Louise. I got to the airport at 6:30 in the morning for an 8:30 flight...that left at 11 something. We got to Calgary safely, but much later than planned. I was supposed to have someone meet me, holding a sign with my name on it, making me feel very important. Missed that. I got to hang around the Calgary airport until my transportation was sorted out. Eventually, I got on a van to Lake Louise, and life was grand. I'd planned on getting there around 2 in the afternoon and got there about six--but I got there. I stayed at the Chateau Lake Louise, on the Gold Floor. My friend Tafline is the head concierge at the hotel, and I let her make all my arrangements. I had a very full four days. Saturday through Monday included Johnston Canyon Ice Hike, a massage, body treatment, a facial, a sleigh ride, dog sledding--and no, I was not the musher, just the passenger--a cross country ski lesson, and snowshoeing on Lake Louise. Most of those were firsts. Monday night, after dinner, I started having horrible abdominal pains. The first thing that flashed through my mind was "Something is seriously wrong." That just couldn't be--I was on vacation and having the time of my life. I then decided it was really bad gas pains or that my innards were just really mad about being crammed into ski pants for three days. It would go away. Tuesday the pain was still there, but I tried to ignore it. I had a massage, worked out in the gym, went swimming, because I think it is really decadent to swim when you can see snow piled up high outside the windows, and had the most magical night of my life--star gazing and a moonlight walk around Lake Louise with a naturalist. It was truly incredible--painful, but wonderful. Wednesday morning, I packed and had a manicure and pedicure, then took a shuttle to the Calgary airport for the homeward flight. The flight was on time. I watched Michael Clayton, so the time passed quickly. Next thing I knew we were back in San Francisco. I was rehabbing knee surgery, so I'd ordered a wheel chair--good thing. The abdominal pains were still there and I could barely stand up. The chair attendant was a prince and got a twenty dollar tip for his kindness. Thursday I went to work so that they would remember what I looked like. Finally, it was Friday again. I started the day with physical therapy for my knee-still in serious pain. My therapist was very gentle with me. I had a regularly scheduled appointment with my doctor in the afternoon. After we exchanged pleasantries, I mentioned that I'd had really bad gas pains since Monday. He did some poking and prodding and asked questions. He then sent me off to the hospital for blood work and a CT scan. It was presenting like appendicitis, but I lost that in 1980 along with my right ovary. I went to radiology first and was informed that I couldn't just walk in for an abdominal CT scan--those things had to be scheduled. I said my doctor seemed to think it was really important, so they called his office where the staff informed them that Saturday morning would be fine, so I made an appointment and went off for the blood draw, then went home. While I was watching a tape of my soap opera, my doctor called. He said, "My staff tells me that the hospital blew you off. This is too urgent. Can you come down now?" Well, sure. I grabbed my knitting bag and was off. Dr. Kubin, my PCP (we're going to be mentioning LOTS of doctors, so it is now time to start naming them) met me in the waiting room. We chatted while I drank the yummy pre CT beverage. He came into the room with me while they prepared me for the CT--which included three attempts before they got an IV started--then waited with the radiologist till he got the results of the scan. There was something there and originally they thought it was diverticulitis. Dr. Kubin asked, "How do you feel about the hospital?" I said, "You mean NOW?" to which he replied "yes." I said I was taking the Snow Train to Reno on Tuesday the 26th, so as long as I was out by then, no problem. I was admitted and put on IV antibiotics. I called my son, Glenn, so that he wouldn't worry that my car wasn't home when he got off work at midnight, and I called my friend, Dory, who would have killed me if I hadn't. She was down in a flash. I gave Dory my house keys and a list of things I would need for my hospital stay--one always needs toys and the knitting bag would soon run out of supplies. Saturday morning, I had a sonogram. The technician asked if I was sure it was my right ovary that they had removed all those years ago. I said yes and I had the scar to prove it. She couldn't find my left ovary. That was not a good sign. Dr. Kubin came to see me Sunday evening with the sonogram results. They saw two masses and concluded that it was probably not diverticulitis but gynecological disease--benign or malignant, and recommended a clinical evaluation. The Snow Train was looking like something that wasn't going to happen. Dr. Kubin said the next person I should see was a gynecologist. I gave him the name and phone number of mine--his practice has been treating me since 1980 when they first found the endometriosis (which a friend said sounded like Greek seafood). My doctor didn't practice in the hospital I was visiting, so various arrangements had to be made. Dr. Kubin spent Monday morning making phone calls. My GYN, Dr. Scheifele, recommended people to Dr. Kubin. The first doctor he recommended told Dr. Kubin that if it was cancer, the best person to take care of me was Dr. Junta Shen, so Dr. Shen it was. He came to see me in the evening. He went over my options--which really were few. I was still in a great deal of pain, so told him to go ahead with surgery. All right, then. I would have clear liquids till 10 in the morning, then nothing to eat or drink and surgery at 6 in the evening. Dr. Shen had to advise me that after the surgery, I would not be able to have babies. I told him that at 60, I'd pretty much come to grips with that 25 years ago. The short version (I know, I know--I don't know the meaning of a short version) is that I have cancer. They removed everything they could see along with various organs. I did not need blood during the surgery, which was apparently a good thing, and it had not invaded any organs that were left. Dr. Shen reported all of this to Glenn and Dory after the surgery. Glenn got a little glassy-eyed and was hitting information overload. He finally asked, "What's her long term prognosis?" Dr. Shen replied that my long term prognosis was good. Glenn breathed a sigh of relief then said that being the case, we could get through anything. I spent six days in the hospital after the surgery, being well cared for. After I got home, I got new doctors. My oncologist would be Karen Chee and I had a date to meet her March 18. I loved her on sight. I have underwear older than she is, but I feel in really good hands. The next steps included Chemo Education and the insertion of a portacath to deliver my chemo, and a date to begin my chemo, April 3. Hold the phone! Easter morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table, having my breakfast, wondering what to wear for church, when I felt a warm, wet sensation on my legs. I tried to ignore it--another one of those "don't think about it and maybe it will go away" moments. Then I looked down and let out a scream. My incision was leaking red and yellow. Glenn and I were off to emergency. So much for what to wear to church. The incision had developed an infection and I was once again a guest at Mills-Peninsula Hospital, this time at the beginning of a 10 day nurses' strike, back on IV antibiotics. I met a new doctor, Dr. Ahmed, aka Dr. Gorgeous, an oncological surgeon, who opened the incision to let the bad stuff out. I stayed in the hospital three more days, then left with a bag full of dressings and new friends, the Visiting Nurses, who would change my dressings and pack the wound. They thought about teaching me how to do it, but I couldn't even see it, let alone change the dressings. Chemo Education was rescheduled to March 31. The Portacath was rescheduled to April 9. The first chemo is now set for April 16. Dr. Shen thinks it may be postponed yet again. I'll see Dr. Chee on the 14th and she will make the final determination. So--this is where we are. I have been sustained by an army of friends, bringing food, visiting, calling, providing rides, and praying. I am anxious about starting chemo. It isn't that I'm looking forward to it, exactly, but the sooner it starts, the sooner it will be over. I'm being overwhelmed with advice and trying to take all of it. Eat healthy, exercise, keep your spirits up. I'm trying. It is all an adventure. I know I will be fine in the end. I have lots of time for my favorite things, knitting, cross-stitch, and reading. I'm even trying to organize my mess of a bedroom--I REALLY have too much time on my hands. You are welcome to come along on this journey with me.
xxooxx