Tag: chemotherapy

bliss.

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Ahhhhh- yoga! Reen and I attended our first post-surgery yoga class this past week, and it felt phenomenal. What joy to move my body in ways that I haven’t been able to (as in, downward dog) until now. This healing process is a long one filled with moments of humility and growth, and it’s been amazing to recognize how much certain ways of moving and being have meant to me. I’ve been practicing my own mini sessions of very modified yoga at home, but being in a class of other yogi’s and yogini’s who have been touched by cancer was pure bliss. It was a mellow and gentle class, which was perfect for both of us. Even my sweet Reen left relaxed (though starving) and pleased that we attended. We left the class with smiles on our faces, and headed directly to Red Mill Burgers for garden burgers and a milk shake. Again, it was bliss.

Five infusions down now, and as of this Sunday evening, I’m feeling pretty good. Just a touch of acid stomach and the usual fatigue that overtakes me by 5 p.m.  The steroids allow me to celebrate my vibrancy through Sunday morning, and then I begin to fear symptoms of nausea and exhaustion. This week, however, I’m on a new nausea routine of morning protein drinks (thanks, mom!) and small snacks throughout the day. So far, fingers crossed, I’m not nauseous, and I only feel a bit funky in my belly. Not bad! After a week of suffering terrible indigestion with heartburn, my plan is to be more careful with what I eat. Boy, though, the cravings for starch are intense! Read More »

change of scene

wendi5 Comments

Every morning and evening I massage the skin and scars on my chest, feeling my ribs and sternum more intimately than I ever have before. I take care not to bother the port that sits just below my right collar bone, and I look carefully at my scars to make sure they continue to heal properly. It’s become a normal part of my routine, and yet there are moments when I am stunned at how bazaar this entire experience truly is. I’ve lost a part of my body, and I very rarely take the time to breathe that fact in. If I had lost a hand, foot, my ability to speak, or to hear, I would be in some sort of rehabilitation and people would be able to recognize and talk about those losses. I would be forced to think about those losses and to acknowledge them. Instead, I’ve been blessed with the freedom to consider my losses on my own time, and to witness my healing in the mirror. What is shocking to me is how strong I feel, even though I see a fragility in my appearance.

This Friday will mark my fourth chemo infusion. I consider that one month down, three and a half to go (ideally). So far, I’m only experiencing mild nausea and fatigue, and I’ve been told some of my symptoms are due to chemo-induced anemia. I’m crossing my fingers for continued blessings in this process, and hoping for strength in the months to come. I’m also ready for a change of scene. The more immersed I am in this process, the more completely exhausted of it I am. It’s the only thing on my mind, and yet it’s sometimes the last thing I want to think about. I want to know what’s happening in other people’s lives, and yet people don’t want to “bother” me with their problems. Believe me, I want to know. Cancer is a big, fat bore. I want to be gifted with other people’s dramas. I want people to stop sensoring themselves for fear that I don’t have the time or the capacity to hear about what they’re going throught. I may have little time right now, but I sure have the interest, ability, and desire to listen. Give me a break from my little drama.

another friday night…

wendi3 Comments

I swear, I’m having a cancer/chemo baby. Nausea, non-stop cravings, exhaustion, change in my body, emotional upheaval, and a massive desire to change everything about the space in my home (as in “nesting”). Yesterday I ate an entire bag of brown rice chips while sitting on the step stool in my kitchen. I’m not proud of it, but it’s my new reality. The positive thing is that I have school to ground me into focus on something outside of this physical experience, and that Reen is patient with my apparent temporary insanity.

This weekend I made my way to Rudy’s Barbershop for my funky fresh look. I know it may not last long, but I’m loving the newness of my appearance. It’s so funny how a haircut can make all the difference. Will shaving my head be just as liberating? Doubt it, but the increasing nausea post infusions is taking my mind off of my obsession with hair loss. No amount of ginger or homeopathic nux vomicacan cease the disgusting waves of imbalance that I feel a couple of days after treatment. Nausea is my nemesis, and I intend to seek and destroy- hopefully without having to rely on more nasty meds to do it.

I’m trying to be present in the now- to experience this as fully as I can without focusing on the future, but this entire process begs me to seek out what the coming months hold. If only two infusions can make me feel this gurgly and imbalanced, what do I have to look forward to? Friday afternoons and evenings hooked up to an infusion pump and having to wheel around while my bladder goes into overdrive…falling asleep within a half hour of the Benadryl, and being woken up every hour or so to tell the charge nurse my name and birthdate due to some medical policy…the taste of saline as the port is cleared for another drug…the smell of alcohol, the itchiness from the bandage over my port, the pain as the bandage is removed, and the chill of the evening air as Irene escorts me to the parking garage. I am blessed and thankful, and I am also in awe of the courageous people I witness in the chairs around me when in the infusion unit. I never feel alone in this.

first infusion down

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first chemo!
first chemo!

First day of chemo began with early morning surgery to place the porta cath. We arrived at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. met by our friend “donut Jenn” who made sure the staff had a box full of Top Pot Donuts. We had little time to digest the fullness of the day (or any donuts, doggonit) before the preparations for surgery began- updating records, taking vitals, giving me my fabulous surgical outfit to change into (complete with cozy socks), and then it was off to surgery at 7:30 a.m. promptly. I was out of surgery and into recovery by 8:30 a.m., and we were off to meet the oncologist, have bloodwork done, and then to the treatment center where I would have my first chemo infusion.

The Swedish Cancer Clinic has a nice treatment center where they offer beverages hot or cold, brown bag lunches, cookies, custard, etc., but what I was craving was a pomegranate Jamba Juice. Reen rushed to get us our juice when my Herceptin infusion began, and was back with hot soup and juice before I knew it. We sat for six hours in a lovely corner where we looked out on the veranda complete with japanese maples, bamboo, and grasses for us to admire. I truly didn’t spend much time admiring anything, however, as I slept a good portion of my infusion (except for the insane reaction I had to the Benadryl, after which I got a horribly inappropriate case of the giggles and a desire to wiggle my body….then I fell asleep again).

I’ve been told that the first infusion is one of the easiest, and that I may experience increased fatigue, muscle ache, and some nausea with the infusions to come. Although I’m not looking forward to the next several months of chemo, I feel as prepared as I can be. Today my shoulder aches from the surgery, but I feel quite good. My plan is to get my hair cut to a shorter, funkier style, because I’ve been told I could have just a bit more time with locks on my head if my hair isn’t long. I know it’s putting off the inevitable, but I want to avoid looking like a cancer patient as long as I can. When I do shave my head, I know I have some wonderful scarves and hats to wear thanks to friends who’ve donated them. I also know that I will make it through this journey with a few more scars that will add to my personal roadmap (and the mosaic of my life).

beautiful shards

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What to expect tomorrow…dreadfully early morning for surgical placement of the port followed by recovery, meeting with the oncologist, and then my very first chemo infusion. I know it won’t be nearly as bad as I envision, and that there won’t be a skull and crossbones on the bag that holds the chemo drugs, but I can’t help but feel resistant. Who came up with the idea of infusing chemicals into people that are meant to create free radicals that seek and destroy cells? It goes against what I know about health- but, then again, getting a cancer diagnosis tends to make one re-think everything they may have thought they “knew” about health.

This week we went to hear Terry Tempest-Williams speak and read from her new book Finding Beauty in a Broken World. I resonate with the idea that creativity can spark healing, and that finding a way to re-build something beautiful from that which has been broken is not only possible, but necessary in order to find meaning. My experience since receiving the diagnosis of cancer has been filled with ripping apart and loss, and yet there have been incredible moments in which I have found fragments that I intend to save for an incredible life mosaic when I need it down the road. Really, in the large context of this insane world, my little cancer experience is nothing. Losing little pieces of myself only create room for shiny new fragments of soul to shine through. Who knows- maybe chemo will be a blessing in the mosaic of my life.