A Quick Two Years

It’s been two years since my cancer was excised from my right boob.  Excised.  I really like that word…sort of brings Linda Blair and her spinning head with green vomit scene to memory.  And THAT my friends is what going through breast cancer treatment is like.  An exorcism.

Two years later, and I am in full on menopause.  I've been tested and it is scientific fact that I’m all dried up.  I think that is exactly what the lab results had printed out.  Hormonal diagnosis:  all dried up. 

My hair is thinning to the point of needing a comb over.  You know how the smart balding men just shave their heads to hide/own the fact that there is an issue?  Brilliant in my opinion and so I've joined the company of Dr. Phil, Gandhi, Telly Savales and Elmer Fudd.  Oh, and let’s not forget Brittney Spears during her freak out moment. 

Memory issues, also known as “Chemo Brain”, are my main concern.  At least it is when I remember that it’s a problem.  There are times when I can’t comprehend a Dr. Seuss book, let alone my boss’s direction.  “Tell me again” is a phrase that I use often, which is sometimes followed by, “again…say it again”.  My least favorite part is when I get the eye roll in response.  I know it’s frustrating to talk to a floating balloon, but sometimes that is what my head is.  Sadly, I have to say, “get used to it” because according to my doctor, it’s a slow process to recover from.  I've got another year of this brain fog.  The chemo kills off the cancer cells, but it also kills off the healthy cells.  Healthy cells that used to make sense of the words Green Eggs and Ham, now just scramble up and leave me thinking, “I should buy eggs.”

I'm also very fat.  I am putting some of this on the chemo brain, because I honestly think that I forget that I need to diet.  I'll be 100% focused and then *poof* a piece of chocolate is in my mouth.  Shit...I'm on a diet...shit...where did these cookies come from?  Oh, who wants birthday cake?  Me!  Shit, no...I don't.  Why don't I?  Sure, cut me a slice.  It's a battle that I have to conquer.  My mother tells me that I'm fat.  I see it in the mirror.  My primary care doctor tells me that my GERD will go away if I lose 20 pounds and the workplace biometric screener lady told me, just yesterday, that I need to lose 4 inches off of my waist.  Okay, okay, okay...I get it.  I'll focus!

Do I smell bacon?

Surely, I’m thankful to just be here free and clear of the BigC and I know that had it been 75 years ago, my sisters in this fight would be thrilled to have a dried up uterus, chrome dome and vague memories of what just happened 10 minutes ago.  

See you back here soon if I can remember my log in information.

FINAL CHEMO!!!

I couldn't even sleep last night.  I was too darned excited about being done with this step of my journey.

Prior to going in to my Club Chemo visit, I stopped at the best donut shop in town.  Well, it's the only donut shop in town.  I picked up two dozen lovely fried dough balls, along with some croissants and pastry.  You see, I'm such a regular at Club Chemo, I know that Nicole doesn't like donuts, but she loves croissants.  My brain makes room for stuff like this, but sadly, this bit of information about Nicole pushed out something that was likely important...like paying the PG&E bill or feeding the fish.  Anyhow, I got my donuts and took off for the Club.

I needed to see Nurse Practitioner Christine before going back to the Club.  Being super smart, I asked if I could go back to the Club first and drop off my party donuts.  As I was going back, I announced to every person that I passed, "IT'S MY LAST DAY OF CHEMO!  EAT A DONUT!"  Seriously.  I shouted it.  Heads turned.  I just couldn't seem to help myself.

I walked into the Club and told Nicole that I brought party donuts.  She made a face like, "ew...nice...ew".  Then I said, "And there are croissants in there..." with a lilt in my voice.  Her eyes lit up and her face changed to, "YOU ROCK!"  Yes, I do.

Then I looked over to my right and lo and behold...MY chair was open.  I asked if I could leave my bag while I went to my appointment and, well heck...I was holding a big giant pink box of goodness...how could they say no???

The sheer amount of giddiness that I had about achieving my goal of having the same chair for all four visits was ridiculous.  I practically skipped over.  Okay, so I actually skipped over...with my free arm waving to the other guests in their cabana chairs.  "I brought donuts...it's my last chemo!!!!"  A man and his wife was leaving the Club and he said, "Life is easy after this."  I shot him a smile and then tried to shove a donut into his hand.  I'm such a food pusher, even in an environment such as the Club.

My visit with NP Christine, aka the Dog Lover, went well.  She did everything that she needed to do and checked all of my labs.  Then we talked about my BodyMedia that I wear on my arm and about her dog and how he played tug-of-war with a piece of linoleum in her husbands shop.  I'm sure that the next patient was waiting with a foot tapping wondering where in the hell Christine was.  Sorry fellow cancer patient.

This is Christine with her 9 month old Golden...she rocks him in a chair every night for 20 minutes.

Kelly, the medical assistant that takes my weight (she's been sworn to secrecy...pinkie swear...it is legally binding), brought her scarf with her so that I could show her how to do a turban.  She planned on spending her lunch break with me in the Club so that we could do a lesson.

My fancy turban wrap.

After my time with Christine, I went back to the Club and guess what?  My chair still had my bag in it and there were more people that had arrived...and they were eating my donuts.  Sheer bliss.  And when every new Club member walked in and said, "Who brought donuts???"  I announced, "ME!!!  IT'S MY LAST CHEMO!!!"  Big smiles, thumbs up and congratulations came at me left and right.  It was such a big difference from my first visit to Club Chemo.  I remember thinking that it was very doom and gloom.  Now I knew what kind of donut Edna preferred.  Glazed old fashioned.  I also learned that Edna is a messy eater, because Nurse Sandra complained of the crumbs that she left behind.  I made a mental note to double check my chair when I left.

See that chocolate old fashioned?  That was mine.

The cocktail was the same as always, but it seemed to go by faster.  I still had to unplug and go to the bathroom half a dozen times, but it just didn't seem to be an issue any longer.  Sandra looked at me each time I walked past her station and smile.  I'm going to miss her.  She was the first to put the cocktail in me and, as it turned out, she was the one that drained the last bag.

Nurse Sandra with me...love her.

This was an experience that I'll never forget.  Good bye Club Chemo.  I'm changing my vacation spot to somewhere warmer...Destination Radiation.

The next chapter to come!

Hair

I miss my hair.  Mostly when I see beautiful women with thick, long, flowing hair.

This is really a waste of energy.  As I sit here with a bald head, the truth of the matter is that, prior to chemo, I had thin, short, notsoflowing hair.

I've been told that when the hair grows back, it can come in a different color and or texture. I'm going to put my order in to the high and mighty hair goddess...blonde, thick and stick straight please.  Actually, I'd like to have Marsha Brady's hair.  I always loved her hair as a young kid and I think that since I've had to go through this awful hell called "CANCER", I should get my hair wish.  Quick!  Everyone light a candle.

Many friends have said, "just wear a different wig every day".  Eh, I tried the wig thing.  Actually, prior to Christmas, I went to my local American Cancer Society office to pick out a free wig.  Isn't that cool???  They GIVE you a wig if you have TheBigC.  I went in, quite excited, and met the consultant.  Prita was from India and had her hair all tied back in a tight knot.  She was very pleasant and took her time with me as I went through just about every single wig in the house.  I tried every length, every color and every texture.  She was incredibly patient with me as I laughed my way through the piles of hair.  I had put one on that was cut above the ear on one side, stuck straight up in the back and was down to the shoulder on the other side.  She tried her best to keep a straight face, but ended up bursting out in laughter when I looked her square in the eye and said, "I think this is the one."  I ended up picking out a long black wig that had burgundy highlights.  As I left and was thanking her for being so kind, I said, "Merry Christmas!" and then realized that I made a major faux pas...she celebrated something else.  I grappled for the name of her holiday...Ramadan?  I wasn't sure and I didn't want to offend her, so I just bowed my head (very Asian of me) and shuffled my way out holding my new hair as the sweat started to bead up on my forehead.

I've not worn the wig once.  I tried, but to me, it's like it's part of a Halloween costume.  Wait, I did wear it on the way home, but ended up pulling it off while driving down the freeway.  The guy in the car next to me was sure to have had nightmares after that.

My facial hair has managed to miss the chemo hit.  Well, most of it.  I still have a few eyelashes, I still have my nose hair (that would have been weird), I still have the four hairs that hover over the corners of my mouth and I still have my eyebrows...except for one spot over my left eye.  I have an eyebrow bald spot.  I tried using brow wax to do a "comb over", but just ended up looking confused.

If you see me...please don't look at my bald spot.  I've got a little complex about it.
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Pooper, not a Puker

I have moved my FaceBook notes over to this blog.  Mostly because I wanted the two things to be separate.  FaceBook is a daily thing for me and I somehow have accumulated a friend list that includes folks that maybe don't want to read about the hazards of chemo.  By creating this blog, those that WANT to read the guts and glory words that come from my head may choose to subscribe.

Basically, consider yourself warned.

My third round of chemo has by far been the worse.  I knew that this was going to be, but didn't really understand how it would manifest itself.

Basically, I pooped myself into dehydration.  Shat myself dry.  Yup.

See?  This doesn't belong on a FaceBook timeline.

For whatever medical/physical reason, I don't puke with chemo.  It could be because I'm a gastric bypass patient.  I don't know if that's the reason why, because there are too few of us out there to pay for a study.  Komen does the three day walk to raise money for breast cancer, Avon has a two day walk find a cure, Ford even gets in on the Warrior thing...but nobody cares about the former obese girl that ends up with cancer.  I swear, I'm constantly telling the staff at the clinic that I'm "gastric bypass".  It's almost like turrets for me.

"Kimberly, are you diabetic?"
"No, I'm gastric bypass."

"Kimberly, I'm going to give you a prescription for the pain."
"I'm gastric bypass."

Unless you're a gastric bypass patient, you won't understand any of this.  I swear, you sign up to lose weight and then are tied to a future full of stipulations/modifications/questions.

Okay, so on to pooping and not puking.  I had horrible diarrhea following this treatment.  (we will now refer to diarrhea as the icky-poops...I hate the word diarrhea)  No sooner than I would eat or drink, it would come flying out of my backside.  I had a fever (which I had to call the emergency line about during the big game on Sunday) and spent the night Sunday sitting on the toilet with a thermometer in my mouth and two dogs at my feet.  They really are the best friends during this sort of ordeal.  They find it to be something that they can relate to.

I went in to the clinic to have blood drawn, following the on-call oncologist's directions first thing Monday morning.  I dragged my sore ass in to the clinic...in the rain.  As they took the blood, I started to get hot (fever) and then all sounds were muted.  I looked around and blinked really hard.  Why it is that I thought that blinking would help my hearing, I don't know.  I took a deep breath, took my coat off...which got tangled in my purse strap...which got me sweatier.  After this passed, I thought, "this is probably a good place to share this sort of information".  I made note to tell the nurse if it should happen again.

After I was seen and issued an order for a few tests, a bag of IV fluids and some Zofran, the desk manager came over to me and said, "I need you to give me a urine sample.  The cup is in there."  She pointed to the bathroom.  What a relief that she didn't expect me to give it here in the infusion area.  Then she comes over to me, hands me an envelope, and says, "Have you ever done a fecal test?".

I blink again.  Apparently, blinking seems to be my solution to all things bad.

"Uh, no.  Well, maybe a long time ago, but I'm sure that I mentally blocked all of it.  What do I need to do?"

She pulls out FAR too many pieces to this little kit and tells me something about putting a tissue into the toilet and then using a stick to scrape two different areas.  Three separate times.

I say, and I promise you that this is verbatim, "Okay, but what if the poop is flying out of my ass with the pressure of a fire hose?"

Poor thing.  Now she was blinking.  And shaking her knee a bit.  She thought about it, while twirling one of the scraper sticks, and finally says, "I don't know how to answer that."

End scene.