Sleep was elusive again last night. I was very tired, but my mind wouldn't shut down to allow me to get some much-needed rest. Instead it presented a slide show of early memories. My very first memory: Christmas when I was about three years old, a puppy (named Peanuts?) and a golden-coloured rocking chair.
Click to the next slide. My first memory of my sister: Her and I sitting at the kitchen sink at our neighbours on Brander Avenue, excitedly creating tie-dyed undershirts. Mine was purple, hers green.
We moved from that house when I was five years old, but I remembered its entire layout, the pink, plastic swing secured with yellow string to the tree in the backyard, the giant sunflowers crowding the garden behind the garage and playing contentedly with a kitchen set in the hallway outside my bedroom upstairs.
Click. Camping at Cyprus Lake with family friends, swimming in the clear lake and the five kids sharing one double bed in the pop-up trailer.
Click. Going to see the house my parents were building in the country - the place where I grew up. My mind holds 14 years of memories from it, its huge yard, the creek flowing behind it and the orchard next door. I remember building forts with Angie in our bedroom, swimming for countless hours in the creek, consuming the not-quite-ripe pears in the orchard and the red velvet wallpaper in the living room (it was the 70s).
Click. My dad playfully flicking something (leftover gravy? cranberry sauce?) one too many times at my mom while they were doing the dishes and her chasing him out the backdoor. Much laughing ensued and the leftover substance ended up on the ceiling of the kitchen. My dad used to be quite the joker, stirring up hilarious trouble regularly.
Click. Click. Click.
I feel I'm 80 years old, recounting the experiences of my past. I urge to sit down and recall the photographs stored in my mind. Is that what a brush with mortality does?
Maybe remembering my experiences validates them, validates my life. But only my life so far.
I hope I have many, many more years to create photographs to add to the scrapbook of my life so when I am 80, I can share the memories with my grandchildren.
Tina
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Strange musings
The cicadas trilled their night-time song, my family cavorted through dreamland and I laid obstinately awake, shuffling my aching legs and contemplating life last night. Oh, I fell asleep, but the midnight hour poked me back to consciousness.
I'm blaming the decision not to take my anti-anxiety medication at bedtime for my mind foray. For when the half pill I did take at 12:30 a.m., along with the sweet, red Tylenol pill, took effect around 1:30, I too slipped into delicious sleep - for about five hours.
Unfortunately, the effects of my night are imprinted on my face, for Michael commented on my less-than-rested appearance this morning.
I'm amazed the twisted paths my mind travels sometimes. Last night, as I yearned for sleep, they wove an odd pattern in my consciousness. I must warn you, these colourful musings may be disjointed and a bit philosophical.
I know I have a singular purpose of healing these days, but I miss the hectic, multi-purpose, busy lifestyle I used to live. I miss being normal. I miss stupid things like caring about my appearance (choosing nice clothes, doing my hair and makeup, wearing earrings). Don't get me wrong, in some ways I like the streamlined preparation, but I miss the ability (and reasons to) look nicer.
Last night, my mind also acknowledged activity breeds more activity. As a worker bee, I used to get a lot done. I was a go-to person who would pick up the ball and run with it. Many days, that ball sits on the sidelines waiting for me to summon up the energy to grasp it. As a result, a multitude of activities I'd like to accomplish, don't get done. But luckily, I'm better at accepting this temporary limitation - most days.
I also feel my body weakening due to lack of activity. I've always been strong. My linebacker physiology, physical lifestyle and killer calves contributed to keeping me that way. But this cancer, treatment and lack of exercise has kicked me to the curb. I can start limited exercise again, but I have to be careful. I know, I have to be patient and I have the rest of my life to get back in shape, but this is a weird and uncomfortable feeling for me.
A very strange analogy about my current state of life flitted through my mind last night. One, I'm determined to change today as I gain strength and health.
I feel on some days, I'm little more than a shadow floating inconsequentially, making little mark on the canvas of life. The artist creates water-muted images, which lack the vibrance necessary to evoke a satisfactory response.
But my thoughts came full circle to realize that while I may sometimes feel without much substance because I'm mired in a hazy reality, I'm pivitol to some very important people. As the fog fades, I need to climb out and become engaged again. My chemo-induced impressions of my impact and importance bear little correlation to reality.
I suspect the pigments of my life paint will brighten considerably during the next few days as I recover and become more active. But also because I choose to matter more.
Everyone lives at the core of someone else's existence. We all matter to other humans, who counts on us for love, friendship, companionship, guidance and hope. I came to that re-realization in the early morning hours and plan to take advantage of the time I have with others before my next chemotherapy session - and then beyond treatments.
I warned you these ramblings would be a bit strange. My mind sometimes works in wonderous ways.
As a final note, I want to say thank you to everyone who responded to my blog yesterday. Your comments touched my heart and made me cry. I'm very lucky.
Enjoy the sunshine and remember, you matter.
Tina
I'm blaming the decision not to take my anti-anxiety medication at bedtime for my mind foray. For when the half pill I did take at 12:30 a.m., along with the sweet, red Tylenol pill, took effect around 1:30, I too slipped into delicious sleep - for about five hours.
Unfortunately, the effects of my night are imprinted on my face, for Michael commented on my less-than-rested appearance this morning.
I'm amazed the twisted paths my mind travels sometimes. Last night, as I yearned for sleep, they wove an odd pattern in my consciousness. I must warn you, these colourful musings may be disjointed and a bit philosophical.
I know I have a singular purpose of healing these days, but I miss the hectic, multi-purpose, busy lifestyle I used to live. I miss being normal. I miss stupid things like caring about my appearance (choosing nice clothes, doing my hair and makeup, wearing earrings). Don't get me wrong, in some ways I like the streamlined preparation, but I miss the ability (and reasons to) look nicer.
Last night, my mind also acknowledged activity breeds more activity. As a worker bee, I used to get a lot done. I was a go-to person who would pick up the ball and run with it. Many days, that ball sits on the sidelines waiting for me to summon up the energy to grasp it. As a result, a multitude of activities I'd like to accomplish, don't get done. But luckily, I'm better at accepting this temporary limitation - most days.
I also feel my body weakening due to lack of activity. I've always been strong. My linebacker physiology, physical lifestyle and killer calves contributed to keeping me that way. But this cancer, treatment and lack of exercise has kicked me to the curb. I can start limited exercise again, but I have to be careful. I know, I have to be patient and I have the rest of my life to get back in shape, but this is a weird and uncomfortable feeling for me.
A very strange analogy about my current state of life flitted through my mind last night. One, I'm determined to change today as I gain strength and health.
I feel on some days, I'm little more than a shadow floating inconsequentially, making little mark on the canvas of life. The artist creates water-muted images, which lack the vibrance necessary to evoke a satisfactory response.
But my thoughts came full circle to realize that while I may sometimes feel without much substance because I'm mired in a hazy reality, I'm pivitol to some very important people. As the fog fades, I need to climb out and become engaged again. My chemo-induced impressions of my impact and importance bear little correlation to reality.
I suspect the pigments of my life paint will brighten considerably during the next few days as I recover and become more active. But also because I choose to matter more.
Everyone lives at the core of someone else's existence. We all matter to other humans, who counts on us for love, friendship, companionship, guidance and hope. I came to that re-realization in the early morning hours and plan to take advantage of the time I have with others before my next chemotherapy session - and then beyond treatments.
I warned you these ramblings would be a bit strange. My mind sometimes works in wonderous ways.
As a final note, I want to say thank you to everyone who responded to my blog yesterday. Your comments touched my heart and made me cry. I'm very lucky.
Enjoy the sunshine and remember, you matter.
Tina
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Feeling selfish
As I slowly climb out of post-chemo, I'm feeling a bit selfish. I've concentrated on me, me, me so much that I block almost everyone else out. I'm not sure I can help myself, because it takes so much darn energy to heal, get chemo and deal with the side effects, but it certainly doesn't make me feel like a good person.
I feel the fog lifting (again) and I can once again see the world around me. I notice my wonderful husband, who sits beside me while I whine and moan. He takes over the household, cares for the kids, rubs my back, gets me Tylenol and checks on my condition. In return, he gets little response and lethargic thanks.
I am grateful for the consistent company and unfailing spirit of my sister, who sits through the six hours of chemotherapy with me, providing snacks and encouragement. She also calls and emails me regularly, and puts up with my chemo funks.
I thank God for the resilience of my kids who seem to be going with the flow and understand when I get weepy from treatment and have little energy to share with them. I'm lucky they're at an age where they're fairly self sufficient. But Noah also needs my help and attention because of his bipolar diagnosis and I often don't have the energy or patience to deal with it. Hopefully, I'll be able to concentrate more on helping him after I get through the rest of my treatments.
And again, I'm thankful to the friends and family who make up my village. You who check on me (even when I'm grumpy and bad about responding), provide food, child care, prayers and support in its many forms. I know I'm not a good friend/wife/sister/daughter right now. I am thankful for your tolerance and patience.
During my appointment with the social worker last week, she reinforced one of my thoughts. I'd rather be fighting cancer - as crappy as it is - than watch someone I love go through this. While I don't have a lot of control, I can fight, complain and deal with the treatment. I feel like I'm doing something. Others around me can only watch, worry and wish they could help. I know others would willingly take part of this burden to make it easier for me - and I thank your good intentions.
So thank you for your unselfish support from your selfish friend,
Tina
I feel the fog lifting (again) and I can once again see the world around me. I notice my wonderful husband, who sits beside me while I whine and moan. He takes over the household, cares for the kids, rubs my back, gets me Tylenol and checks on my condition. In return, he gets little response and lethargic thanks.
I am grateful for the consistent company and unfailing spirit of my sister, who sits through the six hours of chemotherapy with me, providing snacks and encouragement. She also calls and emails me regularly, and puts up with my chemo funks.
I thank God for the resilience of my kids who seem to be going with the flow and understand when I get weepy from treatment and have little energy to share with them. I'm lucky they're at an age where they're fairly self sufficient. But Noah also needs my help and attention because of his bipolar diagnosis and I often don't have the energy or patience to deal with it. Hopefully, I'll be able to concentrate more on helping him after I get through the rest of my treatments.
And again, I'm thankful to the friends and family who make up my village. You who check on me (even when I'm grumpy and bad about responding), provide food, child care, prayers and support in its many forms. I know I'm not a good friend/wife/sister/daughter right now. I am thankful for your tolerance and patience.
During my appointment with the social worker last week, she reinforced one of my thoughts. I'd rather be fighting cancer - as crappy as it is - than watch someone I love go through this. While I don't have a lot of control, I can fight, complain and deal with the treatment. I feel like I'm doing something. Others around me can only watch, worry and wish they could help. I know others would willingly take part of this burden to make it easier for me - and I thank your good intentions.
So thank you for your unselfish support from your selfish friend,
Tina
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A new day
It looks as though the weather will be a little less depressing today, with the rain holding off until this evening. Perhaps that will help my recovery process. I'm not counting on today to be a good day, but I'm hoping it's better than yesterday.
My friend, Extra Strength Tylenol, should be able to keep most of the bone pain at bay and I'll do my best to keep my spirits out of the dumps. Only one or two more days of this and I should be back to my more optimistic moods.
Good news came yesterday from my oncology nurse. My CA-125 level is now 45. Normal is 35 and under - and I was really hoping to be there - but she seemed encouraged, so I have to be patient.
And I'm healing well. I have permission to start to do and lift a little more starting tomorrow (six weeks post op) as long as it doesn't hurt. I've been doing a little more each day and I feel good. I'm rising from a chair without using my arms for assistance and getting into bed without sitting on the edge and then flopping down on my side. The ability to do those actions without pain makes me feel I'm on the road to recovery.
My hair is once again a fuzzy, white ring of fluff. I have no idea why it turns white at this stage when a good portion of the new growth was coming in brown. I also have a beautiful heat rash or something on my head from the hot flashes. I'm a beautiful site.
But I'm here. Still quietly fighting.
My friend, Jodi, shared this quote with me a while ago and it seems like an appropriate time to use it:
"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says, I'll try again tomorrow." - Mary Anne Radmacher
That seems to sum it up.
Tina
My friend, Extra Strength Tylenol, should be able to keep most of the bone pain at bay and I'll do my best to keep my spirits out of the dumps. Only one or two more days of this and I should be back to my more optimistic moods.
Good news came yesterday from my oncology nurse. My CA-125 level is now 45. Normal is 35 and under - and I was really hoping to be there - but she seemed encouraged, so I have to be patient.
And I'm healing well. I have permission to start to do and lift a little more starting tomorrow (six weeks post op) as long as it doesn't hurt. I've been doing a little more each day and I feel good. I'm rising from a chair without using my arms for assistance and getting into bed without sitting on the edge and then flopping down on my side. The ability to do those actions without pain makes me feel I'm on the road to recovery.
My hair is once again a fuzzy, white ring of fluff. I have no idea why it turns white at this stage when a good portion of the new growth was coming in brown. I also have a beautiful heat rash or something on my head from the hot flashes. I'm a beautiful site.
But I'm here. Still quietly fighting.
My friend, Jodi, shared this quote with me a while ago and it seems like an appropriate time to use it:
"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says, I'll try again tomorrow." - Mary Anne Radmacher
That seems to sum it up.
Tina
Monday, July 27, 2009
Same old, same old
"It's the same old story, same old song and dance, my friend." - Aerosmith.
Steven Tyler and the boys sum up my feelings once again. With nothing new to say, I feel boring and repetitive - and I'm sure you're tired of it too. I'm suffering the same old symptoms, in different degrees of severity.
The metallic taste in my mouth is far more pronounced this time around making eating and drinking less enjoyable. I don't know whether to consume more or less to alleviate it. I'm relunctant to risk my coffee this morning, so it's back to sipping ginger tea. Perhaps it'll help with the slight nausea tickling the edges of my stomach.
The bone pains in my legs also returned last night, making me restless. I assume they'll get worse before they get better, but I'll stay on top of them with pain medication.
I'm suffering some terrible hot flashes. While I get the menopausal ones, these are more often, more severe and, leave my head and body dripping. Last night, while trying to go to sleep, I swear I had one every half hour. I'm on my third since rising at 6:30 this morning. Gross.
Worst of all, the crushing, depressing tiredness (aka the dementors) came back yesterday afternoon. With this feeling, I sit very still and stare at nothingness. I try to keep my mind and body busy, but sometimes it's hard. I get less enjoyment out of activities than I normally would.
I'm sick of this. I'm frustrated with fighting this damn cancer and I want it gone. I know I'm getting there, but it's hard. While my body is reacting better than the last round, the one immediately after surgery, I'm getting weary. I can't imagine being one of the poor cancer patients who deal with much longer, more intensive treatments than I am.
I'm thankful the current plan means I tolerate only two more treatments after I get through this week and the side effects don't last very long (although it's depressing when I'm right in the middle of them).
So I'm lucky. I have to focus on the good to help me get through the bad.
Tina
Steven Tyler and the boys sum up my feelings once again. With nothing new to say, I feel boring and repetitive - and I'm sure you're tired of it too. I'm suffering the same old symptoms, in different degrees of severity.
The metallic taste in my mouth is far more pronounced this time around making eating and drinking less enjoyable. I don't know whether to consume more or less to alleviate it. I'm relunctant to risk my coffee this morning, so it's back to sipping ginger tea. Perhaps it'll help with the slight nausea tickling the edges of my stomach.
The bone pains in my legs also returned last night, making me restless. I assume they'll get worse before they get better, but I'll stay on top of them with pain medication.
I'm suffering some terrible hot flashes. While I get the menopausal ones, these are more often, more severe and, leave my head and body dripping. Last night, while trying to go to sleep, I swear I had one every half hour. I'm on my third since rising at 6:30 this morning. Gross.
Worst of all, the crushing, depressing tiredness (aka the dementors) came back yesterday afternoon. With this feeling, I sit very still and stare at nothingness. I try to keep my mind and body busy, but sometimes it's hard. I get less enjoyment out of activities than I normally would.
I'm sick of this. I'm frustrated with fighting this damn cancer and I want it gone. I know I'm getting there, but it's hard. While my body is reacting better than the last round, the one immediately after surgery, I'm getting weary. I can't imagine being one of the poor cancer patients who deal with much longer, more intensive treatments than I am.
I'm thankful the current plan means I tolerate only two more treatments after I get through this week and the side effects don't last very long (although it's depressing when I'm right in the middle of them).
So I'm lucky. I have to focus on the good to help me get through the bad.
Tina
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Metallic mouth
As I mentioned yesterday, some of the post-chemo symptoms are making their appearance earlier. The metallic/skunky taste started in my mouth yesterday, which affects the taste of everything, even water.
But luckily, it doesn't seem as bad this time as long as the food or drink has some good flavour. That doesn't necessarily mean it tastes exactly as it would normally, but at least some enjoyment factor is still there.
I'm tired, but restless. I tried to nap yesterday to no avail. When I went to bed, I was exhausted and dosed in and out of consciousness, but didn't really fall asleep for about an hour. Luckily, I was able to sleep in until after 7 this morning (not a common occurrence on the best of days).
I'm waiting for the bone pain. I know it's coming and dread it. I'll have to start taking the pain killers once the first twinges make their appearance. The pain in my legs, feet and ribs, as well as the extreme lethargy are the worst side effects. But I just keep telling myself, a few more days and this too will pass.
Michael and I are working together this morning to make pancakes. I felt like eating the crepe-style pancakes and hey, why not indulge my taste buds' whims while I've got them. I've sliced fresh peaches and blueberries to accompany them.
Hope you find some small (or large) pleasure to enjoy today. Find the joy in the small things you may normally take for granted.
Tina
But luckily, it doesn't seem as bad this time as long as the food or drink has some good flavour. That doesn't necessarily mean it tastes exactly as it would normally, but at least some enjoyment factor is still there.
I'm tired, but restless. I tried to nap yesterday to no avail. When I went to bed, I was exhausted and dosed in and out of consciousness, but didn't really fall asleep for about an hour. Luckily, I was able to sleep in until after 7 this morning (not a common occurrence on the best of days).
I'm waiting for the bone pain. I know it's coming and dread it. I'll have to start taking the pain killers once the first twinges make their appearance. The pain in my legs, feet and ribs, as well as the extreme lethargy are the worst side effects. But I just keep telling myself, a few more days and this too will pass.
Michael and I are working together this morning to make pancakes. I felt like eating the crepe-style pancakes and hey, why not indulge my taste buds' whims while I've got them. I've sliced fresh peaches and blueberries to accompany them.
Hope you find some small (or large) pleasure to enjoy today. Find the joy in the small things you may normally take for granted.
Tina
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Treatment, side effects and rest
The power of positive thinking didn't work as well yesterday as during the previous treatment. On the positive side, I did get a bed, and Angie and I agreed the six hours seemed to pass quicker than in the past. But I got my least favourite side of the chemo suite and it took two different nurses three sticks to get the needle in - and the first two were quite painful.
The nurses kept apologizing, asking if I was okay and if I wanted to stop for a rest. I said just do it. (I feel like a Nike ad these days.) I have deep veins, which may look pretty when I don't need needles, but they're a pain in the butt at times like these. So, I'll have four nice bruises on my arms over the next few weeks since I also have the one from the blood draw on Tuesday.
I started getting the side effects of chemo earlier this time. As a couple of people have pointed out, perhaps the chemo doesn't have much to attack since the tumours are gone and therefore it's looking for other areas to prey upon (as well as the itsy bits of cancer still left).
I felt shooting pains in my stomach while trying to go to sleep last night, my legs were restless (perhaps from the Benadryl and hydrocortison I get during treatment), my stinky farts are back, much to Michael chagrin, and the funny taste is starting. But thankfully I can still tolerate coffee this morning. Yay!
Hopefully their early arrival will mean a quick departure of the side effects. But I'm not counting on it.
The plan for the next few days is rest. I'm back to taking it one day at a time. Apparently, the rainy weather scheduled for the next few days will make that easier because the sunshine won't beckon from out my bedroom window.
Despite the rain, I hope you have a great weekend and manage to squeeze in some fun.
Tina
The nurses kept apologizing, asking if I was okay and if I wanted to stop for a rest. I said just do it. (I feel like a Nike ad these days.) I have deep veins, which may look pretty when I don't need needles, but they're a pain in the butt at times like these. So, I'll have four nice bruises on my arms over the next few weeks since I also have the one from the blood draw on Tuesday.
I started getting the side effects of chemo earlier this time. As a couple of people have pointed out, perhaps the chemo doesn't have much to attack since the tumours are gone and therefore it's looking for other areas to prey upon (as well as the itsy bits of cancer still left).
I felt shooting pains in my stomach while trying to go to sleep last night, my legs were restless (perhaps from the Benadryl and hydrocortison I get during treatment), my stinky farts are back, much to Michael chagrin, and the funny taste is starting. But thankfully I can still tolerate coffee this morning. Yay!
Hopefully their early arrival will mean a quick departure of the side effects. But I'm not counting on it.
The plan for the next few days is rest. I'm back to taking it one day at a time. Apparently, the rainy weather scheduled for the next few days will make that easier because the sunshine won't beckon from out my bedroom window.
Despite the rain, I hope you have a great weekend and manage to squeeze in some fun.
Tina
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