Tuesday, March 23, 2010
It's A Good Day
One of the more positive aspects of being diagnosed with terminal cancer is that life takes on a new and wonderful perspective. It is almost euphoric! Sure, I deal with some dark days, have serious unemployment issues, healthcare problems to iron out, and income so low it is but a drop in the bucket compared to liabilities….but it is my day, another day of life and I cannot help but smile. The sun may be hidden today but it is there somewhere and will shine on me tomorrow…. I have never loved my husband more than this moment, my children seem to glow in the dark with their exceptional attributes and I am free to forgive every insensitive person I meet, and I do. The air smells better, the food (when I can eat) tastes better and the horizon is in view and it holds good things as long as you remain positive. With the sense that life could be short I soar and it is my intent to lift up everyone I meet and take them for that ride. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to disallow others from bringing you down with their own shortcomings. I will not allow negatives to cling to me and I am happy to take your negative vibes from you and toss them aside if that will brighten your day. This journey will be long, I know, but the road I choose to take, you can choose also, following your own path of positive pursuits…. It’s a good day!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Cancer Symposium
Yesterday I attended an excellent symposium at St. Joe's Hospital in Phoenix, AZ. It was a most informative event and vendors provided a lot of information relative to colon cancer, some of which I desperately needed. It was a reminder that the task of living with Cancer can be overwhelming. Not just the whole live or die thing but the tremendous amount of information needed to survive bills, insurance problems, and a bucket load of stuff you need but do not know where to go to get it. This type of event helps cut to the chase and saves me many hours of searching. I was, however, most disappointed that the medical field experts are quite excited about new technology that treats stage 1 through 3 Colon Cancer but writes off Stage IV (end stage) with treatment that basically keeps you comfortable and alive with Cancer until you die. The cutting edge treatments are not generally even considered for stage four and from the information I received, it seems there are some treatment options for Stage 3 that could be implemented in Stage IV. The symposium consensus pretty much said that life expectancy 20 years ago was about 4-6 months and now is wonderfully about 30 months. I am sorry but there is nothing wonderful about 30 months.....and no one is going to be allowed to offer me that.... I know that medicine is not faith based as a rule, but while I will allow medicine to do what they do to the extent they do it, I will not just sit back and accept some stats....there is a Higher Power than man and I know that my future depends on medicine, technology, me and that Higher Power. I will accept nothing less than a positive attitude towards recovery and nothing less than Positive Pursuits to that end. Thanks to St. Joe's Hospital for a great event but in thirty months I expect a vacation will be in order.
So there.................
So there.................
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Saturdays..every other
It is a mixed emotion day as I anticipate
The unhooking of the chemo bottle to which
I am attached. I want a shower, a long one….but the unhooking
Comes with a price.
IT IS OFF, thank God. I must be quick,
I have only an hour or two…
Shower first, pay a bill, run to the store
And then like a black cloud looming it is in view.
I cannot really see it, but I can feel it moving
Nearer and nearer, it crawls to me.
And like a ponderous blanket
It envelopes my body, my soul and I cease to be.
While I sleep, I heal, I know that but
I lose time I do not wish to let go.
Days later when I wake from that dark place
I want back the time I shall never know.
At the end of my bi-monthly cocoon,
I feel ill and drugged from too much sleep.
Two more days of dealing with chemical sewage
Till I a will be released from this keep.
Then at last, the sun rises and so do I.
Feeling good, I have a week to soar,
To live a feel good life, to get things done
To plan my next attach on cancer cells and more.
It is not ideal, this life with stage four…
Of that there are no disputes…
But as the dark days pass I look forward
To: living the life of Positive Pursuits.
The unhooking of the chemo bottle to which
I am attached. I want a shower, a long one….but the unhooking
Comes with a price.
IT IS OFF, thank God. I must be quick,
I have only an hour or two…
Shower first, pay a bill, run to the store
And then like a black cloud looming it is in view.
I cannot really see it, but I can feel it moving
Nearer and nearer, it crawls to me.
And like a ponderous blanket
It envelopes my body, my soul and I cease to be.
While I sleep, I heal, I know that but
I lose time I do not wish to let go.
Days later when I wake from that dark place
I want back the time I shall never know.
At the end of my bi-monthly cocoon,
I feel ill and drugged from too much sleep.
Two more days of dealing with chemical sewage
Till I a will be released from this keep.
Then at last, the sun rises and so do I.
Feeling good, I have a week to soar,
To live a feel good life, to get things done
To plan my next attach on cancer cells and more.
It is not ideal, this life with stage four…
Of that there are no disputes…
But as the dark days pass I look forward
To: living the life of Positive Pursuits.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
CHEMOTHERAPY
Tomorrow is chemo day (every other Thursday). It will be my fourth visit and I can tell I am a newbie as I still dress well, coif the hair (I am lucky as this round of chemo should not take my hair) and arrive happy and ready to sit for 5-7 hours while poison is slowly dripped into my body! I am in the company of nearly 50 other patients at the Cancer center, all of us migrating to our own special recliner for the hour(s) or the day. It is not a happy place. People often come in sweats and socks with hair (if any) pulled up in a quick ponytail, wrap themselves into a blanket cocoon with nary a word to anyone. I know that for myself and others, cancer and its respective treatment is no party and many of those people probably do not feel well at all but taking care of our soul while we are ill is paramount. I often wonder if it might help moral if I hired a band or something to make people smile.
Chemo, for me, does not hurt. I generally read or munch a cracker or sip on tea or nap. I am hooked by a tube to a pole on wheels which I carefully wheel to the restroom a zillion times as I receive about six bags of chemicals when I go there. Way too much fluid. Others receive the same or less depending on their own personal treatment regime. So far I have been the last to leave each time I go. I am fortunate to have a most supportive family which I will touch on in another post. My husband refuses to let me go alone even though I can drive before and after. He sits with me and reads the paper, holds my hand, or chats. Around midday he goes home to check on the cat or get the mail and then brings me lunch. Now I pack snacks and water and could pack my lunch, but he likes to bring me something and generally it is a double cheeseburger, no fries or pop from Burger King. I should not eat it as it is a no, no according to my Anti-Cancer food regime I have been incorporating into my life, but he gets so much joy out of this task, I let him. Perhaps I can convince him to hit Subway next time. Lol! He then sits with me the final hours in the afternoon and drives me home. He is a sweetheart, who, after 38 years of letting me pamper him, has stepped up to the plate and is taking on tasks he would never had done years ago. Once home, I am hooked to chemo with a portable tube/bottle which I wear 24-7 till empty which is around 2pm on Saturday. Sleeping while wearing a fanny pack is cumbersome. The only bad part of this process is I cannot bathe and sponge baths do not feel sufficient. I feel no effect while wearing the tube (more continuous poison) until it is removed. By Saturday evening, I am hit with a general yucky feeling all over and fatigue that is so heavy it is all I can do to stay awake……so I sleep and sleep and sleep. By Monday afternoon, (seriously, I only rise to use the bathroom or eat a little), I am done sleeping but now must deal with colon issues for the next three days. I also cannot touch anything cold else I get an electrical shock…so it is mittens while in the fridge or handling anything cold. I look pretty wild in the store when the weather is sunny and I wear mittens to grab milk or butter. People stare and I don’t blame them. By Wednesday, I awake feeling great, have energy and am ready for normalcy…cleaning, cooking, computer stuff, pay bills etc. I am good for the next week until we start all over again. So, that is my chemotherapy course for now. We will monitor its effectiveness on my Cancer at the end of month two (coming soon) to see if we continue on this course or jack up the meds…. I am also scheduled in California for a second opinion. Not so much for diagnosis, I do not doubt that, but treatment options.
To date, I have been lucky with chemo…as my side effects are minimal: sleep, yucky, electric shocks at fingertips, spontaneous nosebleeds and colon problems over a period of about 5 days out of every 14. Not bad at all! My heart goes out to those who suffer more than I and tomorrow I will say a prayer for all who recline by my side, especially those who are so very young.
Stay positive, live life well, honor the needs of your body when it cries for help and eat healthy. Thanks for all the prayers, I remain active in my positive pursuits.
Chemo, for me, does not hurt. I generally read or munch a cracker or sip on tea or nap. I am hooked by a tube to a pole on wheels which I carefully wheel to the restroom a zillion times as I receive about six bags of chemicals when I go there. Way too much fluid. Others receive the same or less depending on their own personal treatment regime. So far I have been the last to leave each time I go. I am fortunate to have a most supportive family which I will touch on in another post. My husband refuses to let me go alone even though I can drive before and after. He sits with me and reads the paper, holds my hand, or chats. Around midday he goes home to check on the cat or get the mail and then brings me lunch. Now I pack snacks and water and could pack my lunch, but he likes to bring me something and generally it is a double cheeseburger, no fries or pop from Burger King. I should not eat it as it is a no, no according to my Anti-Cancer food regime I have been incorporating into my life, but he gets so much joy out of this task, I let him. Perhaps I can convince him to hit Subway next time. Lol! He then sits with me the final hours in the afternoon and drives me home. He is a sweetheart, who, after 38 years of letting me pamper him, has stepped up to the plate and is taking on tasks he would never had done years ago. Once home, I am hooked to chemo with a portable tube/bottle which I wear 24-7 till empty which is around 2pm on Saturday. Sleeping while wearing a fanny pack is cumbersome. The only bad part of this process is I cannot bathe and sponge baths do not feel sufficient. I feel no effect while wearing the tube (more continuous poison) until it is removed. By Saturday evening, I am hit with a general yucky feeling all over and fatigue that is so heavy it is all I can do to stay awake……so I sleep and sleep and sleep. By Monday afternoon, (seriously, I only rise to use the bathroom or eat a little), I am done sleeping but now must deal with colon issues for the next three days. I also cannot touch anything cold else I get an electrical shock…so it is mittens while in the fridge or handling anything cold. I look pretty wild in the store when the weather is sunny and I wear mittens to grab milk or butter. People stare and I don’t blame them. By Wednesday, I awake feeling great, have energy and am ready for normalcy…cleaning, cooking, computer stuff, pay bills etc. I am good for the next week until we start all over again. So, that is my chemotherapy course for now. We will monitor its effectiveness on my Cancer at the end of month two (coming soon) to see if we continue on this course or jack up the meds…. I am also scheduled in California for a second opinion. Not so much for diagnosis, I do not doubt that, but treatment options.
To date, I have been lucky with chemo…as my side effects are minimal: sleep, yucky, electric shocks at fingertips, spontaneous nosebleeds and colon problems over a period of about 5 days out of every 14. Not bad at all! My heart goes out to those who suffer more than I and tomorrow I will say a prayer for all who recline by my side, especially those who are so very young.
Stay positive, live life well, honor the needs of your body when it cries for help and eat healthy. Thanks for all the prayers, I remain active in my positive pursuits.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Beginning
For most people, receiving the news they have cancer is neither welcome nor expected and because we are all so very unique in our psychological and physical makeup, we respond to the news in a kaleidoscopic array of responses. In retrospect, I am not surprised by my response to the news when it came.
In January of 2010, I became ill with an unrelated infection. Since I generally am equipped to take care of others, I did what I always do…discount my symptoms, write them off to the flu, hang tough, weather it out…you know, the usual. I have never been one to run to the doctor at a drop of the hat and this was no exception to that rule, much to the aggravation of my husband and daughters. After seven days of high fevers, pain in my back, dehydration and the loss of anything taken by mouth, I succumbed. One look and the doctor said “get thee to the hospital now”.
The emergency room experience is never a welcome one… lots of tests and long hours of waiting; four to begin tests, nine to get the cursed news and nearly twelve to locate a bed in the ER since the hospital itself was full to the brim. I remember the ER doctor coming into our little curtained cubicle where my husband and I waited patiently, hoping to get a prescription or two and be on our way home. He happily announced the good news….I did not have a gall bladder attack (my early assumption) but instead, the bad news, I had multiple tumors on my liver which meant I had cancer and the source could not be found. He was sorry to bear the news. My first reaction was to comfort the doctor who looked miserably unhappy to be the bearer of bad news and I reminded him that delivering good or bad news was his job and he did not cause this to happen, thus he need not feel bad. Then I turned to my husband and simply said…”shit”.
After being admitted and several days later, tests had been run, CT scans performed of every part of my body, IV’s hooked and unhooked, and enough blood given to create a small animal. Still, no source…a biopsy would be required. Throughout all this, I never cried about having cancer or its ramifications…I did cry when I thought about potentially missing the life events my grandchildren have yet to experience. And then I became the older version of the cheerleader I was in high school….pumped and ready to face adversity head on, I would fight this thing every step of the way, I would not give up control of my life or body, I would seek any means to help in the healing process, I would look at this as a new challenge in my life with new goals and I was and am hell bent to achieve them. The biopsy said colon cancer…now we need to find the darn tumor.
A couple days later, after returning home, the calendar brimming with appointments with my new best friends, my oncologist, labs and the Cancer Center, I had my second colonoscopy in three years, and there it was! Since cancer cells generally take 5-40 years to become the all dreaded tumor, I was surprised my previous colonoscopy did not unearth this news while it was Stage I, a baby and easily rectified. While it is possible that it was missed the first time around, I now know that there are innumerable reasons why this occurred and at this point, matters not. We will talk about them later.
I have to point out, that my optimistic gung ho attitude is not the product of denial. I know what I have, I am at end stage, the numbers (which I ignore) say I have only a 20% chance of recovery in this battle and chemotherapy will be my life for a number of years! I will say that despite my cursing, noted above, I have a great faith based life. So it has helped me tremendously to give up all the worry and stress to my God, thanking Him every step of the way for letting me get sick in the first place (otherwise I would never had known I had Cancer since I had no symptoms at all) so I could move forward with aggressive treatment, and knowing that whether I win or lose this battle, I win. Whomever you believe in, be it my God or yours, or belief in your own soul, go there, hand over the worry and get on with living.
For many people, a Stage IV diagnosis is interpreted as a death sentence. And if you give up and simply accept that the world of medicine is your only recourse for healing, you are wrong. There is so much a person can do to participate and contribute to the healing process. In the chapters of my story, yet to come, I will explore those more fully. For now, be encouraged to know, there is life after Cancer and, at age 60… my life has just begun.
In January of 2010, I became ill with an unrelated infection. Since I generally am equipped to take care of others, I did what I always do…discount my symptoms, write them off to the flu, hang tough, weather it out…you know, the usual. I have never been one to run to the doctor at a drop of the hat and this was no exception to that rule, much to the aggravation of my husband and daughters. After seven days of high fevers, pain in my back, dehydration and the loss of anything taken by mouth, I succumbed. One look and the doctor said “get thee to the hospital now”.
The emergency room experience is never a welcome one… lots of tests and long hours of waiting; four to begin tests, nine to get the cursed news and nearly twelve to locate a bed in the ER since the hospital itself was full to the brim. I remember the ER doctor coming into our little curtained cubicle where my husband and I waited patiently, hoping to get a prescription or two and be on our way home. He happily announced the good news….I did not have a gall bladder attack (my early assumption) but instead, the bad news, I had multiple tumors on my liver which meant I had cancer and the source could not be found. He was sorry to bear the news. My first reaction was to comfort the doctor who looked miserably unhappy to be the bearer of bad news and I reminded him that delivering good or bad news was his job and he did not cause this to happen, thus he need not feel bad. Then I turned to my husband and simply said…”shit”.
After being admitted and several days later, tests had been run, CT scans performed of every part of my body, IV’s hooked and unhooked, and enough blood given to create a small animal. Still, no source…a biopsy would be required. Throughout all this, I never cried about having cancer or its ramifications…I did cry when I thought about potentially missing the life events my grandchildren have yet to experience. And then I became the older version of the cheerleader I was in high school….pumped and ready to face adversity head on, I would fight this thing every step of the way, I would not give up control of my life or body, I would seek any means to help in the healing process, I would look at this as a new challenge in my life with new goals and I was and am hell bent to achieve them. The biopsy said colon cancer…now we need to find the darn tumor.
A couple days later, after returning home, the calendar brimming with appointments with my new best friends, my oncologist, labs and the Cancer Center, I had my second colonoscopy in three years, and there it was! Since cancer cells generally take 5-40 years to become the all dreaded tumor, I was surprised my previous colonoscopy did not unearth this news while it was Stage I, a baby and easily rectified. While it is possible that it was missed the first time around, I now know that there are innumerable reasons why this occurred and at this point, matters not. We will talk about them later.
I have to point out, that my optimistic gung ho attitude is not the product of denial. I know what I have, I am at end stage, the numbers (which I ignore) say I have only a 20% chance of recovery in this battle and chemotherapy will be my life for a number of years! I will say that despite my cursing, noted above, I have a great faith based life. So it has helped me tremendously to give up all the worry and stress to my God, thanking Him every step of the way for letting me get sick in the first place (otherwise I would never had known I had Cancer since I had no symptoms at all) so I could move forward with aggressive treatment, and knowing that whether I win or lose this battle, I win. Whomever you believe in, be it my God or yours, or belief in your own soul, go there, hand over the worry and get on with living.
For many people, a Stage IV diagnosis is interpreted as a death sentence. And if you give up and simply accept that the world of medicine is your only recourse for healing, you are wrong. There is so much a person can do to participate and contribute to the healing process. In the chapters of my story, yet to come, I will explore those more fully. For now, be encouraged to know, there is life after Cancer and, at age 60… my life has just begun.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Welcome to my world....a positive place.
Welcome to my blog. Since this is my first attempt to journal my thoughts about being diagnosed with Stage IV Colon Cancer, please bear with me while I learn the ins and outs of this technological tool. More to come as I gather my thoughts and information to post and while I hope this site may eventually be helpful to others who are traveling the same path as I, informative for those looking for an update regarding my personal physical and emotional status, it is for me... a positive way to remind myself that I am blessed each and every day!
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