'Tis the Season to be Jolly

And I am. Chemo and Radiation are over with, just waiting to take another mammogram to see how everything is, which isn't scheduled until January.

Life is good.

My daughter's friend was diagnosed this month, but only has to have radiation, she's delighted that it's easily treatable. And so am I.

I celebrated another birthday, and find myself mellower (is that a word?) than I've been in ages. Maybe it's because I'm finally coming to grips with life and the lessons we can learn while we take our journey.

I'm planning my writing schedule for 2010, and it promises to be full. A screenwriting retreat is a definite, so is RWA's National Conference. There are several other excursions that I'm looking at, plus, of course, the writing.

Writing every day is a must, even on weekends. My weekend work will be at least a limit of one hour. The daily work must be at least one hour, but I rather do two.

There is a screenplay that must be done before the middle of March. It's started, I have a complete outline, just need a great title and the rest of the pages cranked out. My working title is: Sam's Story...LOL So, you can see why I need a great title.

Then there is my series contemporary story that I started this year and need to finish.

My middle grade story which needs some world-building, and I need to do some research. I purchased the research books, I just need to sit down and read.

I also want to read a chapter of a craft book daily and cull the neat stuff I can use.

Plus, I want to read...I have so many books and this year my book reading has been off, I've listened to a lot of books while driving myself back and forth from radiation. I keep a book in my car so I can listen to it while I drive instead of wasting time listening to music. I know, music isn't a waste of time, but my local channels only have the golden oldies or country music. Some of the books on tape/cd's are interesting, I tend to listen to thrillers, though I've listened to a mixed bag this year. I'd like to read at least fifty pages a day.

So, writing, reading, studying, conferences, retreats, etc., are covered.

But, and here's the big but, I also need to find an agent to represent material that is already finished, and polished. Egads!

But the time has come.

Have a wonderful, joyous Christmas!

The End or Is It?

105 office visits later, I think I'm through.

Though I do have an appointment next week and one in December.

That's a hundred and five office visits. Not all of them were directly the result of cancer, there were other health issues that were included. I now have seven physicians that take care of me in one way or another.

There's a saying that 'if you have your health, you have everything.'

I believe in that now.

When I was younger, I was seldom sick and if I did get sick, my mother had something about physicians, so I was generally neglected. But, my grandparents lived into their eighties and nineties, my mother is knocking around in her eighties. So, I have some good genes to draw from. But it isn't enough.

I have one pill that I have to take for the next five years to, hopefully, deter my cancer from coming back.

There are no guarantees. I accept that.

Once my radiologist gives me the okay, I'll be taking another mammogram. I will as often as it's prescribed.

One in eight women. I've been informing all my female friends to get their test yearly. It's not fun, but it can save your life.

If you've been reading me this year, you've come along on quite a journey with me. I want to thank you for that. At times I wasn't my best. But I think at the end of this journey, that I am stronger than I thought. I've become, hopefully, a better person because of it.

Again, many thanks...

"Crisp and Crunchy, or Raw" - What Radiation Really Is...For Me At Least

The title says it all.


Last week was 'deep tissue' radiation, which left my skin red, a bright burn red. Since I've always been pale, and red only when I stayed in the sun too long, this is something else entirely.


The skin from my neck to the top of my bosom, has the quality of dried alligator skin. Not that soft belly gator skin, but the top part, the scaly part. There are blisters, peeled skin, crunchy skin, all in all, not good.


Then there is the 'girl' as Whoopi Goldberg refers to it. My girl is in poor shape. Blisters formed under the clear bandages that were used to keep my blue marking lines in place. Some other blisters broke, one bandage, along with the skin it was covering, came off completely. OUCH! There's another blister that is as big as a quarter that looks ready to burst.


So, there is raw meat. Blisters. Healing blisters. Infection. Dark purple liquid stuff that is helping to fight infection, which stains everything it touches. Plus some Silver Sulfadiazine Cream that I smear on as often as I can.

The sports bra hurts to wear. Clothing...well, I do puff out the shirt a bit on that side. The seat belt...LOL...it didn't take me long to unclick my safety device, as the belt wrapped directly over the biggest stretch of raw meat. If the cops stop me, I don't mind showing them the 'evidence'...or maybe I need a note from my doctor, showing the girl might get me arrested.

But, guess what. I can do this. There are three days left. The end is in sight.

And I shouldn't complain. I feel shameful that I am, especially since watching 'So You Think You Can Dance' this evening, where a young twenty-five year old woman lost her left hand to soft tissue cancer. It was her hand or her life.

I'm so so lucky.

I've been blessed with the wonderful friendship that has been offered to me during this journey.

I'm so so lucky.

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They Lied about Radiation.

They lied to me about radiation.

It's the most painful process during this whole cancer journey.

Not the radiation part. I don't even feel that.

It's the freaking position I have to hold to get the radiation. I can now write about the Spanish Inquisition from the prisoner's part.

It's the only part of the treatment that has brought me to tears at almost every session.

It's where I can't bother to chant my "I can do this" and am instead wanting to scream out, "Hurry up and get me the h*ll out of here."

I've lost my sense of humor.

The position...

Imagine lying on a narrow table with your right arm in space. Now raise that arm where it is even with the side of your body, and your right hand about a foot from your head. There is a little brace to hold you just above your wrist. Since they want to give radiation to the side under my arm, they tape my arm to the brace, moving the fatty batwing that I carry around up and out of the way.

Then the "stretch your neck and look up and over to the left"...that's another part of the pain. I should have a lovely neck on the right hand side, the left will be full of wrinkles.

AND...hold that position for at least twenty-five to thirty minutes.

OUCH!

The ouch doesn't even cover the pain I'm in. I try to step up to the plate and be brave, but it's hard. If they manage to linger too long, and why do they need so many x-rays, then I'm in tears by the end of my session.

Just think, only five freaking weeks left. FIVE FREAKING WEEKS.

Like I said. I lost my sense of humor.

Radiation is in the future...

Well, I thought I would have started my radiation by now.

It seems that indeed, I need to learn patience.

I was told by my oncologist that I should be done with my treatment by Halloween.

Halloween!

Apparently, the trick is on me.

My appointment on Wednesday was two weeks after my last chemo. Now I need to go to a new OB/GYN doctor, as my regular doctor doesn't accept my insurance plan, and get a PAP Smear and general check-up.

Then I have an appointment with my surgeon to discuss the removal of my port. I'll be thrilled to get rid of it. Wearing a sports bra 24/7 hasn't been comfortable. But after the consultation, then the surgery, and after that recovery.

In mid-September there is the bone density test. Radiation has something to do with that. It's on the cancer protocol sheet and my oncologist goes by the book. Then another mammogram.

Then about ten days after that I see my oncologist again. I hope that the radiation will start after that. It's six weeks with radiation five days a week. The radiation will last for about a minute, the drive to and fro will be an hour and a half. I was going to use some of the grand kids as drivers, but school will be in session, so that plan is out. Not that I feel I need a driver, but the dh is insistent.

I am so anxious to go on a trip, to do something out of the ordinary, to visit old friends, to have a family retreat, to be determined cancer-free. Is my list too long? No. It's been almost a year since I was diagnosed.

So many people have reached out their hands to me in this time, and I truly appreciate it. They have made this journey bearable and heart-warming.

Life is good!

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On the Downhill Slide

Nine weeks of the second chemo down. Three to go. Then there are six weeks of radiation. It seems like a lot, but I'm more than halfway down this journey.

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They give me liquid Benadryl first, to combat any nausea. You can feel the Benadryl as it's cold in your blood stream. It puts most of the patients to sleep. A lot of them request blankets, the lady next to me had two. But, I'm one of the few that gets wired on Benadryl. Instead of a lounge chair, I'm ready for a treadmill. Like I would actually run! I sit on the edge of the lounge chair, fidgeting, trying to read a book, antsy. Sometimes I stand as sitting is so uncomfortable. But, it doesn't take long before the procedure is over with.
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Three weeks ago, two of my grandchildren lost their grandfather to cancer. He was diagnosed after I was. Unfortunately, he was given three to six months to live. So, they had two grandparents with cancer at the same time. One dies. One lives.
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It's a hard journey for them now. One needs to check on me often.
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I've figured it out. Cancer is about caring for people. I've seen and felt how cancer patients are treated by others. Your true friends come across for you. Others disappear. It's been a learning process.
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Sharman, a dear friend of mine of over thirty years has shown me what caring means, a get well card once or twice a week, small gifts relevant to cancer. I know I need to do the same thing with friends of my own. Just be there. Show you care.
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Rosalyn, a new friend, is a true joy. So positive, so knowledgeable, so generous. She bought pink straw hats for our little writer's group. The hat doesn't have a brim in the back which is perfect for chemo, as you can wear it and lean back in a lounger at the same time. But she challenges me, which is what I need now. Someone to push me, make me think, make me happy. She does all of that and more.
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I'm on a lot of group loops and I find that others are kind with sending prayers, cheering me on this journey, and reading about what's happening in my life. Then there comes a private email from several of them, asking how I'm feeling. A special touch. I need to remember that as well.
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Some people who were friends of mine haven't stepped up to the plate. That saddens me. I thought that they were friends, but they let too much time elapse, and now I don't want them back in my life because I don't want to be hurt again. Maybe I should open my heart to them, but I'd rather spend my limited amount of energy on those who have shown what real friendship is about.
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My family has been so supportive. The hubby of decades worries about me all the time. He checks in on me often during the day. I feel his morning kiss on my head while I'm in that slumberland where you're not quite awake. So, even after all these years, we're closer than ever before. We talk in the car driving to and from chemo, over luncheon afterwards, on the patio in the afternoons when we take a break, have a drink, coke zero for me, and enjoy our home. It's so peaceful and serene on my patio. The birds are singing, we check to see if the redheaded woodpecker is still notching out a home on the telephone pole across from the driveway, the occasional squirrel, the blue jay and yellow bellied warbler fighting for territorial rights, the cat and kittens who decided to live with us and who sneak around the corners of the property. The beautiful plants, especially the climbing pink Mandeville. Life goes on.
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The kids and grand kids have also shown me great love. They don't mind me walking around with no hair. I have a fuzzy growth now, but not enough to disguise the fact that I'm baldish. I've learned that hats make your head sweat, I didn't know that. So, I'll wear one for awhile, then am happy to take it off and cool off the dome. My doctor said that several women wear scarves under their hats, I can't get a scarf to stay on the head, so I don't bother fooling with them. Though I do have two that are gorgeous.
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So, maybe I was destined to have treatable cancer to learn some lessons. If I had to say what those lessons would be, they are:
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Be a caring wife, mother, grandmother, friend.
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Be patient. I keep wishing that I was finished on this journey, but maybe its important that the road be longer than I like.
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Listen to others, what they are really saying underneath the words they speak.
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Always tell my family, "I love you"...they need to know that I do.
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Life is good...enjoy it to the fullest!
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I Can Do This

Finding out that you have cancer is a life altering sentence.
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First you're hit with fear. Will I die? Can they kill it? What's going to happen to me?
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The oncologist talks to you, but your mind doesn't catch everything. What did she mean by 50/50 chance? I finally figured it out. I have a 50/50 chance of developing breast cancer even after treatment.
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The first few weeks of chemo were the hardest for me. I honestly believe that they need to prescribe anxiety/depression medicine when they tell you that you have cancer.
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It took me awhile to get over that anxiety/depression. Every time I started to slide to the dark side, I would think, "I can do this."
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I prayed. I prayed to every person I knew who was no longer with me, and to God. I'd cry at night, my mind full of fear. Then I'd say, "I can do this."
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"I can do this."
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Four little words. But they helped bolster my spirits. "I can do this."
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I can, and you can too.
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There is nothing in this world that you can't stare down if you believe. Believe in yourself and in others, but mainly yourself.
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For some reason, I've been in a dark mood the past week. It might be because I'm exhausted all the time. Every chore is time-consuming. Making the bed takes a long time. First the bottom sheet. Rest. Then the top sheet. Rest again. Then the comforter, the pillows. Then throwing myself on the made up bed to rest again.
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It's not fun, but I can't give up. "I can do this."
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That's my mantra. It's what's holding me together.
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