Temporarily Normal

This morning was the first morning I woke up feeling more or less normal in weeks. I went to a children's play with my friend Kym and her four-year-old boys: James and the Giant Peach. Shortly I will go to a grown-up movie with Kate and Bob, something about Miss Pettigrew, with Frances McDormand, one of my favorite actresses.

Last night I went out to dinner to celebrate Francine's birthday; even though we left the house early -- 6 p.m. -- I was pooped by the time I got home and asleep by 9. So my energy still is not what I would like, but I have much to be grateful for. I want to remember this weekend NEXT weekend, when I should be in recovery from my fourth, and final, chemotherapy treatment, scheduled for this coming Tuesday. I expect I'll be out of it for two to three weeks, then slowly wend my way back to full strength.

My doctor told me I should be recovered fully by the end of May; my nurse says it will be more like the end of June. Let's hope the doctor is closer to the mark, but in any event it will be what it will be. I approach this Tuesday with mixed feelings of dread and relief that this is the last round, and I appreciate the fact that there's a war going on in my chest between the cancer and all the chemo-radiation I have undergone to try to combat it. I haven't done as much during the last three months as I thought I would while I was off work, but I give myself permission to heal. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I head into the home stretch, and many thanks to all of you for your love and support.

Signs of Resurrection

I've been slowly crawling back to normal after round 3 of chemo March 11, and am feeling more or less civilized these days. Mornings are fine, afternoons are okay, but I start to flag by late afternoon/early evening. Nonetheless, this is much better than last week, and I intend to enjoy the coming week, given that round 4--my final chemotherapy--is scheduled for April 1.

Since chemo started I've been taking Lorazepam at night, both to control nausea and to aid in sleep. My acupuncturist suggested that I try to wean myself from it, because patients tend to become dependent on it to sleep. I checked with the U.S.S. Northwestern, and they concurred that it would be okay to get off the drug. They said not to nap more than half an hour during the day, in order to sleep better at night. Last week I cut back to half a tab at night, and then for the last couple of nights I've been Lorazepam-free, but waking up every couple of hours, and sleeping restlessly. My body will probably adjust in a few days, but meanwhile, I'm sure the restless sleep is contributing to flagging evenings.

I need to keep reminding myself that this, too, shall pass--the last round of chemo took a bite out of my spirits as well as my energy level, and served up a heavy portion of grief and sorrow. The lack of sleep is probably aggravating these feelings. In self-defense I have been making travel plans for a week in Mexico in May, a week in the Pacific Northwest in late July, and a trip to Ireland and Greece in late August-September. I have found this to be an effective antidote, as is every ray of sunshine that manages to make it through this largely overcast early spring.

I was supposed to start a pulmonary rehab program April 4, but yesterday I received a call from the Rehab Institute of Chicago to the effect that my insurance won't cover $200/session for 16 sessions of physical therapy, so I'm now in negotiations to resolve that dilemma. I'm trying to talk my way into the classes, which are free, in hopes that I can just do the PT at home. The therapist seemed to indicate yesterday that this was a reasonable solution, and she's supposed to phone today to discuss the matter further.

My friend Ryan, the certified nurse healer, is back from a two-month tour of the American Southwest and Mexico, so I will resume treatment sessions with her tomorrow afternoon. I find these sessions tremendously restorative and am looking forward to them.

On an Easter Sunday walk through the neighborhood with Patty and Dave, we saw a yard full of crocuses just started to poke their little green heads through the detritus of winter. I am hanging on to this vision with all my might, and hope that you, too, are noticing signs of resurrection.

Last Day of Winter

Since last Friday or so, when the steroids from my March 11 chemo started wearing off, I have felt pretty much like one continuous bad hangover. My cousin Prince Phil took me for a blood draw yesterday to see if I was dehydrated or missing magnesium or whatever, and the numbers showed all as it should be -- in fact, better than expected. The nurse said this was just what Round 3 of chemo feels like. She offered to have me come in today to be hooked up to IV rehydration and electrolytes, but I woke up this morning feeling better, thank heavens, and have actually felt civilized for much of the day.

During the dark days I didn't want to read, or do much of anything except watch TV. Those of you who know me well know that my TV is a tiny (maybe 14-inch) Sony Trinitron that dates from the late 1970s or early 1980s. The antenna is stuck on with silly putty. I keep it in a low cabinet in the living room and, not being a cable subscriber, really don't watch it much. But when all one wants to do is watch TV, one needs a better setup.

I DO intend to enter the 21st century with a flat screen and cable, as soon as I figure out my redecorating scheme, and where I want the new TV to go. But meanwhile, yesterday as I was channel surfing through Judge Judy and Dr. Phil (you KNOW I was not feeling well), I decided at a minimimum to bring the TV out into daylight and up to a reasonable height, meaning I needed a TV table on wheels.

Enter Laura S. this morning, who whisked me off to Target. Not only did she help me find, purchase and schlep the table, she also helped me assemble it. The results are as pictured, and I am thrilled. Not only that, I haven't even watched it yet, a sign of my improved health and spirits. Many thanks, Laura.

On another up note, my car is back in my possession, thanks to Scott J. , who hauled me through rush hour traffic on Milwaukee Avenue last night to go fetch it before the shop closed at 6.

As I write this, the sun is shining on my back porch, my cat Sasha has found the perfect spot for enjoying it, and my house is full of the scent of half a dozen lillies that have opened in the past 2-3 days, just in time for the last day of winter. Yesterday I considered throwing them out, despite their beauty, because the scent was so pervasive, and I was so sick. The radio says today is the last day of winter. Tomorrow is the vernal equinox. Today I appreciate the lilies, and though I'm not back to my perky best, I'm grateful for the improvement. Let that be a lesson to me, if not to you.

Rough weekend

The good news is that my car isn't totaled. It will be in the shop next week, but the repair bill came in just under the Blue Book value, so I don't have to add car shopping to my to-do list. Good thing, too. My treatments are beginning to catch up to me, and I've had a very low-energy weekend. I anticipate the next two days will be rocky as the steroids wear off, but after that, with luck, I'll revivify. I remember my mother saying to me once: "I know what a flower feels like when it starts to wilt." Now I do, too.

Good News, Sad News

Greetings, all. The CT scan showed the lymph nodes in my left chest are now within normal size. The big mass in my right lung has shrunk by a third and turns out to be two smaller masses. These results are very good, according to my oncologist. The docs are really not looking for shrinkage at this point, as the radiation will continue to kill the cancer for another three months, and today's chemo and one more treatment April 1 will continue to do their work. My oncologist says I am her healthiest stage III patient. I am satisfied with these results to date and think they are quite promising.

I go back in a week for a blood draw to look for any adverse side effects from today's chemo, and I'm to phone if I develop any symptoms before March 18 (the blood draw). Meanwhile I have yoga tomorrow morning, dinner with Kate and a friend from Halifax, Nova Scotia tomorrow evening, acupuncture Thursday morning, and Thursday afternoon at the collision shop getting my car damage estimated and repairs begun (unless they tell me the car is totaled, given that it's a '96). Friday morning, another yoga class, followed by a visit with a friend from Ohio.

I did have some very sad news yesterday, that my beloved Shakespeare professor, William E. Brady, died at home in Galesburg the evening of March 9. He was a gifted teacher with a large capacity for life, and I grieve his passing. Please keep him and his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Signs of the Times

I've been meaning to blog for days, but keep getting interrupted. First, I wanted to share some signage that I have been admiring on the way back from acupuncture for the past several weeks. These two signs are of a genre that is fast disappearing in the U.S., or at least around Chicago, or at least around neighborhoods I commonly travel through in Chicago, but I've seen this style in Zimbabwe and I remember also seeing it in Tanzania. I pass these Chicago stores heading east on Augusta from Oak Park, when I can't deal with the expressway and decide to take the scenic route home. For your viewing pleasure, the M&M Food Mart and the One Stop One Shop. The Coca Cola logo in particular has a Tanzanian feel to it, I think.

Anyway, I've been interrupted by bad things happening with respect to my car. No one has been hurt, but many hours have been spent dealing with the consequences, first, of locking my keys in the car last Monday while gassing up on the way back from acupuncture; second, thieves who broke into our garage in the early hours of Saturday morning and stole my car radio/stereo and garage door opener; and, three, an accident that happened earlier today, my fault, in which I rear ended a window washing truck. We were heading west on Ontario, near State Street, toward the I-94 Xway. I was in the middle lane, behind a window washing truck, looking for an opportunity to change to the right lane. I saw it, seized it, and was looking over my right shoulder to make sure my blind spot was clear when the guy in front of me stopped suddenly. My left headlight hit his right bumper. The rest you can see for yourself in Exhibit C, to the left and below.

No one was hurt, but I had to go to the police station, I was late for acupuncture, and when I was home I had to spend quality time on the phone with Geico to report the accident and make an appointment with their certified repair shop for Thursday afternoon. So I will shove another afternoon down the same black hole that gobbled up last Saturday afternoon and last Monday afternoon my other two car-related mishaps.

On the health front, I had a CT scan this a.m., no results yet, and my port flushed and my blood labs drawn, so I am all ready for chemotherapy tomorrow at 8:30. I will post results of the CT scan as soon as I have them. Now I'm headed off for a nap. Good evening, all.