At some point during his journey the Hero has to make decisions. Does he take the right path, or the left? Does he talk to the crazy creature living in the swamp, or not? Some of the decisions are easy, while others are more challenging.
My hair is now coming out by the handful, and I've decided enough is enough. Washing it today was a major pain because stray pieces would become entwined around my fingers. I have an appointment with my hairdresser tomorrow to cut it short. Really short. Since I always need to be aware of the potential of infection, I can't use a razor on my skin on the off chance I cut myself. However, I can have my hair cut to the breadth of a scissor blade and that pretty much is my plan.
Also had a check-up and blood work today, and the oncologist confirmed my suspicions that the lumps have shrunk significantly. Her estimate is about 50 per cent for the one in the breast, and she couldn't feel the tumor in lymph node at all.
She's also going to adjust my chemo cocktail so I get an extra anti-nausea drug to hopefully avoid a repeat of last time. I also experienced heartburn following the first chemo session, another side-effect of one of the drugs, so she has prescribed what she termed "good stuff" to combat that particular challenge. In addition, she gave me the green light to take Tylenol for the headache for the first two days, as this too is one of the predictable reactions.
So, all is set for Thursday's round of chemo, provided the blood taken today comes back in good shape. While I can't honestly say I'm looking forward to it, I am looking forward to putting one more treatment behind me.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Gifts, Gifts and More Gifts
Gifts come in many shapes and sizes and sometimes from unexpected sources.
Today, for example, was a gift all its own. The warm temperatures and sunshine made me feel refreshed and happy. Rob and I made the most of it and took the dogs to Porters Lake Park. Even the wooded trail was relatively snow-free. It was warm enough that I took advantage and went hatless. Rob shaved his head this morning, so even though it was 10C he needed to wear a hat. I expect in another week or so I'll be in the same boat.
Rob's sister, Debbie, sent me a box of goodies. She calls it a Joy Box and I think I counted 16 individually wrapped gifts and some puzzles. Today's gift was a plush hand puppet in the shape of a dog which sings "Close to You". Cole (our black lab) tried to steal it from me when I set it on the sofa to look at the other packages. He loves stuffed animals, but I firmly told him to give it back because it was mine. He looked very disappointed. Some of the packages are marked for specific days (e.g. Barf Day, Down Day, etc.), others are for me to open when I need a lift. The whole package is designed to make me smile and it worked.
We met Wally and Jen at the airport so we could bring their car back here. They are off to Cuba for the week and were very excited. It is Wally's first time flying and neither of them has travelled much.
Wally had a package for me too. It had come via Mom to his place (she's watching their kids for the week), from two women in my home church. Bonnie sent a wonderful magnetic note holder with an uplifting scripture verse and Sheila sent a lovely angel. All these unexpected presents are delightful (although totally unnecessary).
I got another card on Friday, from the management team at the office. All the kinds words and thoughts are humbling. Thank you everyone. You can't begin to know how much it means and how much I draw on it.
The hair is now coming out in handfuls. I already walked into the bathroom once today and picked up the scissors, before thinking better of it. I'm debating hacking it off short just to save the aggravation of vacuuming it off the floor. It is pretty bad when I'm shedding worse than Cole.
Today, for example, was a gift all its own. The warm temperatures and sunshine made me feel refreshed and happy. Rob and I made the most of it and took the dogs to Porters Lake Park. Even the wooded trail was relatively snow-free. It was warm enough that I took advantage and went hatless. Rob shaved his head this morning, so even though it was 10C he needed to wear a hat. I expect in another week or so I'll be in the same boat.
Rob's sister, Debbie, sent me a box of goodies. She calls it a Joy Box and I think I counted 16 individually wrapped gifts and some puzzles. Today's gift was a plush hand puppet in the shape of a dog which sings "Close to You". Cole (our black lab) tried to steal it from me when I set it on the sofa to look at the other packages. He loves stuffed animals, but I firmly told him to give it back because it was mine. He looked very disappointed. Some of the packages are marked for specific days (e.g. Barf Day, Down Day, etc.), others are for me to open when I need a lift. The whole package is designed to make me smile and it worked.
We met Wally and Jen at the airport so we could bring their car back here. They are off to Cuba for the week and were very excited. It is Wally's first time flying and neither of them has travelled much.
Wally had a package for me too. It had come via Mom to his place (she's watching their kids for the week), from two women in my home church. Bonnie sent a wonderful magnetic note holder with an uplifting scripture verse and Sheila sent a lovely angel. All these unexpected presents are delightful (although totally unnecessary).
I got another card on Friday, from the management team at the office. All the kinds words and thoughts are humbling. Thank you everyone. You can't begin to know how much it means and how much I draw on it.
The hair is now coming out in handfuls. I already walked into the bathroom once today and picked up the scissors, before thinking better of it. I'm debating hacking it off short just to save the aggravation of vacuuming it off the floor. It is pretty bad when I'm shedding worse than Cole.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Changes
There is obviously a change coming. Our front lawn is a beehive of activity this morning after weeks of relative quiet. There are a dozen blue jays, two different types of woodpeckers (two downy and one hairy), juncos, redpolls, chickadees, golden finches, a white-breasted nuthatch and two squirrels. Normally we're lucky to have a few finches and the squirrels. Environment Canada isn't calling for any nasty stuff, so it's a mystery. Perhaps it is a minute sign that spring is truly on the way.
It seems I spend a lot of time looking for minute signs that change is taking place. Whether it's measuring the size of my lumps, gently running my hands through my hair (yes, it is starting to fall out now -- not handfuls yet, but more than my normal shedding) or feeling less tired than the day before.
This is the last week before the cycle starts over again. Tuesday I go for my check-up and blood work and then Thursday I have the second treatment. I'm hoping they can adjust the medicines a bit so I'm not sick this time.
Two more cards in the mail yesterday. One from my Colorado teammates, one from Rob's home church. I need to count to see how many I've received. So far there hasn't been one duplicate. Rob just finished reading the book Kelly gave him. In the back the author quantifies a bunch of different things -- including how many cards they received, how much they spent on travel, treatment etc. I may have to start keeping a tally myself, and save it for when we write our own story.
No big plans for the weekend. Kelly is going to New Brunswick so she won't be out. Wally and Jen are meeting us at the airport. They're flying south for a week. We get to keep their car. Mom gets to keep the kids. It is the Home Show weekend, but we won't go for fear of me catching something. My white cells just don't have the capacity to deal with germs right now.
It seems I spend a lot of time looking for minute signs that change is taking place. Whether it's measuring the size of my lumps, gently running my hands through my hair (yes, it is starting to fall out now -- not handfuls yet, but more than my normal shedding) or feeling less tired than the day before.
This is the last week before the cycle starts over again. Tuesday I go for my check-up and blood work and then Thursday I have the second treatment. I'm hoping they can adjust the medicines a bit so I'm not sick this time.
Two more cards in the mail yesterday. One from my Colorado teammates, one from Rob's home church. I need to count to see how many I've received. So far there hasn't been one duplicate. Rob just finished reading the book Kelly gave him. In the back the author quantifies a bunch of different things -- including how many cards they received, how much they spent on travel, treatment etc. I may have to start keeping a tally myself, and save it for when we write our own story.
No big plans for the weekend. Kelly is going to New Brunswick so she won't be out. Wally and Jen are meeting us at the airport. They're flying south for a week. We get to keep their car. Mom gets to keep the kids. It is the Home Show weekend, but we won't go for fear of me catching something. My white cells just don't have the capacity to deal with germs right now.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Patience
One of the most difficult lessons any Hero must learn is the lesson of patience. In the Hero's world there is a certain order to the way events unfold. If he tries to challenge a guardian before he's ready, he may actually hurt his chances of success. If he rushes to a rendezvous point he may miss an important meeting along the way.
I find myself struggling with patience.
It's been two weeks since my first chemo treatment and I have a week to go until my next. However, I've already noticed one of the lumps has decreased in size and I'm in a hurry for the next treatment.
I'm waiting for my hair to fall out. Not that I want to lose my hair, but if its going to happen, let it happen. I have wigs. I'm ready. I've come to terms with this particular facet of treatment (at least I think I have).
It is fortunate I went out with Kelly last night to a ladies' devotional evening at her church. The theme was The Garden of Your Heart and it focused on how patience is one of the components required when preparing your garden (metaphorically or physically). You can grow vegetables in one season, but it takes many seasons to grow fruit.
Last night was fun. We started by having supper with Marion and Robyn at Boston Pizza. We have determined (at least Kelly and I have) the bruschetta pizza is our new favorite. It was good to catch up with the girls and their news.
After Kelly and I went to the church for the meeting. I enjoyed sharing a table with two of Kelly's sisters and her mother. I had to check to make sure Kelly is eating her vegetables as promised (some people wear pink ribbons, some people eat vegetables), and the easiest way is to quiz her family.
I received another card in yesterday's mail as well. Julie sent a note along with a fridge magnet with a lovely and uplifting verse. I've lost count of how many cards I've received over the past month, but by dining room table is crowded with their cheerful colours and inspiring messages.
My journey for today will be working on patience, and maybe mucking out the home office -- an act of patience in itself.
I find myself struggling with patience.
It's been two weeks since my first chemo treatment and I have a week to go until my next. However, I've already noticed one of the lumps has decreased in size and I'm in a hurry for the next treatment.
I'm waiting for my hair to fall out. Not that I want to lose my hair, but if its going to happen, let it happen. I have wigs. I'm ready. I've come to terms with this particular facet of treatment (at least I think I have).
It is fortunate I went out with Kelly last night to a ladies' devotional evening at her church. The theme was The Garden of Your Heart and it focused on how patience is one of the components required when preparing your garden (metaphorically or physically). You can grow vegetables in one season, but it takes many seasons to grow fruit.
Last night was fun. We started by having supper with Marion and Robyn at Boston Pizza. We have determined (at least Kelly and I have) the bruschetta pizza is our new favorite. It was good to catch up with the girls and their news.
After Kelly and I went to the church for the meeting. I enjoyed sharing a table with two of Kelly's sisters and her mother. I had to check to make sure Kelly is eating her vegetables as promised (some people wear pink ribbons, some people eat vegetables), and the easiest way is to quiz her family.
I received another card in yesterday's mail as well. Julie sent a note along with a fridge magnet with a lovely and uplifting verse. I've lost count of how many cards I've received over the past month, but by dining room table is crowded with their cheerful colours and inspiring messages.
My journey for today will be working on patience, and maybe mucking out the home office -- an act of patience in itself.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Winter Again
Nature sometimes plays tricks on the Hero. Raging wind storms can blow his vessel off course, sand storms confuse his mount and snow stalls him in his tracks.
Winter is having one last kick at the can today as we prepare for another 10 to 15 cm of snow (that's four to six inches for my American friends). Nothing is as depressing as snow at the end of March. On a more positive note the temperatures for the rest of the week are trending above freezing, so it won't stick around long.
There were two cards in my mailbox today. One from Julie, my manager, and one from the administrators at work (Beth, Lynda and Deborah). Both made me smile and took my mind off the snow.
I stopped for mail on the way to the grocery store. I'm currently focusing on avoiding germs, and I figured who else will be out grocery shopping in a snowstorm? Grocery stores are among the worst places for germs under normal circumstances -- crowds and shopping cart handles. Today it wasn't too busy, but just to be safe I sanitized my hands when I got to the cash and again when I got home.
Yesterday Kelly brought her parents' dog Otis out to visit. Otis is about the size a cat. Fortunately my dogs like cats. We took Otis and Cole to a nearby ballfield to run off some energy. It was like watching a miniature horse and Percheron race around the field. Cole is obviously bigger and faster, but Otis is pretty agile. He also figured out very quickly he can stop on a dime, while Cole takes a little longer to change direction. They were pretty good together, although Otis didn't want to play with Cole for very long.
Kelly also brought Rob a book called Cancer for Two, the story of one couple's battle with cancer, told from the caregiver's point of view.
After all the fresh air and Wii bowling I napped for a couple of hours, and we ended up staying up until the ungodly hour of midnight...
Winter is having one last kick at the can today as we prepare for another 10 to 15 cm of snow (that's four to six inches for my American friends). Nothing is as depressing as snow at the end of March. On a more positive note the temperatures for the rest of the week are trending above freezing, so it won't stick around long.
There were two cards in my mailbox today. One from Julie, my manager, and one from the administrators at work (Beth, Lynda and Deborah). Both made me smile and took my mind off the snow.
I stopped for mail on the way to the grocery store. I'm currently focusing on avoiding germs, and I figured who else will be out grocery shopping in a snowstorm? Grocery stores are among the worst places for germs under normal circumstances -- crowds and shopping cart handles. Today it wasn't too busy, but just to be safe I sanitized my hands when I got to the cash and again when I got home.
Yesterday Kelly brought her parents' dog Otis out to visit. Otis is about the size a cat. Fortunately my dogs like cats. We took Otis and Cole to a nearby ballfield to run off some energy. It was like watching a miniature horse and Percheron race around the field. Cole is obviously bigger and faster, but Otis is pretty agile. He also figured out very quickly he can stop on a dime, while Cole takes a little longer to change direction. They were pretty good together, although Otis didn't want to play with Cole for very long.
Kelly also brought Rob a book called Cancer for Two, the story of one couple's battle with cancer, told from the caregiver's point of view.
After all the fresh air and Wii bowling I napped for a couple of hours, and we ended up staying up until the ungodly hour of midnight...
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Road Trip
The hero sometimes needs to make a detour or a side trip in order to obtain a secret weapon.
Today I picked up one of my secret weapons -- or rather, three secret weapons.
I visited my cousin Peggy, who happens to a have a cache of synthetic wigs thanks to her mother. Aunt Lori ran a salon which sold wigs, and she had a selection she wore on a regular basis. There were six from which to choose. We quickly determined short, curly hair is not a good look for me. In fact, long curly hair is not a good look for me either.
In the end I opted to borrow one very light blond, one ash blond and one red. Two are about chin length and one is a little longer, sitting about shoulder length. So now I'm officially ready for my hair to start falling out; a process which could begin as early as tomorrow.
Later we met Ian and June at Just Us Coffee in Greenwich, outside of Wolfville. I had a peppermint latte (I'm still off coffee) and Rob drank espresso. June declared the four of us will go to Italy in a year and a bit (the fall of 2010), once I'm all better again. I can't argue with her, it sounds like a doable plan to me.
Yesterday I received an armload of cards. Well, five. I don't think I've every received five cards in the mail in one day, ever -- even at Christmas. Rebecca, Eileen and Darrell, Diane and Richard, Kathy (a colleague from Colorado) and the Atlantic Presbyterian Cursillo all sent get well wishes.
It was a good day. I made it all day with no naps. Hopefully next week I will feel normal and maybe do some spring cleaning. Then it will be time blood work on the 31st and start the cycle again with chemo on April 2nd. At least I'll have great-looking hair. Even if it's not my own.
Today I picked up one of my secret weapons -- or rather, three secret weapons.
I visited my cousin Peggy, who happens to a have a cache of synthetic wigs thanks to her mother. Aunt Lori ran a salon which sold wigs, and she had a selection she wore on a regular basis. There were six from which to choose. We quickly determined short, curly hair is not a good look for me. In fact, long curly hair is not a good look for me either.
In the end I opted to borrow one very light blond, one ash blond and one red. Two are about chin length and one is a little longer, sitting about shoulder length. So now I'm officially ready for my hair to start falling out; a process which could begin as early as tomorrow.
Later we met Ian and June at Just Us Coffee in Greenwich, outside of Wolfville. I had a peppermint latte (I'm still off coffee) and Rob drank espresso. June declared the four of us will go to Italy in a year and a bit (the fall of 2010), once I'm all better again. I can't argue with her, it sounds like a doable plan to me.
Yesterday I received an armload of cards. Well, five. I don't think I've every received five cards in the mail in one day, ever -- even at Christmas. Rebecca, Eileen and Darrell, Diane and Richard, Kathy (a colleague from Colorado) and the Atlantic Presbyterian Cursillo all sent get well wishes.
It was a good day. I made it all day with no naps. Hopefully next week I will feel normal and maybe do some spring cleaning. Then it will be time blood work on the 31st and start the cycle again with chemo on April 2nd. At least I'll have great-looking hair. Even if it's not my own.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Day Eight After Chemo
Heroes move through the countryside experiencing growth and change in subtle ways. They become stronger, fitter, more skilled. Sometimes the Hero experiences physical change -- his hair becomes longer, his face leaner, his body more sculpted.
It's "Day Eight" following chemo. Yesterday was pretty good as far as energy levels go. I vacuumed, ran a load of dishes, cooked lunch and supper and washed the bedding (in addition to playing Wii). I did rest late in the afternoon, but it wasn't a full-fledged nap.
Day Eight marks a new threshold where I begin to look for signs of change. Cells are being killed off by the chemo drugs -- in the case of white blood cells, much faster than they can regenerate. This is good for stopping the cancer cells, but not so good for the rest of me.
As the nurse explained on chemo day, I can expect to lose my hair around Day 10. That's Sunday.
I had hoped to ease into this transition and have my hair cut super-short this week. Unfortunately, my hairstylist is sick with a cold and, in addition to losing my hair, my immune system is also entering a period of compromise...which means I need to avoid exposure to colds and other germs; basically anything which could cause infection. Infection is my worst enemy at this point.
If all goes well, and everyone is healthy, I plan to visit my cousin Peggy on Saturday. She is in possession of a collection of synthetic hair owned by my aunt. She's going to hook me up with something to cover my balding head. On one hand I look at this as an opportunity to try new colors and styles; on the other hand, my hair had finally reached the point where I could pull it back in a clip if I wanted.
The good news is as soon as chemo stops the hair begins to grow back. And who knows if will look the same. Many cancer patients say their hair grew back with a different texture or color. Maybe I'll have curly hair after all this.
It's "Day Eight" following chemo. Yesterday was pretty good as far as energy levels go. I vacuumed, ran a load of dishes, cooked lunch and supper and washed the bedding (in addition to playing Wii). I did rest late in the afternoon, but it wasn't a full-fledged nap.
Day Eight marks a new threshold where I begin to look for signs of change. Cells are being killed off by the chemo drugs -- in the case of white blood cells, much faster than they can regenerate. This is good for stopping the cancer cells, but not so good for the rest of me.
As the nurse explained on chemo day, I can expect to lose my hair around Day 10. That's Sunday.
I had hoped to ease into this transition and have my hair cut super-short this week. Unfortunately, my hairstylist is sick with a cold and, in addition to losing my hair, my immune system is also entering a period of compromise...which means I need to avoid exposure to colds and other germs; basically anything which could cause infection. Infection is my worst enemy at this point.
If all goes well, and everyone is healthy, I plan to visit my cousin Peggy on Saturday. She is in possession of a collection of synthetic hair owned by my aunt. She's going to hook me up with something to cover my balding head. On one hand I look at this as an opportunity to try new colors and styles; on the other hand, my hair had finally reached the point where I could pull it back in a clip if I wanted.
The good news is as soon as chemo stops the hair begins to grow back. And who knows if will look the same. Many cancer patients say their hair grew back with a different texture or color. Maybe I'll have curly hair after all this.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Quiet Time
A lot of the Hero's journey is just wandering around the wilderness. He makes a meal, travels for awhile and thinks about the fact his socks need to be washed. It's boring, mundane. It isn't the stuff of great fiction.
I chatted with Kelly this morning. We sit next to each other when I'm at work and we talk every day. It's weird not sliding my chair back and poking my head around the corner to pester her about something, and vice-versa.
Apparently, according to Kelly, I need to post even if it is only about what I ate for the day. She can't speak for everyone, but she gets a little antsy if I go a day or two without posting. I'm guessing Mom probably feels the same.
I slept until 10 this morning. I know, it sounds decadent. But there is a story here.
About 3 a.m. our phone shrilled beside the bed. Rob was out of bed and half-way down the hallway when I answered it (he forgot we had a phone in the bedroom, apparently). Some guy had been chatting online with someone and decided to call her. He seemed quite surprised when he asked what I was doing and I said "sleeping". It didn't take long to figure out it was a wrong number. It took much longer for Rob to fall back to sleep. The rude awakening triggered a bout of insomnia. He came back to bed around 4:30. Needless to say when the alarm went off the animals and I decided we'd sleep longer.
I received a card from Mark yesterday. Thanks, it made me smile as I'm sure you knew it would.
I've noticed one particular side-effect I'm not enjoying. My sense of smell seems to be enhanced or distorted or something. I can't eat my favorite cereal because it smells off. I love Mueslix, but now all the grains smell like they've soured. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take Cole somewhere and bathe him, and I had to change my bedding this morning (it smelled doggy). When I made oatmeal cookies the other day I thought the oats smelled funny too.
I've even stopped drinking coffee, because I don't like the scent. I love coffee. But if it doesn't smell right, it doesn't taste right. Not drinking coffee may be the most devastating side-effect yet.
I chatted with Kelly this morning. We sit next to each other when I'm at work and we talk every day. It's weird not sliding my chair back and poking my head around the corner to pester her about something, and vice-versa.
Apparently, according to Kelly, I need to post even if it is only about what I ate for the day. She can't speak for everyone, but she gets a little antsy if I go a day or two without posting. I'm guessing Mom probably feels the same.
I slept until 10 this morning. I know, it sounds decadent. But there is a story here.
About 3 a.m. our phone shrilled beside the bed. Rob was out of bed and half-way down the hallway when I answered it (he forgot we had a phone in the bedroom, apparently). Some guy had been chatting online with someone and decided to call her. He seemed quite surprised when he asked what I was doing and I said "sleeping". It didn't take long to figure out it was a wrong number. It took much longer for Rob to fall back to sleep. The rude awakening triggered a bout of insomnia. He came back to bed around 4:30. Needless to say when the alarm went off the animals and I decided we'd sleep longer.
I received a card from Mark yesterday. Thanks, it made me smile as I'm sure you knew it would.
I've noticed one particular side-effect I'm not enjoying. My sense of smell seems to be enhanced or distorted or something. I can't eat my favorite cereal because it smells off. I love Mueslix, but now all the grains smell like they've soured. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take Cole somewhere and bathe him, and I had to change my bedding this morning (it smelled doggy). When I made oatmeal cookies the other day I thought the oats smelled funny too.
I've even stopped drinking coffee, because I don't like the scent. I love coffee. But if it doesn't smell right, it doesn't taste right. Not drinking coffee may be the most devastating side-effect yet.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Strangers
As the hero moves throughout the countryside, sometimes news of his journey precedes him. The minstrels and bards pick up the tale as he moves from town to town or village to village. Suddenly, as he passes into a new territory, people already know who he is and the purpose of his quest.
Last night I received two unexpected phone calls. One was from a minister Rob knew in his youth, the second a cancer survivor from this minister's current congregation. Both had been speaking with members of Rob's family and wanted to reach out and let me know I've been added to prayer lists in their communities and that they were both thinking of me.
As open as I've been about this journey, it surprises me when strangers already know my story.
Today was quiet. I baked cookies, talked with Trudy and in general took it easy. Still getting used to being off work and haven't quite figured out what to do with myself on days without medical appointments.
Last night I received two unexpected phone calls. One was from a minister Rob knew in his youth, the second a cancer survivor from this minister's current congregation. Both had been speaking with members of Rob's family and wanted to reach out and let me know I've been added to prayer lists in their communities and that they were both thinking of me.
As open as I've been about this journey, it surprises me when strangers already know my story.
Today was quiet. I baked cookies, talked with Trudy and in general took it easy. Still getting used to being off work and haven't quite figured out what to do with myself on days without medical appointments.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Blackouts, Cards and Gifts
A Hero never knows what lurks around the next corner. It could be a monster he needs to defeat or a kind stranger offering refreshment. It could be a bend in the road which leads to a dark cave through which he must pass.
I faced a dark cave today and a stranger offering refreshment.
This morning was my appointment with my radiologist. Radiology is months away, but the Cancer Center is making sure I understand each step of the journey.
The Cancer Center, while not the place I want to be, really tries to put a positive spin on everything. I got there this morning and there were volunteer women serving tea and coffee as well as an array of snacks. I opted for the cheese and crackers; I was feeling peckish already even though I did eat breakfast. Today there was no nausea (yeah!).
While I was waiting for my appointment the hospital was suddenly plunged into darkness. Not even the emergency lighting came on. The Cancer Center is in the middle of the building. There are no windows. We were all in complete darkness.
Fortunately I had my trusty ForeignExchange trade show giveaway penlight, which happens to be a permanent fixture on my keychain. I dug it out of my pocket in no time and continued to flip through my magazine while the woman next to me was vowing she was going to pick up a light of her own. Meanwhile the staff looked for flashlights with working batteries. It stayed dark for a good 10 minutes before power was restored. The Radiology nurse I met with later told me she's been working at the hospital for over 20 years and has never seen anything like that happen.
As with the other appointments I met first with the nurse, than a resident and then the doctor himself. Dr. Rutledge confirmed I will be having five weeks of radiation, five days a week, when the time comes. My next appointment will be about 40 minutes and will include a CAT scan to determine the best approach. I'll be permanently tattooed (I always wanted one!) so the radiology technician will know exactly where to aim.
Dr. Rutledge says stretching the treatment over five weeks and using a less intense setting each time will make it easier when it is time for reconstructive surgery.
He was very interested in how I was coping with everything from a mental point of view. I told him I was staying positive, looking forward to spring, and blogging. I also let him know I'm in it for the long haul, that longevity runs in my family and that I plan to be around for the next 60 or 70 years. He said that was good to know -- he had only planned on going with the 50-year plan.
I had lunch with Paul. A thoroughly enjoyable hour. Thanks again Paul, next time it's my treat.
I'm making more of an effort to set specific times to do things with people instead of saying "hey let's get together for coffee" and never getting around to it.
I stopped for mail on my way home. Glenda sent a lovely card, letting me know she is thinking of me. There was also a card for a package. I couldn't imagine what it could be; the book Rob ordered already arrived. I drove up to the postal outlet where they handed over a large rectangular box. I could hardly wait to get home.
Kelly and Marion ordered a wellness basket for me. It's full of goodies including: tea, a sleeping cap, motivational words, nausea drops, lip balm and fuzzy socks. It is all packaged up in a sturdy, pink cloth-covered basket. You two are far too generous and kind. I so appreciate everything you've done for me during this journey.
I curled up and watched a little TV, napped a little and then made homemade macaroni and cheese for supper. Very rich and garlicky (Kelly, it had peas in it, but I think you would have liked it). Rob and I walked the dogs to the end of the street and back; the wind is very cold tonight.
He also beat me at Wii bowling. I guess I'll have to practice during the day the while he's at work.
Nothing on tap for tomorrow. Should be a quiet day. I guess its time to start developing a routine.
I faced a dark cave today and a stranger offering refreshment.
This morning was my appointment with my radiologist. Radiology is months away, but the Cancer Center is making sure I understand each step of the journey.
The Cancer Center, while not the place I want to be, really tries to put a positive spin on everything. I got there this morning and there were volunteer women serving tea and coffee as well as an array of snacks. I opted for the cheese and crackers; I was feeling peckish already even though I did eat breakfast. Today there was no nausea (yeah!).
While I was waiting for my appointment the hospital was suddenly plunged into darkness. Not even the emergency lighting came on. The Cancer Center is in the middle of the building. There are no windows. We were all in complete darkness.
Fortunately I had my trusty ForeignExchange trade show giveaway penlight, which happens to be a permanent fixture on my keychain. I dug it out of my pocket in no time and continued to flip through my magazine while the woman next to me was vowing she was going to pick up a light of her own. Meanwhile the staff looked for flashlights with working batteries. It stayed dark for a good 10 minutes before power was restored. The Radiology nurse I met with later told me she's been working at the hospital for over 20 years and has never seen anything like that happen.
As with the other appointments I met first with the nurse, than a resident and then the doctor himself. Dr. Rutledge confirmed I will be having five weeks of radiation, five days a week, when the time comes. My next appointment will be about 40 minutes and will include a CAT scan to determine the best approach. I'll be permanently tattooed (I always wanted one!) so the radiology technician will know exactly where to aim.
Dr. Rutledge says stretching the treatment over five weeks and using a less intense setting each time will make it easier when it is time for reconstructive surgery.
He was very interested in how I was coping with everything from a mental point of view. I told him I was staying positive, looking forward to spring, and blogging. I also let him know I'm in it for the long haul, that longevity runs in my family and that I plan to be around for the next 60 or 70 years. He said that was good to know -- he had only planned on going with the 50-year plan.
I had lunch with Paul. A thoroughly enjoyable hour. Thanks again Paul, next time it's my treat.
I'm making more of an effort to set specific times to do things with people instead of saying "hey let's get together for coffee" and never getting around to it.
I stopped for mail on my way home. Glenda sent a lovely card, letting me know she is thinking of me. There was also a card for a package. I couldn't imagine what it could be; the book Rob ordered already arrived. I drove up to the postal outlet where they handed over a large rectangular box. I could hardly wait to get home.
Kelly and Marion ordered a wellness basket for me. It's full of goodies including: tea, a sleeping cap, motivational words, nausea drops, lip balm and fuzzy socks. It is all packaged up in a sturdy, pink cloth-covered basket. You two are far too generous and kind. I so appreciate everything you've done for me during this journey.
I curled up and watched a little TV, napped a little and then made homemade macaroni and cheese for supper. Very rich and garlicky (Kelly, it had peas in it, but I think you would have liked it). Rob and I walked the dogs to the end of the street and back; the wind is very cold tonight.
He also beat me at Wii bowling. I guess I'll have to practice during the day the while he's at work.
Nothing on tap for tomorrow. Should be a quiet day. I guess its time to start developing a routine.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Finding Balance
The Hero sometimes just needs to find the right pace. That's what I've been trying to discover this weekend.
So far I've learned it's best to keep the gas tank topped up. If I let myself feel hungry, I quickly move from hunger to nausea. I've also learned that mornings are the roughest. If I take an hour or two to get moving, it works out well.
Second, rest. Kelly came out yesterday. We spent the afternoon vegging and watching movies on TV. Thanks Kelly, you're the best.
Today we went to the Outdoor Show. Actually, Rob went to the show, I sat in the truck and read. We decided it is probably best to avoid large crowds while I'm on chemo and my immune system is compromised. The fresh air and sunlight (I kept protected because I'm told I could be sensitive to the sun) felt good. We grabbed a quick bite at Wendy's (using the drive-through); I stuck with their chicken wrap.
Rob stopped at Wal-Mart and bought me a Wii. I think he hopes it will help me focus outwardly, instead of inwardly. We played for a while this afternoon...now I'm ready to rest.
Cole and I walked up to the end the street. Both of us probably benefited. I know it perked me up to notice my crocus flowers blooming along the driveway.
Foodwise, I'm eating all the time, which I guess is okay. I feel like a rabbit, grazing all day. It'll soon be supper time and I'll be eating again.
Rob's Dad went home today and is doing well. Hopefully nothing but positive updates on that front! Jeff also had a good day. After two weeks he's breathing without help from machines and is close to finally getting out of ICU. Good day all around.
So far I've learned it's best to keep the gas tank topped up. If I let myself feel hungry, I quickly move from hunger to nausea. I've also learned that mornings are the roughest. If I take an hour or two to get moving, it works out well.
Second, rest. Kelly came out yesterday. We spent the afternoon vegging and watching movies on TV. Thanks Kelly, you're the best.
Today we went to the Outdoor Show. Actually, Rob went to the show, I sat in the truck and read. We decided it is probably best to avoid large crowds while I'm on chemo and my immune system is compromised. The fresh air and sunlight (I kept protected because I'm told I could be sensitive to the sun) felt good. We grabbed a quick bite at Wendy's (using the drive-through); I stuck with their chicken wrap.
Rob stopped at Wal-Mart and bought me a Wii. I think he hopes it will help me focus outwardly, instead of inwardly. We played for a while this afternoon...now I'm ready to rest.
Cole and I walked up to the end the street. Both of us probably benefited. I know it perked me up to notice my crocus flowers blooming along the driveway.
Foodwise, I'm eating all the time, which I guess is okay. I feel like a rabbit, grazing all day. It'll soon be supper time and I'll be eating again.
Rob's Dad went home today and is doing well. Hopefully nothing but positive updates on that front! Jeff also had a good day. After two weeks he's breathing without help from machines and is close to finally getting out of ICU. Good day all around.
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Over-confident Hero
Sometimes the hero overestimates his skills or strength and ends up in a situation which isn't really going his way because he's too cocky. His enemies might attack and he realizes he needs more preparedness or a better strategy before he faces his foe again. It's fair to say this was my experience yesterday.
I came home from chemo feeling fine, but famished. I ended up spending most of my evening curled up on the couch fighting nausea, in spite of the pills, and finally had a heart-to-heart with the toilet.
I don't know if it was the chemo itself, or eating too much supper, or if it was the wicked headache I developed early in the evening. Possibly it was a combination of all three, plus the tension from earlier in the day. The long and the short of it was a long night of fitful sleep for both of us.
Add to all this an early appointment at the hospital for my MUGA (heart wall) test, and I spent the early part of the afternoon napping. I am feeling much better now, although a little dopey.
Poor Tess seems under the weather too. Rob had to clean up after her at 3 a.m. and again when we got back from the hospital today. A rarity for her, and exceptionally bad timing.
Rob is tired as well. Fortunately it is Friday and we don't have any more appointments until Monday.
I came home from chemo feeling fine, but famished. I ended up spending most of my evening curled up on the couch fighting nausea, in spite of the pills, and finally had a heart-to-heart with the toilet.
I don't know if it was the chemo itself, or eating too much supper, or if it was the wicked headache I developed early in the evening. Possibly it was a combination of all three, plus the tension from earlier in the day. The long and the short of it was a long night of fitful sleep for both of us.
Add to all this an early appointment at the hospital for my MUGA (heart wall) test, and I spent the early part of the afternoon napping. I am feeling much better now, although a little dopey.
Poor Tess seems under the weather too. Rob had to clean up after her at 3 a.m. and again when we got back from the hospital today. A rarity for her, and exceptionally bad timing.
Rob is tired as well. Fortunately it is Friday and we don't have any more appointments until Monday.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
One Down, Five to Go
The first round of chemo is done. So far, so good.
My hand is a little sore where the IV went in, but otherwise I feel fine. No nausea, knock on wood. I did have one reaction...my nose started tickling and running. Apparently that happens to the odd person, and I have been called odd a time or two.
The staff was amazing. At one point I started scratching my arm and the nurse went and got a warm blanket. She says it often happens and if the area is warm then the veins expand. She said I'll want to repeat it tonight too.
I have medication to take for the next couple of days as the medicines work their way through my system.
Tomorrow, the MUGA test.
My hand is a little sore where the IV went in, but otherwise I feel fine. No nausea, knock on wood. I did have one reaction...my nose started tickling and running. Apparently that happens to the odd person, and I have been called odd a time or two.
The staff was amazing. At one point I started scratching my arm and the nurse went and got a warm blanket. She says it often happens and if the area is warm then the veins expand. She said I'll want to repeat it tonight too.
I have medication to take for the next couple of days as the medicines work their way through my system.
Tomorrow, the MUGA test.
Approaching the Inmost Cave
Stage Seven of a Hero's journey is the Approach to the Inmost Cave. This is the point where the hero has passed the border between the Real World and the Special World and is now seeking its heart.
It isn't yet the mid-point of the journey; the hero will continue to meet guardians and face tests. Here in the Approach to the Inmost Cave he will encounter both wonder and terror. He will make preparations for the central ordeal of the adventure. Vogler compares it to mountaineers who have raised themselves to a base camp and are about to make the final assault on the highest peak.
Chemo starts today.
I am anxious for chemo; it symbolizes the beginning of a physical challenge to the monster. At the same time I fear it because I don't know what toll it will extract. My best hope is fatigue, my worst fear is spending too much time kneeling over the toilet bowl. Today will tell the tale; at least for the first three sessions. The final three will be a different drug, with new side effects.
I received two cards yesterday. One from Ryan and Denise, and Rita also sent me well wishes.
Actually, Rita threatened to make me eat a jar of pickles if I don't get better. Rita and I shared supper on one of my trips to Boston. Anyone who knows me well knows I don't like pickles. I ordered a burger...a tricky move most times because some creative chef once dictated that pickles should be the side dressing of choice for burgers. After I gave my order to the waiter and explained the necessity of keeping pickles far, far away from my food, Rita started laughing. "Oh, here it comes," I thought. But it turns out Rita shares my distaste for all things pickled. She custom-made the card with a jar of pickles on the front.
I spent yesterday with my cousin, distracting both of us from our individual tests. Putting together a goodie bag for her was part of my Me Day.
I also dropped off welcome packages to Ronald McDonald House. Our team at the office had saved bottle money and decided to use part of these funds to give back to the community. We all know how difficult it can be when a loved one is hospitalized, a feeling which is amplified when home is outside of the city. The bags went over really well and I expect we'll probably do it again in the future.
Sometimes its better to look outward, instead of within.
It isn't yet the mid-point of the journey; the hero will continue to meet guardians and face tests. Here in the Approach to the Inmost Cave he will encounter both wonder and terror. He will make preparations for the central ordeal of the adventure. Vogler compares it to mountaineers who have raised themselves to a base camp and are about to make the final assault on the highest peak.
Chemo starts today.
I am anxious for chemo; it symbolizes the beginning of a physical challenge to the monster. At the same time I fear it because I don't know what toll it will extract. My best hope is fatigue, my worst fear is spending too much time kneeling over the toilet bowl. Today will tell the tale; at least for the first three sessions. The final three will be a different drug, with new side effects.
I received two cards yesterday. One from Ryan and Denise, and Rita also sent me well wishes.
Actually, Rita threatened to make me eat a jar of pickles if I don't get better. Rita and I shared supper on one of my trips to Boston. Anyone who knows me well knows I don't like pickles. I ordered a burger...a tricky move most times because some creative chef once dictated that pickles should be the side dressing of choice for burgers. After I gave my order to the waiter and explained the necessity of keeping pickles far, far away from my food, Rita started laughing. "Oh, here it comes," I thought. But it turns out Rita shares my distaste for all things pickled. She custom-made the card with a jar of pickles on the front.
I spent yesterday with my cousin, distracting both of us from our individual tests. Putting together a goodie bag for her was part of my Me Day.
I also dropped off welcome packages to Ronald McDonald House. Our team at the office had saved bottle money and decided to use part of these funds to give back to the community. We all know how difficult it can be when a loved one is hospitalized, a feeling which is amplified when home is outside of the city. The bags went over really well and I expect we'll probably do it again in the future.
Sometimes its better to look outward, instead of within.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Group-oriented Heroes
There are many varieties of Hero -- willing and unwilling heroes, anti-heroes, loner heroes and group-oriented heroes. Prior to this journey, had I classified myself, I would have slipped my name under the heading of loner hero.
As the days pass, I realize I am much more of a group-oriented hero than I ever imagined.
Group-oriented heroes are part of a society at the beginning of the story, and their journey takes them to an unknown land far from home. When we first meet them, they are part of a tribe, village, town or family. Their story is one of separation from the group. Their adventure takes them away from the group and the final act is their emergence from the wilderness and reintegration with the group.
Yesterday was my separation from my "family". It was my final day at the office and a painful severing from the group.
I decided at the outset of my illness that I was not willing to divide my energies between work and getting well. It's weird, you know those tests where you fill out one page ticking off the boxes about how you see yourself and you flip it over and tick off the boxes about how others see you? I always have problems with that exercise. I know how I hope others see me, but I was never really sure. Until yesterday.
I am part of a big, loud, noisy, loving family. From our matriarch down I've had nothing but support, kind words and love.
I walked into the office and all the people on my team were wearing pink ribbons over their hearts. Lunch was a potluck to wish me well. In addition they had created a basket of goodies especially designed to help me during this transition and to meet the various needs I'll have along my journey -- creams, sleep spay, uplifting shower gel, warm and fuzzy socks, a movie pass, a Pretty Woman DVD, green tea, worry beads (made by my dear friend Robyn) and a bag of healing crystals were among the treasures.
At the managers' meeting later in the day Debby presented me with a beautiful Willow Tree sculpture titled, appropriately enough, "Heart and Soul". Looking around the circle there were definitely tears in the eyes of some. It truly moves me to see these physical demonstrations of the impact I've had on this group.
The rest of the afternoon was filled with colleagues dropping by my cubicle, emails and a few phone calls. Walking out the doors of the center for the last time in what could be a long time may have been the hardest step on this journey yet. I know I'll be back but the intervening months stretch before me, not behind.
Good news arrived yesterday from a Mentor. The morning began with a CAT scan at 8:15 and by 11 my oncologist called to tell me both the CAT scan and the bone scan from last week were clear. This is very good news and means the cancer has not spread to any other location in my body.
I ended the day visiting my cousin, who is on a journey of her own. Her husband had a quintuple bypass on Tuesday and is in one of the hospitals in the city. He has had many challenges of his own, including allergic reactions and long surgeries. She has barely left the building for days. I stopped by last night and kept her company for a few hours and I'll go over this afternoon as well.
Rob's dad is doing much better. He walked to the bathroom yesterday, did a little physio and ate a Big Mac. Having Eileen near and the constant prayer from family and friends seems to be helping. I'm confident in another six weeks he'll be laying the groundwork for this year's garden. I'm guessing the tomato plants will be started in the greenhouse as soon as he gets home.
Thank you everyone, for everything. If our strength is measured by those who support us, then I could easily hold up the spheres of the heavens in the manner of Atlas.
As the days pass, I realize I am much more of a group-oriented hero than I ever imagined.
Group-oriented heroes are part of a society at the beginning of the story, and their journey takes them to an unknown land far from home. When we first meet them, they are part of a tribe, village, town or family. Their story is one of separation from the group. Their adventure takes them away from the group and the final act is their emergence from the wilderness and reintegration with the group.
Yesterday was my separation from my "family". It was my final day at the office and a painful severing from the group.
I decided at the outset of my illness that I was not willing to divide my energies between work and getting well. It's weird, you know those tests where you fill out one page ticking off the boxes about how you see yourself and you flip it over and tick off the boxes about how others see you? I always have problems with that exercise. I know how I hope others see me, but I was never really sure. Until yesterday.
I am part of a big, loud, noisy, loving family. From our matriarch down I've had nothing but support, kind words and love.
I walked into the office and all the people on my team were wearing pink ribbons over their hearts. Lunch was a potluck to wish me well. In addition they had created a basket of goodies especially designed to help me during this transition and to meet the various needs I'll have along my journey -- creams, sleep spay, uplifting shower gel, warm and fuzzy socks, a movie pass, a Pretty Woman DVD, green tea, worry beads (made by my dear friend Robyn) and a bag of healing crystals were among the treasures.
At the managers' meeting later in the day Debby presented me with a beautiful Willow Tree sculpture titled, appropriately enough, "Heart and Soul". Looking around the circle there were definitely tears in the eyes of some. It truly moves me to see these physical demonstrations of the impact I've had on this group.
The rest of the afternoon was filled with colleagues dropping by my cubicle, emails and a few phone calls. Walking out the doors of the center for the last time in what could be a long time may have been the hardest step on this journey yet. I know I'll be back but the intervening months stretch before me, not behind.
Good news arrived yesterday from a Mentor. The morning began with a CAT scan at 8:15 and by 11 my oncologist called to tell me both the CAT scan and the bone scan from last week were clear. This is very good news and means the cancer has not spread to any other location in my body.
I ended the day visiting my cousin, who is on a journey of her own. Her husband had a quintuple bypass on Tuesday and is in one of the hospitals in the city. He has had many challenges of his own, including allergic reactions and long surgeries. She has barely left the building for days. I stopped by last night and kept her company for a few hours and I'll go over this afternoon as well.
Rob's dad is doing much better. He walked to the bathroom yesterday, did a little physio and ate a Big Mac. Having Eileen near and the constant prayer from family and friends seems to be helping. I'm confident in another six weeks he'll be laying the groundwork for this year's garden. I'm guessing the tomato plants will be started in the greenhouse as soon as he gets home.
Thank you everyone, for everything. If our strength is measured by those who support us, then I could easily hold up the spheres of the heavens in the manner of Atlas.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Road Maps
Road maps are vital on any journey. It's hard to know the best route to drive whether you're crossing a new city or taking a cross-country trek if you don't have good direction and a clear destination. My particular journey would be impossible without good signage, clear directions and helpful people along the way.
The staff at the Cancer Center is amazing. They have re-booked, rescheduled, provided directions and in general taken phenomenal care of me over the past few weeks. All before we even get into the nitty gritty of treatment.
My MUGA (aka muggle) test is rescheduled for Friday. Martha from the test booking centre called to let me know it was set. I'll still have my CAT scan tomorrow. I asked if this would delay the beginning of chemo (I was afraid it would be changed too), but after checking with the oncologist she assures me it won't. Not that I'm looking forward to starting chemo, but I am anxious to begin treatment and feel like I'm actively fighting this thing.
Tonight I have to take Gastrografin before bed, and first thing in the morning. I have to be at Cobequid for the scan by 8:15. I guess it's going to be an early day for me. I'm not exactly sure how long the test will take, but the literature says it could be five to 30 minutes, depending on the type of scan.
Another road map of a different type arrived today -- the book Rob ordered last week: Balance, Nature's Way to Heal Your Body. I'm looking forward to reading it and will probably take it with me tomorrow as I'm sure I'll be waiting at some point.
Family is another type of road map, helping to keep you on the right path. Wally, Jen, Jessica and Ryan came up yesterday. They brought Pictou County pizza sauce and we made pizza for supper, talked about their upcoming trip and played a game Ryan was making up on the fly using "racing markers". I'm not sure I ever caught on to the rules; I seemed to lose more than I won.
I can't believe tomorrow is my last day at the office for what will undoubtedly be months. Walking out tomorrow will feel a little odd; but I need to focus my energies elsewhere right now and don't want to be distracted by commitments at the office.
The support from my colleagues and management continues to overwhelm and surprise me, with best wishes and prayers offered on many different fronts. Thank you all.
The staff at the Cancer Center is amazing. They have re-booked, rescheduled, provided directions and in general taken phenomenal care of me over the past few weeks. All before we even get into the nitty gritty of treatment.
My MUGA (aka muggle) test is rescheduled for Friday. Martha from the test booking centre called to let me know it was set. I'll still have my CAT scan tomorrow. I asked if this would delay the beginning of chemo (I was afraid it would be changed too), but after checking with the oncologist she assures me it won't. Not that I'm looking forward to starting chemo, but I am anxious to begin treatment and feel like I'm actively fighting this thing.
Tonight I have to take Gastrografin before bed, and first thing in the morning. I have to be at Cobequid for the scan by 8:15. I guess it's going to be an early day for me. I'm not exactly sure how long the test will take, but the literature says it could be five to 30 minutes, depending on the type of scan.
Another road map of a different type arrived today -- the book Rob ordered last week: Balance, Nature's Way to Heal Your Body. I'm looking forward to reading it and will probably take it with me tomorrow as I'm sure I'll be waiting at some point.
Family is another type of road map, helping to keep you on the right path. Wally, Jen, Jessica and Ryan came up yesterday. They brought Pictou County pizza sauce and we made pizza for supper, talked about their upcoming trip and played a game Ryan was making up on the fly using "racing markers". I'm not sure I ever caught on to the rules; I seemed to lose more than I won.
I can't believe tomorrow is my last day at the office for what will undoubtedly be months. Walking out tomorrow will feel a little odd; but I need to focus my energies elsewhere right now and don't want to be distracted by commitments at the office.
The support from my colleagues and management continues to overwhelm and surprise me, with best wishes and prayers offered on many different fronts. Thank you all.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Mentors
I neglected to mention an event from Thursday. It took place after I blogged that day.
I spoke with Aunt Sheren, a strong vibrant woman who is herself a breast cancer survivor. This conversation is buoying my spirits. Sheren, without doubt, falls into the Mentor category in this journey.
The function of the Mentor is to prepare the hero to face the unknown. This could be in the form of advice, guidance or magical equipment (someone hand me a light sabre, or at least a pair of ruby slippers). The Mentor can only walk so far with the hero, because the hero must face the unknown alone.
And while my team of health professionals fall into this category as well, Sheren puts everything into perspective, mainly because she's already taken this journey. Her advice is to focus on me, take each day as it comes and don't over-exert myself. She expects I will paint up a storm during the coming months. She could be right.
I spoke with Aunt Sheren, a strong vibrant woman who is herself a breast cancer survivor. This conversation is buoying my spirits. Sheren, without doubt, falls into the Mentor category in this journey.
The function of the Mentor is to prepare the hero to face the unknown. This could be in the form of advice, guidance or magical equipment (someone hand me a light sabre, or at least a pair of ruby slippers). The Mentor can only walk so far with the hero, because the hero must face the unknown alone.
And while my team of health professionals fall into this category as well, Sheren puts everything into perspective, mainly because she's already taken this journey. Her advice is to focus on me, take each day as it comes and don't over-exert myself. She expects I will paint up a storm during the coming months. She could be right.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Tests, Allies and Enemies
Christopher Vogler's structure for the hero says after he crosses the First Threshold, the hero naturally encounters new challenges and Tests, in addition to making Allies and Enemies. He also begins to learn the rules of the "Special World".
(Vogler is the author of The Writer's Journey, and it is his mythical structure I'm so freely using for my own journey.)
Next week I will have more tests to ensure the cancer is localized and has not spread its grasping fingers elsewhere in my body. The CAT scan is scheduled for Tuesday morning, but may change. I also will have an MGA (multiple gate access or heart scan). They pronounce it MUGA; I've been telling people I'm going to have muggle test to see if I'm a non-magical creature.
As of late yesterday both were scheduled for Tuesday, but within a half-hour of each other and in different parts of the city. Given that my super powers apparently don't include flying, running super fast or popping from place to place, I expect my test schedule to change. The woman booking everything says it all has to be done before the chemo can start, so I hope Thursday's event doesn't get bumped because of the test schedule.
While I can't attest to the Enemies part at this point, the Allies are lining up behind me.
Rob's family is jumping on my blog and sending prayers via email. We didn't want to tell his parents before his Dad's surgery for fear of distracting him from his own issues. Darrell still doesn't know, unless Eileen told him today, but everyone else should pretty much be in the loop or will be by the end of the weekend.
Darrell's surgery has been a welcome distraction from my own issues. He had a bit of a setback yesterday and received some blood. He's frustrated and depressed and only wants to go home, but is instead confined to the ICU with three other patients. He did shave today and you could tell that made him feel somewhat better. He was waiting for a heart specialist to talk to him as there is fear he had a heart attack yesterday. Eileen decided to travel back to Kentville to be near him (after 60 years I expect neither of them like the separation), so we drove back to the city early.
There was package in the mail today from my dear friend Lisa. She seems to have a sixth sense about things and has a habit of randomly mailing me unexpected gifts. Today's bounty includes a hardbound journal, a faith token for my pocket, a book to make me smile and rich dark chocolate. How well my friend knows me.
Kim in Quebec also called to add her voice to the choir of supporters. It was really good to talk with her and we chatted until her daughter decided picking up the dachshund by the head was a good thing. I let Kim go, so she could convince her otherwise.
The weather, just for the record, is crap. Cold and snow. I'm looking forward to spring.
(Vogler is the author of The Writer's Journey, and it is his mythical structure I'm so freely using for my own journey.)
Next week I will have more tests to ensure the cancer is localized and has not spread its grasping fingers elsewhere in my body. The CAT scan is scheduled for Tuesday morning, but may change. I also will have an MGA (multiple gate access or heart scan). They pronounce it MUGA; I've been telling people I'm going to have muggle test to see if I'm a non-magical creature.
As of late yesterday both were scheduled for Tuesday, but within a half-hour of each other and in different parts of the city. Given that my super powers apparently don't include flying, running super fast or popping from place to place, I expect my test schedule to change. The woman booking everything says it all has to be done before the chemo can start, so I hope Thursday's event doesn't get bumped because of the test schedule.
While I can't attest to the Enemies part at this point, the Allies are lining up behind me.
Rob's family is jumping on my blog and sending prayers via email. We didn't want to tell his parents before his Dad's surgery for fear of distracting him from his own issues. Darrell still doesn't know, unless Eileen told him today, but everyone else should pretty much be in the loop or will be by the end of the weekend.
Darrell's surgery has been a welcome distraction from my own issues. He had a bit of a setback yesterday and received some blood. He's frustrated and depressed and only wants to go home, but is instead confined to the ICU with three other patients. He did shave today and you could tell that made him feel somewhat better. He was waiting for a heart specialist to talk to him as there is fear he had a heart attack yesterday. Eileen decided to travel back to Kentville to be near him (after 60 years I expect neither of them like the separation), so we drove back to the city early.
There was package in the mail today from my dear friend Lisa. She seems to have a sixth sense about things and has a habit of randomly mailing me unexpected gifts. Today's bounty includes a hardbound journal, a faith token for my pocket, a book to make me smile and rich dark chocolate. How well my friend knows me.
Kim in Quebec also called to add her voice to the choir of supporters. It was really good to talk with her and we chatted until her daughter decided picking up the dachshund by the head was a good thing. I let Kim go, so she could convince her otherwise.
The weather, just for the record, is crap. Cold and snow. I'm looking forward to spring.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Radioactive, but no Super Powers
Just back from having a bone scan. The prep time far exceeds the actual length of the process.
The process started with me arriving four hours before the scan so I could be injected with radioactive isotopes. Now I understand why the Chalk River reactor is so important. The isotopes have phosphorus tags which attracts them to bone. The scan picks up these signatures.
Unfortunately I have no super powers following this treatment.
Four hours later I had a head-to-toe scan which took all of 20 minutes.
The good news was Peg and Sam were at another nearby hospital and I was able to meet and have coffee with them. While we were there Rob ran into a friend of his. He was there because his wife just gave birth.
Headed to Rob's parents for the weekend; have to check to see how his dad is making out.
Unfortunately, no Internet access so this will be the only blog for a few days.
The process started with me arriving four hours before the scan so I could be injected with radioactive isotopes. Now I understand why the Chalk River reactor is so important. The isotopes have phosphorus tags which attracts them to bone. The scan picks up these signatures.
Unfortunately I have no super powers following this treatment.
Four hours later I had a head-to-toe scan which took all of 20 minutes.
The good news was Peg and Sam were at another nearby hospital and I was able to meet and have coffee with them. While we were there Rob ran into a friend of his. He was there because his wife just gave birth.
Headed to Rob's parents for the weekend; have to check to see how his dad is making out.
Unfortunately, no Internet access so this will be the only blog for a few days.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Gift-Giving
There are many dramatic functions to observe when writing, one of which is gift-giving. Think in terms of a gift which temporarily aids the hero, such as a magical weapon, an important key or clue, magical medicine or food, or a life-saving piece of advice.
Today seems to be about gift-giving.
I arrived at work to see my cubicle walls lined with decorated hearts. Each one had been carefully torn and then Band-Aided together. The kids in the youth group where I have been a leader all winter were busy last night. Each heart bears a similar message - Get Well Soon. The collection brought a smile to my face.
Rob ordered "Balance: Nature's Way to Heal Your Body" by Susan MacDonald. His sister Debbie recommended it as a good book to read.
Kelly and I had lunch at the Church Cafe...the homemade bread there is just about spiritually uplifting.
Speaking about magic medicine, I filled the first of what I'm sure will be many prescriptions today -- anti-nausea medicine with warnings so dire I wonder if it wouldn't be safer and easier just to be sick.
I also visited HR again, declaring Tuesday my last day to work. I'll call Wednesday my day. I don't yet know what I'll do but it will be the last day for many months where what I do and what I feel won't be dictated by my illness.
I received one more appointment today; I'll meet my radiologist on March 16. It seems odd to be talking about radiology so soon, especially when I know it is months away.
I was tired today. I think yesterday was more stressful than I realized and I capped the day off with a bout of insomnia at 3 a.m.
Today seems to be about gift-giving.
I arrived at work to see my cubicle walls lined with decorated hearts. Each one had been carefully torn and then Band-Aided together. The kids in the youth group where I have been a leader all winter were busy last night. Each heart bears a similar message - Get Well Soon. The collection brought a smile to my face.
Rob ordered "Balance: Nature's Way to Heal Your Body" by Susan MacDonald. His sister Debbie recommended it as a good book to read.
Kelly and I had lunch at the Church Cafe...the homemade bread there is just about spiritually uplifting.
Speaking about magic medicine, I filled the first of what I'm sure will be many prescriptions today -- anti-nausea medicine with warnings so dire I wonder if it wouldn't be safer and easier just to be sick.
I also visited HR again, declaring Tuesday my last day to work. I'll call Wednesday my day. I don't yet know what I'll do but it will be the last day for many months where what I do and what I feel won't be dictated by my illness.
I received one more appointment today; I'll meet my radiologist on March 16. It seems odd to be talking about radiology so soon, especially when I know it is months away.
I was tired today. I think yesterday was more stressful than I realized and I capped the day off with a bout of insomnia at 3 a.m.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Crossing the First Threshold
In the Hero's Journey the hero is required to commit to the adventure and cross the first threshold, entering the Special World of the story for the first time. He agrees to face the consequences of dealing with the problem or challenge posed when he was first called to the adventure.
In a book or a movie, this is the point where the story begins to build.
Today I crossed the threshold. I had my initial meeting at the Cancer Center where I met the team which will accompany me on this journey.
It started with a long session of getting history, learning about my lifestyle and so on. After this I met my primary oncology doctor who is doing a Fellowship at the hospital. She explained the treatment plan and did a physical. This was followed by a meeting with her supervisor, another oncology doctor who is on staff at the hospital. He too examined me and reiterated what would happen.
The consequences I agree to face include: nausea, hair loss and fatigue. I also have to guard against infection and take extra care when interacting with people once the chemo starts. The drugs, unfortunately, don't discriminate between the bad and good cells in my body.
The nurse returned and began the process of providing me with papers to read, prescriptions to fill and answering any additional questions I had.
I then went to the lab to have blood drawn and ended the day with a tour of chemo wing and Sunshine Room.
In all I spent about four hours at the hospital and was physically and emotionally drained by the time we arrived home.
One bit of good news...Rob's dad had hip surgery and came out fine.
The course has been charted:
A bone scan takes place Thursday, March 5
A CAT scan takes place Tuesday, March 10
Chemo starts Thursday, March 12
My next appointment for blood work will be March 31, followed by round two of chemo on April 2. This will begin a three-week cycle which will continue for six rounds. Once the chemo is complete and my white blood cells are regenerated I'll have surgery. But that will be part two of the journey and yet another entry.
In a book or a movie, this is the point where the story begins to build.
Today I crossed the threshold. I had my initial meeting at the Cancer Center where I met the team which will accompany me on this journey.
It started with a long session of getting history, learning about my lifestyle and so on. After this I met my primary oncology doctor who is doing a Fellowship at the hospital. She explained the treatment plan and did a physical. This was followed by a meeting with her supervisor, another oncology doctor who is on staff at the hospital. He too examined me and reiterated what would happen.
The consequences I agree to face include: nausea, hair loss and fatigue. I also have to guard against infection and take extra care when interacting with people once the chemo starts. The drugs, unfortunately, don't discriminate between the bad and good cells in my body.
The nurse returned and began the process of providing me with papers to read, prescriptions to fill and answering any additional questions I had.
I then went to the lab to have blood drawn and ended the day with a tour of chemo wing and Sunshine Room.
In all I spent about four hours at the hospital and was physically and emotionally drained by the time we arrived home.
One bit of good news...Rob's dad had hip surgery and came out fine.
The course has been charted:
A bone scan takes place Thursday, March 5
A CAT scan takes place Tuesday, March 10
Chemo starts Thursday, March 12
My next appointment for blood work will be March 31, followed by round two of chemo on April 2. This will begin a three-week cycle which will continue for six rounds. Once the chemo is complete and my white blood cells are regenerated I'll have surgery. But that will be part two of the journey and yet another entry.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Overwelmed by Support
When a hero begins a journey, a support party often accompanies him in the form of comrades or retainers. As I begin my journey I am truly overwhelmed by the good wishes, blessings and prayers from family, friends, co-workers and acquaintances.
Today I was particularly touched when a member of the senior management team called to add his voice to the well wishers. This reiterates, once more, the soul which exists in this company. Although we have thousands of employees, today it was important for him to call me and reinforce the message people are praying for my health, people believe my positive attitude will carry me, and people will stand behind me to push me forward should I falter or lose momentum.
Even before I learned the diagnosis, my manager was supportive as I booked time for appointments, insisting last week we look at how we could clear my calendar the day I met with the surgeon. It has meant shuffling assignments, asking co-workers to help carry my load. Julie has only had me on her team since the beginning of the month, I can't begin to image how this has impacted her plans for the team and our project plans for the coming months.
Mike agreed to take on the training I was conducting; with my appointment tomorrow we expect to know when the chemo will start. It could be this week, or next. However, rather than simply making arrangements for a half day we all feel it will work best for the associate receiving the training to have consistency for the second half of the program. It's hard to believe how much has changed and how swiftly. None of this was on my radar when I agreed to facilitate the training.
Some of the changes are not just for the short-term. Kelly and Marion will both take on tasks which were part of my weekly duties, adding to their already significant workload. Mark has agreed to pick up another less-frequent task. None of us can even begin to guess how long I will be off, but we all know the time will be measured in months, not days nor weeks.
I am anxious about tomorrow. On one hand I hope to know what the plan is, on the other it makes this more real than ever.
Thank you to everyone for your prayers, your support and your confidence.
Today I was particularly touched when a member of the senior management team called to add his voice to the well wishers. This reiterates, once more, the soul which exists in this company. Although we have thousands of employees, today it was important for him to call me and reinforce the message people are praying for my health, people believe my positive attitude will carry me, and people will stand behind me to push me forward should I falter or lose momentum.
Even before I learned the diagnosis, my manager was supportive as I booked time for appointments, insisting last week we look at how we could clear my calendar the day I met with the surgeon. It has meant shuffling assignments, asking co-workers to help carry my load. Julie has only had me on her team since the beginning of the month, I can't begin to image how this has impacted her plans for the team and our project plans for the coming months.
Mike agreed to take on the training I was conducting; with my appointment tomorrow we expect to know when the chemo will start. It could be this week, or next. However, rather than simply making arrangements for a half day we all feel it will work best for the associate receiving the training to have consistency for the second half of the program. It's hard to believe how much has changed and how swiftly. None of this was on my radar when I agreed to facilitate the training.
Some of the changes are not just for the short-term. Kelly and Marion will both take on tasks which were part of my weekly duties, adding to their already significant workload. Mark has agreed to pick up another less-frequent task. None of us can even begin to guess how long I will be off, but we all know the time will be measured in months, not days nor weeks.
I am anxious about tomorrow. On one hand I hope to know what the plan is, on the other it makes this more real than ever.
Thank you to everyone for your prayers, your support and your confidence.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Beginning
A year ago, maybe a little longer, I read the writer's reference book "The Hero's Journey". It's a great book which any of you want-to-be writers should read. The bottom line, every story has a set series of transitions the hero must follow.
It goes something like this: the hero hears the call to adventure, and tries to ignore it. Once the call is accepted the hero begins a journey where he leaves all which is familiar and moves into an alternate world, the unknown. He will meet mentors, jokers, those who will try to block his path and cause him to fail on his quest. He must obtain the "elixir", understand the elixir, bring it home and live with the lessons he's learned (more or less).
On Tuesday I learned I had a breast cancer. As much as I would like to deny this particular call, I can't. I have to follow the path ahead, one which at the moment is somewhat obscured by the mists of the unknown.
Everyone I've shared this with has used a handful of adjectives to describe me -- strong, persistent, determined... If I was writing this book those are characteristics I would want for my hero. I've decided to call my blog the "The Hero's Journey" for these reasons.
I'll use it to try to write down my thoughts and feelings as I go through the coming months, as well as provide updates on my treatment. My friends should be able to post...although I'm still learning how to use the site (have patience, if I don't get the settings right -- I don't want the spammers posting on it).
So let the story begin...
In November 2007, I had a mammogram which documented a cyst in my left breast. Last summer the cyst grew and by Christmas I was ready to take action and pursue removal. I went to my previous doctor who reacted poorly to the situation. A long story short, follow-up should have been done and wasn't. I didn't care for the doctor's attitude and changed physicians.
I met with my new doctor on February 3. A week later I was having a follow-up mammogram and a biopsy. The lump was a new growth and not the previously diagnosed cyst. And, there was a second lump, one I had just discovered, under my arm.
Two weeks later I am sitting in the surgeon's office and she is telling me I have cancer. The biopsies are positive.
My ears are buzzing, my heart is racing, I can't breathe. "Shit" is my thought.
Rob is with me, thank God. He's shaken. I'm shaken.
"Okay, now we know; what next?"
This is my verbal response to the news. Dr. Ginny stares at me, as though weighing my reaction. She turns her chair so she is facing me, touches my knees with her hands and starts laying out what will happen.
I will have chemo. I will have surgery. I will have radiation.
I am young, I have no past history of cancer in my family. I have just become a statistic; one in eight women will get breast cancer.
On Tuesday I go to the Cancer Clinic in Halifax.
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