Cookies or Cupcakes?

Or neither? Thursday is my last treatment and some sort of celebration/thank you is in order. I just can't figure out what. Do I send the nurses a singing telegram? Do I go in with a choreographed dance and be the singing telegram? I don't want to disrupt other patients' treatment or offend them since they are all at different stages in their treatment plans. But a celebration is in order. A major stage of my treatment plan will be completed. And the nurses need to be thanked. For 16 weeks they took care of me and had the difficult task of not only putting up with my crazy but also making me sicker to make me better. How hard must it be to administer drugs day after day knowing how sucky they make people feel? But they do it. And they get to see happy stories, but they also have to keep working even after sad stories. These nurses have a hard job and I have appreciated the care they have given me beyond words.

That being said, my mind automatically jumped to something sweet when I thought about how to thank them. The Flying Cupcake is one of my favorite places to visit downtown so what better way to thank them than bring in some deliciousness. Then I paused. Remembered that I am a health fitness specialist. And thought that maybe sweets weren't such a good idea. Sure, I am celebrating/thanking them, but they get that quite often. There are usually goodies of some sort sitting out on the counter. So I thought a fruit bouquet might be a cute and healthy option. Then I saw the prices on those suckers and thought about how I could make one myself. Then I pictured myself with a sharp object trying to cut pretty shapes out of various fruits and decided against the whole fruit bouquet idea.

So now I am at a loss. And this is where you, my avid readers (if there are any of those out there), weigh in. Do I forego all health fitness specialist rules and bring cupcakes to overweight nurses? Or is there a healthier option that is just as thanking?

Boring is Good...

...I guess. But it doesn't make for a very funny blog.

Every two weeks, it is the same routine when I see the doctor. First the nurse gets my weight and I curse the steroids as I watch the numbers rise. Next Shane and I take bets on my blood pressure. I won this week - 109/58.

When the doctor comes in, he and Shane have a buddy-buddy chat about Dale Carnegie while I sit patiently (I have almost mastered this virtue by now) and wonder if my doctor remembers that I am the patient. Once he decides to get down to real business he always asks the same questions and I always give him the same answers.

- How is work? Fine.

- Any problems last treatment? You mean besides the fact that my kidneys are soon going to go on strike from all those drugs you pump into me?

- How is your appetite? Too big. Those steroids send me into a starved raged.

- How are your bowels? Fine

- Any tingling or numbness? You mean besides what I feel from boredom when you ask me the same questions every two weeks?

- Any swelling in your hands, feet, or ankles? Here, I simply hike up my pant legs and let him answer the questions himself.

- Then he feels my neck for lumps, listens to my heart and lungs, and declares, "You're boring. But boring is good in the medical world." And he always leaves me with these final instructions, "Well, Miss, just keep having fun."

Miss?! Are we in the south? Last I knew, I am from Iowa, you are from India, and we are both in Indiana.

But I take his instructions and head to the chemo room.

This round of treatment (the penultimate, might I remind you) the only thing noteworthy happened to Shane. I was enjoying a short snooze only to wake up to the sound of my doctor's hushed voice. "What level are you on?" I heard as I opened my eyes to Shane jumping out of surprise. Referring to the penguin game Shane was playing on my iPad, the doctor pulled out his iPhone and he and Shane began to discuss what levels they've achieved on various, frivolous iPhone games. Then the doctor showed Shane a new game. "Here, practice," the doctor instructed as he walked away leaving his phone in the hands of Shane as he made his way to another patient. Shane just looked at me and shrugged. After practicing a bit, the game lost its luster and so Shane just sat there wondering what to do with the doctor's phone. He wondered - I already had my list of all kinds of fun things we could do with such power. Shane put the kabosh on my mischief though and as the doctor almost left the room without his phone, Shane caught his attention and returned the doctor's phone.

I swear, by the end of this whole deal, Shane and my doctor will have exchanged numbers and be official BFFs.

Recharged!

For the long holiday weekend, Shane and I traveled home to Iowa for his step-brother's wedding. It was some much needed family time. Here is a picture of us at the wedding. And if anyone out there is wondering - yes, that is my real hair. It hasn't fallen out yet, at least not all of it. It has certainly thinned quite a bit, but considering this is how much hair I had just minutes after I was born,

I think I have some hair to spare. I did get it chopped pretty short though to make it more manageable when it does fall out. You should see my white bathroom floor turn into brown hairy carpet after I am done doing my hair in the mornings. Some would call a transformation of that magnitude a miracle. I just call it more vacuuming.

Anyway, our weekend at home was just what my soul needed. Family, love, and laughter are the best medicine for a heart far from home. Now I am feeling recharged, ready for treatment this week. It's go time!

Chemo Stinks.

Literally. Chemo drugs have their very own scent. Not only do they have their own scent, but they create this taste/smell combo that overwhelms your senses. The smell of the drugs creates this gut wrenching/gag inducing reaction deep inside of me. Even hours before my treatments, I begin to smell the unique scent of chemo. It's as if my brain tells my body what lies ahead and I begin to feel like I have already had chemo even though it is hours away. When this happens I usually attempt to override my brain and remind my body that it hasn't even had any drugs yet, so it should just settle down.

Treatment number six was last Thursday and it was a tough one emotionally. You would think that by number six I would be over it by now, but this is when it is just getting hard. Shane had an business appointment the afternoon of my treatment so he left about half way through the process. After experiencing five other treatments, I was fairly confident that nothing eventful would happen and I could handle being alone. After he left and I sat in my 10'x5' space I tried to keep my thoughts away by staying occupied. But as it was all over and I walked out of the cancer center to drive myself home, I just couldn't stop the thoughts as I wondered why. Why do I have to go through all of this? And more importantly, why do I have to go through it all so far from home, from the ones I love? I'm not sure why it was so difficult for me to walk out of that cancer center alone. I know in my head that I am not alone in this battle, but sometimes my heart has a hard time believing my head.

In other news, I was scheduled to have a progress PET/CT scan this morning. However, because of insurance, I can only have one every 90 days, so we will wait until the end of chemo treatments to do a scan. And the end is oh-so-near, only two treatments left, one more month!!

Sally Redeemed

The eve of yet another chemo treatment has arrived. Number six is tomorrow and at this point I am ready for almost anything that happens in that cancer center. Two weeks ago, for number five, my nurse was the infamous Sally the Drug Pusher. I thought we were in for yet another doozie of a day when she drew my blood. After the nurse draws my blood, the usual routine is to discretely tuck the tubing coming from my port into my bra. Most of the nurses are quite tactful with the process. Sally, however, saved herself a couple of steps and left the syringe attached to the tubing and just shoved the whole kit and caboodle down my shirt. "Uhhh....aren't you going to take that syringe off the tubing?" I asked as I looked down at the excessive medical supplies in my shirt. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, I figured she just forgot to remove it. As she answered no, she continued turning my bra into a supply closet by taping the syringe to my chest. Apparently she thought my concern was with the syringe falling out of my shirt. But really, Sally, I am just disconcerted with the fact that you feel you can just stuff whatever supply you may need later down my shirt.

Oh well. I figured it was what it was and I took the blood samples to the lab. I met with my actual doctor rather than his nurse practitioner (no pooping demos this time, darn). He scheduled a PET scan for September 1st to check my progress. I am anxiously thinking good cancer fighting thoughts in hopes that the chemo has made a decent impact on the cancer.

After speaking with the doctor, it was back to Sally for chemo. Once the pre-treatment drugs were completed, I hesitantly asked Sally for ice, giving her my biggest, most charming smile. While she didn't exactly seem happy with my request, she at least didn't act like finding ice was the most strenuous chore. As she pushed the first three drugs, we chatted about various things like the book that I was trying to read, the restaurants participating in a deal called Devour Downtown, and she even told me some funny stories about her nieces and nephews. Overall, she was pleasant to have around. We found a mutual respect for each other. She respected my desire for ice and I respected her quirky ways of going about things. She still gave me more drugs than the other nurses, but not quite as many as the first time. And this time I actually wanted the Emend rather than trying to ward off her adamant drug sales pitch.

On Friday when I went back for my shot (to boost my white blood cells), Sally was the available nurse once again. She took my vitals and asked how the rest of the afternoon went after the chemo. I let her know that I was pretty miserable, that I felt gross for most of afternoon and evening. Sympathy I was expecting, accountability I got. "Do you think it might have had something to do with the donut, cookie, and chicken nuggets you ate during treatment?" she asked. Sheepishly, I looked down and owned up to my mistake. Normally I don't eat during chemo to ensure I don't feel gross, but for some reason I felt invincible and indulged my cravings for sweets and grease and sent Shane to McDonald's.

I like that Sally called me out. I like that Sally does things her own way. You know, I think I even like Sally.

Don't Forget the Emend!

Preparing for my fifth round of chemo tomorrow, I am feeling strong! The night before chemo always brings a bag of mixed emotions because by the time it is ready for another round, I am feeling so good - 100% recovered from the previous treatment and I know that in less than 24 hours I will be knocked down by another wave of drugs. But I know the drugs, while they may feel like they only make me weaker, are actually making me better.

And now I know to carefully watch the nurse's pre-treatment regimen.

After my third chemo treatment, I was unusually tired. I slept all afternoon, evening, and night. It took a full seven days for me to feel "normal" and during those seven days I felt completely wiped of energy. I simply figured that the chemo was catching up to my body and that was what my recovery was going to resemble from here on out. However, after my fourth treatment, I realized that the nurse from round three forgot a very important pre-treatment drug, Emend. Emend is a powerful anti-nausea medicine (the one that Sally the Drug Pusher so adamantly insisted I take). I sheepishly admit that Sally was right, the Emend is a miracle drug. It does make it a little bit difficult for me to sleep, but thus far I have been successful at finding things to keep me occupied at 2:00 am. The nurse for my fourth treatment remembered this wonder drug and my recovery was vastly different. My energy level was that of a normal human (only slightly lower than the usual crazy-Lori energy level). And I felt 100% after about five days.

My family visited this past weekend and we had a great time discovering Indianapolis. Saturday was a very active day starting with a family run/workout followed by a bike ride and ending with rock climbing. After rock climbing and discovering my new respect for it as a sport (especially one that is meant for long-limbed people), I mentally recapped the day. I basically had three workouts and felt great! It was so encouraging to be participating in normal life, I practically forgot that I am fighting this battle called cancer. But after mastering (I use that term very loosely) a sport for which my limbs are approximately 12" too short, cancer ain't got nothin' on me!

Our six person family bike ride that almost ended very poorly when I was allowed behind the wheel and steered the right side of the bike into a brick wall.

How to Poop*

*Reader discretion is advised
Warning: Personal information and graphic description beyond this point, continue at your own risk.

One of the many side effects the doctor warned me about before we started this whole "let's pump lots of drugs into you" process was constipation. But he mentioned this specific side effect in a nonchalant way as if we would simply cross that bridge if and when we got to it. Well, Doc, we have arrived at the bridge.

A few days after my third treatment, the morning my bowels finally decided to move again, I experienced a bloody stool. Slightly alarmed, I began to run through the list of "you should call your doctor if..." Sure enough, this made the list. So before I left for work, I called in and talked to one of my least favorite receptionists at the cancer center. I had to describe my poop and attempt to answer all sorts of questions regarding its shape, size, and color. The receptionist assured me that she would pass the information on to the nurses and someone would call me back. Great, just what I want - a description of my poop floating around the office while the nurses draw straws to determine who has to call me back.

Since I didn't receive a call back before I went to work, I kept my phone in my pocket thinking this is a semi-serious matter and I should answer the call when I get it. Well, as the hours passed and I still had not received the promised phone call, I assumed this whole bloody stool thing must not be that important. My assumptions were confirmed when I picked up a message at 1:00 (four hours after my original call) from the nurse practitioner that literally said, "Um, Hi Lori. I got your message. If you have any questions you can call me back and if it happens again please call. Hope you are feeling better." You're kidding!? That is the advice I get? You hope I feel better?

Since I didn't have questions and didn't feel like talking to that unhelpful nurse again, I decided to just wait until my Thursday appointment with the doctor to further discuss the issue. However, it was just my luck that when I arrived that day the doctor was too busy so my appointment was with that same nurse. When she asked if I'd had any problems this time (she must have forgotten my phone call), I reminded her of the bloody stool issue. That.was.a.bad.idea. Because in an accent I couldn't understand, she began to describe to me the innermost details of how to poop. She first gave the nutrition spiel about getting enough fiber - making sure I'm eating an adequate diet of whole grains and fruit, yadda yadda yadda. Lady, I work in the health and fitness industry. You don't have to remind me that fiber is my second best friend. Her next instructions involved a ten minute toilet limit. She even so kindly demonstrated how to bring your knees to your chest to make the whole process smoother. Then as she proceeded to the hand demonstration of how the rectum works, things began to get a little awkward. As she crudely gestured, I wasn't sure whether to find this absolutely hilarious or completely disgusting. Then I remembered that I have actually dissected a cadaver, rectum and all, so I could handle her hand demos. After she finished her show and tell of the pooping process, I made my way to treatment room for my fourth chemo treatment. Four out of eight done - halfway there with a fresh insight on bowel movements.