that spot...

Did you ever believe you could stop a thing by the sheer will of believing it would not happen? Lying in twilight between dream and reality where things happen in slow motion and with great clarity and feeling, I know in my heart that this disease will go away - for good, or at least until there is a treatment that will allow me to die of something else. In that spot, I am positive this is the outcome. In that spot, I am at peace. In that spot, I live and dream of my future 20 years from now. And then the appearance of reality seeps in like ink spilt across a beautiful drawing - and all I can do is watch as the drawing is slowly obscured by the black of doubt and fear. Try to memorize every detail, try to hold on to that feeling, try to protect that memory of faith. I need that faith - I know this somehow. I NEED it.

Not that five years ago, it wouldn't have been a different story. I mean, come on - all that hocus-pocus, mental gyrations wasted good brain energy. There were far too many "serious" things to occupy my over-analytical mind. Like... streamlining a training process at work or finding a more efficient way to work up and package a file. Assigning any credibility to faith was a crutch for under achievers: a pacification created by "wishing" for a bright future around the corner that did not necessitate an effort on their part. Ok, maybe that is a harsh over simplification of my feelings then - but you get the idea. Yet I remember a time in my youth that life was a very intuitive journey. Events didn't just happen, I participated in some way and I knew they were suppose to happen that way. I seemed to have an intuition - about the good and the bad. I felt more "tuned in". The phone would ring, and I knew the caller was telling my Mom that a relative had just passed away. Or suddenly, I would no longer be in a rush to continue dressing - because I knew something was going to happen that precluded me from the activity for which I was preparing. Or maybe it is all my imagination - I only remember things this way because I want to remember them this way. It gets way to deep for my brain these days. Truth is I don't know what feeling to trust: which is more real, the drawing or the ink or some combination of both? All I can do is take the days as they come, remember to not beat up on myself for failing to make the "absolute most" of everyday, and keep reminding myself of that spot and the beauty I feel when I am in it.

and now the rest of the story...

I was saddened to hear that Paul Harvey passed away. Not that it has anything to do with this post really - other than the plagiarized title. I tend to "tangent" frequently in discussions, which tends to drive those in discussion with me a bit crazy - but as an old friend recently said when I tried to blame it on the chemo "You have been doing that since you were 14" -Apparently you are stuck on the ride with me.

I promised to tell you how my chemo cycle plays out but only got through the chemotherapy infusion itself. The evening of the infusion is what I imagine the 3rd day awake on a cocaine trip must be like. I am tired but can't really seem to stop moving - a side effect of the steroids within my cocktail. Once I came home and cooked until 6am, pots flailing, pans flying, oven, stove top and crock pot all going at once. By the time the steroids wore down and it came to eat the food, I wanted nothing to do with it. The very smell of those particular dishes sickened me. So, needless to say, that didn't work.

The day after chemo and the day after that, I am still on the steroid high and by the evening (which is more like the middle of the day for me, having stayed up all night and then slept until mid afternoon) I begin to flush. My face feels warm and has a red, jolly-holly, Santa Claus-esk glow. This is not my favorite occurrence as I have an aversion to "Jolly-holly says", "Holly Holy", "Deck the halls with boughs of holly", and "Have a holly jolly Christmas" due to an apparent leftover grade school anxiety and unresolved issues with my parents' naming choices. It was also a fabulous occurrence when I was still working: clients must have thought I had more than coffee in my coffee cup.

The steroids dissipate and then the crash happens. For me it was on the 3rd day or Friday evening of chemo week. I would start feeling flu-ish: body aches (especially my legs), fatigue, loss of appetite (though I managed to eat, it is what my family does, and we do it well). I would generally get out my favorite blanket, find some movies and nap as much as I could all weekend long. By Monday I would try and convince myself that I felt normal. I felt better but "normal" functioning didn't occur until a full week after treatment. And with each chemo session the crash was slightly more intense and the effects lasted a little bit longer. It was tolerable - not fun, but not so bad that it couldn't be handled. It was a really intense week long hang over; but somehow you weren't smart enough to avoid drinking again 3 weeks later.

My naturopath's therapies and my acupuncture treatments lessened the effects for me. When I was able to receive 2 additional chemo session, I could tell the vast difference between the last set of treatments when I didn't have a naturopath and this set. At the first diagnosis, I used the shotgun approach for adjunct treatments - if it reportedly helped and was accessible, I tried it. I was surprised when I could feel the difference when I attended my acupuncture appointments verses when I skipped them. I can tell my energy level drops when I miss an appointment even now. There are links in the right hand column to the practitioners and programs I use - and obviously I think they are the best or I wouldn't be using them.

The last treatment was an exception -it was the only time I had a problem with nausea. The chemo "flu bug" turned into a raging and persistent "flu dragon on the attack" I had gone out of town for the week before treatment and didn't watch what I ate or drank. I missed acupuncture and shiatsu appointments and didn't take the supplements from my naturopathic doctor. I went against the advice of a friend and did not act like a "good animal": I wasn't taking care of the physical over the "shoulds" or "wants" of the mental and emotional and I paid the price.

Now I am dealing with the longer lasting effects of fatigue, shift of my sleep cycle and regaining physical strength. Also, I am anxiously awaiting the return of my eyebrows -you don't know what you've got until its gone. So that is the rest of the story as Mr. Harvey said countless times over countless years.

beans swell when you soak them

It began innocently enough with a random thought. "Maybe I will buy some dry beans, because they are suppose to be good for you". A quick double check in my "Anti Cancer" resource book (see column to the right for a link) and yes, one should get more protein from beans. OK, so I bought about 3/4 lbs of dry mixed beans for soup from New Seasons' bulk department and started the search on the Internet for preparation methods. Low and behold, you are suppose to soak beans - generally overnight!
Now that statement reflects less on my cooking ability than it does on my diet to this point in my life - I mean, being raised in the mid-west, it was a sin to not have a slab of meat, some potatoes and maybe some vegetables as an afterthought added to the plate. Beans where baked and out of a can, green and also out of a can, or they were soybeans in the field next to the corn that you saw driving down the highway. So it shouldn't be a great surprise that I was clueless that beans had to be soaked.

Back home, I discovered I had some more beans in my pantry. When or how they got there, I can't be sure - maybe the remains of a previous relationship, or a long forgotten and short lived health kick. Either way, I thought I might as well soak them too. This lead to my second bean discovery, beans swell when you soak them - they swell A LOT. All of a sudden I had beans coming out my ears. The original plan was to fill the crockpot with the beans from the pantry and cook the new beans stove top. But by the time they were done soaking, the beans from the pantry could fill the crockpot three times over - and the new ones are still hidden in the soaking bowl in the fridge. Please don't make me face them yet! After a few swear words, I devised a plan - the first third went into the crockpot and became some spicy bean soup (which came out tasty enough - but I needed to leave out the chickpeas because that was the "thing that was not like the others").
The remaining two-thirds started as refried beans but became hummus - or bean dip - or something that is tasty in which you can dip breads and vegetables. After doing the math, the anticancer friendly recipe looks a little like this:

• 8 oz bag Chickpeas/Garbanzo beans
• 8 oz bag Black beans
• 8 oz bag Lentils
• 8 oz bag Pinto Beans
• 1/4 cup Olive Oil (approximate - I used enough so that my onion slices were half deep in oil)
• 1 very large sweet yellow onion -sliced
• 6 cloves of garlic - chopped
• 1 quart box of Free Range Chicken Broth
  
• 2 tsp. Cayenne pepper
• 2 tsp. Paprika
• 2 tbsp. Sesame seeds
• 1 tsp. Hot Chili Sesame oil


• Salt & Black Pepper to taste

SOAK beans overnight, change water and boil until black and pinto beans burst (about 2 hours for me) then drain. In a separate LARGE deep skillet, saute onion in the olive oil until translucent, add garlic and saute another 2 to 3 minutes. Reduce heat and add beans starting with just a few ladles full - mix well with onions and garlic, stir in remaining spices. I got out my hand held mixer at this point, poured a bit of chicken broth in and started pureeing. Mixing, adding some beans, mixing, adding some broth and mixing some more until all the beans and all the broth were gone. I turned off the heat about half way through the mixing marathon.*

*This is my first "recipe" attempt - I usually cook by adding spices, tasting and adding some more so adjust according to your taste. Also, I ended up with with about 8 store size containers of hummus - you may want to cut the recipe in half unless you find yourself with an abundance of beans because you didn't realize BEANS SWELL when you SOAK THEM.

the question

So I was asked the question again - not that I mind the question; sometimes I answer it without being asked. I always thought I was more of a quiet type - apparently that is not true. When they gave me the pre-anesthesia med before a surgery to install my chemotherapy port, every one I passed became my VERY BEST friend - I think I even asked the nurses if I could use the phone. The point is I may like to hear my own voice a bit too much in certain situations - and "the question" seems to be just one of those situations.

The question: "So... (insert their personal story of someone they knew/know with cancer here) but what is chemotherapy like?" It is hard to answer that question - because every patient has a different experience based on their "chemo cocktail" formulated for their specific disease and their reaction to it. I only can tell you how it is for me. My chemotherapy sessions are once every three weeks on a Tuesday and last most of a business day.

They start in the morning after drawing blood from my port (a device inserted under the skin in my chest that is attached to tubing running directly into a major artery to my heart). There are several IV bags that make my "cocktail". After a bag of saline, I get about a forty-five minute dose of antihistamine, steroids and anti-nausea meds. This is followed by the Carboplatinum which takes a few hours - but by then the antihistamine has knocked me out and I am sleeping peacefully on a over sized recliner with a warm, snugly blanket covering me. I usually wake about half way through the Carbo. Sadly, there are an abundance of patients around if you want to start up a conversation. You tend to make friends with those on the same schedule - your monthly chemo cocktail party.

Another nap or some dinking around on the computer, maybe a chapter in a book or a conversation and the final thirty minute bag, Taxol, gets attached to Fred. (Sorry - should explain that one. Fred is my IV pole - we dance together every time I want to get up for some water or to go to the restroom. I figured since he spent so much time dancing with me that he should have a name - and I choice to name him after Fred Astaire as he is a pretty good dancer not to have stepped on my feet once during our sessions.) Then it is over and the fun begins - ok well maybe fun is not the word. But I am going to have to leave that for the next posting.

I got to ring the bell today

Today was my last chemotherapy session - it was number 8. Well, it was number 14 if you count the original treatment too. At Northwest Cancer Specialist they have a new tradition - after your last treatment you announce your success to everyone there by ringing a handheld bell 3 glorious times. I got started late on my 5 hour treatment, so most patients had already returned home. But the ones that were there and all the wonderful treatment nurses applauded loudly, with whistles and hoots and hollers - and I felt strangely proud this time. There was a focus on a completion, instead of an obsession about whether I would have to return again for yet another series of treatments.

It was a bit of a bummer that I didn't get to spend the moment with Jessica, my chemo nurse this round of chemotherapy: she had been sent to another center to fill in for the day. Jess has done a wonderful job at saying just the right thing to help keep my spirits up - as well as administering the chemotherapy. But I rounded the corner and found Amy, my chemo nurse from the first round, who had moved to Arizona. She has returned and taken different position at this center and I selfishly forwent the explanation of why. I immediately hugged her - and she said her blessings and prayers over me while hugging me back. Amy was there in the beginning for me and I have developed a huge emotional bond with her. I don't know how to explain what these nurses do and I hope you never have to find out: but I want you to know that they are heroes in every sense of the word.

So now I am back to the neurotic roller coaster phase of watching - with my new "base scan" being scheduled for sometime in the next month and another appointment with my oncologist in exactly 4 weeks to review the results. I hate this part - I hate most of the parts concerning this journey. But there are some great parts. The people that you meet, the friendships you forge because you both have a unique sense of understanding and the professionals that restore your faith in the humanity of mankind; these are just a few. There is a silver lining, sometimes you just have to set aside the chaos of your own emotions to find it - though I struggle to keep that thought in the forefront of my mind.

a sister's wedding

I am in Astoria, Oregon and very excitedly getting ready for my sisters wedding tomorrow. Now getting ready for a wedding is a both joyous and stressful in the final count down - but being in treatment for cancer adds its own "layer" to the event.

Take for instance the simple task of putting on make up for the blessed occasion. A little tweezing to perfect the brow, a little mascara to lengthen the appearance of the eyelashes, a bit of eyeliner and shadow to emphasis the rest of the eye area are all everyday occurrences for the majority of the western female population. But alas, when our friend Taxol (a drug in my chemo cocktail) is involved, I am required to divorce myself from the western female population and become more akin to a drag show artist. The absence of the brow makes tweezing a bad word - I mean really, leave the 6 hairs on the right brow and 13 on the left brow alone. Hell, I even thought about buying super glue and chasing down the neighborhood long haired rocker kid with a pair of scissors. Oh come on, he would never miss a snipe or two. Then there are the eyelashes - or more precisely, there are NO eyelashes. OK, I may have exaggerated - I have 7 eyelashes sporadically dispersed between the upper and lower area of BOTH eyes. I defy Covergirl to lengthen and thicken that!

So I thought, I have an "ever-so-not-lucrative" art degree, maybe I will artistically apply shadows and liners to give the appearance of lashes and brows. Who really looks that closely anyway? Brushes and shadows in hand, I spend an entire afternoon practicing to get that perfect look - almost. The next morning was not pretty. Eyes puffy and weeping from the simple ingredients that one once so easily applied, I began to rethink my strategy.

All in all it came out OK - fake eyelashes (trimmed to remove the drag queen element), a steady hand with a sharp brow pencil and my wonderful wig stylist brought together a look that no one could tell was not natural. I got my dream to blend in and look normal and my sister was a beautiful bride who more than stood out and looked fabulous. I am very proud of my sister and congratulate Katie and Brian on a wise choice and the most beautiful wedding I have been to.

and so it begins, again

I guess a bit of history would be important at this point - but where to start is always problematic. Last September found myself the same place I was exactly three years ago - well not exactly. A recurrence isn't "exactly", it's a bit worse. I had just gotten comfortable with the doctor's follow up visits and not completely freaking out whenever anything hurt. For example - I would cough, uh oh, I don't have a cold... oh dear, it could be a tumor in my lungs... oh hell, I am dying. Or it would be time for my 3 month follow up or scan and even though I logically know that nothing is drastically different 24 hours verse 48 hours before a scan, the panic ladder would begin. Now, not that I don't have a genetic predisposition for hypochondria as my Mom relishes in her self-proclaimed neurosis; but I had thought I escaped it. And then there was cancer -so that changed too.

Anyway, back in September just before one of those follow up visits, I found a lump in my abdomen and my nightmare started all over again.