Smoke detector reminder and other stories

 I am a little alarmed at how early the chemo side effects have set in. I worked on that previous post twice and still forgot to relay the funny story. *sigh* Bear with me, folks.

One of the 4 anti nausea drugs in the premedication umbrella-

-which makes me laugh because the wording is funny. I only get two chemo meds. I have four anti nausea meds. And they're called the "premedication" part? Hahaha! I am definitely living yet again the courtroom scene from "What's Up, Doc?" where the Judge is lamenting his drug dependence. If you haven't seen it, go track it down. Here's the specific snippet I mean but the whole thing bears seeing.-

-is apparently a steroid. The first med is a quick push one and went into my port just fine in a matter of less than a minute. The second one, the steroid, made me feel burny and tingly in places that I knew I didn't have a UTI so I assumed it was from whatever drip I was getting and that it was temporary. However, then I started to feel flushed and began to see tiny sparkles. My Doc was talking to me, my Lisa was there, there was also a pharmaceutical student present, so I interrupted to announce, "Um, I'm starting to see sparkles and it feels like I'm breathing through a straw...?" They all looked closer at me and the Doc says, "oh yep, turn that medication off and get a nurse." The meds get shut off, I feel the heat start to drain back out of my face, and the arriving nurses reassure me that I just got that steroid too fast, it's already in, all will be well. Note into chart about a slower steroid. Got it. Okiedokie. Whew, hot flash. My Doc uses it as a teachable moment and points out how my color is already better, asks if I'm also experiencing burning and tingling, and yes indeed, it was a reaction to receiving a steroid. 

"Have you ever had a steroid before?"

"Umm, I don't think I have, actually!"

She assured me that oral ones for, say, poison ivy or some such would still be fine, and reiterated that this one was just pushed too quickly for me, but my body has since caught up and all is well. Moving on...

Everything else was fine, no surprises other than I expected a hanging bag of Red Devil and it turned out to be in a syringe that the lovely nurse has to physically sit there and push over a few minutes, which lessened the impact of the googly eyes since we were the only ones who could see them, haha, but oh well. 

However, try explaining later to your husband about a steroid reaction and then have him turn to your bestie questioningly and have her answer, "she was redder than her sweater." Poor love of my life. But now we know. AND I was right about the burny and tingly feeling dissipating right away.

So Daddeeeeee, when you're up next time, we will ask for a slow steroid. No worries! I got you!

That was all on Monday. Some of those anti nausea meds last for 72 hours so the next few days I felt... chemically... I guess is the best way to put it. Not truly nauseous even when they wore off but felt like I could be, so I took some of the prescription they'd sent me home with, heeding Dada's advice to "not be a hero" and Lisa's advice to "stay ahead of it."  I'm eating a ridiculous amount of small meals and can absolutely see why the Doc cautioned that these particular chemo meds can make people gain weight: it feels better to have something in my stomach. She also warned that chemo weight is harder to lose than regular, but finished with "but I'm not worried about you because you're active and you'll be okay." I devilishly mentioned that the holidays were in between now and when I'll be finished so who would ever know if it was the chemo or the yummy foods? Hehehehe. I'm again struck by how similar chemo is to pregnancy: nausea, brain fog, weight fluctuation, craving something but not having any idea what, laying down to close your eyes and awakening hours later.

Thank you to my school friends for the ginger chews and to my friends who've sent candies and to my hubby who found me coconut bites. Y'all rock, as usual!

Yesterday, four days after chemo, I woke up and felt like my brain was actually clearer and more myself. I still feel that way today and haven't taken any meds other than my usual allergy pill, multivitamin, and calcium with vitamin D. I've had my breakfast and am cautiously optimistic for a nice weekend. My Doc said to keep track of what I felt when so we can determine "my pattern" and predict what I'll need and when. 

Next week I'm scheduled for a bag of fluids and a blood draw, both through the port so no worries, and my radiation consult. I have extremely mixed feelings about all this radiation business. I've heard from several sources that you can't re-radiate the same area, so why the tumor board wants me to have a consult about it boggles me. Plus, they mentioned I could be a candidate for proton therapy, but when I look that up it says it targets a tumor, which I no longer HAVE, so again, I'm stymied. Guess that's why I gotta talk to the experts. I asked my Doc about it during chemo and she set me straight: don't dismiss it out of hand. We want to throw everything at this, so go see what they say. 

Yes, ma'am. 

As far as the whole armpit area/ bypass surgery part is going, it's been 6.5 weeks since surgery and range of motion is definitely improving. I'll get some pictures up at some point, but things are looking decent-ish. I'll never win any Sex Goddess Body awards but since I was never aiming for that anyway, no big loss. I'd rather have ice cream! 

Moving is definitely better for me than sitting, and sleeping is wonderful. Enjoy that extra hour this weekend and do NOT feel guilty if you use it for sleeping! I'm waving my wand over here and giving you permission to use it however it will most bless your life. *swish swish* Don't forget to check your smoke detectors and have a wonderful weekend, everyone!

Freezing Fog Advisory

Our area had a Freezing Fog Advisory today. Yes, that's a thing around here. We used to be known as the Great Black Swamp. Swamps are, shall we say, damp. Add in cold air and you get freezy trees, wheeee!

Some schools around us cancelled. Some were on a two hour fog delay. Not us. They actually posted, "Virtual Learning Thursday; No Transportation" for our district.

Well, duh. We've been remote learning this entire school year so far, and just like the rest of the country, we'd finished out the spring semester in the same way. Which means these children, These People, have been home for nine months. I could have had an entire pregnancy in the amount of time everyone's been home together. Yeeeeeesh.

We are hanging in there. Not much decking of the halls yet, as we are slogging, chugging, soldiering on through school, but we do actually have two Christmas trees up for the first time ever. And my Leon elves. There's been little time to bake or shop as I'm supervising a certain fifth grade student who makes it his personal mission in life to sneak into other screens the second he thinks his particular assignment is done. It's a lot of lassoing and reeling back in. He has made a lot of progress and gotten grades back up where they should be after quite a slump, so yay for progress!

Must get back to it, so stay warm, stay home, stay safe! 

 

Stealing lines from fictional characters

"Ain't often you see a guy that green have the blues that bad..." muses Rowlf the Dog about Kermit the Frog after they finish singing "I Hope That Something Better Comes Along." At least, that's how it went on the tiny little record (!) my parents used to let me play. The other side featured, of course, "Rainbow Connection." 

I've been feeling greener around the gills than usual these last few days and once again it is hard to determine what is psychosomatic versus what is really happening. Am I greener because it's back to school and I'm now inundated with three buildings' worth of germs? Am I greener because "it's cumulative"- probably my most hated words at this point- and I'm full of chemicals I need to continue to flush out? Am I finally just worn down enough that the smells of grease from yummy bacon are overwhelming? Does it perhaps not help that Bosley ate one of Liam's pink erasers yesterday and then threw up his breakfast? Well, perhaps we all know the answer to that one... Ick.

At any rate, can we get a big hoorah that chemo is over?!

I continue to be struck by how closely my time in chemo resembles pregnancy. I'm probably beating a dead horse, but the smells/odors/aromas and the brain fog/tiredness are especially rough. I have no problem sitting down with a good book, but to be told repeatedly to behave myself and be still and let my body heal is hard. I'm an impatient patient. All I can hear is Inigo Montoya: I hate waiting. 

But that's where I am right now, in a season of waiting. I have to wait for my numbers to come back up before surgery. I have to wait for my kids to get on the bus and then off of the bus. I have to wait in lines, for replies, for the bus to get here so that one kid can turn around and hop in the car of a friend who's helping get said kid to the next destination, for bedtime, for the microwave to beep or the toaster oven to ding, for the surgeon's office to call me back, for a turn in the bathroom (and never mind that we have more than one). 

I still hate waiting.

I remember being told during each pregnancy to be good to myself and to not do too much because I was growing a human being and all that. It's still waiting. And boy, was that waiting. Waiting to see who each child would become. Waiting to see if they were healthy. Waiting to see the gender of our third child. Waiting is work. Waiting can make you feel like you're going crazy.

Snippets and scans

Today I have two scans, two more personal medical firsts, and I'm kind of excited about them. Definitely intrigued. 

I'm having my very first CT scan done and my first bone scan. While I am not thrilled about more injections into me, this time of contrast dye, I think the technical aspect of both sounds fascinating. I'm sure Liam is going to wish he was with me when I relate the procedure with the camera passing over me. If you're interested, I thought this link was fun: bone scan 

Once again, I'm not supposed to eat or drink anything as of two hours before the tests. Some sites say I'll be drinking water throughout them, so that would be okay with me... I hate feeling like I'm shriveling up from the inside out.

I've been struck by how much chemo reminds me of pregnancy. I know I've told some of you this already, but let me enlighten any who are curious as to how that could be. 

I always called pregnancy a "total-body takeover" which I think was coined Vicki Iovine in her "The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy" which is absolutely hilarious and spot on. There seem to be no body systems not affected by being pregnant.

Chemo seems very similar, which makes sense to me a non-medical person, because it's sheer volumes of chemicals being dumped into an otherwise unsuspecting body. I can picture my cells holding various bits and pieces and musing, "hmm. What am I supposed to do with all this new stuff?" I can see baby cells slamming them together like a 6 month old sitting up child whacks blocks together, maybe only connecting pieces by accident. Then the big cells look at each other and shrug, "okay, we'll give it a try!"

My GI tract is just off enough to cause excitement that nobody wants. The various medications had predicted anything from constipation to diarrhea, and let me just mention that I am not having constipation issues. Immodium is my new friend, people. 

Tastes and smells are affected, so even if something sounds appealing, which is getting rarer, it doesn't always stay that way once it's in front of me. For a Hobbit, not enjoying eating is just pitiful. Even cookies aren't appealing right now. Cookies!

I told the kids yesterday that my mouth felt like I'd been sucking on a camel. Not a freshly washed camel, mind you, but one that had been through 40 days and 40 nights in the desert. Liam, of course, asked how I knew what a camel tasted like. You know that puckery feeling your mouth gets if you fall prey to temptation and eat way too many sour Warheads or something similar? Or even an obscene amount of movie theater popcorn? My mouth and lips and soft palate all feel pebbled. PSA: do not attempt to enjoy Atomic Fireballs in this condition. You have been warned. I was afraid I was going to have crisped children as I was pretty sure that I could actually breathe fire. Wow. Not the smartest thing I've ever done, but now I know. All Fireballs will be joining my hair ties and other supplies until chemo is over. Yikes. 

I've been told alcohol-free mouthwash and a baking soda with salt rinse help, and they do. Gum, not so much. Gonna take some getting used to, sadly.

Remember the hair, skin, nails changes, ladies? Yep, that too. It is easier to pluck as my hair is loosening, so there's a perk, I guess, but I'm sporting a third eye between my eyebrows and another on my chin right now that make me think not-so-fondly of high school days...

On the plus side, short hair is much easier to keep clean-ish and my hairballs don't look like tumbleweeds any longer. One of the reasons I stick with long hair is I'm too lazy and cheap to do the required maintenance cuts every 4-6-8 weeks to keep a short 'do looking the way it should. I won't have to worry about that this time. Soon I may look like Sinead O'Connor and then Mr. Clean! Wheeeee! Talk about streamlined mornings. Eyeliner, earrings, and out the door. I've already quit with the mascara as I'm losing quite a few eyelashes when I rub them. Just not worth taking more off with the mascara, I suppose. Yes, Mommee, I will remember the sunscreen. I promise. Ain't nobody want to see a peely, sunburned, egg of a head. Did I already talk about the chicken pox? I can't remember and I'm too lazy to look. When I was a kid, my brother graciously shared his chicken pox with me one summer. I remember lying on a sheet on the couch and wanting to scratch something, anything, but being told not to because it would leave a scar. I remember thinking, "there has to be someplace I can scratch where nobody will ever see." My aha moment hit and I elatedly began scratching my scalp for all I was worth. It felt wooooonderful, and now all I can wonder is, how pockmarked will my scalp be in a few weeks when I get to see the damage I inflicted? Oh well! Serves me right! The kids have already asked if they can draw constellations on my head with magic markers if the scars are there. I know you're all dying of not surprise. 

Feelings. Wow, the feels are all over and dripping off of the map, just like during pregnancy. Some moments I think, "I've got this" and the next I feel like I need to watch every sad movie I've ever seen in a marathon so I can finally get all the tears and snot and frustration out. The problem is that those feelings usually creep out towards bedtime when I'm most tired and vulnerable, and everyone knows that when you cry at bedtime that your eyes are all swollen and icky the next day and your pillow is wet and your nose stuffs up so you can't breathe through your clogged nose which makes you breathe through your mouth and dries out your throat... no thanks, I've got enough going on, thanks. I will have to schedule my prescribed good cry and not at bedtime. 

So all of these lovely issues, and no baby at the end. Why did I sign up for this again? Hmmm. Turns out living with breast cancer is relatively easy. Living with the treatment of it is an entirely different can of worms, one I'm not even sure I want to open the whole way. Bleh. 

Enough about me. I do not want this blog to be hijacked by cancer. It gets enough from me as it is. 

Picture this: a second grade, rather tall for his age boy in pajamas and a hoodie, backpack weighted down by 6 hardback library books and 1 self-owned paperback, a lunchbox, his daily folder, a snack container of cheezits, and a small flashlight. Additionally he's carrying a cloth grocery bag stuffed with his pillow and two throws, waiting for the bus. His face is tearstained because he's not taking the sleeping bag which is bigger than he is. I compromised on the extra throw, one for under him and one for on top of him, but he's still not having it. Today is the read a thon and phys ed, and his heart was set on lugging even more than he already had to school. We already had the talk about "are you sure you wanna take so many books? This is really heavy!" "I got it, Mom!" We already talked about how no matter what he's going to have a fun day. To shift perspective and thus hopefully attitude, I mentioned that while he's reading in his pajamas all comfy and cozy with his friends, I'd be at the hospital again getting poked for more tests. He's subdued where he had been mutinous, but I hate that I have to ever play the cancer card. This morning was not my best from a digestion standpoint, and making it out to the bus stop with him was looking iffy but we made it. He boarded the bus with all his Stuff and life went on. I hate how this summer is going to be hard on them in regards to what I physically will and will not be able to do, but we will soldier on. I can't wait to hear after my scans how much fun he had and what the best part was. Which reminds me, I need to pack a book for all the waiting I'm going to be doing in between scans while waiting for the dye to get where it needs to go... maybe this weekend I can stay in my pajamas and have a read in! Come on over, and bring your books! 

Counting today, there are only five days left of the school year. Can I get an eeeeeeeeeeeeek?!