Time and Patience

Even with cancer treatments I am often reminded that I really do live a charmed life.  I was able to fill the two weeks between chemotherapy and radiation with some travel diversions. With my oncologist’s blessing, I spent five days in Puerto Vallarta with a girlfriend in her lovely new condo. Perched on a hill above the center of town, we had a spectacular view of the ocean just beyond quaint terracotta rooftops. How relaxing to be hosted by someone that knows their way around! I loved the vibe of Puerto Vallarta. Girl-time, the feel of the waves from the sunny deck of a boat, the cobblestone streets, the sounds of the city, laughter, the food…all left me feeling blessed and indulged.

My last day in Mexico, I wakened early to pack and prepare to head to the airport and my flight to Denver. As the morning progressed, a gnawing fatigue set in and my appetite vanished. At the airport my flight was delayed while my malaise increased. A glass of water and a can of ginger-ale on the plane helped a bit. Back in Denver I slogged home, drew a bath, soaked, and crawled into bed with a low grade fever. I spent a restless night, checking my temperature every time I wakened, which was often! By early morning it was normal. By mid-morning, my energy returned as well. Good thing as I had but two days to recover, do laundry, and repack before heading to Sedona, AZ with my guy!

Hiking in Sedona was medicine for my soul…and body. Beautiful vistas in the distance and sweet wildflowers and cacti up close. Leonard was a gem, encouraging me to push myself a bit on the hiking while passing no judgement at my numerous stops to enjoy the views while catching my breath. With chemo behind me, the desire to regain strength, stamina, and muscle is mounting. I’ll need time, effort, and patience in abundance to return to where I was when I was hit by my diagnosis in late July.

The specialists cannot tell me exactly when all the toxins from chemo will be gone. All signs point to it’s diminishing presence in my body.  My taste buds are improving, my hair is starting to come back, I dropped eight to ten pounds of steroid-induced water weight (I gained nearly fifteen!), and I am noticing less pain and tingling in my fingers and toes. On the downside, as my lashes and brows gradually fall out, they are not being replaced. Horrors!  Those too will return, in time. My left eye has held on to twelve to fifteen lashes while my right eye has only five! Eyeliner hides much; mascara is hardly worth the trouble! I’ve gotten fairly adept at filling in my brows, though those too are getting awfully sparse. Super short hair, I think, looks better with big earrings and well defined eyes. I can supply the earrings. Patience, Lattise, and time required for the brows and lashes!

My locks are growing, but as expected, they don’t look like they did before they all fell out. After my highlights were shorn off in November, I had a light brown buzz. That masculine cut is looking pretty dang good to me now! The half inch that has grown is predominantly salt on top with salt and pepper on the sides. I would be frenzied, but this is normal. Chemo hair is often colorless. I’ve been warned that it’s next ruse will likely be to grow in super curly. Oh joy! Gray and kinky. Can I embrace that? The good news is that eventually it will straighten itself out. It may take up to two years for the color and texture to return to what is normal for me. Length will take longer. Time and patience required…again. In the meantime, hats, scarves, or Harriet cover a multitude of sins. It is still cool enough that going bare-headed is too chilly. It would be a gift to have enough hair come summer and warmer temperatures to feel confident in uncovering my scull in public. Fingers crossed!

My first of thirty radiation treatments took place last week. Every weekday morning I go in at 9:40. The whole thing takes about twenty-five minutes. I don a beguiling hospital gown and climb onto a narrow, cold plank of a bed, raise my arms above my head, tilt my chin up and turn my head to the left. Not exactly relaxing, but do-able. Laser beams are used to line up the tattoos and get me positioned just right. My first trip into the tube is for a set-up scan, a mini CT. It takes three or four minutes.  Out I come before going back in for the real thing. I’m “radiated” for just over six minutes. The sound inside the tube is like raindrops on a tin roof, accompanied by the country music I request. I’ve learned to bring my own blankets as I chill easily and their blankets do not cut it; a down-throw over my body and a prayer shawl over my arms.  Word is that over time, I am likely to experience increased fatigue and have some skin discomfort. I’ve also been told that compared to chemo, radiation is easy. In my quest to remain proactive, I have invested in vitamin E oil and an 87% aloe moisture cream to keep my skin calm and happy. So far, so good.

Portia (my port) became history last Thursday. Though not as vexing as a pebble in your shoe, she was annoying!  I was thankful to have that stone in my chest during my three months of infusions. It meant only one needle poke and no searching for a good vein. Portia returned home with me in what appears to be a urine sample jar. I’m not sure what I’ll do with her. Probably pitch her, unless I can figure out how to make her into a Christmas ornament!  Most power ports are purple; mine was white. In the Fall, when Portia was implanted, I remember a nurse being sent to fetch a smaller model. I’m not the meatiest gal on earth, especially up top, and required something with a lower profile. She sure didn’t feel low-profile to me! In a swimsuit, I felt like I was sporting a third nipple.

I’ve completed six radiation treatments. That puts me at one fifth of the way done with this phase of treatment. May 2 should be my last day. I drove through Denver’s blizzard and hazardous roads Wednesday last week, so as not to miss a treatment. It was gnarly and I thanked God when both my car and I arrived back home none the worse for the wear.

The end is in sight! Soon, I’ll have to rejoin the female population in shaving unwanted hair from my legs and pits. That is one of the few perks of chemo; you lose all your hair. I cannot say that I have missed that feminine ritual! Still, I will celebrate it’s return in ways women that have not undergone chemotherapy cannot possibly understand!

 

 

 

 

Courage not required

Several years ago I ran into this coaster while having dinner. It has been taped to my bathroom mirror ever since! I believe I picked it up sometime after jumping into the abyss of experiencing, what at the time, seemed a surprising divorce. After thirty years of marriage I was in unknown and for me, frightening territory! As I made my way, I realized that it was much like learning to ski.

I was introduced to downhill skiing in my early forties when our family still lived in Sugar Land, a suburb of Houston. My first run down a blue (intermediate) run with an instructor at Park City was terrifying. Standing at the top, looking down, I felt as though I was being asked to jump out of a plane. I was that  person…whom is not well loved on the slopes by the locals…a beginner and  from Texas! Many lessons and years later at age 51, I felt just the same, as I looked over the cornice of Whale’s Tale, a double black run in Breckenridge. We had ridden up the Imperial chair lift, which holds the honor of being the highest in North America, reaching an elevation of 12,840 feet. From there we hiked up a short hill to traverse a sometimes narrow and rocky path to Whale’s Tail.

One of the gals in my regular Thursday lesson group saw my fear as I peered over the cornice to the steep precipice beyond it. “Sue, follow me,”she encouraged.  She easily dropped in by traversing the cornice. Still as a statue, my mind was screaming, “I don’t want to! Bad things are sure to happen!” The next gal suggested we make happy noises as we entered the run. Before long, each of us dropped in whooping and hollering “Woo Hoo!” I was over the cornice! I’d done it.

Next on the agenda was to make that first turn. The powder was deeper than I’d expected and that hill is a double black for a reason! It is steep, deep, and un-groomed. You can’t traverse for too long or you run into rocks. But making a turn means at some point your skis will be pointed straight down that steep incline and you will gather speed before you turn them far enough to traverse and slow down. It is very hard to get your body to do something when your brain is shrieking “NO! This is not a wise decision!” At least it is above tree-line, so I didn’t have to deal with those! Our fearless leader warned us before entering Whale’s Tale to look for white and ski there. Just as in life, you tend to go where you look; so don’t look at the rocks. Before getting to the rocks, I made my first turn, and then another and another. Whale’s Tail is a l-o-o-ong run. When we all gathered at the bottom, I looked up and was amazed at what I had accomplished.

Scary ventures don’t require fearlessness. You just have to saddle up…traverse the cornice, keep making turns, look where you want to go…and when you falter and fall; get up, dust yourself off, gather your wits (and equipment, if you lost some)….and start making turns again. Happy noises, smiling, and searching for silver linings in dark situations can and usually does help. Practice it enough and you can fool, even re-train your brain!

Looking at where you want to be rather than where you don’t really helps. Before you know it, you are at the bottom looking back at what you accomplished.  Who knew that I would acquire such practical life skills while learning to ski?! Truly all those lessons have empowered me to take more risks, embrace new things and new friends, and live with far less fear. Who would of thunk!  The journey of cancer is just another gnarly, double black run. I’ve been making turns, making happy sounds as best I can. I’m not to the bottom yet, but I’m nearly done with Phase II of treatment. Next Monday is my last chemotherapy infusion. Phase III is radiation and it starts March 21, 2016.