The Next Phase in Here Be Dust
- Oct. 19, 2014, 12:40 a.m.
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- Public
Oddly enough, I have not felt depressed since I got my cancer diagnosis. I’ve stated earlier that I feel as though I am on a perilous adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. My mindset is that I am facing this intruder head-on and fighting the good fight. I also realize my limitations and have been cutting myself a lot of slack where and when I need to.
That said, I have teared up exactly three times in connection with this process:
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After I had finished a plank, while still undergoing tests prior to my diagnosis. I had written in my journal on February 27, “Other meditation has been Whitacre’s “Winter”. Hearing that after Brazilian Birds, when I reached either 3:30 or 3:45 (I forget), created a catharsis in me. Tears of awe – a combination of enduring the plank and facing a possible new and dangerous adventure. It’s hard to articulate.”
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While answering a couple of questions in the wonderful card game, My Gift of Grace. Again, they were tears of awe and connection, this time focused on the love I’ve felt from others.
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This past Thursday, after the needle had been disconnected from my port and my small bandage and tape put in place. Before I left my chemo chair for what I hope is the last time, Crystal, one of the chemo nurses, gave me this:
I couldn’t speak because my throat had closed up. I just smiled up at her and placed my hand on my heart. Before I left the chemo bay, I was greeted with congratulations from fellow cancer fighters and we wished each other good luck.
As chemo infusions go, this last one had been low-key. Most of us had our recliners at full-tilt and spent our time napping or were semi-conscious.
I had brought fruit and cheese platters for the staff: one for the front desk, one for the lab, one for my ARNP and the doctors, and one for the chemo bay. I have “Excellence Award” nomination forms, but I want to check with the office manager (who was away from her desk when I was there) because I want to commend around 15 people, at least. I know only first names in most cases. Everyone there with whom I’ve been in contact has taken very good care of me, so I want to make sure they get some acknowledgment and recognition for that.
My next appointment there is not for another three weeks – the first time I have not had a weekly appointment since April 7, when my baseline blood readings were taken. It feels strange. I have yet to unpack my chemo bag.
My blood work continues to show improvement. My iron and immunity (white blood cell and neutrophil counts) are both back to normal (yay!). I am still anemic and my protein is still low, but those numbers should improve in the coming weeks. Radiation also affects blood work, so I’ll see how I do there.
I was surprised to see that my hair had begun to grow back even before I had finished with chemo. I thought I had seen some growth a couple of weeks ago and wondered if I were imagining things, but others are also noticing that my fuzz is a little bit fuzzier. It’s not unheard-of.
I did have a “0” countdown doodle for chemo, but I hadn’t backed it up before my old computer bit the dust last week. (I’ll post it if I can retrieve the file; I’ve got a SATA/IDE hard drive converter on order.)
But I do have a doodle for my upcoming radiation treatments, which begin on Monday at the complex across the road from the cancer center and will continue Monday through Friday for about six weeks:
Doodle is based on a photo I took of myself in bed and a reversed still shot from the movie Young Frankenstein. The lightning bolts are based on an additional image that I pulled off the web.
The treatments will be slightly different from this representation. :-)
In-between the end of chemo and the start of radiation, I am celebrating my birthday. That Purple Heart Award is the best present ever.
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