The clouds came today and washed away the blue sky, leaving behind a cool gray morning. Distant thunder and lightning called forth the day with a low rumble. NW overcast dimmed the sun so I could look out from the tunnel of chemo and not hurt my eyes. Everything was clean and gray and quiet. Perfect for a slow day of recovery.
Bright summer skies are perfect for the living. The light and warmth bring everyone out into the sun and everywhere activities abound. Streets are filled with people; walking, selling, meeting, shopping, looking, doing. Life abounds in a summer city.
For me, recovering from chemo, summer days are both a reminder of all I'm missing and an overwhelming amount of activity. The pain, like a migraine, is amplified by the light, noise and motion.
Today's respite from the sun was a soothing calm. The rainy day was permission to stay indoors, quiet, bundled. A day to nest and heal and be peaceful. The coolness and darkness of the day felt like a retreat from the world. It was healing time.
Late in the afternoon, the sky cleared. Sunlight filtered through the clouds and left a golden cast on the tops of the trees. Butch, my dog, and I emerged from the shelter of the house to greet the end of a peaceful, restful day. A day of healing and calm that ended with me feeling stronger, rested, with more healing, and hope for a brighter day tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Friday, July 18, 2014
The Top 10 Reasons to Celebrate Losing Your Hair
The journey through cancer is a strange one. There are times where I have no control over what this disease is doing to me and my body, and there are times and places where I can step in and chose how I want to go through this process. My hair began falling out last Saturday, while I was visiting my friend, Nancy Bloyer, who is facing stage four lung cancer. In some ways it was helpful to have it start there, where I had supportive and understanding people with me. On the other hand, I did not want my visit to be about my hair, so I did my best to not touch or brush it so I could minimize the 'fall out'.
I had a big meeting at work on Thursday, so part of me was hoping I could hang on to the hair until after that event. I would be out Friday (today) chemo and then recovery for the following week, so it could have given me the chance to get used to the hairlessness and hat/scarf option before returning to work. No such luck! By Tuesday it was coming out in handfuls and I knew I needed to take charge. Rather than face the clumps and random falling out, I went to the same hair place where I had my hair cut short. With a few tears, and the support of Joe and Kelsey, I had them shave my head! Even though it was hard, it was very empowering to have it done.
"In the spirit of trust and transparency, I want to share with you all why I have this scarf on today. I don't want it to distract you from the content of my talk, so I want you to know that I am being treated for breast cancer and I lost my hair this week. My next chemo is tomorrow and my prognosis looks good. Now lets focus on our topic today.."
It was well received and I felt good to get it out there. I was calm and confident, I know how to talk about my cancer now without too much emotion. Several people came up to me afterward and offered their support, a few sent emails describing how they appreciated my courage, and a couple shared their stories of their own breast cancer or a close loved one. It was another example of the power of "owning" my experience and choosing how I want to show up through the process.
In that light, here are my top 10 to celebrate losing your hair:
I had a big meeting at work on Thursday, so part of me was hoping I could hang on to the hair until after that event. I would be out Friday (today) chemo and then recovery for the following week, so it could have given me the chance to get used to the hairlessness and hat/scarf option before returning to work. No such luck! By Tuesday it was coming out in handfuls and I knew I needed to take charge. Rather than face the clumps and random falling out, I went to the same hair place where I had my hair cut short. With a few tears, and the support of Joe and Kelsey, I had them shave my head! Even though it was hard, it was very empowering to have it done.
The next day at work I wore a hat I had bought at the hospital cancer support center. There were lots of stares, a few folks who avoided eye contact, but mostly hugs and support from colleagues. At the Thursday meeting, where I was facilitating an hour of an all staff meeting (150ish people), I had a nice scarf on and decided to face the unspoken questions head on. After I introduced myself and the topic, which happened to be trust, I said:
It was well received and I felt good to get it out there. I was calm and confident, I know how to talk about my cancer now without too much emotion. Several people came up to me afterward and offered their support, a few sent emails describing how they appreciated my courage, and a couple shared their stories of their own breast cancer or a close loved one. It was another example of the power of "owning" my experience and choosing how I want to show up through the process.
In that light, here are my top 10 to celebrate losing your hair:
- You save lots of money by not buying hair products
- Both time and money saved from not going to the hair salon
- I get an extra 30 minutes of sleep, by not washing, drying and styling each morning
- No longer need to worry about the rainy Seattle days ruining my hairstyle
- Hats and scarves provide lots of new accessory options
- No need to worry about hat head, or bed head
- Having no hair really highlights your earing collection
- No need to shave during treatments (its not just your head where the hair falls out)
- Did I mention, no hair - anywhere?
- Lots of looks and stares - even though you are over 50!
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Into the Tunnel and Back to the Light
Since my last post, I have made my first journey through the tunnel of chemotherapy. It has been hard and painful, but I can now say that I know I can do this. It will get harder each cycle, it will take a lot of strength and perseverance, but I now know that I will make it out the other side.
Chemo is a very different journey than surgery or illness. By the time my chemo was scheduled to begin, I was healed from surgery and life had returned to a normal routine (with a new cadence of doctor visits and tests). I was feeling really good and very strong. I had returned to work full time and walked to and from the ferry each day to stay fit. But the shadow of chemo hung over my summer and nothing much was planned beyond June 27. Otherwise life was good. It is a huge leap of faith to agree to poison one's self, especially when otherwise feeling good, for the promise of killing rogue cells that may grow into new cancers someday.
Going into the chemo treatment center last Friday was not hard for me I had an entourage with me and so many friends and family cheering me on from near and far. The center is very warm and welcoming, set up for treatments both optimistic and valiant. We were a hit in our matching chemo shirts and positive attitudes. The overall process took seven hours, but there was no pain or discomfort, just lots of waiting and boredom.
The next day was almost normal. I felt a little tired and a bit apprehensive, wondering when and what side effects would hit me. I to travel back to Seattle for a quick shot to boost my white blood cell count, an unfortunate requirement for every session given the effort required to get there and back. It essentially takes me two and a half hours of transit for a 10 minute shot. We made an adventure out of the journey and took a boat cruise to show my sisters Seattle from Kelsey's cruise line. It was a beautiful day and the trip was relaxing and fun. We were caught in a short squall on the way back to the ferry, so everyone got wet. Then the beginning effects of chemo hit. From one minute to the next, I went from feeling fine to exhausted. I suddenly could not keep my eyes open and took a short nap on Kelsey's shoulder.
From that moment, there were three and a half days where I lived in the chemo tunnel. I felt my mind and body leave me to a strange place of side effects and pain. The intense fatigue was the worst part. When it hit, I had to immediately sleep for 2-8 hours. I couldn't think or function, I just needed to drift into the tunnel and let my body and mind rest. When I awoke from these episodes, I felt better and alert, but still not quite myself. My sense of smell and taste were a constant reminder of the poison that coursed through my body. Everything was metallic and toxic. My fingers, toes, lips and tongue all tingled and felt somewhat numb. At times the numbness made it difficult to talk and eat. My head was also fuzzy, there were moments where I felt that I was looking at life from a great distance, not really in my own body or mind.
On Sunday the aches began. My bones hurt as the marrow increased production of white blood cells. It felt like a terrible flu, but without the fever or chills. Everything hurt and nothing really helped the pain, except rest and sleep. I tried to stay active, as the doctors suggested, but it was hard when I felt so strange. The support of my sisters, Joe and Kelsey helped me fight through the fog and distracted me from the effects of chemo. Anything to keep me in the moment was a huge gift as it kept me from descending into the tunnel.
My big mistake was returning to work on Tuesday. I was feeling better and ready to have some normalcy back in my schedule. On the walk from the ferry, I knew I was kidding myself. I walked slower than usual, but still felt both fatigue and a feeling that I was outside of my own body. I could not will myself back no matter how hard I tried. The tunnel pulled me in and would not release me. The work day went fine, I had gone for an HR Leadership meeting where everyone knew I was recovering and gave me a lot of grace for not being as alert and clear as usual. Still it was hard and I felt inadequate in the workplace when my body and mind were not fully present.
At home last night, the pain hit its pinnacle. I am not sure if it was the result of overdoing things or just the natural phase of chemo, but every part of me ached and struggled. Even the best pain meds from surgery were no match for the chemo tunnel. I laid in bed in the darkness, feeling the tunnel envelope me. It was dark and lonely, haunted by those who had journeyed through chemo before me. I longed for sleep to come and release me from my worst night, so far, in Cancerland. When it finally came, I slept long and woke up late.
Today started with the quiet of a summer fog in Puget Sound. The muffled sounds and cool morning was a welcome relief from a night hot with pain and struggle. A slow quiet morning allowed me to reenter the world and slowly gain my bearings. I felt better. I felt like myself, almost. The aches were gone, the fuzziness receded. By the time the sun came out in the early afternoon, I could see that I had made it out of the long tunnel. I had survived! My oncologist's nurse called to check on me and confirmed that by now the worst should be over. The sun felt like victory. I had returned. It felt like I had traveled through the long tunnel of chemo and successfully emerged on the other side. I was back and enjoying the sunshine of a beautiful NW day.
Chemo is a very different journey than surgery or illness. By the time my chemo was scheduled to begin, I was healed from surgery and life had returned to a normal routine (with a new cadence of doctor visits and tests). I was feeling really good and very strong. I had returned to work full time and walked to and from the ferry each day to stay fit. But the shadow of chemo hung over my summer and nothing much was planned beyond June 27. Otherwise life was good. It is a huge leap of faith to agree to poison one's self, especially when otherwise feeling good, for the promise of killing rogue cells that may grow into new cancers someday.
Going into the chemo treatment center last Friday was not hard for me I had an entourage with me and so many friends and family cheering me on from near and far. The center is very warm and welcoming, set up for treatments both optimistic and valiant. We were a hit in our matching chemo shirts and positive attitudes. The overall process took seven hours, but there was no pain or discomfort, just lots of waiting and boredom.
The next day was almost normal. I felt a little tired and a bit apprehensive, wondering when and what side effects would hit me. I to travel back to Seattle for a quick shot to boost my white blood cell count, an unfortunate requirement for every session given the effort required to get there and back. It essentially takes me two and a half hours of transit for a 10 minute shot. We made an adventure out of the journey and took a boat cruise to show my sisters Seattle from Kelsey's cruise line. It was a beautiful day and the trip was relaxing and fun. We were caught in a short squall on the way back to the ferry, so everyone got wet. Then the beginning effects of chemo hit. From one minute to the next, I went from feeling fine to exhausted. I suddenly could not keep my eyes open and took a short nap on Kelsey's shoulder.
From that moment, there were three and a half days where I lived in the chemo tunnel. I felt my mind and body leave me to a strange place of side effects and pain. The intense fatigue was the worst part. When it hit, I had to immediately sleep for 2-8 hours. I couldn't think or function, I just needed to drift into the tunnel and let my body and mind rest. When I awoke from these episodes, I felt better and alert, but still not quite myself. My sense of smell and taste were a constant reminder of the poison that coursed through my body. Everything was metallic and toxic. My fingers, toes, lips and tongue all tingled and felt somewhat numb. At times the numbness made it difficult to talk and eat. My head was also fuzzy, there were moments where I felt that I was looking at life from a great distance, not really in my own body or mind.
On Sunday the aches began. My bones hurt as the marrow increased production of white blood cells. It felt like a terrible flu, but without the fever or chills. Everything hurt and nothing really helped the pain, except rest and sleep. I tried to stay active, as the doctors suggested, but it was hard when I felt so strange. The support of my sisters, Joe and Kelsey helped me fight through the fog and distracted me from the effects of chemo. Anything to keep me in the moment was a huge gift as it kept me from descending into the tunnel.
My big mistake was returning to work on Tuesday. I was feeling better and ready to have some normalcy back in my schedule. On the walk from the ferry, I knew I was kidding myself. I walked slower than usual, but still felt both fatigue and a feeling that I was outside of my own body. I could not will myself back no matter how hard I tried. The tunnel pulled me in and would not release me. The work day went fine, I had gone for an HR Leadership meeting where everyone knew I was recovering and gave me a lot of grace for not being as alert and clear as usual. Still it was hard and I felt inadequate in the workplace when my body and mind were not fully present.
At home last night, the pain hit its pinnacle. I am not sure if it was the result of overdoing things or just the natural phase of chemo, but every part of me ached and struggled. Even the best pain meds from surgery were no match for the chemo tunnel. I laid in bed in the darkness, feeling the tunnel envelope me. It was dark and lonely, haunted by those who had journeyed through chemo before me. I longed for sleep to come and release me from my worst night, so far, in Cancerland. When it finally came, I slept long and woke up late.
Today started with the quiet of a summer fog in Puget Sound. The muffled sounds and cool morning was a welcome relief from a night hot with pain and struggle. A slow quiet morning allowed me to reenter the world and slowly gain my bearings. I felt better. I felt like myself, almost. The aches were gone, the fuzziness receded. By the time the sun came out in the early afternoon, I could see that I had made it out of the long tunnel. I had survived! My oncologist's nurse called to check on me and confirmed that by now the worst should be over. The sun felt like victory. I had returned. It felt like I had traveled through the long tunnel of chemo and successfully emerged on the other side. I was back and enjoying the sunshine of a beautiful NW day.
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