hidden damage

I'd heard that your nails often show the state of your health.
Sort of a history, shown almost like the rings of a tree.
But I'd never been able to really see anything, until now.

Can you see it? Those darker curved lines at the base of each nail? (Or is it the lighter parts in between?) And there's another, coming in at the base, which you might be able to see if I'd taken the time to push back my cuticles before taking the picture (I know you'll ignore my lack of manicure).

I figure there is one "ring" for each chemo treatment. Probably takes a couple of weeks before it starts to show up.

Proof that my body isn't especially happy with how it's being treated.

It's not the cancer that makes your immune system weak, your body less able to do what it normally does. It's the treatment.

4th treatment, same as last time (pretty much)

Stubborn port again, but we were able to clear it and move along. Stuff would go IN, it just didn't want to come OUT. And since we have to test my blood before they'll let me have more chemo, (wait, like, it's some sort of privilege?) we have to get it to give it up, or we're looking at a needle stick. Bad enough I've got to walk around with this piece of plastic in me, reminding me every second of every day that I'm not normal. But lets add a needle stick to that while we're at it, okay? Not so much.

Anyway, I was alone for this one. Just the way it turned out. Twin1 had been already, so I didn't feel like I could make him come. Twin2 was sick (just a sore throat, but, not allowed) as was my mom. And my bestie, Betty, was out of town. Jupiter offered to come, but, I was really fine. I had the new socks just started, and I knew what I'd be doing with my time.

The benadryl made me super-sleepy, but I fought it and kept knitting. I didn't want to give up my knitting time. Or be caught snoring in the comfy chair.

Turned out okay - didn't make any knitting mistakes, and I managed to keep awake through the whole thing. Was a tad wobbly on my way to the bathroom a couple times, but I had the IV pole to hang onto, so I was fine. Uh huh. Fine.

This is how far I got with the new socks:

Not bad for just a few hours, right? And I got more done that night, after work.

I went back to work, after chemo. Right at this moment, I'm not sure I know exactly what I did for the couple of hours I was at the office that evening. Mostly office-type stuff, I guess. Not much in the way of client work, is what I mean. More admin and housekeeping/prep work for the month to come. Harmless stuff.

I worked the rest of the week as well. Mostly clear-headed until later Friday. But when I came home Friday, after feeling that I couldn't work another second at the office, I didn't get to sleep until well after midnight. Couldn't do any more desk work, but apparently I couldn't sleep yet, either. More than one kind of tired, I guess. I worked on a few projects from bed until I was finally nodding off.

Saturday and Sunday kind of blur together. There was sleeping, eating, watching some Netflix. And I went to the grocery store Saturday evening. Only gone for 1/2 hour, but it totally knocked me out. Got my ice cream, though, so I was happy.

Lots of tasty meals came our way, with some cute Easter lamb cookies from one neighbor. How sweet of them to give us that little bit of Easter! I was touched.

Back to work Monday, for about 1/2 day, but my mind wasn't totally clear, and I was tired and yawning all day.

Much better today. Except for that nasty taste in my mouth, combined with a feeling like the inside of my mouth has been roughed up with sand paper or something. Getting real tired of sucking on lemon drops or chewing gum, I tell you.

And this time, my fingernails hurt. All of them. Even my toes. It's like how they hurt when you've been using them (unwisely, I'm sure) to unpick a stubborn knot in your shoelaces. Do you know that feeling? Like I've used every single last fingernail and toenail like they were pliers or something, pinching with just the nail ends, and pulling at something. Except of course, I haven't. Even if I had, how would I have done that with my toenails? Not possible. But that's how they feel. It almost hurts to type. Wonder how long it will last?

out without

Saturday evening we needed to go to the grocery store. I'd been mostly sleeping all day, and I didn't feel up to putting on my hair. Something to do with wearing glasses, and the way wigs fight with that. I don't know. My boy said we wouldn't see anyone, what's the big deal, etc.

We saw people. People we knew. And I looked awful.

Sorry about that.

We were only out for about 1/2 hour, including travel time, but it felt like more.

I was one tired momma.

the thing I don't want to talk about (it's a woman thing)

WARNING!
this is not a post for the men-folk!

For any men who might read this blog, you may not be comfortable with the subject matter of this post! (Or, to put it another way, it's not something you're likely to want to discuss with me later.)

In fact, if you know me only casually, you probably shouldn't read this. If you work with me, every day, you may not want to read this.

I want to put this out there, because it's honest, it's part of my experience with breast cancer, and I do, in fact, need to talk about it. For me, if nothing else. It is about the one side-effect of chemo I had never heard of before, and I think other women should know that this can happen.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

(Are they gone yet, ladies? Are we alone? Good. Then I'll begin.)

There is one side-effect that bothers me. Bothers me enough that I really don't want to think about it, let alone talk about it. It's the only side-effect that can (most likely will) be permanent, for me.

Chemo, or, at least, the sort of chemo I'm having, can cause menopause. Usually does, I'm told. And in someone my age, it tends not to revert back once chemo is over. (For me, as well, I will be taking anti-hormone therapy for the next 5 years. My cancer was fed by hormones, so we have to suppress them to be sure the cancer won't come back. In cases like mine, they used to just do a full hysterectomy, which can be devastating in so many ways. I'm grateful that is no longer the case.)

I'm 43. I figured menopause was at least another decade away.

I don't know if I can explain why it bothers me so much. But I'll try.

Partly, I have a good relationship with my body. My periods were regular, relatively mild, and rarely, if ever, disruptive to my life. No wild mood swings. No unbearable cramps. Generally, my period showed up when expected, lasted about 3 days, and that was that. No drama. I was rarely thrown off by travel, roommates, or any of the other usual things.

I know. It's weird. But my body was textbook in that way. And I respected that, and generally tried to keep it to myself. Other women didn't like to hear about it. Which I can also respect.

More than that, though, there is the fact that, despite my age and marital status, I hadn't yet closed the door on having more children. Not mentally, anyway.
I grew up in a big family (8 kids) and I wanted the same. I had always thought I would have more. At least, one more. My ambitions narrowed as I grew older, with no relationship in sight. One more would do, if I could just, please, have the opportunity?
I had a fantastic pregnancy with the twins. Never felt better, as they say. No complications, no problems, went into labor on my own, vaginal delivery, and everything was just as it should be.
Nursing was even easy for me. I breastfed them for about 18 months, and rarely had any problems. We did reach a point when it seemed I couldn't produce any more, around 6 months, even though I tried to up the production by nursing them extra. So that's when we started them on solids. And after that, it was fine. I had no trouble keeping up. And I loved it.
I'd have had more, gone on having kids, even with the possibility of having another set of twins (mine occurred naturally - I'd had no trouble getting pregnant - twins run in my family), if I'd had the opportunity. But their father and I separated shortly after they were born, were divorced a year later, and it was years before I married my second husband. Then that marriage fell apart before we'd decided we might be ready to have a baby. That was over 10 years ago, and I've just not managed to date much. So that was it. I'd wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, with lots of kids. I just didn't end up that way.

You'd think, by now, three years past the recommended cut-off, I'd have crossed the idea of pregnancy off my list. I probably should have. But I didn't feel any different at 40 than I did at 30, and I couldn't see why, if my body was healthy, and the right man came along, I shouldn't at least try for one more. Given the opportunity, I'd risk it. I wanted it that much.

The opportunity never presented itself.

I didn't pursue it with vigor, no. I wasn't willing to lower my standards or adjust my ideals, just to be married again. It wasn't worth it to me if it wasn't the right man. I wasn't about to date just anyone. Being a single mom, working full-time, takes energy. For whatever reason, I didn't seem to meet anyone, and I didn't push it. It felt right to me to focus on raising my boys, so I did. I didn't know I'd miss my chance. I never felt that I was making a decision to not have any more kids. I thought I was just waiting for the right time, the right man. And since I felt that wanting more kids seemed like a backward reason to be looking for a husband, I didn't approach it that way. It had to be right, I had to be head-over-heals in love, or forget it.

I didn't know.

And now, having had my last cycle just before my first chemo, it looks like I'm done.

I don't care that this way is easier. I don't care that it's quicker. I don't care that the usual way of going through the "change of life" could have been drawn out for years, messy and unpredictable.

I wasn't ready for this.