6th & final chemo

My mom came with me for this last session. (Which was on Tues, May 15) We were quiet, only talking a little bit. I was a bit loopy from the benadryl again, and struggling not to sleep, because I wanted to knit. Which I did.
(Mom was quiet partly because anything she said was commented on by the nearest nurse(s), and this made her feel as though everyone was listening. Which is kinda true. That's just how it is in the chemo room.)
Because this was my last session, there was a little bit of hoopla from the nurses, and a bottle of sparkling cider for me to celebrate with! (Sorry, no picture. I was drowsy and not thinking straight.)

When I talked to my onco, he was with me on the whole "get this port out as soon as possible" thing. He says we can leave it in until after radiation is over (they'll take blood about once a week), or take it out before that starts, if I don't mind a needle stick (I don't). I tell him I've always had an easy vein, but I'll see how I feel when we meet up again in June. No question of taking it out at the end of that day, as I would already be knocked down by the chemo; adding minor surgery to that isn't the best idea.

(Did you see what I said there? I don't have to see another doctor until MID JUNE!
I really like that. I'm so very very tired of doctors and nurses and always having to go back.)

I have been more tired. More down, emotionally. And sometimes, even now, two weeks later, I get a sort of wave of exhaustion. I'll be sitting at my desk, or even relaxing in bed, and suddenly, I'll feel as though I just finished climbing a huge hill, every muscle in my body weak, every joint sore. Like I just can't keep going another second. It passes fairly quickly. But that's strange, too.

In the meantime, my left eyebrow has decided it wants to match the right, so now I must color them both in. Sometimes more than once, since I tend to sweat them off if I do too much. I see no sign of these particular hairs trying to grow back just yet, either. Bother.

The hair on my head, it seems, got the message that we've had our last chemo, and looks as though it's trying to grow back already. It's just a light fuzz, filling in about the fuzz that never really left. But it's there. I think. I might be imagining it, actually. Not sure.

My weight. I'd like to ignore that issue. But I can't. I said before that I refuse to buy new pants. I still refuse. I can get into my skinnier jeans, without much struggle, actually. But it's not pretty. No, it's not a good look at all. And my face...ugh...it's all puffy (okay, it's fat). What's strange is that I seem to have gained more just in the last week, and I can tell you that I'm not endlessly eating (although, for whatever reason, this time my taste buds were almost normal), and in fact, I've been significantly more physically active than I was in between all the other chemo sessions. It's discouraging. I had been losing weight slowly, back in Nov/Dec, before the diagnosis. I felt like I was starting to look pretty good. And then apparently, I had to be one of those that gains weight while being treated for cancer. Because, why not? I think I find it more discouraging right now than how my head looks with it's uneven fuzz of hair. If they tell me I'm not supposed to try to lose weight while I do radiation (like they did when I started chemo), I think I'll explode. I mean, if someone is already overweight, isn't it okay if they continue doing something healthy, as long as they don't end up underweight? (HA! as if that could happen!) Not happy about how puffy I feel.

Anyway, puffy or not, for a while at least, life can tilt back towards normal. And maybe I can get caught up with things at home and work. Maybe.

I dropped my son off at the MTC today. It was a bitter-sweet parting. I started getting emotional as we drove over. I managed to hold it together (mostly) while we unloaded luggage and made sure he had the essentials. Then, as the two "host" missionaries were about to walk away with my son and all his belongings, I asked for one more hug. My boy hugged me so tight. Tighter than I've been hugged in a long time. Almost tight enough to last two years. Almost.

I'm so very proud of him. I know he's going to be a great missionary. But I'm going to miss him so very very much.

fuzzy and incomplete

Hair loss with chemo is unpredictable.
Not to mention, it's different for everyone, like most things with chemo.
Most of you saw how quickly my hair left my head, once it started. But what you may not know is that I never lost all of it. Some of it was just too stubborn to leave. Or maybe, somehow, the body knows just how much hair it can sustain, and that's how much it leaves. Whatever the reason, I still have hair on my head.

Not enough that I'd want to go out bare-headed.

No

 Just enough that it's comical.

It's all fuzzy. And usually, it sticks straight up.

At this point, shaving it off again would just be silly.

Also, while I hope I've been clever enough with the make-up that most of you wouldn't have noticed? I've lost a fair amount of hair from my right eyebrow.

And a few lashes as well.

I color it in, and mostly you can't tell. But it's a bit sparse. The left one is okay. What's that about?

Sparse just about sums up what hair there is on my body. Sparse, and also fine. What there is is nearly invisible. Mostly. (The upside to this? I used to have a few hairs on my chin, which I was obliged to pluck from time to time. Haven't seen any in months.)

A couple of weeks ago, I decided I'd shave my legs and underarms. Now I'm wishing I hadn't, because what's growing back in seems darker and courser. What was there was only visible if you got really close to me. Will I never learn?

Lastly, for the curious, even the remaining "canopy" has thinned to just a sprinkling of hair. I feel all exposed and naked. Even when I'm dressed. And some people, apparently, do this deliberately? Weird.

treatment #5

I am kinda starting to dread these chemo treatments. The recovery time is lengthening each time, it seems, with new side effects and pains. When I told my onco I was starting to resent the whole process he just looked at me and said, "oh, so, you're human? I was starting to think you were some kind of super-woman."
I suppose that just about sums it up. I had been feeling pretty good, bouncing back pretty fast, up to the last one.

Not really different from the rest in the moment. Except my port behaved right away and we didn't have to do much but lay me back in the recliner, and we had it giving up blood. But then I mentioned that I only had one treatment after this, so I wouldn't be keeping it much longer, and she informs me that no, they like to keep them in until well after radiation, because they'll take blood while that's going on, and then usually, she said, they leave them in until you've been cleared at the one-year mark.

Excuse me?

I do NOT want this piece of plastic, with its tube going directly into my jugular, just sitting there, for no good reason, for another YEAR. I'm gonna have to talk to someone about that. I can take being stuck with a needle if they need to, for whatever testing they'll want to do, once the prescribed treatments are finished with. But this THING has a popped stitch that pokes from the inside, and the tube jabs my neck in some positions when I'm trying to sleep, and I just think, maybe, we can do without it. I hope.

Anyway.

So they'd scheduled me a bit late in the day, 2pm, for what should take about 3 hrs. I came early for the blood stuff, so I didn't hold them up. But it was getting toward 5pm, and the first bag of poison was still not finished. I understand they'd like to go home, and I wanted to be done, too. After twice thinking the bag was empty, and it wasn't, the nurse decided to squeeze out what was left so she could switch to the other poison. Yeah. I felt that. She stood behind me so I didn't have to see her do it, but I could hear it, and then, my whole body went quite warm for about a minute. Quite warm. Ick.

It was really strange.

Then, the rest went as normal. Didn't take much longer and I was done.

It was after 5, so I didn't plan to go back to work, even though I felt fine. I did pop in for a few more minutes, to finish up some things, because I knew I'd be a bit spacey the rest of the week, if not worse.

And basically, that was all I was. At first. Kinda spacey Thursday. Kinda getting tired Friday, and only sort of woozy Saturday, but knowing my body would need sleep. I didn't try to push it. I tried to sleep. I just couldn't quite sleep enough, maybe. Or maybe, my body is more destroyed this time, and I needed more. By Monday, it was evident I wasn't going to make it to work. Still didn't sleep so much as I just lay there, resting (which is almost good enough), but it wasn't so much helping me to feel better.

I kept thinking, as I lay there drifting in and out of sleep, only getting up to use the bathroom, that I might be feeling better, sooner, if only I had an IV fluid drip. It's really hard to drink enough liquids when water tastes nasty, and even harder to drink when you're sleeping. So I know I wasn't getting enough to keep me hydrated, but still, I couldn't seem to make myself drink more. I keep trying. But my mouth feels dry (which is another side-effect, new for me) and no matter how much I seem to drink, I'm sure it's not enough, yet.

So here it is Friday, and I'm still feeling worn out. I've been in to work every day, but some days, not even for half the day.

And my room....it sort of....stinks. Just a sort of "funk" I can only say isn't...normal.

I think I'll be able to manage changing the sheets, doing some laundry. I should be able to. If not, I'll make my boy help me. Understand, it's not the laundry that will wear me out. That part is easy. It's the whole walking around the double bed multiple times while I put on new sheets. That can be kind of tiring, all on your own. I've always thought that when the bed is too big to make while standing to one side, there ought to be someone else on the other side to help you out. It's sort of a two-person job, when the bed is big enough for two. Should be, anyway. But that's neither here nor there. One problem at a time. Get past the cancer, and then see what's next.

I am so grateful there is only one more of these to go. At least then, when I start feeling better afterwards, I don't have to remind myself there is another one coming up.