How are you?
There is so much to this question for me-- obviously now, but I have actually always struggled with this greeting.
I don't really know why. I think I have always been a self-reflector (one who self-reflects?), so the question, to me, reads deeper than it should.
I want to tell you of all the assorted ways that I feel, of how I am truly doing. I have learned to embrace this awkwardness about me, but it took a long time to successfully supply the rote and expected response of, "Great, thanks! How are you?"
I do not attribute any sort of callousness to this greeting, though I think there are better ones out there, ones that won't cause people like me (over-thinkers?) to pause, mentally review their life story in its current iteration, and then blather on about how I take the dog, Toby, for walks daily unless it is too cold or possibly rainy, which it has indeed been, and then a barrage of medical updates, also I like when I see this white deer on my walks, oh and I am definitely terrified of catching the flu this season, and I have been watching the show "Riverdale" and it is actually not that bad!, I have had some contract work so that's super cool, oh and also I am rereading A Wrinkle in Time before it hits the theaters... etc. So you get the point, yeah? More odd is that I am not otherwise an over-sharer.
So that was a really long way to get to an update about how I am doing. I am fine, thanks! How are you?
I have two chemo infusions left, scheduled for February 16th and March 7th. This new chemo (adriamycin & cytoxan) is a great deal suckier for me than the previous stuff (taxol & carboplatin). I may not have shared with you already that there is a nickname for adriamycin... the Red Devil. Named so for its color (yep, it really is red) and for the toll it takes on patients. Also because it must be administered very carefully so as not to damage skin or veins-- my nurse actually sits and pushes the red devil in via giant syringe. YEAH. It takes about five minutes total which makes me think of the phrase, "A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips," but reimagined as, "A moment in the port, a week on the couch." And a lifetime of no more cancer, right?
Thankfully there are meds to counteract the nausea, which is helpful-- but really what it means for me is major food aversion. Everything sounds disgusting for at least a week. Some advice I received from someone in the Young Survivors Coalition (this is an org for people who have had a breast cancer diagnosis while they were young) was that when the brain and the stomach agree on a food, you eat it. This has resulted in some interesting dinners, such as tater tots (just tater tots, nothing else), just fruit or fruit snacks, just a sweet potato. I have even had some meat, just because it did not repulse me. So we will get through this next month and reconfigure the food situation once more.
For my next infusion, I have called in reinforcements: my mom is coming to visit again!
One more update that I am even less happy to report is that I had to spend a couple nights in the hospital last week for neutropenic fever. LE SIGH. Please do not worry, because it was not something serious. But it could have been, so they keep you for a few days, no matter what. Like cancer jail.
A neutropenic fever means low neutrophils plus a fever. Very low neuts, as they were at .2. My fever was low grade (100.6 at its highest), but they tell you to come in if it is above 100.4. I first called the on-call oncologist, who said to take a Tylenol (you are not supposed to do this unless explicitly told-- they do not want you to mask a fever), go to sleep, and if it spikes again in the night, to come in. It did and we did, at 3:00am (NATCH, because who goes to the ER at a normal hour?). Long story short, they transported me to the hospital, gave me strong antibiotics, and observed the hell out of me. After many a test, they could not find the source of my fever, and really it could just have been my own regular bacteria causing it since my immune system was compromised. My fever went down and stayed down right away, and once my neuts got back up to a safer level (1.4), they let me go. I disliked this entire experience, but was super grateful for John staying the night each night, and for the amazing medical personnel at every step of the way.
Side note: Who are these people with these insane jobs? They work ridiculously long hours and see some horrifying sh&* and I just do not understand it. My EMT works 24 hour shifts! And still volunteers as a volunteer firefighter/EMT on the side! Just... no. But thank you, thank you, thank you, to those who do this work.
Tomorrow I have my first appointment with my plastic surgeon.
Cool story, Hansel.
There is so much to this question for me-- obviously now, but I have actually always struggled with this greeting.
I don't really know why. I think I have always been a self-reflector (one who self-reflects?), so the question, to me, reads deeper than it should.
I want to tell you of all the assorted ways that I feel, of how I am truly doing. I have learned to embrace this awkwardness about me, but it took a long time to successfully supply the rote and expected response of, "Great, thanks! How are you?"
I do not attribute any sort of callousness to this greeting, though I think there are better ones out there, ones that won't cause people like me (over-thinkers?) to pause, mentally review their life story in its current iteration, and then blather on about how I take the dog, Toby, for walks daily unless it is too cold or possibly rainy, which it has indeed been, and then a barrage of medical updates, also I like when I see this white deer on my walks, oh and I am definitely terrified of catching the flu this season, and I have been watching the show "Riverdale" and it is actually not that bad!, I have had some contract work so that's super cool, oh and also I am rereading A Wrinkle in Time before it hits the theaters... etc. So you get the point, yeah? More odd is that I am not otherwise an over-sharer.
So that was a really long way to get to an update about how I am doing. I am fine, thanks! How are you?
I have two chemo infusions left, scheduled for February 16th and March 7th. This new chemo (adriamycin & cytoxan) is a great deal suckier for me than the previous stuff (taxol & carboplatin). I may not have shared with you already that there is a nickname for adriamycin... the Red Devil. Named so for its color (yep, it really is red) and for the toll it takes on patients. Also because it must be administered very carefully so as not to damage skin or veins-- my nurse actually sits and pushes the red devil in via giant syringe. YEAH. It takes about five minutes total which makes me think of the phrase, "A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips," but reimagined as, "A moment in the port, a week on the couch." And a lifetime of no more cancer, right?
Thankfully there are meds to counteract the nausea, which is helpful-- but really what it means for me is major food aversion. Everything sounds disgusting for at least a week. Some advice I received from someone in the Young Survivors Coalition (this is an org for people who have had a breast cancer diagnosis while they were young) was that when the brain and the stomach agree on a food, you eat it. This has resulted in some interesting dinners, such as tater tots (just tater tots, nothing else), just fruit or fruit snacks, just a sweet potato. I have even had some meat, just because it did not repulse me. So we will get through this next month and reconfigure the food situation once more.
For my next infusion, I have called in reinforcements: my mom is coming to visit again!
One more update that I am even less happy to report is that I had to spend a couple nights in the hospital last week for neutropenic fever. LE SIGH. Please do not worry, because it was not something serious. But it could have been, so they keep you for a few days, no matter what. Like cancer jail.
A neutropenic fever means low neutrophils plus a fever. Very low neuts, as they were at .2. My fever was low grade (100.6 at its highest), but they tell you to come in if it is above 100.4. I first called the on-call oncologist, who said to take a Tylenol (you are not supposed to do this unless explicitly told-- they do not want you to mask a fever), go to sleep, and if it spikes again in the night, to come in. It did and we did, at 3:00am (NATCH, because who goes to the ER at a normal hour?). Long story short, they transported me to the hospital, gave me strong antibiotics, and observed the hell out of me. After many a test, they could not find the source of my fever, and really it could just have been my own regular bacteria causing it since my immune system was compromised. My fever went down and stayed down right away, and once my neuts got back up to a safer level (1.4), they let me go. I disliked this entire experience, but was super grateful for John staying the night each night, and for the amazing medical personnel at every step of the way.
Side note: Who are these people with these insane jobs? They work ridiculously long hours and see some horrifying sh&* and I just do not understand it. My EMT works 24 hour shifts! And still volunteers as a volunteer firefighter/EMT on the side! Just... no. But thank you, thank you, thank you, to those who do this work.
Tomorrow I have my first appointment with my plastic surgeon.
Cool story, Hansel.
I asked for a sweet potato, and I got a sweet potato. Thanks, John!
I can relate.
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