To say that one’s life changes with a cancer diagnosis is a truism, but it is understated. Your world as you once knew it also changes.
I now find myself dreaming less about the “big” things in life such as traveling and retirement because I don’t know if these will come to be. Instead, I’m focusing on the daily things in life that bring me joy. Many are simple things that are easily attainable and don’t rely on my state of health to appreciate.
Since my cancer diagnosis and then more so since placed in isolation on October 19, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I spend many hours alone at home while my spouse works along with my adult children who have left home to make their own lives with their mates.
Today, I’m thinking positive thoughts and reflecting on things that bring me joy each day. Here is the beginning of a growing list that I have compiled of where I find joy in my life:
The Power of People
-My Family
-My extended family
-Friends
-Coworkers and colleagues
-Readers of my blog and the comments they send
-Cards, emails, presents, flowers and phone calls from these folks
-Family members who have come with me to chemo treatments and multiple medical
appointments
-Hugs from loved ones
-Baby giggles that shake their bodies
-The antics of little children
-Smiles on people’s faces as they greet you, even if you’re unknown to them
-Members of my cancer treatment team
Nature’s Nourishment
-Walks at Oak Hammock Marsh
-The mesmerizing effect of lakes and rivers that calm
-Sunrises and Sunsets
-Leaves changing color
-The first fat, fluffy flakes of snow
-Hoarfrost on trees
-The first buds of green in spring
-Summer gardens
Sensory Sensations
-(longing for) soothing scalp massages from my hairstylist Jen
-Flannel sheets
-Down comforters
-Bubble baths
-Massages
-New gel bead pillows that cradle my neck and shoulders, a gift from my sis-in-law
Theresa
-Running my fingers through my ½” of mostly white, kinky, baby textured fuzzy hair
that’s hugging my head as it starts to grow back
-The Sound of Music, my all time favorite childhood movie
-Music recordings that feature flute and harp
-Vintage jewellery
-Live symphony and ballet concerts
-My old sheepskin slippers
-The smell of freshly laundered clothing
Foodie Fixes
-A nightly cup of tea with my hubby and kids if they’re home
-Spending time in my renovated kitchen
-Fresh Figs (discovered earlier this fall)
-Smells of homemade baking
-Home made dinners that are gluten free, low in acid, and have had proper “chemo” food
handling procedures
-Hazelnut hot chocolate (a new discovery with chemo as a drink I can actually tolerate)
-Gluten free pumpkin pie tarts and chocolate chip cookies, treats from family members
who discovered them in a local neighborhood bakery (thanks sis’s Jen & Theresa)
-The Food Network and new recipes to try
-Farmer’s Markets and the array of locally grown fresh foods
It will be the joyful things in daily life that will continue to give me pleasure in this journey with cancer. I place one foot in front of another and keep walking through my treatments with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
October was the most difficult month for me, in this, the eighth month of my cancer journey. It beat out the mastectomy surgery in April, and the cellulitis infection in May. They were trumped this past month by three Taxotere infections with febrile neutropenia (fever and low blood counts), and three episodes of Thrush. All of these chemo complications tested my mettle and my patience. I’m glad that month is over.
Through all of this, I came to realize how quickly I could get seriously sick (there is a potential for fatal sepsis with febrile neutropenia), and how few defenses I have to fight infections with low blood counts because of chemotherapy.
In all of this, the phrase “life is fragile” has taken on a more profound meaning for me. Life is even more delicate when you have cancer and are fighting chemo side effects to get well.
The ongoing medical visits with an array of doctors always make me leave thinking I am lucky to be alive with this cancer diagnosis. The visits remind me that I am living on “borrowed time” with a life-threatening illness. Cancer is always on my mind, and always will be. As a cancer patient, you just don’t know how long you have to enjoy the blessings of life in family, and friends. But then again, do any of us really know how long we have in our lifetime? We’re all living on borrowed time.
Delayed Chemo and the Countdown to Conclusion
Earlier this week presented a mixed blessing. My final Taxotere chemo session on November 2 was postponed to the 8th because the Thrush infection had not cleared. I’m now on another potent anti-fungal medication to rid my body of it so that it’s clear for chemo on Monday. I’m glad that these extra six days will boost my low white blood cell counts higher, so that I am stronger to deal with the side effects of the final chemo.
The oncologist has warned that this last cycle would be rough, based on how my body has responded to the first two cycles of Taxotere. My body’s reaction to the drug has been severe enough that an alert has been placed in my patient file. It informs all members of my treatment team, including the oncologists on call, that should I spike a fever (febrile neutropenia) or other complications, immediate action is required because of my previous histories of infections with Taxotere in the past two treatments.
Since my last Taxotere treatment, I have learned that this chemo drug and the FEC that preceded it are the strongest drugs administered in the 100-member family of chemo cocktails. They are also the most effective to treat breast cancer. Because of their potency, breast cancer patients will only ever receive FEC and Taxotere once in their lifetime in the hope that they eradicate cancer. If cancer returns, the treatment modality will involve different chemo drugs.
The chemo treatments that were once far away in months, and then weeks, are now down to days—four days from today to be precise. I am anxious, worried, scared, restless, nervous, and terrified about this last treatment. I just want the treatment and the three weeks of side effects that follow it to be over.
A thermometer to monitor my temperature, will be a constant companion during this time. Four weeks from now, I will breathe a big sigh of relief. Chemo will finally be over, rest and recuperation will be welcomed as I wait for radiation to start, likely at the top of Christmas week.
Dr. “Fabulous” and the Sixth Month Check-Up
Yesterday, I had my sixth month follow-up check up with my surgeon, whom I call “Dr. Fabulous”.
He and I have spent a fair amount of time together these past few months. We have built a good patient-doctor rapport. He was the one who tenderly broke the news to me about my cancer, prepped me for my mastectomy, did my surgery, and then treated me multiple times for the cellulitis post-surgery complication. We now stay in touch with periodic medical appointments to check my progress.
The good news is that he is pleased with how well my incision and body is healing from the mastectomy.
He is always patient, kind, reassuring, gentle, open to questions, and is never condescending. He is a doctor who looks you in the eye when he talks, and speaks candidly about one’s life in living with cancer.
“You can never rest on your laurels with breast cancer,” he said. “It’s one of those diseases that can come back even while you’re in chemotherapy, radiation, or undergoing Tamoxifen treatments. Although it’s rare that cancer will recur while in treatment, it still can. You have to be vigilant in self-exams for the rest of your life.
If anything comes up that you’re concerned about, call me at anytime. We can check it out, and if there’s nothing there then you have peace of mind. If there is something suspicious, then we can act on it quickly and early.” Dr. Fabulous. Enough said.
He noted that breast cancer patients have come back with recurrences within a couple of years, and as long as 25 years after their first diagnosis. The first few years after a diagnosis are the most critical for recurrence. As well, there is a small risk that the toxicity of chemotherapy treatments given to breast cancer patients can cause leukemia.
The clock keeps ticking to reach the time of the final chemo infusion. I am mustering every ounce of courage in me in these next 96 hours as I await my last Taxotere treatment. I boldly move forward with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
On Friday, I finally got some good news from my oncologist. The results of the MRI scan that I had two days earlier came back early—it was supposed to take 10 days. The liver lesion that the doctors were concerned about being possibly cancerous is not cancer. Did anyone hear my big sigh of relief at about 12:15 p.m. Friday?
Unfortunately, in that same visit, I learned that my white cell blood counts from my pre-chemo blood tests taken that morning were “acceptably low,” despite the increased dosage of blood count booster I have had concurrent with my fifth round of chemo. I am also battling a third round of a Thrush mouth infection, which isn’t clearing because of low white blood cell counts.
To top it off, my chemo infusion intravenous port was giving the treatment nurses grief for the fourth time (it’s been blocked for 4 out of 6 blood tests) because it keeps getting blocked, thus causing problems for blood work and my chemo infusion.
The oncologist was non-committal on Friday, when we discussed my next and last round of chemo this week. He has asked me to return to the cancer treatment ward tomorrow for more blood tests to see if I can have my sixth and final chemo infusion on Tuesday. Intuitively, I think that the Thrush has to be cleared and they want my blood counts to be higher as Taxotere has had such dramatic side effects with me. It’s not looking good for knocking off the last treatment this week.
I suspect I will be delayed for a week given the problems I have had with Taxotere this past month. This is familiar—it happened to me with my first of chemo, delaying the next treatment by a week.
The Sensations of an MRI Scan
Prior to the scan, I was concerned that the metal pins in my back from scoliosis surgery 38 years ago might get dislodged or cause problems with the magnetic scanner. All was fine.
The body sensation of being in an MRI was not as scary as I thought. It’s actually kind of neat. It is nothing like any medical tests I have ever had before.
You are rigidly positioned and locked into place, so that your body stays motionless during the scans. Because of my anxiety about being held in a very small confined space, I was given a double folded washcloth to place over my eyes so that I could not see my surroundings.
The room is warm because of the power being used to operate the scanner.
There are different kinds of breathing involved with MRI scans. There are deep breaths, exhales, and holds. There are controlled and even breaths. Sometimes you hold your breath for a short while, other times it is longer. The breath holds were anywhere from about 25 seconds to slightly less than a minute.
Sometimes you breathe normally, as the magnet moves around your body taking “slices” of images of the area they are focusing on to get a proper diagnosis. Other times you have to stop breathing and stay absolutely still, so that the sensitivity of the magnet is not disrupted for specific scans.
The breath work was somewhat difficult for me, as the blood thinner medication and chemotherapy drugs can make me short of breath. I was exhausted, light-headed and dizzy when the half hour scan was over. The technician told me that this is not uncommon.
Beeps, Bangs, and Bloops: The Sounds of an MRI Scan
Regarding the experience of being scanned by the MRI, it is definitely an “auditory” event.
The MRI machine is loud. You are given industrial quality padded headphones to protect your hearing, and to listen to the technician giving you breathing cues that correspond to the kind of scan they are doing.
One enters the MRI scan room to a constant sound that is similar to that of an oversized loaded washing machine, coupled with a high-pitched bird chirping. This is the MRI’s motor running in the background at all times.
If you’ve ever had an MRI scan, you’ll identify with some of its unusual sounds. There are bleeps, bangs, and bloops sounds when you’re in the tunnel of the MRI machine.
The magnet’s scanning sounds are similar to ones you’d hear in base tracks of techno pop music. Others may say that it is like attending a new music concert where contemporary composers play with technology to create lyric-less sounds with music.
The low bass electronic sounds of the magnet generally move quickly and constantly, but they occasionally may be lower and slower. The sounds can be rhythmic, sporadic, or may be measured in beats as the magnet moves around your body to collect several images of the area being scanned.
Here is the basic sound that many of the MRI scans will have:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oI9YnhPNcQ
Different types of MRI scans produce different kinds of sounds. While in the scanner, I could hear how the sounds could be incorporated to make music. Someone has done this using the MRI’s bass sounds to form the music bed for this recording:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3m4kFu2H0qQ
At one point during the scan, there was an image recording that was six minutes long. This scan had a stereo sound quality to it; I had a low beat in one earphone, while the other one was played in sequence with a lower loud bang. When that scan was over, I had a horrible headache from the constant banging. Another scan not only had shrilly and rapid sounds, it shook my lower body as it made what felt like a 360° scan of the area around my liver.
Near the end of the scan, a nurse comes in to inject a contrast die into an intravenous that was placed in your arm prior to the procedure. The dye leaves a bit of an after taste in your mouth. Upon entering your bloodstream, the dye initially is very cold and then makes you hot as it spreads throughout the area being scanned. As well, the dye can make some people quite nauseous after injection, which is why patients are told not to eat and drink for four hours before their test. I sailed through all of this with ease.
As I was leaving to go home, the nurse told me that my oncologist could look at the scans on their computer the next morning. I marveled at the wonders of technology in medical equipment and computers. She said that the radiologist’s assessment report would be available in 10 working days. My doctor had results within 36 hours. I don’t know this for sure, but perhaps cancer patient scan assessments are a higher priority due to the nature of their life-threatening illness.
My mind is very focused on getting through my final Taxotere treatment and moving on to the next chapter in my life in healing from chemo and preparing for radiation treatments. I am nervous and worried about the last treatment, but I will get through it with Strength, Courage, and Determination.