Two weeks ago, I woke up

in the morning and winced while pulling out my earplugs. This is normal for me. My ears have been scabbed for a couple of months because of the pressure from the plugs. I took a sip of water and after the pain of swallowing, realized that my mouth sores had returned. Then I sauntered into the bathroom and looked in the mirror because something was bothering my eye. It was a stye. I decided to begin the laundry. While sorting clothes, my nose sputtered. Thinking it was the standard chemo runny nose, I sniffed and quickly swiped at it with the back of my hand, but my hand came away streaked in red. I returned to the bathroom for tissues. After tending to my nose, I pulled down my underwear and sat on the toilet. Even though my surgery with the robot was two and a half months ago, I'm still spotting (it takes longer to heal on chemo). I've been wearing pantyliners for three months. I then had to release some dogs from the doghouse in the backyard, so to speak. After I wiped and saw red on the toilet paper, I yelled a string of expletives. Third anal fissure.

While I feel better overall, my body is beginning to break down from the chemo wear and tear. I've woken up to blood on the sheets and blood on my pillowcase (it's not as bad as it sounds). If I begin bleeding out of my eyes, I might have all orifices covered. All six issues require regular maintenance, but the mouth sores are the most troublesome. One is on my tongue and the rest are down the left side of my throat. They won't go away, nor will they heal. It's difficult to eat, drink and talk. I've been prescribed "Magic Mouthwash" which acts like 10 minutes of novocaine, and I just received a FedEx delivery of GelClair which--fingers crossed--will speed the healing.

I was supposed to have my eighth infusion last Wednesday, but I've developed neutropenia (very low white blood cell count), so my chemotherapy has been postponed for one week. My bone marrow needs time to manufacture more fightin' cells (this is most likely the reason why I developed those little irksome side effects all at once). Doctor's orders: do NOT get another anal fissure. It concerns her most. My butthole must not become a revolving door to a bacteria disco party in my GI tract. 

And while we're on this subject... Some chemo patients suffer the indignity of constipation one week and then diarrhea the next. With one exception, the dogs in my doghouse have been a-okay. They are big and healthy and well-behaved. However, they need to go on a diet while my skin remains so tender. 

And so I chug the Miralax. And stay quarantined until my white blood cell count returns to baseline. And I count down the days until this is over. 

84 days under my belt. 63 more to go. 

Infusions 6 & 7

How does one fall in love with an empty stale tuna fish can? I'm trying, I'm trying hard to do just that. I have some gifts of eucalyptus soap, lavender essential oil and a homemade oil perfume to help when the smell is entirely loathsome.

Infusions 6 and 7 were uneventful, boring even. I only received Taxol for those two. In order to make the Carbo/Taxol infusions more tolerable, each cycle is divided into weekly "mini" doses. One complete cycle is three weeks of treatment. Since I will receive four cycles of this regiment, that means 12 weeks of infusions, total.

While these infusions have been uneventful and boring, the support I've received is anything but. After I had my first treatment, I wasn't sure if I wanted visitors, but one girlfriend who has lymphoma recommended that I get drivers to and from the hospital because of the "funny way" I would feel. Initially, I emailed a small group of friends and asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to drive for the next three treatments. Those slots got filled within a day. And together, we discovered that it was fun to stick around and talk while I was being chemo'ed. My girlfriends were amazing. They took my mind off the Red Devil. And at times, that infusion room felt like a party!

One in eight women will get breast cancer. And that scares the crap out of some of my friends. Even though I'm the first one to get it, they're wondering who's next. My condition has scraped open a raw and searing vulnerability, a powerlessness that no amount of kale or broccoli can reverse. It's a game of "Tag. You're It."

So while I'm attached to the IV, I have received so much love and care from these wonderful women. So much patience, tenderness and flexibility. One held my hand when the IV needle pierced through my skin, hooking itself into my port. Many have fussed over my blankets to keep me warm. All of them have jumped whenever I've needed more water or crackers and then hurried away to the snack station--of course, returning with more than what I had asked for.

And oh, the skeletons that have emerged! So many stories! Amazing vacations around the US and abroad! Divorce! Separation and reconciliation! House selling and house buying! Photos of naked boyfriends (and the ability to use fingers on cell phones to make important parts of the images larger). A felted bunny rabbit made out of dust bunnies (What in the world? Why oh why, Martha, do you make us feel so inadequate???). An important lesson on the anatomy of a vagina. So much irreverence and so many major life changes in just one summer!

I have nine more infusions to go and all the drivers I need. And back-up drivers, too. And back-ups for the back-ups in case things get truly nutty. And visitors, too. I have been blessed with so many loving emails and texts and hugs and gifts and flowers and cards and walks and yardwork and housework and massages and food from these women. It's a constant stream--even now when I feel like my girlfriends should have moved onto something else. I would understand. And it's not just my girlfriends either. I have so much more to write about this, but this post is getting long enough as it is. To be continued.

But I do need to give a shout-out to these incredible women--my dear, sweet, beautiful girlfriends--who have supported me through this difficult time. If you haven't yet seen this, it's for you.

Infusion 5

I've noticed that when I floss my teeth in the evening, there's an unusual smell on the floss. I assumed it was my overly sensitive nose and loss of taste that made things wonky. But while I was recently tending to an infected blister on my toe, I noticed the same scent on my finger after I had touched the area. It's the chemicals from the chemo that I smell. I'm completely saturated, pickled in it.

The scent is fishy and tinny, like an empty tuna can that has been left in the recycling bin. And now I notice it everywhere. On my breath in the morning, on my pillow, on my underwear when I pull down my pants to go pee, on my clothes after I perspire.  I'm constantly doing laundry to get rid of it. I've been scrubbing my body in the shower with a loofah and soaking in epsom salts to be free of it. But I need to accept my new scent. It's the medicine doing it's work. I need to love this smell because its going to lengthen my life. This is difficult to do.

Two weeks ago I had my fifth infusion. It's the new drug cocktail of Carboplatin and Taxol. I was fearful of how it would make me feel, but it turns out to be much easier than the Red Devil. I'm now realizing how much of a complete fucker that Red Devil actually was. The nurses had to administer it by hand in a syringe so they could monitor my reaction and slow the medication based on how I felt. When the Red Devil entered my system, it felt like liquid mercury seeping into my stomach. Saltines and graham crackers were always a necessity.

Ironically, Carboplatin is a heavy metal but it's a cakewalk compared to the Red Devil. I hope it continues to be so easy. My oncologist and the nurses keep warning me that these infusions are culmulative and I'll become increasingly fatigued. Right now, I have a burst of energy and am feeling much better now that the Red Devil is behind me.

And a lovely gift of a homemade foot soak to help those blisters on my toes doesn't hurt either.

Infusion 4

This infusion was cause for celebration because it marked the end of the Adriamycin & Cytoxan (A/C) treatment. Sayonara "Red Devil!" I never have to pee tropical punch again!

The nurses commented that the A/C treatment is the most difficult of the breast cancer chemo treatments offered to patients. Perhaps. But every body is unique and tolerates these drugs differently, and I happened to tolerate the A/C treatment well. And regardless, anyone who's had chemotherapy has been to war. We might be in our separate silos enduring our own personal hell, but together we've seen a very dark side of life. Here's a run-down of the most significant side effects I've been dealing with due to the A/C treatment:

All my mucus membranes are affected--everything from the mouth through the gut and out the back door. I have weepy, bloodshot eyes and an inability to focus. It is difficult to read a book for long periods of time. My nose is runny, too.

My skin is delicate and sensitive. After every infusion, my face breaks out with red patches and small bumps. I have the rashy, pimply skin of a newborn baby. I get blisters on my toes from walking the trails, but I will not stop exercising since it helps my system expel the poisons. My heels feel a bit raw, too.

I've been cautioned to avoid scrapes and cuts because my body has few defenses, but this is impossible since I return to doing the things I normally do on my good days. So my hands have been scraped and little nicks appear out of nowhere. I now have a wart on the knuckle of my thumb.

The A/C treatment requires a white blood cell injection the following day after an infusion. It helps my bones manufacture and pump white blood cells into my body. The breast surgeon's and oncologist's office are pleased that I haven't visited the ER with an illness or fever.

My fingernails feel like they're spring-loaded and will pop off without warning like some slapstick cartoon, somersaulting through the air, landing and then walking back and re-inserting themselves into position on my fingers to do it all over again. They ache whenever I squeeze a sponge and I cannot peel an orange without using a knife. My fingernails and toenails are also turning purple, slowly pushing the color upward so that I have five little purple rainbows on each hand. It makes me smile. My armpits have turned a dark shade of purple, too! I'm okay with the temporary purple thing as long as I don't turn into this:

Of course, there's nausea and a loss of taste. I haven't yet vomited from my treatments. I keep drinking and eating which help. I've only lost five pounds, so I'm doing pretty well. I feel strong although fatigued.

On certain days, the overall malaise and fatigue is such a strong pull. I walk around with sandbags in my legs and nap in the morning and afternoon. Ironically, my body is never quiet. It vibrates from deep within. Every single day, 24/7. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced. Drinking coffee doesn't even come close.

After every A/C infusion, I experience three to four nights of night sweats. The chemical smell is terrible although it smells completely benign to Jason. I, however, cannot stand it. I change and launder the sheets every day until the night sweats end. Besides, the sheets are toxic!

Attack of the mouth sores! This only happened once when I was lenient (aka: lazy) about rinsing my mouth after every meal. I'm just so tired of the maintenance. I woke up one morning to an extremely sore throat and quickly realized that the pain was mouth sores running up and down my throat. One large purple blister dared to appear on the inside of my cheek, but it was the only one visible. A few days of vigilant mouth rinsing and gargling with the cold runny snot (a mixture of baking soda and salt in water) resolved the problem. Thankfully!

As mentioned earlier, all the mucus membranes from the mouth through the gut and out the back door are affected. I've never had any issues with my back door until now. Anal fissures. Twice. The culprit was Tracy's Small Batch Granola, a very delicious granola, locally made and filled with the good fiber and required protein my body needs--except for one minor inconvenience: large firm pieces of fiber exit a tender chemo'ed butthole like razorblades. I've been chugging the Miralax (disgusting!) and dabbing tender areas with vitamin E. Enough said.

My body temperature runs a degree cooler, so I constantly wear sweaters and/or scarves. And after every infusion, my blood pressure tanks. I never feel faint, but the veins around my head are sunken in rather than sticking out. This could be due to my heart. The A/C treatment makes the heart squeeze less effectively than usual which can result in permanent heart damage although my oncologist says that I would have noticed symptoms of damage by now (edema in the legs among other things). One of my girlfriends says that with my cooler body temp and cratered veins, I'm very vampire! I'll take it.

And yet with all this peripheral "noise," the most important thing has occurred: my tumor has shrunk considerably. My oncologist measured it after my second infusion. My tumor had shrunk from 4.1cm to 2cm. She has yet to measure it again, but will do so soon.

Chemotherapy has proven to be very strong and necessary medicine. Onward.

This is the last

conversation I had at my gyn onc's office a month ago:


"So you have a stitch inside of you."

"A stitch inside of me?"

"Yes, to seal everything after we removed your cervix."

"You removed my cervix???!!!"

"We had to destroy it to in order to get to your uterus and ovaries."

"So now I'm just a big giant hole."

"More like a dead end."

(silence)

"You won't notice a difference."


Fucking robot.


And speaking of, here's the latest project made by Nigel and a friend:

It's a robot.

When we traveled to Tokyo, I had bought some Japanese paper crafts at Kiddieland in Harajuku. These robots are quite clever to make, but the majority of American kids haven't grown up practicing origami and other delicate paper crafts that require extreme fine motor skills. As their fingers fumbled with the paper, the boys complained excessively. They said that making these robots was worse than getting grounded. They nearly gave up. And then when the final piece was added, they had a change of heart. Nigel said it was well worth it, and he's inspired to make more.

I have an appointment with my gyn onc tomorrow. I don't know if a human or a robot will remove that stitch deep inside of me. Whoever or whatever it is, I swear to god they are going to have to have some serious fine motor skills. Wish me luck.