Momentary Pause

I didn't sleep well last night. Since this whole thing started, I've had a much tougher time falling or staying asleep. This morning, after tossing and turning (and having J toss and turn with me all night--Neil had long ago departed for the couch in search of more restful sleep) I stumbled downstairs to see the morning. Neil and I sat in the living room, drinking tea and enjoying the quiet start to the morning. Today has been different. There was no hustle and bustle of trying to get everyone up and out the door for school and infusion. There was just quiet reflection and enjoying each other's company while waiting for our little world to wake up. Today was different because for the first time in 3 months(!) I didn't have to hurry to a doctor's appointment*. 

Last week, I started the 2nd round of my chemo. The first 4 days were every bit as difficult as I thought they'd be. Friday-Monday saw me the most tired I've been in 3 months. The neulasta made me ache in unexpected ways. Mostly, I just felt like it was too much work to lift my legs--I felt similar to having a tough leg workout. I was living with a constant fog in my head; just too hard to think concretely about anything for an extended period of time. Tuesday felt a bit better and by Wednesday, I felt pretty normal. I could walk without feeling like I had run a 1/2 marathon, my head was more clear and I actually had some energy again. Now, here I sit a week out and I'm feeling pretty good. 

This is tenuous, though. While I appreciate the momentary pause between treatments, I see how hard this extended break can be, too. When you go every week, you have a natural cycle that ebbs and flows. You become accustomed to the rhythms of chemo and recovery. There's not a lot of time to feel "normal" or "well" before you get right back to it. With this round (and this week in particular), I have enough space in between rounds to feel normal and to actually begin to dread the next session. Two weeks is a long time in cancer-world. It's just long enough for me to get accustomed to feeling well and begin to buck against what I know to be inevitable. I don't want to go back to foggy-can't-move-my-legs-Mary. I know, though, that this uncomfortable-ness is really only short-term. I can see the end of the road and March is really just around the corner. In some ways, I feel like it's pretty fitting that I'll be ending my treatment just as the winter is ending. I've always enjoyed Spring the most and it feels pretty hopeful that this is the season that will be greeting me at the end of this series and surgery. 

<3

~M

*Side note: V's school was off today due to teacher grading day, so it was doubly nice to move at our own pace for once in the morning. Also, Neil and I have continued to partner with our employers to continue to work from home (him full days and me 3 hours on Fridays), even on the days I don't have chemo. 

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Let down your hair…

There is a hauntingly beautiful photo series called "Fallen Princesses" by Dina Goldstein. In it, she explores princess culture and how "happily ever after" is a false concept. She portrays popular princesses following the "credits"…Belle obsessed with maintaining her beauty utilizing plastic surgery, an obese Little Red and Rapunzel losing her long hair as she battles cancer.

Tomorrow I start my next round of chemo. But today? Today I'm in charge of my own life. Today, Neil and the boys came with me to the salon. I met with a lovely woman named Jenny and she kindly (and empathetically) helped me by shaving my hair.

Julian was mercifully distracted by another stylist, while Vaughn played a game on my phone. Neil stood next to me and held my hand. When it was done, Julian looked over…his lip quivered and he said, "Mommy…?" I grabbed him up and gave him a hug, reassuring him as much as I could. Jenny asked Julian if he wanted to come with while she washed my hair. So, off the three of us went. I grabbed him and held him in my lap as Jenny gently washed my newly shaved head. He looked up, brushed his hand against my head, looked me in my eyes and quietly said, "You're beautiful, Mommy!"

And that's when I knew that no matter how much this sucks, I'll be okay.

~M

On our way to the finish

I'm absolutely horrendous about updating this. Not for lack of thinking about it--just for an inability to sit at the computer and actually get a second to type it all out.

I had my 11th treatment last Friday. This Friday (1.10.14) marks my 12th and final treatment in my first round. 1.17.14, I start the next round of treatment, generally known as the "A-C round" for the two drugs I'll be given: Adriamycin and Cytoxan.

I saw the doc last week. He said to me, "I know I say this every week, but you're hair! ((dramatic pause)) You know you aren't going to keep that through the next round."

Gee, your bedside manner is overwhelming with empathy. I'm not mad at him for stating the obvious fact though--it's pretty remarkable that I've retained my hair thus far, but my luck is about to run out.

At first, you may all be wondering about the fuss surrounding hair and cancer. But think about it--when you think about what cancer looks like, in your mind's eye you see an emaciated person with a bald head. Cancer doesn't have many outward signs. Most of you see me day to day and I look pretty healthy (maybe overly-healthy--I've had a few snacks too many this round and probably before). When I do finally (inevitably) lose my hair, it will be the first real and outward sign that I am sick. You can't escape it. It's like being pregnant. The first few months you can get through life without too many questions, but once you start to show, everyone knows with just a glance.

My boys are aware of what's going on (V obviously more than J due to age) but I'm trying to figure out how to be an attachment-based therapist without forming new attachments right now. It's a struggle to figure out the boundary between reciprocal sharing for therapeutic rapport and sharing for your own benefit. Right now, I'm keeping the info to myself. I guess I'm waiting for the critical "showing" phase of cancer treatment to come up on me before I tell the families and kids I work with. So, if anyone has any ideas on how to be a Clinician who is sick and still working, I'm all about hearing it.

To go back to the beginning of this entry (you know, where I talk about how awful I am about updating)...it's taken me 3 days to write this.

Hope the holidays have been kind to you all and the new year is amazing!

<3,
Mary