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Archive for the tag “Taxotere”

Chemo Tips for Cancer Buddies

cancer_card_by_patchSince I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer in March 2015, three women I know have joined the sisterhood. Two of them found it early enough to get by with surgery plus radiation, but one is about to embark on a few rounds of chemotherapy. She reached out to me for advice and I realized that I actually do have some. And since I’m ostensibly writing this cancer junk for fellow cancer peeps (what? do I call us “patients” “victims” “sufferers”? If you’re currently in treatment are you a “survivor”? What about my friend that beat Stage 2 only to have it metastasize three years later in her lungs, brain, and bones? Is she a “former survivor”? Because you can fight and hold off and delay, but ladies and gents, you don’t survive Stage 4), I do believe it is time to bust out my…

CHEMO TIPS FOR CANCER BUDDIES!

  1. Say goodbye to your hair. Don’t listen to anyone (hi Mom) who suggests “Maybe you won’t lose your hair!”. You’re going to lose it. You can cry about it, you can turn it into a party or you can do both. Most people shave their heads when they reach some point of critical wispyness. It’s a matter of taking charge; of doing instead of being done to. Each of my three kids plus my husband had a go at cutting my hair and then using the clippers. And it was fun. It actually was. I believe it really helped my youngest (age six) deal with the way Mommy’s look was changing. I’d imagined a sobbing breakdown once I got a good look in the mirror, but that didn’t happen. It turns out my skull is rather nicely shaped. My Dad reports that my great-grandmother upon meeting me as a baby declared my head “perfect.” IMG_1884
  2. Embrace the bald. Try out crazy wigs. Enjoy hats. Go straight-up cue ball. 99% of the time I keep covered up so as not to freak people out, but if I need special treatment or consideration somewhere I have absolutely no shame about whipping my hat off. You just don’t say no to Chemo Girl. Also, enjoy the benefits of bald. Take super quick showers! Save money on shampoo, conditioner, unguents and elixirs. Take back all the time you won’t be blow-drying, hot-rolling, or flat-ironing! No more bad hair days, baby!

    Rocking the chrome dome during Round 3

    Rocking the chrome dome during Round 3

  3. Embrace the other bald. Enjoy smooth never-need-shaving legs and armpits (remember the quick showers I promised you?). Two more words: Free Brazilian.
  4. Be selfish. Seriously. You can do no wrong right now because you have cancer. You won the Lottery of Suck so you get to take long naps, avoid housework, bail on social engagements, not sign up for shit at the kids’ school, hog the remote, hog the covers, eat the last cookie, and just let everyone else deal with “stuff.” I mean, don’t be a dick. Just…act like a dude for a few months. (Kidding. Sort of.)
  5. Invest in Imodium and flushable wipes. The chemo-shits are bad, yo. You are going to poop like you have never pooped before and your little butthole is going to beg for mercy. So do yourself a favor and baby your bum. I’m serious about the Imodium, too. Keep some with you at all times.
  6. Don’t go to chemo alone. Remember all those people that offered to help when you announced your cancer? Now is the time to take them up on it. Choose someone to accompany you to each round of chemo. Someone to pick your ass up at home, drive you to the hospital, sit with you and amuse you, and then drive your ass back home. If you’re very popular you can have them do shifts. Chemo takes a long-ass time. I planned to do a bunch of stuff during chemo (sleep, do my nails, read), and ended up doing none of them. I chatted with my friends and the nurses, munched on snacks, played with my phone. You know what? I had a good time. I laughed a lot. Take your friends and host a chemo party.

    Me and Amy. Best friends since 1973!

    Me and Amy. Best friends since 1973!

  7. Be a wuss. Look, for no reason at all you drew the short straw and got cancer. You don’t have to be a tough broad or a good soldier or a warrior woman. All you have to do is GET THROUGH IT and you’re a rock star. So don’t try to keep doing PTA shit when you want to curl in a ball and cry. Curl in a fucking ball, girl. You deserve a good cry! If your heart races and you get the cold sweats changing the sheets on the bed? STOP. Sit the fuck down and let someone else do that shit. You have cancer. Or sleep in dirty sheets, who cares! What’s the worst that can happen–you already have cancer! Honestly, here’s a secret. When you have cancer people are required to be nice to you. They’ll tell you you’re beautiful when you look like a damn gargoyle and they’ll tell you you’re brave when you’re a blubbering puddle of self-pity. People don’t judge the cancer-striken. They just thank fuck it’s not them.
  8. Say goodbye to food. If the nausea don’t get you, the chemo-taste will. Food will, for increasingly long periods of time as your chemo progresses, be the enemy. You won’t want to eat it, smell it, or have anything to do with it. And yet it will become your prime obsession. Because you know you need it to rebuild your good (non-cancery) cells, and you haven’t eaten anything except for a raisin in three days. So all day you will ponder this ponder: What could I eat? What could I choke down? Strolling through the aisles of the grocery store can help here. If something catches your eye, take it home. Take three or four or a dozen “maybes” home and try them. Something that was fine last week might be a no-go this week, so keep trying. Chicken broth and dill pickles were the only thing that kept me alive during the back half of chemo. dill pickles
  9. Find what works for you. Now is not the time to try and “power through” anything. If you hurt, take a pain pill. Your doctor will give you the good ones because people don’t fuck around with cancer patients. If your nausea meds don’t work, try another. Try ginger candy. Try pot. Try acupuncture. And if nothing works, just keep reminding yourself that this is not the rest of your life. Chemo comes to an end.
  10. Make friends with chaos. You’re the one that keeps the trains running, right? Who makes the appointments and keeps the social calendar and is the organizer and the arranger and the scheduler and the cleaner-upper. Well, the trains are going off the rails. People will try to “pitch in.” But your immediate family is suffering too. They aren’t running at full capacity either because they’re worried and trying to be strong and crying when they think you’re not looking. So. Do you want to spend 4 or 6 or 11 rounds of chemo feeling like a failure watching the laundry pile up and the homework get left behind and the mess accumulate everywhere you look? You do not. This is where that laminated Cancer Card comes in. You play it and you play it hard. Mostly, you’ll need to play it on yourself. Your bones ache from the bone-marrow booster shot you got to keep your white count from plummeting. Is this a good time to mop the kitchen floor or scrub toilets? It is not. Sit the fuck down, pull up a blanket or a pet and watch a Law & Order: SVU marathon. You can clean your house when your body isn’t involved in chemical warfare with a deadly disease. smile and nod
  11. Smile and nod. Don’t kill. People are going to suggest things to you that will make your blood boil. That refined sugar gave you cancer and that your penchant for peanut butter cups is tantamount to a deathwish. That supplements or prayer/positive thinking or Corn Nuts are more effective at killing cancer than medicine. That drinking smoothies and eating lean protein will help you feel energetic through chemo–never mind that you can’t drink water without gagging. Don’t argue, don’t punch them. Just smile and nod. They do mean well.
  12. Connect with cancer buddies. Find people who have been through it or are going through it. Because they are the only ones who understand what this feels like. And they aren’t the ones sending you emails about how you gave yourself cancer by drinking soda or living near power lines. They won’t change the subject when you talk about being afraid of dying. You can tell them how you REALLY feel, not just “oh, fine.” They won’t discount your aches and pains or try to “solve” you. They get it. Find these buddies and keep them close. And when you’re past this shit and you’re a “survivor” reach out to the newbs and be there for them.

Next time: Chemo Tips for Family and Friends.

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Chemo – Round 2 Roundup

Okay, it may be a bit early to call this a “round-up,” but I couldn’t resist the alliteration. I really really need to get back to work on my book. Here’s the pattern that’s emerging with me and chemo:

Day 1: Get chemo. My spirits are good and I feel pretty normal.

Day 2: Go to hospital for Neulasta shot. Maybe do something while I’m out and about (This time I met my brother at the bookstore and we took a twins selfie.)

Twin baldies

Day 3: Get any shit done that needs doing in the morning because energy is going to be in short supply. This time I got my daughter off to school and then went grocery shopping. Then took a two hour nap. Then went to the marijuana store. Slept for another two hours. Cooked dinner. Passed out for the night.

Day 4. Nope. Just nope. Barely got my carcass out of bed. It was like this: Make Allison’s lunch. Lie down for five minutes. Help her pick out clothes and put toothpaste on her toothbrush. Lie down again. I barely got her little butt out the door before I was all done for the day. I got out of bed to use the bathroom and that’s it. For future reference, let’s just write off Day 4.

Day 5. Spent the first half of the day in bed, but emerged in the late afternoon for some social contact. I took a Percocet at bedtime and slept for a glorious 11 hours. It was so so so good. Did I mention glorious?

Day 6. Slept until 10am or so, but remained awake until bedtime!

Day 7. Actually got dressed and put on makeup. I’ve gotten out of the habit of giving a shit about makeup since I started working from home four years ago, but with my head all bald I feel like I have these huge alien eyes that are looking really sad and as if they are pleading with me in the mirror, maybe emitting some sort of plaintive alien sound like “bleep?” So I put stuff on the poor things. All the stuff: concealer, shadow, liner, mascara. I intended to drive up to the elementary school to take Allison her raincoat (weather app said 20% chance of precip and she’s only wearing her Darth Vader hoodie!), but by the time I was dressed I was feeling exhausted and short of breath. That may be the anemia talking, so I should probably take one of those goddamned iron pills Dr. Cap is so keen on.

WEEEEEEEEEEED

So, you’re probably wondering about that trip to the marijuana store, yeah? Here’s what: First of all, recreational pot is legal in Washington state, so I don’t need a prescription or anything. What I could have used is a little research though, because I got the totally wrong thing and the dude behind the counter was as derp as I am. What I purchased was a dropper bottle of marijuana “tincture” for putting under one’s tongue or adding to edibles. Since I’m massively barfy–much more so this time despite having two different meds for nausea (Zofran and Compazine)–I am not interested in edible anything. My thinking was: if these weed-drops make me feel like eating again I will scarf hella brownies no matter what’s in them.

full_spectrum_tinctureThe dosage for the drops was “approximately 10 drops.” The bottle contained four “servings” and cost 45 dollars. I put about 4 drops under my tongue and swallowed. I didn’t get a flavor because all the available varieties would give me heartburn. So it tasted like liquid weed. Then of course I read the instructions and it said to put the drops under your tongue and hold for 60 seconds before swallowing. So I did another 4 or 5 drops. Remember, we’re still in the recommended dose range of 9-10 drops, so don’t get all fluffy with me. Then I got tired and slept for a couple hours. When I woke up, I was stoned. I haven’t actually smoked pot since E3 2007, so I’m practically a newb again. Here’s me, stoned. Squinting and tired. Like my eyes would barely open. I cooked dinner with my eyes at half-mast and wolfed down two servings of pasta and a fudgsicle. And a piece of pie. Then I passed out. So, I’d say it cured my nausea, but it was not worth the squinty-stoner effect.

I’ve come to find out that the variety of weed I used was exactly the wrong thing. For nausea you want something high (hehe) in CBD not THC. But what am I–a weed chemist? I’m not sure I want to try again and will probably give the remainder of my drops to my mom so she can see if it helps her rheumatoid arthritis.

CANCER PERK: If you’re gonna get chemo, do it in the summer! My legs are as smooth as a baby’s ass with zero effort! Hooray for sundresses!

HAIR

The novelty of being bald has pretty much worn off, which is a pity because this is going to be the state of my head for quite a while. If my last chemo is in, say, August, I might start to see baby chick fluff in late September or October. I’m kind of used to being bald around the house, but I put on a hat when I go to the bus stop or when the pizza delivery guy comes to the door so I don’t shock anyone with my chrome dome. My mom came over yesterday to take Allison for a play date and while she’d seen photos of my head on Facebook, this was her first time seeing it in person and while she put on a brave face I could see her heart breaking just a little. I’d feel the same way if it was one of my kids. It’s one of the slides in a PowerPoint of horror that goes through every parent’s head: your kid sick, mangled, molested, missing, dead. That carousel of terrible eventualities that you can never erase.

The good news is that I wore that sassy purple wig on Day 2 and all the ladies at the hospital loved it. So did people at the bookstore. One woman crossed the store to tell me how much she loved the bright color.

STICKER SHOCK Each round of my chemotherapy medicine costs sixty-one thousand dollars!

CANTHER THUCTH

My youngest has been singing a series of songs with a common theme: she hates cancer and it sucks. Normally, I’d probably tell her not to say “sucks” but cancer can kiss my ass. She’s missing her two front teeth so her song is sung with an adorable lisp. Sample lyrics:

Toothless AllisonOh, canther you are the wortht thing in the world
and I hate you tho much.
You are a pieth of poop
and you thmell like thtink.

Now I’m tired again, so I’m going to stop. I’m confident that each day I will feel a little bit more energetic and a little less barfy and I’ll be able to enjoy (or at least make it through) the whirlwind of end-of-school-year events with my Kindergartner.

Chemotherapy 2 of 6 – Getting the Hang of It?

IMG_1934My oncology office is becoming like Cheers for me. I walk in and everyone’s happy to see me. My 19-year-old daughter Callahan accompanied me for my second round of chemo and I’m pleased to report that my master plan to encourage her interest in health care is totally working. She’s registering at Bellevue College in the fall and is interested in a few of their excellent programs. Right now the front runner is Nuclear Medicine Technology. I’m so proud of her and know she will rock that.

I saw Dr. Cap first and we talked about how I was feeling. I told him my weirdness about the nausea getting worse the second week so he decided to add a drug called Emend to my IV, which is supposed to be especially helpful with “delayed nausea.” Side effect =constipation. So maybe it will balance out the poop firehose situation (which actually abated a couple of days ago). He’s not happy with my continued anemia, but is understanding that iron pills don’t do my barfy tummy any favors. He asked me to try to take one every other day and I agreed to ponder that.

I told him I can’t feel the tumor at all and invited him to feel for himself. He said he’d be fine just listening to my heart and lungs. And there you have it folks: for the first time in my life a boy didn’t want to touch my boob. *sad trombone*

Callahan and I settled into the last remaining chemo chair in the infusion suite. It was hoppin’ in there! The downside of the busyness and the extra meds was that we were there for a little over 5 hours which was much longer than expected. Callahan made a Starbucks run and got herself a coffee and a chocolate croissant for me.

Luckily, we got my next chemo scheduled before the Benadryl this time. But just as I started to feel loopy and sleepy my Dad stopped by so I perked up and didn’t nap.

Baldy, Dad, Callahan

Baldy, Dad, Callahan

My next dose is due the same week as Allison’s last day of school picnic and her birthday and party and Father’s Day. So figuring that I’ll feel halfway human for 2-3 days after chemo, I asked Dr. Cap if it was okay to bump it out a couple days and he agreed that wouldn’t mess anything up. So, the next round will be June 18 and hopefully I will be alert and upright and not spewing from any orifice for the big astronaut party on the 20th. Fingers crossed!

So, here’s another thing. I’m totally bald! Once it started falling out and I had Allison cut it shorter, shit went downhill fast.

11107174_10152889424527616_4227576448692282945_nSo, I decided to make the head shaving a family event, piggybacking on our weekly Game of Thrones gathering on Sunday when all the kids are home.

First, the girls each took a side and cut my hair.

11267997_10152891928387616_3802612572269950073_oThen Gunny got the clippers and he, Allison, and Scott all took a turn. And then I looked like this. Grumpy, but kinda badass?

11267082_10152893535762616_4257956941048514178_n

Then Gunny got his safety razer and shaving cream and made me smooth as a baby’s bum. It’s chilly!

11165171_10152891965232616_1653922367904671844_o

But I have some Buffs I bought at REI (serendipitously during the Anniversary Sale!) and I now have three fun cheap costume wigs in wild colors.

Three Wigs

Chemotherapy 1 of 6 – The Toxic Bride

Yeah, I wish!

Yeah, I wish!

Well, I did it! Got through my very first chemo session! Honestly, it was a breeze. The first one was long (5 hours), since I had to do long doses of my targeted therapy (Perjeta and Herceptin) for the HER2+ flavor of my cancer. But the next five rounds will only be 3 hours each.

Basically, I sat in a recliner and slept, played games, snacked, and read a little. It was like flying business class to NYC except I ended up where I started.

Here’s how it went down:

First, I met with Dr. Cap and he was disappointed that we didn’t yet have the pathology report for the MRI-guided biopsy I had the day before. He called the lab and they weren’t ready. Then he got on the phone and conferred with my surgeon (Who needs a new nickname. He’s so much more than “Boobcutter”). They agree that it was okay to go ahead and start treatment now. What’s in my left boob didn’t set off the PET scan, so it could be a pre-cancerous duct or something that we’d just keep an eye on. There’s a tiny clip in there now, so they’ll know where to look in the future. (This brings my shrapnel count to three: one in Turdy the main tumor in my right boob, one in Son of Turdy the ginormous malignant lymph node in my right armpit, and now this left boob business.)

Anyway, Dr. Cap isn’t happy with my iron levels and he wants me to take iron supplements.

“Yeah, but then I might not poop,” I say.
“Well, the diarrhea from the chemo will probably balance that out.” He grins.

Gunny and I wore pins!

Gunny and I wore pins!

Cleared for take-off I choose the best chair in the infusion suite. Off in the corner, next to the windows, across from the blanket warmer. One of the chemo nurses “accessed my port” to start the IV. This was by far the most painful bit of the entire cancer carnival so far. I think I mentioned that I have an extra-thick collarbone and my surgeon had to go pretty deep to get the central line connected. Anyway, the needle she started with was too short, and she thought she could get it to connect better if she pushed down on my chest. It felt like being stomped on by a horse. I only had that surgery ten days ago, lady! Easy! So she gets a longer needle and it worked fine and I chilled out.

She waited patiently while I took my round 1 selfie.

IMG_1759

And then the party began. First bag was a cocktail of anti-nausea medication and steroids. Then came the Benadryl. Luckily my husband was still there at that point because a nurse came around to set up appointments for the Neulasta shot (which stimulates bone marrow to produce white blood cells), a blood draw, and Round 2. I was pretty loopy by then and Gunny handled the appointment-setting. Then he went off to watch the new Avengers movie for the second time so I could nap.

My chemo nurse swapped the Benadryl bag for an hour’s worth of Perjeta. This is the HER2+ killer that still has new-car smell. It’s sort of companion treatment to Herceptin and makes it work harder and more effectively.

I listened to the Great Gatsby soundtrack on my iPod and slept for about an hour.

When I woke up it was time for 90 minutes of Herceptin. This is the shit that is going to save my life. If you want an entertaining look at the discovery of this wonderdrug, watch Living Proof. It stars Harry Connick Jr as Dr. Dennis Slamon who is a hero much more impressive than Iron Man or even my beloved Thor. It has a semi-dippy “Let’s put on lipstick before our cancer drug trial” montage (It IS a Lifetime movie) but it’s otherwise great. Inspiring.

I spent most of this time on my phone keeping up with what I can only describe as the most monumentally awesome thing a person could have happen to them. One of my friends, Kari Toyama (who is just a stellar human being as well as being cool as hell) spearheaded a campaign to have friends post selfies and signs with the hashtag #lovetrixiefuckcancer. So all day I was inundated with more love and support and laughter than I could ever have imagined. Take a look:

kari ToyamaMichelle Obama Shannon I don't always desktop battle wonder jbb Steve Morgan desktop awesome drawing batle Kitty Match Made in Halo puppies! Groot Kristin JVB Max D JamMarcella Dirty Diva Nikki Lexi Kiki Nelly Cory Mom Katie Tara Tyler Philip Josephine Carolyn Kathleen Trisha Angel and Alex Doc Sam Hollywood sign The Boss Alison

I have some un-fun remnants of working in the video game industry, but THIS, my god. THESE PEOPLE are the gift of those years. Kari said to me “PSH it was nothing.” I’m sure you’ll agree that nothing could be further from the truth. It was EVERYTHING.

A glimpse at my Twitter feed yesterday.

A glimpse at my Twitter feed yesterday.

Go ahead and blow your nose and wipe those tears. I’ll wait.

After my targeted HER2 antibody drugs, it was time for the heavy duty shit. The actual chemotherapy. One hour each of Taxotere and Carboplatin. I ate half a peanut butter sandwich and drank water. Oh, and some Swedish Fish. My husband returned from the movies and I started reading a book my friend Kim recommended: A Kind Worth Killing.

This precious thing is Allie the Feel-Better Fairy. Thanks to my dear friend Nori. <3

This precious thing is Allie the Feel-Better Fairy. Thanks to my dear friend Nori. ❤

And then, it was over. I got home in time to meet my baby at the bus stop. I was kinda worn out, and lounged in bed and read. Not much appetite for dinner, but I did my best. I had an ice cream sandwich for dessert.

So here’s a couple things I learned about chemo that I didn’t know before:

1. You are allowed to pee! They can unplug your IV from the wall and you can run on battery power and shuffle your ass to the potty hauling your drugs on a pole. Comes in handy when they’re filling you full of liquids.

2. For a couple days post chemo, you are TOXIC. All of your bodily fluids contain chemo drugs and you don’t want anyone to get any on them. What does this mean? If I have night sweat, I gotta sleep alone. After using the toilet I have to shut the lid and flush twice. TWICE! I feel like I’m murdering the Earth! The most surprising though? NO SEX. Kinda wish they’d warned me about that one the night before so I could store up. But yeah, the chemo nurse said no sex at all for a few days and no unprotected sex for about 8 days. WHO KNEW? Talk about unfuckable!

So how is my toxic ass doing today? Not bad. I felt a little bit queasy when I woke up, so I got up, popped a Zofran and went back to bed. My chemo nurse (and also the amazing Ann who blogs at Breast Cancer? But Doctor I hate Pink and wrote this super helpful Top Four Tips for Getting Through Chemo post) both said to take meds at the first twinge of queaze, so I did. Thanks, ladies!

I went to the hospital this morning for my Neulasta shot. It can cause bone pain, so they have you take Claritin (yes,

I told her she was like our beloved Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson when he does his weekly visits to Children's Hospital.

I told her she was like our beloved Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson when he does his weekly visits to Children’s Hospital.

the OTC allergy drug!) beforehand. My daughter came with us to see the place Mommy goes to get her medicine and everyone smiled to see her. She says it’s not scary and she wants to go back. We’ll see.

Next up is a blood draw on May 15 to make sure my white counts are okay. It was really sad yesterday to see a woman come in for her chemo all sassy and joking around only to be sent home for low white counts.

Then, Round 2 happens May 26.

In the meantime, I’m hanging in there. I’m still riding the steriod high that kinda props you up the first couple of days, and have heard that days 4-7 are the worst. I will keep you updated, and I’m not going to be polite. For now, I await the coin flip: which will come first, puking or diarrhea, or BOTH?

Thank you for all the love and support!

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