Thanksgiving

Tomorrow I report back to the chemo chair.  But today, I’m enjoying my rambunctiously loud family as they compete, as we’ve always loved to do, to see who can talk over the other in a game of catch up on the latest happenings in each other’s lives.  It’s a lot of noise but I love the chatter. Today I feel practically good as new with no residual effects from the last treatment and can enjoy all the foods I love to eat like turkey with canned cranberry sauce, and sweet potato and yam casserole with the marshmallows, fruit salad with marshmallows, and mashed potatoes, classic green bean casserole and some awesome creamy Mac and Cheese, compliments of me.  We've got apple pie, and pumpkin pie and a whole bunch of calories packed in a gooey oatmeal cream cheese bar.  I could go on for days listing what’s on the menu, because we’ve got a Thanksgiving feast that would have made the pilgrims stand up and say “DA'AMN!”   I’m happy to say that I’m being an all out glutton today and I'm totally and completely enjoying this particular act of sinfulness without worry of weight gain.

                                                                 Me with sisters and nieces

And it would not be Thanksgiving if I didn’t give props to all that I have to be grateful for, like my family and awesome friends and colleagues who can make me laugh over silliness until my gut hurts, and the incredibly courageous women I’ve met online who have inspired me so much.  I'm grateful for my sons, who make me so proud, and my beautiful granddaughter, who has the same wacky sense of humor as her Noni.  I’m grateful for parents and a brother that taught me how to love unconditionally, and how to be courageous under fire.  I'm grateful for the brand spanking new hot red Coach bag my best friend surprised me with as an early Christmas present – it is my very first designer bag.  I’m grateful for chocolate chip cookies warm out of the oven, and cheese cake.  I’m grateful for the Hallmark channel which plays Christmas movies practically 24/7 during the season, and for Elvis whom I love to this very day.  I’m grateful that I woke up smiling this morning in anticipation of being converged on by family.  I’m grateful for Dilettante Mocha Café’s hot chocolate that is literally better than sex.  It is.  And you know what?  As crazy as it may seem to say, I’m grateful for cancer for opening my eyes wide so that I can truly appreciate my life and every one in it more than I ever did before cancer.
 

                                                                        Me and my sister, Lisa

Today, I’m not talking about the cancer, or the chemo, or thinking about anything related to my feelings or what the doctor said about this or that.  Today, I get to feel normal. 

                                                             Me and my great niece, Desiree

Happy Thanksgiving folks!  No matter what you are or will be facing in the future, I hope today is an especially good day.



Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.

Melody Beattie

 

Still Standing

Just so you know, this week scored a helluva lot better than my first week after treatment on the 'this sucks' barometer on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst; I'm at a 4 this week (rated a big fat 9 the week after my first treatment).  I have a few things in my arsenal this time that actually seem to be working out.  Here’s my list of do’s and don’ts to myself:

Dos:

·        Keep hydrated – I like to use Smart Water with electrolytes, which keeps my body hydrated and also helps to keep everything moving south.  You know what I mean.

·        For nausea – fresh sliced ginger seeped in hot water, the spicier the better is GREAT for soothing the stomach and I also purchased some yummy Tummy Tea from Breast Cancer Yoga, which smells like a slice of heaven with some peppermint, marshmallow leaf, catnip -- yes catnip, and anise.  Now, I was a little intrigued about the catnip because I know how happy it used to make my cat, but hey - as long as I don't get caught up running in circles chasing my tail, it's all good. Meow. The website also has some other nice treats like gift baskets and CDs on yoga and different holistic therapies that I think could help me get through this phase of chemo and even after.  http://www.breastcanceryoga.com/

·         Keep up on the nausea medication – my first week I forgot to set the clock to wake me up during the night so I could take the meds, which may be why I woke up singing “swing low…” with my face in the toilet.

·        Take short walks – this is a challenge for me depending on the weather because one of the damn chemo meds causes the muscles in my body to contract, twist and contort – it’s the weirdest thing ever.  First time it happened I felt like a frickin’ Gumby doll.  Remember those Gumby dolls?  You could mold them, twist ‘em all up anyway you wanted.  Yeah, well that’s me in the cold, or touching or eating anything cold.  One night I ate some cold grapes and my tongue swelled up so now I have to keep Benadryl handy.  Sucks.

·         Eat in two hour intervals.  It helps to keep my strength up.

·        Meditation – I’m trying to get into this Zen state of being stuff – first try I sat so long I forgot my mantra and then completely forgot what I was supposed to be doing in the first place.  Must be chemo brain.  

·         Prayer - a lot of it!  One on one time with the big guy upstairs keeps the anxiety, fear and uncertainty at bay. Keeps me centered like nothing else can.

Don’ts:

·         Don't let myself give in to this chemo/cancer shit!  Neither will define who I am!!

Okay so enough of that; just wanted you to know that although I’m a little unsteady on my feet some days, I’m holding steady.  Wishing you all a really great weekend!

 

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” ~Mary Anne Radmacher

Ah Dang Back in the Chair

Did I ever mention I wanted to go into inspirational speaking?  I am an account executive for an International Insurance Broker in Seattle and when I started with my company in March 1990 I joined Toastmasters to further this goal of mine, stayed with the group for 9 years but for some reason I got a little detoured.  I accredit this to an overabundance and almost obsessive compulsion to work till I dropped – you know it’s all about that damn corporate ladder.  Well, it looks like that’s a goal I accomplished – working till I dropped that is. I made it up that ridiculous ladder as far as I wanted to go and didn't do so bad if I say so myself.  For what it's worth, I at least have that notch on my belt.  Well last Tuesday I just happened to mention my goals to my sister.  She's always very supportive of anything I want to do.  I have two of them, to re-approach my aspirations to become an inspirational speaker and the other to start a non profit organization called The Beck House, in honor of my mom, dad and brother, and for families of patients undergoing aggressive short term treatment, who do not live close to Virginia Mason Hospital, and require temporary housing. With all there is to deal with as a cancer patient pulling cash out of your pocket for one more thing -- is just not something one should have to deal with for Pete's sake.  In my vision, The Beck House would be a cozy, comforting and affordable home away from home.  Below is the plaque we had hanging over our home, in Japan, where my dad was stationed for 3 years and it was hung from the shingles again at the home I grew up in. I hope one day it will hang outside The Beck House.

Well, I had a short BIG talk with my doctor on Friday.  We chatted about how my first week on chemo treatment went, and I think I gave him some stank eye along with a long laundry list of shitty stuff: low tolerance to anything cold – felt like I had ice cycles in my veins instead of blood if I touched anything cold or went out in the cold, cramping in my jaw if I ate or drank anything cold, chemo meds blocked my enzyme pills so severe gas when digesting anything solid, which I add may have caused loss of family and friends when they just knock and enter my bedroom before I can respond -- walked right into a cloud they did, acid reflux, low-no energy, vomiting, constipation when they promised me diarrhea, and just ridiculous orneriness on my part from all of the aforementioned.  The good thing I told him was that it got better just as I was supposed to come back.  And I made each day count this past week and ate whatever I wanted to gain back the weight I lost the first week.  He liked to hear that weight gaining stuff.  He countered my complaints with ways to do things a little differently and hopefully make things better.  I have six more treatments to go this round. We'll see how it goes.  He then examined me and after he completed the examination I sat up and said, “Dr. Picozzi, I have some BIG questions to discuss with you.”  He stepped back, gave me his full attention and said let’s do it. No doubt this moment of ours was not a surprise to him.  He'd been expecting me.  

First question I asked him, “What is the objective right now?  My cancer has metastasized."  He nodded. "Are you just trying to keep it maintained?"

Dr. Picozzi: “We are at the point of quality and quantity."  Okay, okay, kinda sorta knew that when the palliative care people stopped in to talk to me a couple of weeks ago. Yes.  Just weird hearing it out loud.  He added,  “You’re in the driver seat now to advise us what you want us to do, and what is important to you.”

Me:  “I want quality of life over quantity.  To be honest I’d like both no doubt, if possible.  But when chemo starts to affect my quality of life on an ongoing basis then I will stop doing it. I have things I want to accomplish.”  I was just getting ready to add that I might change my mind as I go along but he interjected with that same thought as I was just getting ready to speak the words.  I meant to ask him about the breast cancer -- you know?  Were they going to do anything about it?  I forgot to ask.  A little, tiny bit of panic started creeping in.

Me:  "Dr. Picozzi, I was thinking seriously about becoming an inspirational speaker for cancer organizations in the area as a long term goal."

Dr. Picozzi:  “Don’t wait for the long term.  Do it now.”  Do I have a long-term option for life?  I didn’t ask that question either.  I was already on overload.  Didn’t take much did it?  He suggested I read a book called, "The Lecture" as it may offer some insight.  I seem to remember coming across something with this title on the Internet once but not sure. 

As Dr. Picozzi left my little room, my friend Kris stepped in passing the good doctor on the way out.  I heard her call his name right before she stepped in.  I said, “Hi Kris, I just had a good talk with Dr. Picozzi.”

Kris said, “I figured that Angie.  He seemed a bit upset.  When he turned to say hello he had tears in his eyes.” Oh Geez.

There are many things I am grateful for on this journey of mine, but what stands out first and foremost today is that I have Dr. Picozzi as my oncologist.  From the get-go he has always treated me as an individual and I’ve always felt he took the care of all his patients very seriously.  I have never had a doctor that treated like he does and I'm so glad I found him at a time in my life where I needed a skilled doctor with compassion, understanding and empathy the most.

So here's the irony.  Last Tuesday when I spoke to my sister about becoming an inspirational speaker, the very next day I took the bus ride to Seattle.  I got there of course, with plenty of time to indulge myself at Dilettante Mocha Café, and to stop by my office.  One of my colleagues came by my desk to tell me how inspired she was by my blog. Such a compliment, really lifted me up.  She then showed me an email she'd been getting ready to send me but since I showed up in the office she thought to just hand to it to me.  She apparently has been admirably involved with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and asked if I could write her a letter that she could read to her group.  I was honored. She also told me that sometimes they have speakers come in who are either undergoing treatment or have been through it.  I told her I would love to write something for her  upcoming Saturday meeting, which I did, and that I would be interested in speaking as well.  She was happy to hear that and put me on the calendar for January.  How's that for following my Divine path. 

                                              Fractal Enlightenment

Dr. Picozzi said I was in the driver's seat.  It's not me.  I'm just a passenger with God at the wheel and I'm going to do whatever and go wherever He guides me.  And I'm also going to learn how to kick up my heels a bit and just dance through the rain.


“If you are going through hell, keep going.”
― Winston Churchill

How Cancer Stole My Butt

There are so many casualties due to cancer; precious things that have been taken from me.  With my first 6-months of chemo my hair fell out, my nails bloodied and prepared for exodus, my love of food was at first smeared by the taste of metallic – thank goodness that ultimately dissipated, I lost my ability to problem-solve, and on some days to even remember my name. My sense of rightness in the world was obscured and that is not okay, and now this.  Cancer you are not taking anything more from me!  To quote the late great Whitney: HELL TO THE NO!

Yesterday for me, started out like many other days.  The exception is that I actually woke up in a really pleasant mood. And since this next round of treatment seemed to be busting my balls, I’d decided to take a bus ride to Seattle to test my endurance with a little trip to the Emerald city.  And of course, I'm always excited any chance I get to stop at Dilettante Mocha Café in the Rainier Square for my favorite large cocoa with milk chocolate.  Should be a sin it's so good.

I walked into the bathroom for a shower smiling for no reason at all.  I allowed the hot water from the shower to ease away the tension in my tired and tense muscles then wrapped my body in a large towel and stood in front of the mirror to wash my face and brush my teeth.  When I was done I took tally of myself, liquid gold-brown eyes, a nice smile that mirrors my mom's, with crevices from all my years of smiling, and high cheekbones with some dimples too.  I’m not liking that rooster thing under my chin but I decided to ignore that itty bitty little flaw and accept it as a talisman that comes with age.  After taking inventory I came to the conclusion that for everything that has happened to me over the last few months, I wasn’t looking so bad for a lady in the fifty-ish age range.  Shoot, Madonna -- who is the same age as I am -- may still have the body of a thirty-year old, but hey, my face isn't anything to sneeze at – in my thinking, and as my thoughts are the only ones that count considering I’m the one who has to live with my face, I looked damn good. Even after dropping another 25 pounds since my surgery in July, I'm still sturdy. It was when I turned to leave the bathroom that my world rocked on its now questionable axis.  My hand reached for the door knob at the same time my towel slid to the floor.  I still don’t know why things unfolded the way they did but instead of just bending over and picking up my towel and putting it back in place, I did the unthinkable; I looked behind me into the mirror.  I don’t know why because I hadn’t looked-- hadn’t truly looked, since I was in my early forties.  But the last time I did look everything was where it was supposed to be.  I think there’s an unwritten law that says if you are a normal everyday woman subject to gravity  – without means – like Madonna with a butt-load of money to fix those broken parts,  or blessed beyond belief like Beyonce – you just should not look back.  But I was compelled by something wicked and I peeked.  And it was Sodom and Gamora all over again.  I didn’t turn to stone, but I was wishing I had.  I screeched, if only in my head.  'Holy shit! What the hell is that!'  My gluteus maximus (a.k.a. butt) – my pride, my bootylicious, had literally and figuratively melted!   

Many black women, including me, since the beginning of time have taken pride in their ample butts.  Now I may be wrong, but I think now women of all races have a renewed appreciation for this particular area of their body. I mean famous butts by Kim Kardashian, Beyoncé and J-Lo are testaments to this. Now don't quote me on this, 'cause I'm not one to be spreading gossip but - and I'm kind of whispering -- I do remember hearing a little something about Nicki Minaj getting implants to give her butt more POP!  True story. I think.  Sonnets have been sung in honor of a nice butt -- remember Destiny Child's, Bootylicious?  Yep.  And even though we try to forget, but can't, Sir Mix-A-Lot's Baby Got Back practically became a National Anthem to shapely butts everywhere.  Let's see, it went something like this - and sing along 'cause I know you know the words:

I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, wanna pull out your tongue...baby got back!

Now those are lyrics that'll make a gal weak in the knees. Yeah. No. But my point is the butt matters. Even petite women take pride in the bubble that is their defining attribute.  My sister, at 61, was once confronted in a public place by a woman who stopped and asked, "How did you get your butt like that? It's so round." True story. I was floored. Nobody had ever complimented me on my butt in public.  Well, there was that one time -- oh wait - no, no, that wasn't a compliment.

Right now as we speak and I write, I’m doing my butt crunches, and I will continue to do them, in the chemo chair on Friday, while I’m watching back to back Christmas movies on Hallmark, on the bus ride to Seattle, and in church -- as soon as I get myself back in church that is.  Cancer can’t have any more of me.  'Cause of all the things that I’ve lost to cancer -- my butt? I’m getting that one back.

 

“Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." (Truvey Jones)”

One Minute, One Moment, One Day at a Time

How am I supposed to survive a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer with metastasis to the liver, and breast cancer, which was diagnosed a year ago, that my doctor cannot even treat at this point?

This was the mammoth question I dared to release to the universe yesterday.  Unfortunately, during a moment of weakness, I not only released it to the universe but also sent it out in an email to my friend, Kris.  Yep, I hit send and then instant regrets.  And shame on me for putting the weight of such a huge question on this dear lady.  I did get an answer.

Yesterday went to shit real fast.  Earlier in the morning I had difficulty even moving my head from the pillow.  I was dragging, like rolling-to-the-edge-of- the-bed to get up, and having to hold on to the wall for support en-route to the bathroom kind of dragging.  My body was a tire with a teeny tiny leak in it and my spirit actually felt like it was slipping away.  There were moments when my heart was beating so furious in my chest, a bit erratic, and I wondered if this could be my day to die; if my heart, too exhausted to keep beating, would eventually just stop. That’s how bad I felt.   Not to mention, the chemo meds were messing with my digestive system and every single thing I put in my body turned into a missile of mass destruction.  As with most pancreatic patients, my body is no longer efficient at producing enzymes for breaking down food and I have to take a pill or two or three to help with this malaise.  Lately the pills aren’t doing it and especially yesterday, my room smelled like a toxic waste dump, which didn’t do a whole lot for my teetering stomach.   This was the play field for all of my emotions yesterday running amuck.  My phone rang, I picked it up, and it was my guy friend in Eastern Washington. I said in a small voice, "Hello?"  I think he said, "Hey, how're you?" And that was all the prompting I needed.  I started balling like a newborn – complete with hiccups, incomplete sentences I couldn’t get out and a whole lot of babbling.  This was also around the same time I sent my email to Kris with the big question. You feel me?

Glammed myself up a bit today

 

I believe in positivity.  It’s necessary and critical in getting that one foot to move in front of the other – forward motions that keep life in order.  But sometimes bad is bad and it's okay to acknowledge that fact.   Hey I like tip toeing through the tulips as much as anyone but come on at some point I've got to pull my ass out of the flowers and get real.  But my question, as my friend gently pointed out to me later in a voice message, is not just a question it is the question, about my mortality and all that.  Is this disease going to be my dramatic ending?  What will get me first, the cancers, or will I waste away to small bits from the treatments?  These are questions that I will pose to my doctor as soon as the fear of his response releases its tenacious hold on my gut. My doctor has clarified that he is not God, and I’m glad about that because sometimes I think doctors may be under the impression they come close to the Divine.  My Dr. Picozzi is definitely not one of the those. But this man doesn’t have to be God to have a good understanding of my position in this maze.  I guess this inquiring mind just needs to know more. I have some life that needs to be lived and some serious planning to do. I’m just questioning my care and my prognosis, not throwing in the towel, and personally I do not believe that being realistic about the possibilities is the same thing as negativity.  I need answers so I can plan my life, not just live to die.  And lastly, the day may come when I make the decision to let go and let God, in lieu of further treatment, but just for the record, letting go and giving up, are not synonymous.

By the way, after I released my big question to the universe, this is what popped into my head, which is in line with my friend’s advice as well.   

One Day at a Time. 

Yeah okay.  I got it. 


P.S. Guess what I had a taste for today?  Yeah...it's naughty but oh so worth it!

                                           German Chocolate Cake!  Love you Kenny!

“Before you reach your destination, you'll find yourself going through the wilderness. There's some survival skills that you'll need master through the wilderness journey. While in the wilderness, your faith will be tried and tested. You'll become humble. Your vision for your life will get clearer. You're in training for your purpose. You'll lose some friends, because there's some folks who are only with you because of where they think your journey will lead THEM. Don't worry, they're a little confused... but it was meant for them to get lost during this phase. Walk on. Continue on your journey. Soon, you'll be approaching the mountain. Get ready to climb!”
― Yvonne Pierre, The Day My Soul Cried: A Memoir    

Good Days Are All The More Sweeter Now!

Okay so Wednesday, after a night of practically descent sleep, I woke up hungry, like-a-lion hungry.  My stomach was growling like something ugly inside and I realized early on my needs were very specific.  I wanted some spaghetti, and tossing some Ragu on top of some ground hamburger wasn’t going to do the trick.  Uh-uh I needed something cooked by either Giada De Laurentiis, which was ridiculous, or my Italian friend, Deborah.  But since neither was about to happen as soon as I needed it to happen an authentically Italian place by the Tacoma Mall, called the Adriatic Grill, would do just fine.   My taste buds were looking for something poppin’ with flavor, I could practically taste tons of garlic, basil and oregano…M’m good.  Had to have it just the way I dreamt it.  I had four errands I wanted to run on my own and considering the speedometer for my energy was practically on zero already I needed to hit each location fast, do what needed to be done then get on to the next destination.  The Adriatic Grill would obviously need to be my second to the last stop because I had laundry and groceries to pick up and thankfully they were both at my last location.  By the time I dragged my exhausted body to the restaurant -- and if you’re thinking I should have called in my order you’d be right but chemo brain ain’t a pretty thing and I forgot that as an option -- I was like a limp nasty dish rag by the time I pulled into the parking lot.  I climbed out of the car, very slowly, walked right up to the counter with purpose and told the lady standing there I needed – operative word being need – spaghetti and meatballs and asked her to throw in some Bruschetta with Tomato-Feta.  Yum – by this point I was ravenous and everything sounded good.  She may have sensed my desperation because my order arrived lickety split.  I grabbed my bags of good Italian eatins’ and slowly, very slowly headed to my car.  I was a bit gingerly on my feet and think I even weaved a bit precariously.  It may have been my imagination but it felt like people were giving me some wary looks.  Whatever.

My next stop was the grocery story for some bread, milk and mints.  I heard somewhere that mint was good for nausea so it was a must have.  Last stop – thank God – on my list was the dry cleaners.  Carrying a full winter coat in my arms along with the other items of clothing almost did me in but I managed to get everything to the car along with myself strapped in and back to home base in no time.  I even got everything from my car in both arms so I’d only have to make one trip – I’m smart as a whip – as I slowly, steadily climbed the stairs to the condo and fell quite nicely through the door.  Hey, I made it through my own chores and lived to tell about it.  Ha Ha! I threw everything else aside and took my bounty into the kitchen, spread everything out on the table like I was the queen of Sheba then sat my weary body in front of this great bounty and picked up my fork, which no joke, seemed to weigh a ton.  First bite, absolutely divine, second bite, even better than the first.  But then exhaustion poured over me like warm honey and all I could do was use the last teeny bit of energy I had to put everything in containers for another day. 

 

I stumbled – I kid you not – to my room, stripping en-route to my bed, rolled onto my bed -- by the way, I have the most comfortable super thick mattresses in the world, nothing fancy, didn’t cost an arm and a leg, but cradles my body like an old lover.  I love my bed, which is a good thing since we seem to be spending so much quality time together.  And snuggled in bed, like I hadn't done a damn thing all day (te he), is exactly where my sister found me when she got home from work.

Seriously, sometimes life gets ugly, and there are times when I find I have to look a little harder to find those sweeter moments.  They're always close by, sometimes it just takes a little effort and reaching out to grab hold.  It's worth the effort though. That spaghetti and Bruschetta: delizioso!

It was a good day!



Life is like a camera. Focus on what's important, capture the good times, Develop from the negatives, and if things don't work out, take another shot.   

wall quotes sayings vinyl decal art by Epic Designs

 

Frickin' Cancer

The chemo medication 5FU injected into my port for two days was removed on Saturday, but the residual effects of this chemo drug took a bit longer to stand down.  Sunday my stomach was borderline yucky, just barely hanging steady as I tried to find substance to ease the nausea.  I woke up early morning with severe cramping from constipation, I guess from all the meds I'd been given for nausea, which included Ondansetron, Fosaprepitant and Decadron that were administered during my infusion via IV and then I'd been chugging down Prochlorperazine and Lorazepam at home.  So anyway, then comes some Dulcolax for the constipation, then I get acid reflux so took some Omeprazole.  Nothing worked and I was so miserable.  I laid back on a pile of pillows and dosed in and out of sleep for what felt like the longest night in hell.  When I finally lifted myself out of bed on Monday morning my stomach felt like it had been put through a meat grinder…deep breaths in deep breaths out…to relieve the shakiness.  I lost the battle when I tried to take my usual medications which was the catalyst for my stomach to heave ho and ended up spending the morning with my head hanging over the toilet…ugggg…not good.  I’ve lost about four pounds in the last week.  Dammit!  As strange as this may sound, even after the 6-months of chemo I’ve endured, without nausea, and the Whipple procedure, this is the first time I’ve actually felt like a cancer patient.  Cancer’s got me in the frickin’ Twighlight Zone and nothing is how it’s supposed to be.  This loss of control scared the crap out of me and I ended up calling my son in-between dips into the toilet with, “Sick…get here!”  He had to come from across town but miraculously ended up at my front door within about 20 minutes.  My Tony helped me clean up the mess, then he went to the local Walgreens for some 7-up and saltine crackers.  So soothing. 

This morning I was weak as a kitten but my poor stomach was feeling a little less queasy.  I made myself get up throughout the night to drink water to keep from becoming dehydrated and I think it helped.  That said it still took every ounce of energy I could muster to get into the shower this morning, and dress myself.  My plan of attack today:  Walk up to the 7-11 for some mini exercise and to get my lotto tickets for Wednesday’s game.  I missed getting tickets last night because I could barely get out of the bed let alone walk to the store, and thank goodness there wasn’t a jackpot winner.  I’ve been playing the same numbers for the last three years and would have been royally pissed at this cancer for getting in my way from winning the Jackpot.    Mission accomplished, got my tickets and now back on track for the big Jackpot win!  I’m sure my slow paced walk to the store lacked a bit of a hitch in my get-a-long but it felt good moving my body, breathing in fresh air and feeling the mist left from the early morning’s rain against my skin.  I felt alive!

Here are some positive things happening I’m focusing on these days.  The Hallmark Channel’s Countdown ‘Til Christmas started this Saturday.  That means we get Christmas movies all day long – And Lifetime Channel starts their countdown this coming weekend.  Whoopee!  Hey I love Christmas and these movies are great – guy meets girl, girl meets guy with all kinds of love buzzing in the air around the holiday season!  You know what?  No matter what’s going on in my life these movies always manage to put a smile on my face.  I personally believe that whenever I smile there’s some healing going on. 

Don't let cancer knock the smile off your face!




Eric Butterworth Don't go through life, grow through life.

Trick or Treat?

Oh woe is me, woe is me.  Yes, I’m whining, indeed I am.  Being that yesterday was Halloween which is so apropos given the fact I have to return to The Chair on Halloween day, and that scary place in oncology at Virginia Mason for my first infusion since June 16, I should get a freakin' gold star for showing up in costume of sorts. I made a valiant effort to start off the morning upbeat by wearing my favorite pink bunny socks under my black jeans, and my pretty pink princess mask. I sure did. And I've never dressed up on Halloween before for public consumption.  Never!  I actually had the unmitigated gall to wear this get up on the bus to Seattle at 6:00 a.m. along with carrying a large orange plastic pumpkin with trick or treat spelled out on the side in large black letters.  It was filled to the brim with all the “good” candies, chocolat!  The nurses were tickled when I laid it on the counter for whoever needed a fix throughout the day.  I can imagine when working in an oncology unit having a fix of chocolate from time to time can only make the day better.

As the infusion did its thing I fought nausea, so they gave me more pills, I got stomach cramps so they gave me another pill and then I was trying to gently fuss at my nurse about something and my words came out thick and garbled like someone having a stroke.  I said, “I can’t talk wight.”  The nice nurse.  “Are you sure?”  Really?  “Well I doe I didn’t sound wike this when I came in.”  I'm getting kind of irritated now.  She asked if my tongue was swollen.  I said doe.  She asked if my lips were tingling.  I said uh…doe.  She surmised that it may be the pill they gave me for cramping which sometimes causes the back of the throat to become numb.  The more I talked the worse it got.  She said, “Oh yes, I can hear the change in your voice now.”  Again really?  Now you can tell?  As I mentioned earlier I’m a moody gal and usually have to work at being nice.  Yesterday was one of those days.  I hope the staff couldn't tell, they are always kind and very nice to me.  Immediately the doctor was called, and he came in all smiles and shook my hand then asked me to pronounce Episcopalian Church or something to that effect.  I like Dr. Picozzi.  Without trying he can always find a way to make my lips flip from a frown into a smile.  Of course the words came out all kinds of ridiculous, not to mention I don’t recall being able to pronounce it properly even without meds.  But I did manage a smile which ruled out a stroke.  He prescribed some Benadryl and I crashed when I got home but when I woke up at around 9:30 p.m. my speaking abilities were much improved.

They told me this therapy was no joke and believe me I am not laughing.  As I’ve mentioned in previous post this ass-kicking therapy usually includes 5 days of radiation in addition to the three chemo drugs dumped into my body, but because cancer has spread to my liver radiation is no longer an option for me.  After my infusion, and realizing how really difficult it is from the last time, I didn't know whether to be grateful that I don't have to do the radiation part too or worried because I can’t do the radiation part.  Although of course I don’t want any further metastasis of my liver to other major organs, I don’t want the pancreatic cancer to come back either.  But this is the only option available to me now and truly, I am grateful. I will be reporting for therapy on a 1 week on, 1 week off schedule.  I was fitted with a fanny pack which contains the 5FU injected every hour into my port for two days and then I have to get back to the hospital this Saturday to have it detached from my body.  This process will be repeated until January and then another CT scan.  Fun times.

While my infusion was ongoing, in comes the Palliative treatment people.  These folks always scare me a bit because I know they are cousins to the hospice folks that show up at the end of life.  The major difference is that Palliative care will usually pay a visit during any phase of illness, ergo the reason behind their impromptu visit today (is ergo even still a word?).  They manage pain, help you with getting together necessary paperwork like living wills, Power of Attorneys and a heap of other things we need but don't like to talk about.  To get an idea of where I'm at emotionally in the  cancer journey, they dug a bit into the personal.  They asked me my feelings on death and dying.  I said I wasn't keen on the idea just yet, but when my time comes, I just didn't want it to hurt.  I worry about my children losing their mother, even as grown folks it will hurt them. We talked about my dad, and my part in assisting him with his care.  I grabbed some tissue.  We talked about my mom, and my part in assisting with her care (more tissues), and we talked about my brother...and I cried...then cried some more.   I'm a talker and do not need a whole lot of encouragement to talk about myself or loved ones no longer with us in the physical sense, but it's a fresh break in my heart every time.  It's so painful.  Still. Always.  

When I left Virginia Mason on the spookiest day of the year my bag of goodies was replaced with scripts for potassium, cause pre-blood work indicated my levels were low, nausea pills, anxiety pills -- with instructions to pick up some Imodium for diarrhea. Yummy.  Apparently, all of the chemo drugs I'm on can cause the runs. 

So there you have it.  This is my story and I'm sticking to it.  I hope that all of you going through your own personal journeys had some peace today, with no pain or discomfort, and perhaps found moments to laugh at something silly, or cry for a moment if it's what's needed.  We are entitled. Keep fighting, it's worth the win!



“To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.”
― Criss Jami