A Worthy Adversary

There is a scene in "King Arthur" with Clive Owen where Stellan Skarsgard (the bad guy) says..."Finally. A man worth killing." Well this is how I'm beginning to feel about my little mousey friend.

Why do I have yet another picture of a tripped trap minus a dead mouse in it? Because this is Trap #2 that was tripped last night. However, he must be getting sneakier or quicker because, as you'll remember, I got a piece of him the first night. Last night nothing. All I heard was the trap snap. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps it's a ghost mouse.

Hot Surgeon...hot date

Three weeks ago I had my follow-up CT scan. Two weeks ago I got confirmation that my CT had come back clear.
I am officially CANER FREE! YIPPEE!!! Had I not been at work when I got the news I’m pretty sure I would have been weeping like a baby. In fact I’m pretty sure my dad got a little weepy when I called him.

I don’t know what was harder…waiting the first time to find out I did have cancer…or waiting this time to find out I didn’t.

You would think that sort of news would induce corks popping off of champagne bottles, or at least many rounds of drinks being bought by friends. Not for me. No I was so exhausted the Tuesday night that I got the news that all I wanted to do was go home, pop a bottle of celebratory champagne, put on my pajamas and settle in for a night of “Glee”. And that’s exactly how I celebrated being cancer free.

This past weekend, Labor Day weekend, I truly celebrated with my girlfriends in Tulsa. We had stiff mojitos and then went to see John Mayer in concert. What a fun weekend that was! We celebrated me being cancer free and my impending date with Hot Surgeon to get my port out.

The rest of the weekend was spent in Stillwater tailgating and watching football, enjoying a few drinks Sunday night with my neighbors, and overhauling the boat at Texoma on Monday. Come Tuesday I was all sorts of ready for my big date with Hot Surgeon.

Tuesday morning was spent driving home from Ada and then quickly scurrying around to find a cute outfit that would best hide my newly acquired fat rolls. Then of course there was the challenge of styling my remaining hairs in such a way as to look decent for my hot date.

God love the nurse at Hot Surgeon’s office…because she didn’t make me weigh in. She said…”oh you’re just coming in for a procedure. We don’t need to weigh you.” Hallelujah!

She has me slip off my cardigan and slip on, what can only be described as a paper towel bolero jacket. Had I had a marker I would have decorated it to look like a Spanish Bolero jacket a la John Galliano. I certainly had enough time to do so.

She took my blood pressure and said…”Oh! This is a little high today. You must be a little nervous about the procedure.”

What I said was…”Uhhh yeah. We’ll go with that.”

What my brain was thinking was…”I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Hot Surgeon is going to come walking through that door any moment and I have a crush on him like every 12 year old in America has on that stupid Bieber kid.”

Then a little knock at the door and the angels began to sing as celestial trumpets heralded the approach of Hot Surgeon. And just when I thought chemo had completely killed every single womanly urge I could have…in walked Hot Surgeon with a new hair cut, those smoldering grey eyes, and that firm reassuring handshake that says “I’m going to take really good care of you today.”

Ahhhhhh….

It’s a good thing I was already sitting down because I’m pretty sure when he took off his lab coat and hung it on the door I was thisclose to fainting (or just simply turning into a puddle right there on the floor).

He leans the table back and turns on the spot light and all of a sudden I feel like I’m at the dentist…which, oddly enough, is where I was supposed to be Tuesday morning but I had to cancel him because I had a far HOTTER doctor to see (not that the dentist is by any means an ogre or anything). He proceeds to pull down my bra strap and tuck in my bolero jacket as my pulse shoots up another 20 beats per minute and I try to refrain from kicking the nurse out of the room and jumping him.

He gets me all numbed up and we’re off to the races. Within 20 minutes he has my original scar removed, the port out, and me all sown back up nice and tidy.

He pops a band aid on it, props me up and says…”Well, that’s it. You won’t need to come back in or anything. Just stay out of hot tubs and pools for the next 3 weeks.”

And I, trying my damnedest to muster all the smoldering sex appeal one can whilst wearing a paper towel bolero jacket, said…”Well Dr. Ellis although I’ve certainly enjoyed these little interludes of ours…I hope I never have to see you in this office again.”

Now at this point Elizabeth Taylor, Catherine Zeta Jones, Sophia Loren, or any number of screen sirens would have had a cute little line that would segue them into inviting him out for a drink (or back to their boudoir)…but not me. No…I just shook his hand, earnestly looked him in the eye and thanked him for a job well done. GAAAHHH!!!

Hot Surgeon: “Well…any time you’re up here come by and see us. Let us know how you’re doing and if there’s ever anything else you need let me know.”

Me: “Oh I WILL!”

My brain: “You stupid idiot! Why can’t you come up with some sort of cute thing to say??? Or even just an outburst of ‘I want your bod’! You could at least at this point still discount such an outburst to chemo-brain! You’re hopeless.”

So…much like everything else…life gets back to normal. I’m cancer free, port free, and will just have my follow up visits with Dr. Keefer for the next 5 years. I had mimosas with mom afterwards while dad went to my house to wait for the air conditioner repair guy. Life does go on and even in the midst of something as dramatic as having cancer…you see it in the little things.

Exhibit A. Why do I have a picture of an empty mouse trap in my last blog about cancer? To show that life is big moments…and mundane moments. I have a little mousey friend who got VERY bold last night and decided to make several audacious trips through my living room while I lay on the sofa watching TV. I set two traps before I went to bed. About 30 minutes later, while I lay peacefully watching Oprah…I heard a “WHAP!!!” and a blood curdling scream. As much noise as that mouse made I felt sure I’d caught him. But I woke up this morning…giddy at the thought of catching him…only to find the trap empty.

So there you have it. The end of my cancer detour is wrapped up in a date with Hot Surgeon and an audacious mouse.

What the what?!!? Some old lady just hit on my dad!!!

Okay. Seriously. Did we really think I’d make it out of my last treatment day without some sort of hilarious story? Of course not!

Friday morning started off the same as any treatment day. I got up, took my shower, put my numbing cream on my port so that I wouldn’t feel Nurse Ratchet stabbing me and grabbed my pump, magazines, and iPod. Of course this Friday was the BIG DAY! The last treatment day and the meeting with Dr. Keefer where he’d let us know the process for the follow up. So mom AND dad were with me. Dad had said he wanted to sit with me on my last day. And he did.

We met with Dr. Keefer who was very positive and even got a little weepy at it being my last day. Then he gave me a big hug and ushered me back to the back.

And if anyone had any questions about it being my last day they only had to spot the tiara and balloons to be assured otherwise. Not to mention the bucket of homemade cookies I took for everyone and all the presents my mom was passing out to all the nurses. 

So I get in and get settled. Dad and I proceed to converse whilst mom dashes off to do some shopping and run a couple of errands. We’re into our conversation when I notice this older lady having a hard time getting a chair off the stack. I say “older lady” but she’s probably about 67 or 68 so only about 8 years older than my dad. Now I’ll admit those things are pretty challenging to get off the stack…so I asked dad if he could maybe help her. So he did. Then he made the mistake (apparently) of carrying the chair to where she needed it…nice gentleman that he is.

He comes back and sits down. After a while the lady comes back to the back bathroom by me (which there is another one WAY closer to where she was) and taps my dad on the shoulder as she’s passing by. Then she proceeds to hang out at the wigs. Then she comes back by and engages dad again by saying…”I just had to see if there was anything back there better than my own hair. Tee, hee, hee…”

I kid you not. There was a “tee, hee, hee”. I nearly fell out of my navy blue pleather barkalounger I was laughing so hard!

Hilarious! Oh man…you just can’t plan for those moments.

After that my sweet friend, Joyce, arrived with hamburgers and fries! Perfectly timed after my 2nd dose of anti-nausea meds. Ugh. She stayed for lunch and then wound up taking me home since mom had to be in Edmond for her physical therapy for her finger.

So I got home and spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping, dry-heaving, and crying. Yes. Crying. I think the culmination of the last 8 months, the stress, the pain, the worry, the nausea…all of it finally came crashing in and I just let it go. I was crying tears of pure, unadulterated relief. And my poor dad had to be there for the whole messy display. Poor dad. He did what most dad’s do in that situation…he got me a drink (some iced tea if I hadn’t been dry heaving it probably would have been a scotch) and a wet rag.

The rest of the weekend was spent warding off the nausea and sleeping. Yesterday I convinced my home health care nurse to come early. Mom asked if my pump had gone off and I said…”No. And at this point I’m like ‘F’ it!” So I turned it off with 5mL left and let the nurse unplug me. It was my final attempt at rebellion.

Today I’m feeling slightly better. Mondays, post treatment, are always so difficult for me. I’m just generally tired and pukey. Always a fun combination at work. Nevertheless, I called the doctor’s office today to schedule my CT scan for Friday and after that comes back all clear (which we are all expecting) they will set up my procedure with Hot Surgeon to get my port taken out. Woohoo!!! The only thing standing between me and final freedom is a couple of nasty barium “fruit smoothies” for the CT scan and my date with Hot Surgeon.

Can. Not. Wait.

Counting Down

So all this week my mom has been sending me little gifts and cards in the mail to mark the 10 day countdown to my last treatment. Today I got some gorgeous flowers delivered to the office. Who knew having cancer could be so fun?!?

No. But really. What does one think about the final week of treatment? A friend asked me the other day if I was worried. I hadn’t really thought of being worried at all until she asked. This whole last 7 months I haven’t been worried about what would happen after my last treatment. I mean…I got it straight from the horse’s (God’s) mouth that I had nothing to worry about so who’s to argue with God??? I figure if He says “I got this.” Then He’s got it.

So this whole time I’ve just been focused on staying healthy (physically and mentally) and paying my bills. But isn’t it interesting how the power of suggestion works? Through that one little question I have been a little worried this week. I suppose everyone has that nagging feeling towards the end of treatment…”what if it didn’t work?” and “what if I have to do this again?” and “how much more of this am I really willing to take?”

I won’t deny the fact that I’ve entertained the “how much more of this am I really willing to take” question. I have. I’ve entertained it a lot. Hell…I’ve made frickin’ balloon animals for it. But I have yet to come up with a distinct answer to that question. Compared to so many people I’ve talked to or heard about, I’ve had a relatively easy go of it. I think because of my age and my general good health…chemo has taken very little outward showing toll on me. I’ve managed to work through it and with the exception of a couple of days post treatment where I had to leave work a little early…I haven’t missed ANY work since my surgeries. Treatments may have slowed me down but they certainly haven’t brought me to a screeching halt.

That being said I guess I would endure whatever it takes to keep me healthy and “hopefully” cancer free. I say that…but sometimes in the dark moments when you’re fumbling around trying to find a clean trash can so you can spit the bile in it that keeps washing into your mouth like frickin’ Malibu at high tide and you’re just praying that the tea and Cinnamon Teddy grams stave off the nausea just a wee bit longer…the alternative doesn’t sound so bad.

Man! This blog entry took a turn for the depressing didn’t it! Geez. Well heretofore no more depression. I will gaze at my gorgeous flowers and ponder what kind of head gear to wear on Friday. It’s between a tiara and some sort of fun party hat. I kind of wish I still had my giant green felt hat from St. Patrick’s Day last year. That would be fun to wear. Oh well ceste la vie!

Anywho…here’s to the FINAL treatment this weekend! Everyone keep your fingers crossed and think happy thoughts this Friday and over the weekend. 

Treatment #11

So this weekend was my 11th treatment and counting. Only ONE MORE LEFT! I cannot believe how close I am to being cancer free! I’d hazard a bet that I’m currently cancer free and really don’t need that final treatment…but then again I might as well do it. It’s like those people on “The Biggest Loser”…you’ve already lost 120 pounds…what’s 10 more??? That’s how I feel about this last treatment.

The 11th treatment went well. My friend Heather came with lots of gossip magazines and snacks to keep me company. There were really no interesting stories. I went in, got my labs, met with the doctor, and got hooked up to my IV. I did notice, however, that there was a very prominent member of the Chamber there. I’m always amazed at who I see getting chemo. Just goes to show that there are more people than you think who have cancer and who battle it on a daily basis in a very quiet manner.

My parents will be going with me to my last treatment. My dad hasn’t really been, shall we say…”interested”…in sitting with me at any of my treatments. I’m not sure if it’s just because he doesn’t really do sick…or if he didn’t want to impose on my girlfriends sitting with me. But he has said that he would come for the last one. I think he also wants to be there to meet with the doctor and get the final word direct from the horse’s mouth that I am indeed “cancer free”.

After the final treatment I will go in and get another CAT scan done. Woohoo!!! More “Berry Smoothies”. Can you sense my sarcasm? Ugh! I don’t care what you call it and what you do to make it taste better…that barium stuff that lights your innards up on the CAT scan does NOT resemble a fruit smoothie. It more closely resembles room temperature milk of magnesia or something equally nasty and thick.

After the CAT scan I will then be pronounced “cancer free” and can get my port taken out. We’ll hope that my hot surgeon will not puncture my lung getting the port out like he did putting it in. I can’t say I’m really up for yet another hospital stay this year. I’m pretty much OVER the hospital. And what little vacation time I’ve got left…I’d rather use it to visit my family at the holidays or visit my friend Barney this fall in New England.

The good news is…my treatments on Fridays are quicker because I don’t have to do the calcium stuff for my aversion to cold things. But I have noticed that the numbness in my fingers and toes is much worse now than it has been the whole time. Odd that it just started in the last couple of treatments. But it’s a bugger because I can’t hardly type anything only once. I usually have to type the same thing at least twice to get it right…which is highly irritating since writing/typing is generally what I do each day. I’ve also noticed that I’m much more nauseated and tired on the drug that sounds like “I-ran-to-the-can”. It hasn’t made me run to the can like everyone said it would…but it has made me MUCH more nauseated. So much so that sometimes the compazine and the zophran just aren’t cutting it. So I eat things like Teddy Grahams and Cheezits to help stave off the vomiting that I’m sure is lurking just around the corner.

I’m sad that I don’t have any funny stories to share. Though I think by this point in the process…very little is entertaining or funny at my treatments. I just want to get in…and get OUT. The sooner I’m done with each one…the sooner I’m DONE. And of course having to carry my fanny-pac-o-fun home with me each weekend just draws it out and makes it seem longer. So when I say I’m done on the 13th. I’m not really done until the 15th at about 10am when the home health nurse comes to unplug me. But oh, holy, smokes…the 15th is my last day. HOORAY!!! I. CAN. NOT. WAIT! After the 15th…it’s gonna be shove over and pass me the raw fish and where’s the keg! Because we’re gonna PAR-TAY!

Row, row, row your boat....

Yes, that’s right. Fall rowing season is back in full swing. This week I rowed my first full practice in months! It was hot (98 degrees) and long (an hour and a half) and I gave it my all, which is saying a lot considering I’ve pretty much let exercise and exertion take a back seat since January.

Don’t get me wrong…I’ve taken walks…but not regularly. And I take the stairs when I can…but haven’t pushed myself past four flights. But I’ve decided that I’m just sick and tired of being sick and tired (and fat). So last night kicked off my new work out regime. I’ve joined a new gym (with two goals in mind #1 to get back into fighting shape and #2 to land myself a doctor BF) gotten and new athletic swimsuit and am ready to dive into swimming and all the other pilates and yoga classes the gym has to offer.

But I digress. Last night was exhilarating and tiring all at the same time. There is just something magical to me about skimming along the river. I’m a water baby so any water sport is just grand to me…but this is different. It’s much like sailing in that you have to focus on the moment, think strategically, and breathe. Breathing is very important.

I also learned last night that, when applied correctly, SPF 90 does indeed keep every bit of sun from burning your skin. I’m pretty sure that stuff would protect a vampire. So I made it through a full practice in sweltering heat, gave it 100%, and didn’t get a sun burn. Take THAT cancer!

10th Treatment...DONE!

So last week I was sunning myself in Los Angeles without a care in the world. Sitting by a sparkling pool, drinking some beers with my friends from other chambers around the country and not really thinking about cancer…until someone asked me…”So do you think about cancer ALL the time???”

My answer? “Well…no. I wasn’t just now until you asked!”

So funny how everyone reacts differently to that word. I am part of a program for chamber executives that meets every year for four years in Los Angeles. After the 4th year we get to put a little handy-dandy distinction behind our names. So it’s like going to school each summer with the same kids. Last summer we were all new and were making friends. This year it was like seeing friends that you haven’t seen in a long time. Some people already knew about my cancer and others didn’t. Those who didn’t were quite shocked by the news but quickly recovered with a pat on the back, a “go get ‘em tiger!”, and a “can I buy you a beer?”

I’m beginning to think that’s pretty much the summation of my cancer experience…”Go get ‘em tiger!” and “Can I buy you a beer?” I think because I don’t look sick (nor does anyone other than my mom see me act sick) most people assume I’m tackling it with gusto and hope to reward my gusto with a beer. Thank God I can finally drink them now that I’m not on the drug that made me averse to cold drinks.

Speaking of drugs…my new drug that replaced the one I was allergic too has a name that sounds like…I-ran-to-the-can…which is quite hilarious and ironic since it does just that. Two words I never thought I’d actually hear my doctor say together…”Explosive” and “Diarrhea”. Such fun to think about that. And so much more fun to experience it…especially at work. This new drug, though glorious because I can drink cold drinks, is bugging me with the side effects. It’s making my fingers and toes numb. It’s making me more nauseated. Oh yeah…and there’s the gastrointestinal fireworks.

So I got back last Thursday from my glorious week long trip to California where I got to visit my friends Mike, and Cathy and Kevin, just in time to jet to chemo Friday morning. MAN what a downer! But the vacation proved to me, once again, that a disease like this might limit your energy but it can’t limit your spirit and joie de vie! I felt so good there! I didn’t care how backed up the traffic was on the 405 on my way to Ventura I was heading to see Cat and Kevin! Nor did I care that taking the PCH from Ventura to LA would add additional time to my drive down. How can you not be LOVING life (even if you’re in a rental car that is the love child of a station wagon and a mini-van) when you’re driving with the windows down and the tunes turned up through Malibu??? I suggest that anyone who can be down on life during that drive needs their humanity card revoked. Look around people! Life, in its smallest moments, is glorious!

So I’ve finished my 10th treatment…which means I have TWO LEFT!!! Dr. Keefer said last week that as far as he’s concerned we’ll do one more PET scan to make sure…but I’m cured. He said he was looking at these treatments as a means to an end…not a band aid. So with annual colonoscopies…I should be able to live the rest of my life colon cancer-free. Yippee!!!

So anyone reading this blog who is going through similar treatments…hang tough! There is an end in sight. And when you get right up on it…it’s so glorious to see!