Team DeAnne

Hey!  I’m still here!  I feel like a ninny for not posting for so long!  I’ve never been very savvy when it comes to technology, and I’ve been inundated with computer problems.  GRRRR!  (I think my computer has cancer.  Huh.  Better it than me!)

Anyhow, ever since the chemo treatments ended, I’ve been happily going about the business of getting my life back!  I’m not tired anymore.  I’m usually in a good mood, my appetite is back and I can’t believe I’m no longer skinny like I was a few weeks ago.  I’m waking up every morning looking forward to the day’s events. 

This morning I ran 8.5 miles with “The Herd”, a group of lovely ladies that run around Sebastopol and it’s gorgeous country roads at 6:00 am.  I used to not run with them very often because it was too hard to get up and function that early.  Maybe it was due to fatigue caused by the mutant cells I was growing.  But now, no more mutant cells!  No more excuses!  Life is for the living, and nothing speaks to me of living (vigorously) as running through the mist and greenery, breathing in the scent of honeysuckles and sweet grasses and the occasional cow dung!  And food tastes better after a good run!

And now that I’m going macrobiotic, living mainly on whole grains and veggies and beans, I have to eat alot in order to keep up with myself.  Luckily, I’m a gourmand rather than a gourmet…quantity is good, and as I experiement in the kitchen, the quality is getting better, too. 

So, ten days after chemo ended, I was on a plane to the East Coast with the parentals, to see my darling little nephew!  I was excited, but I hadn’t been so far from home with my bald head and one and a half eyebrows before, except to go to Marin for my treatments.  I had the wig on, but still felt self-conscious.  Even worse, the night before we left I was rough-housing with my cat.  My face got in the way of his paw as he batted at me, and a claw swiped my eyelid!  I did what every good girlscout knows to do, and applied pressure!  And somehow the blood seeped under the skin and I ended up with quite a shiner.  So there was that, too.  Not only was I looking like a middle-aged wanna-be edgy Celtic rocker chick, but I looked like I’d lost a bar brawl, too! 

But this trip wasn’t about me!!!  I got over myself, and enjoyed spending time with my family and the Sweetest Little Baby in the World!  He has red hair like his daddy, pretty wide-set eyes like his mommy, and We’re all so impressed and delighted with him that we’re sure he’ll be speaking 3 languages by the time he’s two!  The beach house was delightful with the ocean waves coming right up to the back deck during high tide.  Every day I ran through swanky, shady green neighborhoods.  My brother and his wife went grocery shopping and brought me organic kale and sweet potatoes. 

I was starting to feel so much better, that I forgot that I had cancer one evening.  I was sitting out on the back deck, watching the waves and talking to my brother.  I was running around with nothing on my head.  What with Grandpa and the baby being bald, I figured I could join the trend!  But then the neighbor’s little girl caught a glimpse of me, and gaped, and ran into their house.  Pretty soon, she came back out with her mom, and I could tell they were trying hard not to stare, but i could see them sneaking glimpses while pretending to watch the waves.  This is Greenwich.  You don’t see hard-core looking bald ladies running around like you do in more urban areas.  GI Jane is not a commonly seen look in these parts! 

So, I smiled and waved.  I guess they put two and two together, that I wasn’t a degenerate or a skinhead, (well, I am, but NOT in that way!), and when I ran past their house the next morning, and she was out front, she smiled and waved and said, “You go, girl!”

Upon returning home, I have continued teaching.  I enjoy the more relaxed summer schedule.  I went last week to see my oncologist, and we both agreed that I’m doing great.  I didn’t want to seem focused on the trivial, but after he congratulated me on my excellent prognosis and continuing good work in exercising and eating well and staying positive, I blurted, “When will I have hair again?!”

Get this…NOT FOR SEVERAL MORE MONTHS!!!!!  

SHOOT!  This is gonna be the long, bald summer. 

Oh well.  Remember, I’ve had prior experience in successfully looking like a dork.  I’ll survive this experience, too.  And I’ll beat my own record in dorkiness!  Hey!

What’s really great, on the other hand, is how awesome the little things are in my life.  I get so much satisfaction from little things!  When my voice came back enough to return to my singing lessons, it was a day to celebrate.  I’m happy when the rose bush that I dead-headed a few days ago is filled with new blooms a few days later.  They smell better than I remember, too.  Immense joy comes from a new recipe tried actually works out and tasted edible.  When I play the piano, and my fingers no longer are numb, and my voice is no longer hoarse, I feel like maybe I did, if fact, die and go to heaven.  When I lay in the sunshine on my chase-lounge, it’s not just an escape, it’s bliss!  I awake and find myself humming that old Louie Armstrong song “It’s a Beautiful World”!  When people around me are cranky and intolerant, I become annoyingly sage and benevolent…life is too precious to waste on anger and petty emotions.  I probably sound annoying right now, but these are all things that I truly feel.  It’s part of the experience of being the new and improved DeAnne!

Besides, I need to be as positive as possible, because on Friday, I have surgery again.  It’s my final reconstructive surgery, but I’m much more nervous about this one than I was about the bilateral mastectomies.  I feel like I lucked out the first time, with everything going off without a hitch.  Will my luck continue? 

Stay tuned!  The saga continues….

Woo Hoooo!!!!  I’m so happy!  Chemo…been there, done that!  AND, lived to tell the tale!  I’m here to tell everyone that yes, chemo is a different experience for each person who needs it.  But I’m the biggest wimp in the world, and if this ever happens to you or someone you love, tell them you know of a really wimpy girl and she survived it, and so can anyone!

People make me nervous when they say how brave they think I am.  I kid you not, I wimped and whined my way through, even before the treatments started…come the think of it, especially before they started!)  I don’t deal with even the slightest form of discomfort without beoming very unpleasant to be around.  I don’t take change well at all.  I may roar and swagger around, but it’s usually just a big show.  That  is why, of all race distances I prefer the marathon…I know it sounds strange, but in a marathon, I can wimp out.  When the going gets tough, no one thinks anything of it if they see me parked on the side of the road eating the blackberries growing over the fence.  Once when I pulled my blackberry-eating stunt in a 1oK, however, a race official was alarmed that I wasn’ running fast like the others, and sent the “roadkill crew” out to pick me up.  (That was my first 10K, and also when I learned that not all races are run in the same manner…)  A marathon is all about pacing and eating and drinking, and keeping your attitude in gear.  The way I eat and sightsee my way through a course, I even make merry while I eat and drink.  It’s not an uncomfortable sort of effort.  That’s why towards the end of chemo I was comparing it mre to speedwork, which I enjoy, but  it isn’ t ever about eating, drinking and making merry.  Speedwork is about making your body meet the demands of the challenge, not about being comfortable over the long haul!   But I digress!

The day after my last infusion, I looked in the mirror as I was putting on sunblock and my pink cap that I wear when I run.  I don’t look so good.  But I also don’t look so bad, either.  I understand that while I may be done with chemo, it may not be done with me, just yet.  For a few more weeks I’ll probably continue to look sort of weird.  Oh, well!  (I repeat…I’ve lived whole decades looking weird…like, uh, adolescence?!  Or the lovely years between ages 7 and 13, when Daddy’s little “Princess Moonbeams” was transmogrified my some virus that the toad she kissed shared…funnly-looking, with braces and headgear and choppy short haircut.  The boys that I played little league with didn’t even know I was a girl.)  Needless to say, if I have to look weird for a while longer, it’s OK, because I’ve been there, done that.  I can do it for a bit longer.

I may not look like my old self, but I’ m starting to feel normal again!  For instance, I’m generally a peaceful sort of person.  I avoid confrontation.  But for some reason, I will argue to the death about the stupidest things with my mother.  Though I avoid debating and arguing, I’m pretty good at it.  Ironically, the one person I can’t win is the one I argue with the most, my Mom!  When I wasn’t feeling so well, I didn’t have the energy to fight.  Now, though, if she says black, I say white.  It’s like a reflex.  I know I shouldn’t argue with her, or anyone…but the first time I started getting mouthy about two weeks ago, she was almost happy about it, because I was starting to sound like the DeAnne we all knew and loved.  Hahaha!

Anyhow, the day after my last infusion, I drove out to the redwoods.  That place is like church for me.  It’s where I go to heal my mind.  Just knowing I was done with chemo was enough for me to feel light and easy on my feet as I headed out on the trail!  I went up the hill where I hadn’t been able to go without walking part of it since about the time of the 3rd infusion.  It was almost like a reflex to stop and walk at this one curve in the trail.  But not today!!!  I thought to myself, “Hey!  You don’t need to walk anymore!  You’re not on chemo!  Getcher happy a– up that hill!”  And I gleefully charged up the hill, stifling the urge to whinney like a horse!

I trotted out to the picnic area, and there was my mom, out for a walk and a picnic with an old friend.  Perfect timing!  I sat down with them and ate all their food, then ran back to my car.  Aw, shoot, I’d left my keys back on the picinc table!  Wht did I do?  Well, a week before, I would have had to hope they saw the keys and drove them out to me.  ( I STill have the bad habit of forgetting to take my phone with me.)  But not today!  I RAN back to get my keys, and yes, I ran back to the car.  Unstoppable!  That’s me!  I feel better, and now I just have this urge to take to my feet and migrate like a wildebeast every day!

I tried to sing a few days later.  The thing I love the most is the scariest.  The neuropathy in my hands nd feet was present but not unbearable.  I am finally able to play the piano again.  But singing was scary.  The chemo left my voice tired and stiff and dry, no matter how much water I drank.  Being so tired, I wasn’t always breathing and placing and supporting everything right.  AFter the second round f chemo, I decided to not sing aloud, lest I should develop bad habits.  My teacher and I agreed that dying dormant was better than developing a whole new set of quirks.  Then there was also my narcoleptic tendencies while on chemo.  I would possibly make it ino San Francisco for my lesson, but then would be so exhausted I’d need to take a nap before driving home! 

Well, no more lying dormant!  My voice, after a few tentative scales and arpeggios is…not so different!  Oh, what a relief!  There was so much that could change and or go wrong…and after 3 days of gentle vocalising, I’m not having to get acquainted with a new instrument…it’s just my same old voice, just dormant for a while!  I wont’ have to learn how to live as a baritone!!!  Hallelujah! 

And now, I really should get a few hours of sleep, because I’m off to connecticut with th parentals tomorrow, to meet my new baby nephew!  My life is so full of miracles!  Team DeAnne, we did it!  I know we started celebrating about a week before the finnish line…it’s good to just celebrate all the time, because you never know what the next day will bring, right?!  But right now, each new day seems to bring us more little miracles, one of which I’m going to see and hold and snuggle with and fuss over, until Saturday!

Lucky me!

The night before chemo, I can never sleep.  I’m not sure why.  I’m no longer afraid.  I’ve adapted my lifestyle in a way that I can deal with the side-effects and keep going with my priorities…at least, the ones I’m capable of. 

Anyhow, for this last round of Taxol, I stayed up late, reading funny books and practicing piano, now that the tingling in my fingertips has subsided a bit.  My voice was still too stiff and hoarse to sing, I think because the Taxol is so drying.  I don’t think I can ever drink enough water while I’m on that stuff! 

Finally, at about midnight, I washed up before bed.  I took note of the damages…my bald head, my tired eyes and old lady hands.  Yes, chemo has an aging effect.  But I couldn’t help grinning at myself in the mirror, because after this last treatment, I will have survived chemo!  I won’t have to do this anymore!  I’ll be able to focus on getting better, and doing good things in the world, and doing the things I love! 

Jenny showed up at about 7:15.  I was still getting dressed, so she ran to the store to get my favorite chemo food, an Odwalla B Monster drink and an “energy bar”, a sort of whole grain bagle type of thing with raisins and cinnamon. 

The snack of champions—aw, yes!

When we got to the hospital, after we got off the elevator, we saw a bunch of cops standing around in the corridor as we went on our way to the infusion room.  Some inmate from the prison was there!  I tried not to crane my neck to see him, but Jenny started singing under her breath, “Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do when they come for you, bad boy bad boy” from the TV show “Cops” .  We both started cracking up, and the cops looked sort of alarmed.  They didn’t hear us, but hospitals tend to be very solemn, quiet places, and here I was, looking like death warmed over, laughing from the pit of my gut, seemingly at them!  (Maybe it’s true…after facing the thoughts of one’s own possible death, a corridor full of cops glaring a you seems like no big deal!)  Who says cnacer patients shouldn’t laugh and smile and be silly?  Whatsa matter with you?!

We were met by Fran and Angela, our two favorite nurses.  We all danced around and there was alot of “Woo-hoo!”  and other cheering.  I signed the consent forms, and went for the last time into “my” little room, #4.  I settled into the bed after setting up my snacks and reading material, and fluffing my fleece blanket with the little hearts all over it on the bed.  I presented the nurses with cards and a big pink orchid plant.  Pink for breast cancer, and also, the orchid is fragrance-free, so other patients wouldn’t get sick from the smell. 

“I think orchids live for a long time, maybe even forever, sort of like your patients!”  I told Fran.

Then I hopped into my bed, and Jenny set up her computer to do some work.  Carol, who started her treatment the same day as I did, stopped by to say hi.  We all know eachother so well, the nurses didn’t even need to put our bracelets on us, and as one nurse put my arm in a hot compress, the other walked in and handed Carol a hot compress for her arm, too. 

After a few minutes, my IV was in, luckily on the first try, and I was happily chatting with Jenny.  Once the benedryl got into my system, though, I was out like a light!  And even funnier, I heard a nurse in another room lecturing another patient, telling her to keep moving her feet while laying still, to avoid blood clots.  Well, something n my medicine gives me total restless leg syndrome.  She stuck her head in my door.  “Am I wiggling my feet enough?”  I slurred through a benedryl haze. 

She laughed, because my poor feet were acting like they were possessed.

I was surprised when the nurses informed me that I’d need not 2 but 4 Neupogen shots!  I hate those things!  The shots themselves are no big deal.  The aches and pains they cause a few hours later, though, makes me feel like my bones are full of cement!  I whined and complained so much that the last two treatments my oncologist agreed to let me ge away with only two shots.  But this time my bloodwork said my cell counts were too low, and he was worried because I’m going back to Connecticut next week to see my brother and sister in law, and their beautiful new baby boy! 

“Wouldn’t I have been really tired and miserable last week, if my counts were so low?”  I asked.

“Oh, yes,”  Fran said.  “You would have been pretty exhausted.”

“But I was back to running 5 days a week, and teaching full time didn’t leave me pooped out at the end of the day, and I had the energy to play some piano AND do my laundry AND go to the grocery store, and still not—”

Fran shushed me.  “That’s just the kind of mind you have, DeAnne.  You tell yourself you’re OK, and you believe it.  But that’s very dangerous to be this way when you’re recovering.  You need to take it easy!”

Shortly after that I fell into a deep sleep, only to wake up and eat , then sleep some more.  I awoke for good about a half an hour before the taxol drip ended. I was too dazed to be all that excited.  It was a bit anti-climactic, really!  I felt relieved, that I got through it without any major drama.  I’m pretty sure I won’t end up with any lasting ill -effects from the medicine.  I’m petty sure my hair and fingernails will grow back.  My mom says she can tell I’m on my way back, because I’m arguing with her about stupid things again, like how far is too far to run, and where it’s safe to run.

It really took me until the morning after the last chemo, this morning, to realize that I”M NEVER GOING TO HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN!!!!!

I heard the Superman theme in my head!  I know, It should have been Wonder Woman, but her theme was so cheesy!  I have 3 more Neupogen shots (and all the achy-breakiness that comes with them) to get through, and then I can focus on becoming myself again.  100 days of chemo, over and done!!!  Mom thinks it isn’t done yet.  “No, Deedee, it usually takes you about 10 days to recover from a round of chmo.  Remember, you usually have 3 or 4 sort of normal -feeling days until the next treatment.  So you won’t be feeling very good until…I figure, June 1st, which is when we leave to go see Rick and Amanda and the baby.”

But the wayI see it, after every marathon I’ve run, there’s a recovry period, which is when I do alot of swimming and slow, short runs.  The idea is to keep moving, but to also let the body heal.   But that’s Ater crossing the finnish line.  Just like this recovery time is after the last drop of chemo fell! 

So I said, ” No, Mom!  REally I feel fine!  I’m going to drive out to the redwoods after this shot, and take a nice 6 mile run! ”  And then we started to argue.  “It’s not good for you!  What if ou get tired and dehydrated!  You’re just determined to get yourself sick before this trip coming up!  What if there’s a weirdo at the redwoods?”

“No, Mom, Oxygen in large doses is good for fighting cancer!  It helps my cells regenerate!  I’ll bring lots of water and I’ll go slow, and I won’t get sick!  And whenever I’m there, there is a weirdo inthe woods, and that weirdo is me!”

“Oh, DeAnne, fine, I’m sick of arguing with you!  Obviously, you’re feeling like yourself again.  If you insist on doing this, (implied: adding all this stress to my life that I don’t need right now…) please call me as soon as you get back.”

I decided to run around my neighborhood instead.  I don’t need to be so selfish and make her worry.  4 miles was all I croaked out, anyway.  I came home and drank some herbal tea, and ate some wild rice with veggies and fell into a stuporous sleep on the heater vent, snuggled up with my cat, only to wake up starving.  I finnished the pot of rice!  Ate a sweet potato, and some green tea, and a pint of raspberries, then fell into another stupor.  OK, Mom and the nurses are right. Recovery won’t happen just because I think it should.  I’m still tired! 

I’m sort of the same way I am at the finnish line of a marathon.  It always feels a bit anti-climactic to me.  It’s the moments during the race that stay with me.  It’s the act of doing something that is heroic and exciting.  At the finnish line, though, all I am is dazed and hungry and a bit tired.  Happy, too, though!  Congratulations to my team!  You got me to the finnish line, and in a few days, I’ll realize, all the way to the bottom of my heart, how lucky I am.

I’m luckyto live in a time and place where my illness is treatable and my prognosis is excellent.  I’m lucky to have medical care that is truly phenomenal and cutting edge!  (My doctors and the UCSF Medical Center is one of the top 10 cancer treatment centers in the country!)  I have my new passion for healthy eating and positive thinking and learning to love and accept myself and others around me.  having faced some major fears, I’ve learned that life and love are precious and I will re-dedicate myself to the things that make me happy, and try to use my skills and knowledge in some way that will help others.  I’ve felt the love of not only my family and friends but many other people as well.  I’ve learned wht I’m truly made of!  And I’ve discovered a faith in the goodness of the Universe;  that all things work themselves out regardless of whether I fight and worry and stress.

Thank you to all of you.  I hope to be there for you someday when you need me!  For now, I wish for all of us to have great health, weath and happiness, and the joy of out dreams coming true!

Approaching the finnish line of a distance race, there is what’s called the shute, leading up to the finnish line.  And Team DeAnne is ALMOST IN THE SHUTE!!!!!

I have wimped and wailed and roared my way through this chemo marathon.  (Sometimes I even acted sort of normal, too.)  I  have worn a variety of wigs and hats, ranging from Marie-Antoinette, to biker momma, to a cute little auburn bob that is much more coiffed than the rest of me will ever be.  I’ve only threatened to throw my hair once, at one ornery student who hadn’t practiced.  I even answered the door a few times wearing a fake ‘coon skin cap acquired on some long-ago trip to Disneyland.  (That’ll teach those critters to stop comiing in through the cat door at night!  Hah!)

I’ve had the best team…from Mom who thinks bald is beautiful and wouldn’t dream of letting me go into a doctor’s appointment alone, ever; to Dad, who shows up and does my yardwork, and heads out in the car when mom can’t reach me on the phone, to look for me.  (My continued running habit has caused the parentals some stress.)  I think of Jenny, who rocks my world in so many ways I ‘d need another whole year to list them!  And Riley, my little panther kitty, who is totally unfazed by emotional outbursts and other cancer related weirdnesses.  And my voice teacher who sends me happy little messages and updates, to my running buddies a/k/a “the Herd”, who walk and swim with me when I’m too tired to run…to my dear friends who are there for me even when I’m not there for them…

Honestly, am I blessed or what?!  With a team like this, how could cancer even stand a chance?!  (Roar!)

I think back to the day I was diagnosed.  Just the night before, Mom was saying, “We don’t get cancer in our family!  Why would you have cancer?  It’s good they’re checking it out, but really, all this drama is not necessary!!!”

After I drove up to her house that Saturday morning, and we both had a royal conniption about it, she called Dad at work.  He is more like my sister, and didn’t freak out as outwardly as Mom and I do.  (Really, there’s a reason I’m an opera singer, right!?)  He said we should take te afternoon and go out to Point Reyes.  “Deedee always likes it there!”

Good thinking, Dad!  So we headed out through a golden October afternoon.  Dabbing tears every so often, we held it together enough to eat a late lunch in one of those cool little restaurants, though I was imagining what it’d be like to be chemo’d and radiated, and couldn’t eat very well.  I also kept hearing the death scene from “La Traviata” echoing through my head.  Ironically, faced with my own mortality, I realized that maybe, if I survive, someday I could sing that role convincingly.  (Before, other teachers and agents always said I was filled with a bit too much “piss and vinegar” to be a demurely fading heroine…come to think of it, maybe that still hasn’t changed…I still say, “Never say die!!!”  And I don’t think Violetta (from Traviata) would roar when she’s scared and/or victorious feeling!)

Actually, I’ve come a long way!  I’e learned to live with cancer.  I don’t like it.  I’d prefer my own hair.  I’d like my eyelashes back, and the rest of my eyebrows, and my energy, and all that good stuff!  I’d like not to have to get poked in the arm by needles! 

But nowadays, when Jenny and I drive down to Marin for my chemo infusions, it no longer feels like the launching of a war party.  It’s more like business as usual.  It’s like the tail end of what had once been a “mission impossible”.  Now the novelty has worn off, and it’s time to get this done and over with.  We all have lives to get on with!

A while back, I was in the shower after a really cold run in the rain.  Suddnely the lights went out!  No big deal.  Besides, this warm water felt too nice to get out of in a hurry.  But then I kept hearing a weird buzzing sound.  It was really loud, and seemed to be coming from my house!  Sure the house was going to blow up, I leaped from the shower, and flailed to the phone to call PG and E!  As I manuevered through the phone loop, I really got my priorities in line…I put my wig on.  I realized that if the house were to explode, I didn’t want to be caught without my hair!  Underwear…important, but not as crucial as the ‘do…

I’ve come a long way from the girl who cried her way home on a bicycle because her hair was blowing off in the wind.  I’ve come a long way from the girl who needed her mommy and sister and daddy to go into the doctor’s with her.  (Now, Mom and Jenny go because they’re curious and have read al the magazines in the waiting rooms.)  (Dad got a pass to go to work.)

So, coming up on Round 8, better known in my heart as Mile 26.2!  I’ll be curious to experience what this finnish line will be like!  Cheers!  (ROAR!)

Even though we haven’t finnished this one quite yet, I’d like to say thank you as well to my  readers.  Your comments and support have been so helpful and insightful!  We did it!  (Almost!)

I’m on my “good week” now, until my next and FINAL chemo treatment!!!!  I’m so happy to be almost there that my attitude is so much better than it was, and thus I feel better.  I don’t have to walk anymore when I run.  I laugh when I notice that my eyebrows are looking a little worse each day, and my fingernails are a dirty yellow color.  My foot is numb, but not unusable.  (These are just some silly side-effects.  Neither alarming nor unbearable.)

I just can’t wait to be done, so I can start the process of really getting well again.  I haven’t been severely debilitated.  It’s been an annoyance, a pain the the butt, but not excruciating.   I’ve done some weird things, like get too tired to pay my phone bill.  It’s not that I forgot.  It’s not that I was unable to pay due to lack of money.  I was simply too tired after teaching to open my mail and address what needed paying. 

One day, Mom showed up while I was teaching.  She was very worried.  None of my phones were working!  She and Jenny paid off the phone companies, I paid them back and then took a deep breath.  I hadn’t realized that I’d been that far out of whack!  I just figured that the next day I’d handle it.  When you’re on chemo, you go into a bit of a time warp!  Sleeping 10 hours each night, then napping during the day for an hour or two can do that.

 I’ve been tired alot, and unable to do the things I love simply because there hasn’t been enough energy.  The little bitty runs I went on were more so that I could get through the treatment without ending up a diabetic! 

Part of my treatment is a type of steroid, it messes with how well your body handles blood sugar.  Many people end up diabetic after undergoing cnacer treatment.  Even though I don’t eat sugary foods anymore since my big scare, I haven’t always lived by this rule!!!  And still my overwhelming desire is to eat carbs…sprouted breads, sweet potatoes, brown rice, hulled barley, all whole grains and very macrobiotic.  But I freaked out and ate a whole pot of cooked rice and then a whole bag of Whole grain English muffins the nigt after my most recent chemo.  I was just starving!  Or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to go hog-wild! 

Shoot!  I wasn’t even trying to be healthy anymore!  In despair, I also made a pot of  spelt spaghetti, topped with all organic marinara sauce, and ate that too!!! 

Aw, crap, Deeder!  (Elide “Deedee Reeder, as I went by in grade school, and you get Deeder.)  All the books I’ve read say that often times cancer is caused by excess.  If you go to the hills of Afghanistan, or the jungles of darkest Africa or someplace where people don’t have an abundance of things to choose from to eat,you don’t see cancer!  You go a few miles away into a place where people have the option of eating refined, fatty, overly-sugared and salted foods, and you see cancer!!!  And what am I doing?  Eating EXCESSIVELY!!!!!  Why did I even bother running?  Why do I even bother switching to safe sunscreen and makeup?!  Why bother sleeping, if I’m going to eat like a pig?   AGHHHHHHH!

I went to bed, and woke up in the morning, starving. 

Later that day I went with Mom to get another Neupogen shot.  The bad things about these rather painless little shots is that later on,I feel achy and tired.  But the good thing is that I get to see one or several of the nurses who have been administering my treatment.  I can then ply them with questions.  And whatever I don’t ask, my mom will!

I didn’t want to talk about my outrageous new eating skills.  I was embarassed, sort of, that I have so little self control!  Everyone knows that it takes self-discipline to recover fully from cancer, and to eat sensibly to avoid any recurrences, right?!  (That’s what I’ve read.)  The medical team has been doing their part to cure me of this diease, and here I’ve been sabotaging myself!

Anyhow, I had been stressing about it to my Mom.  Like I’ve said before, she’s the one who’s dealt with the good, the bad and the ugly.  I didn’t mention it to the nurse, so she did. 

In her lilting Persian accent, the nurse laughed and said, “O DeAnne, yoor ohn CHEEEmoh!  Chust eat vwuht yoo vwaaaant!  Seely!”

I explained that because I have an estrogen-sensitive cancer, we don’t want me gaining a bunch of excess weight, which will add to the estrogen problem.

She looked at me like I had three eyeballs, and told me that the information was correct, but only for the general population.  I am abnormal, in that I’m athletic, and without other pre-existing problems.  She said it’s good that Itake my health so seriously, but now I should stop reading so much, and go eat some more grains, if tht’s what I’m craving, that I won’t get diabetes or any other problem for now.

Whew!  I mean, it would really be awful to swap one life-threatening problem for another!  Mom and I were both relieved on the car ride home.  We’re glad I’m “abnormal”!  Sort of like at mile 24 of a marathon when that little niggling pain in my knee proves not to be a torn miniscus, but just a niggling little pain.  We are good to proceed onward to the finnishline!!  No less neurotic, but definitely certain that we can do this! 

As the dose of chemo worked its way through my system, and the shots did their thing, I ate my dinner, no longer desperately starving.  I ate my rice and made a yummy dish with sweet potatoes and kale.  I cleaned my plate.  The next morning, I felt almost healthy again, and stepped on the scale…after all that I’d lost 3 pounds.  Huh!  I guess the nurse knew what she was talking about!  I went for a slow 4 mile run, and afterward sat in the sunshine, delighting in my post-run snack of almond butter and “fruit spread” sandwich.  Life is good!  (Even on chemo!)

Last time was Round 7 of chemo, and you’d think I’d be a pro by now.  All the aces are in their places.  I have a team of sweet-natured nurses who know I freak out whenever I see my own vital stats, so they distract me and discreetly turn the monitors around when I’m not looking.  (Thank you!)  Mom and Dad get nervous when they go to infusions with me, and so Jenny is my chemo buddy.  Mom drives me to the “pre-game show”, the day before with the oncologist, and btween getting my labwork done and meeting with the doctor, we have brunch in a swanky little cafe.  She also drives me to and from the hospital where I get my post-infusion shots, all three days, so I can snooze on the way home in the car and thus be ready to teach ’til the sun goes down.  Even the oncologist does his best to deal with my neuroses and phobias and inane questions.  I even have a few chemo chums, people who are on the same schedule, and we meet up with our IV poles, chatting exuberantly like old friends at a reunion.  At this point, I even know which of the phlebotomists to steer clear of, and which ones are sympathetic and gentle!

But on Round 7, my favorite nurse just wasn’t having her best day.  After poking me in the hand, to no avail, she looked  into my eyes with a big tear in hers.  “I’m going to get the other nurse to do this, OK?  I’m so sorry!”

I told her “We’re a team.  I think my veins are just tired.  Come on, let’s do this thing!”

She poked around some more, then got ready to try again on a different part of my wrist.  Again, it didn’t work. 

“Oh, DeAnne, it’s a good thing you’re mother’s not here!”

“Yeah,”, Jenny said.  “But we’d just send her out to walk around in the fresh air for a while.” (Mom doesn’t d needles.)

I got really nervous and distraught, then realized that:  Hey!  I’ve done much dumber things than getting an IV before, by choice!

“You know what?! ”  I asked the nurse.  “I think this hurts you more than me!  You should know, I’ve signed up and paid lots ofmoney to become a Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do.  By choice, as part of the “fun”, I used to break boards with my wimpy little hands!  You’re little needles will never hurt nearly as bad as some of the things I’ve done to myself, by choice!  Hahaha!  It doesn’t hurt, OK? We’re OK!”

After that, that IV was in place in all of about 3 seconds!  Jenny, the nurse, and I all had big, relieved smiles on our faces.  Yes, during the ordeal, I would have liked to yell at her, or even throw a fit…the kind which would embarass my mother to tears, and that Jenny would have to sit on me to subdue me.  But after dealing with cancer, I realize that there’s an easier, more graceful way to deal with situations.  I don’t always do it the easy, graceful way, but sometimes I make a concentrated effort.  Maybe that’s personal growth?!

Mile 23 or so…just like in running, by this time, I forget where in the heck I am, and so I can only keep trudging doggedly onward.  Then, suddenly, I’m in the shoot, I’m done, and I’m wolfing down whatever goodies are served at the finnish line, with a ridiculously large finnishers’ medal around my neck and swatting me in the belly with every step!  Suddenly, I can’t remember what in the world I’d been complaining about a few miles back…I’m wondering where and when the next marathon might be, that I could be ready for!

I’m sure that I’ll never be looking for another opportunity to do chemo again, but in hindsight, as I have finnished round 7 of 8, it hasn’t been so bad.  I felt alot of the time like I had a really bad cold.  I was so tired from the medicine, combined with putting on a wig and a happy face 6 and sometimes 7 days a week to teach, that I missed several important events.  I didn’t have the energy to do many of the things I love.  And geez, did I look BAAAAD! 

BUT!!!  I didn’t have to cancel students unless I had a doctor’s appointment.  I didn’t have to give up my music studio and move home with my parents!  I kept on going, maybe on 2 cylinders instead of 8, but the bottom line is, I’ve kept moving forward!  (Thanks in large part to my team!)

Instead, I’ve grown a braver spirit.  I’ve learned that friends and family love me even when I’m at my worst!  (I don’t think I ver really believed that.)  I’ve learned that things are never as bad as you think they’re going to be.  There’s always some sort of silver lining to the cloud you’re under!

I was wandering around the chemo ward last Friday.  Some of the medicine was making my legs jump.  I was standing there with my IV pole, talking to an elderly gentleman who was also tired of sitting around.  We both sported hats on our bald heads. 

“What are you having treatment for?”  he asked me.

“I had breast cancer.  Now we’re just making sure it doesn’t come back!”

“Breast cancer isn’t even real cancer anymore!!”  he declared. 

It took me all of about 3 seconds to stash away my indignation.  Not real cancer, my A–! I thought.

As it turns out, he has bone cancer.  Surgery, lots of radiation, and 10 months of chemo…all that does indeed make 3 months of chemo for breast cancer seem like a walk in the park.  All I could do is tell him how brave I think he is, and that aren’t we lucky that we live in a time and place where we can get a pretty good prognosis!

He asked me, “What’s your prognosis?!”

“Mine’s really good!  How about yours”

“It’s only as good as you make it!  And as bad as you let it be.  God bless!”

Something about that lttle man annoyed me , and yet I was struck by the truth in what he said.  Truly, what good is a 100% cure if the person cured doesn’t do amazing things with his/her life?!  Feeling sleepy again, I meandered back to my little room, where Jenny was working on her computer, and snuggled up to ponder what I could do to become amazing someday, in that I am blessed with a good prognosis! 

As Jenny tucked my blankets snugly around my feet, and moved the table with my snacks and water over so I could reach them easier, I was moved by how loved I am.  How can I not get better and do something amazing someday, when I’m surrounded by so much love and truth?

Only 12 days left, then I’m done with chemo!  I’d roar but I’m tired and emotional, in a happy way!

I woke up to  glorious spring morning!  I’m thinking of all the great things I have to be thankful for.  Last week’s post-treatment grumbles and aches seem like a long time ago.  I have a bit of energy, and I stayed up late last night watching silly movies and eating Thai food with my sister and another lifelong friend.  I even have the date of my final surgery! 

Thus, I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I’m starting to be able to fathom what life might be like, AC, after cancer!

Last week I did’t have much to say.  I was tired, and the daily act of putting on my hair and a happy face six days in a row for the students pooped me out!  I basically ate, taught, and slept.  I did run each day, as of Thursday, and went for a recovery walk on Friday.  But there really wasn’t any spring to my step until yesterday.  I have to wonder if I could truly be that tired, or if I’m just playing the cancer card, being lazy.  But then I notice, after my little 3 mile jaunt, that I’m breathing the way I do after a speed workout.  Then I remember that I’m still held in detention by chemo! 

BUT NOT FOR LONG!!!!   ROAR!!!!!

Even as I continue to get a bt more tired and funny-looking, I catch myself making happy plans for what I’m going to do.  The following is evocative of what’s been going through my mind, as I approach Round 7 of 8, aka mile 22′ish, or speedlap 7 of an early season workout:

Singing with my teacher again, and getting ready for auditions and other fun stuff!

Going to Connecticut to see my brother and sister-in-law, and their new baby!

Researching some modern American composers, to learn their music.

Running a marathon!  (I’m supposed to be running the Avenue of the Giants marathon today, but I had to contact the organization, and tell them I couldn’t make it this time.)

The annual family camping trip this summer!  (Due to my healthy new eating habits, though, no more eating an entire bag of marshmallows!)

Doing some chamber music!

Getting my studio running as a well-ordered entity!

Jenny and my life-long friend Julie, who always are up for a great time and both have a wonderful sense of daring and adventure, have set me straight on my dreams of having a ladies Ultra-light-flying gang.  (We’d call ourselves the “Ultra-valkiries” ).  Julie says it would be safer to start ourselves off with girocopters.  If we got the hang of that, then we should try the ultralights.  Now, I have always taken Julie’s safety advice seriously, because she was, after all, the one who made us some wings out of garbage bags, back in third grade, and then convinced me to go first, jumping off the highest monkey bars, to see if the wings worked.  (I was OK, but the wings didn’t work…)  She’s also the girl who walked across Cotati and Rohnert Park on  stilts, without falling.  ( I went along on my pogo stick.)  Anyhow, we figured we’d start safe with the gyrcopters.  We can get together and work on them in one of our garages.  (None of us are good at tools and assembly, but Jenny’s husband is an engineer…)  20 more days of chemo, and I’m all over that!

I also will do some yardwork!  Hey!  I may even do that today!!!  Before I take a nap in the hammock!!!

Life is full of fun possibilities!  That’s another thing to be thankful of!  Hooray!

I love how there are all those books “For Dummies”…I have “Computers for Dummies” gathering dust on a shelf out in the solarium, nowhere near my computer.  I have “Grant Writing for Dummies”, and I don’t know why!  I have assorted travel books for dummies, too, though some of my stunts during travel far surpassed what the dummie writers could ever dream of.  I even have “Italian for Dummies”, which, by the way, I learned more from, and quicker, than I did with the Rosetta Stone course!

Perhaps, one day, I shall write “Cancer for Dummies”, but first I’ll need to learn how to go through this graciously and with class.  I apologize to you, my readers, for the most recent blog.  It was morbid, dark and dreary.  I scared a few people. 

I shouldn’t complain!  Really, I’m blessed with an excellent prognosis.  But sometimes I’m like an old car.  There’s just going to be a certain amount of exhaust fumes as I go from point A to B on this journey.  But I realize that my exhaust fumes are toxic to my loved ones!  I’m sorry!

I’m sorry to be such a weenie about my discomfort.  I had my infusion last Friday, and there was the gal who’s on the same schedule and treatment plan as I am.  She has to have radiation after all this, AND more surgery.  What am I whining about?  I don’t need radiation.  And there’s a lovely young woman who I’ve seen more than a few times there in the outpatient servisces ward.  I think she’s a few years younger than me, and I know she has children.  Each time I see her, she looks a little more tired and sick.  “Is she going to be OK?”  I asked my nurse. 

Her answer:  “I hope so.”

Then, when I was up walking around, visiting with other patients because my legs were just so tired of sitting still, I saw a woman come in with a little girl, about 2 years old.  Hm.  That must be hard to have a treatment and not have childcare.  Later, I saw the lady sitting with the child in her arms, and the nurse was setting up an IV for the littel girl!  Now my problems see very small.  I smiled and waved, and so did that baby.  So did the mommy.

OK, so maybe I won’t write “Cancer for Dummies”.  I’ll just write “Whinging for Dummies”!

I figure, in my chemo/marathon analogy, this is mile 20.5 or so.  Or in a speed workout on the track, early season, I’d be doing 8 laps fast on a track.  Well, that would be lap 6, which is when I’m spewing exhaust, so to speak. As I run, I think to myself, I’m not sure why I decided to do this today, I’m doubting my sanity, and feeling too hot, too tired, and rather negative, and no matter how hard I run, it’sn good enough.  I hate lap 6!  “Go faster, you ding-dang friggin’ cow!”

Somehow, I come through that lap.  (Speedwork is always harder for me than running a marathon at goal pace.)  Somehow, at lap 7 and 8, I streamline my thoughts and my attitude, and my body follows.  Those turn out to be heroically faster!  Even though it’s the end of the workout!  But maybe we have to feel down before we feel up, and it’s always darkest before the dawn. 

Maybe lap 7 and 8 of chemo will be easier, just because I know I’m going to cross that finnish line.  No turning back now!  (Or else everyone will know I’m a wimp!) 

People have asked why I use the analogy of running with chemo instead of singing, which is the other passion in my life.  Well, running is harder!  Some days, I just don’t want to do it.  Whereas every day is a good day to sing!  Sometimes I have to force myself to run, and though I alwasy enjoy it once I et out there, the challenge is similar to chemo in that it won’t happen spontaeoulsy, whereas singing just happens. 

For now, I’m running with cement legs, though, as usual, on lap 6.  Mile 20 has a bit of cement in the legs, too.  I’m spewing exhaust, and hoping that I’m neither too noxious nor too OBnoxious! 

I’m overly emotional.  I was watching the news the other night, and saw a clip about Haiti, post eathquake.  I was blubbering into my green tea about the hardship and injustices of the world.  After I was done being sad, I thought about how I can’t wait to get through my little hardship, so I can maybe do something to help others overcome theirs!  I have no idea yet which direction that goal will take. 

 I’ve always been a reasonably nice and affable person, prior to cancer.  But I always lived to gain my own glory and dreams.  I always figured helping others would be something I’d do after I’d done everything I’d ever wanted to do for ME!  

But now, even though I’m not sure where to start, once I’m recovered, I guess all I have to do is look around.  There are plenty of good causes!  It is my understanding that most cncer survivors do just that…they open foundations, they volunteer, they find a new way of living that benefits others and thus benefits themselves.  Maybe these thoughts wil give me something positive to think about rather than being so negative.

(Hello!  Do I sense another mile whistling by?  Am I closer to done with this chemo?!  Attitude!!!)

Though I’m really tired of drinking green tea and so much water that I feel like I’m going to float away, and I’m sick of eating shiitake mushrooms and kale and will never again joyfully devour a family-sized pack of skittles at the movies, ever again, I’m just going to have to shut up and keep going. 

I do know that I have too much living to do!  It doesn’t make sense to poison my body with skittles and the likes, when they don’t taste that good anyway, and veggies and lentils and rice will make me healthy!  Likewise, negative thoughts, while some whould say it’s good to vent, and to “own your feelings” doesn’t make me feel better, and hurts the rest of my team. 

All I can say, for now, is “ROAAAR!!!”

Mom and I went to see the oncologist on Thursday.  It had been a long siege since the last round.  My nose was out of joint because the good doctor had happily told me that I was all finnished with the Adriamycin and the Cytoxan, which were the two really scary drugs.  Now I’d begin Taxol, which his patients always say they tolerate better than the other two.  I couldn’t wait! 

But no, it wasn’t easier!  For two weeks my nose and eyes ran constantly, like when I watched “The English Patient”.  Instead of one bone-marrow-boosting shot, I had to have three, one a day for 3 days after chemo.  Those shots left me feeling achy-breaky and absolutely exhausted and good for nothing.  I had a weird rash all over my hands, and my fingernails are starting to change colors.  My fingertips feel bruised and painful.  I had aches and weird throbbings in my left lower ribcage, which I was told could be a ruptured spleen.  I felt like I had a chronic air bubble stuck in my lung. 

Would I really survive this?!

Needless to say, when I went to see my oncologist, I had a list of my complaints.  Mom and I had gone to get my blood drawn, then re-fortified ourselves with brunch at a cute little cafe in Larkspur.  By the time we got to the doctor’s office, I was ready to tell him off!  This is not how he said it would be! 

But then I have this funny little issue about whining at authority figures.  maybe it stems back from all the years doing Tae Kwon Do.  If you complain, you’re sent into a corner to do push-ups.  And running!  If you complain, then everyone around you will think you’re a wimp.  (OH NO!  Is there anything worse than being a wimp?!)   Even in my singing lessons, I could come in and be all psychological, as many singers are wont to do…or I can sing and make the most of this wonderful piece of time I have with a great teacher!  Hence, no whining! 

Thus, I see my doctor as sort of a coach/teacher/authority.  Subconsciously, I don’t want him to know what a weenie I am!  And miraculously, he answered my questions with a look that told me “I’m not going to let you die, don’t worry.  You’re fine!”  He even said I’d be able to fly back to Connecticut soon after my treatments are finnished to see my little brother’s new baby!

Feeling pumped and ready for the big infusion day, Mom and I left, and I spent the rest of the day teaching, until about 9:00 pm.  It’s best to stay distracted the day before infusions.  I was exhausted that evening, yet couldn’t sleep. 

Friday morning I got up early enough to run 3 miles, stretch, get dressed, and pack stuff to eat and do and read during the 5 hour infusion.  Jenny picked me up and I dragged myself out of the house.  I. Don’t. Want. To. DO THIS ANYMORE!!!!!!  Yuck!

Luckily, Jenny is a brilliant and intuitive conversationalist.  All the way down to Greenbrae, she kept my mind on other things.  We were running a bit late, because i’d insisted that we stop, as I was craving an Odwalla C Monster juice and a whole wheat bagle to eat instead of the hospital’s standard issue of Mac and cheese.  (Or as Jenny would call it, crack n-cheese.)

We saw my comrade in arms, a lady who began her treatments the same day as I did.  We waved.  I got settled into my little hospital bed for round 6, signed my papers, got braceleted, and got my IV in.  First came the anti-nausea med, then the anti-histamine, which makes me sleepy and sneezy.  Then the steroid, and then zantac.  I got up with my IV pole and wandered over to talk to my friend while Jenny was on a conference call.  Poor Jenny…she has not only to work but to keep me amused.  Well, I was able for now to amuse myself!  And I was so amusing, especially once the benedryl hit me.  My friend was so amusing too!  We were cracking eachother up with how slow are speech was becoming.  She started sounding like a hippie! 

As the Benedryl got into my system, the nurses were taking bets on who would fall asleep first…me or the other lady.  ”I dunno”, one nurse said to the other, “DeAnne looks like a light-weight, but she seems to be sitting upright more than Carol!  Heehee!”

  Finally when I started seeing double, I made one more trip to the restroom, then back to my little room.  I ate my quinoa/mango/blackbean salad, then my bagel, then my juice.  Yum!  Then the Smack -n-cheese arrived.  Ew!  But I did eat the green beans and the orange slices and the sorbet that came with it…oh, and the bread stick.  Gotta eat while I can still taste!

Then I memorized one of my Rossini songs, and fell in and out of sleep.  I was awoken every 15 minutes by the automatic blood pressure cuffs.  It made a sound like a bionic cow…”MMMMOOOOOOooooo”, then it would drain the life out of my poor old arm!  Then the nurse would take my temperature, and then I was able to go back to sleep. 

After an hour or two, my legs got restless.  I woke up running!  I got up to visit the restroom again, and was told that busy feet are a side-effect of the benedryl.  Well that makes sense!  Sleepy and yet with hyper feet…leads to running dreams.  I kept dreaming of running down a hill toward the beach in Point Reyes.  It was a happy dream. 

Jenny drove me home.  I was dazed still, and promplty wandered out to the back yard and took a snooze in  my hammock in the sunshine.  Blissful!

After that I wandered up to my parents’ house, where I ate some dinner then slept like a log for about 12 hours straight. 

Thank goodness I have such loving people to look after me!  I felt fine after chemo, but just didn’t want to be alone. 

Saturday I ran at the redwoods and was overjoyed that I passed a fat guy going up a hill.  I haven’t been able to do that in so long!  (Neither passing anybody, nor going uphill!  I’d been to week and tired!)   I didn’t feel like walking or slowing down.  I puttered merrily along.  I knew that once I get those shots again, I’ll be tired and sore and grumpy.  Those neupogen shots just don’t agree with me.  So until then, I figured I’d live it up!  Run while I can!

I took a shower and ate some lunch.  I was even feeling so great, I went hog-wild and polished my toenails.  The fingernails may not be looking so hot, but the toenails, well, we have to take control of what we can, right!

I taught a few students, ran some errands, did some Taekwondo, memorized more Rossini, then cooked a bunch of healthy food so I’ll be ready to eat well even if I get tired.  What a day!  But even then, by about 5 pm, even as I tried to stubbornly deny and defy my situation, I felt the old fatige creeping in. 

Fatigue that makes me want to cry with frustration!  I haven’t locked myself out of my house yet, which I manage to do after every chemo session.  But I’ve broken alot of dishes because my fingers are too sore to hold them tightley enough to make it from the sink to the dishwasher.  And I was pouring a smoothie from the blender to a glass, and missed the glass and got it all over the kitchen!  The phone was ringing.  I wandered off to answer it, then fell asleep and when I finally came to, the ants were having a feast all over the kitchen.  These are the kinds of things that I’m ready to be done with.

Anyhow, Round 6 done!  Sort of like mile 20 of the marathon.  I’m stumbling alonglike a babbling idiot, and so glad that I only have 6 more to go.  Trying not to trip on the curb, wishing there was something good to eat, like a nice, catered meal.  Trying not to get too sunburned, because, Jeez!  this is taking so long! 

I look forward to being done so I can do nice things for others.  For now, though, it’s still just all about me, me, me, and my silly illness.  It is silly!  I promise to become a better person when this is all over.  For now, I just have to continue the onward slog to enlightenment.