Team DeAnne

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.

All week, since my last post, students have been coming in with guarded and wary eyes.  Someone said to me, along about Thursday, “You haven’t blogged in a while…are you OK?”  They’re not sure if they will come in, find me sick and have to leave, or something!

Oh, yes,  no news is (sometimes) good news!  Really, sometimes there’s nothing o say.  Just like in the final miles of a marathon, which is when I’m pretty quiet.  I’m still not quite sure I’m going to make it, and I know I probably don’t have anything to say that anyone wants to hear!   Negativity is spiking like a bad fever, and it’s not going to make anyone feel better, neither myself nor the people close to me, if I carry on about it! 

I’m fine.  I do grumble alot, though.  I don’t feel that bad, but I’m tired of not feeling 100%.  I think I don’t look too bad, considering,  but then I see a picture of myself before the diagnosis.  (Hard to believe I used to think I wasn’t very cute…well, cancer is even less cute!!!)

I sound like an old children’s song that my brother used to sing in kindergarten.  It was sung by a lady with a creaky little voice.  It was called “The Mean Old Grizzly Bear”.  Part of the words went something like this:

“…The Mean Old Grizzly Bear…was mean from A to Z.  The Mean Old Grizzly Bear…was mean as she could be….SOOOOOO, she lost her hair on her chinny-chin-chin, her butt got big and her belly caved in, no claws in her paws, no teeth in her jaws, and she was ashamed to be seen!!!”

But this is temporary!  So I’ll stop being the mean old grizzly bear.  After all, I have only 34 days left as of tomorrow!  3 rounds to go!  I figure this is mile 17.4-ish out of 26.2. 

I remember the Carlsbad Marathon I ran the winter before my diagnosis.  I actually had breast cancer already at that time but wouldn’t find out for another 9 months!  (Maybe that’s why I felt so exhauted in tht race!)  I was at about mile 18.  I knew I was making progress, but it wasn’t going fast enough!  I was tired.  There was a man running along next to me, who looked pretty pooped too.  I was bored, so I started talking.  

“Where are you from?”  He was from Toronto!  He told me how he was supposed to run this race with a friend a year ago. 

“Where’s your friend?”  I was expecting some funny story about a faked pulled hamstring, or a tummy ache.  But after a moment of silence, I glanced at him.  There were tears running down his face.  He was running in honor of that friend; he had died of cancer recently.  Oh, dear!  Too heavy!  I changed the subject…”Look at those pelicans!”

“Wow!  they’re beautiful,”  he said.  I was feeling mournful, though.  When grown men cry, I get worried.  That, and the overcast sky and the dolorous moaning of the sea otters…but then yet another garage band started playing “Highway to Hell”.  Then the pelicans started pooping on us!  highway to Hell, indeed!  That lightened the mood!  He and I both started laughing.  I lost sight of him, and finnished a short time later, still pondering about just how awful it is to know someone with cancer. 

I was passed at mile 24 by a group of 3 women in pink Susan G. Komen shirts…By then I was thinking it might be cool to run for a charity.  I hollered out to them…”Hey, how do you get involved as a charity runner?”

One of the ladies slowed a bit and fell into step with me.  “We’re all breast cancer survivors.  Once you’ve lived through something like this, you find out about all the events!  But you could just check out the website.” 

All three of those women were survivors!  And they passed my happy butt!  I was happy for them.  Also, a bit happy that at least I don’t have breast cancer in the family!  I’d be safe from such drama!

Like my mom said recently, we’ve all learned from this that you never know what’s up with people.  We just have to treat eachother with kindness and respect, because you never know what someone next to you is going through, hs gone through, or is about to go through! 

So for now, I’m a bit silent, like on the last hour of a long plane ride.  You know the feeling…you’re wedged into your seat.  You’d like to use the restroom but there’s a line and you’d rather just hurry up and land, rather tahn hassle with the line…so you just hang on!  You’d like to dig around in your carry-on bag for your book, but it’s wedged under a seat and you’d have to wake up your neighbor to get it…it’s just easier to hang on.  You’d like to get into your toiletries to at least make yourself look nice for when you arrive…but it’d be better just to sit still and will yourself there.  It’s a sort of self-imposed detention.  All you can focus on is the light at the end of the tunnel, and thinking of the short term seems futile…

Besides, it’s more fun to focus on the other end of the tunnel!  The finnish line!  And ALL the GLORIOUS things to do and enjoy!!!  Like wearing perfume again, because chemo is over and fragrances won’t give me a headache!  Having enough energy to take my nieces and nephews boogie-boarding!  Not having to nap!  (Though Riley the cat will hate losing his nap buddy!)  I’ll grow some hair!  And fingernails!  And go visit my brother and sister in law, to hold my new baby nephew!  And sing!  And play the piano!  There’s so much living to do, once I have the energy! 

I used to bargain with the devil when I was first diagnosed.  “Just please let me live!  I don’t care if I end up funny looking, if I can’t be a singer anymore, if I lose all my prospects of ever finding a husband…just let me live.”

But I guess I’ve grown a little (or a lot) greedier!  And I have no devils in my life, only angels!  And a multitude of blessings.  Maybe it takes something like cancer to make someone see the positive more than the negative.  OK, cancer, mission accomplished!  Let’s get this chemo DONE!

I didn’t want to go to the hospital this morning.  Past tense:  chemo WAS fun.  Now I’d just like it to be over.  But we do what we have to do.  I didn’t run this morning.  No way am I going in there the least bit dehydrated.  It’s always a bit of an adventure to get the IV in, even under good well-hydrated circumstances!  I was also a bit out of sorts because yesterday’s phlebotomist was new and managed to poke some extra holes in my arm, and I worried that the vein was compromised and would affect my treatment today.  I was also nervous because I was beginning a new phase of treatment, the first of 4 rounds of Taxol. 

Yesterday the oncologist informed me that most of his patients deal with Taxol better than the stuff I was taking before.  But if I was one of the rare ones who found it harder, then it would be alot harder.  The hospital hadn’t managed to send him my bloodcounts at that time, but he said that judging by the looks of me, I was doing fine and ornerier than ever.  He said he’d call me if the blood test results weren’t good, but plan on taking this next step!  He gave me a hug and Jenny and I were on our way.  (Jenny is the patron saint of phobic patients, I swear!)

So, Round 5.  This is the same as mile 16.3 or so.  A time of introspection and self-evaluation.  The pack has thinned out on the racecourse, and so you’re alone with your thoughts.  There aren’t so many people to talk to anymore, and those in your vicinity are saving their breath.  Or, we just don’t have anything nice to say! 

Mom and Dad went with me, and once the Benedryl started to make me too groggy to carry on intelligent conversation, and the Taxol was begun without any adverse effects, they went to lunch.  I took stock of where I’ve been, and where i’ve been at.

I used to be sort of embarrarssed by what a slow runner I am.  I’m not deplorable for a woman my age, but you won’t see me as the leader of the pack.  In one trail marathon I actually won 2nd place for women in my age division.  But then, there were only 2 women in my age group, and I was the slower of the two!  Now, I can croak out 3 miles, and they are slower than ever and I feel every step. 

I can’t sing.  Or rather, I can, for a day or two, then I get some side-effects and have to let it go for a week or so. 

I can’t play the piano too well, because I’m starting to have something funky going on with my fingrnails, and that hurts.  it’s a fairly common side-effect, and totally temporary, but it’s cramping my style!

I can’t get together with my friends for luch because between teaching, I need a nap!  Furthermore my strict macrobiotic-healthier-than-thou eating habits make me a bit of a bore to eat with, I’m sure.

I’ve always been one to sleep less to find the time to do it all.  I’ve always been fiercely competitive, relentlessly hard on myself, and also pretty relentless in my expectations of the people in my life.  In short, I lived in a way that wore me out!!!

You don’t realize how cool you really were until you’re suddenly just not yourself anymore.  You’ve been forced to change.  Some of it is not happy, but it calls upon you to make positive changes…with a vengeance, because it feels like a matter of life or death!   Seriously!  I’ve realized that though I’m a very physical person, while my body is weak, my spirit has to grow.  And good nutrition!  A matter of life and death!  No way will I ever be too “tired” to fix and eat my vegetables. 

Most of all, while I’m at my funkiest, I have been constantly surrounded by miraculous and unconditional love.  It no longer matters what I look like or wear or do, or the jokes I tell, or any of that superficial stuff.  From the people who played Jenny’s raffle and helped me pay off so many of my medical bills that weren’t covered by the insurance…to the Crystal Clear ladies who volunteered to clean my home and those of so many cancer patients, to the Ceres Project…to my family…and my students who continue to show up even though each week they’re probably not sure what they’ll be walking into…(so far, i haven’t had to cancel anyone’s lesson except for doctors’ appt’s…no sickness!  Hooray!)

Anyhow, I’ve been forced to slow down and see all the love around me!  I will be me even if i don’t feel like myself for awhile, because the people all around me show me love all the time!  (Jenny says I have a pretty good racket going on here!)

It changes my perspective.  Rather than running around in a state of frustration over what I don’t have, I’m grateful and happy about all the things that ARE wonderful!  it makes me want to give back.  I’ve been thinking about a few projects that will benefit others as well as myself  once this chemo thing is over.  Maybe then, this blog will morph into a chronicalling of my pursuit to change the world!

Stay tuned!  By the way, round 5 complete, and all is well.  I guess I’ll just keep chugging on this marathon!

The other day, one of my young students said that she thinks my wig is very cute.  More so even than my origional look! 

“But this thing’s getting split ends!”

“Well, that is what makes it look so natural, DeAnne!”

Day 56…only 44 left to go!  Funny moments like this keep me going!

On Easter Sunday, I awoke after a long week of side effects that just wouldn’t go away.  They weren’t the scary, life-threatening kind, just the kind that crap out my attitude.  When my attitude isn’t in gear, then I lose my will to eat healthy and drink enough water (8 to 10 glasses/day, and some doctors say that’s still not enough for someone on chemo!)  I don’t feel like looking or being nice, not to anyone, including myself.

Anyhow, after a week of that nonsense, I rose like a pheonix and looked at my not-so-noble savage noggin.  I looked into my eyes; after forcing a smile, I realized that I don’t look like such a sick person when I smile!  And I said “Enough! Time to join the living!”

I put on my running clothes, ate some healthy stuff, packed a water bottle and drove out to the redwoods.  That is my healing place.  I have religious friends who wish I’d go to church.  But the redwoods are like church to me.  I ran for about an hour, thinking funny thoughts and some sad ones too.  I wish I could be one of those heroically brave women who beat the hell out of cancer and smile and laugh and look great doing it.  But I’m not.  I cry and complain and whine alot.  I worry that I’ll never get through it, and that when I do, it’ll just happen again in a few years. 

But then I reflected on the fact that I’m going to be 39, the day after Easter! And when I recieved this diagnosis last October, I wasn’t sure if I’d be spending my birthday in a hospital, or if I’d even be alive.  I remember during the surreal process of the biopsy, being perfectly awake and capable of talking.  I was scared, and so I talked alot with the doctor and the nurse. 

“Well, of course this is an early dectection, if it is cancer, right?!”

The radiologist sort of sniffed and looked at me as if he wished I were asleep, and would stop ptting him on the spot with all these questions.  “Well, sometimes with women under 40, it’s not, because you don’t get screened.  We’ll just see.”

“Well, if it is cancer, then of course I’ll survive, right?  I mean, they treat this all the time.  It’s easy!  Right?!”

Again, the sniff, and the serious eyes looked away from his screen and into my eyes.  “Yes, people survive.  It depends on what type of tumor it is, whether or not it’s easy to treat.”

“Well, it’s not cancer, right?  We don’t get this in my family!  And you can’t tell just by looking, and I don’t have time for cancer…”  (Silence from the doctor.)  “DeAnne, 4 times out of 5, when I biopsy someone, it’s nothing.  But when it looks like this, 4 times out of 5 it is.  But it’s treatable, OK ?  We have to biopsy these two sites to see.”

“I see.”  And I wasn’t happy.  “So, tell me about your kids!  Or, any fun vacations?!”

After the diagnosis I met with a nurse/counselor.  I told her I wanted to be brave and not torture the people around me with my moods and self-pity. She said there is no graceful way to get through this.  It’s not a Ghengis Khan-styled raid or a Stormin’Norman type of battle brilliantly won.  It’s more like a white-water rafting excursion when you’ve been capsized.  “DeAnne, you will bounce from one shore to a boulder, grab ahold of a log, and breathe for a moment until the next current grabs you.  The currents are like phases of treatment.  You, too shall get through it, and after about a year, you’ll be all done and fine!  And you won’t have gotten through it the way you’d ever thought you would.”

But here I am, dang lucky!  I’m not stuck in a hospital.  I’m out running in my favorite place!  I’m going to celebrate another birthday when I had once been unsure that that would happen!!!  I’m not at 100%, but someday soon i probably will be.  I have an excellent team of doctors.  And I’m blessed with a dear and loving family who will move heaven and earth for me.  And great friends!!!  And I looked at my calender.  Out of 100 days of chemo, I have only 46 left to go!  YOU KNOW I’m on the countdown!!!

Yup, I’m dang lucky!