HEALTH UPDATE #8C OR 9 or WHATEVER—I’VE DIZZILY LOST TRACK

My dear friends,

(Especially those of you who continue to ask to come for a daytime visit)—though I truly wish to spend time with each of you, it’s not in the cards for, right now.  The treatment to shrink the tumor (as well as our trips to Houston, every six weeks, readying me for this rare surgical procedure, ahead), proves so demanding of my energy that my decision to direct all of my fuel toward healing proves, more often than not, to be more than I can handle, over these next several months.  More than I can handle?  Why?

As chemo brain is a real thing, this morning, while dressing to leave for Mayo, it took three tries before I matched a simple red sweater to a silver turtleneck, to red and gray socks and red loafers, over jeans—why three tries?  Because I, being anemic, was so light headed as to need to lay down, thrice.

It’s as if family and our closest friends, who have held our hands along every step of this rock strewn path, have accompanied us into a foreign land, filled with so many medical specialists, PA’s, nurses, clinics, labs and hospitalizations (which I barely remember, having been so deeply sedated as to withstand the medications necessary to combat a slew of infections (inclusive of thrush and mucocitis), which had planned a sneak attack on several flanks, once my white blood cell count had plummeted to 0.01).

In short, the intensity of my first round of chemo (24/7) required two blood transfusions as well as draining my chest cavity of 1000 cc’s of fluid, twice, in hopes that my collapsed lung would rally, which it did.  In addition to tests concerning blood levels and kidney functions, twice weekly, I undergo PET scans, 3D cardio MRI’s, echo cardio grams, and thoracic CT’s—less often but regularly.

Though positive focus encourages my psyche to back off from detailing or swapping chemo horror stories, each of which proves highly personal in nature, the fact that I reflect quietly over how my experience may differ significantly from that of others offers me sound reason to curtail making misjudgments so as to embrace a greater sense of objectivity, so if anyone catches me comparing apples to prunes that person is me ... you see,  just as one person’s heart attack is not like another’s, the same is true of tumors as well as individualized protocols and reactions to chemo, of which many varieties exist.

In the first place, I continue to give thanks to the miracles of modern medicine for engineering the life saving properties of a variety of chemotherapies, followed by knowing which combination of meds to pump into me when my organ systems got so drunk on 5 days of chemo that they fell down and couldn’t get up on their own until, over the course of eleven, tension-filled days, the expertise of medical specialists, aided by a well trained nursing staff, held out a walker or wheel chair or basket to help me get from here to there, where additional tests took place in the hospital until I could manage to be home, but not on my own, where my heart, mind and spirit felt sound reason to overflow with gratefulness as Will and my family and friends held fast to my safety net each time my body and spirit had need of compassion while facing up to heightened degrees of distress.

Recently, I was told by my oncologist in Houston that at MD Anderson the intensity of the chemo I absorbed is no longer infused into anyone over 65–and as I’d just turned 76, treatment absorbed in the renown clinic near our home must have impacted my body more harshly than my doctors, here, had expected.  So, perhaps, my support system is on target when they stand in solidarity to express their belief that warrior genes exist deep within my core, after all.

After listening to a change in chemo protocol in Houston, I found myself (for the first time ever) rejoicing over hearing myself referenced as an oldster by someone younger, who had not yet become a card carrying owner of anything having to do with AARP or Medicare.

In fact, I’m finally passed feeling shocked upon opening my wallet to see that specific card staring back at me sporting my name. Of course, I have reason to place that card into the hands of medical staff so often, it no longer feels like a hot potato—in fact, I’m cool with being (but not feeling) old.  Aaa to those of us who are so fortunate as to experience all four stages of life, I’ve enjoyed so much during each stage of my own as to reflect over how often, I’d actually felt thrilled.  And having experienced great joy and sadness, call me greedy if I’m hoping for lots more of the former and less of the latter as the future unfolds.

As for now, in addition to having absorbed my second round of chemo, last week, my body’s still regaining lost strength from the first infusion, which proved much too aggressive for my age, and not until this tired body, which takes me every place I long to go, has fully re-fueled do I plan to participate in anything other than re-energizing whatever proves necessary to withstand and then recover from the dual surgery ahead, as in—Annie, train your eye on your goal. (This week, I resumed ‘working out’ with my trainer, who, over these past twenty years has become a dear friend). 

With time and superlative support systems on my side as well as faith in my surgeon’s expertise, I entrust myself to do everything within the months ahead to empower my mind and body with as much strength of spirit as can be mustered until I receive the high sign that it’s time to sedate me, open me up, clean me out and, hopefully, sew me up so that upon awakening with plenty of time ahead to celebrate my recovery with friends and family, guess who is planning to feel thrilled to embrace life anew!

And having outlined my plan, dear friends, feel me hugging your hearts close to mine and know that while hibernating during cold and flu season, I’m missing you unless we luck out and run into each other on one of the rare occasions when I choose to venture out of my ‘castle haven’—quoting Princess Ravi.

❤️🌈🌻🙋🏻‍♀️Annie/Rocky/Hilda Goopie//Hallmark/Goobers

PS. Hooray for the one person, so far, who remembers why my husband is referenced as Will and our youngest son as David!  The winner is Sherry Schwartz Simon, a beloved high school 

friend.  As to Sherry’s prize for answering the riddle, which I sent out in an email to tickle the inquisitive nature of beloved family and treasured friends—well, she already owns it.  What is it?—A better memory inside her head than most of us, past seventy, can boast as being our own!

FYI—Sherry occasionally continues to address me as—guess who?  (With one glance up at my signature, which follows the emojis seen within this post, my high school nickname is bound to leap off the screen into your lap ...

HEALTH UPDATE #8B

Though I’m starting today’s update with a mixed message, it’s my plan to leap straight to really good news—so let’s get this mixed message out of our way—I felt progressively better during this past week until Wednesday’s infusion of chemo left me exceptionally fatigued.  And that said, let’s get on to really good news—Our trip to Houston was fruitful—the team made up of cardiac-thoracic surgeons and a top notch oncologist believes I’m a candidate for a surgery, which very few heart specialists throughout the world have been trained to perform —as of yet.

Each time I remember that my cardiac surgeon developed this intricate procedure, my awareness of having placed my life in good hands deepens.  The fact that he and his team have experienced greater success when a sarcoma endangers heart and lung function than anyone on the planet invigorates my connection to courage.  Once a series of chemo infusions has killed off a large portion of the tumor, my surgery will be scheduled.

So here’s the plan—Will and I expect to travel to Houston, every six weeks, where I’ll continue to have PET scans and cardiac MRIs in order to monitor the activity of the tumor and the strength of my heart to withstand everything that lies ahead.  Surgery is anticipated to take place, late spring, in Houston where this brain trust of surgeons practices medicine.  Once this surgery is described, you’ll understand why my need to rest quietly, every day, while refueling my spirit with courage proves necessary,   You’ll also see why I feel need to remind myself, quite often, of my good fortune to be a candidate of a surgery so serious and rare that beneath my exterior of calm exists an undertow of fear, which if freed could very well be overwhelming.  And thus do I respect my need of a zen environment in which to recharge my courage as we move forward, day by day.

I love that my friends want to spend time with me; however, somehow our conversations return to cancer, and watching fear cover the faces of loved ones directly opposes that which I need to bolster my inner strengths so as to face whatever lies ahead with as much resilience and grace as possible.  Also, my days start in slow-mo, and if my afternoons are not spent at my clinic in the desert where this test or that shot or another image of who knows what is being administered then I am most probably napping at home, because my energy is at a low never, ever experienced before, and for those reasons, I choose to relish solitude, during the day.  So though my spirit is buoyed by love, my intuitive voice determinedly strengthens my resolve to quietly maintain a homemade, positively focused, zen like emotional environment that feels integral to my recovery, and as quiet hours continue to inspire my attitude to absorb as much restful courage as the months ahead will surely require, I reserve brief social interactions for evenings, now and then.

As to Will, much of his time is his own, and just as he’s always happily watched sports on TV, in addition to that, during recent years, we’ve both enjoyed evenings spent with whatever series appeals to us both, cuddling close, together, on the couch, Will in shorts, me in a sweatsuit under a cloud-soft throw—a gift from my sister when the cloud-soft throw that Angie covered me with in the hospital was attacked in the dryer and fell completely apart (which I hope not to do)—just goes to show—another mysterious case of good health, one day, gone tomorrow.

I have no doubt that, my eagerness to enjoy time spent with dear friends will bounce back once fatigue is less overwhelming (there’s that word, again) and if side effects, yet to emerge, are not nearly so debilitating as had been true throughout most of December, I imagine my sociability will match my recharged energy level.

Though my days are spent at the clinic being tested and at home enveloping my whole self in quiet, occasionally, as sundown welcomes evening, I’ve rallied, and we’ve actually ventured out for dinner with friends, suggesting patience and progress have been mine, one small step at a time.

Though we can mask emotion brewing deep within from our conscious minds for quite a while, we can’t reach so deeply into the core of our hearts as to switch off the pilot light that burns brightly out of sight until true love has reason to flare with a passionate resurgence whenever the natural emergence of deeper truth feels intuitive readiness to blow through our defense system’s imaginary, many layered wall of persistent denial, and at those times when love expresses itself, naturally, I thank god for the self-empowered, clear stream of emotion that runs so free and pure as to be unable to hide itself away deep inside you and me, overlong ...

If you’ve not seen Frozen, run, don’t walk ... why?  Well, the tale that unfolds clear as day with blue skies all around symbolizes the fact that once two wounded birds can’t help each other to fly, misunderstandings between loved ones tend to ice up ...

And now, please take a moment as I caution you to fortify yourself as my posts are about to offer up info concerning the chemo I’ve experienced and the surgery ahead, so, without further adieu, here goes—as mentioned before, my infusion of a new chemo was restarted earlier in the week, so I’m feeling a bit apprehensive, even though both oncologists have reassured me that the present dose will not be as intense as the last infusion, which ran through me for five days straight, 24/7.

I’ll have one dose of this new chemo, every three weeks, and every six weeks, Will and I plan to fly to Houston to check in with the surgical team there until the oncologist at MD Anderson believes I’m prime for surgery, most likely, sometime, late spring.  This procedure is so intricate as to be divided in half—open heart surgery to reconstruct the portion of my heart that’s distressed by the tumor followed by extracting my affected lung the next day.  Hopefully, I’ll remain so sedated, over night, as to have no clue when the first surgery begins and the second one ends.  The surgical team in Houston has found this dual procedure less traumatic for the patient’s body, postoperatively.  As my surgeon brain saw its way to developing this life saving procedure, and if my body can take it (and it will!) then I’m in good hands under the care of his team.  Again, here’s another reason to feel fortunate—after studying all of my many tests, Dr. Reardon could have said, I’m sorry that you are not a candidate for this complicated, two stage surgery, and where would that have left me?  Crying into my half full cup ...

Will and I just left our excellent medical team in the desert, where today’s blood test will hopefully show my body empowering all of me to withstand this next infusion of chemo—and after my last experience, let’s hope that side effects are so tolerable and few that a lengthy hospitalization proves unnecessary.

Will continues to minister to my every need as if he is polishing the rarest of jewels, and David flies in on Saturday, which will be followed by our family celebration of Steven’s birthday on Sunday, and as the addition of David’s loving presence always serves to lift my spirit, I’ll be up for his gently whipping me into exercise mode as Will is my sergeant while Angie took on the role of Colonel and David was labeled a most loving Simon Legree, because as soon as he turns on the Rocky music, he becomes Mickey, leaving you-know-who to never-give-up fighting toward The Cure 

At any rate, we arrived home from Houston, having no clue how I’ll feel a few days after my most recent chemo infusion, and since I have no clinic appointments, today, my plan is to entertain my spirit by choosing Valentine treats on Amazon to send out to quite a few munchkins, whose adorable antics never fail to melt my heart ...  thank goodness, for children, so innocent and pure, and thank god for every parent who grows aware of the jewel they’ve been given to cherish for eighteen years during which time their little ones are meant to grow up to embrace each next stage of personal independence so fully that once the pups are full fledged adults, their parents feel free to expand their wingspans, as well😊

❤️Annie

Whoops!  I forgot to include the monkey face story; no worries, it’ll pour forth, naturally,, one of these days ...

Sent from my iPad

SWOOPED UP BY THE STORK

Thank goodness my sense of humor did not
Fail me during my eleven day hospital stay
In fact, I’ve noticed that my sense of humor tends to
Manifest itself in direct proportion to
The magnitude of the crises at hand
For example, I experienced several state of the art
Pieces of equipment during my most recent
Hospitalization that spoiled me for
Any other hospital in which I may find
Myself admitted as the future unfolds

One day, when my state of being was so weakened as to
Be unable to move myself from bed to gurney for a CT
A pair of technicians made me aware of
A contraption attached to the ceiling of my room, which
Had been installed to lift patients, whose muscles were
Too weakened to lift more than the weight of their heads

Anyway, I remember a couple of
Cheerful staff members manipulating that
Contraption in such a way as to connect four hooks to
Four loops, one found at each end of a soft, rectangular
Piece of material, which, having been slipped under me
Scooped me up off my bed as if I’d been curled up into
A basket made of silk or satin, and once I found myself
Midair, on my way to being lowered onto the gurney
I heard myself ask—so what am I, a girl or a boy?
What? Asked the member of the staff, who was
Operating the equipment—my response:
I’m wondering, if you’re about to deliver a boy or a girl—
To which the staff member replied:
I still have no clue as to what you mean?
Well, having been scooped up into this contraption, where
I’m all curled up as if being transported inside
A basket, the stork flew into my mind and as thoughts of
The stork, ‘delivering’ me, tickled my sense of humor
I imagined myself a baby and couldn’t help but
Wonder about my gender—At that, one staff member
Laughed while the other smiled and rolled his eyes
As for me, I’d thoroughly enjoyed myself and
Didn’t even have to take a peek to feel assured of being
Female, through and through, and by the time
The eye-roller had transported me to
The CT department to check out how much fluid had
Collected within my right collapsed lung, I asked to be
Transported to the complaint department after
The CT, because I wanted to file a report concerning
My belief that the stork in question had
Indulged in ‘more than few’ and my opinion had been
Based in the fact that my ride from bed to gurney felt
Somewhat more rocky than a babe in arms, like me
Would expect—This time, the eye roller laughed and
Replied: It’s not often that I see a sense of humor
Going strong right before a CT to determine
The amount of fluid that needs to be extracted by way of
A thoracentecis, and though that procedure was
No joking matter, the eye roller and I had managed to enjoy
Those few minutes, which came before and after the CT—
You see, sometimes, we get through life by
Taking one day at a time—sometimes
We get through a day, minute by minute, and though
My sense of humor doesn’t always show up
I sure do appreciate those times when it does ...

A MELTDOWN BEFORE FLYING TO HOUSTON

Last week, I had a meltdown that felt as if fear had punched its way through my host of inner strengths, shattering them, so that only shards, which pierced my mind, body and spirit, were left.  What had scared me so pointedly?  Fear of whatever the surgical team in Houston has to say, face to face—you are a candidate for this surgery, which proves so rare that most people in need of our experienced expertise fly here—you’ll have your second round of intense chemo here, where no one knows you—you are not a candidate for surgery, so go home, continue with chemo, swallow pain meds and hope for the best.  No matter how I looked at my choices, pain, intensifying, both emotionally and physically, seemed to await my arrival in Houston.

Will and David held me and truly helped me make my way, walker in hand, through the worst of the briar patch as deeper truth, thrusting its way through my wall of denial, flooded the conscious portion of my mind with repressed anger as well as fear, both of which felt so profoundly compressed together that not so much as an inkling of courage surfaced to brighten the path that loomed so dark, directly ahead, until, suddenly, I heard myself say, I need to scream.  And scream I did.  After which, my mind’s state of alarm rebalanced as if a reset button had been pushed, highlighting the fact that this is not just my crises—it’s my family’s crises as much theirs as mine—and my sweetheart, Irwin, who takes care of me as if I am the most precious jewel on earth, is in need of as much emotional support as is true of me as phase two of our trek toward my regaining good health moves forward, day by day—a good day being one that is without pain.  Again, with my reset button in good working order it’s clearly my good fortune to feel my vulnerabilities encircled with love—no darkly focused criticism undermining my need to quietly continue to restrengthen my connection to courage.

Upon hearing of my meltdown (my much needed meltdown, which opened my eyes to the truth of my tightly suppressed fear and repressed anger) Angie said she’s coming with us to provide moral support, drawing my awareness toward gratitude concerning how many loved ones are here to catch us in a safety net whenever courage crashes head on into fury and fear, which remain secreted from my awareness until one or the other or both geyser out, and because our loved ones’ take turns stepping up to the plate, our inner strengths may feel need to crash, but they do not burn.

As my attitude brightened, so did my day, and by the time Steven arrived for dinner with Ravi, Gramma’s head was screwed on straight and ready to play—gingerly, very gingerly.  Thank goodness, Ravi agrees that Daddy and Uncle David fit the bill for every fun thing Gramma can’t do—as of yet.

Had I penned a detailed account of side effects experienced following five straight days of chemo, my last missile would have been far too graphic for public consumption. Though most of my emails and texts see courage and diplomacy directing my pen, vulnerability (which some days is as bald as my head) felt need to express itself, openly, today.

Hopefully, you’ll hold on to the fact that I do not lose sight of the consistency of my family’s love as well as treasured friendships, all of which encourage me to tunnel through the darkness toward the bright side of my life whenever my ride through hell feels so painful that I feel need to pour my heart out to you.  Also, this honest expression of emotion was penned last night in answer to a text, received from a dear, life long friend, but I chose not to send it till the sun arose in hopes of not disturbing any sweet dreams that may have been hers to enjoy before awakening to face whatever reality is hers to bear, today, and with my friend’s permission, this heartfelt outpouring is about to be sent into cyberspace expressly for this reason—no matter how often we must rely upon our inner strengths, especially as we age, both sides of human nature exist within us all, and if that reality is repressed, overlong, then vulnerabilities that we fail to acknowledge as our own will geyser out, now and then, just like a can of tightly coiled worms, which has blown its lid, shocking our self-deceiving self image to its core, and thus is it healthier by far to muster the courage to humbly acknowledge oneself as being wholly human than it is to continue to mislead our intellect into believing that the persona we’ve been taught to wear in public is who we are, through and through, and here’s why today’s train of intuitive thought is undeniably true—if you do not become intimately acquainted with both sides of your nature as you age then, one day, your mirror image will have reason to shatter, leaving you utterly shocked to come face to face with the stranger whom you’ve become, who has fooled no one so much as yourself for this reason—the only constant in life is change, suggesting that we all change for better and worse, and becoming aware of need to relate personally to that deeper truth is necessary if thee is ever to feel so completely human as to gain access to inner peace expressly during times of crises while others are trying desperately to believe their personas can hold it together though deeper truth is shining the spotlight of insight directly upon the fact that once the lid has blown off their can of tightly coiled worms, which had remained deeply suppressed in hopes of hiding less desirable traits from oneself, then those unacknowledged traits, having been left untrained, remain childish in nature, and though your defense system has blindly attributed those negatively focused traits to others, in truth, they’ve been mine and yours, all along.  And with that insight, concerning the universality of projecting one’s own vulnerabilities upon others, clearly stated, I hope you’ll choose to sleep on today’s train of intuitive thought so as to see if, upon awakening, tomorrow, your mirror image begins to feel naturally less painfully, more peaceably expansive than had ever been possible when your intellect had had no clue as to when or how often your defense system had usurped control over your intelligence, blinding your think tank from recognizing how often subconscious fear has been been freed to run the show ...
🌻Annie

A MOMENT OF CRYSTAL CLEAR CLARITY—NO JOKING AROUND

We flew to Houston, today, to meet the cardiovascular surgeon, who, having developed a surgical procedure that may literally save my life, will see me tomorrow, and then, over these next few days, we’ll meet with his colleagues, who will confer, together, over the possibility of my being a candidate to undergo this delicate surgery or not.

I must admit that while all of my energy (of which there’s not much to spare) is focused upon holding my host of inner strengths (of which courage is most important), together, my mental concentration, concerning penning my blog, has fallen apart.  So, if, while seated in a wheel chair, being conveyed from one doctor’s office to another, my intuitive voice is mute, that will be due to the intelligent portion of my brain listening attentively to whatever I’ll be fated to hear once this new braintrust of physicians says yea or nay—seriously—not until their decision is made concerning surgery will I gain so much as a clue as to what may or may not develop inside my processor except for my belief that whatever I am about to face, thumbs up or thumbs downs, my absence from posting my innermost thoughts will be justified until such time as my intuitive voice feels need to speak ‘aloud’—whenever that may be ...

PS
Today’s train of thought does not suggest that I’ll not post, at all
Today’s train of thought highlights my belief that if I choose to post
Today’s train of thought may have little to do with tomorrow’s ...

RINGING IN 2020

Will, David and I celebrated New Year’s Eve with two couples, who, having been amongst our dearest friends for several decades, took care of ordering, prepping and serving dinner in our kitchen, meaning all that was expected of me was to ‘show up’, wearing my favorite PJ’s, chosen for me by Tony and Ray for  Hanukkah.  These pj’s are so cozy, I never want to wear anything else.

Our New Year’s dinner was made up of Mediterranean fare so delicious as to whet my appetite, which has been absent for months.  While enjoying our feast, not a moment was spent on sobering thoughts, based in the fact that love for one another filled our hearts just as positive focus filled our minds, and wine, flowing freely, kept everyone’s cup more than half full—with one exception, being that lemonade proved to be my drink of choice since mixing spirits with pain meds is not wise.  What was wise was ringing in the New Year surrounded by loved ones, whose reminiscence over experiences shared in the past aroused everyone’s sense of humor to laugh aloud, again and again.

I hope your New Year’s Eve was spent with loved ones, all of whom will enjoy happiness and good health as a brand new decade unfolds for us, all.
🌈🌻Annie