HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW?

 Have I mentioned my decision to color my hair?  I mean, why color my hair when it’s likely to fall out in bunches?  Well, here’s my reasoning:  If I’m not yet ready to see salt and pepper staring out of my mirror then why not indulge my wish to resemble myself pre-cancer for as long as possible ...

The fact that my hair has been shoulder length ever since college suggests why I’ll work to accept this short style (that’s certainly not my choice) while it continues to grow in length.

At first, having been bald, I was glad to see any hair at all, but here’s why that initial reaction was short lived—I missed seeing the blue eyed brunette I’d known myself to be before cancer challenged me to accept the fact that I am fighting for my life.  And the color of my hair is within my control.

In addition to that, the chemo combo ordered by my oncologist is the same as the last protocol, which proved most effective at pummeling the first tumor that was surgically removed in Houston, last summer, and while I was on that protocol, my hair had begun to grow back.  So if my hair had begun to grow back while that chemo was being administered then perhaps my ‘crowning glory’ will withstand six infusions of this same combination of drugs, over these next two months ...

If not, then my colorful assortment of knit caps is still in the basket that’s sitting atop my bedside commode.

Following my last PET scan, I’d planned to store my commode and walker (as well as all of the hospital supplies) in our garage.  Needless to say, that plan was fated to go sideways, and as the results of my last PET scan threw a wrench into the smooth course of my on-going recovery, everything I’ll need in the aftermath this coming surgery will remain in readiness for my homecoming from Mayo—exactly one year after last summer’s surgical homecoming from Houston.

How do I feel about my need to take two steps back before my recovery moves forward, again?  Well—initially I’d felt devastated and frightened until this realization brightened my instinctive reaction:  As long as the words ‘forward’ and ‘recovery’ remain integral to this second proactive plan to save my life, my spirit embraces the wisdom inherent within coaxing my mind to relax anxiety by mustering the courage to accept whatever it takes to regain my good health so as to extend my life span.  In short, my attitude (and hair color) are not beyond my control.  And with my loving family and friends (and Compazine) by my side, this summer of 2021 will pass, one day at a time, just as was true of  last summer, 2020

And now, as my sister, Lauren and brother-in-law, Michael—who stopped to pick up a bottle of sangria—are due to arrive, I’ll brush a healthy hue of color onto my cheeks in readiness to lighten the mood by welcoming my loved ones with an upbeat smile, framed by lustrous brunette curls, which, thus far, reach down just far enough to tickle my ears  ...

As always, Will and I are sending our love to each of you,

❤️Annie

Annie

MY FIRST INFUSION OF CHEMO

Though yesterday, I’d awakened feeling tense about my first infusion of chemo at Mayo, my decision to participate in my Shakespeare class via Zoom while the infusion took place saw me relax so naturally, once our discussion concerning Henry V filled my mind, that I felt calm throughout the rest of the day.

Within an hour of our arrival home, the door bell rang and in walked my sister, Lauren and brother-in-law, Michael.  They’d driven to our house straight from the airport, and as my sister is the family’s baker extraordinaire, she began to unload the small cooler, carried on the plane, and while relaxing on couches surrounding three sides of our living room coffee table, we four feasted away on cookies, brownies, banana bread and my all time favorite chocolates.

As we snacked at this variety of home made treats, our conversation revolved around grandchildren, our health and what to order for dinner, and thus did my first day of chemo pass in a most enjoyable manner.

Upon awakening this morning feeling headachy and just a bit nauseous, I took a Compazine and made plans with Lauren and Michael for late afternoon, allowing me to rest quietly for most of the day.  As David plans to return on Friday, they’re staying with one of Lauren’s best friends.

While enjoying a late afternoon snack, paired with a chilled riesling, we four will discuss what to order for dinner—the Compazine proved effective, and I’ve not yet lost my appetite, so I’m thinking ribs ...

Annie

9. MY PLAN TO SEE 100 CANDLES ADORNING MY CAKE

As you get to know me, you’ll see that I always have a plan though, often times, I’ve no conscious clue as to what that plan may be until I begin to write.  For instance, let’s see what shapes up concerning my need to fortify four pillars of personal strength over the months, directly ahead:

By way of writing, I believe my ‘intuitive voice’ will gently coax my instinctive mindset to release its natural hold onto fear, little by little, day by day.

In order to relieve inner tension, I’ll rely upon a half of an Ativan taken in the morning to calm my limbic system enough to limit the amount of adrenaline pumping through my blood stream, so my processor can think clearly with my connection to logic intact.

In short, I’ll ever so gently regain control over the natural emergence of fearful emotions while placing my faith in my doctors’ abilities to gain control over the growth of the tumor via administering doses of chemo that will effectively shrink this invader and annihilate every microscopic cell that poses a threat to my enjoyment of a long and healthy life. 

So how does this plan of action differ from the first?

The first tumor was several cm larger than this one proves to be.

The combinations of chemo chosen to combat the original tumor proved much too harsh for my production of blood to bear without breaking down, causing extreme physical distress in need of several hospitalizations and blood transfusions, over a period of seven months.

This time around, the combination of chemo drugs chosen will replicate the last protocol administered, which had actually proven most effective in attacking tumor cells without placing the healthy cells of my body in mortal danger of collapsing.  And chemo will last only two months before surgery is scheduled.

The first surgery was seriously compounded by the tumor’s invasion of my heart, and thus did open heart surgery precede lung surgery, by one day.

The complex nature of those first surgeries took place in Houston while the apex of the pandemic was surging, suggesting why during my ten day (intensive care) hospital stay, I had no loving advocate at my side when nurses were too busy to respond to my call button though time for pain meds had long past.  And as my sternum had been stapled up while my back had sustained eight to ten inches of sutures, I’d had to FaceTime Will, who would then call the nurses’ station. And if each of his requests had been met with a greater sense of respect than had been true of my own self disciplined declarations of having experienced excruciating pain, I believe his being a surgeon had a lot to do with the positive results Will received, which, much to my frustration, I had not.  I’d felt that for the most part, the nursing care received in Houston was less responsive than that experienced at Mayo. 

First time around—the thoracic surgeon in Houston chose to save as much of my affected lung as possible.  And in the aftermath of that surgery, everyone, including the pathologist, celebrated the safety factor of those margins.

Second time around, knowledge that microscopic cells related to the original tumor had escaped detection offers my Phoenix thoracic surgeon sound reason to take all of my right lung in hopes of leaving no microscopic invaders behind.

This time, a one visitor policy allows Will to accompany me to chemo, labs, diagnostic tests and doctor appointments.

No flights will be taken to and from Houston wearing hasmet suits

One surgery will be scheduled, not two.

Will can be at my side, every day, during my hospital stay.

I will return to our home rather than staying in the RB&B that we’d rented for a month.

As we will not be strictly quarantined, my second recovery from chemo followed by lung surgery will benefit from physical therapy

Many vaccinated loved ones will visit us at home, offering Will’s spirit and mine a natural lift, during the months of this second recovery.

Along with courage, faith, hope, resilience and my two not so secret weapons (love of family and friends), I am wholly determined to recover completely so as to enjoy a long, healthy life, as was true of my beloved mother, who had welcomed help while blowing out 100 candles (plus one for good luck) adorning her birthday cake.

And in addition to feeling hopeful, today, I’ve expressed my faith in my doctors expertise—two personal strengths pocketed—two to go ...

Annie

THIS AND THAT

 This morning, Edie, my dear friend of forty years, will help me to reorganize ‘stuff’ that I’ve not had the energy to neaten up, by myself, and after that, rest will be in order for me until Will and I leave for my appointment with my thoracic surgeon at Mayo, this afternoon, followed by a blood test at which time my port will be flushed and readied for my first infusion of chemo, tomorrow.

In keeping with looking at the bright side, by the time we arrive home from chemo, tomorrow, my sister and brother-in-law will have landed and be on their way to our house ...

Annie

8 WITH REST, MY SPIRIT WILL RALLY ANEW

I believe good things come to those who work toward achieving long range goals

On the other hand, common sense suggests it’s wise for over achievers to balance work with rest

And though this over achiever tends to wear herself out, here’s why my smile appears each time a loved one draws near:

While resting my mind feels most unusual, smiling at those I love feels nothing short of natural ...

Annie

7 MY SPIRIT STILL FEELS WEARY

Though wishing to feel courageous, strong and mighty, the fact that I’m human suggests my spirit’s vulnerability to wearing thin, and though exhaustion has mixed with sadness ever since my most recent CT biopsy report stated that I must fight for my life, anew, intuition suggests that with sufficient time to rest, my spirit will rally, again.  And again.  Naturally.  Suggesting why I’ll not pressure myself to hurry this process along.

If asked why, given time, I believe my spirit will rally on its own, here would be my self confident reply:  History repeats itself.

Though mornings see me feeling sad, my spirit lifts throughout the day, and by evening, I feel pretty much like myself—whoever that may be as I can barely recognize the wearied woman, who, staring out from within my mirror, has withstood serious illness, ever since summer of 2018 when medical professionals could not fathom why I’d experienced pain within the right side of my chest along with excessive fatigue (thus offering the original tumor a year in which to grow so large within my lung as to have invaded my heart before a diagnosis had been detected that proved to be correct).

With chemo commencing, again, this coming Tuesday, my spirit feels hopeful that all four pillars of inner strength will refortify, over these next few days ... and now that I’ve  become aware of feeling hopeful, you and I have just witnessed the re-emergence of one positively focused pillar of personal strength with three to go ... 

👩🏻Annie

6 TWO NOT SO SECRET WEAPONS

In addition to four pillars of strength, it’s been my good fortune to rely upon two not-so-secret weapons as well—

The first being the depths of Will’s loving devotion, which draws upon his professional expertise to remain personally apprised of every aspect of my medical care.

The second being the constant flow of heartfelt support received not only from my husband of 54 years but also in abundance from family and friends for which both Will and I are grateful beyond words.

Annie