The pork was pretty good, but the movie was not. Why do I continue to believe that a recent Will Ferrell movie might be good, and not just stupid, offensive, and, um... stupid. Ah well, there are worse mistakes... We have seen some good movies recently, Beasts of the Southern Wild, Argo, Moonrise Kingdom, and yes, Skyfall. And on lonely weekdays, Homeland and Downton Abbey continue to prop me up, especially Homeland. Just the right amount of stress and tension that belongs to someone else. Perfect.
True to pattern, yesterday may have been the worst of it. Three full days post chemo, when the steroids wear off and just the poison remains. Today, I will head to the pool to try to get myself back to my "normal."
Last night, my sainted husband ( have I mentioned lately how sainted he is?) roasted a chicken and made the latkes. I cannot remember a Hanukah where I did not make the latkes, and usually five to ten pounds of potatoes'' worth for friends as well. Last night I just could not do it. I peeled three potatoes and left the rest to Jon and Tim. The great thing is they tasted really, really good, as nothing had all day.
I love how much my son loves holidays. Hanukah's cool partly because of playing with fire every night, but he really takes them all pretty seriously. He likes rituals, presents of course, he ate about twenty latkes, and he is gearing up to help Jon get a tree today. I have always been neglectful with holidays. Presents, cheeriness, decorating - not my forte (don't laugh). But my husband and son take it on and Jon has never let any go by neglected.
I have gotten lazier and lazier lately. I know it is a bit unavoidable, but I have no idea how the family would even be functioning if not for Jon. He cheerfully does Everything. I manage some of the dog walking and very occasional cooking, I have been seen sweeping a floor once or twice, but that is about it. Everything else is him, and the kids, and friends. I am also glad that Ani is so on top of her own life and obligations. She seems to exist in a plane of ultra-responsibility, competence, and organizational skills that rival anyone. So, I will attempt to let the holidays happen around me, eat some food, enjoy my humorous son and straightforward daughter, and my husband, like the Tasmanian Devil, making it happen.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
Help is good.
Have I mentioned my friend who came over and cleaned my house, and I mean really, really cleaned, the day my in-laws arrived? I don't think I have. I have to say, it was stunning. I am sure I could have rallied and faux-cleaned up for them somewhat adequately, but this was just so cleansing (literally) and completely generous. This happened before Thanksgiving and I am still not really over it. This friend showed up in completely no-nonsense fashion, told me not to wear myself out, unpacked her bucket of supplies and went at my mildly disgusting house, which is also mildly large. One really amazing thing is just how much of an energy drain it would have been for me to do, and do that well. Scary, but true.
Chemo takes its toll. Even with the nausea preventive drugs and the mitigation of some of the worst side effects, it takes its toll. Between the exhaustion and the overthinking, it is definitely taking its toll. I am attempting to prepare myself for a morning of timing a swim meet tomorrow, and from my vantage point in chemo-land, it seems like a really big deal. I have always had the nice perk of people being surprised that I am as old as I am, which is 49. Now, I feel old, I feel like I look old, and normal things like grocery shopping seem daunting and hard, as if I were very old. I may be forgetting what I am normally like. This is probably a surreal side effect of chemo, not much discussed in the literature. I wonder sometimes, if my brain will ever feel at all quick and curious again, if I will feel fit and strong running, even sometimes if my hair will really grow back, even though they say it will. Some states begin to feel permanent, and after a mere 12 weeks of this, it does. I can't decide whether time is going by quickly or terribly slowly. Jon pointed out that in early September when he bought our Springsteen tickets it seemed so, so long to wait for a treat. And now it is passed. Was it quick or slow? From my vantage point, living in my three week increments, I honestly can't say.
Sorry for the postings that always seem to skew towards the miserable. I start to write and let it go wherever. I will try to end on a positive note: the trajectory of my evening includes pulled pork over toast, and a trashy Will Ferrell movie with my man and my boy. In any circumstance, that really does not sound too bad.
Chemo takes its toll. Even with the nausea preventive drugs and the mitigation of some of the worst side effects, it takes its toll. Between the exhaustion and the overthinking, it is definitely taking its toll. I am attempting to prepare myself for a morning of timing a swim meet tomorrow, and from my vantage point in chemo-land, it seems like a really big deal. I have always had the nice perk of people being surprised that I am as old as I am, which is 49. Now, I feel old, I feel like I look old, and normal things like grocery shopping seem daunting and hard, as if I were very old. I may be forgetting what I am normally like. This is probably a surreal side effect of chemo, not much discussed in the literature. I wonder sometimes, if my brain will ever feel at all quick and curious again, if I will feel fit and strong running, even sometimes if my hair will really grow back, even though they say it will. Some states begin to feel permanent, and after a mere 12 weeks of this, it does. I can't decide whether time is going by quickly or terribly slowly. Jon pointed out that in early September when he bought our Springsteen tickets it seemed so, so long to wait for a treat. And now it is passed. Was it quick or slow? From my vantage point, living in my three week increments, I honestly can't say.
Sorry for the postings that always seem to skew towards the miserable. I start to write and let it go wherever. I will try to end on a positive note: the trajectory of my evening includes pulled pork over toast, and a trashy Will Ferrell movie with my man and my boy. In any circumstance, that really does not sound too bad.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Miles
Live from the chemo lounge... Jon just left to go back to work. Which leaves me with the ipad and my book. The ipad wins out.
I swam a mile before coming here. Every day of chemo with probably five exceptions in total I have swum or run. I have insisted on swimming no less than a mile, and running no less than three, usually 3.5 - 4.5. I feel like I have to do these things, to feel like me. I am gaining some weight, probably due to steroids, and that is an oh well. Jon says it is probably better than losing weight at this point. Anyway, when running I don't use an ipod or any devices. I just leave it open to thinking (sometimes dangerous), observing how I am doing, noticing what is around me. What I am noticing is how much harder it is getting to do it. It is hard to make myself get ready and go, either swim or run, and it is so much harder to do than it was. Basically it feels like I am not very fit, and while I don't keep track of time I know I am a lot slower than the slow I have always been. But I have insisted on doing this one thing, excercising daily. The days that I haven't I have just felt more lethargic and sad.
My town of Astoria is chock full of brutal hills, all of which I have run, and cycled, over the last many years of training for this or that. These days I keep it to some variation of the loop around the lagoon by my house, which is flat. There is a small hill leading back up to my house, which in the old days I did not consider to be a hill at all, and now I have to talk myself up it. I tell myself I have to run, not walk, up it, as part of the keep going mindset I feel I have to have. I scold myself that if I can't run up this poor excuse for a hill I will never make it through the rest of chemo, surgery, radiation. And so, with one exception two weekends ago, I have run my whole runs without stopping. Swimming is similarly taxing, though it has always been less laborious and more rejuvenating than tiring. I am always, always immensely satisfied after I swim, even if I am extra
challenged during it. I am grateful to be able to swim and run. The yoga never panned out into a habit this time around, but I am happy with what I am doing. I wonder how it will all go during the last and probably most fatigue-ridden third of the chemo. I know that post surgery I will not be running for an extended period, and not swimming for a more extended period, and that will be a challenge for me both mentally and physically. I think moreso mentally, and will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I hope to stick with my mileage, and simply keep going.
I swam a mile before coming here. Every day of chemo with probably five exceptions in total I have swum or run. I have insisted on swimming no less than a mile, and running no less than three, usually 3.5 - 4.5. I feel like I have to do these things, to feel like me. I am gaining some weight, probably due to steroids, and that is an oh well. Jon says it is probably better than losing weight at this point. Anyway, when running I don't use an ipod or any devices. I just leave it open to thinking (sometimes dangerous), observing how I am doing, noticing what is around me. What I am noticing is how much harder it is getting to do it. It is hard to make myself get ready and go, either swim or run, and it is so much harder to do than it was. Basically it feels like I am not very fit, and while I don't keep track of time I know I am a lot slower than the slow I have always been. But I have insisted on doing this one thing, excercising daily. The days that I haven't I have just felt more lethargic and sad.
My town of Astoria is chock full of brutal hills, all of which I have run, and cycled, over the last many years of training for this or that. These days I keep it to some variation of the loop around the lagoon by my house, which is flat. There is a small hill leading back up to my house, which in the old days I did not consider to be a hill at all, and now I have to talk myself up it. I tell myself I have to run, not walk, up it, as part of the keep going mindset I feel I have to have. I scold myself that if I can't run up this poor excuse for a hill I will never make it through the rest of chemo, surgery, radiation. And so, with one exception two weekends ago, I have run my whole runs without stopping. Swimming is similarly taxing, though it has always been less laborious and more rejuvenating than tiring. I am always, always immensely satisfied after I swim, even if I am extra
challenged during it. I am grateful to be able to swim and run. The yoga never panned out into a habit this time around, but I am happy with what I am doing. I wonder how it will all go during the last and probably most fatigue-ridden third of the chemo. I know that post surgery I will not be running for an extended period, and not swimming for a more extended period, and that will be a challenge for me both mentally and physically. I think moreso mentally, and will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I hope to stick with my mileage, and simply keep going.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Ruth
Bader Ginsburg, that is. I did in fact buy Jeffrey Toobin's new book "The Oath" during my little spree last week, and am managing to read it. The other night I learned that in 1999 Ruth Bader
Ginsburg had colon cancer and received radiation and chemotherapy for it, during which she did not miss one single day on the bench. And here I sit, most days, alternating between the couch and the other couch, occasionally doing an errand or a mellow excercise session, coming back home, complaining. I need to think more about this tiny, amazing woman. I am certain these treatments made a person feel a whole lot worse in 1999 than they do now. How did she manage it?
Jon says that were I a Supreme Court Justice I would manage it too; I am not, so I don't have to. Still, it is intriguing, isn't it? I admired Ginsburg plenty before, but now that admiration has turned into more scary-stalker-fandom. My own little Catch-22 problem is that I have nowhere I need to be. If I had a job, I would still manage to do it on a lot of days of chemo. I don't have a job, and did not plan on cancer being part of my transition from bookseller to something else, but here it is. The catch is that it does not feel appropriate to look for a job until my treatment is done. I still have the hardest third of the chemo to do, a major surgery, and likely radiation, which I believe will involve day trips to somewhere, five days a week. Plus, my job hunting confidence will improve with hair growth, I have to admit. So.... the upshot is, unlike Ruth Bader Ginsburg, or my mother or cousin (who also worked during their cancer treatments), I am not working, and thus spend a lot of my time feeling like I don't have enough energy to do anything. It just goes to show - context and circumstance are a lot of this.
The solution to this conundrum? I have no clue. As with much of what life throws at a person, as lucky or unlucky I can feel when inappropriately comparing my situation to others (that pendulum swings very, very widely on any given day), I just have to muddle through it. On a good day I go with the flow and enjoy watching Homeland or Doc Martin or Modern Family, and reading magazines, guilty pleasures in another life. On a bad day I feel useless, and like a spoiled baby.
I have six more weeks of chemo to work this stuff out, or not, and then I will have a big surgery from which to heal. As my friend told me in the pool yesterday (actually, in the hot tub - the hot tub was longer than the swim, unheard of!), next year when we are in the hot tub getting ready for a hard swim, this will all be a distant or not so distant memory, but a memory nonetheless, and I will have made it out the other side.
Ginsburg had colon cancer and received radiation and chemotherapy for it, during which she did not miss one single day on the bench. And here I sit, most days, alternating between the couch and the other couch, occasionally doing an errand or a mellow excercise session, coming back home, complaining. I need to think more about this tiny, amazing woman. I am certain these treatments made a person feel a whole lot worse in 1999 than they do now. How did she manage it?
Jon says that were I a Supreme Court Justice I would manage it too; I am not, so I don't have to. Still, it is intriguing, isn't it? I admired Ginsburg plenty before, but now that admiration has turned into more scary-stalker-fandom. My own little Catch-22 problem is that I have nowhere I need to be. If I had a job, I would still manage to do it on a lot of days of chemo. I don't have a job, and did not plan on cancer being part of my transition from bookseller to something else, but here it is. The catch is that it does not feel appropriate to look for a job until my treatment is done. I still have the hardest third of the chemo to do, a major surgery, and likely radiation, which I believe will involve day trips to somewhere, five days a week. Plus, my job hunting confidence will improve with hair growth, I have to admit. So.... the upshot is, unlike Ruth Bader Ginsburg, or my mother or cousin (who also worked during their cancer treatments), I am not working, and thus spend a lot of my time feeling like I don't have enough energy to do anything. It just goes to show - context and circumstance are a lot of this.
The solution to this conundrum? I have no clue. As with much of what life throws at a person, as lucky or unlucky I can feel when inappropriately comparing my situation to others (that pendulum swings very, very widely on any given day), I just have to muddle through it. On a good day I go with the flow and enjoy watching Homeland or Doc Martin or Modern Family, and reading magazines, guilty pleasures in another life. On a bad day I feel useless, and like a spoiled baby.
I have six more weeks of chemo to work this stuff out, or not, and then I will have a big surgery from which to heal. As my friend told me in the pool yesterday (actually, in the hot tub - the hot tub was longer than the swim, unheard of!), next year when we are in the hot tub getting ready for a hard swim, this will all be a distant or not so distant memory, but a memory nonetheless, and I will have made it out the other side.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
My religion
Well, I know I said I have no religion, but last night I did find it!
This week has been pretty craptastic, physically. Sunday I started feeling weirdly sick, and by Monday was down, down, down... It turns out that what two doctors have told me is an upper respiratory virus or infection looks really nothing like any upper respiratory thing I have ever had. This should be par for the course by now. I forget, every time some bizarre thing happens to me, that this stuff has happened before and will happen again. Chemo makes everything weird. This one has taken the form of a hard, swollen lymph node in my neck, making everything from my neck up to my teeth hurt, and hurt a lot. Go figure... I think my pain tolerance is pretty high, but this has been ridiculous. I am on a course of antibiotics, and Vicodin after failing with Tylenol and Advil. Of course, suddenly having a gigantic lump in my neck did cause a ridiculous panic attack, with doctor visits in which I had to be talked down from the certainty of having cancerous tumors invading my neck and head. I am loathe to admit any of this, but why bother concealing?
Back to the religion bit. In the midst of this little mini-crisis, loomed last night, the date of the long awaited Bruce Springsteen concert. I saw him perform in 1979. I did not even know if I should try to go, but figured I could just sit in my chair and hope the person in front of me sat occasionally. Jon carted me in to Portland, to our fancy hotel where I lied in the bed until it became clear food should be eaten. Long story a tiny bit shorter, the concert was amazing. It was so sentimental to me. He played every song I hoped to hear (almost), but told myself I probably wouldn't. It was basically undescribable, for me, to be there.
The religion and rapture of my teenage years returned to me, if only for a night. I spent from about the age of 13 to I-don't-know, worshipping at the altar of Bruce, as did my peeps, especially my beloved summer camp peeps. And last night, I got to return there, briefly, with all the other middle-aged folks at the Rose Garden. It was definitely worth powering through the crap to be there. So there you have it, my own personal religion story.
This week has been pretty craptastic, physically. Sunday I started feeling weirdly sick, and by Monday was down, down, down... It turns out that what two doctors have told me is an upper respiratory virus or infection looks really nothing like any upper respiratory thing I have ever had. This should be par for the course by now. I forget, every time some bizarre thing happens to me, that this stuff has happened before and will happen again. Chemo makes everything weird. This one has taken the form of a hard, swollen lymph node in my neck, making everything from my neck up to my teeth hurt, and hurt a lot. Go figure... I think my pain tolerance is pretty high, but this has been ridiculous. I am on a course of antibiotics, and Vicodin after failing with Tylenol and Advil. Of course, suddenly having a gigantic lump in my neck did cause a ridiculous panic attack, with doctor visits in which I had to be talked down from the certainty of having cancerous tumors invading my neck and head. I am loathe to admit any of this, but why bother concealing?
Back to the religion bit. In the midst of this little mini-crisis, loomed last night, the date of the long awaited Bruce Springsteen concert. I saw him perform in 1979. I did not even know if I should try to go, but figured I could just sit in my chair and hope the person in front of me sat occasionally. Jon carted me in to Portland, to our fancy hotel where I lied in the bed until it became clear food should be eaten. Long story a tiny bit shorter, the concert was amazing. It was so sentimental to me. He played every song I hoped to hear (almost), but told myself I probably wouldn't. It was basically undescribable, for me, to be there.
The religion and rapture of my teenage years returned to me, if only for a night. I spent from about the age of 13 to I-don't-know, worshipping at the altar of Bruce, as did my peeps, especially my beloved summer camp peeps. And last night, I got to return there, briefly, with all the other middle-aged folks at the Rose Garden. It was definitely worth powering through the crap to be there. So there you have it, my own personal religion story.
Friday, November 23, 2012
This is a test
Blogger just does things, without my permission, like change my fonts and send the text out beyond the borders of the box. Tim says, bla bla bla ipad platform bla bla blogspot bla platform bla bla not compatible bla bla bla. At least, that is what I hear. I am picky about fonts, lord knows why, something to control, so I need to post and see what blogger gives me. If you are reading this, I could recommend some good books or magazine articles, as you must be incredibly bored to stay with me like this!
I believe we had an excellent meal and excellent pies last night. I can't be completely sure because the food did not taste like much of anything to me. I cooked and seasoned a lot of it, and I know I am a pretty good cook, but I found myself salting and salting again and hoping the rest of the table wasn't eating the same bland food I was. I hope this lovely side effect goes away after chemo, that my taste buds aren't permanently dulled or dead. It is no wonder I love eggs right now. The texture is comforting, and their blandness is a triumphant quality of their perfection as a food. Brownies are sweet enough to taste, and taste good. Ice cream is adequate. Lots of things taste pretty good if I salt them enough; potato chips are especially sublime. I am a cook and an appreciator of food, and for the most part I can enjoy eating and rely on texture and memory to sustain my meals, but somehow the standard Thanksgiving fare last night did nothing for me. My husband, children, and in-laws were adamant that the meal was spectacular, so I guess I'll just believe what they say.
I walked into Powell's the other day and, without blinking an eye, dropped money on three hard cover books. It is pretty easy to spend money these days, on books, or a new couch, show tickets, or rockin' boots... Whatever. I have talked to other people who, when in their cancer universes, had a pretty blase attitude about money spending, as in "it's just money..." I will leave it to Jon to keep track of when this gets too over the top, which for any that know both of us, is playing a dangerous game. I am the usual cheapskate, the keeper of the money spending gate, and all bets are off with me right now. I have to say though, it is really pretty fun, and will likely abate as my taste buds and hair begin to return.
I believe we had an excellent meal and excellent pies last night. I can't be completely sure because the food did not taste like much of anything to me. I cooked and seasoned a lot of it, and I know I am a pretty good cook, but I found myself salting and salting again and hoping the rest of the table wasn't eating the same bland food I was. I hope this lovely side effect goes away after chemo, that my taste buds aren't permanently dulled or dead. It is no wonder I love eggs right now. The texture is comforting, and their blandness is a triumphant quality of their perfection as a food. Brownies are sweet enough to taste, and taste good. Ice cream is adequate. Lots of things taste pretty good if I salt them enough; potato chips are especially sublime. I am a cook and an appreciator of food, and for the most part I can enjoy eating and rely on texture and memory to sustain my meals, but somehow the standard Thanksgiving fare last night did nothing for me. My husband, children, and in-laws were adamant that the meal was spectacular, so I guess I'll just believe what they say.
I walked into Powell's the other day and, without blinking an eye, dropped money on three hard cover books. It is pretty easy to spend money these days, on books, or a new couch, show tickets, or rockin' boots... Whatever. I have talked to other people who, when in their cancer universes, had a pretty blase attitude about money spending, as in "it's just money..." I will leave it to Jon to keep track of when this gets too over the top, which for any that know both of us, is playing a dangerous game. I am the usual cheapskate, the keeper of the money spending gate, and all bets are off with me right now. I have to say though, it is really pretty fun, and will likely abate as my taste buds and hair begin to return.
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