Relay, Relay......

Hmmm……I can hear you thinking…..   I didn’t receive Joan’s annual sob story about her cancer.  It’s not in my spam folder (although I do think some of you wish that it would or will just go there).  You don’t think she croaked or something…..  No, no – she said last year that the docs had given her at least 24 months.  And I know that she said that she would do the “American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life” come hell or high water.  Hmmmm……

Well, you can quit your humming.  I’m not dead yet.  (Although for Christmas, I got 5 new shiny tumors – 4 in my spine and 1 in my sternum).  Yes, I’m still having my wonderful, monthly chemo visits.  Plus I also got to try out a new form of radiation at Christmas time.  I had 4 treatments, 4 days, 90 minutes each day instead of 80 treatments, 80 days (of schlepping back and forth on the ferry), 4 minutes each day.  The new form of radiation called “Cyberknife” was developed by those incredible doctors at Stanford.  Gotta love them.  The only down side is that I am and will suffer from radiation poisoning for a year.  And while the tumor on my sternum is reducing in size, unfortunately the tumors on my spine are just sitting there, not getting bigger nor getting smaller – just giving me a real “pain in the back”.   So how do you like my annual sob story so far?

So let’s talk about the “Relay for Life”, what’s up with that.  Unfortunately this year the “Relay” is happening off island over in Poulsbo…..and yes, I probably could go there….but - I’m a stinker.  Remember, I always do this walking thing at 10 p.m. when my cancer pain is the worst.  And believe it or not, I just don’t think I could subject myself to some more torture.  Soo…..I’ve decided while I may not participate in the “Relay”, I am going to walk the walk, so to speak.  This Saturday, July 14^th, at 10 pm, I’m going to go to the High School on Bainbridge, jump the fence, and at least walk one lap around the track.  I just want to prove that I can still walk at least once around the track (although Rainer’s been teasing me - perhaps I should get a walker to aid me in my quest).  I am living with cancer, yes I tick down a little bit more with each passing day but I just want to make sure that I am still …..alive.

Now I’m not expecting those from far – i.e. East Coast, San Francisco, Florida, Sacramento, Rimerman people, and any one in between to hop a flight and hold my hand while I walk a lap.  However, if there are any islanders who want to also “jump the fence” and walk around in circles – please feel free to.  Although, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to be on that track at 10 pm, and of course we could all be arrested, but you only live once.  (Excuse me while I pick myself up off the floor – I fell out of my chair from the cancer humor).  Bring your children, bring your flashlights, bring your smiles and be glad to be alive.

Just a little bit more reading and then I’ll let you dump this email into your garbage.  Now for those of you who are feeling guilty or are just looking for a tax deduction, I have a suggestion for you.  Rather than plunking down your money to the American Cancer Society, I invite you to forward a donation to “Swedish Hospital Children’s Cancer Foundation”,  801 Broadway, 10^th Floor, Seattle, WA  98122.  Just tell them that I sent you.  Swedish is a remarkable hospital.

“Relay” next year?  Not sure, we’ll just wait and see…..I think I can make it another year.

woo-hoo

Woo-hoo!! Did they find a wonder drug that will cure my cancer. Nope. Did I win 90 million in the lottery. Nope. Did I find $8,000 needed to pay my mortgage company. (I really could use it because I don't want to loose our house) Nope. Has my husband come home with a bouquet of long stemmed midnight red roses. I wish, but nope. Have my children actually cleaned their rooms (I think Emma is the keeper of forks and I wonder if Dylan and Hannah have actual rugs because all I see is piles of dirty clothes). That would be a heavenly miracle - so that too is a big NOPE. My woo-hoo is that I don't have to have chemo this month. Yippee! No red pea, no glowing in the dark, no joint pain that cripples your spine. No metal taste in your mouth. My platelit level is really low - under a hundred. Do you know how wonderful it is not to have to deal with needle pricked, wasted time catching the ferry and driving to the hospital. I am a happy camper. Of course my body continues it's loosing battle with cancer. But for this moment I am happy. Now if we have sunshine instead of rain - I will be in pure bliss. P.s. now if there is anyone out there that can help us with our mortgage - perhaps you could adopt all us - two old adults, two young whipper snapper adults, two girls going on 21 and 2, two dogs where the alpha dog is a miniature dachshund, two cats that need bathing every month, two Nigerian dwarf goats good for eating pesky berry bushes, and one fish - it used to be two but Olive died last winter. And as hard as I try to kill Bubbles she's over 9 years old she just keeps going like the energizer bunny. Or you perhaps put in a good word with .... Oprah, Bill Gates, even Bruce Wayne aka Batman.

My back hurts. Ha, your back - my knee.....

Can’t sleep, my back is killing me.  And I mean that literally.  I can hear your words already….hold on, you haven’t spoken in months to the aliens from another planet that read this drivel.  (Although I really don’t think of it as drivel, more like a nice scenic drive through the thoughts on my life).  I know, I know…..you want to know if I’m dead or alive and everything in between since my diagnosis of new tumors last October.

I promise to try and recap in the fewest amounts of words, but don’t hold me to that.  You know me, sometimes my mind wanders and the next thing you know is that I’m talking about gray rain and of the bright warm object that sometimes shows up in the sky.  It changes the entire gray surrounding you into vivid greens, shocking pinks, laughing yellows, fiery reds, and even some purple and blues appear in the sky.   See what did I tell you……waxing poetic.

….so where did we leave off.  Oh yes, I remember.  In October, during one of my ritual exams – starving yourself of caffeine, sugar, milk, and yes even cheese, then being stuffed for hours in a tube way too small, with your hands over your head, a needle shoved up your arm, and a voice telling you to “breathe”, “hold your breath” over the loud noise of jet engines.  So much fun, but it’s also ritual.  I walk into Radiology and the receptionist knows me, wanting to know when Dylan is coming home from college and how’s Hannah doing in her new school.  Nevermind showing i.d., I’ve been coming to see them for three years.  Sorry….waxing again.   It turned out I had five new tumors, four in my spine, and a nice big one in my sternum.  I had had tumors in my sternum when I was originally diagnosed with breast cancer and I knew how much of pain in the ass this new tumor would be.

I got my game face on and was ready to face the music.  I was ready for chemo hard and radiation trips every day forever.   Little did I know that I would have favorite music and comfy pillows while getting treated.  Huh, I know you’re scratching your head wondering what the hell I am talking about.  Let me get back to my story and I’ll explain everything.  My oncology doctor and my radiologist decided that I was a candidate to have a new form of treatment for the tumors.  I was going to have a new form of radiation called “Cyberknife”.  This new radiation treatment was developed by doctors at Stanford.  I’m sorry but you’ve got to love the Stanford medical community – sure the Mayo clinic is good, but those guys down south are on the cutting edge of using technology in treatment of cancer, heart disease, even Alzheimer disease.

Normally when you have radiation treatments, you get zapped for two to five minutes.  That’s the easy part.   It’s the fuss of driving to catch the ferry, praying your car will make it up the hills to the hospital (while S.F.’s hills are higher,  Seattle is way up in the clouds as well – and remember I drive a manual transmission); changing your clothes, locking up your stuff, waiting your turn in a ridiculous gown that even though you’ve tied the belt, if you’re not properly snapped at your shoulders the stupid gown is going to fall off of you.  And then of course, surprise you get to do it again.  An no, it’s not next month or even next week, it’s tomorrow.  Day after day, you get to experience the monotony of radiation along with the blisters that form inside your mouth, your skin beginning to blister, and learn that yes, you can throw up 60 times in one hour.  I mean, come on - how many times can you read the most current "People" magazine in the waiting rooms.

Cyberknife is large amounts of radiation to very specific area on your body.  It’s in a room that has 12 foot thick walls and door (and no, I am truly not kidding).  The room is in the bowels of the hospital and is huge, probably 5 times bigger than my living room.  In the room is the "Machine", I liken it to a humongous sewing machine, with a steroid pumped arm.  Remember,  normal radiation is spread over a region – i.e. – for my previous radiation treatments,  my entire sternum and everything around it, including my esophagus was radiated – hmmm, how I remember the green bile I keep throwing up due to the burning of my esophagus lining.   Cyberknife mixed with computer technology targets very specific spot.  They implanted three pieces of gold into my sternum surrounding the tumors.  The gold helps the machine to calibrate where to aim the radiation. Zap……do I get to get off the table and go home.  No, the machine moves one degree to the left.  Zap……the machine moves.  Lucky me, I’m on the table for near an hour and a half.  But this isn’t a “hold your breath” torture device.  You are on a comfy warm table with lots of cushions for your head, your feet……and yes….they give you nice and toasty warm blankets.  Plus, you can bring your iPod to play your music.  I remember on my first day, I gave them my music to play…….I told them that I had a sort of eclectic musical taste and that they probably wouldn’t like.  They immediately asked if it were country music as I could see them taking out their earplugs from lab coat pockets……No.  Some Lucinda Williams, Damien Rice,  etc.  Back the ear plugs went into their lab coat pockets.

While yes, I did have to come back the next day, and two addition days.  I had close to 6 hours of radiation in 4 days……should I have had the old fashion “breathe” torture device, I would have had to make the trip from the island, via ferry, to Seatle, up the hills to the hospital for approximately 90 days.  Yum……what fun.

So we’re doing the wait and see.  I am still suffering the effects of radiation poisoning – I understand I get to have that one for about a year or so.  So if you see me staring off in space and look unresponsive – no I’m not dead, just phasing out due to the radiation.  Yes, I still have to schlep over to Seattle to suffer the slings and arrow of my monthly dose of chemo, followed by two wonderful weeks of chemo sickness.  I had a CT/Pet scan in February.  The tumor on my sternum is receding, the tumors on my spine don’t appear to be growing, nor do they appear to be getting smaller.  It’s wait and see time – yet again.

But time is passing by, my flowers outside are beginning to smile with their vibrant colors, the gray is giving way to the sun, and I have had another year with my family.  .  They are going to have to take me kicking and screaming before I’ll leave them.   I love them so much…….so much so, that their laughter helps to ease some of the pain…..although Oxycodone is a great help for the spinal pain.