Looking at the new normal

I have to apologize to anyone who has been following my progress and wellbeing via the blog. I promised myself that I would use the blog to tell people things that were going on and to update it somewhat frequently and with honesty. But since I finished treatment in October that commitment seems to have flown out the window. No, I haven’t been fibbing – but I certainly have neglected writing and sharing for the past month. Part of me wonders whether people have moved on since I’m not posting and am now just in “surveillance” mode. To combat that I am wrapping my head around the concept that it’s okay to write without trying to second guess who’s reading this now - or in the future. Another part is that I’ve been incredibly busy. As treatment wound down, I dialed back up my responsibilities at work.  Now the filp-side is true. In the last two weeks I have facilitated one training and attended two others. This meant traveling cross-country to Florida, Wilton Connecticut, and Chicago.  Throw on top of that Thanksgiving travel, three snow-days where the kids were out of school and you’ve got yourself a full agenda. Looking in to the future also planning travel to Santa Fe in two weeks. So now you’re probably wondering what spurned the return to the blog or what exciting topic would make me pick up the pen… er… laptop. I certainly have missed writing and have felt a tug towards getting proverbial pen to paper, but alas it is not solely for those reasons that I am writing today. As I mentioned I went to a training this week. I ran into many people I had not seen since last year’s training. Some of them knew I had cancer; others had no idea. I had to re-tell my (now shortened into almost an elevator pitch) story on how I’m doing. I so desperately wanted to just say: “I had cancer, and I’m cured.”  Instead it was more likely to come out: “I had cancer, but at this point things look fine, but only time will tell.” I know there’s a whole book published on life after cancer (which I’m not going to read) but this is a brave new world for me. I have been desperate to get back to normal, but I’m not able (and frankly not willing) to give up the acknowledgement that this has permanently changed me. Let’s just hope it’s for the better, right?  

five down 20-23 to go...

Radiation started this past week. I have now endured 5 sets of being bombarded by particles that both cure and cause cancer. Monday the ordeal kicked off about 1/2 hour late. I have one of the earlier timeslots in the morning and these appointments are supposed to run much more like a swiss clock than normal doctor's visits, which I would liken to swiss cheese. So this did not leave me with the confidence that things would always be on time and on schedule. Fortunatey Tuesday - Thursday was pretty much on time, but Friday was almost an hour late. Given that the actual radiation treatment takes about 1/2 hour the overall average time commitment is close to 2 hours once you factor in the commute and changing into approrpiate garb. Also, on a weekly basis I am expexted to meet with the radiation oncologist to make sure treatment is going well. So far things are going okay and I have minimal debilitating side effects. However, given that I have about 10 hours a week dedicated to those doctor's appointments and I'm working full-time I've still been trying to figure out how to fit all things together. Add on top of that the other personal obligations such as Katarina's first day of kindergarten (which is probably worthy of a whole post in and of itself).

The radiation is interesting enough. I get placed on a machine and they move me around until my tattoos and markings are lined up in the lazer sights. Then they cover me with a flimsy blanket to keep me warm and leave the room. I should be able to pick my music, but usually they have a classical CD playing. Thursday I got a trip down memory land starting with Dreamweaver and then Blinded by the Light - how fitting, eh? Then I start counting. The big machine zaps me from 9 different angles. I even started counting the number of total zaps to keep my mind off how cold I am or how uncomfortable it is to lie flat on my back on a metal plate (221 I think). I don't get the same number of beams from every angle, so it's kind of fun to know how far I've gone and how many are left: 27, move, 50, move, 72, 96, etc. It may not seem like much, but it helps to pass the time.

Like I mentioned, I have not felt too many side effects. Fatigue is a big one. Mere mortals probably would be wiped out, but I'm still powering through. The other main side effects are nausea and general digestive junk. To combat the nausea I have been eating more, which sadly is no help to my struggle to not gain any more weight. My doctor told me not to worry about it, but he's not the ones who can't fit into his cute gray pinstriped pantsuit.

out of the house and running...

Today I went for a "run". My running buddies (Christina, Erin, Jill, Alyssa - yeah team!!) all came out to plod along for about .6 miles before I had to walk. We finished the rest of the way around Greenlake (just shy of 3 miles) with lots of chatting and overall good spirits and just a little more jogging thrown in. Not what I would call a great run by pre-cancer standards, but it did leave me feeling much more energetic and refreshed. Also as Erin pointed out we were doing a heck of a lot more than probably 75% of the rest of the US population. My one titch of sadness was when I reset my garmin GPS watch and my last run was still on the display. My last run was just a few days before my hysterectomy. I knew I had cancer, but at that point it was just going to be a minor inconvenience, right? The recovery from surgery was expected to be 10-14 days with good outlook that there was nothing else needed. I wouldn't really be behind schedule for the Rock-N-Roll 1/2 marathon that we had signed up for. Minor inconvenience I had kept telling myself. It had been a great 6.51 miles where I was playing my part of drill sargent / general pain in the ass / running circles around my buddies saying really annoying things like "pick it up guys, I'm the one with cancer". Ok - I probably wasn't that annoying (at least I hope not), but I sure felt great at the time.

So back to today - the sun was out, it was warm and I was wearing my running skirt (Katarina helped make sure I was dressed "pretty" today). My biggest struggle was that I felt like I didn't have the lung capacity to keep running. I was just simply unable to keep going. On the way home I was telling Todd how disappointing that was for me. He reminded me that my red blood cell count would be on the decrease this week, and should be it's lowest point next week (which is when I go in for blood draws to make sure it's not too low). So not really a surprise to him that I was feeling like a fish out of water. But his cool observation was that if I can and do keep running during chemo then it's possible/likely that my body will be better equipped to handle runs when this whole thing is over because it will have adjusted and will handle oxygen more efficiently. Maybe that's the superpower he keeps talking about?

I think this also means that I'm really going to have to seriously consider going back to work. Or not... But that's another topic...