To Chemo, and back

It's hard to believe nearly a whole week has passed since I went for my first round of chemo. In the days leading up to it, I felt very much like I was getting ready to leave on a trip -- packing my bag, making arrangements for the kids, squeezing in a dentist appointment and every last errand (yes, three trips to Target). There was time for a sweet visit from some dear friends from work, who came with unbelievably thoughtful gifts (a DVD collection of chick flicks among them) and stacks of cards from my CalPERS family. What a wonderful send off.

The funny thing about my stay in the hospital, and even the days at home that followed, is how much it still felt like being away on a trip. A very strange, somewhat hallucinatory trip. There are many days that I still don't recall very well, and I find myself asking my family to tell me again and again the sequence of events.

I waited for half the day Tuesday to get the call that a hospital bed was available, and was finally admitted at 2 p.m. Then some good news -- I didn't have to wear that horrible hospital gown -- so instead changed into a cute new pair of PJs from my sister Laurie's most recent care package. The next several hours, I received antinausea pre-meds and IV hydration in preparation for my recipe of chemo drugs, which is known to be hard on the kidneys. Josh stayed with me the whole time in a reclining chair next to my bed, and it reminded me of the last time we were hunkered down at Mercy Hospital -- for Hayden's birth nearly six years ago. I know that recliner was far from comfortable, but Josh never said a word.

When Dr. Blair stopped by my room at 6 p.m., he was just finishing his day -- while I felt like mine was just beginning. He told me that my PET scan images from last Friday looked good. There were no other tumors -- thank God -- just two lymph nodes that reacted suspiciously, possibly due to their proximity to the original tumor. He seemed really positive, but was strict about no visitors and told me to focus on getting plenty of rest in the days to come. I phoned home to say goodnight to the kids and finally settled in, feeling more hopeful than scared.

By 11 p.m., I watched the nurse inject my three chemo drugs, one after the other, into my IV. Fortunately, one of my anti-nausea drugs (Ativan) also packed a pretty good punch of sleep-inducing agents. The next two days were a blur -- I was kept on a steady dose of the Ativan -- and barely remember getting discharged Thursday morning by one of Dr. Blair's colleagues. At my follow-up appointment in his office the next day, Dr. Blair said I was showing signs of dehydration. He kept me for a few hours of additional IV hydration and stressed the need for a clear liquid diet -- something that had been left off of my discharge papers, it seems.

I have no idea how things went for the next couple of days, thanks mostly to the Ativan. My oldest sister Donna slept on our couch for nearly a week, tending to my every need, laundering and disinfecting everything in sight, stocking up on necessities and keeping the house running in tip-top shape. When Donna returned to her home in Tahoe, my next oldest sister Wendy generously jumped right in to pick up where she left off.

Our little family made it through this first round of chemo remarkably well, and I thoroughly appreciate all the attention and assistance we've received -- from playdates to storybooks, and even finding flu shots for the kids. Camryn and Hayden have been handling a potentially scary time with such ease and maturity. I couldn't ask for a smoother transition.

The last several days have felt like I was living in another world -- nothing much more than sleeping and pounding liquids. Meals and groceries have magically arrived to feed my family -- thank you! -- and I've enjoyed the brief visits from loved ones, even though I was certainly foggy for most of them. Gifts of fashionable hats, flower (and fruit!) arrangements, baked goodies, reading materials, and knitting supplies have all warmed my heart.

One night in particular, a dear friend and neighbor -- who also happens to be a cancer survivor -- arrived with a cookbook of tried-and-true recipes for cancer patients, along with a stockpot full of hearty, mineral-rich vegetables to make what I now call the Miracle Soup. The broth alone from that soup has nourished me every day since, and tonight I was able to enjoy my first solid food -- those same vegetables in the form of a stew. It tasted like Thanksgiving dinner. Thank you, thank you, thank you to Martha for such a gift.

After so many days of sleeping, I'm starting to experience a bit of insomnia. That's where the opportunity to journal on this blog is so helpful. And now that my mind feels clearer, I've also started reading a book that Donna brought me, called Close to the Bone: Life-Threatening Illness as a Soul Journey. It's the kind of book I want to take a highlighter to, with so many insights I know I'll want to revisit.

So it's now the middle of the night (sorry Donna & Wendy) and I should try to go back to bed, but I just want to share one item from the book's dedication, which made me smile. The author, Jean Shinoda Bolen, MD, writes:

"The original publication date for Close to the Bone was October 2, 1996. I think of a book's 'pub date' as its birthday, the date it officially enters the world to have a life of its own. When I learned that October 2 is Guardian Angel Day on the Catholic calendar, this felt like a synchronicity. I thought about something that I had heard: that when we pray for people, we are sending angels to be with them. Since my intentions are to help and heal, to make you less afraid, to encourage you to trust your inner wisdom and be fiercely true to what you know in your bones, this book comes with prayers. It tickles me to wonder whether this might mean that it will also come with angels."

I feel blessed already to have so many angels out there. Thank you for supporting me and my family during this time in our lives. Your prayers and love are what I am most thankful for, on this coming Thankgiving day. That and the three weeks of rest until I make my next trip to chemo.

Love to you all,
Angela