Monthly Archives: August 2013
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Chemo infusion #11 overall, of a total of 16 prescribed, if you count the dose-dense A/C, which Ken does count.
Looking at it from Ken’s perspective, in truth we are beginning our decent off the top of THIS mountain.
This plus the additional good news of my friend Anne, who got a clean bill of health from her surgeon, and NO metastases, means that today has been a GREAT day. Halleluiah!
So I can’t stand door-to-door sales types, like most of you. I never know what to say to get them off my porch, without feeling like a bitch for being honest when I say “I am not interested.” Whatever feeble reason I give, it’s never good enough, and I find myself in a battle of excuses and counter-attacks, until I am weary and confirmed as the wimp that I know I am.
Well, today was a little different. I’m sitting at home, worn out from traveling and chemo, trying to relax and enjoy Phillippa Gregory’s “The Lady of the Rivers”, when some poopedy-poop head starts leaning on my doorbell, and then pounding on the door, apparently because I am not moving fast enough. (It’s a long rambler, okay?) I’m not wearing a head covering, cause even though it’s only 76 degrees outside, for a woman in the middle of chemo-induced menopause, it’s a freaking heat wave. I’m ALWAYS too hot. Except when I’m too cold, when I’m also freaking irritable. The cold lasts about 37 seconds, the irritable lasts all day.
Anyway, there I am, all Amazon warrior princess, bald-headed and cranky. I get to the door, and open it to a FIOS representative with his little clipboard and badge. Shit. Not even the UPS guy with a package for me. Packages I cheer up for, and can even manage a smile. But no, it’s a FIOS salesmen. They are here about every three months, no matter if I already have FIOS or not (we don’t). For this I hate them. “Hi!” he says, way too cheerfully. “Yeah?” I say, my tone implying what the hell do you want NOW. “I’m from FIOS,” he chirps, again, way too cheerfully. I pause, taking in his badge, his clipboard, his anxious face. “I don’t want any,” I say, tersely. “Okay!” he says, apparently very happy to be released, and no argument or cajoling to keep the sale. Wow, that was easy.
Either his sales quota is in good shape, and he doesn’t really need ME, or it’s just not worth pursuing if it means he has to deal with ME, the one-breasted, bald-headed crank of Lynnwood. Either way, I’m laughing my butt off, as to me, this is the funniest thing EVER.
Bald is power. I may keep it this way.
So, so last night. Thursday was taxol infusion #6. Nurse calls it “the top of the mountain” and in a way it is, so, yay! Though I must recognize that each infusion only intensifies the effects. Even as we celebrate being halfway through taxol, in reality things could become more difficult the closer we get to the end. The possibilities include more fatigue, more neuropathy, more nail pain. But we gotta keep on truckin’.
So, so tired today…
Taking ibuprofen, but that doesn’t really help with the neuropathy. My feet are numb and tingling all over, not just the bottoms of my feet, but now the tops as well.
So yesterday, Friday, was for me a super terrific day. 24 hours post infusion #4, and I had no pain in my hands, no numbness in my feet, no all-over body aches or cramping, so I got a little cocky. I took out the recycling, did some laundry, and the topper, scrubbed the kitchen floor. Well, today we are starting off with two Aleve before breakfast. My hands and feet are numb, my joints ache, and while so far I don’t feel my usual all over fatigue, I can sense it coming, as all across the top of my shoulder blades we have the beginning of a deep-down muscle ache. And no, I don’t think it’s all from scrubbing the darn kitchen floor. Although the ache in my right bicep may be from that. I think I’m getting too old for this crap…