I'm not going to wax philosophical yet -- I'll save that for tomorrow or Saturday -- but I am feeling so strongly that this pair of years, 2004 and 2005, will come to truly mark a distinct, verifiable turning point in my life. More on that later.
I've got the port "installation" scheduled. I don't think it's referred to as an installation, actually, but I've been in the computer deployment biz, and I've been in the window treatments biz, and I just can't quite shake the desire to apply this verb to this context. That little puppy is going to save me quite a lot of pain and heartache, I understand, so I will not hate it's hard protrusion in my chest. I will love it as I will love the chemo, befriending them both as dear allies who are on my side. Now, I'm perfectly aware that this sounds like a whole big buncha crazy psychobabble hooey -- or for some, a certain reference to bovine excrement might have come to mind -- but damned if I'm not focusing on some of that good ol' good time Positive Energy! Do not ever forget that I grew up in a commune, and I believe strongly that to set up barriers between myself and my treatment would be counterproductive.
Jan. 11th: 6:30 a.m. (Yikes!) The port will be implanted in my chest at the hospital by the same surgeon who did my biopsy. We like him. (An aside: Don't you think it's the height of compliments to have a patient return to you for further cutting? I mean, it's not like going back for another haircut, you know?)
Thursday, December 30
Wednesday, December 29
The Jury's In
Ok, first things first: I like the oncologist very much. She's clearly capable, has lots of experience treating Lymphoma patients (both Hodgkins and non-Hodgkins,) and she's very personable -- warm, funny, kind, and gentle.
I'm Stage IIIB, pending a bone marrow biopsy scheduled for next week see whether or not it's in my bone marrow yet or not. If it is, then I'll be Stage IVB, which will not alter my course of treatment, but will tell us we need to do another biopsy at what we think is the end of the treatment to ensure that it's gone from there also. Stage III means that it's in my abdomen (I've got a little activity there -- seems like one or two lymph nodes only) rather than just above it. The "B" designation means that I had symptoms of the disease -- some folks are asymptomatic, although usually at an earlier stage. My symptoms were night sweats, low-grade fever, itching, and dizzyness. "Unexplained weight loss" is another symptom, but it's unclear whether or not any of my loss resulted from the disease, as I was working so hard to lose weight already, and my weight loss was not unreasonable in someone trying consistently over 8 months - the period over which I lost the 77 pounds. Who knows. It doesn't matter in terms of staging, because I already had other symptoms to support a B designation, anyway, so it's moot.
As it stands now, I'm going to do 6 cycles (each 28 days) of the chemo-cocktail ABVD, with no radiation anticipated at this point. That's 12 treatments. The ABVD is WONDERFUL news! I was really hoping that she was not going to steer me towards MOPP, or a MOPP/ABVD hybrid, as the M in MOPP stands for mustard gas, and has miserabl toxic effects, with long term ramifications and an accompanying 30-40 lb. weight gain and "moon face" and bloating phenomenon from the accompanying steroids. The ABVD is no picnic, but it's been proven to do the best job in the most "sustainable" way, with fewer longterm risks. Not all chemo-cocktails guarantee a total body hair loss -- ABVD does in most individuals. 3 of the 4 medicines -- the ABV portions -- make you lose your hair, so I am to expect to start losing it after about the second treatment. I will receive the chemo every other Thursday, for a total of 12 times. That's the plan now, anyway.
Unlike Non-Hodgkins, Hodgkins Lymphoma progresses in a very orderly fashion, moving methodically through your body from north to south. The PET scan is the most advanced means currently to identify where the malignant cancer is present: you drink a combination of radioactive fluid and glucose, the glucose goes directly to the affected areas in your body, and they are then illuminated by the radiactive material. In the case of Non-Hodgkins, it moves and attacks at random. We know that my cancer was present in July of this year, began in my neck, moved into my chest, and has not yet spread widely in my abdomen and pelvic area. Its next move would be to spread into my bone marrow, so we need to biopsy the bone marrow in my hip to ascertain that this has not yet occurred. If it's there, the treatment is no different, but we need to establish or rule out it's presence to set up a baseline for the beginning of my treatment.
Next week I will have the port implanted in my chest -- I'm scheduling that tomorrow with the same surgeon who did my neck biopsy. It's an outpatient procedure, performed under general anesthesia. It's a little titanium devise which connects to a major artery near the heart, and is visible as a hard bump beneath the skin. They poke it every time they draw blood or give you your IV treatments, but not until the skin has been numbed with some kind of magical ointment.
The doctor really had wanted to sneak in the bone marrow biopsy today and then have me get in the port either this week or early next week so we could start at the end of next week, so as not to lose more time. The holiday and the resultant delay in getting today's appointment have slowed us down a little. But she couldn't squeeze me in today, so putting it into next week pushed the chemo start back to January 13. There's still a lot to do beforehand though. Not to mention, she's got me on another kind of antibiotic to try to get me well before I start.
Tuesday, Jan. 4: Chemo class with Lorraine -- kind of a Chemo 101 -- what to expect, how it works, see the environment, etc.
Wednesday, Jan 5: 9:00 a.m. Bone marrow biopsy (OUCH!), followed by an Echocardiogram at 1:00 p.m. The Echocardiogram uses sound imaging to assess the heart's condition and fitness. My doctor wants to make sure that there are no abnormalities prior to beginning chemo.
Wednesday, Jan 12: 9:15 a.m. Meet with Oncologist to review bone marrow biopsy results and talk prior to starting chemo. At this time, she'll give me some prescriptions for anti-nausea drugs and more, so I have them when I start the chemo the next week.
Thursday, Jan. 13: 9:00 a.m. First chemo treatment. The first one will take the longest -- 6 hours. One of the chemo medicines -- the B in the ABVD -- Bleomycin, can cause an allergic reaction, so they have to administer a little of it through my port-a-cath and then observe me for 4 hours afterwards before combining it with the other chemicals in the treatment. Going forward, the treatments won't take that long.
Thursday, Jan. 20: 9:15 a.m. Meet with oncologist to monitor how I'm feeling.
Thursday, Jan. 27: 9:00 a.m. 2nd chemo treatment. This one will probably the one which effectively tells my hair to take a walk.
I'm so happy that the oncologist hasn't prescribed the use of steroids. I'd try to be as positive as I could about any treatment prescribed, but, all things being equal, I'd not opt to blow up with extreme water retention, have my metabolism slow down to a crawl, and experience ravenous hunger which makes me want to eat no matter how I'm feeling. The average person gains 30-40 pounds in the first 6 months on them. I would have done it if I'd had to, but I've gotta say that again my prayers were answered.
And I'm thrilled that she's not recommending radiation after the chemo treatments, as it's the primary culprit behind the development of secondary cancers in Hodgkins survivors -- they survive Hodgkins, only to fall to Some Other Cancer. My affected areas are not in one centralized location. The term is "bulky." I'm not bulky; my affected lymph nodes are all over the place, so they couldn't really zap one area. She said we should be able to kill it all with the chemo. From her lips to God's ears.
Another thing I like about her is that she's not CT scan-happy. Some oncologists want to view them every couple of months to see the progress, but she wants to wait for 3 because the scans themselves are damaging. Of course they're necessary, and a real gift in terms of what they offer, but they do damage the body, so she's a little more conservative with them. Thank you very much, Doctor. I was concerned about this, so it was great to hear her bring it up. Growing up, I had so many thousands of intense x-rays on my esophogus -- back before they started to think that maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Then they realized it and backed off a bit, but I always worry when I get x-rays on my esophogus or chest area now because I've already had so many.
Lorraine and I both liked her very, very much. And Lorraine was so wonderful. She took notes while I asked questions, and she reminded me of things in establishing a history for the doctor. She was patient (this is HUGE for Lorraine) and of course so loving. It was hard. There was a lot of waiting; waiting to get in, waiting to set up the first chemo appointment, and then waiting to set up the biopsy and meeting appointments with the doc. We were surrounded by folks at all different stages of their treatment, and it was just....difficult. A lovely older woman was sitting facing us, with her bag of knitting and her bible, waiting for her chemo appointment. She was just sitting quietly, reading that bible, and then suddenly, gently, she was asleep. Her purse strap over her shoulder, bible in hands, bag of knitting next to her, knit cap on her head....it pulls at your heart, you know? It brought tears to my eyes.
Speaking of tears, I spoke to her about the Zoloft. I never took any, because I wanted to run it by her first. She said it's a great idea, and recommended I start. She said I should take all the help I can get. I took my first little baby dose tonight.
All in all, it's all good. I'm in good hands, I am loved and supported, I have great insurance, and my prognosis is good. Stage IIIB doesn't smell of death in Hodgkins -- nor does Stage IVB, if it comes to that. We're hoping we can kill it in 12 treatments, but if that's too optimistic, so be it -- we'll just do more. I am very, very fortunate, and I am NOT going to take that for granted. Never again. B.C., Before Cancer, I tried to count my blessings and appreciate my life, but I did most certainly take for granted that I would not get cancer. And you know what? I was wrong. You know what else? I will look for the blessings in this experience, and try to take away from it wisdom, a new perspective, and a more finely honed sense of enjoyment of life and it's gifts.
It's a real kick in the ass, this thing, you know?
I'm Stage IIIB, pending a bone marrow biopsy scheduled for next week see whether or not it's in my bone marrow yet or not. If it is, then I'll be Stage IVB, which will not alter my course of treatment, but will tell us we need to do another biopsy at what we think is the end of the treatment to ensure that it's gone from there also. Stage III means that it's in my abdomen (I've got a little activity there -- seems like one or two lymph nodes only) rather than just above it. The "B" designation means that I had symptoms of the disease -- some folks are asymptomatic, although usually at an earlier stage. My symptoms were night sweats, low-grade fever, itching, and dizzyness. "Unexplained weight loss" is another symptom, but it's unclear whether or not any of my loss resulted from the disease, as I was working so hard to lose weight already, and my weight loss was not unreasonable in someone trying consistently over 8 months - the period over which I lost the 77 pounds. Who knows. It doesn't matter in terms of staging, because I already had other symptoms to support a B designation, anyway, so it's moot.
As it stands now, I'm going to do 6 cycles (each 28 days) of the chemo-cocktail ABVD, with no radiation anticipated at this point. That's 12 treatments. The ABVD is WONDERFUL news! I was really hoping that she was not going to steer me towards MOPP, or a MOPP/ABVD hybrid, as the M in MOPP stands for mustard gas, and has miserabl toxic effects, with long term ramifications and an accompanying 30-40 lb. weight gain and "moon face" and bloating phenomenon from the accompanying steroids. The ABVD is no picnic, but it's been proven to do the best job in the most "sustainable" way, with fewer longterm risks. Not all chemo-cocktails guarantee a total body hair loss -- ABVD does in most individuals. 3 of the 4 medicines -- the ABV portions -- make you lose your hair, so I am to expect to start losing it after about the second treatment. I will receive the chemo every other Thursday, for a total of 12 times. That's the plan now, anyway.
Unlike Non-Hodgkins, Hodgkins Lymphoma progresses in a very orderly fashion, moving methodically through your body from north to south. The PET scan is the most advanced means currently to identify where the malignant cancer is present: you drink a combination of radioactive fluid and glucose, the glucose goes directly to the affected areas in your body, and they are then illuminated by the radiactive material. In the case of Non-Hodgkins, it moves and attacks at random. We know that my cancer was present in July of this year, began in my neck, moved into my chest, and has not yet spread widely in my abdomen and pelvic area. Its next move would be to spread into my bone marrow, so we need to biopsy the bone marrow in my hip to ascertain that this has not yet occurred. If it's there, the treatment is no different, but we need to establish or rule out it's presence to set up a baseline for the beginning of my treatment.
Next week I will have the port implanted in my chest -- I'm scheduling that tomorrow with the same surgeon who did my neck biopsy. It's an outpatient procedure, performed under general anesthesia. It's a little titanium devise which connects to a major artery near the heart, and is visible as a hard bump beneath the skin. They poke it every time they draw blood or give you your IV treatments, but not until the skin has been numbed with some kind of magical ointment.
The doctor really had wanted to sneak in the bone marrow biopsy today and then have me get in the port either this week or early next week so we could start at the end of next week, so as not to lose more time. The holiday and the resultant delay in getting today's appointment have slowed us down a little. But she couldn't squeeze me in today, so putting it into next week pushed the chemo start back to January 13. There's still a lot to do beforehand though. Not to mention, she's got me on another kind of antibiotic to try to get me well before I start.
Tuesday, Jan. 4: Chemo class with Lorraine -- kind of a Chemo 101 -- what to expect, how it works, see the environment, etc.
Wednesday, Jan 5: 9:00 a.m. Bone marrow biopsy (OUCH!), followed by an Echocardiogram at 1:00 p.m. The Echocardiogram uses sound imaging to assess the heart's condition and fitness. My doctor wants to make sure that there are no abnormalities prior to beginning chemo.
Wednesday, Jan 12: 9:15 a.m. Meet with Oncologist to review bone marrow biopsy results and talk prior to starting chemo. At this time, she'll give me some prescriptions for anti-nausea drugs and more, so I have them when I start the chemo the next week.
Thursday, Jan. 13: 9:00 a.m. First chemo treatment. The first one will take the longest -- 6 hours. One of the chemo medicines -- the B in the ABVD -- Bleomycin, can cause an allergic reaction, so they have to administer a little of it through my port-a-cath and then observe me for 4 hours afterwards before combining it with the other chemicals in the treatment. Going forward, the treatments won't take that long.
Thursday, Jan. 20: 9:15 a.m. Meet with oncologist to monitor how I'm feeling.
Thursday, Jan. 27: 9:00 a.m. 2nd chemo treatment. This one will probably the one which effectively tells my hair to take a walk.
I'm so happy that the oncologist hasn't prescribed the use of steroids. I'd try to be as positive as I could about any treatment prescribed, but, all things being equal, I'd not opt to blow up with extreme water retention, have my metabolism slow down to a crawl, and experience ravenous hunger which makes me want to eat no matter how I'm feeling. The average person gains 30-40 pounds in the first 6 months on them. I would have done it if I'd had to, but I've gotta say that again my prayers were answered.
And I'm thrilled that she's not recommending radiation after the chemo treatments, as it's the primary culprit behind the development of secondary cancers in Hodgkins survivors -- they survive Hodgkins, only to fall to Some Other Cancer. My affected areas are not in one centralized location. The term is "bulky." I'm not bulky; my affected lymph nodes are all over the place, so they couldn't really zap one area. She said we should be able to kill it all with the chemo. From her lips to God's ears.
Another thing I like about her is that she's not CT scan-happy. Some oncologists want to view them every couple of months to see the progress, but she wants to wait for 3 because the scans themselves are damaging. Of course they're necessary, and a real gift in terms of what they offer, but they do damage the body, so she's a little more conservative with them. Thank you very much, Doctor. I was concerned about this, so it was great to hear her bring it up. Growing up, I had so many thousands of intense x-rays on my esophogus -- back before they started to think that maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Then they realized it and backed off a bit, but I always worry when I get x-rays on my esophogus or chest area now because I've already had so many.
Lorraine and I both liked her very, very much. And Lorraine was so wonderful. She took notes while I asked questions, and she reminded me of things in establishing a history for the doctor. She was patient (this is HUGE for Lorraine) and of course so loving. It was hard. There was a lot of waiting; waiting to get in, waiting to set up the first chemo appointment, and then waiting to set up the biopsy and meeting appointments with the doc. We were surrounded by folks at all different stages of their treatment, and it was just....difficult. A lovely older woman was sitting facing us, with her bag of knitting and her bible, waiting for her chemo appointment. She was just sitting quietly, reading that bible, and then suddenly, gently, she was asleep. Her purse strap over her shoulder, bible in hands, bag of knitting next to her, knit cap on her head....it pulls at your heart, you know? It brought tears to my eyes.
Speaking of tears, I spoke to her about the Zoloft. I never took any, because I wanted to run it by her first. She said it's a great idea, and recommended I start. She said I should take all the help I can get. I took my first little baby dose tonight.
All in all, it's all good. I'm in good hands, I am loved and supported, I have great insurance, and my prognosis is good. Stage IIIB doesn't smell of death in Hodgkins -- nor does Stage IVB, if it comes to that. We're hoping we can kill it in 12 treatments, but if that's too optimistic, so be it -- we'll just do more. I am very, very fortunate, and I am NOT going to take that for granted. Never again. B.C., Before Cancer, I tried to count my blessings and appreciate my life, but I did most certainly take for granted that I would not get cancer. And you know what? I was wrong. You know what else? I will look for the blessings in this experience, and try to take away from it wisdom, a new perspective, and a more finely honed sense of enjoyment of life and it's gifts.
It's a real kick in the ass, this thing, you know?
Tuesday, December 28
Oncologist Eve
Whoo whee, tomorrow's the big day! The appointment is at 9:00, so I'm sure Lorraine is going to want to leave the house at 7:30 to get there, because you know a lot can occur to slow you down over the course of 16 1/2 miles! I kid -- we will actually have to leave at 8:00 because rush hour won't be pretty and we'll already be nervous without having to worry about being late -- but truly my beloved truly is a bit of a nut job when it comes to punctuality. We're talking craaaaaaazy.....but as neuroses go, it's not the worst one to have!
I'm still totally sick, sick, sick. I stayed home from work today to try to recover that much more before tomorrow's appointment, but I know my lungs are, well -- moist. Bigtime croup, and bigtime nasal skank, too. I keep coughing it up but the supply really seems quite endless. There's more, but I'm sure you've got the picture. I know the oncologist is not going to be happy with this illness, and trust that she'll provide some means of getting well enough for treatment, since the Z-pack antibiotics proved pretty ineffective.
In other news, I've made a decision to forgo the PICC line in favor of an implanted port-a-cath. The diminished scarring and preferred scar location of the former do not outweigh the latter's benefits of low maintenance and ability to get wet. I truly don't want to have hassles bathing, and I was not exactly enthused either when I read that the arm PICC line had to be flushed daily and maintained at home weekly by a visiting nurse. So, for me, a chest port it will be. I've got so much scarring from my breast reduction, gastroplasty (as a baby, when I drank oven cleaner,) my poor little bunionectomy, and now the neck biopsy -- I guess another 2-inch scar on my chest isn't going to amount to much in the greater scheme of things. Right?
I'm going to turn in now and snuggle under the covers with Lorraine. She's REALLY stressed out about tomorrow's appointment. I am feeling strangely calm and almost relieved. I just want to hear someone with a comforting, credible manner tell me what we're doing, when we're doing it, and why it's the very best idea. The waiting has been really hard.
I'm still totally sick, sick, sick. I stayed home from work today to try to recover that much more before tomorrow's appointment, but I know my lungs are, well -- moist. Bigtime croup, and bigtime nasal skank, too. I keep coughing it up but the supply really seems quite endless. There's more, but I'm sure you've got the picture. I know the oncologist is not going to be happy with this illness, and trust that she'll provide some means of getting well enough for treatment, since the Z-pack antibiotics proved pretty ineffective.
In other news, I've made a decision to forgo the PICC line in favor of an implanted port-a-cath. The diminished scarring and preferred scar location of the former do not outweigh the latter's benefits of low maintenance and ability to get wet. I truly don't want to have hassles bathing, and I was not exactly enthused either when I read that the arm PICC line had to be flushed daily and maintained at home weekly by a visiting nurse. So, for me, a chest port it will be. I've got so much scarring from my breast reduction, gastroplasty (as a baby, when I drank oven cleaner,) my poor little bunionectomy, and now the neck biopsy -- I guess another 2-inch scar on my chest isn't going to amount to much in the greater scheme of things. Right?
I'm going to turn in now and snuggle under the covers with Lorraine. She's REALLY stressed out about tomorrow's appointment. I am feeling strangely calm and almost relieved. I just want to hear someone with a comforting, credible manner tell me what we're doing, when we're doing it, and why it's the very best idea. The waiting has been really hard.
Monday, December 27
Monday, Monday
I sure wish I felt better. That head cold I picked up last Monday is still with me full force. I've completed the series of antibiotics that the doc gave me, but I'm still going gangbusters with the congestion, coughing, deep chest rumbling, and weakness. I sure hope I lick it before my oncologist visit on Wednesday -- I know I can't begin treatment until the bug is gone. I'm sure she'll have some good input. Lorraine's got it, too, so at least I know it's not just me and my weakened immune system.
I'm working hard to wrap things up at work. I know I don't have much more time here, so I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends which inevitably result from time spent in positions with some degree of autonomy and self-direction. I want to make sure that anyone stepping in behind me can readily access and understand all of my work. I'm a Human Resources Generalist for a technology company, so I'm responsible for a variety of HR-related activities: technology recruitment, writing of all HR materials, hiring at all levels, all Affirmative Action program administration and maintenance, and some benefits and employment terms administration. I'm going to really miss this job. I really wish that I could stay on part time and still maintain my benefits, but in order to do so, I'd have to work at least 30 hours per week, and that's just not going to be feasible. I spoke online in a cancer chat room last night with a woman in Portland who's been able to maintain her benefits for years going down from full time to 20 hours per month. 20 hours per month. That would be ideal during this upcoming period. As I am an American of the homosexual persuasion, and a resident of Maryland, I am unable to enroll in my partner's benefits, so that leaves me on disability to maintain my insured status -- and therefore unable to gain employment elsewhere for the duration of my LTD status. I will, however, receive 66 2/3% of my pay. It is taxed, so I am going to opt to change my status to exempt, so we can get the full amount during the year and then pay The Man what's owed with Lorraine's [usually quite healthy] tax return. How 'bout them apples? Are we not clever? (Actually, that one was my idea.) We've been trying not to freak out about the financial ramifications of my having cancer, but we're not wealthy people, and we do rely on both incomes. As for the upcoming medical bills, they will all just have to be satisfied with tiny monthly payments, because otherwise we'll fall behind fast. Fortunately I've got great insurance: CareFirst Blue Cross Blue Shield, and it's a PPO. So I'm very grateful that they will cover the lion's share of the expenses. The remainder we will just pay off for years to come. It is what it is.
I'm seeing a dear friend from San Francisco tonight -- he's in town. I haven't seen him in about 8 years, so I'm pretty excited. I just wish I felt better.
And I THOUGHT my ears were burning! Seems my little calamity has got some folks to thinking...about life, about complaints, and about self-acceptance. All this profound thinking about existential realities, and here I am, worried about weight gain and how to create credible faux eyebrows! Thanks for thinking of me, Beautiful Mia, Saucy Marla, and Contemplative VJ. You guys rock.
I'm working hard to wrap things up at work. I know I don't have much more time here, so I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends which inevitably result from time spent in positions with some degree of autonomy and self-direction. I want to make sure that anyone stepping in behind me can readily access and understand all of my work. I'm a Human Resources Generalist for a technology company, so I'm responsible for a variety of HR-related activities: technology recruitment, writing of all HR materials, hiring at all levels, all Affirmative Action program administration and maintenance, and some benefits and employment terms administration. I'm going to really miss this job. I really wish that I could stay on part time and still maintain my benefits, but in order to do so, I'd have to work at least 30 hours per week, and that's just not going to be feasible. I spoke online in a cancer chat room last night with a woman in Portland who's been able to maintain her benefits for years going down from full time to 20 hours per month. 20 hours per month. That would be ideal during this upcoming period. As I am an American of the homosexual persuasion, and a resident of Maryland, I am unable to enroll in my partner's benefits, so that leaves me on disability to maintain my insured status -- and therefore unable to gain employment elsewhere for the duration of my LTD status. I will, however, receive 66 2/3% of my pay. It is taxed, so I am going to opt to change my status to exempt, so we can get the full amount during the year and then pay The Man what's owed with Lorraine's [usually quite healthy] tax return. How 'bout them apples? Are we not clever? (Actually, that one was my idea.) We've been trying not to freak out about the financial ramifications of my having cancer, but we're not wealthy people, and we do rely on both incomes. As for the upcoming medical bills, they will all just have to be satisfied with tiny monthly payments, because otherwise we'll fall behind fast. Fortunately I've got great insurance: CareFirst Blue Cross Blue Shield, and it's a PPO. So I'm very grateful that they will cover the lion's share of the expenses. The remainder we will just pay off for years to come. It is what it is.
I'm seeing a dear friend from San Francisco tonight -- he's in town. I haven't seen him in about 8 years, so I'm pretty excited. I just wish I felt better.
And I THOUGHT my ears were burning! Seems my little calamity has got some folks to thinking...about life, about complaints, and about self-acceptance. All this profound thinking about existential realities, and here I am, worried about weight gain and how to create credible faux eyebrows! Thanks for thinking of me, Beautiful Mia, Saucy Marla, and Contemplative VJ. You guys rock.
Sunday, December 26
I'm keeping it all right here
After some thought, I have concluded that my battle with cancer is part and parcel of my journey to babeland, not independent of it -- so I'm going to report on the specifics of my treatment right here. I intend to share the details of my chemo and my experiences with and feelings about it. I hope that others newly diagnosed or otherwise interested can find my blog as well, and am going to see what steps I can make to increase that likelihood.
Today I'm feeling a little differently than I have been. Maybe I have my grief steps mixed up, but I feel like I'm retreating into denial. I'm just a bit overwhelmed by it all. This is the calm before the storm, and I'm feeling this sense of upcoming upheaval and impending doom. Oh, to be an ostrich. I just want to go lie down and not deal with any of it -- an impossible luxury.
Tomorrow and Tuesday, I work, and then it's on to the oncologist Wednesday morning. I'm sure she'll schedule examinations and a port-a-cath insertion right away. I'm really trying to prepare myself for the urgency that's pending. I can't feel overwhelmed now, I have so much more to take on. There will be an onslaught of information and direction, and I'm just going to have to give over control to the treatment and those guiding it. I wish my friends were local. I have friends from work, and friends from other states. I have no local friends with free time to give. Lorraine is completely there for me in every way, but I worry a lot about the impact on her of taking it all on. It's tough enough being a caregiver when you've got help. As I write this, I know that I've had a couple of offers, but the come from people with whom I'm not close, and I'm sure they weren't prepared for a "routine" of help, which is what I think would really help so much. Ultimately, getting help with half of the chemo sessions would be ideal. We'll just play it by ear I guess.
Now, for those of you sending me incredibly beautiful and caring emails, I thank you for the bottom of my heart. I'm feeling AGAIN overwhelmed by your beauty and love, and am sort of at a loss for words in responding to you. Please bear with me while I collect my thoughts and find adequate words. As you can imagine, I'm pretty emotional these days, and I'm just blown away by how very, very caring you are. (You know who you are!)
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your sustaining kindness.
Today I'm feeling a little differently than I have been. Maybe I have my grief steps mixed up, but I feel like I'm retreating into denial. I'm just a bit overwhelmed by it all. This is the calm before the storm, and I'm feeling this sense of upcoming upheaval and impending doom. Oh, to be an ostrich. I just want to go lie down and not deal with any of it -- an impossible luxury.
Tomorrow and Tuesday, I work, and then it's on to the oncologist Wednesday morning. I'm sure she'll schedule examinations and a port-a-cath insertion right away. I'm really trying to prepare myself for the urgency that's pending. I can't feel overwhelmed now, I have so much more to take on. There will be an onslaught of information and direction, and I'm just going to have to give over control to the treatment and those guiding it. I wish my friends were local. I have friends from work, and friends from other states. I have no local friends with free time to give. Lorraine is completely there for me in every way, but I worry a lot about the impact on her of taking it all on. It's tough enough being a caregiver when you've got help. As I write this, I know that I've had a couple of offers, but the come from people with whom I'm not close, and I'm sure they weren't prepared for a "routine" of help, which is what I think would really help so much. Ultimately, getting help with half of the chemo sessions would be ideal. We'll just play it by ear I guess.
Now, for those of you sending me incredibly beautiful and caring emails, I thank you for the bottom of my heart. I'm feeling AGAIN overwhelmed by your beauty and love, and am sort of at a loss for words in responding to you. Please bear with me while I collect my thoughts and find adequate words. As you can imagine, I'm pretty emotional these days, and I'm just blown away by how very, very caring you are. (You know who you are!)
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your sustaining kindness.
Thursday, December 23
I'm going to Italy
Weight: 206
Loss to date: 77 pounds
The above, in case you were wondering, and also in deference to what has been, heretofore, the primary focus of this little bloggina of mine. Cool that I'm not gaining, in spite of a newfound infatuation with chocolate, and cookies, and chocolate cookies (how did I not know about this?)....and most decidedly UNcool for the very same reason. Don't worry -- in case you are -- I'm all set up to eat in a way recommended for my soon-to-come adventure and otherwise nutritionally prepare my body for the chemotherapy experience, in such a way as to assist and support the drugs in their intended purpose. I'm prepared, and ready to go. That said, I've added some chocolate and ice cream to the pre-chemo therapeutic treatment, during this calm before the storm.
Whoo! It's been a while since I posted. I will copy a big update post I shared a few days ago with my 3 Fat Chicks pals in a thread they've got there supporting me. It's so amazing how loving everyone there, and here, has been. People who don't have any online support relationships just don't know how profoundly valuable and real they can be. You know? Anyway, here goes with that post, and then I'll talk more! (So grab a cup of tea and settle in, gentle readers: it's going to be a long one.)
I'm sick now, so I will try to be concise with the huge pile of stuff I have to report, because really should be resting. (My immune system is understandably lousy now, apparently, so I think like 15 minutes after being told that by my doctor yesterday, I picked up a head cold when going to pick up my x-ray and CT scan slides from the hospital where I had them taken. Sheesh!)
So my doc is switched to a woman out of Greater Baltimore Medical Center (voted I think #3 of the best hospitals in America in 2001 by Consumer Reports -- I still wish it were Johns Hopkins, but she came highly recommended.) I'm going to meet her next Wednesday, and on that day she'll either tell me my course of treatment (probably at least 6 months of chemo, followed by radiation) or schedule a biopsy or two to further establish staging (how far along it is.)
Tomorrow I get two tests: (1) a PET scan -- they inject radioactive fluid in you and then film you for up to 2 hours, and it will show all the places in my body the cancerous lymph nodes are present. [Edited to change word from pleasant - which it's NOT - to present - which makes a lot more sense!] (Kind of cool, eh? And not cheap, at $5,000 -- thank God my insurance covers it.) And (2) another CT scan, to see my abdomen and pelvis -- helps with staging also.
Then on Thursday I get the stitches in my neck out -- the scar will be on the left side of my neck, right where the neck meets the shoulder, and is about an inch and a half long. Whatever.
I've already found the place where I'll get a wig; apparently they're very nice there and it's really professional and private and they'll even trim it on you, etc. For real hair, they can go up to like 800-900, but since Lymphoma patients have to have chemo for so much longer than other cancer fighters, the real hair is recommended because it lasts longer than the synthetic hair -- not to mention it's supposed to look better too. I'm going to get one that has the clear scalp base thing, so my own scalp shows through -- it's supposed to look more natural. My insurance will cover $350 of the cost. I'm going to cut my hair really short right before I start, so I don't have to go through the trauma of seeing big clumps of hair on my pillow. Then at the first sign of it coming out, I'm going to just shave the whole thing -- I couldn't bear to have little tufts, you know? I intend to have the wig ready for when that happens, so I'm all set up.
I'm in contact with the Lymphoma Research Foundation's buddy program, and once I have my course of treatment mapped out (the chemo-cocktail, number of 28-day courses, etc.) I will call up the nice woman there and tell her what it is, so she can match me up with someone who's been through it or something similar, and then we'll correspond or phone one another. They match the buddy to your needs, and I said I wanted a woman who's been through what I'm about to, so she can help me along the way. I'm sure at the end of it, I'll want to return the favor to the woman behind me.
My boss is in denial about my leaving work. She just doesn't believe it can be 6 months of chemo, but that's very common with Hodgkins. It's not like breast cancer....it's much, much longer. I'm getting ready for a fight to last 6 months to a year. And most of the people I've read about online who had Lymphoma and spoke of their chemo experiences said that they couldn't work while doing it, unlike some of their breast cancer-surviving friends. I guess it's just a lot heavier. It's definitely longer, and they say that the longer you do it, the more debilitatingly tired you get. Makes sense.
I'm going to get a "port" in my arm before my first chemo session. It's a long arm catheter that allows them to inject the chemo medicines and remove blood without continually sticking you. It leaves a nice scar, so I'm going to have it inserted on my arm, rather than my chest. It can stay in there for a long time, and apparently saves you a lot of pain.
Lorraine is dealing with it differently than I. She acknowledges that she comes from a dysfunctional family that never talks about anything -- "If we don't talk about it, it's not really happening." So her comfort zone is, let's just have a nice time till the doctor tells us what's going to happen, and then we'll deal with it then. I, conversely, feel like I need to know what to expect, so I can prepare myself. Knowledge is power, and I need to try as best I can to build up my stores of preparedness. I know reading about it is not the same as living it, but I don't want to be freaking out when I get little bubbles on my hands and sores in my mouth and have to ask Lorraine to give me shots in my hip -- when all of those things I'm now know are part of this process. She understands my way of dealing with it, and I understand hers, and we're both compromising a little while each getting what we need. So, for instance, I'm not doing any research when we can spend time together, and I'm not bombarding her with the information I'm getting (like she doesn't know yet about that port, which will totally skeeve her.) And she's casually asking to see the books I now have on chemo, nutrition while on chemo, and lymphoma -- and she's quietly checking them out a little bit. She went with me to the doc's yesterday and was a champ. I had a small scuffle with one of the nurses because she didn't want Lorraine to come in because she's not "family," but I insisted, and I wouldn't go in without her, and then my doc heard about it and told her Lorraine should be treated like my spouse and we were all good again. It made me sick, and served as a reminder that I'm going to have to lay the groundwork for respect of our relationship with all the other medical personnel I have before me.
Again, thank you and thank you and thank you for all of your kindness -- I hope this post wasn't too depressing. Lorraine got the doc to give me some Zoloft to lift my spirits, but I don't think I need them. She's concerned that I cry in the middle of the night......and I think that's perfectly natural and kind of comes with the territory. It's part of the grieving process, right? I don't feel debilitated by it because I'm still laughing and smiling, and facing the disease with optimism and MAJOR hunger for knowledge. I imagine I'll become depressed as I progress with the chemo and feel isolated, etc. But for now, I'm ok. In fact, I think I'm going to slip HER those little pills, because I hear they help you to quit smoking and getting pissed off by little stuff! Now I WILL tell you that if I end up in the weight GAIN group of chemoheads, I will NOT be a happy camper. But I'm just going to cross that bridge if and when I come to it.
OK, so I did get the PET and CT scans done yesterday, and they gave me copies of each. Noone has gone over them with me yet -- undoubtedly the oncologist will on Wednesday -- but it's clearly apparent on the PET scan that there are cancerous lymph nodes in my abdomen. So that definitely puts me at Stage III, at least, with a probable 6-8 month chemotherapy duration. I'm not surprised by their presence in my abdomen -- I was prepared for it, as most Mixed Cellular cases are diagnosed at an advanced stage. (Hello again, benefits of research.) It was difficult to see, though. I brought them with me to the surgeon's today -- the dreamboat with the lovely, empathetic and confidence-inspiring manner who took out the two lymph nodes for biopsy. And he confirmed that he saw the same thing, but acceded also that this was not his field of expertise. So we wait. But I'm prepared, I'm steeled, I'm at the ready. I must say his assertion that the large black mass I was seeing in my southernmost girly parts was not after all a mass, but in fact my BLADDER, was a considerable relief! (So much so that I thought, "You know, I could actually pee right now!")
We were in Target today, my love and I, and I saw a woman with a hat on and quite short hair beneath. She was quite pale, and she had no eyelashes or eyebrows. I wanted to rush to her and hug her. Whether she's had any experience with cancer or not, I can tell you she brought up a lot of feelings in me. I hope that people who've survived cancer or loved someone who had cancer come up to me when they can tell I'm fighting it, and I hope they share kind words and good stories, gentle touches, and hugs too. I hope they reach out to me. Maybe it will turn out to be like this secret cult, where you have to know the secret handshake and then you share your secret stories and finish one another's sentences, and laugh together at all the funny parts, and sit comfortably and companionably while sharing experiences with pain. And then you laugh again and do each other's hair. Yeah, that's my dream of what it's like.
Lorraine and I finally got around to wrapping our presents this afternoon -- no gifts for anyone else this year, apparently, it's just ALL about US! At my completely childish urging, "we" decided to get a little jumpstart on Christmas, and exchange one gift apiece, and she loved the wireless card I got her for her work laptop (God knows I love mine on our home laptop.) Her gift was a tearjerker -- not her intention, but it sure did make me cry. She gave me a lovely book of photographs of Italy's beautiful cities, and told me that I can have that now, but when I "kick cancer's ass" we'll go together to Italy, or Greece, or wherever I'd like. Next Christmas. I lived in Italy for several years when I was in my twenties, and I speak of it often, and also of my desire to go back -- and to stop by Greece when I'm in the neighborhood! Now tell me this gift wouldn't make you cry. Is it me?? And aren't you now just as in love with her as I am?? I suspect that book will give me sustainance on some of the low days to come.
Ok, so I've been thinking about something. I've been thinking that maybe I should start a second blog about the Lymphoma thang. That way it could be accessible to folks who might benefit from reading about my experience with it (I know of only two Lymphoma-related blogs out there.) What are your thoughts? And what of a name? Does "Sarah's Ass-Kicking Lymphoma Blog" seem fitting? PLEASE, ALL SUGGESTIONS WELCOME!! I do want to chronicle the experience, both the emotional and physical aspects, as well as some specifics on the medical treatments -- sounds quite cheery, doesn't it? Just a little light reading! But important, right? And valuable to the person seeking information? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Personally, it sounds depressing as all hell, but probably necessary. Would you all come to visit, if I promised to try very hard not to inspire deep depression and/or the onset of suicidal tendencies? It could be the WORLD'S FIRST AMUSING LYMPHOMA BLOG! Hey now there's a catchy name......but rather a commitment, though, no? As you can see, blog-title submissions are in order.
Sending you love and oh-so-grateful hugs for all of your support and beautiful words. Yvonne, I'm going to take you up on your kind offer -- if only to make that Marla jealous because I'll get to have tea with you, and then we can talk about her to our hearts' content. And Jerry, wow, such a gift that you stopped by -- the gods, they are indeed smiling. I applaud your wife's remission (!!!!!!!!!) and will be emailing you both shortly -- thank you so very much for reaching out to me by commenting, and for your offer of support.
To all of you, you don't even know how eagerly I look for your words here....they are food for my heart, and I thank you. And here's my email, you guys: slhawthorne@comcast.net. Kisses and hugs to all of your sweet selves. And if I don't post again before Christmas, Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, and Happy Everything to Everyone.
Loss to date: 77 pounds
The above, in case you were wondering, and also in deference to what has been, heretofore, the primary focus of this little bloggina of mine. Cool that I'm not gaining, in spite of a newfound infatuation with chocolate, and cookies, and chocolate cookies (how did I not know about this?)....and most decidedly UNcool for the very same reason. Don't worry -- in case you are -- I'm all set up to eat in a way recommended for my soon-to-come adventure and otherwise nutritionally prepare my body for the chemotherapy experience, in such a way as to assist and support the drugs in their intended purpose. I'm prepared, and ready to go. That said, I've added some chocolate and ice cream to the pre-chemo therapeutic treatment, during this calm before the storm.
Whoo! It's been a while since I posted. I will copy a big update post I shared a few days ago with my 3 Fat Chicks pals in a thread they've got there supporting me. It's so amazing how loving everyone there, and here, has been. People who don't have any online support relationships just don't know how profoundly valuable and real they can be. You know? Anyway, here goes with that post, and then I'll talk more! (So grab a cup of tea and settle in, gentle readers: it's going to be a long one.)
I'm sick now, so I will try to be concise with the huge pile of stuff I have to report, because really should be resting. (My immune system is understandably lousy now, apparently, so I think like 15 minutes after being told that by my doctor yesterday, I picked up a head cold when going to pick up my x-ray and CT scan slides from the hospital where I had them taken. Sheesh!)
So my doc is switched to a woman out of Greater Baltimore Medical Center (voted I think #3 of the best hospitals in America in 2001 by Consumer Reports -- I still wish it were Johns Hopkins, but she came highly recommended.) I'm going to meet her next Wednesday, and on that day she'll either tell me my course of treatment (probably at least 6 months of chemo, followed by radiation) or schedule a biopsy or two to further establish staging (how far along it is.)
Tomorrow I get two tests: (1) a PET scan -- they inject radioactive fluid in you and then film you for up to 2 hours, and it will show all the places in my body the cancerous lymph nodes are present. [Edited to change word from pleasant - which it's NOT - to present - which makes a lot more sense!] (Kind of cool, eh? And not cheap, at $5,000 -- thank God my insurance covers it.) And (2) another CT scan, to see my abdomen and pelvis -- helps with staging also.
Then on Thursday I get the stitches in my neck out -- the scar will be on the left side of my neck, right where the neck meets the shoulder, and is about an inch and a half long. Whatever.
I've already found the place where I'll get a wig; apparently they're very nice there and it's really professional and private and they'll even trim it on you, etc. For real hair, they can go up to like 800-900, but since Lymphoma patients have to have chemo for so much longer than other cancer fighters, the real hair is recommended because it lasts longer than the synthetic hair -- not to mention it's supposed to look better too. I'm going to get one that has the clear scalp base thing, so my own scalp shows through -- it's supposed to look more natural. My insurance will cover $350 of the cost. I'm going to cut my hair really short right before I start, so I don't have to go through the trauma of seeing big clumps of hair on my pillow. Then at the first sign of it coming out, I'm going to just shave the whole thing -- I couldn't bear to have little tufts, you know? I intend to have the wig ready for when that happens, so I'm all set up.
I'm in contact with the Lymphoma Research Foundation's buddy program, and once I have my course of treatment mapped out (the chemo-cocktail, number of 28-day courses, etc.) I will call up the nice woman there and tell her what it is, so she can match me up with someone who's been through it or something similar, and then we'll correspond or phone one another. They match the buddy to your needs, and I said I wanted a woman who's been through what I'm about to, so she can help me along the way. I'm sure at the end of it, I'll want to return the favor to the woman behind me.
My boss is in denial about my leaving work. She just doesn't believe it can be 6 months of chemo, but that's very common with Hodgkins. It's not like breast cancer....it's much, much longer. I'm getting ready for a fight to last 6 months to a year. And most of the people I've read about online who had Lymphoma and spoke of their chemo experiences said that they couldn't work while doing it, unlike some of their breast cancer-surviving friends. I guess it's just a lot heavier. It's definitely longer, and they say that the longer you do it, the more debilitatingly tired you get. Makes sense.
I'm going to get a "port" in my arm before my first chemo session. It's a long arm catheter that allows them to inject the chemo medicines and remove blood without continually sticking you. It leaves a nice scar, so I'm going to have it inserted on my arm, rather than my chest. It can stay in there for a long time, and apparently saves you a lot of pain.
Lorraine is dealing with it differently than I. She acknowledges that she comes from a dysfunctional family that never talks about anything -- "If we don't talk about it, it's not really happening." So her comfort zone is, let's just have a nice time till the doctor tells us what's going to happen, and then we'll deal with it then. I, conversely, feel like I need to know what to expect, so I can prepare myself. Knowledge is power, and I need to try as best I can to build up my stores of preparedness. I know reading about it is not the same as living it, but I don't want to be freaking out when I get little bubbles on my hands and sores in my mouth and have to ask Lorraine to give me shots in my hip -- when all of those things I'm now know are part of this process. She understands my way of dealing with it, and I understand hers, and we're both compromising a little while each getting what we need. So, for instance, I'm not doing any research when we can spend time together, and I'm not bombarding her with the information I'm getting (like she doesn't know yet about that port, which will totally skeeve her.) And she's casually asking to see the books I now have on chemo, nutrition while on chemo, and lymphoma -- and she's quietly checking them out a little bit. She went with me to the doc's yesterday and was a champ. I had a small scuffle with one of the nurses because she didn't want Lorraine to come in because she's not "family," but I insisted, and I wouldn't go in without her, and then my doc heard about it and told her Lorraine should be treated like my spouse and we were all good again. It made me sick, and served as a reminder that I'm going to have to lay the groundwork for respect of our relationship with all the other medical personnel I have before me.
Again, thank you and thank you and thank you for all of your kindness -- I hope this post wasn't too depressing. Lorraine got the doc to give me some Zoloft to lift my spirits, but I don't think I need them. She's concerned that I cry in the middle of the night......and I think that's perfectly natural and kind of comes with the territory. It's part of the grieving process, right? I don't feel debilitated by it because I'm still laughing and smiling, and facing the disease with optimism and MAJOR hunger for knowledge. I imagine I'll become depressed as I progress with the chemo and feel isolated, etc. But for now, I'm ok. In fact, I think I'm going to slip HER those little pills, because I hear they help you to quit smoking and getting pissed off by little stuff! Now I WILL tell you that if I end up in the weight GAIN group of chemoheads, I will NOT be a happy camper. But I'm just going to cross that bridge if and when I come to it.
OK, so I did get the PET and CT scans done yesterday, and they gave me copies of each. Noone has gone over them with me yet -- undoubtedly the oncologist will on Wednesday -- but it's clearly apparent on the PET scan that there are cancerous lymph nodes in my abdomen. So that definitely puts me at Stage III, at least, with a probable 6-8 month chemotherapy duration. I'm not surprised by their presence in my abdomen -- I was prepared for it, as most Mixed Cellular cases are diagnosed at an advanced stage. (Hello again, benefits of research.) It was difficult to see, though. I brought them with me to the surgeon's today -- the dreamboat with the lovely, empathetic and confidence-inspiring manner who took out the two lymph nodes for biopsy. And he confirmed that he saw the same thing, but acceded also that this was not his field of expertise. So we wait. But I'm prepared, I'm steeled, I'm at the ready. I must say his assertion that the large black mass I was seeing in my southernmost girly parts was not after all a mass, but in fact my BLADDER, was a considerable relief! (So much so that I thought, "You know, I could actually pee right now!")
We were in Target today, my love and I, and I saw a woman with a hat on and quite short hair beneath. She was quite pale, and she had no eyelashes or eyebrows. I wanted to rush to her and hug her. Whether she's had any experience with cancer or not, I can tell you she brought up a lot of feelings in me. I hope that people who've survived cancer or loved someone who had cancer come up to me when they can tell I'm fighting it, and I hope they share kind words and good stories, gentle touches, and hugs too. I hope they reach out to me. Maybe it will turn out to be like this secret cult, where you have to know the secret handshake and then you share your secret stories and finish one another's sentences, and laugh together at all the funny parts, and sit comfortably and companionably while sharing experiences with pain. And then you laugh again and do each other's hair. Yeah, that's my dream of what it's like.
Lorraine and I finally got around to wrapping our presents this afternoon -- no gifts for anyone else this year, apparently, it's just ALL about US! At my completely childish urging, "we" decided to get a little jumpstart on Christmas, and exchange one gift apiece, and she loved the wireless card I got her for her work laptop (God knows I love mine on our home laptop.) Her gift was a tearjerker -- not her intention, but it sure did make me cry. She gave me a lovely book of photographs of Italy's beautiful cities, and told me that I can have that now, but when I "kick cancer's ass" we'll go together to Italy, or Greece, or wherever I'd like. Next Christmas. I lived in Italy for several years when I was in my twenties, and I speak of it often, and also of my desire to go back -- and to stop by Greece when I'm in the neighborhood! Now tell me this gift wouldn't make you cry. Is it me?? And aren't you now just as in love with her as I am?? I suspect that book will give me sustainance on some of the low days to come.
Ok, so I've been thinking about something. I've been thinking that maybe I should start a second blog about the Lymphoma thang. That way it could be accessible to folks who might benefit from reading about my experience with it (I know of only two Lymphoma-related blogs out there.) What are your thoughts? And what of a name? Does "Sarah's Ass-Kicking Lymphoma Blog" seem fitting? PLEASE, ALL SUGGESTIONS WELCOME!! I do want to chronicle the experience, both the emotional and physical aspects, as well as some specifics on the medical treatments -- sounds quite cheery, doesn't it? Just a little light reading! But important, right? And valuable to the person seeking information? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Personally, it sounds depressing as all hell, but probably necessary. Would you all come to visit, if I promised to try very hard not to inspire deep depression and/or the onset of suicidal tendencies? It could be the WORLD'S FIRST AMUSING LYMPHOMA BLOG! Hey now there's a catchy name......but rather a commitment, though, no? As you can see, blog-title submissions are in order.
Sending you love and oh-so-grateful hugs for all of your support and beautiful words. Yvonne, I'm going to take you up on your kind offer -- if only to make that Marla jealous because I'll get to have tea with you, and then we can talk about her to our hearts' content. And Jerry, wow, such a gift that you stopped by -- the gods, they are indeed smiling. I applaud your wife's remission (!!!!!!!!!) and will be emailing you both shortly -- thank you so very much for reaching out to me by commenting, and for your offer of support.
To all of you, you don't even know how eagerly I look for your words here....they are food for my heart, and I thank you. And here's my email, you guys: slhawthorne@comcast.net. Kisses and hugs to all of your sweet selves. And if I don't post again before Christmas, Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, and Happy Everything to Everyone.
Sunday, December 19
The Diagnosis
I have Lymphoma. Specifically, Hodgkins Disease, Mixed Cellularity. I'm pretty amazed to have this knowledge that I have Cancer, but if you're going to get diagnosed with Lymphoma, you definitely want it to be Hodgkins Lymphoma, rather than Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. The good news: my prognosis for surviving Hodgkins is good at 66% for 15 years. The bad news: there's a very strong likelihood of contracting a secondary cancer later in life; in fact, the leading cause of death in Hodgkins Disease survivors is Some Other Kind of Cancer, ie. Non-Hodgkins or some other kind. Of the roughly 60,000 Americans per year who get a new Lymphoma diagnosis, about 52,400 will get the tougher Non-Hodgkins, with the remaining 7,600 receiving a nod to Hodgkins Disease. And only about 5-15% of those 7,600 (or between 380-1140) of them will have my Mixed Cellular variety, which is usually more progressed at time of diagnosis(at a later stage of development.) It typically occurs in males. Fascinating.
That said, I want to be clear that when my doctor called me and gave me the news, I was -- well, not ecstatic, but certainly greatly relieved and, in my shock, not UNhappy.
So what happens now? My GP wants me to come in to see him tomorrow afternoon, then ASAP I will I get another CAT scan (of my abdomen) to see if it's spread there also, and then I go to meet the oncologist I've selected (out of Johns Hopkins - go me!) and he will almost certainly schedule both a bone marrow biopsy and a liver biopsy. And on Thursday, I return to the surgeon to get the stitches in my neck removed from the removal of the two lymph nodes. The CAT scan and both biopsies will serve to establish what stage of cancer I'm in. I'm at least in Stage II because my cancerous lymph nodes have spread to more than one area; the biopsies will tell if the cancer has moved into my organs. So would a PET scan, so maybe I'll have that; I know it's frequently performed. I'm just going to do what the oncologist tells me to, while doing my homework.
Regardless of stage, the cancer is still potentially curable; the stage will inform the selected course of treatment. I'm definitely looking at chemotherapy and radiation. That's what everyone does. And fast. My form of Hodgkins, Mixed Cellularity, is aggressive and dictates an aggressive therapy right out of the gate, apparently. I've checked out a Hodgkins message board, and have learned that once I meet the oncologist, this thing is going to go down FAST. It's feasible that I could start chemo the first week in January.
I will speak to my boss tomorrow about disability and just tell her where I am with this. She's been great, she's really been worried about me, and she has assured me that my job is secure. I don't know how that will be possible, given that I'm looking at a battle of anywhere from 6-12 months just to get to remission.
Ok, so those are the facts, "But how does she feel???" That one's complicated. I'm all of these, in no particular order: sad, determined, worried about my sweet Lorraine, concerned that my esophogeal strictures (from having drunk lye as a baby) will affect their ability to use radiation on my neck, sorry to have brought this into my relationship, positive that I'll beat it, grateful, amazed, afraid that I'm going to die of this or Esophogeal Cancer, worried about money, hungry for knowledge, worried about help getting to all my chemo appointments since Lorraine still has to work, filled with wonder that I'm blessed with such a loving partner, pissed off that my weight loss is interrupted and 2005 is going to be so different from what I'd planned......and ready to get started. That's what I've felt within the last 5 minutes, anyway.
The way I see it, I don't have the luxury of negativity. I can't fall upon my fainting couch and wail, "Why me??" I don't have time, and I only have so much energy to apply in whatever means -- so I have to use my finite energy in sole pursuit of beating cancer. If I don't, I'll die. Pretty simple.
Let's get this party started.
That said, I want to be clear that when my doctor called me and gave me the news, I was -- well, not ecstatic, but certainly greatly relieved and, in my shock, not UNhappy.
So what happens now? My GP wants me to come in to see him tomorrow afternoon, then ASAP I will I get another CAT scan (of my abdomen) to see if it's spread there also, and then I go to meet the oncologist I've selected (out of Johns Hopkins - go me!) and he will almost certainly schedule both a bone marrow biopsy and a liver biopsy. And on Thursday, I return to the surgeon to get the stitches in my neck removed from the removal of the two lymph nodes. The CAT scan and both biopsies will serve to establish what stage of cancer I'm in. I'm at least in Stage II because my cancerous lymph nodes have spread to more than one area; the biopsies will tell if the cancer has moved into my organs. So would a PET scan, so maybe I'll have that; I know it's frequently performed. I'm just going to do what the oncologist tells me to, while doing my homework.
Regardless of stage, the cancer is still potentially curable; the stage will inform the selected course of treatment. I'm definitely looking at chemotherapy and radiation. That's what everyone does. And fast. My form of Hodgkins, Mixed Cellularity, is aggressive and dictates an aggressive therapy right out of the gate, apparently. I've checked out a Hodgkins message board, and have learned that once I meet the oncologist, this thing is going to go down FAST. It's feasible that I could start chemo the first week in January.
I will speak to my boss tomorrow about disability and just tell her where I am with this. She's been great, she's really been worried about me, and she has assured me that my job is secure. I don't know how that will be possible, given that I'm looking at a battle of anywhere from 6-12 months just to get to remission.
Ok, so those are the facts, "But how does she feel???" That one's complicated. I'm all of these, in no particular order: sad, determined, worried about my sweet Lorraine, concerned that my esophogeal strictures (from having drunk lye as a baby) will affect their ability to use radiation on my neck, sorry to have brought this into my relationship, positive that I'll beat it, grateful, amazed, afraid that I'm going to die of this or Esophogeal Cancer, worried about money, hungry for knowledge, worried about help getting to all my chemo appointments since Lorraine still has to work, filled with wonder that I'm blessed with such a loving partner, pissed off that my weight loss is interrupted and 2005 is going to be so different from what I'd planned......and ready to get started. That's what I've felt within the last 5 minutes, anyway.
The way I see it, I don't have the luxury of negativity. I can't fall upon my fainting couch and wail, "Why me??" I don't have time, and I only have so much energy to apply in whatever means -- so I have to use my finite energy in sole pursuit of beating cancer. If I don't, I'll die. Pretty simple.
Let's get this party started.
Thursday, December 16
Two Lymph Nodes Gone
Hello, dear beloved friends. I am feeling such overwhelming gratitude for all of the support I've received from all of you here and at 3 Fat Chicks. I just can't believe how kind everyone has been, and so generous with their supportive messages and gentle wishes. I am bolstered by your loving support, and know that with this support I can get through anything at all.
I had two lymph nodes removed yesterday. General anesthesia, Percoset, gentle touches from a sensitive surgeon, and a partner who dotes on me hand, foot and heart. My wonderful GP, the immeasurably kind Dr. Lefkowitz, is working on getting me some information as soon as it's available. He says he's worried and anxious, and so sorry I have to go through this, and he's got some good ideas for some oncologists, if it comes to that. He was telling me about one of his patients, a woman who's lived with Hodgkins for 30 years, and has already outlived her husband.
We're hoping to get some kind of information tomorrow, but it could take as long as 2 weeks to get a complete picture. Apparently they can see right away from the sample's "architecture" if something is amiss. Then, in the case of lymph nodes, they test them for SO much, it can involve sending them out to some other place for testing. So it can be a time-consuming process. I should know something, however, before too, too long, he says. I feel fortunate to have Johns Hopkins Hospital nearby, because the quality of care there is excellent. Nothing but the best for Sarah, says Lorraine. She's talking about selling all of her 401(k) but I'm trying to keep us grounded in the here and now. No, it doesn't look good right now, but I worry about us getting too far ahead of ourselves. That way lies madness. I've put myself on "research detention," so I'm holding off doing research on Lymphoma and other scary-ass diseases until someone credible gives me some indication that it might be time to resume pursuit of knowledge.
Emotionally, I'm fragile. I still doing the back and forth, "now I'm strong," "now I'm terrified," mood swinging. It is what it is, and I'm sure my emotional responses are natural. And I'm sure as well that I'm following a tried and true emotional pattern experienced by others going down the same road. I know I'm supposed to have faith that everything will all turn out well. I don't have that. I have faith that all will turn out as it was intended to, and I just may not like it. Anyway, enough emotionally masturbatory self-analysis -- I'm tired of it. I'm just going to keep on doing my best to be my best, and be a person I'm proud of in the face of something really scary.
Oh yeah, and have I made it clear that I love my partner more than words can describe? With her love, I can survive anything at all.
I had two lymph nodes removed yesterday. General anesthesia, Percoset, gentle touches from a sensitive surgeon, and a partner who dotes on me hand, foot and heart. My wonderful GP, the immeasurably kind Dr. Lefkowitz, is working on getting me some information as soon as it's available. He says he's worried and anxious, and so sorry I have to go through this, and he's got some good ideas for some oncologists, if it comes to that. He was telling me about one of his patients, a woman who's lived with Hodgkins for 30 years, and has already outlived her husband.
We're hoping to get some kind of information tomorrow, but it could take as long as 2 weeks to get a complete picture. Apparently they can see right away from the sample's "architecture" if something is amiss. Then, in the case of lymph nodes, they test them for SO much, it can involve sending them out to some other place for testing. So it can be a time-consuming process. I should know something, however, before too, too long, he says. I feel fortunate to have Johns Hopkins Hospital nearby, because the quality of care there is excellent. Nothing but the best for Sarah, says Lorraine. She's talking about selling all of her 401(k) but I'm trying to keep us grounded in the here and now. No, it doesn't look good right now, but I worry about us getting too far ahead of ourselves. That way lies madness. I've put myself on "research detention," so I'm holding off doing research on Lymphoma and other scary-ass diseases until someone credible gives me some indication that it might be time to resume pursuit of knowledge.
Emotionally, I'm fragile. I still doing the back and forth, "now I'm strong," "now I'm terrified," mood swinging. It is what it is, and I'm sure my emotional responses are natural. And I'm sure as well that I'm following a tried and true emotional pattern experienced by others going down the same road. I know I'm supposed to have faith that everything will all turn out well. I don't have that. I have faith that all will turn out as it was intended to, and I just may not like it. Anyway, enough emotionally masturbatory self-analysis -- I'm tired of it. I'm just going to keep on doing my best to be my best, and be a person I'm proud of in the face of something really scary.
Oh yeah, and have I made it clear that I love my partner more than words can describe? With her love, I can survive anything at all.
Monday, December 13
Update
Hello, and I want to say right off that I am just in awe of your kindness and supportive comments. Thank you, my friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you. After my doctor's visit today, I'm vacillating between grim determination and an "I'm going to kick this mutha's ASS" attitude, and the more frequent, "I don't care how bad any treatment is, please God just don't let me die." I walked out of a store yesterday and the sun shone brightly into my eyes -- I just LOVE that SO much!! It always makes me feel so full of life and happy. And I immediately started crying at the thought of losing my life and those pleasures forever. And I share them with Lorraine, and I cried out of fear that she'd lose appreciation for the small things if I were gone -- she's always in such a hurry, she never sees the little gifts that surround us.
Please forgive me, 3FC readers, but I'm just going to copy the update I posted there earlier this evening -- with just a little added here and there and a bunch at the end. I'll write again more as I can. Here's the latest:
Ok, so I went to the surgeon today, and he had been prepared to do a needle biopsy, but he decided to forgo that in favor of total lymph removal, which is scheduled for Wednesday morning. He's going to try to get two of them -- two that are right near the surface and next to one another. Even one of them will yield much more conclusive results than a sample gained from a needle biopsy. He updated me on Friday's test results also. My white blood cell count is now even higher than it was the last time they tested it -- 16,500. There was some kind of liver function abnormality that he didn't say much about. The enlarged lymph nodes are apparently really, really numerous. In addition to being all along my collar bone, there are big ones clustered around my jugular, and then there is a big cluster of big ones in my right chest. They range in size from 1.5-4 cm, with most of them in the 3-4 cm. size. Apparently when they're over 2 cm., some disease is indicated and they grow concerned. No lymph nodes in my armpits, groin, or abdomen that they know of. We ran down my history and symptoms -- which include recent night sweats, some memory loss, and lots of itching, and when we got to the weight loss portion of the picture, he started to note that "large weight loss" was another symptom, but I was like, "OH no -- I WORKED for every one of those intentionally lost pounds!" and told him how I'd done it. So at least we got to strike that off as a symptom! (And I didn't have to give up ownership for that success.) As a matter of fact, since I started taking prednisone for my breathing problems, my weight loss has slowed way down, and he said that was normal, so that helped me to feel a little better about both the weight loss not being illness-related, and my having slowed down.
So apparently where we are now is narrowing the illness down from some different choices. (I choose Chocolate Deprivation, thank you very much. I hear that one is debilitating! ) It's premature without the tissue, but apparently the front-runners are Lymphoma, Chronic Something-that-starts-with-an-L Leukemia, and Sarcoidosis (frequently called "Sarcoid".) And the best of the three is the Sarcoidosis. (Gee, ya' THINK???) Oh yeah, and Esophogeal Cancer is another outside contender, because of my childhood lye-consumption poisoning and resulting predisposition for it -- but he said it doesn't usually manifest this way.
I'm going to work tomorrow, get the tests on Wednesday, work Thursday and Friday, and then he said that it's possible I could get the results by Friday. I sure hope so, because if I thought this weekend was bad, this next one would surely be even more hellish without some kind of information. But it might be next week before I hear. I'm just praying it's something I can get through, no matter how hard it is. If the treatments are hell on earth, I don't care -- I just don't want to die. My General Practitioner -- the one who expedited everything miraculously on Friday -- said that I should prepare myself for the worst, but hope for the best. Wise words -- and I've dished them out myself -- but hard to hear for me right now.
My head is swimming with thoughts of Lorraine, chemo side effects, the logistics of getting to and from all those treatments, survival rates, the significance of positivity and exercise in recovery, insurance, short term and long term disability, the financial ramifications of this, Lorraine, our animals, Lorraine, death and God and reincarnation, Lorraine, how some people beat it and others don't and if I have to fight this I'll be in some amazing company, the weight loss benefits of chemo (ha ha,) and Lorraine.
Well, whatever it is, we'll just have to deal with it. We're in it together. She can't keep her hands off of me, just has to hold my hand or touch my back or give me endless glasses of Crystal Light with loving touches. She's the love of my life, and I know she feels so powerless in the face of this. I'm so sorry for both of us. And I'm so sorry that 2005 isn't going to be anything like I'd hoped for. But then that's life, right? You just never know what's in store for you. I know I'm stronger and better able to fight disease now than I was last February, when I was still a heavy drinker, didn't exercise, and weighed 77 pounds more than I do today. I know with certainty that I possess determination and perseverance, and I am strong. I hope I'm strong enough, and I hope that strength matters.
Right now, I just hope.
Please forgive me, 3FC readers, but I'm just going to copy the update I posted there earlier this evening -- with just a little added here and there and a bunch at the end. I'll write again more as I can. Here's the latest:
Ok, so I went to the surgeon today, and he had been prepared to do a needle biopsy, but he decided to forgo that in favor of total lymph removal, which is scheduled for Wednesday morning. He's going to try to get two of them -- two that are right near the surface and next to one another. Even one of them will yield much more conclusive results than a sample gained from a needle biopsy. He updated me on Friday's test results also. My white blood cell count is now even higher than it was the last time they tested it -- 16,500. There was some kind of liver function abnormality that he didn't say much about. The enlarged lymph nodes are apparently really, really numerous. In addition to being all along my collar bone, there are big ones clustered around my jugular, and then there is a big cluster of big ones in my right chest. They range in size from 1.5-4 cm, with most of them in the 3-4 cm. size. Apparently when they're over 2 cm., some disease is indicated and they grow concerned. No lymph nodes in my armpits, groin, or abdomen that they know of. We ran down my history and symptoms -- which include recent night sweats, some memory loss, and lots of itching, and when we got to the weight loss portion of the picture, he started to note that "large weight loss" was another symptom, but I was like, "OH no -- I WORKED for every one of those intentionally lost pounds!" and told him how I'd done it. So at least we got to strike that off as a symptom! (And I didn't have to give up ownership for that success.) As a matter of fact, since I started taking prednisone for my breathing problems, my weight loss has slowed way down, and he said that was normal, so that helped me to feel a little better about both the weight loss not being illness-related, and my having slowed down.
So apparently where we are now is narrowing the illness down from some different choices. (I choose Chocolate Deprivation, thank you very much. I hear that one is debilitating! ) It's premature without the tissue, but apparently the front-runners are Lymphoma, Chronic Something-that-starts-with-an-L Leukemia, and Sarcoidosis (frequently called "Sarcoid".) And the best of the three is the Sarcoidosis. (Gee, ya' THINK???) Oh yeah, and Esophogeal Cancer is another outside contender, because of my childhood lye-consumption poisoning and resulting predisposition for it -- but he said it doesn't usually manifest this way.
I'm going to work tomorrow, get the tests on Wednesday, work Thursday and Friday, and then he said that it's possible I could get the results by Friday. I sure hope so, because if I thought this weekend was bad, this next one would surely be even more hellish without some kind of information. But it might be next week before I hear. I'm just praying it's something I can get through, no matter how hard it is. If the treatments are hell on earth, I don't care -- I just don't want to die. My General Practitioner -- the one who expedited everything miraculously on Friday -- said that I should prepare myself for the worst, but hope for the best. Wise words -- and I've dished them out myself -- but hard to hear for me right now.
My head is swimming with thoughts of Lorraine, chemo side effects, the logistics of getting to and from all those treatments, survival rates, the significance of positivity and exercise in recovery, insurance, short term and long term disability, the financial ramifications of this, Lorraine, our animals, Lorraine, death and God and reincarnation, Lorraine, how some people beat it and others don't and if I have to fight this I'll be in some amazing company, the weight loss benefits of chemo (ha ha,) and Lorraine.
Well, whatever it is, we'll just have to deal with it. We're in it together. She can't keep her hands off of me, just has to hold my hand or touch my back or give me endless glasses of Crystal Light with loving touches. She's the love of my life, and I know she feels so powerless in the face of this. I'm so sorry for both of us. And I'm so sorry that 2005 isn't going to be anything like I'd hoped for. But then that's life, right? You just never know what's in store for you. I know I'm stronger and better able to fight disease now than I was last February, when I was still a heavy drinker, didn't exercise, and weighed 77 pounds more than I do today. I know with certainty that I possess determination and perseverance, and I am strong. I hope I'm strong enough, and I hope that strength matters.
Right now, I just hope.
Sunday, December 12
I'm in trouble.
Hi everybody. I apologize for my recent silence. I'm in trouble and just focusing on being with Lorraine. Long story short, I am going in for an emergency biopsy on some enlarged lymph nodes in my neck. The doc says it's either Lymphoma or Sarcoidosis. Sarcoidosis in no picnic, but at least it's not cancer, so it's the one I'm hoping for as the lesser of two evils.
Regular readers might remember that I have had an enlarged lymph node in my neck, and my blood test of a month and a half ago showed a really high white blood cell count. When I got a second large one right next to the first one a week ago, I made an appt. to go back to the doctor's on Friday, and he immediately sent me to get a CAT scan, blood tests, and chest x-ray that day, and he tried to get me a biopsy the same day, but the soonest he could get was Monday morning -- next business day. I was across the street from his office, and he went after me looking for me to check on me and see the results; he couldn't find me, but he did see the CAT scan results, and happened by chance to locate my scheduled biopsy surgeon, and together they looked at them. Apparently I've got enlarged lymph nodes "all over the place," and a "necklace" of them from one end of my clavicle to the other. So he's pretty concerned. He wouldn't have called me on Friday so I wouldn't have to go into the weekend with the fear and stress I have. But I called him, and that's when he told me about the massive number of enlarged nodes. He says their huge. He says based on what he's seen so far, Lymphoma and Sarcoidosis are the front runners. The biopsy will tell.
I've done some research on both, and if the biopsy results come back positive, the best I can hope for is that it's Hodgkins, not Non-Hodgkins. The survival rates are very different between the two. Sarcoidosis is incurable, but more manageable -- even if it does have some other potential miseries accompanying it.
Lorraine and I are both wrecks. We're trying to stay positive, and look at the things in my favor (like how much healthier and prepared for battle I am today vs. last March) -- but it's hard and terrifying and awful. The doc gave me a Xanax prescrip to keep me from freaking out too much this weekend, but all it does is slow down my speech and thought, not change the nature of those thoughts or my self-imposed need to censure my speech when I'm feeling gloomy or fearful.
My biopsy is scheduled for 11:30 tomorrow morning. Your good vibes and positive thoughts would be appreciated. I don't know if I'll get those results tomorrow, but I'm hoping to God I do. At the least I'll get the other results from my kind doctor.
Que sara, sara, right? Whatever will be, will be. I'm just going to try to face it with as much grace and faith as I can manage, and lean on my beloved, for whom I'm immeasurably grateful.
Regular readers might remember that I have had an enlarged lymph node in my neck, and my blood test of a month and a half ago showed a really high white blood cell count. When I got a second large one right next to the first one a week ago, I made an appt. to go back to the doctor's on Friday, and he immediately sent me to get a CAT scan, blood tests, and chest x-ray that day, and he tried to get me a biopsy the same day, but the soonest he could get was Monday morning -- next business day. I was across the street from his office, and he went after me looking for me to check on me and see the results; he couldn't find me, but he did see the CAT scan results, and happened by chance to locate my scheduled biopsy surgeon, and together they looked at them. Apparently I've got enlarged lymph nodes "all over the place," and a "necklace" of them from one end of my clavicle to the other. So he's pretty concerned. He wouldn't have called me on Friday so I wouldn't have to go into the weekend with the fear and stress I have. But I called him, and that's when he told me about the massive number of enlarged nodes. He says their huge. He says based on what he's seen so far, Lymphoma and Sarcoidosis are the front runners. The biopsy will tell.
I've done some research on both, and if the biopsy results come back positive, the best I can hope for is that it's Hodgkins, not Non-Hodgkins. The survival rates are very different between the two. Sarcoidosis is incurable, but more manageable -- even if it does have some other potential miseries accompanying it.
Lorraine and I are both wrecks. We're trying to stay positive, and look at the things in my favor (like how much healthier and prepared for battle I am today vs. last March) -- but it's hard and terrifying and awful. The doc gave me a Xanax prescrip to keep me from freaking out too much this weekend, but all it does is slow down my speech and thought, not change the nature of those thoughts or my self-imposed need to censure my speech when I'm feeling gloomy or fearful.
My biopsy is scheduled for 11:30 tomorrow morning. Your good vibes and positive thoughts would be appreciated. I don't know if I'll get those results tomorrow, but I'm hoping to God I do. At the least I'll get the other results from my kind doctor.
Que sara, sara, right? Whatever will be, will be. I'm just going to try to face it with as much grace and faith as I can manage, and lean on my beloved, for whom I'm immeasurably grateful.
Monday, December 6
1st Day, New Week
Look Mia, no chocolate! You're such a pal. The support is SO appreciated!! I gave that devil chocolate away - even though I entirely agree with Mia that dark chocolate is almost a health food. She is so wise, that woman. And did you know she ran? She ran her ass right off. Literally.
Eats for Monday, 12/6
Breakfast: ½ cup All Bran Extra Fiber and ½ cup Kashi Go Lean with skim milk
Mid AM: 3 oz. grilled chicken
Lunch: 4 cups romaine and 2 cups spinach with 4.6 oz. grilled chicken, 1 cup tomatoes, 1 cup cucumbers, and ¼ cup red onion and low-fat balsamic vinaigrette dressing
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat flavored yogurt and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 5 oz. tilapia, 2 cups cooked spinach, and ½ cup brown rice
After Dinner: Smart Ones Orange Vanilla Treat
Water: 160 oz.
Eats for Monday, 12/6
Breakfast: ½ cup All Bran Extra Fiber and ½ cup Kashi Go Lean with skim milk
Mid AM: 3 oz. grilled chicken
Lunch: 4 cups romaine and 2 cups spinach with 4.6 oz. grilled chicken, 1 cup tomatoes, 1 cup cucumbers, and ¼ cup red onion and low-fat balsamic vinaigrette dressing
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat flavored yogurt and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 5 oz. tilapia, 2 cups cooked spinach, and ½ cup brown rice
After Dinner: Smart Ones Orange Vanilla Treat
Water: 160 oz.
Sunday, December 5
Down another pound, with no more to follow if I continue to eat Belgian chocolates!
Weight: 207
Loss to date: 77 pounds
I just love progress, don't you? And I'm very pleased to report that yesterday, yet another holiday gathering was successfully negotiated. Today, however, I went off on several Belgian chocolates -- that damned gift! Thank God for exercise....
Calories-wise, I'm ok, but forget fiber, protein/carb ratios, sugar (!!) and fat -- my god the fat.
Eats for Saturday, 12/4
Breakfast: ½ cup All Bran Extra Fiber and ½ cup Kashi Go Lean with skim milk
Lunch: 1.7 oz. tilapia and 1.5 cups of brown rice/tuna/kidney bean mix
Dinner -- over 5 hours, at a party: 2 crackers w/cheese, 4 salted almonds, 5 peanut M & M’s, 1 cup of Chicken Marsala, ½ cup Caesar salad, ½ cup penne w/tomato and cream sauce with mushrooms, 2 cream-filled wafer sticks, 2 oz. half & half w/my coffee, 2 Belgian dark chocolates (small)
Water: 120 oz.
Eats for Sunday, 12/5
Lunch: 2 slices thin cheese pizza and 4 Buffalo wings, 6 baby carrots w/ 4 tbsp. house dressing, 1 Belgian dark chocolate (small)
Dinner: 4 oz. chicken with 4 cups romaine, 1 cup cucumbers, 1 cup tomatoes, 1/8 cup red onions and low-fat balsamic vinaigrette, 3 Belgian dark chocolates (small)
After dinner: Smart Ones Giant Sundae Cone
Water: 120 oz.
Loss to date: 77 pounds
I just love progress, don't you? And I'm very pleased to report that yesterday, yet another holiday gathering was successfully negotiated. Today, however, I went off on several Belgian chocolates -- that damned gift! Thank God for exercise....
Calories-wise, I'm ok, but forget fiber, protein/carb ratios, sugar (!!) and fat -- my god the fat.
Eats for Saturday, 12/4
Breakfast: ½ cup All Bran Extra Fiber and ½ cup Kashi Go Lean with skim milk
Lunch: 1.7 oz. tilapia and 1.5 cups of brown rice/tuna/kidney bean mix
Dinner -- over 5 hours, at a party: 2 crackers w/cheese, 4 salted almonds, 5 peanut M & M’s, 1 cup of Chicken Marsala, ½ cup Caesar salad, ½ cup penne w/tomato and cream sauce with mushrooms, 2 cream-filled wafer sticks, 2 oz. half & half w/my coffee, 2 Belgian dark chocolates (small)
Water: 120 oz.
Eats for Sunday, 12/5
Lunch: 2 slices thin cheese pizza and 4 Buffalo wings, 6 baby carrots w/ 4 tbsp. house dressing, 1 Belgian dark chocolate (small)
Dinner: 4 oz. chicken with 4 cups romaine, 1 cup cucumbers, 1 cup tomatoes, 1/8 cup red onions and low-fat balsamic vinaigrette, 3 Belgian dark chocolates (small)
After dinner: Smart Ones Giant Sundae Cone
Water: 120 oz.
Friday, December 3
Friday Eats
Friday, 12/3
Breakfast: ½ cup All Bran Extra Fiber and ½ cup Kashi Go Lean with skim milk
Mid AM: In meetings – no snacks for Sarah
Lunch: 3 cups romaine lettuce with 3 oz. chicken breast and ¼ cup black beans, non-fat dressing, and an apple
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat plain yogurt and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 4 1/2 oz. tilapia; 1 cup of bowtie pasta w/low-fat feta, olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and mint;, and 4 spears asparagus
After Dinner: 1 cup 98% fat free vanilla ice cream
Daily Water: 140 oz.
Breakfast: ½ cup All Bran Extra Fiber and ½ cup Kashi Go Lean with skim milk
Mid AM: In meetings – no snacks for Sarah
Lunch: 3 cups romaine lettuce with 3 oz. chicken breast and ¼ cup black beans, non-fat dressing, and an apple
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat plain yogurt and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 4 1/2 oz. tilapia; 1 cup of bowtie pasta w/low-fat feta, olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and mint;, and 4 spears asparagus
After Dinner: 1 cup 98% fat free vanilla ice cream
Daily Water: 140 oz.
Eats for Thursday
As promised, here's the skinny on my eats for yesterday. Get it? Skinny? And they say lesbians have no sense of humor.
Breakfast: All Bran and Kashi Go Lean with Skim Milk
Mid AM: No time for snackin’
Lunch: ½ cup brown rice with 1 cup kidney beans and 3 oz. tuna mixed, and an apple
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat plain yogurt with ½ cup blueberries and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 5 oz. beef loin tenderloin (filet) with half a baked potato (w/skin,) 3 tbsp. Smart Balance Spread, and about 3 cups romaine with low fat balsamic vinegar dressing and ½ cup tomatoes
After Dinner: Smart Ones Giant Sundae Cone
Daily Water: 140 oz.
The plan had not been to eat steak and potato; the PLAN had been to eat tilapia and spinach. See, this is what happened: there's this other person in the relationship. Her name is Lorraine. I might have mentioned her. Well see, this Lorraine, she loves her some steak and potatoes, and she also loves her some Sarah, so she surprised Sarah when Sarah came home from work with a beautifully candlelit home, a gift of pretty votive candles, and a lovely dinner of steak and potatoes. What's a girl to do? (Besides halve that potato....) And yes, that steak was like butta.
And YES, it's tilapia and spinach tonight. And it was a lean lunch as well, to appease the God of Unsaturated Fat.
Breakfast: All Bran and Kashi Go Lean with Skim Milk
Mid AM: No time for snackin’
Lunch: ½ cup brown rice with 1 cup kidney beans and 3 oz. tuna mixed, and an apple
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat plain yogurt with ½ cup blueberries and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 5 oz. beef loin tenderloin (filet) with half a baked potato (w/skin,) 3 tbsp. Smart Balance Spread, and about 3 cups romaine with low fat balsamic vinegar dressing and ½ cup tomatoes
After Dinner: Smart Ones Giant Sundae Cone
Daily Water: 140 oz.
The plan had not been to eat steak and potato; the PLAN had been to eat tilapia and spinach. See, this is what happened: there's this other person in the relationship. Her name is Lorraine. I might have mentioned her. Well see, this Lorraine, she loves her some steak and potatoes, and she also loves her some Sarah, so she surprised Sarah when Sarah came home from work with a beautifully candlelit home, a gift of pretty votive candles, and a lovely dinner of steak and potatoes. What's a girl to do? (Besides halve that potato....) And yes, that steak was like butta.
And YES, it's tilapia and spinach tonight. And it was a lean lunch as well, to appease the God of Unsaturated Fat.
Thursday, December 2
What do I eat?
Ok, since I often get asked over at 3FC about what plan I'm on, I thought I'd start entering my food here. I think I'll do it for all of this month -- but maybe I'll play that by ear.
Anyway, as some of you know, I log all of my eats in DietPower religiously, but I'll just enter them here as well. I probably won't end up doing that every day because I, um, have a job, but I'll do it as often as I can, and I'll try to make sure that I give every day's worth.
Here's yesterday:
Wednesday, 12/1
Breakfast: All Bran Extra Fiber and Kashi Go Lean with Skim Milk
Mid AM: Protein Drink
Lunch: 4 oz. Turkey Breast with 2 cups cooked spinach
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat flavored yogurt with ½ cup blueberries and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 4 oz. Turkey Breast with 6 cups Romaine and Low Fat Balsamic Vinegar Dressing and a cup of chopped tomatoes and a few baby carrots
After Dinner: Smart Ones Orange Vanilla Treat
Daily Water: 140 oz.
Fascinating stuff, I know. But who knows? Maybe somebody's interested! Oh! I should mention that I'm going to play the cal's by ear -- they might seem pretty lean for a little while, as I'm trying to meet a stated goal of hitting Onederland (199) by December 21. Who knows if that'll happen.....but I'm giving it the old college try, anyway.
Anyway, as some of you know, I log all of my eats in DietPower religiously, but I'll just enter them here as well. I probably won't end up doing that every day because I, um, have a job, but I'll do it as often as I can, and I'll try to make sure that I give every day's worth.
Here's yesterday:
Wednesday, 12/1
Breakfast: All Bran Extra Fiber and Kashi Go Lean with Skim Milk
Mid AM: Protein Drink
Lunch: 4 oz. Turkey Breast with 2 cups cooked spinach
Mid PM: 6 oz. nonfat flavored yogurt with ½ cup blueberries and a Protein Drink
Dinner: 4 oz. Turkey Breast with 6 cups Romaine and Low Fat Balsamic Vinegar Dressing and a cup of chopped tomatoes and a few baby carrots
After Dinner: Smart Ones Orange Vanilla Treat
Daily Water: 140 oz.
Fascinating stuff, I know. But who knows? Maybe somebody's interested! Oh! I should mention that I'm going to play the cal's by ear -- they might seem pretty lean for a little while, as I'm trying to meet a stated goal of hitting Onederland (199) by December 21. Who knows if that'll happen.....but I'm giving it the old college try, anyway.
Qui Ci' Sono! Ecco Mi Qua!
Weight: 208
Loss to date: 76 pounds
Whew! I'm back. It's been just forever hasn't it? Heavens to Betsy, it's been just over a full week! I'm sorry, folks, I was waylaid *insert coy smirk here* by life, and I you have my word I'm not going to go into every torturous detail. Suffice to say that Thanksgiving with the inlaws was a full-blown nightmare and made Lorraine miserable once again, our own Thanksgiving at home two days later was delicious and utterly irresponsible in it's size, and then I had what can only be termed an out of body experience during which I watched myself eat stuffing, light popcorn and fat free pound cake with nonfat ice cream in a carefree manner as to indicate that I am not at all concerned with calories, nutritional impact, and weight loss. Fascinating. I did exercise early Thanksgiving morning before driving 6 1/2 hours from Baltimore to Long Island in the rain, spending 2 1/2 unhappy hours there and then driving 4 1/2 hours home again while our beloved dog drooled and dry-heaved unhappily in the back seat. Likewise, I exercised twice over the weekend, albeit for only 1/2 hour per session. And I'm sorry, darling, when I looked like I was enjoying it I was, um, just pretending.
That said, I'm once again in complete possession of my faculties and back on the, er, straight and narrow. So to speak. I'm even down a whole pound! While a relief, it's still ellicits in me a certain sadness, because my rate of loss has slowed to a snail's pace.......but I'm wondering: Do you think maybe the popcorn and stuffing had something to do with that? Oh, you do? Crikey.
Here are my exercise totals for November. Disclaimer: I'm not proud. I'm not ashamed, and I'm not strongly regretful. I'm full of intention to improve that this month and then continue to progress.
Miles Walked: 36
Miles (HIIT) Biked: 40
Weights Workouts: 5
Step Workouts: 3
Ramp Workouts: 2
I did not complete the Every Day In November Exercise Challenge. And that's all I'm going to say about that, except for the following: I'm not proud, I am ashamed, and I am strongly regretful.
I'm feeling some of the same pressure Denise is feeling to find a lovely holiday frock for a holiday party. It will be a size 14 or 16, depending on the breasteses. <--- Not a typo. Sound it out. I have breasteses, denoting big ones. They're smaller than they used to be, but still quite the package. Anyway, this Saturday Lorraine and I are off to New Jersey to her boss' house for his holiday soiree; it will be my first time meeting the boss, his wife, and Lorraine's peer District Managers. I'm going to see what I can find during the day on Saturday -- I hate shopping (I know, I'm a femme so it's almost sacreligious!) so I can't stomach the thought of going after work tonight or tomorrow night. And miss Survivor? I don't think so! Oh wait, I meant to say, "And miss out on my evening exercise??? No WAY!" There, that's better.
Speaking of exercise, I've got a terrific rotation all mapped out, and it's completely manageable, provided I can get up and do a half hour of cardio in the mornings before work. That's the only way I'm going to be able to get in at least a full hour on the weekdays, because it's just not happening with the Lorraine factor. She's proud of me and wants me to do it, but not if it interrupts our time together. So there we are. She makes it so difficult to accomplish in the evenings, this is simply what I'm going to have to do to compromise. She's just going to have to deal with my working out for 30-40 minutes in the evenings. Weekends are not the issue; the difficulty lies during the weekday evenings.
More anon, gentle readers.
Loss to date: 76 pounds
Whew! I'm back. It's been just forever hasn't it? Heavens to Betsy, it's been just over a full week! I'm sorry, folks, I was waylaid *insert coy smirk here* by life, and I you have my word I'm not going to go into every torturous detail. Suffice to say that Thanksgiving with the inlaws was a full-blown nightmare and made Lorraine miserable once again, our own Thanksgiving at home two days later was delicious and utterly irresponsible in it's size, and then I had what can only be termed an out of body experience during which I watched myself eat stuffing, light popcorn and fat free pound cake with nonfat ice cream in a carefree manner as to indicate that I am not at all concerned with calories, nutritional impact, and weight loss. Fascinating. I did exercise early Thanksgiving morning before driving 6 1/2 hours from Baltimore to Long Island in the rain, spending 2 1/2 unhappy hours there and then driving 4 1/2 hours home again while our beloved dog drooled and dry-heaved unhappily in the back seat. Likewise, I exercised twice over the weekend, albeit for only 1/2 hour per session. And I'm sorry, darling, when I looked like I was enjoying it I was, um, just pretending.
That said, I'm once again in complete possession of my faculties and back on the, er, straight and narrow. So to speak. I'm even down a whole pound! While a relief, it's still ellicits in me a certain sadness, because my rate of loss has slowed to a snail's pace.......but I'm wondering: Do you think maybe the popcorn and stuffing had something to do with that? Oh, you do? Crikey.
Here are my exercise totals for November. Disclaimer: I'm not proud. I'm not ashamed, and I'm not strongly regretful. I'm full of intention to improve that this month and then continue to progress.
Miles Walked: 36
Miles (HIIT) Biked: 40
Weights Workouts: 5
Step Workouts: 3
Ramp Workouts: 2
I did not complete the Every Day In November Exercise Challenge. And that's all I'm going to say about that, except for the following: I'm not proud, I am ashamed, and I am strongly regretful.
I'm feeling some of the same pressure Denise is feeling to find a lovely holiday frock for a holiday party. It will be a size 14 or 16, depending on the breasteses. <--- Not a typo. Sound it out. I have breasteses, denoting big ones. They're smaller than they used to be, but still quite the package. Anyway, this Saturday Lorraine and I are off to New Jersey to her boss' house for his holiday soiree; it will be my first time meeting the boss, his wife, and Lorraine's peer District Managers. I'm going to see what I can find during the day on Saturday -- I hate shopping (I know, I'm a femme so it's almost sacreligious!) so I can't stomach the thought of going after work tonight or tomorrow night. And miss Survivor? I don't think so! Oh wait, I meant to say, "And miss out on my evening exercise??? No WAY!" There, that's better.
Speaking of exercise, I've got a terrific rotation all mapped out, and it's completely manageable, provided I can get up and do a half hour of cardio in the mornings before work. That's the only way I'm going to be able to get in at least a full hour on the weekdays, because it's just not happening with the Lorraine factor. She's proud of me and wants me to do it, but not if it interrupts our time together. So there we are. She makes it so difficult to accomplish in the evenings, this is simply what I'm going to have to do to compromise. She's just going to have to deal with my working out for 30-40 minutes in the evenings. Weekends are not the issue; the difficulty lies during the weekday evenings.
More anon, gentle readers.
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