Just wanted to jump on here to say that all of your comments were so incredibly kind, you made me cry. You truly touched me with your amazing support. Lorraine asked me why I was crying when I was reading them to her, but you know why, right? I knew you would.
Chemo went. We'll just say that. Each one is harder. Each time, the nausea is worse. I must say, though, that I'm still quite fortunate that for me the nausea isn't as bad as it is for some other folks. It does have a cumulative effect, however, so I'll have more to look forward to.
On the upside, I'M NOW HALFWAY DONE!!!! From here on out, I'm going down the hill! (I say this with fingers and toes crossed that the six cycles will suffice. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.) So life is good!
Tomorrow, Lorraine and I drive to Princeton to spend Easter with her sister. The rest of her family will drive from Long Island on Sunday to spend the day with us, and then we'll drive back that night. This will be their first time seeing me since my diagnosis, so they're nervous and concerned. I'm hoping that the sympathy points I'll get from having cancer will outweigh their consternation and sadness over the fact that I continue to remain female after all these years!
I picked up a cute spring outfit from Target today for the occasion, including some adorable pointy, backless, high-heeled, silver-buckled sandals that I intend to wear, regardless of weather. It's spring, damn it, and I will not be denied!
Lorraine's 40th birthday is Tuesday, so we'll celebrate that together as well. She's beside herself with excitement at the prospect of baked clams. It's the small pleasures, don't you think?
Gotta run....my winterized feet are sorely in need of a pedicure, so there's a pumice stone and some lovely red nail polish sitting in wait for me as we speak. I'm forgoing the sunless bronzer for now because I'm really going to try to work that sympathy angle. This weekend I'll be pale and wan; by next, I'll be a bronzed goddess. I'll report back after the weekend. For those of you who celebrate Easter, have a great holiday! For those who don't, have a great weekend! I love you guys more than you know.
Friday, March 25
Wednesday, March 23
Almost Halfway Done
I'm gearing up for tomorrow's chemo. Number 6! The Bleo side effects continue with shortness of breath, wheezing, and coughing. Also some strong pain in my back, on the right side. I don't know if it's my lungs or just a bad stitch that lasted for a day and a half. Also my heart is beating very rapidly and also irregularly at times, even when I'm just sitting still. This morning I woke up with extremely shaky hands. It's about 4:00 p.m., and I still can't hold them still. Even writing my name on the sign-in sheet at the pathologist's today was difficult. I had to really slow down and concentrate to write legibly. I'll tell the nurses tomorrow about all of this so if any of these are cause for immediate concern or action on the part of my doc, I'll be there to talk to her. Otherwise, I'll see her on the 7th and can give her another update. At that time I will discuss again my concern that the Bleo is doing permanent damage to my lungs. In those who get this permanent damage (25% of patients, I think,) it usually starts to manifest in the 3rd cycle. Tomorrow will mark the end of my third cycle. Lorraine and I had just been talking about how wonderful it was that I had my laugh back after losing it to my pre-chemo Hodgkins cough. And now the cough is back -- when I laugh, it's lost in a dry, tight cough. I'm sure we'll deal with it one way or another. All things being equal, I would want to reduce the Bleo or remove it from my treatment if it's not going to compromise my cancer battle, but of course ultimately it's my oncologist's decision. I've read studies saying that it's not critical and that remission rates are not affected by its removal, but I'm sure there are equally good arguments for keeping it in the treatment. Obviously, the priority is to beat the Hodgkins. Once that's done, however, I hope to have a long life ahead of me, and it would be great if I could live it without permanent lung damage and reduced breath capacity. Those affected receive massive doses of Prednisone for several months, and it seems to reverse some of the damage. The Prednisone, of course, has it's own side effects. I'm not going to freak out about that yet. Right?
Next Friday I'll get my first PET scan since beginning treatment. I'm at once incredibly excited and absolutely terrified. So much is riding on those results. If I get a completely clear scan at the halfway point, it will bode so well for my prognosis. It's important. Not that getting an "improved" scan is cause for lament -- but it's widely accepted that a clear scan by the halfway point is a strong indicator that you're less likely to have a recurrence. Even as I write this, I am frightened. I hesitate to put this out there out of fear that I'll undermine the pleasure of seeing a "big reduction" result or cause you to be concerned for me when I report that it's largely gone but not all gone. I guess you'll just be happy for me regardless. You'll probably follow my lead. Alright. I'll try to lead you honestly and responsibly.
I'm going to ask tomorrow about getting my Zoloft dosage upped. It's a low dosage, and I think it needs to be higher. I'm not doing great, emotionally. In speaking with others, this is common at the halfway point; I've been told that I'll feel better and more motivated once I see some positive scan results. I know rationally that I'm working towards a goal, but some quantifiable results go a long way to motivating you and giving you energy.
I'll update after chemo. Think a kind thought!
Next Friday I'll get my first PET scan since beginning treatment. I'm at once incredibly excited and absolutely terrified. So much is riding on those results. If I get a completely clear scan at the halfway point, it will bode so well for my prognosis. It's important. Not that getting an "improved" scan is cause for lament -- but it's widely accepted that a clear scan by the halfway point is a strong indicator that you're less likely to have a recurrence. Even as I write this, I am frightened. I hesitate to put this out there out of fear that I'll undermine the pleasure of seeing a "big reduction" result or cause you to be concerned for me when I report that it's largely gone but not all gone. I guess you'll just be happy for me regardless. You'll probably follow my lead. Alright. I'll try to lead you honestly and responsibly.
I'm going to ask tomorrow about getting my Zoloft dosage upped. It's a low dosage, and I think it needs to be higher. I'm not doing great, emotionally. In speaking with others, this is common at the halfway point; I've been told that I'll feel better and more motivated once I see some positive scan results. I know rationally that I'm working towards a goal, but some quantifiable results go a long way to motivating you and giving you energy.
I'll update after chemo. Think a kind thought!
Monday, March 14
Monday, Monday
My mind is not at rest and my body is unhappy. I'm feeling very out of sorts and ill at ease. I don't know if I'm depressed or not. I know I hurt. The Neulasta shots give me a lot of bone and joint pain, a side effect experienced by some but not all of those who receive it. It is what it is.
I still feel such disbelief that I have cancer. I'm still amazed. Obviously I'm not paralyzed by it -- I'm doing everything I can to fight it, so I'm certainly not in denial. But there's still this surprise that I am a person with cancer.
Anyway, I'm sure I'll feel a bit sunnier once I feel a little better. Thanks for the nice feedback on my big walk on Friday! You guys are so sweet to me. Hey, and I hope Blogger's fixed that pesky comments problem.
I still feel such disbelief that I have cancer. I'm still amazed. Obviously I'm not paralyzed by it -- I'm doing everything I can to fight it, so I'm certainly not in denial. But there's still this surprise that I am a person with cancer.
Anyway, I'm sure I'll feel a bit sunnier once I feel a little better. Thanks for the nice feedback on my big walk on Friday! You guys are so sweet to me. Hey, and I hope Blogger's fixed that pesky comments problem.
Friday, March 11
One Day Past Chemo Five
Exhaustion, headache and body aches today, but I still managed to walk on the treadmill for 25 minutes. Go, me! I maxed out at 2.6 mph, which is a sad little number, but that chemo takes it right out of you! I wasn't going to push myself, anyway. The nausea isn't bad -- the Zoloft and Decadron really help me to manage it. Later in the ay, after I got my Neulasta shot, Lorraine was going to the pharmacy to pick up a couple of my prescriptions, and she'd forgotten the Rx slip for a new thing I've got for the psychological/anticipatory nausea I've started to experience. So I "raced" out the door to catch her before she left....I really was giving it all I had, and it was excruciating! I felt like I was running, underwater, against a strong current! When I finally made it to the car, I just had to laugh at myself! It was a real work out! I don't know yards, but I'd say I traversed about 3-4 car lengths. Lorraine said afterwards that I was leaning way back in my stride, just barely picking up my feet. Then I had to make my way back......whoo wee! I had to pause to rest halfway up my 6 front steps. A half hour later I was in bed, unconscious. I slept for 5 hours, got up, ate a little baked chicken and a baked potato, and then was back in bed shortly after. I just wanted to give a quick update.
My midpoint PET scan will be at 11:00 on April 1. Let the fool be the Hodgkins!!
My midpoint PET scan will be at 11:00 on April 1. Let the fool be the Hodgkins!!
Thursday, March 10
Chemo # 5 Down
Number 5 is in my system, seeking and destroying cells as I write this. For now, I'm simply very, very fatigued, and am trying to hold at bay the yucky gastrointestinal stuff that hits the day of each treatment: horrendous constipation with a generous dollop of gas. I had the anticipatory nausea during chemo, and felt a little bit queasy in the car on the way to treatment. They offered me an Ativan, but I didn't want the accompanying sleepiness, so I declined. I did get a prescription for the stuff from the doc, however, so that ought to help with the impending yuck which should begin to kick my butt on Saturday and last for 5-6 days before gradually fading away.
There was a mix-up with the scheduling of my treatment -- they put it on Friday instead of Thursday -- so when they squeezed me in, I ended up having to wait an hour extra. There was a bit of down time during treatment as well, so what should have taken about 4 - 4 1/2 hours took over 6. And that was AFTER I waited 20 minutes to see my oncologist! So it was a long, long day. We were both exhausted when we finally made it home. I'm glad I took the Simply Sleep last night, because I only woke up when Lorraine awakened me by moving the blankets off my naked back in our 50 degree room like 40 times. Ok, not 40, more like 4. But it was unpleasant. She continues to hold the position that it was all Louie's fault. It was still a better night than it would have been had I continued with my routine of fitfully sleeping about half of every hour.
So: The Oncologist. It was great to see her -- I just like her so much. I'm going to call tomorrow to set up the mid-point PET scan for April 1, then Lorraine and I will meet with her on the 7th, before my 7th treatment and we'll review the results. It's not out of the realm of possibility that the cancer could have been eliminated by now and the scan would come up clear....but I don't want to get my hopes up too much. It's more probable that we'll see a big reduction in it, and get proof that the chemo's working but that there's more work to do. We shall see what we shall see. She felt for my palpable nodes, and whatdya know? They were gone!!! She couldn't feel them in my neck. She couldn't feel them in my groin. She couldn't feel them in my upper abdomen/spleen area. Before treatment, she felt them in all of these places! So she was very clear in explaining that the chemo IS working, and that she's excited about seeing just how much. After this midpoint scan, there won't be another one until after the end of my 6th cycle. At that point, we'll see where we are and if we need to continue onward. If we do, then the next course of action will be dependent upon how widespread the remaining chemo is. If the remaining cancer is still spread out, radiation will not be an option and I'll do 2 more months of chemo. Conversely, if it is restricted to just one area, we will weigh the risks and benefits of radiation vs. continued chemo. Que sara, sara. I'll cross that bridge when/if I come to it.
The risk of relapse is greatest in the first year after treatment, so we really have to make sure that we kill it gone, Gone, GONE. You're not considered "cured" till it's been gone for five years.
Oh, and just a brief aside on the topic of weight gain while on chemo: on the two Hodgkins message boards of which I'm a member, there's been a good deal of discussion lately about how much weight was gained while on the ABVD regimen. Those folks who've responded seem to have gained on average somewhere between 30 - 50 lbs. It's the steroids. I escaped the regimen that gives you moon face and enormous gain, but I'm still getting hammered with steroids, and weight gain is fairly endemic. Fascinating. That's all I'm going to say about that, except that while the steroids aren't under my control, I could try harder to exert more control over some other areas which impact a gain.
It's occurred to me that I hadn't told you guys that the oncology nurses spoke to me a few weeks ago about laying off the exercise. 3 of them at once, at Lorraine's concerned urging -- so let's make that a 4-on-1 discussion. It was quite the conversation, with me in tears at one point. They kindly said what I was doing was too strenuous, and that with such limited energy, it was unwise and counterproductive to use it up on working out as I was, when my body needed to retain some stores for rejuvenation and just daily living -- climbing up the stairs, making dinner, and the like. They were adamant that daily exercise was too much, and recommended easy, slow walks with a 20-minute limit. The doc said, too, not to overtax myself. I heeded their advice, but I'm still gaining....so I'm going to compromise. I'm going to do steady rate biking and walk on the treadmill instead of doing the power walking/aerobic WATP walks, and I'm going to do it for longer than 20 minutes, for as long as I feel up to it. If I have to dial back, then fine. I'll listen to my body. I don't intend to kill myself or make things harder for myself; I'm just trying to help myself not only ward off an enormous gain but also to increase my energy levels going forward. It's MUCH harder to lose weight after chemo (in fact, many people continue to gain as a result of diminished metabolisms,) and I'm interested now in some proactive damage control, in addition to the much-needed energy benefits. I just can't face the prospect of continuing to regain the weight that I worked so, so hard to lose. And my hard-won muscles are for crap now. It just feels like such a loss, after I was doing so well. You know?
I want to say that Lorraine continues to be absolutely amazing, and we are closer than ever. We had a great relationship going into this, and it's only getting better. The divorce/break-up rate among couples fighting cancer is very high, and we knew that going into it. There's no pulling away from each other, no retreating to separate corners; we talk to each other, and I can say that the amount of help Lorraine gives me is just astounding. We really are managing to stay in step with one another, and take care of one another in lots of loving ways. We just love each other so much. You'd like to think that the one you love will step up to the plate when disaster strikes -- and that you'll present a united front. I would have bet anything that this would be true for Lorraine and I. If you knew her, you'd say the same thing. She's true blue, and an amazingly good and loyal person. But seriously, you never really know how someone is going to react to such an incredibly stressful life event. Not until you're in it. I'm saying this about both of us. We're both strong for one another and comfortable showing our fear and frailties. We check in with one another, reaching out and offering support and gratitude. We take turns letting out the stress and each of us tries to be patient with the other.
I adore me some Lorraine. And, just for the record, her ass is a real treat, too! Sorry, Lorraine -- it had to be said. (And it's eminently relevant to my healing.)
Oh yeah, and while I'm talking about asses: neither of us had to reveal our butt cracks to the doc, although Lorraine was fully prepared to drop trou if it came to that. Alas, no; the doc made some cream recommendations and seemed to be pleased that she got away without viewing the crack of Lorraine's aforementioned ass and simply discussing mine. Mine, she had already had the pleasure of viewing when she did my bone marrow biopsy, so I'm fairly certain any curiosity she might have had on that count has been adequately satisfied. How many cracks can you really enjoy scanning in the line of duty, anyway?
There was a mix-up with the scheduling of my treatment -- they put it on Friday instead of Thursday -- so when they squeezed me in, I ended up having to wait an hour extra. There was a bit of down time during treatment as well, so what should have taken about 4 - 4 1/2 hours took over 6. And that was AFTER I waited 20 minutes to see my oncologist! So it was a long, long day. We were both exhausted when we finally made it home. I'm glad I took the Simply Sleep last night, because I only woke up when Lorraine awakened me by moving the blankets off my naked back in our 50 degree room like 40 times. Ok, not 40, more like 4. But it was unpleasant. She continues to hold the position that it was all Louie's fault. It was still a better night than it would have been had I continued with my routine of fitfully sleeping about half of every hour.
So: The Oncologist. It was great to see her -- I just like her so much. I'm going to call tomorrow to set up the mid-point PET scan for April 1, then Lorraine and I will meet with her on the 7th, before my 7th treatment and we'll review the results. It's not out of the realm of possibility that the cancer could have been eliminated by now and the scan would come up clear....but I don't want to get my hopes up too much. It's more probable that we'll see a big reduction in it, and get proof that the chemo's working but that there's more work to do. We shall see what we shall see. She felt for my palpable nodes, and whatdya know? They were gone!!! She couldn't feel them in my neck. She couldn't feel them in my groin. She couldn't feel them in my upper abdomen/spleen area. Before treatment, she felt them in all of these places! So she was very clear in explaining that the chemo IS working, and that she's excited about seeing just how much. After this midpoint scan, there won't be another one until after the end of my 6th cycle. At that point, we'll see where we are and if we need to continue onward. If we do, then the next course of action will be dependent upon how widespread the remaining chemo is. If the remaining cancer is still spread out, radiation will not be an option and I'll do 2 more months of chemo. Conversely, if it is restricted to just one area, we will weigh the risks and benefits of radiation vs. continued chemo. Que sara, sara. I'll cross that bridge when/if I come to it.
The risk of relapse is greatest in the first year after treatment, so we really have to make sure that we kill it gone, Gone, GONE. You're not considered "cured" till it's been gone for five years.
Oh, and just a brief aside on the topic of weight gain while on chemo: on the two Hodgkins message boards of which I'm a member, there's been a good deal of discussion lately about how much weight was gained while on the ABVD regimen. Those folks who've responded seem to have gained on average somewhere between 30 - 50 lbs. It's the steroids. I escaped the regimen that gives you moon face and enormous gain, but I'm still getting hammered with steroids, and weight gain is fairly endemic. Fascinating. That's all I'm going to say about that, except that while the steroids aren't under my control, I could try harder to exert more control over some other areas which impact a gain.
It's occurred to me that I hadn't told you guys that the oncology nurses spoke to me a few weeks ago about laying off the exercise. 3 of them at once, at Lorraine's concerned urging -- so let's make that a 4-on-1 discussion. It was quite the conversation, with me in tears at one point. They kindly said what I was doing was too strenuous, and that with such limited energy, it was unwise and counterproductive to use it up on working out as I was, when my body needed to retain some stores for rejuvenation and just daily living -- climbing up the stairs, making dinner, and the like. They were adamant that daily exercise was too much, and recommended easy, slow walks with a 20-minute limit. The doc said, too, not to overtax myself. I heeded their advice, but I'm still gaining....so I'm going to compromise. I'm going to do steady rate biking and walk on the treadmill instead of doing the power walking/aerobic WATP walks, and I'm going to do it for longer than 20 minutes, for as long as I feel up to it. If I have to dial back, then fine. I'll listen to my body. I don't intend to kill myself or make things harder for myself; I'm just trying to help myself not only ward off an enormous gain but also to increase my energy levels going forward. It's MUCH harder to lose weight after chemo (in fact, many people continue to gain as a result of diminished metabolisms,) and I'm interested now in some proactive damage control, in addition to the much-needed energy benefits. I just can't face the prospect of continuing to regain the weight that I worked so, so hard to lose. And my hard-won muscles are for crap now. It just feels like such a loss, after I was doing so well. You know?
I want to say that Lorraine continues to be absolutely amazing, and we are closer than ever. We had a great relationship going into this, and it's only getting better. The divorce/break-up rate among couples fighting cancer is very high, and we knew that going into it. There's no pulling away from each other, no retreating to separate corners; we talk to each other, and I can say that the amount of help Lorraine gives me is just astounding. We really are managing to stay in step with one another, and take care of one another in lots of loving ways. We just love each other so much. You'd like to think that the one you love will step up to the plate when disaster strikes -- and that you'll present a united front. I would have bet anything that this would be true for Lorraine and I. If you knew her, you'd say the same thing. She's true blue, and an amazingly good and loyal person. But seriously, you never really know how someone is going to react to such an incredibly stressful life event. Not until you're in it. I'm saying this about both of us. We're both strong for one another and comfortable showing our fear and frailties. We check in with one another, reaching out and offering support and gratitude. We take turns letting out the stress and each of us tries to be patient with the other.
I adore me some Lorraine. And, just for the record, her ass is a real treat, too! Sorry, Lorraine -- it had to be said. (And it's eminently relevant to my healing.)
Oh yeah, and while I'm talking about asses: neither of us had to reveal our butt cracks to the doc, although Lorraine was fully prepared to drop trou if it came to that. Alas, no; the doc made some cream recommendations and seemed to be pleased that she got away without viewing the crack of Lorraine's aforementioned ass and simply discussing mine. Mine, she had already had the pleasure of viewing when she did my bone marrow biopsy, so I'm fairly certain any curiosity she might have had on that count has been adequately satisfied. How many cracks can you really enjoy scanning in the line of duty, anyway?
Wednesday, March 9
Chemo's Tomorrow
Per normal, I gave blood today for the standard pre-chemo testing, and chemo's tomorrow morning -- and so is my monthly visit with my oncologist! My chemo starts at 8:00, and my appointment with Dr. Chaudhry is at 9:00, so I'll just wheel on over to her from the infusion room to her office with chemo infusion pole in hand and needle in chest. How's that for maximizing my time in the cancer center! I'm pretty excited about seeing her, as I haven't since the week following my first treatment. I'm going to ask her about scheduling my mid-point PET scan and also some vitamins I'd like to take. Lorraine's all over me to talk to her about a little patch of eczema I've got on my ass as well. I told her I'll break out my crack when she breaks out hers. So there we are.
The night before chemo is usually spent tossing and turning. I end up with very little actual sleep, since I have this ugly routine of waking up literally every hour and then taking about a half hour to fall back asleep again. I took some "Simply Sleep" an hour and a half ago, and I'm still feeling pretty darned alert, unfortunately. Hopefully it will make it easier to doze off and then stay under once I actually put head to pillow.
I promise that I'll try to be more communicative this time around. I really didn't realize that my silence would cause you to worry -- sorry, friends! I sincerely appreciate your concern, and I promise to try to better respect it by updating here -- even if it's just to say that I'm going to be quiet but I'm ok. Ok? Ok.
The night before chemo is usually spent tossing and turning. I end up with very little actual sleep, since I have this ugly routine of waking up literally every hour and then taking about a half hour to fall back asleep again. I took some "Simply Sleep" an hour and a half ago, and I'm still feeling pretty darned alert, unfortunately. Hopefully it will make it easier to doze off and then stay under once I actually put head to pillow.
I promise that I'll try to be more communicative this time around. I really didn't realize that my silence would cause you to worry -- sorry, friends! I sincerely appreciate your concern, and I promise to try to better respect it by updating here -- even if it's just to say that I'm going to be quiet but I'm ok. Ok? Ok.
Tuesday, March 8
Celebrating Life on Vacation
We're all set -- St. Maarten, here we come! We have the flights booked, the place booked, the convertible Jeep Rangler booked, my oncologist's approval (with a couple of conditions,) and Lorraine's arranged to have the time off. 9 days in the Carribean: seafront view, literally right on the water, on 3 secluded miles of white sandy beaches. Ahhhhhhh. Sounds to me like just what the doctor ordered! The oncologist has approved moving Chemo #9 up by one day to Wednesday, my birthday, May 4. I'll get my Neulasta shot the following day, and we'll fly out Friday morning and check in early that afternoon. Mary's Boon, where we are staying, was voted by Conde Nast readers in 2003 as one of the Top 10 Places to Stay in the Caribbean, so I'm thinking if it was good enough for them, it'll be good enough for us.
When we drive up in our convertible Jeep, we will see this:
Our room will look something like this:
Our room will be on this side of the hotel:
When we look out our window we will see this:
This is the restaurant at the hotel:
We are going on a sunset cruise on this ship:
And these are just some of the sights we'll see:
I'm the luckiest woman on earth, don't you think? We are both just so happy we can get away together to this tranquil little slice of heaven.
When we drive up in our convertible Jeep, we will see this:
Our room will look something like this:
Our room will be on this side of the hotel:
When we look out our window we will see this:
This is the restaurant at the hotel:
We are going on a sunset cruise on this ship:
And these are just some of the sights we'll see:
I'm the luckiest woman on earth, don't you think? We are both just so happy we can get away together to this tranquil little slice of heaven.
Monday, March 7
Getting Called Sir
Sorry I've been silent so long. I went from feeling really crappy to feeling very bored and uncommunicative to getting busy and then going away. So here's the report, in what will, I'm sure, end up being delivered in a pretty disjointed fashion:
The yucks lasted till the weekend, with the fatigue just now going away. I definitely felt more nauseous this time than I have previously, I'm sorry to say. It didn't progress to actual yacking, but it was pretty unpleasant, nonetheless. On the upside, the headache wasn't as bad this time! See how life is?
On Friday, I went to lunch with my boss. Man, I love her! I was a little anxious, because she had never assured me outright that she was going to hold my job for me. For those of you who don't know, when I got diagnosed with Lymphoma I had been employed as a Human Resources Generalist for a technology services provider, with a heavy emphasis on recruitment. I recruit and hire annually about 150 - 200 people, placing all the ads, reviewing sample work, and interviewing. It's a hectic position, because the needs can change daily, and the positions' levels vary from the $10.00/hr. inexperienced part-time summer job to the six figure upper level management career professional. I also handle all the Affirmative Action/EEO management (it's an administrative beast,) all the new-hire paperwork and orientations, all HR written communication, employee written communications, job description and handbook writing, workers compensation reconciliation, and more. I knew my boss, the Director of HR, would need help, and that she would have to replace me, because there's no way she could take on all my work. We were working on a skeleton staff as it was, and I was consistently enormously busy -- and productive....and so is she.
So anyway, we went to lunch, and had such a good time! She wanted to hear all the specifics of my treatment and what it's like for me, and filled me in on all the stuff going on at work. (There's always workplace drama, isn't there? No matter where you go.) Anyway, she told me that she's looking for a temporary person to help out as we enter our busiest season, and that she's told the staffing agency handling the position that she fully expects me to return to work -- unless I have some sort of work-related epiphany which leads me to make a career change -- and that she's holding the position for me! Whew -- what a relief! I was not looking forward to the prospect of looking for a job bald and without eyelashes or eyebrows, weak and flabby, forgetful from the "chemo head," and faced with having to explain the reason for having been out on disability for eight months and the challenge of assuring a new employer that I'm a good risk after all. God, what a relief!
Then she gave me an envelope which contained a hilarious "Miss You" card and a check for $400 to "get myself something pretty." How nice is that?! We didn't bonus this year, so it's not that. I was already out on disability when reviews happened, so I didn't get a raise (which would actualize initially in my disability checks.) She told me she felt badly about it, and that this was just a gesture, and that she'll give me a raise as soon as I get back. The gods are smiling on me. Lorraine and I are so relieved and grateful.
Saturday, Lorraine and I drove to New Jersey (just outside Princeton) to spend the night with Lorraine's sister, who's in the process of divorcing her husband. The kids, 14 and 16, are silent. It's hard. He had been cheating on her for years, and she finally kicked his sorry ass to the curb. Bastard. So we went there, and the home was more relaxed than either of us remember it ever being. During dinner at an Italian restaurant, I was complaining about my hat (sans wig,) how low it was, how I felt like I was sitting under a low roof, etc. Lorraine was telling me just to take it off. I rode the whole way to New Jersey from Baltimore bare-headed, and removed my hat when I met two old friends of hers, so she thought I could deal at the restaurant. In response to her urging, I told her that it would freak out the other diners, to which she replied, "Fuck 'em." I love her for saying that, but really, I didn't think it was a good idea. While I was softly demuring, she just ripped that hat right off my head. Poo-pooing with a hat on one minute -- sitting in quiet, bald silence the next. She meant well, but I felt miserable. She just wanted to help me, but I felt so indescribably self-conscious and ugly. I think it might have been the presence of the kids -- I felt uncomfortable for them as well. If they had said anything, it might have helped. I was just starting to relax a little when one of the waiters, serving me from behind, called me, "Sir." FABULOUS! Particularly amusing, considering the headline of the personal ad which snagged me my beloved was, "Get Called Sir?" Well, it certainly was a first for me. The women I think are hot experience this -- not I. Anyway, it was a difficult experience, but one I might repeat willingly when I am feeling stronger, or more bolstered.
We're going to St. Maarten for my birthday, so that's really what I'm thinking about now, more than silly insecurities about my bald head. So, not so much the head itself, or how I feel about the head -- but really where in the world the head is! That's the interesting thing now. More on this tomorrow.
The yucks lasted till the weekend, with the fatigue just now going away. I definitely felt more nauseous this time than I have previously, I'm sorry to say. It didn't progress to actual yacking, but it was pretty unpleasant, nonetheless. On the upside, the headache wasn't as bad this time! See how life is?
On Friday, I went to lunch with my boss. Man, I love her! I was a little anxious, because she had never assured me outright that she was going to hold my job for me. For those of you who don't know, when I got diagnosed with Lymphoma I had been employed as a Human Resources Generalist for a technology services provider, with a heavy emphasis on recruitment. I recruit and hire annually about 150 - 200 people, placing all the ads, reviewing sample work, and interviewing. It's a hectic position, because the needs can change daily, and the positions' levels vary from the $10.00/hr. inexperienced part-time summer job to the six figure upper level management career professional. I also handle all the Affirmative Action/EEO management (it's an administrative beast,) all the new-hire paperwork and orientations, all HR written communication, employee written communications, job description and handbook writing, workers compensation reconciliation, and more. I knew my boss, the Director of HR, would need help, and that she would have to replace me, because there's no way she could take on all my work. We were working on a skeleton staff as it was, and I was consistently enormously busy -- and productive....and so is she.
So anyway, we went to lunch, and had such a good time! She wanted to hear all the specifics of my treatment and what it's like for me, and filled me in on all the stuff going on at work. (There's always workplace drama, isn't there? No matter where you go.) Anyway, she told me that she's looking for a temporary person to help out as we enter our busiest season, and that she's told the staffing agency handling the position that she fully expects me to return to work -- unless I have some sort of work-related epiphany which leads me to make a career change -- and that she's holding the position for me! Whew -- what a relief! I was not looking forward to the prospect of looking for a job bald and without eyelashes or eyebrows, weak and flabby, forgetful from the "chemo head," and faced with having to explain the reason for having been out on disability for eight months and the challenge of assuring a new employer that I'm a good risk after all. God, what a relief!
Then she gave me an envelope which contained a hilarious "Miss You" card and a check for $400 to "get myself something pretty." How nice is that?! We didn't bonus this year, so it's not that. I was already out on disability when reviews happened, so I didn't get a raise (which would actualize initially in my disability checks.) She told me she felt badly about it, and that this was just a gesture, and that she'll give me a raise as soon as I get back. The gods are smiling on me. Lorraine and I are so relieved and grateful.
Saturday, Lorraine and I drove to New Jersey (just outside Princeton) to spend the night with Lorraine's sister, who's in the process of divorcing her husband. The kids, 14 and 16, are silent. It's hard. He had been cheating on her for years, and she finally kicked his sorry ass to the curb. Bastard. So we went there, and the home was more relaxed than either of us remember it ever being. During dinner at an Italian restaurant, I was complaining about my hat (sans wig,) how low it was, how I felt like I was sitting under a low roof, etc. Lorraine was telling me just to take it off. I rode the whole way to New Jersey from Baltimore bare-headed, and removed my hat when I met two old friends of hers, so she thought I could deal at the restaurant. In response to her urging, I told her that it would freak out the other diners, to which she replied, "Fuck 'em." I love her for saying that, but really, I didn't think it was a good idea. While I was softly demuring, she just ripped that hat right off my head. Poo-pooing with a hat on one minute -- sitting in quiet, bald silence the next. She meant well, but I felt miserable. She just wanted to help me, but I felt so indescribably self-conscious and ugly. I think it might have been the presence of the kids -- I felt uncomfortable for them as well. If they had said anything, it might have helped. I was just starting to relax a little when one of the waiters, serving me from behind, called me, "Sir." FABULOUS! Particularly amusing, considering the headline of the personal ad which snagged me my beloved was, "Get Called Sir?" Well, it certainly was a first for me. The women I think are hot experience this -- not I. Anyway, it was a difficult experience, but one I might repeat willingly when I am feeling stronger, or more bolstered.
We're going to St. Maarten for my birthday, so that's really what I'm thinking about now, more than silly insecurities about my bald head. So, not so much the head itself, or how I feel about the head -- but really where in the world the head is! That's the interesting thing now. More on this tomorrow.
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