I'll be back home on Sunday and will update here either that day or Monday. We're not going to go into the city after all -- they don't want to go if I'm not going to go, the sweethearts -- L's sister said the whole point of the weekend was to celebrate my being done with chemo! Wow, I didn't know that at all! I thought we were going to have a Girls' Weekend celebrating her divorce and her not having the kids! Who knew? Funny!
Thursday: 1129 calories, 20 minutes cycling (another 5 miles -- I'm up to 5 miles consistently now.)
I feel like I'm coming down with something -- I hope to heaven that isn't the case.
Thursday, June 30
Sarah Doesn't Go to Chemo
Wednesday: 1821 calories; 20 minutes cycling (5 miles); lots [for me] of standing and walking at the baseball game that wasn't.
Today would be chemo day, if I still had to go to chemo. I felt a wave of nausea just typing the word chemo. It's two weeks to the day since my last chemo -- but it feels like longer. That said, my body frequently tells me that I'm not far out of it.
Sadly, the baseball game got postponed. We waited 3 hours for them to play, but then we were done. I was actually done an hour earlier -- but I didn't want to leave in case the game didn't get called, because Lorraine was going to get a "Happy 40th Birthday" message between the 3rd and 4th innings. We just kept standing and walking, standing and walking. There was no place for me to sit, and it was just really, really hard. We did have a good time together, though -- the adults had a couple of cocktails (beer for Lorraine and wine for her sister and I) and we laughed a lot. I was worried about Lorraine finding her way back to pick me up if I waited by the stadium for her to retrieve me after getting the car from the lot 5-6 blocks away. So I walked with them. We went slowly, and I rested a few times, but it was just too much. Twice I had to stop because I couldn't breathe, I hardly had the strength to stand, and I almost hyperventilated. I just couldn't catch my breath. It really scared me.
I'm worried about going to NY now with Lorraine and her sister. It really bums me out because I miss it so much -- it's my home town! It would just be so, so great for my spirits. I just know that I can't do the walking. Last night drove that point home. I'll just make Lorraine take me back later on, when I have more stamina and cardiovascular fitness.
Speaking of cardiovascular fitness, I did another 20 minutes on the exercise bike. I ride 5 miles in that time -- not bad for a chemo-head! I'm planning on starting weight training next week, so that I can begin to rebuild strength after 6 months of inactivity. I think, also, that I'll start walking on the treadmill slowly, for 5-10 minutes at a time. Walking is harder for me because it's weight-bearing. Cycling is more doable, so that's why I've started with it.
I've been emotional today. I attribute it to last night's experience and my fear over next Wednesday's scans. I won't meet with my oncologist until July 28th, as she's going out of town, so I can't talk to her about post-chemo life until then. I'm glad I know that I can get a copy of the results from the radiologist, because otherwise I'd have to wait almost 3 weeks to find out whether or not I'm still cancer-free! (Most folks get those results directly from their oncologists, rather than getting a copy of the report themselves.)
Still no weight loss, since starting on Monday. Normally I'd have lost at least a pound or two of water or something! I've learned that a lot of people have a very difficult time losing weight initially, despite their best efforts, because the body just holds onto everything everything and does not cooperate. This just makes no sense to me, because the whole calories in/calories out thing is just pretty straightforward, physiologically speaking. Is it that your metabolism just slows to a crawl or what? Oh well, I'll just keep on keeping on. Maybe the scale will do what I want it to, and maybe it won't. Either way, I'll be doing all the right things for my body and giving it the care it needs to get healthier and stronger. Sooner or later it will cooperate.
Today would be chemo day, if I still had to go to chemo. I felt a wave of nausea just typing the word chemo. It's two weeks to the day since my last chemo -- but it feels like longer. That said, my body frequently tells me that I'm not far out of it.
Sadly, the baseball game got postponed. We waited 3 hours for them to play, but then we were done. I was actually done an hour earlier -- but I didn't want to leave in case the game didn't get called, because Lorraine was going to get a "Happy 40th Birthday" message between the 3rd and 4th innings. We just kept standing and walking, standing and walking. There was no place for me to sit, and it was just really, really hard. We did have a good time together, though -- the adults had a couple of cocktails (beer for Lorraine and wine for her sister and I) and we laughed a lot. I was worried about Lorraine finding her way back to pick me up if I waited by the stadium for her to retrieve me after getting the car from the lot 5-6 blocks away. So I walked with them. We went slowly, and I rested a few times, but it was just too much. Twice I had to stop because I couldn't breathe, I hardly had the strength to stand, and I almost hyperventilated. I just couldn't catch my breath. It really scared me.
I'm worried about going to NY now with Lorraine and her sister. It really bums me out because I miss it so much -- it's my home town! It would just be so, so great for my spirits. I just know that I can't do the walking. Last night drove that point home. I'll just make Lorraine take me back later on, when I have more stamina and cardiovascular fitness.
Speaking of cardiovascular fitness, I did another 20 minutes on the exercise bike. I ride 5 miles in that time -- not bad for a chemo-head! I'm planning on starting weight training next week, so that I can begin to rebuild strength after 6 months of inactivity. I think, also, that I'll start walking on the treadmill slowly, for 5-10 minutes at a time. Walking is harder for me because it's weight-bearing. Cycling is more doable, so that's why I've started with it.
I've been emotional today. I attribute it to last night's experience and my fear over next Wednesday's scans. I won't meet with my oncologist until July 28th, as she's going out of town, so I can't talk to her about post-chemo life until then. I'm glad I know that I can get a copy of the results from the radiologist, because otherwise I'd have to wait almost 3 weeks to find out whether or not I'm still cancer-free! (Most folks get those results directly from their oncologists, rather than getting a copy of the report themselves.)
Still no weight loss, since starting on Monday. Normally I'd have lost at least a pound or two of water or something! I've learned that a lot of people have a very difficult time losing weight initially, despite their best efforts, because the body just holds onto everything everything and does not cooperate. This just makes no sense to me, because the whole calories in/calories out thing is just pretty straightforward, physiologically speaking. Is it that your metabolism just slows to a crawl or what? Oh well, I'll just keep on keeping on. Maybe the scale will do what I want it to, and maybe it won't. Either way, I'll be doing all the right things for my body and giving it the care it needs to get healthier and stronger. Sooner or later it will cooperate.
Tuesday, June 28
Another on-plan day
I think I'm going to start recording my calories here, in addition to my exercise. So, without further ado:
Monday: 1298; 2 sessions of 20 minutes cycling apiece
Tuesday: 1119; 20 minutes cycling
I couldn't do more exercise than just the 20 minutes today because I had a big grocery excursion alone, and the exertion of loading it, unloading it, and putting it away just did me in. Baby steps, Sarah.
Tomorrow Lorraine and I are going to a Yankee/Orioles game at Camden Yards with her sister and her sister's teenage son. Should be fun! I hope there aren't too many stairs -- I'm really having a hard time with stairs still. I'll just stop and rest if I have to. I'm going to bring a healthy sandwich with me for dinner, rather than eating stadium fare.
This weekend we're going up to the same sister's house to spend time with her while her kids are with their father. (Fresh divorce in process.) So we'll be staying near Princeton in Jersey, and will go into NYC on Saturday. I'm so excited about going home -- I'm so happy to be able to see my old neighborhood (Chelsea) and go back to the village. It's going to take some coordination and conscious effort to stay on plan away all weekend, and eating out a lot. Lorraine has no plans to stay on plan, but I do -- at least for the most part. That's why I'm going so low-cal during these at-home days -- to buy myself a little extra later in the week.
It's so strange to think that I would have chemo in two days. It's as if my body knows it's done. Not only is my energy better than it normally would be, but my hair is growing like nobody's business! It actually started at the beginning of my last cycle, and over the month it's grown almost half an inch. My eyelashes came back, and I have the beginnings of eyebrows and underarm sproutings! News on the nose hair and southern regions pending. Getting back to the strangeness of it -- there really is an unreal quality to it all. I'm thinking more about weight loss than cancer. I'm biking miles on my cycle and remembering first with surprise and then with chagrin why I can't do as much as I try to.
It's not that I've forgotten about the cancer. God knows. I see it in my reflection in the mirror, I see it on my bookshelves, I am reminded of it by my physical inadequacies. And let us not forget my upcoming PET scan, the one that will answer the "Is she still in remission?" status. A wonderful friend, ironically both an immunologist and Hodgkins survivor (God surely has a sense of humor!) amused me and assured me both when he said, "That cancer is as dead as your toenail." Pretty funny! Incidentally, said toenail has healed a bit! I can now go sans bandaid -- although it's pretty freakin' ugly. Another Hodgkins List member encouraged a young woman also fresh out of treatment who, like me, is feeling enormous anxiety about her upcoming scans. He said that he found his results calming, because they told him he was still ok. I hope mine tell me the same thing. I'll be getting scans every 3 months during the first year of my remission, as it is within the first year that most relapses occur. It's normal to feel tremendous anxiety around scan time; I'm in very good company.
But I've been so concentrating on getting back to my own "new normal" and resuming my interrupted path to health, fitness and personal realization, that the cancer has been pushed to the back burner like the water you very much need to boil. I'm very relieved that I'm able to accomplish this. It's possible that -- scan results pending -- I might just be ok.
Monday: 1298; 2 sessions of 20 minutes cycling apiece
Tuesday: 1119; 20 minutes cycling
I couldn't do more exercise than just the 20 minutes today because I had a big grocery excursion alone, and the exertion of loading it, unloading it, and putting it away just did me in. Baby steps, Sarah.
Tomorrow Lorraine and I are going to a Yankee/Orioles game at Camden Yards with her sister and her sister's teenage son. Should be fun! I hope there aren't too many stairs -- I'm really having a hard time with stairs still. I'll just stop and rest if I have to. I'm going to bring a healthy sandwich with me for dinner, rather than eating stadium fare.
This weekend we're going up to the same sister's house to spend time with her while her kids are with their father. (Fresh divorce in process.) So we'll be staying near Princeton in Jersey, and will go into NYC on Saturday. I'm so excited about going home -- I'm so happy to be able to see my old neighborhood (Chelsea) and go back to the village. It's going to take some coordination and conscious effort to stay on plan away all weekend, and eating out a lot. Lorraine has no plans to stay on plan, but I do -- at least for the most part. That's why I'm going so low-cal during these at-home days -- to buy myself a little extra later in the week.
It's so strange to think that I would have chemo in two days. It's as if my body knows it's done. Not only is my energy better than it normally would be, but my hair is growing like nobody's business! It actually started at the beginning of my last cycle, and over the month it's grown almost half an inch. My eyelashes came back, and I have the beginnings of eyebrows and underarm sproutings! News on the nose hair and southern regions pending. Getting back to the strangeness of it -- there really is an unreal quality to it all. I'm thinking more about weight loss than cancer. I'm biking miles on my cycle and remembering first with surprise and then with chagrin why I can't do as much as I try to.
It's not that I've forgotten about the cancer. God knows. I see it in my reflection in the mirror, I see it on my bookshelves, I am reminded of it by my physical inadequacies. And let us not forget my upcoming PET scan, the one that will answer the "Is she still in remission?" status. A wonderful friend, ironically both an immunologist and Hodgkins survivor (God surely has a sense of humor!) amused me and assured me both when he said, "That cancer is as dead as your toenail." Pretty funny! Incidentally, said toenail has healed a bit! I can now go sans bandaid -- although it's pretty freakin' ugly. Another Hodgkins List member encouraged a young woman also fresh out of treatment who, like me, is feeling enormous anxiety about her upcoming scans. He said that he found his results calming, because they told him he was still ok. I hope mine tell me the same thing. I'll be getting scans every 3 months during the first year of my remission, as it is within the first year that most relapses occur. It's normal to feel tremendous anxiety around scan time; I'm in very good company.
But I've been so concentrating on getting back to my own "new normal" and resuming my interrupted path to health, fitness and personal realization, that the cancer has been pushed to the back burner like the water you very much need to boil. I'm very relieved that I'm able to accomplish this. It's possible that -- scan results pending -- I might just be ok.
Monday, June 27
It's the first day of the rest of my life!
I had an almost normal, pre-cancer diagnosis day today! I feel like I'm back in the driver's seat when it comes to managing my health.
I ate 100% on plan (a low calorie day at 1204 kcal) and I exercised! I did, not once but twice, 20 minutes on the exercise bike -- so for those of you keeping count at home, that adds up to a total of 40 minutes! I'd rate my level of perceived exertion a 7-8, which I think is right where I need to be at this point. I am seriously stoked about it! On the exercise menu for tomorrow: more cardio, and the beginnings of some weight training.
Ah. It's occurred to me that further clarification might be beneficial. For those of you who only know me as, "Cancer Survivor Sarah," "on plan" for me means:
* Eat 5-6 meals/day
* Aim for a WEEKLY overall average of 1500 calories
* Allow myself a weekly or biweekly off plan treat (like pizza) that's planned and fits in with my overall guidelines (so if I have 2 slices of pizza on one night, it's tilapia for me the preceding night, and grilled chicken the night after!)
* Cycle my calories within the week (keeps the body guessing)
* Aim for an OVERALL daily/weekly average of 40% protein / 35% carbs / 25% fat (if I'm off by a couple of percentage points, I don't sweat it)
* Log all my eats and exercise in Diet Power, my nutritional software -- this is non-negotiable
* Almost no alcohol (only on the rare occasion)
* Stick to almost all low-glycemic or complex carbohydrates
* Try to eat protein with my carbs whenever possible
* Get 40 grams of fiber every day
* Limit my sodium to maximum 1800 grams
* Limit my saturated fat to no more than 10% of my total fat
* Drink 120-140 oz. water daily
* Exercise every day (I didn't do this last year, but I will this year -- nothing like getting Stage IIIB cancer to give you the "Come to Jesus" feeling -- even if your cancer is not at all lifestyle-related!
* No -- or ALMOST no -- added sugars
* Very few processed foods
* Weight training lifting to failure with free weights and my Cross Bow 3 times a week, some cardio every day (ultimately with intensity intervals -- I love HIIT!)
Lorraine was on plan, too! For the first time since I've known her, she's fully committed to losing weight and getting healthy. And here's a MAJOR development: She's quitting smoking. July 10th is the day. She's started Zyban (Wellbutrin) and is to remain on it for 2 full weeks before starting the patch. She'll be on the patch for 21 days. I am so freaking excited it's all I can do to talk or think about anything else. I am ecstatic. I love her with all of my heart, and I want her to live a long, healthy life with me.
Post-chemo scans are scheduled for July 6th. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
I ate 100% on plan (a low calorie day at 1204 kcal) and I exercised! I did, not once but twice, 20 minutes on the exercise bike -- so for those of you keeping count at home, that adds up to a total of 40 minutes! I'd rate my level of perceived exertion a 7-8, which I think is right where I need to be at this point. I am seriously stoked about it! On the exercise menu for tomorrow: more cardio, and the beginnings of some weight training.
Ah. It's occurred to me that further clarification might be beneficial. For those of you who only know me as, "Cancer Survivor Sarah," "on plan" for me means:
* Eat 5-6 meals/day
* Aim for a WEEKLY overall average of 1500 calories
* Allow myself a weekly or biweekly off plan treat (like pizza) that's planned and fits in with my overall guidelines (so if I have 2 slices of pizza on one night, it's tilapia for me the preceding night, and grilled chicken the night after!)
* Cycle my calories within the week (keeps the body guessing)
* Aim for an OVERALL daily/weekly average of 40% protein / 35% carbs / 25% fat (if I'm off by a couple of percentage points, I don't sweat it)
* Log all my eats and exercise in Diet Power, my nutritional software -- this is non-negotiable
* Almost no alcohol (only on the rare occasion)
* Stick to almost all low-glycemic or complex carbohydrates
* Try to eat protein with my carbs whenever possible
* Get 40 grams of fiber every day
* Limit my sodium to maximum 1800 grams
* Limit my saturated fat to no more than 10% of my total fat
* Drink 120-140 oz. water daily
* Exercise every day (I didn't do this last year, but I will this year -- nothing like getting Stage IIIB cancer to give you the "Come to Jesus" feeling -- even if your cancer is not at all lifestyle-related!
* No -- or ALMOST no -- added sugars
* Very few processed foods
* Weight training lifting to failure with free weights and my Cross Bow 3 times a week, some cardio every day (ultimately with intensity intervals -- I love HIIT!)
Lorraine was on plan, too! For the first time since I've known her, she's fully committed to losing weight and getting healthy. And here's a MAJOR development: She's quitting smoking. July 10th is the day. She's started Zyban (Wellbutrin) and is to remain on it for 2 full weeks before starting the patch. She'll be on the patch for 21 days. I am so freaking excited it's all I can do to talk or think about anything else. I am ecstatic. I love her with all of my heart, and I want her to live a long, healthy life with me.
Post-chemo scans are scheduled for July 6th. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Wednesday, June 15
On the Eve of What I Pray Will Be My Last Chemo
I'm at the end, I think. After 6 months and 11 doses of the high dose chemo regimen ABVD, I'm mentally preparing for what should be my last day in the infusion room.
Ask me if it's been a long road, and I'll say yes. Ask me if, on looking back on the 7 months since my diagnosis, it seems like I got that phone call just yesterday -- yes again. It's a funny thing, perspective: it's fluid, shifting, slippery. The thing I know for sure is that my six months of ABVD are up. I've done my time. I dread tomorrow as I've dreaded each treatment once I knew what I was in for. In keeping with the predictable pattern of each one being harder than the last, tomorrow's will be the hardest one yet. I was just asked, "Aren't you looking forward to it???" Ummm, no. But I AM looking forward to the day after tomorrow. Am I splitting hairs? Being too literal? Perhaps, but I'm literally sick and tired of feeling like a stranger in my own body......and of feeling sick and tired. I spoke to someone today who was so happy to hear from me -- we hadn't spoken since before my diagnosis. She said, "Wow! You sound just like your old self, Sarah!" I replied, "I am my old self. And my new self. And a self I haven't even met yet. The self I'm not is the one who's body this is." I feel like I'm doing time in someone else's sad old carcass. But mine it is, though. And I've got big plans for it beginning in a couple of weeks, when I begin to regain some energy. More on that soon.....it's pretty exciting though! I am rebuilding my temple! Suffice to say that I'll have a lot more to say about rebuilding my physical health than I've had to say about my physical, chemo life in recent weeks.
A friend asked me today in an email if I worried a lot that my cancer will come back. Well, there's a question. *contemplative sigh* I guess I don't. Which is not to say that I don't experience waves of enormous sadness and fear. I cannot be certain that it won't come back, of course, and that's obviously pretty terrifying. It's just not under my control, though, and I can't let fear set the tone for my thoughts, my days, my life. It just is what it is. I guess I'm feeling fairly zen about it. I do have a feeling, though, that my thoughts and feelings around recurrence will change -- and probably without warning. I guess I'll share them as they come, to the degree that that exercise seems worthwhile and productive to me.
I do know that I intend to value my life and health from here on out -- regardless of how long I get to enjoy these gifts. At the risk of sounding all survivor-like and dramatic, I am not going to squander the lessons of this wake-up call to life and living. I do not fall into that camp of philosophical folk who believe that cancer and other life-threatening illnesses visit upon those who have some great life-lesson to learn and need just that big a facesmack to jolt them into appreciation of This Gift We Call Life. Seriously, I do not. I see plenty of folks who quite effectively shit upon their own lives and the lives of others -- and they push their way through the world in perfectly good physical health. I do believe quite strongly, though, in taking from experiences something positive, and out of this experience I am purposefully drawing a resolve to jump right back on track in resuming my pre-diagnosis focus on taking care of my body's health. I've been thinking about some other aspects of appreciating my time here on earth, but those I'll go into when I have more time.
For now, though, I'm all about tomorrow's chemo. I'll have another PET scan in the second or third week of July to see if the Beast is still gone, and, provided it is, I'll ease into the life of a recovering chemo patient. Hooyah!!
As it turns out, my job may not be waiting for me. If my boss can't find a temporary replacement for the next couple of months, she'll have to go with a permanent one. It can't be helped. I do not relish the thought of looking for a job at the end of this, almost bald and explaining to potential employers my reason for going out on disability and that I'm a good hiring risk. Maybe I won't have to. I pray that's the case. I guess I'll just deal with it if it comes to that. Lorraine and I are frightened though.
I wish that I could just blithely respond to all the physical and emotional sensations of tomorrow and the coming days with a happy, "Well, this is the last time I'll be feeling THAT!" I just don't think I can do that responsibly. Am I too serious? Too literal? I just don't feel like I have that assurance, that certainty. I think it's a good bet, though! God knows I'm counting on it.
Ask me if it's been a long road, and I'll say yes. Ask me if, on looking back on the 7 months since my diagnosis, it seems like I got that phone call just yesterday -- yes again. It's a funny thing, perspective: it's fluid, shifting, slippery. The thing I know for sure is that my six months of ABVD are up. I've done my time. I dread tomorrow as I've dreaded each treatment once I knew what I was in for. In keeping with the predictable pattern of each one being harder than the last, tomorrow's will be the hardest one yet. I was just asked, "Aren't you looking forward to it???" Ummm, no. But I AM looking forward to the day after tomorrow. Am I splitting hairs? Being too literal? Perhaps, but I'm literally sick and tired of feeling like a stranger in my own body......and of feeling sick and tired. I spoke to someone today who was so happy to hear from me -- we hadn't spoken since before my diagnosis. She said, "Wow! You sound just like your old self, Sarah!" I replied, "I am my old self. And my new self. And a self I haven't even met yet. The self I'm not is the one who's body this is." I feel like I'm doing time in someone else's sad old carcass. But mine it is, though. And I've got big plans for it beginning in a couple of weeks, when I begin to regain some energy. More on that soon.....it's pretty exciting though! I am rebuilding my temple! Suffice to say that I'll have a lot more to say about rebuilding my physical health than I've had to say about my physical, chemo life in recent weeks.
A friend asked me today in an email if I worried a lot that my cancer will come back. Well, there's a question. *contemplative sigh* I guess I don't. Which is not to say that I don't experience waves of enormous sadness and fear. I cannot be certain that it won't come back, of course, and that's obviously pretty terrifying. It's just not under my control, though, and I can't let fear set the tone for my thoughts, my days, my life. It just is what it is. I guess I'm feeling fairly zen about it. I do have a feeling, though, that my thoughts and feelings around recurrence will change -- and probably without warning. I guess I'll share them as they come, to the degree that that exercise seems worthwhile and productive to me.
I do know that I intend to value my life and health from here on out -- regardless of how long I get to enjoy these gifts. At the risk of sounding all survivor-like and dramatic, I am not going to squander the lessons of this wake-up call to life and living. I do not fall into that camp of philosophical folk who believe that cancer and other life-threatening illnesses visit upon those who have some great life-lesson to learn and need just that big a facesmack to jolt them into appreciation of This Gift We Call Life. Seriously, I do not. I see plenty of folks who quite effectively shit upon their own lives and the lives of others -- and they push their way through the world in perfectly good physical health. I do believe quite strongly, though, in taking from experiences something positive, and out of this experience I am purposefully drawing a resolve to jump right back on track in resuming my pre-diagnosis focus on taking care of my body's health. I've been thinking about some other aspects of appreciating my time here on earth, but those I'll go into when I have more time.
For now, though, I'm all about tomorrow's chemo. I'll have another PET scan in the second or third week of July to see if the Beast is still gone, and, provided it is, I'll ease into the life of a recovering chemo patient. Hooyah!!
As it turns out, my job may not be waiting for me. If my boss can't find a temporary replacement for the next couple of months, she'll have to go with a permanent one. It can't be helped. I do not relish the thought of looking for a job at the end of this, almost bald and explaining to potential employers my reason for going out on disability and that I'm a good hiring risk. Maybe I won't have to. I pray that's the case. I guess I'll just deal with it if it comes to that. Lorraine and I are frightened though.
I wish that I could just blithely respond to all the physical and emotional sensations of tomorrow and the coming days with a happy, "Well, this is the last time I'll be feeling THAT!" I just don't think I can do that responsibly. Am I too serious? Too literal? I just don't feel like I have that assurance, that certainty. I think it's a good bet, though! God knows I'm counting on it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
