Today is my grandmother’s first chemo appointment. She’s hopelessly scared. She had a double-port put in last Thursday, and will be getting two different drugs today. Hair loss is inevitable, and mouth sores and extreme nausea/vomiting are most likely. At this point her only thought is to be well enough on Friday to go to my brother’s tech school graduation, but I’m really not sure that will be possible because it requires a 3 hour car ride each way. But we’ll wait and see, all with our fingers crossed.
All is Well (all things considered) October 14, 2008
Grammy’s surgery went well. No surprises, and they got most or all of the brain tumor out. We’ll know more after this afternoon’s MRI. Fears of extreme weakness and slight temporary paralysis on her left side were shattered when she applied her own chapstick and drank hot tea just minutes after waking up, all with her left hand. She might even be able to go home today. It’s just crazy to me that they can saw your skull open, remove a chunk of “very damaged” brain matter, put you back together, and you’re instantly better than you were a couple hours before. Crazy, I say.
UPDATE: The MRI was scheduled for 4, and then she was going home.
Pantry Soup October 13, 2008
I guess I haven’t written lately. I think I just needed time to process everything. I kept thinking about writing, but could never muster up a coherent post while on a computer (which is to say, about 13 hours a day).
The appointment with my RE went well, I think. She upped my dosage of metformin to 2000mg a day, so I’m crossing my fingers that does something. She also gave me provera (after I asked) to induce a period, which started yesterday. I’m not sure why I miss them so much when I don’t have them; they suck. And if we weren’t trying to get me pregnant, I’d be happy with, oh, about 2 a year, just for safety’s sake. Also, she told me that I can move to the next step (Clomid) whenever I want, but would like me to give the upped dosage at least 3-6 months to see how it works, if at all. At this point I’m planning to wait about 3 months, until the first of the year.
My grandmother’s appointment with the team of doctors went okay, all things considering. She’s been officially diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer that’s metastasized to the mediastic lymph nodes and brain. It’s incurable, and they said that she’s got 9-12 months to live, maybe up to 24 months with treatment. Treatment includes surgery to remove the brain tumor (where all of her symptoms are coming from), radiation to the brain, and chemo/radiation combo for the lung and lymph nodes. The brain surgery is today. In fact, I’m thinking they’re probably cutting into her skull right about now. It gives me the heebie-jeebies and makes me nauseous to think about it.
Work’s been okay. I alternate between being super-productive, or a big lump of worthlessness. It all depends on my mood.
My Mom’s birthday is Sunday, and Paul and I are hosting lunch Sunday for my parents, my grandparents, and maybe my brother. I’m greatly looking forward to having everyone over. My grandparents haven’t seen our new apartment, and now that we have a dining room, it should be much better than Mom’s birthday last year, when we were all (9 of us) crammed in our small living room eating tacos off our laps. This year we’re making lemon roast chicken and gravy, browned butter mashed potatoes, green bean casserole (from scratch!), and corn (for Dad). I’m also making my “famous” Loaded Carrot Cake with cream cheese icing (also from scratch), and some sort of chcocolatey thing (maybe pots de chocolate?) for Dad and Paul, who don’t like carrot cake. I was also thinking I would make a couple raspberry pies, one for Paul and me (it’s my favorite) and one to send home with Grammy (her favorite, too). Hey, maybe I’ll post my recipes!
I’ve been on a soup-making bend lately. Vats of home-made chicken stock. Chicken noodle made from leftovers. Creamy tomato soup from scratch. Pantry Mexican soup. Next is chili. They all get packaged into individual servings and stuck in the freezer for lunches. Maybe I’ll post those recipes too. Can you tell I tend to cook when stressed?
all-you-can-eat buffet September 30, 2008
There’s a certain art form in the all you can eat buffet. Whether it’s Chinese or all-American, the objective is the same: load as much as you can on one plate the first trip through; pot stickers on top of rice on top of General Tso’s, next to teriyaki chicken and chicken fingers and spicy broccoli. Forget the fact that you can go back up as many times as you want; that first plate is the most important, a source of pride.
I’m used to carrying around a relatively small plate. Chicken fingers and pot stickers, max. However, recently I’ve been expected to also pile some fried rice on to that plate. Luckily, rice is small and can filter down into all the nooks and crannies between the chicken. But when I was asked to include some sushi, it went rolling all over and on to the floor, a huge mess. Luckily someone also then handed me a bigger plate. This one’s the size of a turkey platter and it can hold a lot, but it gets awful heavy. And I know that someday, it will be too full and someone will break out the pizza pan-sized plate and expect me to be able to handle it. I just have to hope that someone else will be there to help me carry it.
Okay, so I’ve probably taken that metaphor as far as it will go. My point is this: I have a lot on my mental/emotional plate right now. The everyday, not-so-stressful stresses like marriage, family, and work have been expanded upon. Marriage now includes not just trying to get pregnant, but infertility. Family includes a grandmother with advanced metastatic cancer. And work includes a handful of people who think I don’t know how to do my job. Luckily I have a husband who is supportive and willing to do what he can to help carry the load. Sometimes I just wish he (or anyone!) would carry all of it, which I realize is completely unfair, because he has is own load to carry.
Tomorrow I have an appointment with my RE, a follow-up to see how I’m responding to the Metformin. I have a list of questions as long as my arm about what the next steps will be, and I’m actually pretty anxious about the whole thing. It doesn’t seem that I’m ovulating on Met, and I’m afraid she’ll want to wait another 3 months or so before taking the next step (Clomid). I’m hoping she’ll at least give me some Provera so I can start a fresh cycle, as I’m currently on day 49.
Tomorrow is also my grandmother’s appointment with her team of doctors. The oncologists and brain surgeons will tell her exactly what she has and give her treatment options, if there are any. I’d say 80% of my current stress is about that. I just don’t know what we’ll do if there are no treatment options.
So today when my coworker decided to have an attitude with me, I lost my shit. Now we’re both just plugging away, trying to avoid confrontation as much as possible. Sometimes you just need to have some time to yourself (even if it’s only so you don’t kill someone).
This sucks. September 25, 2008
I started smoking when I was about 14. The cool girls* at school** smoked, and I wanted to hang out with them. I knew I would look stupid if I first tried it in front of them, so I stole a pack of my grandmother’s Virginia Slims Menthol 100s when she was visiting, hunkered down in a corner of the back yard with a box of matches while my 6 year old brother watched Power Rangers, and became a smoker. I loved it instantly. Sure, I coughed and hacked my way through the first couple, but I was committed, and I loved the taste and the way it felt almost right away.
I never got in with those girls, but I continued to smoke on occasion, and by the time I got to high school, I was ready to hit the big time. My crowd turned out to be a bunch of losers who cut class to smoke in the desert (I lived in AZ at the time). They had purple mohawks and turned me on to Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson, which my mother forbid, and Frank Zappa which she allowed. I wore lots of black cloths and heavy black eyeliner that I had to apply on the bus. Mom wouldn’t let me dye my hair an “unnatural” color, so I tried Kool-Aid instead for a subtle pink hue.
I continued to smoke, various amounts, all through high school. My preferred brand was Marlboro Reds, and I remember how excited I was on my 18th birthday when I could finally buy my own. I smoked all through college, and savored every one, knowing I would have to quit eventually. I was moving back home and there was no way I could continue to keep my pack-a-day habit a secret. Obviously, I also knew how bad it was for me, and I didn’t want to be a lifelong smoker; I never had. So I took the opportunity of a change of location and lifestyle and quit when college was over. It sucked. A lot. But I got through it cold turkey, and haven’t looked back. It’s now been 5 years since I’ve had a cigarette, and usually when I see people smoking I think about how gross it is. But every once in a while, I smell it and I want one. Oh, how I loved to smoke.
But I’ve never been so glad I quit as I am this week. My maternal grandmother, the one I stole cigarettes from all those years ago, the one who watched her husband, also a smoker, die from stomach cancer 25 years ago, has lung cancer. They are still doing tests and don’t have a full diagnosis/prognosis yet, but it’s in one lung and has already spread to her lymph nodes and she has a tumor in her brain the size of a naval orange. I’m grasping at every little bit of news and doing research on possible diagnoses and treatment plans, to get myself prepared. One word of advice, though: don’t Google “lung brain lymph cancer survival rate.” I’m just saying.
I’m off now to the hospital again, to hang out with my Grammy for a couple hours. God, do I love that woman. And I miss her already.
* I should point out that these weren’t the popular girls, but the ones I thought were cool; blue hair, Nirvana t-shirts, and wallet chains.
** Eight grade. Yeah, I know.
dog-years September 12, 2008
Monday is our first wedding anniversary. Next Monday will mark us being together for 5 years. It seems absolutely crazy to me that we’ve been together this amount of time. On the one hand, it seems like the wedding was last month (okay, maybe the month before). On the other hand, it’s like we’ve been together for 20 years.
Last night we were driving home from the grocery store, and I asked him what a certain note was in a song, because I could not for the life of me hit that note. But then I was singing along, softly and with incredible self-awareness. I knew he was listening to me, and when it came to a part that I was unsure if I could pull off, I would hum instead. I grew up thinking I was tone-deaf, and only recently have I realized that I’m not; instead I have a limited range and absolutely no musical training. He asked me if I would be able to sing those parts in front of my mom. I told him no, I could barely sing anything in front of my mom, and definitely not in front of my dad. So then, we got on the topic of what I could do (or say) in my parent’s presence, as opposed to in front on Paul. It turns out, I can do 97% of things in front of Paul, and only about 83% of things in front of my folks. I spent the first 25 years of my life** living with my parents. I’ve only been living with Paul for about 3 years. And yet, I know there is no judgment with Paul. My parent’s may always love me unconditionally, but that doesn’t mean they don’t judge me. Oh yes, they do judge, constantly and without restraint. In fact, I’m pretty sure that no one is more judged than by one’s own parents. I think that, no matter how much you just want them to be happy, however that comes, it’s so hard to not have expectations that will inevitably be shattered.
Anyways, this post was intended to be about my husband, not my parents. My point was that I am almost 100% me with my husband, and it’s a very liberating feeling. I like me, and I’m glad he does too.
So Paul and I are going away this weekend, to a beach in Maine, where it is forecasted to rain for days on end. It’s a good thing we splurged on the deluxe room complete with 2-person Jacuzzi and gas fireplace, because I’m not sure we’ll be getting to the beach, or the mini-golf, or any of the other things we love doing when we’re in Maine. In fact, we’re staying at the same hotel, in the same room as we spent our honeymoon. I have fond memories of sitting on that bed, opening wedding cards, drinking sparkling cider and eating Pringles, and watching South Park. Yeah, that’s what we did on our wedding night. Is that not normal?
* it was a high C
** excluding 4 years of college, during the week
