Dark Place

The last two weeks have been especially horrific for me because I have found myself in a state of almost constant nausea which included the inevitable. This has been my fifth (or is it sixth) cycle of the chemo medicine and it is only now that it (apparently) has caught up with me. It has taken me a while to figure out why I was having gagging and vomiting episodes because it didn’t seem to happen at any one particular moment but I have realized that it MUST be because of the chemo along with the sometimes excruciating pain I have been experiencing. Don’t get me wrong, it is not the cancer per se that is causing the pain but rather the walking. Something is setting off a sort of grinding in my hip socket which may be caused by nerve pain although it doesn’t seem likely (to me anyway).

I don’t want to be a whiner but I have to say that last week was especially difficult for me. Thankfully I finished the chemo pills on Friday and almost immediately I felt better. I haven’t had an episode (well, I should say that I had a slight bit of gagging at noon yesterday but I think it was because I was really hungry – LOL).

I am anxious to see my oncologist next Tuesday with the hope that he may have some solution other than pain medicine because I do not believe that the morphine is helping at all with the particular walking pain I am having. In fact, I believe the Robaxacet that I took early this morning has helped much better because it relaxed my muscles which I think have tensed up considerably over the last few weeks. Unfortunately I don’t think the chiropractor helped at all with that bit.

And that’s enough about that. Onwards and upwards!

My Cancer, My Pain

My readers know that I have not written very much about my cancer or my situation, merely alluding to it once in a while but today I want to write a little bit more.

A little over two years ago I received the shock of my life when I was told that I had Stage Four Cancer, “that I was terminal”. With true Scandinavian phlegm I held the strap tight and carried on. I have taken all the various treatments they have advocated and have managed to survive the side effects (thankfully they have for the most part been fairly mild, barring the neuropathy). I haven’t complained and have been rather stoic about what is happening inside my body. I even managed to be heroic when they performed the ileostomy and within a few days I was handling the change of the bag myself because I took the philosophy that I had to do it sooner or later. My sisters were staggered but proud of me because they know that of the three of us I have had the reputation of being the “medical wimp”. I don’t like to know, hear or see anything horrid but now I was having it happen to me and I took it like a man. (here you are supposed to laugh since we all know what babies men are when it comes to a splinter much less an illness).

Yes, I have taken it all “with a grain of salt”. I have been tough, resilient and not terribly modest about it (evidently).

Last September I started to get a pain in my side and I was told that the tumour had grown and was pushing on my pelvis. I have not had my CT scan yet (another couple of weeks) but the pain I am now experiencing is becoming progressively worse and I very much fear that it could be the tumour. My blood work has shown that my cancer marker has gone down in my body and I have been so hopeful that the medicine has been working and that maybe, miracle of miracles, I could even be in remission. But last night I was close to tears and terribly distraught because even lying down I was feeling such pain along my back and leg that I had doubts I could carry on.

Today the sun is shining and while sitting here in my big leather chair typing away I feel pretty good, pain free even. What a difference a few hours make. I am back to feeling optimistic and thinking that the pain is really just a pinched nerve in my back and that maybe I should see the chiropractor and have an adjustment.

“One can always hope.”

Palliative Care Update

Yesterday I had a marathon session with two palliative care nurses wherein I answered a myriad of questions and had various discussions on topics such as practical goals, real life goals and attitude towards my illness and my life. I was surprised when the one lady asked permission to quote my philosophy when I said that I had thought hard about my prognosis and decided that, while being realistic, I would not live my life with the idea that I couldn’t plant a tree because I wouldn’t be here to see it grow. Who knew I would be so quotable?

At the end of the 90 minute session she summed me up by saying that I had done all of the work, that I had an excellent positive attitude and that I should do well going forward. In other words, I didn’t need her because I had already done all of the hard work myself. Well, I cannot take full credit for any of that because as I have said many times in person and in my writings I feel that I have been blessed with a very positive personality and that has sustained me through all my trials and tribulations. It doesn’t hurt to have a good sense of humour also.

So who knew that I would get a gold star in palliative care?

Oh, and one more bit of good news – she told me that it is very rare for cancer patients to actually have a long, lingering period of suffering at the end. I was so relieved to know this because one of my biggest concerns has been worrying about my mother having to see me suffer because she is not very stalwart in that department (that is, she falls apart). So grateful she won’t have to see any of that (or very little). The other good news is that there is a program in our small town where I will get personal care when the time comes and it shouldn’t cost anything. Another load off my mind.

Of course, my cup runneth over.

Living vs. Dying

Now that is a title that is going to give one pause. The fact is that once I really started to think about what the meaning of “early palliative care therapy” meant I started to shudder and feel frightened. What, me, frightened?

I have been living with this cancer for two years and despite being positive on a daily basis as well as telling myself and my friends that I am still being realistic about my diagnosis I have not thought very much about actually dying. In the early days, when I was so extremely sick and actually at death’s door I did think about it and was prepared to go but now I find that two years of living has made me feel very attached to LIFE. It is a considerable wrench to pull myself away from longevity and stare death in the face (which I have not done yet, to be honest).

Therefore I am going into this palliative care discussion with some trepidation.

Screech, stop the bus, hold on, er, excuse me . . . .

Here’s the rub; it took a whole month for the palliative care person to actual contact me and her lame excuse was that she had been ill. Okay, well I let that pass (although I had spoken with someone at the Foothills, when they called me for a  “follow up” that it had not happened and I expressed myself in no uncertain – but polite – terms) and listened to her plan for the next discussion. That discussion, as I understood it, was to have occurred last Thursday. Not a call, not a message, nada. My reaction the first time is similar to what my reaction is this week – and that is to respond to the phone call with “sorry but you are too late, she’s fucking dead”.

Yeah, sometimes I can be a total bitch.

Trucking On

As promised I want to give you an update on my 3 days into the new cancer treatment I am receiving. It works out to 8 pills a day (4 in the morning, one hour after breakfast and 4 after supper). The most common side effects are diarrhea, vomiting and / or fatigue. Others include rash, sore throat and mouth cankers.

So far I have not experienced anything in the way of the side effects they have mentioned.

I feel very lucky but several times a day I think about (and feel) the pain in my right side and ask the Good Lord to make the cancer go away either by remission or through this drug. I use all my positive thinking to push my little red and white blood cells to do their powerful work in combating this disease.

Staying positive and strong and using all the tools I know about may sound strange and hopeless to some folks but I truly believe that it all helps. The proof is in those who I know who have survived like my friend Wallace. Conversely my best friend’s brother died very quickly after being diagnosed because he completely gave up the fight. Well, I am not going to do that. I will be here for as long as the Good Lord will allow me to be . . . with my own positive beliefs assisting Him. 

Keep on truckin’ my friends.

Onwards and Upwards

Okay so the results were not as great as I would have liked but with the new treatment plus the palliative counselling I am sure that I have a good handle on this next phase and of course I will continue with the Good Fight (now wasn’t that the sequel to The Good Wife?).  Essentially the chemo treatments may have been slowing down the cancer growth but the growth is still happening so they are putting me on some pills which have proven results in fighting the cancer.  I was given 3 options and chose the second one – I had been given the option a year ago but it was still experimental and had no results. A year later they have very positive results so that is the one I chose.  The third option was experimental and I got the sense that one of the internal options of that was I could possibly be getting a placebo. No thank you, I am not playing Russian roulette with my life, it is too precious to me. J

So my friends, keep sending positive waves my way and I promise to keep on fighting and directing my little white blood cells to the cancer!

Nice segue into talking about detectives (you know, Hercule and his “little grey cells”!)

We have been enjoying the show “Hetty Winthrop Investigates” with Patricia Routledge; we enjoyed her as Hyacinth Bucket in “Keeping Up Appearance” but I think I like her better as the detective.  She is amusing in a quiet way, not so over the top.

We also enjoy our Sunday night fix of “Monk” who I think is one of the best things in detective shows; he is unusual and the stories are very well put together. I’ve always liked “Murder She Wrote” but we are seeing them for the 5^th or 6^th time now so I would love it if they came up with a prequel to the show. It would be great to see Jessica as a young teacher and us seeing her husband Frank. Instead of murders she would be solving oddities within the classroom and perhaps in the family situations.  I think it would be a terrific show if the writers were good.  I’ve thought this for a long time – the young Jessica story.

My love of detectives probably began with my reading Nancy Drew along with some of the early detective shows like “Honey West” (Anne Francis I think was the star of that one, she had a cheetah for a pet, so cool).

And that’s about it for today!

Anxiety and Cancer

Today I go to my treatment specialist to find out the results of the CT scan I took last Thursday. To say that I am nervous is an understatement. I try to stay positive and optimistic, I pray for remission but all the time I have this underlying anxiety that things may not go my way.

I think there are so many people who live with anxiety and (put in the illness here) who do not have good coping mechanisms nor do they perhaps have the same kind of support that I have. I pity them and hope that somehow, someone will recognize that anxiety and loneliness and reach out to them. Meanwhile I count myself blessed every day for my support in both my family (near and far) as well as my friends, classmates and colleagues.

I know I have said all this before but it bears repeating because someone out there may be reading this for the first time and a lightbulb will go on.

Meanwhile my dear readers, fingers crossed for good news today!

My cup runneth over.

Remember the Day When . . .

I’ve not had a whole lot of super-duper “ahh moments” in my life but certainly I can recall a great many moments with my parents and siblings that have been mind-bending, enlightening, humorous or character building (as evidenced in past blogs). I’ve had special moments with friends, colleagues and family for sure. But really mind blowing events, they have been rare and I thank heaven for that because those have generally been of a negative kind, such as the day JFK was shot, 9/11 and the day the doctor came in the little room and said “You have Stage 4 colon cancer, I am very sorry, but you are terminal.” Talk about a bullet between the eyes! No one wants to hear those words, trust me.

On the upside of that frightening pronouncement some time ago I found myself thinking and then experiencing a “fig-nut moment” (our family’s ahh moment) when I decided not to think about my time on earth as being only for x-amount of time. Instead I chose to live my life as though I still had my goal of 116 years! Don’t get me wrong, I am realistic and understand my diagnosis, however from the point of view of day to day living one ought not to think “well, I don’t think it’s worth it to do this or that because I won’t be here to see the results” (or similar words or thoughts). It really was a great moment for me because despite being positive, optimistic and joyful I was curbing my enthusiasm in certain ways and that curb was suddenly released.

So I would say to you to live your life to the full no matter what.

Anniversary of a Dread Diagnosis

It has been one year since I heard the words “I am very sorry.  You have Stage Four Colon Cancer.  You are terminal.”  This article is not about the ups and downs of my physical trial but rather I will attempt to explain, narrate, define or somehow reach into my memory to talk about the mental and emotional rollercoaster I have been on this past year.

I will start by saying that prior to going into the patient’s room along with my brother John I had to attend the washroom to vomit because I was so stressed out about what I would find out.  We already knew that I had cancer but we did not know the extent of it and my Scandinavian foresight was already preparing me for the worst.  So be it, that is what I was hit with.  Once the words were out I cannot describe my feeling as other than a sense of numbness.  There was also a sort of void of feeling.  And then slowly that little grey shadow settled on my psyche and that, I believe, I will never really go away.  It sits with me though it’s not obvious nor do I dwell on it.  But it does make me conscious of decisions that I make, altering some plans for the “future” but at the same time I also try to defy those leanings and make longer ranging plans so that I don’t set myself up for an earlier demise than I need to have.  It’s hard to explain or illustrate precisely how that works but it’s a little trigger that I work with.

In the patient’s office we talked somewhat briefly with Dr. Monson about a go forward plan for treatment.  When John and I got back in the truck I looked at him and asked “well, what do you think”?  And he answered “that was hard hearing”.  Both of us being phlegmatic Danes with little more to add on the long drive home.

I landed in the hospital 3 times over the next 7 months, the first two times the doctors almost gave up on me; indeed the second time the doctor said I wouldn’t live out the week.  But as you see, I have survived.

So here’s what I would like to contribute to the conversation on living with cancer.

As so many friends who have also survived told me “staying positive” is the number one mantra for patients.  Surrounding yourself with positive people is equally important.  I am extraordinarily blessed with a strong, loving family and a very wide circle of friends (not just acquaintances, but true friends) who have been 100% positive and “there for me” in a way that is truly mind boggling.  I cannot understand how I have been so blessed but I extremely grateful for all of these magnificent friends.

For the next couple of weeks I went into a decline due to an undetected infection which landed me in the hospital the day before my 64^th birthday.  As mentioned, they weren’t sure I would survive the night but due to a truly wonderful emergency surgeon I was saved and next day I was the life and soul of my hospital room where family and friends came in all day long with flowers, balloons and good cheer.  I was a totally different ALIVE person from the shrinking, pain filled woman I had become over the last 4 weeks.  I can never be sufficiently grateful to that surgeon and wish I knew his name.  He saved my life along with my brother and sister (John and Jeanette insisted I had to go to the hospital on June 3^rd as they felt I was getting critically ill.  They were so right).

Since my diagnosis I have reflected a great deal on many grim subjects but always with a view to being positive and proactive in my wellbeing.  One thing that I feel bears mentioning is this – never in all of this time have a felt resentment, bitterness or a “why me” attitude.  While I have and do wonder how it is that I got cancer when I have been such a cleaning living person i have not felt angry or upset.  I do, jokingly, comment that I feel “ripped off” when I look at my genealogy chart and see my ancestors, despite living hard lives, living into their late 80’s and 90’s.  And here I had been planning on living past 100 and now I am being knocked about by this illness.  “Them’s the breaks Sister and you have to roll with it.”

So here’s the deal

·         Be positive

·         Be optimistic

·         Love everyone

·         Forgive and forget

·         Bless the day

·         Laugh, laugh, laugh

·         Hug everyone around you, even that bear of a brother

·         Reflect on the good things in your life, past, present and future

·         Yes there is a future but focus in the present

·         Look for spiritual guidance whether it be religious, holistic, meditative

·         Find your ‘centre”

·         Live each day with gratitude and love

·         Give of yourself as much as you can

My cup runneth over.

Life's Irony

Shortly after writing the original blog posted yesterday I started to feel ill and as most of my readers and friends know I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon Cancer on May 16^th.  I ended up in the hospital for a month due to an infections, got home to recover and then went into treatment.  That’s the short version.

What I’d really like to say is that I am enormously grateful for the wisdom of my father to make his immigration destination Canada.  Our health care system may have some flaws but during my ordeal, and ongoing experiences, I can find no fault.  I mean, no fault, seriously.  I want to make a Call Out to all the nurses and support staff in both the hospitals that I was in (Foothills and South Campus, Calgary).  These people are the backbone of the health care system and their incredible caring is beyond anything I imagined possible.

I have been fortunate in the doctors who have diagnosed, prescribed and cared for me.  From the first step when my Nurse Practitioner sent me off for the first ultrasound to my conference call yesterday with the most eminent cancer surgeon in Calgary, possibly in Alberta, the care has been swift and caring. 

When you hear the words “you have cancer” your life changes forever.  Meaghan McCain spoke about a “nuclear explosion” when she heard the words that her father John McCain had brain cancer.  I wouldn’t say that but I felt like a bullet went between my eyes.  It was very nearly a knockout punch – even though I dreaded and feared this is what I would hear.  At the same time, when you tell someone you have cancer they change before your eyes.  The empathy is beyond anything you can imagine.  That word “cancer” is powerful in a way I never realized fully until they were applied to me (and as I am sure they have been to my family members).

Life has its irony – me, who wanted to live to 100, has been dealt something I never saw coming.  But you know what?  I am blessed with a Canadian health care system that takes care of me 100% and I am blessed with a social and family circle who are my rock, support and inspiration.

On “Dancing with the Stars” Victoria Arlen is a true inspiration of mind over matter.  Her incredible story of surviving 10 years of paralysis is so inspiration that when I feel weak I say to myself “think of that girl and her willpower, you can do this”. 

And that’s all I want to write about my illness, tomorrow, something new.