Conquering Cancer In The Time of Covid
#8 Happy New Year/Round Three
January 8
Happy New Year! It’s finally 2021 :)
The good news: Round three is over. I’m ¾ of the way through the first, most difficult treatments. My oncologist was very encouraging at this last visit — apparently, I’m doing quite well under the circumstances and my vitals are all good. Bloodwork, liver, kidney function all hanging in there. He has such an optimistic and reassuring manner. So that made me feel good and positive about not only living through this, but successfully beating the enemy.
After all the poison had been successfully plunged into my veins this time and I was ready for release, I tried to confirm my appointment for the customary Neulasta shot the next morning. Oops! No one had realized that they would be closed for New Year’s for the next 4 days. So, what to do? Enter the power of annoying TV ads. You’ve all seen that commercial for Neulasta? “No need for the return visit to the Dr. the next day. Just get the Neulasta patch”, depicted on the back of the actor’s arm. So I asked about that. It took a little while to get the ever-necessary insurance approval, but before I left the office I was sporting the little device on my abdomen and I’m happy to report it worked exactly as advertised. I can’t understand why that wouldn’t always be the preferred delivery method and I’m definitely going to request it next time. It will save us the long drive back to “Beautiful Downtown Burbank” (who else remembers that line from Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In?) the next day and avoid yet another potential Covid exposure during this ridiculous surge.
Despite the Dr.’s positivity, this was, honestly, a far more challenging experience than the first two. Gratefully, the infusion itself went as smoothly as the second, thanks to my friends Ativan and Xanax. My pillow and blankets offered a lovely reception that afternoon and evening, and I passed the hours tucked in, deep in ZZZs. The next day, I’m discovering, is also very tolerable. I think all the steroids they pump in me sustain my feeling of wellness, and possibly even a tinge of euphoria, for that next 24 hours. This time, that was New Year’s Eve. So I felt well enough to enjoy a couple of Zooms with some friends and I even put on some real clothes and makeup! I have no idea how much longer I’ll have eyelashes and eyebrows, so I celebrated the end of the dreadful year with mascara and brow pencil and even a little blush! I can’t say I looked good, but I certainly looked a tad better. I’m also discovering why men are showered and dressed so much more quickly than women. It’s all about the hair! I’m clean, dry, and dressed lickety split these days. My blow dryers and hairbrushes are all in hibernation. Forget “bad hair” days….There’s something to be said for “no hair” days. (Along those same lines, as my lady friends will appreciate, my tweezers are also hibernating for this cancer season.)
But on Friday, Jan 1, I welcomed 2021 with a steep decline down the rabbit hole. Nausea and fatigue decided my poor body was the best place to create some havoc. It’s customary, but this time was fairly extreme. My cannabis tinctures work so much better than any of the pharmaceuticals, but even that was no match for the opponent this time. I spent New Year’s night basically moaning on the couch. I tried the Calm app “Free 7 Day Trial” and discovered it has a series of sleep tones that will play non-stop and they were surprisingly helpful. So what rest I got had an “ohm” quality to it. And so it went for about 3 very blurry, rather dismal days. Most of the time I made the couch my home and clear bone broth my friend. At this point, although I have only one last difficult treatment next Thursday, I’m really dreading it. I know the following week will be at least as challenging as this past one and the novelty has definitely worn off. I’m more than ready to be done with this phase.
To add to my discomfort, I was really stressed about the role I had to play on Tuesday of this week as hubby’s driver and caretaker for his eye surgery. Would I be strong enough? Could I drive by then? Where would I hang out safely for 4 hours? But 3 days later and 3 pounds lighter, I started turning the corner. By Tuesday morning, after a completely sleepless, anxious night, thankfully, I had the strength to drive him, at the ungodly, pitch black hour of 5:15am, to the Jules Stein institute. Once he was safely checked in, I set myself up in the back of the car like a homeless wretch. I put the seats down, spread out my yoga mat, topped it with pillows and blankets, and tucked myself in for some desperately needed rest. Shockingly, I did actually fall asleep for a little while. I knew I would have about 4 hours to kill and did not want to wait indoors with anyone else, so I packed lots of activities to entertain myself in the car. A book to listen to, my knitting, my computer, food and drink. But then I discovered that I was too anxious about what was happening with my other half to do any of it. Consequently, I am now very well acquainted with the Jules Stein courtyards, garden benches, and pathways. They’re quite lovely actually, except for the three flights of stairs up from the parking structure, and fortunately the weather was great. I got all my steps in for the day on the stairs and paths. His surgery went over an hour longer than expected, which did not alleviate my state of mind. But he finally emerged 5 hours later, successfully treated. It brought me to tears just to see him OK. After 42 years of wedded partnership, we are more like one being in two bodies. Neither of us will thrive if we lose either body, and my fragility in that moment really hit home. Happily, his recuperation is going quite well now, his Dr. is very pleased with the results, and his signature big baby blues will be healthy again very soon.
But I want to back up a little to entertain you with some of the absurdities that continue to plague us. In the week before treatment, I felt a little bit like the flag in the middle of a tug of war rope. On one side, my guardian angel was pulling hard, but on the other end of the rope was a little devil, determined to thwart my positivity.
First, I went for a beautiful 17-mile bike ride in the Santa Monica Mountians along Mulholland Hwy, west to Malibou Lake. It was a glorious day. The air was still crisp in advance of the first significant rainfall since April. Storm clouds were gathering over the ridgeline to the south, the leading flank of the low-pressure system, blanketing the mountains in fluffy gray cotton balls. Although the hills and valleys are still brown after the dry season, the Woolsey Fire volcanic moonscape is softening with signs of recovery and regrowth. I eschewed my usual music or book and tucked my earphones away in order to be just present and mindful, and I was feeling enormous gratitude just to be alive and well. All was beautiful. The guardian angel was pulling hard on the rope. But the little devil was not to be defeated. Heaven forbid I should just have a wondrous moment. Out of nowhere, heading south on Las Virgenes for home, I felt the bike pull to the right and sure enough, my tire was flat. I have NEVER before had a flat tire and I’ve been riding bikes since I was about 6 years old. Fortunately, I didn’t crash and I was able to reach my main squeeze, who was also out riding a different, more arduous route. I started walking home, he caught up to me, and then rode home to get the car to pick up me and the bike. On another happy note, the bike store was able to quickly repair it the next day and they were even kind enough to meet us in the parking lot so we could avoid any exposures in the store. So, my guardian angel ended up pulling my flag across the line. This time.
The next day, one of our generous, kind neighbors gifted us with a really yummy dinner. We feasted on a full Christmas menu — turkey soup, turkey, gravy, stuffing, potatoes, squash, sugar cookies. And the pièce de résistance — a bag of homegrown organic weed, along with a couple of cannabis cookies! It was all really scrumptious, especially the soup! (I skipped the cookies). As we headed to bed, husband noticed a voicemail from the friend. He was calling to apologize and alert us that he had inadvertently “contaminated” the soup. My first reaction was to freak out a little that we were about to suffer food poisoning but he finished the sentence…”contaminated the soup with cannabis butter”… so we should not be surprised or alarmed if we should experience some after effects. We laughed and went to bed. Well, around midnight I woke up in full blown after effect! The rainstorm had arrived, complete with heavy downpours, lightning and thunder. I spent the next hour or so on the patio, wrapped in blankets, high as a kite, savoring the unusual weather. Then I figured I should make sure the motorhome wasn’t leaking in its first rain. As it was, thankfully, warm and dry, I curled up in that bed for a while. Hubby awoke at some point and went looking for me. He found lights on all around the house and the front door wide open, but not me. He’s a clever man, deduced where I was and in what state, but decided to leave me be, wondering if I had decamped to the vehicle to escape his snoring. So the turkey soup really enhanced my dark and stormy night…and provided a fun story.
Two days later, as we were cleaning up the kitchen, husband noticed that the hot water was cold. This was not unusual — “my” water heater, that services my bathroom, also runs to the kitchen and ever since we bought it, maybe 7 years ago, it has been a piece of garbage. The pilot light goes out routinely, at least every 7 -10 days. I’ve become expert at relighting it. So I headed to the garage to fire it up and as soon as I did, it started screaming. A high-pitched, rather frightening sound, accompanied by leaking water in the pan. So, not 2 weeks after the frig died, RIP the water heater. That little devil was besting my guardian angel. But again, redundancy is key around here. No hot water in half the house, but the rest of the place runs off a second water heater. So although the kitchen and my bathroom were cold, his bathroom still had 50 hot gallons at the ready. No panic necessary. Consider the odds though of getting a plumber and a decent replacement heater in the week between Christmas and New Year’s. We figured it could take a while but we started dialing plumbers at 5pm. Our tried and true reliables were unreachable but hubby found a very fancy website with a 24-hour service and they promised to be here first thing in the am. Eureka! The tried and true guys called back first thing in the am too and offered same day service at a reasonable price. Wow! We were in business. The fancy website showed up on time but also with ridiculously fancy prices so we sent them packing, called tried and true to the rescue, and were back in hot water by mid-afternoon. We are really being tested, but we are also learning to really not sweat the small stuff.
We have gotten the message, loud and clear at this point, that our appliances are having end of life issues — all at the same time. Months ago, at the beginning of the pandemic, the first of the batch went into hospice care. The fan went out on our Micro/Convection oven. It’s both a microwave and convection oven, and will actually do both at the same time for some real speed cooking. But it’s so old that replacement parts are no longer available, so repair was out of the question. Although this is our ‘go to’ oven, we have both a second microwave and a second oven, so we can easily live without this one for a short time. When it died, we figured we would just wait to replace it until the pandemic ended. It certainly couldn’t be too much longer before the world was back to normal, right? Ha! So we’ve decided to go ahead and order a new one now. And we figure we might as well replace the other microwave at the same time, since the odds are its days are numbered, too. And so, while we’re on the subject, we decided not to wait for the repair parts we need to complete the fix on our frig. It’s not really functioning well right now, and it will be weeks before the parts arrive — they’re very expensive and there’s no guarantee it will do the trick. So we’ll just order a new refrigerator, too. Should be easy…there are quite a few in-stock to choose from. But nothing is ever easy these days. We have a very simple, old fashioned, standard unit with the frig on top. The single frig door opens left to right. It’s the only configuration that works in our kitchen space because it sits next to the pantry wall, which is deeper than the cabinets. So a door can’t open from right to left. Well, there are quite literally no refrigerators built that way anymore. Everything that’s 36-inches wide and counter depth has some variant of French doors. They’re beautiful with wonderful new bells and whistles, and I found a Bosch model that I love and gets rave reviews. But we won’t be able to open the left door unless we install the thing so the hinges clear the wall. The frig will have to stick out from the pantry wall about 3.5 inches and about 5 inches forward of the cabinets. The only alternative is to do a complete kitchen remodel and we are most definitely not the least bit interested in that. So, we will end up with a lovely new frig that doesn’t quite fit correctly in its space. C’ést la vie…another small thing not to sweat. Imperfections are very welcome around here lately. So when you visit next, and the frig obviously doesn’t really fit, don’t judge us please.
Lastly, a little philosophy. The spouse and I have always ascribed to the adage, “The Books Balance Before They Close”. At this point, I’m resigning myself to the idea that we have obviously had it too good for too long. We must be way out of balance. I’ve been cognizant of our good fortune for many, many years. And was hopeful that gratitude, recognition, and perspective would be enough compensation to provide the necessary balance. Apparently, I was incorrect. Our credits column must still be too long, because we are clearly racking up the debits now. So I’m just hoping that the debits we are accruing will very soon be sufficient to bring balance back to the equation and the fates will permit us to move forward without any further need for this tug of war. I’ll be very happy for my guardian angel and the little devil to declare a tie, put down the rope, and let us move away from the game.
Until next time…
Happy New Year! May 2021 be the year of health above all else for not only me but the entire planet. Stay home everyone, stay safe, and stay in touch.
Xoxo
Jill
