Alaskan Beauty

My cruise adventure was not as trouble free as I would have hoped. 

The hard part was living with a clogged sewer vent in the bathroom of my stateroom. I reported it as soon as I arrived, but the ship was full, and I couldn't switch rooms. For obvious reasons, leaving the ship altogether was also not a feasible option. So, I sucked it up. 

The first two nights, my entire room had an odor of cleaning fluid covering eau de stench. *sigh* The next day, after they sent a plumber down to check on it, and he wasn't able to fix the issue, I requested and was given a fan to use. This made the situation bearable - moving air does wonders for bad smells. The fourth day, I wrote a letter to the guest services manager; they found and fixed the problem on day five. So, I had two good days, better than none. 

As unpleasant as the odor in my room was, I was DETERMINED not to let that one piece ruin my entire experience, and I didn't.

The food on the ship was plentiful and the quality ranged from good-enough to delicious. I ate more than my fair share of the fresh-cut melon which was served with almost every meal, but it turns out that not everyone feels the way I do about fresh fruit, so there was plenty for all. 

Someone on the ship was in good with the weather gods, because while it was supposed to be chilly and rainy each day we were in port, we instead had blue skies with temps in the lower sixties each afternoon. Perfect weather for being out and about, learning about Alaska.

I saw glaciers and waterfalls and four-month old bald eagles. I saw baby orcas and a raft of otters. I got out of the van on a mountaintop while we were on a photography adventure, and just stood there breathing the air for a timeless moment. It was brand new, smelled of pine trees and glacier water and fresh beginnings.

The sight of the shrinking glaciers was heartbreaking, but the new life springing up on the bare ground left by their retreat spoke to me of hope. We, people, haven't managed to completely ruin the earth just yet. 

I spent hours each day just watching the beauty - mile after mile of stunning wilderness unfolding as we steamed by on the ship. It doesn't seem possible that there are that many pristine forested hillsides in the world. After a while, it made me feel small, in a good way.

The trees haven't read the news, don't appear to care about political divisions. They just are. 

They spoke to me. All is well, all is well, and all manners of things shall be well. 

Stop. Breathe. Relax.

North to Alaska!

Back in March, the week before I found my latest lump, I had just put down a $100 deposit on a cruise to the Alaska Inside Passage with my sister and her husband. As I went through the initial rounds of tests and evaluations, I told one and all that I NEEDED to take this cruise. After all, I didn’t want to lose my deposit! Or something like that.

Lo and behold, as treatment progressed, it looked like the trip might be able to go forward despite all the things. Once I recovered from my initial surgery at the end of April, we worked with the travel agent to solidify our plans. I still held my breath just a little (and made sure I had good travel insurance), but was thrilled to find, as the launch date drew near, that I’d be able to go!

I was uncharacteristically nervous last week as I procrastinated yet another day on packing, but Saturday came and I had run no obstacles which would stop me from going, so I decided the Universe was probably going to let me make the trip, got out my suitcase and threw in some clothes.

The last few days have been beautiful. We flew into Seattle and met up with friends there to share food and see just a few of the sights. Yesterday, we took the train up to Vancouver - it follows the coastline, and we enjoyed watching the beauty unfold outside the windows. Safely in Canada, we got to the hotel to find our travel agent had done an amazing job. Our hotel here is both luxuriously lovely and right across the street from the dock.

We board in another hour or so; I’m beginning to think this trip might actually work. (I mean, I hate to jump to conclusions, but the signs are good…)

I am so grateful to be here. To be well enough to travel. To get to spend time with Julia and Ed. To, for the first time in too long, be able see new beautiful places. 

To Stop. Breathe. Relax.

Garumph!!

They don't list grumpiness as a side effect of radiation treatment, but if my mood this past week is any indication, they should.

As the last of my burns began to heal up last week, the part of my skin which was last to be treated quit getting better, and turned red, warm, mushy, angry. I didn't expect much from the radiation team when I reported the change, but to my surprise, they had me come in the next day.

Turned out to be cellulitis. A bacterial infection.

I have (!!had!!) managed to make it over sixty years without needing antibiotics. I am sad and angry that radiation has broken my streak. I'm not going to get a second chance to equal it. The math doesn't work. *sigh*

The good news part is that if one has not taken antibiotics before they tend to be very effective, and this has proven to be the case with me. Within 48 hours the redness was fading, five days later, the skin was better, the swelling almost gone. 

I feel as if there are two of me running around in my body. 

One of me is glad to be healing; grateful for the intervention of modern medicine. These things which have hurt me are short term. When I get past this hump, they will have given me my best chance to have more good days. No small blessing.

The other me is grumpy and tired. Fatigue - whether it's from radiation or the aromatase inhibitor - is once again my frequent companion. I LIKED not being tired all the time, not having to push through a wall of fatigue to get things done, occasionally waking up feeling rested. 

Like last time I was here, the sad part is that naps don't necessarily help. Sometimes they do, but sometimes I just lie down and stare blankly at the wall, and sometimes I fall so deeply asleep I mess up my sleep at night. I haven't yet figured out where the balance lies, but I'm working on it. 

That said, gratitude is winning the tug-of-war. 

I'm tired, but I'm also not trying to fit in a full day's work. No small thing. 

My one daily commitment to myself is exercise. Because I know I will be less tired when I leave my daily session than when I arrive, it's not too hard to talk me into ignoring the fatigue long enough to get to the gym and get started. 

Beyond that, I peer closely into my energy bucket at the start of the day, and see how much is there. Fortunately, so far, there's always been enough to work on the things I really wanted/needed to get done. One step at a time.

When I was walking Sylvester around the park Sunday morning, I looked up and was surprised to see a rainbow arcing through the sky. A sign of hope.

Grumpy or not, Beauty Is.

No Can Do

My radiation burns have quit surfacing, the most painful ones have healed, and my energy is starting to slowly ramp back up. (For now at least - I'm told radiation fatigue can be a tricky beast.) I'm starting to wrap my mind around my reconstruction surgery, scheduled for the middle of October.

Which has tossed me back into nesting mode. If I'm going to be discombobulated for six weeks, the things must be finished first!

I started with my donation piles which have magically replenished themselves since I did a similar exercise in March. 

I gathered all the electronic waste and happily carted it to its recycle center. I arrived home, looked around, and found a stray old light fixture which hadn't made it into the pile. *sigh*

I gathered all the hazardous waste and happily carted it to its recycle center. I arrived home, looked around, and found a stray bottle of power steering fluid which hadn't made it into the pile. *grrr* (and how did I end up with a bottle of power steering fluid? I topped off the fluid in my Mustang zero times in 19 years...)

I'm beginning to think the Universe is trying to get a message across to me. Something about delusions of control and perfection. 

A part of me, deep down, despite all evidence to the contrary, is convinced that if I do all the things perfectly, everything will be OK. If the house is clean and the closet sorted through and the leaky drain is fixed and the things in the piles of clutter are dispersed to their proper homes and I hold my mouth just right and don't forget to reseed the grass in September, both Kate and I will return to health and have many more good days.

I am so scared to know this is not true.

I want guarantees. I want control. I want to be able to plan with confidence for tomorrow and the tomorrow after that.

Sorry, Buttercup. No can do.

The best I can give me is a reminder about the margarita truck. It's not just me who has no guarantees, who can't control life's path.

I can plan, I 'just' need to know the plans have an asterisk next to them. 

And, I have today. What will I plan to do with this one precious day I have?

Stop. Breathe. Live today.

Radiation Burns

When I finished my radiation treatments two and a half weeks ago, I looked at the burns I had then, and thought, I can get through this. 

I should have read the fine print, which states radiation burns can continue to develop for two weeks (or more!) after the treatments are finished. *sigh* As some sections of burn have healed up, others have surfaced in a slow and somewhat fascinating dance.

Most of the burns, while red and angry looking, didn't hurt as much as I would have thought. I wondered some about this, but have been too focused on using my set of *four* lotions which help them heal to spend much time on it.

Then, the latest burn bubbled up. It's on the rear part of my armpit, well towards my back. And, it hurts! Like a bad sunburn hurts. Don't touch me! Are you sure shirts are required? (Answer: not around the house, they're not.)

What was different about this set?

The answer stares at me every time I look in the mirror. Unlike the other burns, the skin in this section of my chest was not touched by my mastectomies. Which means ALL of the nerve endings are intact and speaking. Not nicely. 

Took thirteen years, but I've finally found a reason to be (temporarily) grateful for the nerve damage on my chest. If I'd have been living with this pain for the last month, I'd have been worn down by it. Especially when it was right in my armpit, I very well might have thrown in the towel and given up my yoga workouts. Which would have meant I would have lost my range of motion because radiation burns don't just affect the skin - they also disrupt nerve signals, and damage the ligaments and tendons beneath the surface. 

As it is, I've spent a LOT of time, in addition to yoga, trying to convince my shoulder to go back and down. The fitness director at my gym helped a lot last week by giving me a private PT-like session, showing me a set of exercises which have made a huge difference. So grateful.

There are two good news parts here. One, the burns have been healing well. My diligence in keeping them properly creamed is paying off. Two, no new burns have surfaced in several days. I think, I hope, when this current set heals, I will be past this latest set of bumps in the road. 

One step at a time.

Unexpected Beauty

The calendar tells me it has been a whole almost two weeks since I finished my last radiation treatment. My burns, while still pretty spectacular looking, are beginning to heal; instead of angry red, the skin is leaning towards maroon and brown. 

Fatigue is what it is. I am grateful naps are an option.

Yoga has saved my range of motion. *whew*

I think I SHOULD be in a happier place. But, no.

I'm tired of cancer. Unlike the Litany of Saints we used to sing in church, which, when done well, lulls one into a lovely meditative state, my litany of pains is a tedious and melancholy list. *sigh*

The heat wave receded this weekend, and I took advantage of the cooler weather to get out in the yard and clean up the multitude of weeds which had flourished in the heat. 

I stepped out Saturday morning to see a cluster of Naked Ladies, also known as Surprise Lilies, in the corner of the back yard. These flowers seemingly sprout from nowhere during the hot days of summer; they have no surrounding foliage - only a stem and the beautiful pink blossom, thus the name. 

Gazing at their beauty, working in the dirt, cleaning up the beds, my litany of pain evolved. 

For the beauty of the flowers, I gave thanks.
For the cool breeze, I gave thanks. 
For last week's rain, I gave thanks.
For a body healed enough to sit on the ground and weed, I gave thanks.
For the sight of my dog, gleefully wriggling on his back in the grass, I gave thanks. 
For the knowledge my cancer is currently NED - in hiding and on the run, I gave thanks.
For the fluffy white clouds, effortlessly floating in the sky, I gave thanks.

For the song of the birds, I gave thanks. 

For the chance to live THIS day, I give thanks.

Radiation: Complete

That's done!

I saw one of the residents after my last radiation treatment, and several times, he noted I've had 20 treatments, "so far". Each time, I corrected him - I've had twenty treatments, and I'm DONE. The distinction didn't seem to matter to him, not that that matters. I understand it.

I showed up. Yay, me! 

I quickly figured out, if I did yoga after a session, I could mostly loosen up what the radiation tightened up, so I mentally created a required part B to each treatment day and headed to the gym after I got zapped. My strategy worked - I lost very little range of motion over the course of treatments; no small gift.

Much of my frustration these past few weeks has been the tendency of the treatment team to treat only the front right quadrant of my chest - the part of me getting radiated. Unfortunately for me, my distrust of the process, and my many questions, I never did figure out how to bring only that piece of me to the clinic. The rest of me insisted on trailing along.

Last night, as I was trying to get to sleep, I found myself replaying conversations I'd had with the treatment team, trying to figure out how I could have worded things differently to convince them to listen to me; to treat my questions about my fears and my not-in-the-book side effects with respect and compassion, rather than indifferently dismissing them. After a fruitless thirty minutes, I finally convinced my brain that what is past, is past. To let it rest and move on. Not all problems are me problems. Not all issues need to be resolved.

I've not been surprised at the myriad emotions which have bubbled up since I loudly and fiercely rang the bell after completing my last session on Wednesday. In order to get myself to go each day, I'd kept a pretty tight lid on them. 

Relief, first and foremost. Now, I can begin to heal. Relief was followed quickly by sadness, grief, even; so many reasons. Gratitude for the chance I have been given to have more good days. 

My physical body is confused and angry, I don't understand why I did this to me. I feel tired; this one I understand all too well. The Universe has noted my fatigue, and I was gratified last week when several of my friends reached out to let me know, unless I said it should not be delivered, dinner would show up at my door this coming week.

My mama didn't raise no fool, so I told them, "Yes, please, and thank you!"

I found the radiation room to be a lonely place. I am grateful for the not-so-gentle reminder that I do not walk this road alone. 

My people care.

Family Reunion

Perhaps, if I had checked with my medical team, they'd have advised me not to spend fourteen hours traveling to the family reunion this past weekend, but I decided what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and off I went.

The trip had been arranged months ago - before I found out radiation would be delayed. Cancer has messed up enough of my summer that I didn't really even consider not making the 6-1/2 hour drive. Some lunches are important!

I did concede it, perhaps, wasn't wise to attempt doing the actual driving part myself, especially since the reunion was Sunday, and I had to be back in town early Monday morning for my next radiation treatment, which means I couldn't break it into stages.

Several weeks ago, as I was mulling over the list of people I thought I could ask to drive up with me, I happened to mention my predicament to my friend, Rhonda, from yoga class. I quickly discovered she's the sort of person who is willing to take a chance that an all expense paid, 36 hour trip to Decorah, Iowa, for lunch might actually be fun. I guess she couldn't resist the opportunity to choose anything she'd like from the extensive menus at Subway and Starbucks??

Unlike me, she actually likes the part where she sits behind the wheel guiding the car along the road; turns out she's a good driver. I enjoyed the hours we had to learn more about each other's lives - it's been decades since I took a road trip with someone whose stories I wasn't already familiar with.

I am so grateful for her assistance. We left Saturday morning in time to join my brother, Tony, and his wife, Susan, for a delicious hamburger and sweet corn dinner in Waterloo, where we also spent the night.

Sunday morning, we got up bright and early to drive on up the road to my cousin's house in Decorah, where the family was to gather for a potluck lunch. We had a good turnout, and I enjoyed spending the next few hours swapping what's-up-with-your-life stories with those gathered. 

Bonus, lunch was amazing. The older I get, the more I appreciate the chance to enjoy two big bites of most of the offerings at a good potluck. (Even limiting myself to two bites, and filling my plate twice, my stomach, sadly, didn't have enough room to sample all the deliciousness. *sigh*)

We got back on the road shortly after 2, talked our way back across Iowa and northern Missouri, and arrived home around 8:30. I slept pretty well, and while I am tired today, I am also content. Given the way radiation has been zapping my energy, if I hadn't gone, I'd have been tired anyways, AND I would have missed all the fun!

I figure I win when I don't give cancer more of my precious time than I must - and this weekend definitely counts as a win in my book!

Better Words

The veneer of 'OK' I wear in order to face the world is wearing thin these days. Radiation has been HARD!

These past two weeks, I can't easily get myself out of bed. I wake, then roll over and press my head into the mattress, futilely hoping it's not actually morning. I check in with my body, which curls up on itself. It doesn't understand what happens in the radiation room, but it knows it doesn't like it. 

It tells me, "Please don't squish my head again today. Please? Please? Please?" 

I give me a nod of sympathy, and tell myself, "Suck it up, Buttercup! Not going is not an option."

Then I roll out of bed.

It doesn't feel good. Not the getting up, not the radiation which follows. Not the sucking it up. 

I do it, but.

This past week, when I saw my onco-psychologist, who has been a helpful navigator as I negotiate the twists of this cancer recurrence path I'm on, I told him what I've been doing, then asked him if he would be willing to help me find better words. 

He readily agreed to help me brainstorm; said my current word choice, though effective, lacks compassion. My body is right. The radiation is part of my best chance of keeping my cancer gone for a time, but it is not kind to me. 

We spent the rest of Thursday's session working to find those better words. He is good at what he does, so when this morning rolled around, I was able to tell me:

"This is NOT OK. 

AND 

I want to have more good days, like [yesterday morning]* when [I got to spend time with my family on a lovely pontoon boat ride at Lake Jacomo]*. 

Both are true."

*[fill in these blanks each day with a good memory]

Then I gave little Buttercup a metaphorical kiss on the top of her head, and helped her to sit up and start her day.

Getting up was SO much easier.

Showing Up

This morning was a tough sell. My last radiation session last week did not go well. 

I was working with a new set of techs, and the lead person didn't care what I wanted. She ran the session the way she always did, my request for warning whether I needed to hold a breath for three seconds or thirty, ignored.

The resulting hyperventilation reactivated my dizziness. To add injury to insult, the crew didn't properly align my shoulder on the table; by the time I finished it was cramping and locked out of alignment. 

Fortunately, the long weekend allowed me time to stretch and exercise my upper right side back into place. The additional time also let my head heal up - by last night, the horizon had quit shifting on me. It was stable for the first time in two weeks.

I did NOT want to go back in and mess it all up again. 

But since I didn't let Libby quit in the middle of her tough chemo treatments, I could hardly look myself in the mirror if I bailed on the comparatively mild side effects of my radiation treatments thus far.

So, I showed up.

To my pleasant surprise, when I was called back for my session, it was Lynsey doing the calling - she's on what I've come to think of my A-Team. She and Natalie listen. They are quick, careful and compassionate. My apprehension level quickly eased. I was quickly strapped into place and treatment started.

Then. 

About halfway through the session, my meditation music suddenly stopped. 'What??' I recognized the strains of the song replacing the quiet tones - the Eagles, Hotel California.

Welcome to the Hotel California
It could be heaven, and it could be hell.

And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast

They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember, I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
"Relax, " said the night man, "We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave"

'Really??? Of all the songs in the world, someone picks THIS one?' I started laughing.

The song lasted for the rest of the session - when Lynsey came back in, I asked her why the switch. She apologized, said they hadn't touched a thing, but that sometimes Pandora, the streaming service, has a mind of its own.

Clearly, the Universe has not misplaced their sense of irony.