It's always springtime at the tattoo parlor

Today I got involuntarily tattooed.  

I went in today to get measured for my radiation that'll start on Monday. First of all, let me admit that my basic math skills need to be sharpened, because I got all excited that if I started Monday I'd be done on my birthday, but it turns out that starting Monday means I'm done a week before my birthday. Whatever, I'll take it.  

Anyway, getting measured involves getting a CT scan so they can figure out where inconvenient things like your lungs and throat are and how they can radiate you completely without hitting those. There were some surprising things about the whole CT experience that were different from the PET-CT scan I had about six months ago. First of all, the ceiling of the CT in the radiation oncology suite is covered in pictures of cherry blossoms. I thought perhaps they changed it according to the season, but apparently it's always springtime there. It was also strange that I was told to keep my shoes on but then they rubber-banded my feet together to keep me from moving around. Wearing boots with your feet held tight by rubber bands is not my idea of comfort.  There was also a strange doughnut-shaped pillow that I had to rest my head on.  

Before starting, they stuck some wire-like stuff on me to use as places to measure from and then I got to slide through the machine. The images they ended up with (I made them show me!) were pretty cool. There was a specific area that they are going to hit with deeply penetrating radiation, with extra across my scars because apparently that's where cancer is most likely to re-occur (perhaps because scar tissue is fast-growing?  I'm not sure), and then an area where they'll use some kind of shallow radiation so it won't hit my lungs. They'll get my lymph nodes and breast but not my neck.  

Once they figured this out, they came out and drew all over me with marker and then the nurse casually said, "I'm going to tattoo you now." This is something you'd think they'd have mentioned the last three times I'd come in, right? I was totally not prepared - I asked if the tattoos came off and the nurse looked at me like I was crazy and said, "They're tattoos. No they don't come off." Perhaps for some people this is no big deal but for me it seemed somehow barbaric. But at this point, I didn't really have a choice. The only positive thing was that much of my chest is numb, so it didn't hurt.  

So I'm now officially a tattooed woman - four little dots across my chest. And I go in Friday for a dry run to make sure all the machines are up and running. Just a few days later radiation starts for real, and assuming all goes well I'll be done April 18th.  After that I might have to look into getting a real tattoo - after all, now I'm in the club.  Suggestions?

Everyone Must Be Drinking to Stay Inside GasPanic!

A long time ago, in what feels like a different life, I used to travel to Japan for work a lot.  The trips were always a blast, with lots of important partner meetings book-ended by lots of excellent food, fantastic people-watching, and mildly excessive drinking.  There was a bar that we particularly liked in the Roppongi district called GasPanic, supposedly named for the Sarin gas attacks in the Tokyo subway system several years earlier (why someone would think this was a good idea, I have no clue).  From their website, a classically Japanese point of view:

[GASPANIC] offers a special atmosphere that helps its customers to forget about their daily, hectic lifestyles. Any bars can serve alcoholic beverages, but GASPANIC likes to offer an energetic atmosphere to make its customers smile and give everyone a great time. 

And in the bar was a sign to ensure that you weren't just hanging out taking up space - "Everyone Must Be Drinking to Stay Inside GASPANIC!" 

Anyway, I've been thinking about that the last week or so as I've been dealing with yet another crazy chemo side-effect - this time strange pressure in my chest that makes me feel like I'm having a panic attack - except I'm totally fine, breathing normally, and it only happens when I'm relaxing.  My doctor thinks it's just reflux caused by the chemo presenting itself strangely, and every test they've done shows that I'm just fine, but just like I've read that smiling can make people happy, feeling like I'm having a panic attack has been making me...well...let's just say stressed out.  

Part of me is just astounded at how strange the human body is, and part of me is just so completely ready to be feeling all better that I can't stand it. Calming thoughts sent my way would be very welcome right about now.

Out with a Bang, also known as #ChemOver

It’s Saturday night, and Monday is my last dose of chemo. 

On balance, I’ve been super lucky through the second chemo drug I’ve been on for the last 11 weeks.  I’ve had relatively mild side effects, specifically managing to avoid the neuropathy that’s a common side effect.  My “Chemo Salons” (where all sorts of interesting friends have come to keep me company while I’m at the hospital) have been amazing – a wonderful way to reconnect with friends I haven’t seen in a while, and an almost guilt-inducing chance to have kid-free conversations with some of my favorite parent friends.  And my wonderful family and friend support system have continued to pitch in to help keep the rest of my life running relatively smoothly. 

However, this last week has been kind of a pain in the ass.  I’ve been unnaturally grumpy in a way that I can tell is somewhat medication related (because usually I’m just a peach!) and my mouth and tongue sores have come back, probably because I stopped being as hard core about chewing ice during my treatments.  Work has been full of fire drills and re-orgs, nothing serious, but a lot of running in circles.  I’m nervous about what radiation will be like and sad that my in-laws are going home on Tuesday.  I think most of all though, I’m just ready to be done. 

The good news is I’m almost there.  I have an awesome lineup of friends planning to come to my last chemo day (if you’re reading this I’d love to have you stop by too!) and I’m ready to call #ChemOver and move onto the next phase.  Wish me luck!

New Year

The last few weeks of 2013, tied for worst year of my life, went by in a blaze of suckiness.  Chemo was still a pain in the ass (although certainly better than A/C), Jeff got pneumonia and my mother-in-law had the stomach flu so I was on primary caretaker duty, the kids were going bananas with all the Christmas craziness, and I was generally really glad to see the end of it.  

The beginning of 2014 has been a little better and I've been trying to focus on the funny surprising stuff.  Like the fact that since I've lost all my nose hair, my nose doesn't work right and when I have a cold (i.e. all winter) I get unexpected dripping at odd moments - like mid-sentence in a conversation.  Or like the strangeness of getting a pre-nostalgic about the coming end of my chemo parties in six weeks - my weekly chance to catch up with friends uninterrupted by kids or activities.  Who would have thought I'd miss it? 

I feel a bit like a blind person reaching out, starting to feel the edges of normal life approaching – they’re still a bit undefined; after all I have a whole heap of radiation to do, and another 11 months of Herceptin, and 5-10 years of Tamoxifen, not to mention reconstruction – but they’re there below my fingertips.  My wonderful in-laws are planning to leave in a couple weeks now that they’ve been here 5 months, and we’ll have to figure out what life with just our family looks like on the other side.  It’s scary and exciting and exhausting all at once.  Here’s to a 2014 that brings joy and health and satisfaction for all. 

Cancer Perks

• When people post a photo of you with no hair (or a cute hat) on Facebook, you get a crazy number of "likes" 
• Sometimes people notice you're feeling unwell while waiting in line and insist on paying for your shopping (seriously, just happened to me today, a very sweet retired nurse whose husband is going through chemo too)
• You get to go to "cancer makeup class", get a bunch of fancy makeup you'd never buy yourself, and meet some other awesome women
• People give you special brownies, and show up at your door with scarves, chocolate, and wonder-woman underwear
• You get to spend lots of quality time catching up with your friends during chemo sessions; way easier than scheduling coffee dates with everyone
• A sore tongue (yes unfortunately it's back, although not as bad as before) gives you a guilt-free excuse to eat ice cream

No news is good news!

Nothing very exciting to report from this week's chemo appointment - no allergies (yay!), lovely company, really nice nurses as always.  The only annoyance was another loooooong appointment.  However, given that we got several dirty looks from people in various waiting rooms who seemed to be grumpy that we were having a fun time, and got to overhear multiple people complaining about how long they were waiting, and that the snow didn't start so our commute home was pretty brief, I can't complain.  

My friend Laura was with me and got to meet Dr. Kaplan, so she's now convinced that between my crush on him and Chris Hadfield, I have a thing for eloquent nerds.  She's probably right.  

Hoping for a better week with fewer cold symptoms and hopefully few chemo side-effects.  Wish me luck!

For Those Who Were Curious...

No allergic reaction to the Taxol thus far, but I've had a brutal cold all week that's been keeping me in bed watching Gilmore Girls reruns.  The kind of cold that, a few months ago, I would have completely ignored and now is kicking my ass.  Have I mentioned that I am pretty much all done with this chemo thing yet?  11 weeks and counting...