Thanksgiving

Hi Friends,

We had our last appointment with the oncologist today which went very well. For my exam, I was sitting in my gown with my legs hanging off the side of the examination table, as usual. During the exam he expressed how well things had gone and how pleased he was with my progress. In that instant, I felt relief and was incredibly happy that this tumor had shrunk so much (and, after reading that "Emporer Malady" book, happy that we shrunk it without having to drain any black bile). Apparently, when I saw him smile, some Maritimer gene kicked in and I reached out and gave him a big hug. Now, what's important to know about this scene is that a) he's a bit distant, b) we are behind a curtain, c) I have nothing on from my waist up and d) I have nothing on from my waist up. Not my best move, but there it is. His response, "Don't hug me yet, we don't have the pathology report" took me out of my festive mood. He then gave me information about a study I might be interested in for a post surgery complication that was totally new to me. Oh well...the happy moment with him was short, but sweet.
But tonight we are back in a festive mood with a lovely Thanksgiving dinner to be served shortly, and an episode of Glee. Life is good.
Much love,
Kip

Sunday, November 28

Hi Friends,

I’m sitting here this evening playing with iTunes and making up my last chemo playlist. Thanks to everyone who suggested songs on the blog and by email – the list thus far is varied, and it will make me cry and dance and think of how lucky I am to have you all in my life.

Catherine and I have been reading your books and poetry and listening to your music. I have also been listening to audiobooks while in bed, and I have been surprised by the types of books that have drawn me in. I started in September with Ruth Rakoff’s new book “When My World Was Very Small,” which is her account of managing her breast cancer treatments (I believe I mentioned that book here before). I then read a few books similar to that one, people’s accounts of dealing with cancer and treatment, especially chemotherapy. I found them oddly comforting. It’s not that I wanted to hear about their suffering undergoing chemo, but, yes, I wanted to hear about their suffering undergoing chemo. They made me feel like I had company. Then last weekend I read a review of a new book on cancer entitled “The Emporer of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer” by Siddhartha Mukherjee, and downloaded it. Reading that book makes me feel so utterly not alone. And incredibly fortunate. Mukherjee gives a history of cancer and its treatments starting with the Greeks who used to attribute cancer to black bile, one of the four humors. Drain that out and cancer will disappear. It’s incredible how long that notion stood up in the medical books and how gross those techniques were (shudder). He then traces cancer treatments alongside the development of surgical techniques (he gives horrific descriptions of cowboy surgeons performing radical mastectomies on patients who are strapped down with insufficient anaesthetics, sometimes just alcohol), developments in radiation, then chemotherapy. Hearing stories of wire placed on hospital windows so that long-term chemo patients don’t attempt suicide jumps makes me grateful to be sitting in my own little warm home, even if I am in some pain. The treatments were so different even a few decades ago, it makes me thankful to be dealing with this illness in the early 21^st century. Even last week I was Skyping with my parents and my father, who lost his voice box to cancer 14 years ago, told me that his new oncologist gave him an exam and admitted that he had never seen that radical a procedure in his recent training (they took a lot of muscle and tissue in his neck, shoulders, and throat and he now breathes through a stoma and suffers from quite a bit of pain). Today it’s a totally different protocol. Anyway, this book recounts some of the progress and setbacks of cancer treatments, and I can only read it during the day – some of the images slipped into my dreams and it wasn’t pretty. But it’s quite gripping reading for anyone interested in that aspect of medical history.

Much love,

Kip

Three Months Today

Hi Friends,

I began chemo three months ago today. While I have made some progress in my relationship with time, I am still temporally challenged. On days like this one, when it's grey and damp and cold, I want to go out beyond these four walls and sit in a cafe and have a coffee, look at lights, hear totally annoying Christmas music in the malls. It's surprising what I miss while in this isolation. I miss feeling well, that feeling of moving through the world with energy and life force and excitement. It's hard to hear from the specialists that it may take months or even years for me to feel 100% once my treatments are over. But I know I will again. Today, it seems like that's a long way off.
On the bright side, it's only one month until Christmas Day. I think this is the year I will make a snow angel, if the weather permits.
Love,
Kip

Tuesday, November 23

Dear Friends,

Thanks to those of you who already have suggested songs for the drive home from the last chemo. Catherine and I talked about this more and invite anyone who is interested to suggest a song/piece that not only takes us home that last day, but also helps get me through the last two weeks of chemo. I love the idea of you all being here with us (musically, at least) as we come through the home stretch.
We met with the surgeon today and decided to go with the option that would give me the smallest chance of recurrence: a bilateral mastectomy, with lymph dissection on the left side. He will also biopsy the lymph on the right, although he doesn't expect to find anything there. It was a strange feeling to sign the surgery papers, as it was to talk with the radiologist yesterday. The chemo has been so all encompassing, it's sometimes hard to imagine that there are still two more stages after this one. Signing the papers for a surgery on January 6 reminded me that the next stage comes soon. I have been saying that surgery and radiation won't be as hard (and I don't believe they will be), but they still have their weight, their own side effects, both in the short and long term. Still, I need to keep my focus on getting through chemo and let the rest take care of itself in the new year.
This is a lesson for staying in the moment.
And listening to good music.
Much love,
Kip

Monday, November 22

Dear Friends,

It has been a quiet few days. We met this morning with the radiation oncologist (who is quite wonderful) and tomorrow we meet with the surgeon. Kip is on the highest dose of pain meds and it is keeping the roaring fires of pain at bay; they are muted she says. This round Kip has been very very tired, which makes sense. Fatigue is a really regular side effect of chemo, and sleep has been a bit elusive.

We are looking at the calendar and see that we can now say that the last chemo is next week! In anticipation of that event, we invite those of you who might be so inspired, to think of a song we can make a mix out of. The drive home from the hospital is about 45 minutes, so that would be about 7-8 songs. Remember, we will have been crying (okay, I will have, but I bet Jules, Kip and Kathy will be too) and Kip will not be totally perky. Then we can play the mix and think of you all, who have held us with your thoughts and love over the last four months.

Love to all,
(and to those reading from Edmonton, yikes! -32?)
Catherine

The Christmas Lights Go Up

Dear Friends,

As many of you know, I am very excited by the thought of Christmas this year because I will finally be finished with my chemotherapy. To celebrate, Julie put up some Christmas lights last week and we decided to wait until Thursday to light them, something to look forward to when we returned that night from treatment. Sure enough, while Catherine and I were at chemo, Julie came home and turned them on so they would be lit up when we returned. Kathy and Yves learned of this plan and they too turned on their lights that night (the second picture is of Kathy, Yves, and their sons Isaac and Felix). Thanks K and Y for sharing in my enthusiasm. If anyone else might like to share their lights, please send me a picture and I will post them.
I'm managing some nausea today and I'm really tired. I'm taking the max dose of Tylenol 3s and I have the high dose Percocet ready for when the second layer of pain hits tomorrow. We now have this down to a science and know what to expect, so it's just getting through it. I'm incredibly grateful for Catherine and Julie and all of you tonight.
Kip

Chemo 7, November 18, 2010

Dear Friends,

Today was merciful. We got in early. Kip figured out she could ask for a bed before we even went in. We had a good nurse who couldn't get a vein easily, so, saying that she didn't want to make Kip her 'pin-cushion' and confessing that she was not super-skilled at this, 'kicked us upstairs' to the really really good nurse who found a vein without pain or aggravation. The Tylenol-3's made this, and everything else, easier. The drugs were ready on time and we got out of there by 2:00.

Judy Davidson came by for a visit, which was great. The grilled cheesus (an in-joke for Gleeks) were delicious. I read Kip an article about miracle healing in Brazil from O magazine. As far as a day in chemo-day-care goes, it was a roaring success.

We have now had our leftover Thanksgiving dinner and are exhaustedly looking at bed. Kip is tired but not in pain and the nausea is pretty low for Day One. But we are socked in with new pain medications and new sleeping medications, and so are feeling confident about the days to come.

Thank you for all of your thoughts, love, support and strength. One more to go.

Love to all,
Catherine (for Kip)