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Archive for the ‘chemotherapy’ Category

Tense – but tingle-free!

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, recovery, work, tagged , , , , , , , on August 25, 2013| 4 Comments »

Nick told me that I am the most tense/stressed person he’s ever met. He’ll often come up behind me and knead my shoulder for a second and then just shake his head. So I made an attempt to de-stress a bit by taking a couple of days off last week, scheduling a massage and going to a couple of concerts with friends.

Well, I can’t say I really succeeded in completely de-stressing, as I worked through one of my days off (although it was nice doing it from the comfort of my home…), and while the massage was nice, I really didn’t feel very different (other than wanting a nap) after. But I did have a great realization while at the massage parlor. They had me fill out a bunch of forms, asking about all sorts of health-related issues, and when I got to the line that said “Numbness/tingling?” I froze. Oh my gosh. No. Really? I wiggled my toes. I touched each of my fingers to my thumbs. And then did it all over again. It’s gone!!!! I have complete feeling back in my fingers and toes!!!! I am so thankful to have another chemo side effect gone! That realization alone was worth the cost of the massage.

I did really relax at the concerts: Kenny Chesney, Eric Church, the Eli Young Band and Kacey Musgraves, on both Friday and Saturday night at Gillette Stadium. What’s better than tailgating, singing (screaming) and dancing with thousands of your closest friends? 😉 Incredible shows – the last two of the tour – and great company!

So while I’m probably still the most tense person Nick knows, at least I am one more step further away from the chemo cancer world…

 

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Love is a Battlefield – With or Without Cancer

Posted in Alone, Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, Dating, hair, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2013| Leave a Comment »

For some reason I find it funny that on the same day that Dana-Farber published my blog on Dating and Cancer 101, I went to the House of Blues to see Pat Benatar sing Love is a Battlefield. Yes, I’m a child of the 80s and much of what I learned about love was through lyrics.

We are strong
No one can tell us we’re wrong
Searching our hearts for so long
Both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield

And, as anyone who reads this blog regularly or knows me at all knows, I love music. There’s a constant soundtrack to my life and Love is a Battlefield is definitely one that has been a recurring theme!

Back to the blog for Dana-Farber. I would do anything for that place – and to help others going through the nightmare that was my last year. So when Robbin asked if I’d be interested in writing on this topic, I said sure, why not? No, it’s not easy admitting you were lonely and, well, maybe not quite desperate, but desperate for some attention. And some reassurance that you’re not just still attractive, but actually datable.  But if sharing that vulnerability with others helps even just one woman going through treatment know she’s not alone in what she’s feeling and fearing, it’s worth it. So I wrote it and it debuted on Dana Farber’s blog and Facebook page today.

What’s also kind of funny is that while the experience I wrote about for the blog took place a year ago, I’m in a similar place now. The only real difference is I have some real hair back – which is a very big thing, I must say. And I’m not going through treatment, so definitely look and feel healthier. And with all that comes more self-confidence, which is really everything.  Every day I get another inch further away from the cancer patient label and back to my prefered regular girl designation. But as far as dating goes, it’s not that different cancer or no cancer. Either way, love is a battlefield…

With my friends Gail and Abby at the Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo concert at The House of Blues in Boston.

With my friends Gail and Abby at the Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo concert at The House of Blues in Boston.

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Flashback

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, family, Fundraising, prayer, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on August 18, 2013| 2 Comments »

The other night I was at a family party, laughing and eating and chatting away with everyone, when another guest arrived. She walked slowly, tentatively as if it hurt to move. She wore a heavy coat even though it’s August because she gets chilled so easily. And her face was pale, with sunken eyes. I heard one of her relatives whispering about her having just taken a Compazine to try to calm the nausea. 

A feeling of nausea suddenly rushed over me – it brought me right back to one year ago. Getting poked repeatedly to try to find a decent vein for the IV before we gave up and had the port put in. Feeling sick on the way to the hospital just because I knew what was coming. Sitting in the big comfy infusion chair, wrapped in heated blankets. Trying to smile and laugh as my family and friends tried to distract me and keep my spirits up, as the poison rushed through my veins. Feeling loopy on the ride home – and then sick for days.

I am so lucky. That was a short period in time for me – and every day it gets buried further in my past and becomes a smaller percentage of my overall life. This woman – as so many others – is not so lucky. It’s too late, they explained to me after she left. They’ve done all they can but it’s spread so much there’s nothing else they can do, except try to keep her comfortable. My heart ached for her and her family. And my mind raced, repeatedly thanking God for letting me find that lump when I did, and for being able to stop the cancer in its tracks.

I am scared all the time. I, like many survivors I know, see Tamoxifen as my wonder drug. As long as I’m on it, it will ward off the recurrence. I should be safe. But what then? There is no telling. A lot can happen in a few years – particularly in research and development. Maybe by then they will be able to not only detect earlier, but prevent – and cure. So I have hope.

It all takes money, though. This is why I’m doing the Jimmy Fund Boston Marathon Walk on Sunday, September 8. I want to do everything I can to stop this monster of a disease. Please join our team – Team Inspire Boston – and walk with us, or sponsor me. You can walk 3 miles, 5 miles, 13.1 miles or the full marathon: 26.2 miles. No matter what you decide – to walk or sponsor us (and no amount is too small – every cent counts!) – you will be helping to kick cancer and helping people like me (and maybe you) live a longer, happier life. Thank you.

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