12/14/07 Gardening @ Night #05

Hello Peeps,

We've all had 'em - those days when when you walk into a coffee shop or the dry cleaners and you become suddenly aware that the ambient music playing in the background is actually playing just for you. The lyrics are directed at YOU and you alone, with a secret cosmic message. A message that answers some big question in your life that's been haunting you for months. Perhaps the music is sending you a glimmer or hint of your fate, what's to become of you, but no one around you notices a thing. Still you are encased in a glass bubble frozen in the moment and hanging on the words, struck by how others now moving in slow motion somehow continue Thieu mundane goals for the day. Mostly, you can't even put the meaning of the message into words. This week, my entire week was ripe with a universal roller coaster of pregnant pauses. I know you can relate. I could really write an entire book about this past week, and basically will here in the email below so be forewarned and know that I don't blame you if you want to pull the rip cord and get out while you can.

Before I launch in to the "phenomenology" of this past week, just so you all know, the answer to your burning question is NO. Even though I thought I might, I didn't start chemo this week. On friday of last week, I opened door number 3. Standing behind there was the 3rd oncologist named Claudine Isaacs and her 2 faithful sidekicks, nurse Julie and nurse Nellie from Georgetown University. Their names have not been changed to protect their identities. Anyway, to cut to the chase, Dr. Isaacs explained to me that in her expert opinion (she is a really big boy in this arena, by the way, on the national scene) she does not feel that I should use the more harsh version of the chemo treatment, because it has not been proven that "more medicine, means more efficacy". Apparently, the TAC I had been advised to do has somewhat harsher side effects and is cumulative, but not with ANY proven better results. The other option is "Dose Dense" The real difference between the two is basically in how they administer the drugs, the timing for each drug and what weeks it's administered. So, strangely enough, even though "Dose Dense" sounds harder to take, it's actually supposed to be easier. I was convinced by her chief argument - just TAC is harsher doesn't mean I will live longer - by her analogy: She said that earlier on in cancer treatment, doctors used to completely transfuse all the blood from a persons body in order to rid them of cancerous cells. Transfusing ALL the blood from your body is incredibly difficult on your body and does not specifically Target cancer cells so it was like loving someone to death. Going to any length is not always the wisest way to go, even if I'm in super good health.

Next she repeated that the difference between the efficacy of the chemo options was really nothing to write home about, BUT there is a drug trial available to me which could actually be a "home run" in terms of cancer treatment and improving survival rates. By the way, in case you are wondering, statistics for people in my stage of cancer "IIIA" ARE indeed really very good. I don't really want to pay too much attention to this because the whole "statistics" thing is too spooky for me, but it's something like 80 to 95% survival rate over 10 years with either kind of chemo plus hormonal treatment. So this home run trial adds a drug that is more like biological warfare, rather than chemical warfare, as Monica (my sis) puts it. To make a long story short, I spent several days with furrowed eyebrows consulting any info I could get my hands on about the drug and the trial and finally decided to participate. So the new drug is called Avastin and I will be getting dose dense chemo with it. Yes, it makes my treatment slightly more complicated in terms of how many times I'm driving down to Grtwn, but I could be rounding the bases for the next 50 years and happy for it. So, I'll be starting next week - FOR SURE.

But, I digress from the more interesting part of my week, back to the music. So I started off this week armed with a CD Kyle put in the car by a band called "The Tough Alliance".

(You should and probably do know that even though I REALLY love to hear new music, Kyle is the true musicologist. Not only that, he's honed his skills so perfectly that he regularly puts CDs in the car which sensitively match the mood I'm going to need for the coming day. He knows what I like. He also often orders dinner for me.) So, the Tough Alliance, I could use some of that. I like the idea of having a tough alliance of my own so much, that consider yourselves enlisted. In fact, the guys in this band are not really tough at all. They are so fe, happy and I think from Sweden. Still, they worked their magic on me as I drove off to my Landscape class. Here's a lyric sampling from a song called First Class Riot, to get you in the mood ...

There´s a crowd, talking loud, but they ain´t saying nothing
Slow and stale, weak and pale, while we´re running and laughing
Cause there´s something else, something bright and pure,
Something that you´ve never felt before
Something you can´t touch, something you can´t see (cancer?), you just don´t believe

AA-AAAA

Don´t you die yet , first class riot
You can't buy it, first class riot

Hey, the song just told me not to die yet - you heard it, didn't you? It's not just me. Ok, this message is pretty clear, Don't: die yet, Do: riot. Check. I can do that. Hmmm, riot, when can I work that this week? Not sure, but it looks like there might be a window on Thrsday after the piano teacher leaves at 4:30.

Ok, so just after my class, I broke my news to some other students, selfishly knowing that if I now ask them for any measurements for our final patio project, they cannot refuse me. Most of these woman are now on my same scholastic path, so this dictum carries over to the spring classes, too. They took it well and it wasn't that hard.

I moved on to visit the exersize Dr., Dr. Furth. Things were clicking, I was also supposed to see nurse Nellie and get some pre-study tests done including a pregnancy test - HA! All this would set me up to start chemo next Tuesday 18. I got down to Grtwn and first met with the Parking Gods, who blessed me. But then I had an irritating 1/2 hour trying to page nurse Nellie. However my spirits were still good. Nellie was very upbeat if a little confounding with the phone. Among other things, I learned from her that she had not yet confirmed with my insurance company that my treatment would be covered and not deemed "experimental". I started to ge a little anxious about this but kept my temper under my shirt while being firm with her and basically demanding that she do that as soon as humanly possible. Anyway, since we didn't have time for tests before I met Dr. Furth, we agreed to meet afterwards to do it.

Moving on, I spent the next 2+ hours with Dr. Furth who was giving me an "ecersize consultation". Going in I really wasn't sure exactly what would happen with her. Would she put me on a monitored exersize program there at the Lombardi Cancer Center? I kind of thought that's what it would be, but it wasn't. My friend Sonia had admitted to me she pictured me simultaneously riding a stationary bike whilst being infused with toxic chemicals. Not that either. What she did do is give me back my confidence in my physical ability (cool). She patiently explained how to get myself back to running by doing boring and easy but progressively harder cardio and strength training. Btw, she did not have incidental music playing in her examining room, but in my head there was a chorus of angels singing while a beam of light cast down on my healthy lustrous hair. The escersizes look goofy but do show a light at the end of the tunnel. So if you come by and happen to see me doing steps in my own house, no, I don't have an obsessive compulsive disorder, I'm just training for Cherry Blossom 10-miler which I signed up to do in April. See you there.

After Dr. Furth, I again tried to reach nurse Nellie and when we finally spoke, it was 4:40 and time for her to leave. I planned to return Tues, even though I was going to have a full day. Going back Tuesday afternoon still fit into my sched and when things are clicking, fitting and rolling easily along, it is another cosmic sign to go with it and not worry.

Tuesday, began deceptively. I was following orders to go to the dentist and again had Parking Gods (the only Gods I'm certain exist) with me. I sit down in the chair with the hygienist and we begin to talk about my disease - yes, it's really good to get a cleaning before you start chemo therapy. Her sister had breast cancer last year and was so happy to have gotten her dental care taken care of before-hand. It made all the difference. Her sister is doing well, but her aunt has had a harder time. She's sure everything will go well for me (spoken with glassy tears welling up in her eyes). We stopped talking and she turned away to put on her mask while I laid down in the chair.

CUE MUSIC: first song, I kid you not, Send in the Clowns. Scrape, scrape, "Looks like you've got something stuck back there".
Second song: Billy Joel, She's Always a Woman to Me.
Oooh, she takes care of herself. Yes, I'm dong that.
She can wait if she wants, she's ahead of her time. No, I can't, No, I'm not.
Oooooh, and she never gives out, and she never gives in,
she just changes her mind. Ok, sappy and chauvinistic but yes it's true, I'm a little selfish and also a toughy. Plop went the half bloody blob right on my chest napkin the hygienist just cleaned out of my teeth.
Time to spit in the levitating dish,
Third Song: I've Been Through the Dessert on a Horse With No Name. Whoah, that's some lonely shit.
Forth song, and this is the best, so everyone sing: I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar, by Helen Reddy
Fifth song and now finally flossing: I Had the Time of My Life, from Dirty Dancing
(I did not make this shit up. I swear).

I really didn't know what to make of the barrage of terrible music, but I should have known that despite a reasonably comfortable teeth cleaning, something lurked in the air. No cavities were lurking however, so I took what I can get and left.

Visiting the PT was also deceptive. On the way, one of my favorite songs ever (read: this week) appeared on our car CD player. I love this song but if you can decipher the hidden meaning for me, (I think possibly my friend and good writer, Sandra may be able to do so), then you would raise your standing in my life from wonderful tough ally to clairvoyant personal medium. The song is by Vampire Weekend and called, " Who Gives a Fuck About an Oxford Comma".

Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?
I've seen those English dramas too
They're cruel
So if there's any other way
To spell the word
It's fine with me, with me...
As you all well know, I'm a horrendous speller so they have this part correct about me, for sure.

Ok, so blasting ahead. I love the PT and she is a real healer. She also gives me great confidence and has been slowly teaching me the intricate distinctions between different types of pain. "Muscle soreness" is apparently ok but on the other hand, I'm not allowed to push myself into the realm of "sharp twinge". She said I'm progressing magnificently and assigned me a 2 lb weight to work with. I graduated from broom stick lifting and am ready for an iron man in one week. The PT is also a medium and an oracle, herself. She can see the invisible mac truck parked on my chest. Since she knows practically every other breast cancer patient in the area, she gets to hear all the good gossip. She told me she has another patient planning to enroll in the drug trial (that sounds good) and then let it slip I would need a "port". A port is a needle port under your skin that allows the chemo people to access a "deep vein" that goes directly to your heart. Yikes, scary. I held my breath and moved on to Grtwn to meet nurse Nellie and play phone tag again.

"Hi Adele, did you get the blood test yet? No? ok, go right over here. Page me when you're done and we'll talk ... Did you you pee in a cup? We'll talk ... Did you register with the blah blah blah, yet? ... Did you go down to radiology for the chest X-ray? Page me when you get back ..." All along the way there were characters who looked remarkably like brick walls to me. These people might be clerks, technicians or other patients and would say stupid things like, "I forgot my glasses and I can't fill out these forms", or " I'm 57 years old and the only female in my family NOT to have had breast cancer. Isn't that wild?". Fun stuff.

Meanwhile, my phone battery was dying and time was ticking away. I knew I needed to - and laughably had thought I could - get back to pick up kids after clay class. So on the last click of the phone battery I called Kyle and blurted out - I'm not going to make it. Kyle to the rescue, was on his way in a flash. Finally, finally Nellie says, ok let me give you my chemo talk. She sits me alone for another few minutes to wait for her, in a room of books filled to the ceiling with titles like, "Look Good, Feel Good" and "I'm Not My Disease" and of course, "Everybody's Different".

Nurse Nellie came back and gave me her speech which was fine. She confirmed that a port would be a good idea but by this time I didn't really trust her, I have to say. She said it was much easier, but for who, I wondered. She clued me in that being in this trial means that I would be returning for at least 20 weeks, the last 12 visits would be weekly. And then, oh yes, she hadn't confirmed with the insurance company yet. I went home VERY tired.

I think it was Tuesday night - Kyle, the sweetest man alive - gave me a spanking brand new ipod to block out the world. Sweet musical relief. I was in a haze after that so I can't say it happened exactly then. At this point, I felt like things might work out if only the insurance were confirmed. I was left hanging for that night, though, like a dangling participle. But I did manage to decide after talking to a few people, to go ahead and get the port. This will indeed be easier for ME.

Wed morning Kyle stayed home with me and we began wrapping X-mas presents to ship to Chicago. I got a call midday from nurse Julie this time - the first time I'd ever really spoken to her. She told me that my blood test had been screwed up and I had to get another one done. I could not get the port in time to start on Tues 18th AND no insurance confirmation as of yet. She told me all of this very calmly and acted as if nothing were wrong.

I LOST it completely. I was a mess. I admit I have had other breakdowns about the cancer but they usually were just simple 10 minute releases of gentle crying yelps and honestly very few times. This one was a doosey. I'm on the phone with nurse Julie, in my mind stabbing her with her own cell phone. On my side of the phone in reality, I was sobbing uncontrollably, Kyle helplessly trying to sooth me. I was not able to talk and there was definitely no music playing anywhere on earth at that moment. But, right, I think it's time to riot now. This is coming a bit ahead of schedule but under the circumstances, it might be ok.

So what did we do? We went back to wrapping presents. It was the only thing to do to feel any sense of accomplishment, at least until I calmed down. We also made a plan to go to a nearby lab for the blood test. Kyle was very quiet. I'm sure he was terrified of saying anything that might set me off again. My sis called, I told her my story and began to loose it all over. Then she felt guilty. But she did actually talk sense into me. More present wrapping and finally we finished. We went to the UPS store with 4 huge boxes that cost way too much to send. We did it together. We felt good about it, but as we left Kyle looked at me and said, "never again". We'll visit Chicago the day after X-mas from now on.

I also secretly made a pact with myself to shave my head the very next day. Now that should qualify for riot. So, Kyle took me to get the blood test and immediately after, sent me on a walk with Argo while he picked up the girls from school. I only walked for an hour but it seemed like 10. It did really help. I mostly listened to my Bill Bryson book but also some Andrew Bird, "Imitosis".

When I got home, the super/natural cheer of the girls and their excitement about the coming holidays put the final halt to any lingering wallowing about the day and I forgot it for a while, drank some wine someone thoughtfully left on our doorstep.

Thursday came and I went to see Hans, a non-gay hairdresser in Gtwn. I was ready. I came armed with my friend, Dana's, wig and my niece's ponytail she'd earlier planned to donate to "Locks for Love". Hans specializes in helping "people like me" in addition to his non-cancer clients. Even though I was feeling very synical, he really put me at ease right away, I must admit. There was absolutely no pressure to buy a $1500 wig or any wig for that matter. He handled my emotions perfectly like those people who talk jumpers down from the tops of tall buildings. We chatted while he put a few pretty attractive wigs on me. "When do you 'start', exactly? You're going to Chicago for the holidays, how nice. Well, you know, you have some time to sort this out. Isn't it quite cold in Chicago this time of year? You know if you just keep if for a bit longer, that's 3 more weeks without quizzical looks at the CVS or your children's school. I have 3 of my own, children. They are so much fun. See you in 3 weeks, if you want." Oh my god, he's brilliant and right! I guess it's not time to riot. Wow.

I got coffee, went home and amazingly got a lot done for my real life, including finally finding time to buy my own dear mom an X-mas present. It's coming in the mail, mom. Sorry it won't be wrapped. But I feel good about accomplishing that none-the-less. I did sent out a soccer sign-up reminder email and straightened out a web account password mix-up. I got a call from a Landscape design classmate who knows, but she didn't call to talk about that. She wanted my help for the class. She wanted me to give her advice on how to handle the "POB" - the point of beginning is basically a random place you can mark with a stake on any property which will tell the contractor THE point from which to begin measuring everything else in the master plan. I was utterly shocked to learn that my classmate does not regard me as a semi-transparent Zombie. She has no idea how happy that made me. Things were looking up. The very next thing I did was sign up for the next class which starts at end of Jan. I went on a walk.

While out, the insurance company called. The drug trial is now "Pre-Cert"-ified and I have confirmed coverage. The job-sharing nurses had come through after all. I am so relieved. Then nurse Julie called and told me she had the corrected blood test results too. We scheduled the port for next Monday and chemo for next Wed. Ok, now we're moving again. Do you hear any clicking? I do.

Thursday night Kyle showed me this video, a cover of "Video Killed the Radio Star". I can't interpret it just now, but I'm sure I will, or one of you will, in time. In the meantime, it's so damn charming I hope you watch and and force all of your children to join a rock band, just as the O'Dowd girls will be doing.

So here we are on friday. What a long week and nothing has really happened. Except, I did get "expanded" again today. My plastic surgeon, Dr. Chang, and his faithful sidekick, Phillip, are beyond sweet and reassuring. I just need 2 more expansions now to measure up. I wouldn't use the term "perky" to describe my new boobs. That is the term that was given to me by doctors in advance of all of this. Fortunately they are not like paper cups either. (Sorry Girl Scouts). To be a bit graphic, they are more like overturned ceramic ice cream bowls, hard as rocks. There is a saying about Southern Bells that I've always loved and hoped one day to have stated about me. It is said that Southern Bells are like velvet gloves on iron fists! Next time you give me a warm hug you may feel my iron fists under my shirt, sorry. Maybe, I'll soften in time.

So, I guess this is not the end of the book but it was a long chapter. I promise to be a better editor for the next one and keep it shorter. I should point out that whoever has the excel spreadsheet that tells everyone else which day is their day to do something nice for me, is doing a very good job. Flowers, cookies, wine, gardening books, book reviews, bitch sessions, my new favorite handmade bag. These things are so thoughtful. You don't have to do it, but I want to thank you for reminding me what nice people I have surrounded myself with. Do me this favor and if you have time tomorrow or over the weekend, sing this little ditty one time, just to yourself: Notice she's walking through the woods. I really like that. But what's with the cows? Interpretations, please?

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