Cycle 6 Week 3

Wow, time flies. I can't believe that it's already been two weeks since I last posted. My sixth cycle of chemo went really well. The days when I was hooked up to the chemo bag passed fairly quickly, which means I made it through all of my chemo cycles without having any pump problems or chemo spills at home, yay!!!!

My final day in the clinic with my nurses was a little surreal. I've spent the last four months relying on these men and women to make sure my vitals are ok, ensure that I receive the proper drugs, and stand ready as a trusted source of information and support. While I was happy to be finished getting toxic chemicals pumped through my veins, I wasn't happy to be ending my visits with these amazing people. My time spent on chemo was a lot better than I thought it would be because of them.

I was also sad to be ending my frequent meetings with some of the other patients who were/are on the same treatment. As much as my friends and family have helped over this trying time, no one can understand as well as the patient in the chair next to me who's summoning the same hope and facing the same fears as me. Plus, sharing side effect stories made the whole thing feel something like a club--albeit one that no one would want to join! But we were in it together, and sharing our stories during our clinic visits made the experience a lot easier. During one of my earlier cycles, I met a patient who really wasn't doing so well (same treatment as me). She was barely able to eat, completely depressed, and feeling utterly alone in her situation. After a small group of us started talking and supporting each other,  her mood, and condition, dramatically improved. I can't stress the importance that personal relationships play in getting through something like chemotherapy.

For my bad days after the chemo infusions, my sister, Sarah, flew out from Colorado. Having her with me was such a HUGE help, and my mom was certainly relieved to have the additional person around to take care of Zachary. Plus, Sarah and I did some serious wedding planning for her wedding next year. I've been the most tired this sixth cycle, so sitting around looking at wedding stuff online was a welcomed task. Other than that, I think I slept more hours than I was awake during the second week of the cycle!

I'm currently in week three of cycle six. I'm not recovering from the fatigue as quickly as I did during the first five cycles, but it's not terrible. My hemoglobin (the stuff that carries oxygen around in our blood) hasn't rebounded as quickly as usual, so that's probably contributing to the tired feeling (and headaches I had for a few days), but so far the doctors don't think a blood transfusion is necessary. I'll keep my fingers crossed that my counts increase by my next blood draw on Monday.

On July 5th, I get my end of treatment PET and CT scans. Sometimes I feel calm about it, sometimes I feel like a basket case. I'm trying to keep the same attitude I had going into my mid-treatment scans: hopeful that I get clean results, but not expecting anything. The doctors have warned me that many patients do show some activity on the PET scan, but that the activity can simply indicate inflammation, not active lymphoma. If that's the case, they will rescan in another six weeks. I don't know about you, but that does not sound like a fun six weeks to wait...

So that's where I am. I truly can't believe I've already finished six cycles. I won't say that it feels like it went by quickly, because it doesn't feel that way. There were days when I was taking it minute by minute, and the hand on the clock couldn't move fast enough. But with the help and support of so many friends and family, I made it through. Plus, I've noticed that some of the comments on this blog are from people I've never met who were inspired or touched by one of my posts, and that in itself has made me feel like something really good has emerged from something so terribly bad--so thank you all for all of your kind words.

Hope everyone enjoys the weekend!!!

I'm 30!

I finished 30 spins around the sun yesterday. I know a lot of people fear the 30-year mark, thinking this magic age marks the end of youth. Turning 30 will likely be one of the luckiest moments of my life. My lymphoma, if untreated, has the potential to take a life in a matter of months. Without the miracle of medicine, I may not have seen my 30^th birthday. This thought still chokes me up.

I will begin my sixth (and hopefully final!) cycle of chemo at the end of this week. I will admit that I’m a bit nervous. The bad days in cycle five completely kicked my ass. I won’t dwell on it here, but there were certainly moments when I just wanted to go to the hospital and have them put me on a morphine-induced holiday. Somehow I got through it, though, and I know I’ll just have to get through it again. A few days ago, I re-read all of my get-well-soon cards as motivation to face this final cycle.

Other than the four or five bad days, cycle 5 has gone well. All of my good days were really good, which allowed me to go on dates with Jason, spend quality time with family, and even go to a summer party at my boss’s house. Thankfully, my birthday fell in my good days as well. While I didn’t get to do a big 30^th birthday party, my mom took me on a nice shopping spree, and I received some wonderful cards and gifts in the mail. I’ll have to save the big party for when all of this is over and we’re up to hosting a lot of people again. Rest assured, we will start hosting our parties again within the year!

I’ll try to update this blog more regularly during cycle six. The fatigue and stomach cramps caught me off guard during the fifth cycle, so I spent my bad days on the couch not moving and the good days out of the house enjoying feeling good. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of emotions and thoughts to work through during what will hopefully be my final cycle, so I’ll attempt to share those thoughts here as I have them.

I’ll finish this post with a nice story:

I was walking to my car after shopping at Michael’s two days ago when I heard an older gentleman sitting in his car in the parking lot say, “M’am?” I turned around and approached his window to see if he needed anything. The gentleman, slightly hunched over his steering wheel with a head covered in soft white locks, looked straight into my eyes and said, “Is it cancer?” 

I was wearing one of my hats, but it was still obvious that I didn’t have any hair. “Yes,” I managed to answer, slightly surprised by his question, but curious where this conversation was about to go. 

The gentleman continued, “I had it 33 years ago, and here I am today. You’re going to be just fine.” As I held back tears, I managed to whisper the words “Thank you.” I wished him well and continued walking to my car. Once inside, I broke down. I cried and cried and cried, not because I was sad that someone could see that I was going through chemotherapy, but because I was happy that someone could survive so long after having cancer.

The worst part about having a cancer diagnosis is losing my invincibility. I’ve lived a healthy life, and to be completely honest, I never thought this would happen to me. Now I have no clue what the future holds. Maybe my lymphoma will return; maybe I’ll get a secondary cancer; maybe I’ll never have to experience any of this again. The fact is, I don’t know what will happen. I miss feeling invincible. But the old man in the car gives me hope. It’s possible to have cancer and then three decades later tell someone in a parking lot that it’s going to be ok.