Chemo #2: Done & Dusted

The Trilliums are out in Forest Park so we went on a l e i s u r e l y stroll on the 2.1 mile Trillium trail on Sunday. It was still cool, but all around there were signs of spring. The trillium, yes, but also unrolling ferns, small flowers we didn’t know, a bush we think might have been salmonberry. It was sunny, cool, and peaceful– and barely anyone on the trail.

Trillium & ferns!

I did it with a little trepidation– I mean, was it too much? But there seems to always be good news around the corner. When I went in for chemo yesterday, I surveyed all my caregivers about the exercise conundrum. The consensus was that moderate exercise, through power walking, walking, even on my bike, should be fine.

Ruth was the one who I think solved the puzzle. She said the way I described what happened on the challenging ride may have affected Dr. Radiology’s response. I said I fell out of the pace– Ruth wonders if the doc heard I fell. Huh. Maybe. Well, since Mondays are all cancer-all-the-time, there was no exercise. But today, I did a 30 minute moderate ride, felt terrific doing it and feel terrific now. Yahoo!

Chemo was fine. Bloodwork beforehand was good. They’re checking for drops in red and/or white cells. It’s still too early for that, I think. No nausea yesterday. Maybe some stomach weirdness today, but I am not excited about the side effects of those anti-nausea meds, so we shall see as the effects begin to pile up over time., They loaded me up with premeds to prevent allergic reaction to the drugs. Apparently the first week is just a shock to the body, but the second week the body rallies the immune system when it gets a whiff of the bad stuff. I went to sleep. Afterwards I got ice cream, at a place that buries a blob of chocolate ganache at the bottom of the cone. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Enterprise. Photon torpedos. You know.

The radiology is what is doing the heavy lifting, after all. I don’t know about you, but when I’m lying on my table with the big machine rotating around me, I see the Starship Enterprise shooting photon torpedoes. It’s a satisfying image.

I think the Peloton kerfuffle pushed me into a new understanding of what living with lung cancer means. I say “living with it” because it wall always now be something that needs to be watched, remembered. There may be permanent damage from the treatment, so that is certainly one thing that might be included. Right now, and in the near future, I see several new things. Every bite of food I take must count. They told me at chemo yesterday: butter, ice cream, full fat milk, blah blah blah. And, they think it would be wonderful if all their patients gained weight. Given what they’ve told me I can expect from the radiation, I did a mental eye roll. “Probably not,” was what I said.

Another thing: every moment counts. I need to pay close attention to how I feel and respond appropriately. Tired? Rest. Planning to watch a movie after dinner but feeling energy just fading? Watch another time and go to bed earlier. Jeez, this is not typically how I roll.

Another thing: I have way less mental bandwidth than ever before. What do I mean by that? Think of the aspects of your life as different wavelengths. Work is one wavelength– maybe blue. Family might be another– maybe yellow. Spouse is a third. Volunteer work, another. And whoever thought the mundanities of life could take so much mental space: housework, groceries, yard, etc. I think a layer women take on, or have thrust upon them, is the general facilitating of the people, activities, events that flow through the household and include other parts of the family network, too. There may be more. But if you add cancer to this pile, there just isn’t enough capacity for all these to flow through the brain. Not enough mental capacity.

This metaphor is probably going badly.

I first noticed this in a meeting of our church communications meeting. I chair the group, so I was facilitating the  meeting. An evening meeting. Somewhere around 8:30, my brain just…stopped. I couldn’t listen, think, ask questions. I didn’t have the mental capacity. But I think it means I need to draw some time-related parameters. Maybe a nap before the next meeting?

At least work happens in the morning. The writing afterwards is a struggle, but I can take it on the next day.

Who knew this invisible kind of impact existed? Not me, that’s for sure. But feels as profound as the physical impacts.

I’ve been thinking about some other stuff, too, but I don’t want to try your patience. Please know I’m so grateful for your presence and support. Thank you for your notes and cards and texts.

Thanks for reading.

Trillium image: licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0

Head shot by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay