I want a new DRRRUGGGG!!!

Last week I learned that Tamoxifen, the pill that I will have to take for the next five years to reduce the chances of the cancer coming back, is at odds with Prozac. Somehow, Prozac diminished dramatically the effect of Tamoxifen, because of how they are processed in the liver. Well, all of this is only relevant if you know that I have a brain lesion which makes me take several neurological drugs, among which is Prozac.

As a result, we made a sprint to my neurologist, who immediately knew what we were worrying about, and who changed my meds. Swoosh, with one stroke of his pen. I am wondering if my mood will change as quickly. But this far, I have been feeling great. I have a bit of headache, but that's all.

In addition, this new med is also supposed to reduce the hot flashes, which sometimes really make it hard for me to sleep. That would be an additional bonus. We shall see...

Everything that has a beginning, has an end...

And the end of this saga is here!!! Yesterday was my last radio therapy session!!! And although I am itchy and my boob hurts, I am DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY! This is over! To celebrate, we had a party some days ago, at which I broke a piggy that I had been stuffing throughout the year with little love notes that everyone who would come to visit left for me. The pic is from second before the piggy vanished... I loved the party and, at night, when everyone had left and Gabo and the rascals were fast asleep, I read all of the notes and cried so much! I am feeling so fortunate! Thank you all for being here, for calling, for sending messages, for writing, for coming to visit!!! Having you was the substance of my strength. Now, a new episode starts. Five years of hormonal treatment and recurrent tests, to make sure the Gremlin does not come back. And some other decisions to make along the way. I will tell you more about those in the near future.

My bright pink boob...

Since yesterday, my boob is bright pink, due to a medicine that I have to dab onto it to reduce the itching, swelling and general discomfort produced by radiation. It stains even black clothes. Apparently, portions of the color wash off in the shower, but it doesn't go away completely. I don't mind. The pain and the swollen sensation were already unbearable. I couldn't lie still in bed, and every night's sleep was preceded by endless turning, shifting, scratching and complaining. Of course, I still have to see if the bright, colorful liquid actually makes a change. I am sooooooooooooo tired of all of this.

It BBBUUURRRRRRRRRRRNNSS

Now, imagine the famous scene from The Exorcist, where Father Whatever sprinkles holy water on a diabolic Linda Blair, and she says, in a deep, freaky voice: "it burrrrrrrnnnnnnnnsssss". That is how I feel. My boob burns all over. It hurts and today I started to feel little yet persistent needles. No time to complain. I have to go, right now, for another session of burning radiation.

Blisters and redness... OUCH!

Two weeks of radiation are starting to show their impact. My boob hurts by only looking at it, it itches, it is red and it is developing little blisters. No under-wire bras, no tight clothing, no synthetic fabrics... No deodorant, no moisturizer, no nothing. No scrubbing in the shower, no lying on my left side. NO TOUCHING, please! OUCH!

CLEAN!!!! And radiated...

It is OFFICIAL!! 100% The blood tests are clean as well. No traces of the meano... No more Gremlins living in my boob. YAY!!!! Today I went for the first radiotherapy session. They made scans and images, to get a perfectly defined three dimensional area where the radio will hit. Then, they tattooed four little dots on the heroic boob, to make sure they get the same area each time. The procedure itself only lasts 10 minutes. And that is what I will be doing for the next six weeks, every day, at 4.30. Today it was uneventful, but supposedly you get tired as you start accumulating radiation, and the skin burns... We shall wait and see. Meanwhile, it already feels distinctly like an exit road. We are so happy! I can't believe it, but we are joking all day long, smiling, laughing, and it feels like a whole new beginning. Gabo is in excellent mood, and we are enjoying ourselves fantastically!

And the results are CLEAN!!!!

Yes, yes, yes!!! The PET scan came back clean. No malignant neoplasia this far. A tiny mass in the right boob, but apparently nothing to worry about. Now I am waiting for the blood test results, to make sure there is no tumor-like activity... But I already feel that the dice was thrown, and that I won. Let me say it again, slowly: the dice was thrown, and in this round, I won. This babe seems to be cancer free!!!

Tests, tests, tests...

Yesterday I had my first round of tests--a full body PET and a bilateral mammogram. The former was annoying, because I had to drink radioactive water and then get more radioactive stuff in my veins. I am tired of all the needles. however, the mammogram was much worse than what I expected. It hurt like hell, on both sides. On the right side, because of the port, which got pulled and pressed into my chest. On the left side, because of the scar tissue inside of my boob. Tomorrow I will go to get the blood tests done. They will have to draw a lot of blood, I am afraid. Again, I am tired of all the needles. But at least I am feeling almost normal!! This week I have been able to get up, work, walk the doggies, play the piano. I am not dizzy, not nauseous. No puking, either. YAY!!! Everything is ok.

Getting ready for the next phase...

We went to see my favorite oncologist yesterday, and he made me feel good. He attentively examined my boobs, admired how well the left boob looks despite having undergone a partial mastectomy, and was generally pleased with my progress. He then gave me three prescriptions, which all mark important transitions:

1. A new oncologist, who will be responsible for radiotherapy. I already have an appointment for this Friday, to set the stage for what apparently will only be 30 sessions (5 a week, for 6 weeks), beginning in May. I am elated by the thought of 30 instead of 40, I have to say. It also feels like the beginning of the end of this cancer treatment journey, which at many moments appeared to be endless.

2. A huge collection of tests, ranging from a mammogram, to over a dozen tumor indicators screened through blood samples, to a full PET scan. The appointment is for next Monday. Despite hating needles, I am actually excited about the tests. I want irrefutable proof that the fucking gremlin is gone. Nevertheless, waiting for that confirmation to arrive is daunting. I woke up at 6 am today, haunted by the possibility of un-clean results...

3. A prescription for Tamoxifen, which reads "one pill, 20 mg, every 24 hrs, for the next five years". This is even more daunting. A prescription for five years feels exactly like what it means--this story is not really over until it is over. And it ain't over until you are clean for five years. Which will imply a daily reminder in the form of a pill, a quarterly reminder in the form of blood tests, a half-yearly reminder in the form of mammograms and a yearly reminder in the form of PET scans.

So, I am indeed only really getting ready for the next phase... RTx. One step at a time. But, at least, I am walking.

Might this be the last round...

Of discomfort, nausea, and other less pleasant symptoms? This last AC scheme hit me hard, and I have been dizzy, weak and feeling awful pretty much most of the time.

I made a case of not complaining too loud, because it is the last one. But it has not been pretty.

Tomorrow is our appointment with the onc surgeon. He will examine the state of the heroic boob, and I am sure that he will be pleased to see that the scar finally looks completely sealed. Maybe he will give me some tips to make it fade quicker? He might even explain why, when I touch the left end of the scar, it tingles beneath my arm, almost on the back... I feel like this frog I read about in primary school, whose belly skin had been replaced with back skin and, as a result, he would scratch his back when touched on the belly. :)

Supposedly the doctor will also prescribe my full PET, which will finally let us know if the gremlins are gone. I think that they are gone, for good. At night, when I wake up because of the hot flashes, I sometimes wonder if there might be a trace left of the cancer. But I always feel that the answer to that question is a definite and non-negotiable NO. Now I want to hear it from the doctor. I want the ultimate scientific proof.

Don't hold your breath. It will take a couple of weeks til we get there...

The chemical romance came to an end yesterday...

And we did not want you to miss it!!!!

Here is a picture of Gabo and me, playing silly, at the hospital. We were so happy that this was the last session that we brought cake for the nurses and doctors.

And we escaped late at night from the hospital and came back home.

Today, I have not been feeling good. My head aches and my tummy feels funny again, but me spirit remains unbeaten.

It is over!!!!

Let's find the exquisite pleasures that radiation has in storage.

In the swimming pool...

Today, I went swimming for the first time since Sitges, in August, with Shaamela and Ann. The oncologist told me on Tuesday that I could start swimming. And I have been suffering from pain all along my left arm, with tendons that feel hard as over-strechted cables. I called my arm doctor in the morning and she said that swimming would help.

It was such a wonderful sensation to be in the water!!! I spent half an hour swimming slowly, feeling the liquid sensation all around me, enjoying every second of it. The water was extremely pleasant, comforting, liberating. It felt like another small step back to normalcy.

My arm feels a bit better now. If I am not exhausted tomorrow after this extenuating exercise (LOL--the side effects of seven months under house arrest are terrible...) I will go again tomorrow or on Sunday. It was WONDERFUL!

And, the final countdown has begun: next Tuesday is my LAST chemo session.

I. Can't. Believe. It.

Betsy and Cecile were here...

...and I felt sooooo happy. We went to Queretaro, and spent three days with the Lagartos. Getting out of the house, sitting in a garden, chatting with people I love, was just wonderful.

My white blood cells were plummeting and I had neuropathy on the right side of my face/head during the last week, but there was so much joy that I was able to ignore it most of the time.

Yesterday we went to see the oncologist, and he programmed for next Tuesday what will be my VERY LAST CHEMO SESSION. Let me repeat that: MY VERY FUCKING LAST CHEMO SESSION IS ON APRIL 10.

After that, a PET scan will be run. And if it is clean, the port will be extracted. I cannot really grasp it yet.

Of course, there still is the radio therapy. It has been confirmed and I have the name of the doctor who will be responsible of that piece of the treatment, which will start in May.

But this week, I will not think about radiation. I will only think about the fact that chemo is almost over. Seven months have gone by since I went into surgery...

I loved everything of being normal again...

The week with my friends and colleagues was such a wonderful break from reality. I loved every second of it, and scrapped together every tiny bit of energy, to keep going.

The opportunity to feel mentally active, engaged and useful, was delicious. I confirmed that, despite being invisible, my friends have me in their thoughts constantly, and are waiting for me to come back.

I had so much fun and joy. I ate as if I wasn't poisoned, enjoying every bite. I laughed. I joked. I danced. I felt happy and normal.

One more thing to add to my list of positives--the support of my IBP family in getting back as if I haven't been missing in action.

No Neulasta for this baby!!!

Although I required it, the doctor gave me a break from "nasty neulasty". He said there was no need to make me feel like crap. Originally, I would be getting my third AC chemo session today and, in that case, I would have needed the nasty stuff to have acceptable white blood cell levels. But, my chemo will be postponed by 10 days, because of the IBP retreat. And I have not had fever or any kind of misery this far. YAY!!

This week has also been exceptionally good... I have worked, I went to the movies, and I have eaten with gusto. The only constant shortcoming is fatigue, which means that my energy runs for less than half of what would be normal. However, while it lasts, I feel almost normal. Of course, once I look in the mirror and see that weird, hairless alien starring back at me, normal is gone.

Tomorrow my IBP family start arriving. I am so very much looking forward to seeing them, spending time with them, and enjoying yet another taste of normal. I will be staying with them at the hotel, to avoid losing my battery in traffick (not the car's, but mine... Truly like The Matrix). The second half of the retreat will be in Valle.

This will be the first time in over six months that I will get out of the house with a destination that is not the hospital!!! Oh. My. Dog.

E-X-C-I-T-I-N-G! ! !

Indeed a wonderfully normal week...

I have been working in my newly decorated office all week, sitting on the couch, watching how spring starts to arrive in Mexico City. I went to Manu's place on Wednesday, and enjoyed driving, being outside and seeing her and Tania. I giggled over and played with the many silly, playful presents that Betsy sent me. We walked the doggies. We played Guitar Hero. We ate delicious soups that Manu's mum prepared for me. And we even went to Mariana's b-day party...

Such a nice, enjoyable week.

My next appointment with the doctor is on Monday. My blood work already indicates that my white blood cells are taking the plunge. And I can feel it... I am losing energy, my eyes are swollen, and my head aches slightly. I cross my fingers and my toes, hoping that I will not need another offensively expensive and incredible painful Neulasta shot...

Please, please, pretty please?

Almost normal...

That is how I have been feeling. And I can hardly believe it!

The downward adjustment of the AC dose has been a bliss! No nausea, no vomits, no pain in the eyes or the joints... I have been low on energy, but not depleted. I have gotten out of bed every morning, and moved onto the couch in my office, working a good half day. I am eating reasonably well, have no fever, no strange and unusual bleedings... Nothing!

I think that the fact that I am not on steroids and antihistamines every week is making a huge difference. My restless leg syndrome has vanished almost completely, and I am sleeping as usual, without having to take pills. That, in turn, makes me less dizzy and disoriented, and allows me to wake up at a decent hour, not noon.

Memory plays games with our minds. Two weeks ago, I felt so weak and exhausted of the constant pain, illness, and never-ending waves of nausea that I was ceasing to believe that this would be over some day. During the last days, I have found it impossible to relate to those distant (yet so very recent) feelings of powerlessness, despair and utter absence of hope.

We are resilient fighters.

Today I came to realize that sooner rather than later, this chapter will be over. And I will be strong enough to enjoy the little and the big things of life.

I will come back to my spiritual homeland, and sit on the bench in the garden overseeing Clifton, below Lion's Head, enjoying the company of our dear friends. I will walk the Louvre and the ille de St Louise. I will have a picnic in Central Park. I will play with the doggies in the sun, and teach my left arm to swim again. I will wear dresses and be my sexy self. And I will spend time laughing and enjoying the possibility of seeing all of you again.

It will happen. In less than a handful of months, this will be over.

Friday night at the hospital...

This photo is actually not from today, but from the first AC session. I still have hair, compared to where I stand now.

Gabo went to sleep at home, and I am in bed, hearing the constant churning of the IV drop bomb. The doctor adjusted the toxicity of the AC, and he hopes that I will not feel as bad as last time, this time around.

I have my fingers and my toes crossed, hoping for the best but (still kind of) expecting the worst.

We shall see...

I feel good!!!

The weekend was fantastic! We had fun, we went for lunch, we actually did mre than just wait for the day to be over. It was nice. Very nice.

It is still cold in Mexico city, which does not really inspire me to go outside that much, but I am feeling almost normal.

My second AC session was postponed til next Friday. That means that I have to enjoy the days left until then.

I am working, to catch up on three weeks of complete oblivion. But I am also doing other stuff. Today I went to see mama Myriam in the evening. As when I was 15, we spent a couple of hours laying on her bed, gossiping and chatting. Wonderful!

Tomorrow we will go to the movies, and maybe out for lunch.

This thing of making the most out of each day is how all of us should live every single day. I am convinced. Of course, it gets harder to live up to that standard when you are feeling like shit. In a certain way, it is on the bad days that this ideal should be even more important... How can I muster the energy and spirit to uphold it, even when my mind and body seem fragile and breaking?

That's the riddle that I should try to answer. But, then again, I don't really want to spend the good days thinking of it, instead of enjoying every single moment. Quoting Bogart in Casablanca: "not today, not tomorrow, but soon..."

Is this really happening?

Today I felt better. No fever. No bone pain. No headache. No nausea. Almost no snotty nose. No cough.

Gabriel took my hand and we went for a walk to the center of Coyoacan. It is only three blocks. But I hadn't been for a stroll in weeks. Even the sun was shining.

It's possible that the ray of light came from yet another round of antibiotics. Manu took me to the hospital yesterday, to see an infectologist. His diagnosis was that the Neulasta shot gave me all my symptoms, and that now I was feeling sick and exhausted because my immune system is in overdrive. If I had less than a quarter of the minimum white blood cell count before Neulasta, I have ten times the top of the normal range now. Obviously, my poor little body is going insane.

Oh, and then, I was so weak and dizzy yesterday that I tripped upon nothing right in front of the hospital. I am not allowed to carry anything with my left hand, because when you have lymph nodes removed, your arm can no longer drain liquids, proteins and other substances as easily. Consequently, I was carrying my bag and my coat with the right hand. And I crashed into the concrete floor, using my left hand as a buffer. I rubbed off a chunk of skin, which actually seems to be more painful than a deep wound. Even worse, such a stupid injury ranks highest on the list of causes to develop lymphedema.

But today, I tried to ignore that. I do not want to think about yet another possibility of pain and discomfort. I will not get lymphedema.

And tomorrow will also be a good day. My chemo has been postponed until friday next week. AND, tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. Six years... If I feel like today, we might be able to go out for lunch. I am so looking forward to it.

DREADFUL!

I have felt OK only one day since the AC chemo started.
I am so sick of this.
I want it to stop. I want my life back.

The cold and gray is drowning me.

The myth of exceptionalism...

Every time I approach the voluptuous pleasure of submitting myself to yet another tortuous treatment, I think "I will be an exception, it will not be that bad". Well, if life and work had developed my overconfidence in my own exceptionalism, cancer has debunked it.

I have made my way through all possible side effects. A sobering activity for someone who, instead of traveling the world, has been grounded during the last six months.

Neulasta has been the latest addition to my nightmares. Besides costing almost as much as my body, it has been as brutal as the poisoning itself. It gave me--and the majority of people who get the experience--acute bone pain. Obviously that means, in my case, having that distinctive shooting pain in my spine back.

What are my Fridays out of the hospital good for, if they are overpowered by Neulasta?

WTF!!!

It has been 13 days since I got the first round of the new chemo scheme, and I am not feeling great. According to the doctor, I was supposed to feel like crap the first ten days after the chemo, and then slide into the paradise of an almost normal existence. Well, it has not been like that...

I do feel better than the first week, when I could not even get myself out of bed. But I still feel like crap. The reason, I now have learned, is that my white blood cells have dropped to less than a third of the acceptable minimum level. The doctor confirmed that, after looking at my blood tests.

And, with the stroke of a pen, he turned me into a luxury item, by giving me a shot to stimulate my bone marrow at the cost of almost 3K.

WTF!!!!

I will probably need one of these "cheap gigs" before every chemo session that is left on the calendar!

Warren says that I am pushing the concept of high maintenance to a whole new level...

Got Hairz?

Gabo again shaved my head. Now, my eye brows and eye lashes are also coming off...
I will positively look like an alien soon.

And while I am feeling better, I cannot really do much beyond sitting at home. I can work a bit, but if I venture into the outside world, my battery lasts much less than that of an overburdened iPhone (which means very little!)

So, I am spending part of my time trying to come up with funny things to say:

For Matrix fans: There is no spoon, and there is no hair...
For X Files fans: The truth is out there... Is there also hair out there?
For Lord of the Rings fans: My precious...(hair)
For Star Wars fans: Try you must not (to get your eye lashes back)... Do!
For Gone with the Wind fans: I'll go home. And I'll think of some way to get (my hair) back. After all... Tomorrow is another day!

Friday I'm in LOVE!!!

I am finally out of darkness. Today I got up, took a shower, wore sweat pants instead of PJs, and sat in my office for a while.

I talked with Albert and Ann, enjoyed listening to their voice, jokes and gossip, and worked kn small bits and pieces.

Life is slowly returning to my body and my mind.

AND... Today is friday. AND WE DID NOT HAVE TO GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL!

Turns out I was not ready...

Four days have passed since my new chemo scheme started, and I feel like an insignificant bug, smashed against a wall, by Darth Vader.

I am too weak to stand up for more than 10-15 minutes, twice a day. I am in a constant, nightmare-like daze, fading in and out of sleep. Besides steroids and even stronger meds to avoid nausea, I am also on cortisone now. Nevertheless, the nausea is relentless. Still, no vomit.

For the first time in many many weeks, my body temperature seems normal--at 36.5 C. But I have cold sweats and hot flashes that wake me up day and night.

I try to read, but get too tired, too fast. I am not checking my emails. The ringer of the phone is turned off. I am not taking any calls, not speaking, almost. I am just waiting, silently, for it to be over. I truly hope that this does not last 10 days. But, if it does, I beg for the promise of feeling almost normal during the second set of ten days to be true.

Ready for the next step?

This Friday starts my second chemo scheme... And, to start with a clean slate, I want to be caustic about the first scheme, through my own private ten commandments about how to handle chemotherapy:

1. Never say that you are feeling great--setting the bar too high gives you ample margin to free-fall.
2. Never proclaim that "it has not really been that bad". You will eat your words the next day.
3. Never choose not to have another serving of that dish, or a piece of cake, or a scoop of ice cream or a slice of pizza, if you feel like it... Weeks might go by before you fancy any food again.
4. Never refuse a walk with the doggies while the sun is up--half an hour later it is cold, windy and your recurrent flu has you lying in bed.
5. Never complain if you are bleeding through your nose--there are many more places you might bleed from, which are worse.
6. Never say "no" to a visit when under house arrest. You will long for it two hours later.
7. Stop saying that wigs are fun--they are not fun when you have lost your hair.
8. Don't worry about a little hole in your scar, which is failing to heal as quickly as the rest. Once the doctor sees it, it will become a BIG GAPING HOLE.
9. Do not get worried about your body temperature dropping almost to the point of hypothermia... You will wake up plagued by relentless hot flashes.
9. Never, ever think that life is unfair. Life is not FUCKING unfair. You are having the longest, fully-paid-for vacation ever (even if you don't feel rested), with constant visits to luxury hotels (ooops, I mean hospitals), and every single one of your needs has been take care of. Life is not unfair, it just is.

And my life is good, thanks to all of you.

ps: the pic is from last Friday, during my last Taxol poisoning.

Oh. My. Dog.

I cannot even start thinking of all the things that chemotherapy is doing to my body. I mean, everything that I notice must be only the tip of the iceberg. The real extent of the destruction is invisible to the eye.

I spent the last two weeks menstruating. No cramps. Only bleeding. But for two whole weeks!

This week it seems to finally have stopped. But, guess what? A new symptom has emerged...

Hot flashes! Many of them during the day, and many more during the night.

It happens all of the sudden. I start feeling that the back of my head gets hot, my face feels warm, my neck gets sticky. Next, my whole body breaks a sweat. Five minutes later, it's all over.

And life goes on...

This week is the last one...

The last of my weekly toxic bombs will be dropped onto my system this Friday. It's hard to believe, but this will be my 12th session. Which will also mark the half time of my chemical romance.

Ironically, I feel more nausea than ever. I felt it when I woke up this morning, and I am still feeling it now. It hasn't subsided. I have not really been able to eat much. And I am hardly moving or turning my head. I have the impression that any tiny, insignificant stimulus would make me vomit.

Some weeks ago, I started with symptoms of peripheral neuropathy... A tingling and slightly twitching sensation in my left hand. Peripheral neuropathy, which results when chemotherapy kills off the ends of your nerves in hands and feet, is one of the most common and expected side effects of Taxol, the poison I am on. I am happy to report that mine has not developed any further--it is still only tingling and twitching in my left hand. Lucky me!

What follows is three months with chemo sessions every 21 days. In this round, each drip will be two times more poison than up to now. But the substance will no longer be Taxol, but A/C. Again, my hair will come off, but now completely. And my white cells will drop much more.

As much as I am excited to be finishing the first half of this whole toxic tale, and the weekly hospital stays, I am nervous about the symptoms, side effects and new dynamics of the second round. The doctors and nurses and everyone in my support group say that the feeling of being sick will be more intense, and that I will be miserable during the first ten days after the poisoning. The bright side is that I should be feeling almost normal during the second set of ten days.

Whatever. Nevermind. No need to be anxious or nervous. I will find out sooner rather than later.

Meanwhile, this is the last week of my weekly chemo sessions. And it feels like a huge landmark.

2012 finally!!!

Silently, I say to myself that this year will be better. I know that all of you understand what I mean. But I can't help thinking that, after all, 2011 was a good year.

1. Although I got a cancer diagnosis, I will not succumb to the disease. Toxic HH will prevail, and eventually cease to be toxic.
2. Although I am weak and sick, I feel stronger than ever with Gabo. He is everything to me. We are incredibly happy among our furry rascals.
3. Although I am isolated and grounded, my friends and loved ones are constantly making sure I know they are with me.

Doesn't sound to bad, would you agree? Finding out those three facts has made 2011 memorable, for all the best reasons. I am looking forward to getting stronger, bolder and reinsert myself into an active life. It will still take some months. But it will happen in 2012.

Happy New Year to all of you, far and close in distance, but very very close to my heart.