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.