I Will Survive!

So ... last week on March 30 I had a visit with Dr. M, my oncologist, and my first FAC chemo treatment. The doc visit went swimmingly .. I found out that the spots on my lungs, the cysts in my liver, kidneys and thyroid were all the same. No response to chemo is good news because it confirms they were benign to begin with. My previously enlarged central lymph nodes are now normal. All very good news. The best news, in fact. I adore my oncology doc and her staff. I couldn't ask for better treatment.

But there was still the issue of FAC chemo to deal with. I've known from the beginning that I would have four of these combo cocktails spaced tri-weekly over twelve weeks. FAC is the "nasty" chemo. I wasn't looking forward to it but I had tolerated Taxol so well, I was hoping my superwoman constitution would continue to serve me well.

Now for a little video. Be sure to turn up your volume.

Yep. That's exactly what happened to me.

Three days after, when my anti-nausea steroids wore off .. I was hit by a large and heavy FAC disco ball. It sat there, getting heavier and heavier for a week. And then, as promised, I was able to roll it off, get up, shake myself off and make my own breakfast which, miraculously didn't taste like gasoline. I have survived!

Three doses of steriods for nausea
and three bags of chemo.

And here are a few things I have learned from taking FAC cancer chemo the last week and a half:

1) You should never take eyelashes or eyebrows for granted.
2) Ditto for taste buds.
3) Walking to the bathroom can be exhausting.
4) There are times in life when red jello is a high culinary experience.
5) Nausea is nausea whether your head is in the toilet or not.
6) Sleeping can be a form of exercise. Hot. Cold. Covers on, covers off.
7) Fried potatoes taste like gasoline.
8) So does most everything else.
9) They should put ALL red popsicles in the box. Nobody likes orange or lime.
10) Having really good toilet paper is not a luxury.
11) Chemo b.o. is way worse than regular b.o. (TMI I know but I had to share.)
12) Salty stuff doesn't taste that way. Non-salty stuff does. It's all very confusing.
13) Lots and lots of people love me.
14) People are unbelievable kind and thoughtful.
15) I have the best husband and family in the galaxy.

and lastly,

16) God is in control. Always.

Dave was making faces at me .. as usual.


And Dave's faces always make me laugh.


My new hat & my treasured Saul bear.
B E L I E V E

This weekend, on April 17th,is Ashley's Let's Save Mama D's Double D's 5K Fun Run/Walk. It's in Willis (just north of Conroe) and sounds like it will be a blast. I hope to see a lot of you out there. I'll be the bald girl with the big smile.

Next FAC is on April 20th. Please keep me in your prayers .. they keep me going! Much love ..

I'm divorcing Taxol and marrying FAC

Last one, baby ..

When I started this diary of my travels with Herschel it was mostly for me .. a way for me to wrap my brain around what was happening to me. And, too, I hoped it might help another who may be newly diagnosed and wondering just what was ahead in terms of treatment and life changing symptoms. It's been harder to keep up with of late. Partly because I am so exhausted and partly because I am so bored with this whole chapter of my life. I hate complaining and, frankly, the last couple of weeks have been pretty tough.

Taxol is cumulative so the effects slowly build up over time. My course of treatment was twelve weeks and up until about week eight, I was still rocking along pretty well. And then things changed. Someone carelessly left a brick wall in my path and I smacked right into it. Repeatedly. So while I hate to complain, in the interest of educating others on the effects of taxol, here I go:

Neuropathy: My feet and hands have been tingly for weeks but it's almost reached the point of pain. It's a known side effect of chemo, I just hope it goes away.

Chemo tummy: Ugh. I know, too much information but chemo tummy is a cross between food poisoning and someone lacing all your meals with habanero peppers. It has varied from week to week but it's pretty much been a constant the whole twelve weeks.

Sore mouth: For the last six weeks or so I have experienced a 'scorched' feeling in my mouth. As time as gone by, my tongue and taste buds are completely screwed and everything tastes salty. Too salty. Ironically, things like chicken broth which should be salty, aren't. Nothing tastes as it should so I've been less interested in eating (a good thing) and frozen juice popsicles elevated to "perfect food" status. They just feel so damn good.

Skin changes: For a while I noticed an improvement in my skin. But now it's gone downhill. Dry, itchy and subject to breakouts. No bald woman should ever have to suffer pimples too. I'm just sayin'.

Hair loss: I started losing my hair between weeks 3 & 4. So Dave shaved my head. Since then it's grown back to a small degree (I still have lots of skin showing) and the color is white (LOVELY!) and the texture of a toothbrush (Oh GOOD!) I think this re-growth is chemo hair that will eventually be replaced by normal hair but it's not likely until I am completely finished with the second round of chemo. My mother hates it when I run around 'naked' but The Wig feels like a cabbage on my head and scarves are too much trouble. I don't mind wearing hats but with constant hot/cold spells, the hats come off too when the temperature (internal or external) rises.

My eyebrows and eyelashes have always been thick and they have thinned significantly. I might lose what's left with the start of FAC chemo, I just don't know. I haven't shaved my legs or pits since January (Yay! A PERK!) and yes, THAT hair is also gone too. Too bad my bikini figure is but a mere, distant memory ....

I don't even try to fake it any more. Still, Dave can usually make me smile, even when I really don't feel like it. The weariness shows all the time now.

Fatigue: As you know, this has been my nemesis. I have never experienced such life-sucking fatigue in my life. There is no respite. Even sleeping does not relieve it. The smallest tasks requires a rest afterward. I can't walk for more than 50 yards without feeling completely depleted and having to sit for a minute. The muscles in my legs feel like I've run a marathon with a backpack full of rocks. Being so tired and weak makes me cranky and emotional. Intellectually, I know the downsides are proof that the drugs are working but after twelve weeks of this, I am very susceptible to tears and feeling sorry for myself. For five minutes. Dave lets me have five minute pity parties on a regular basis but then, party's over and it's time to get happy. It's a good arrangement except when he catches me crying in the dark in the middle of the night. There are no time limits when I cry in the dark. Dave is a saint.

So, now I am done with Taxol and this week I start the new chemo regime of "FAC". FAC is a cocktail of three different drugs given via my port in my chest. While the Taxol was cumulative, the FAC apparently packs a big initial punch. I expect all the symptoms of Taxol to only intensify with my first treatment of FAC. Then, according to my oncologist and every chemo nurse I've quizzed, I should start to come back slowly. The treatments will be every three weeks rather than weekly so not having to go to Houston every week is already making FAC more attractive. (You might have to remind me I said that next week.)

Okay .. all of that having been said, last week I learned from my ultrasound that Herschel is now fully smaller by half. HALF! That is awesome, welcome news, right? I was thrilled. Makes all the ugly side effects a little easier to bear.

Wednesday, before the FAC treatment, I see my oncologist to get the results from my CT scan and chest x-ray. Hopefully, all the other freaky little things in my lungs, thyroid, liver and kidneys are blissfully unchanged. If so, it confirms they were nothing to worry about anyway.

So, we're off to see the wizard in a couple of days. We're halfway home and counting our blessings. You are most certainly among them!

Showdown at the Boobie Corral ..

No. 11 and counting ...

The photos don't lie. I am so very tired. Up until about three weeks ago I was still maintaining pretty well but I've hit a brick chemo wall. I feel like I wear concrete shoes most of the time and you know how I feel about shoes. Still, if fatigue is all I have to complain about I still consider myself pretty lucky. I tell myself all the time, "it could be worse".

I met my breast surgeon (surgical oncologist) yesterday and I really liked her and her staff. She's very professional but made sure to accommodate my hearing loss and took lots of time in answering my questions. I feel I am in excellent hands .. again. I can't stress enough how pleased I am with my care at MDA. Each and every person there has far exceeded my expectations and when you consider the thousands of patients seen there every day, the efficiency of this place is astounding.

My doc laid out my schedule for the next six months or so:

Twelve weeks of FAC chemo, once every three weeks.

Surgical removal of Herschel & diseased lymph nodes.

Five or so weeks to recuperate from surgery.

Five weeks of daily radiation therapy.

I was shocked at the radiation schedule. It's not an option given the size of my tumor at diagnosis. Recurrence of cancer with surgery and radiation is 7%. If I add the use of estrogen blockers for five years (since my tumor is estrogen responsive) it drops the recurrence rate to 3%. Logistically daily therapy for someone who lives in Grapeland is a nightmare but I think we have it worked out. It will mean spending my weekdays with my brother and family who live near Katy as there is an MDA facility where I can receive treatment. Once again, I'm being cared for .. and in a glorious heaven-sent manner.

There are several things going on in the near future on my behalf. The graciousness and generosity of family and friends continues to amaze me .. humble me and make me feel very loved.

My daughter Ashley has organized a "Fun Run" on my 54th birthday in Willis, Texas. You can read all about it at this link.

And my very dear friend (since high school!), Bob Stephenson, is offering $100 hog hunts on his lease just north of Cleveland, Texas. You can read more about that and get contact info here.

I also have canvas Hannah prints available for $125. + shipping. These are signed and numbered by artist Marcia Molar. The original painting is in the "Cowgirl Up!" show this month in Wickenburg, AZ. Marcia generously donated all proceeds of prints sales to me in my fight to decimate Herschel.

All funds raised go into a special fund that covers travel expenses (gas/tolls/parking/meals) in our travels to and from Houston (six hours round trip). At the end of my treatment any remaining funds will be donated to The Rose, the organization that treats uninsured and low income women and where I received the biopsy of Herschel last November. They were also instrumental in getting me on the road to treatment at M. D. Anderson, the premier cancer hospital in the Universe.

So next Wednesday is a busy, busy day. I start at 7:00 am with chest x-tray, then a CT Scan, then chemo (last Taxol!) and then an ultrasound. Please offer some extra prayers that the results will show a much reduced Herschel, a reduction in the inflammation of my central lymph gland and that the cysts on my liver/kidneys and thyroid, as well as the "spots" in my lungs are all unchanged. Eternal heartfelt gratitude for all the love and support. I couldn't be more grateful.

No. 10

My very best friend since high school, Belinda, graciously and generously accompanied me to chemo number ten. She also waited on me hand and foot, bought all my favorite chemo foods, made sure I drank plenty of water, put extra blankets on my bed, made sure I made it safely up and down the stairs, and loved me as sincerely and profoundly as anyone could ask for.

We've shared so many things over the years, some good, some bad, and always she has been the voice of truth that I could trust in. I can't imagine that having a sister would be any more remarkable than what I share with Belinda. I love her dearly.

Of course I took my camera to chemo like I always do but we forgot to take pictures. Belinda offered later, during my oncology exam (while I was topless), but I politely declined. You're welcome - see I am always thinking of you!

In the three days I was with her we shared heart to hearts and popsicles. She made me eat yogurt and blue berries .. and buy a bra that hitches my girls to a more acceptable level of 'perk'. She shopped till I dropped and brought me countless outfits to a dressing room where I huddled in various stages of undress while she "styled" me in a way that only she can. She's a dynamo, a wizard and true star. Of all the gifts I have in this life, Belinda is one of the best.

Medically, my issues the week before chemo No. 10 were primarily low blood pressure. I had three episodes of near-fainting. And I am not a fainter - in my whole life I have never gone completely out. My oncologist agreed that perhaps halving my blood pressure meds would alleviate the problem and so far it has.

On the 16th I meet with my breast surgeon for the first time. I don't think surgery will occur until after all chemo is complete. I have two more Taxol treatments before I start the FAC routine on the 30th. I'm a little anxious about it since I keep being told all the symptoms of Taxol will be amplified with FAC. I am so ready for this to be done.

I don't even pretend to be tough any more. I accept my wimpiness only because I know it's temporary and necessary. There are days I wonder if I will ever feel like myself again but Dave assures me I will. Without him and all of you who constantly encourage and support me, I know this road would have been infinitely harder.

I'm grateful for this experience because it's shown me beyond all doubt how much love surrounds me. And it's just bad form to be whiny when you're being so profoundly loved!

A bit of Hannah medicine

I don't think I am a scarf person

But this morning at five am I didn't really care what I looked like. I had to rest after taking a shower. Rest after brushing my teeth. Sit and rest while I put on my makeup. (Hey. When you're bald .. you work harder at the other stuff.) And yes, putting on my mascara is just exhausting but a girl's gotta do.

But it's back to hats for me. Scarves are just too labor intensive and I need to conserve energy for mascara application.

Dave and I have a system. I get out and open & close the gate when we leave DRH. He gets the gate duty when we return. But this morning I was so weak I asked him to please catch my gate shift. He did so, of course. But I thought, that's the first time I haven't been able to do that. It bothered me.

I dosed off and on during the trip into town. When we arrived at MDA we went straight to get my blood work done with my personal "Stick It Angel, Tori". She is wonderfully efficient. Draws blood, first stick EVERY time.

Then we went to Infusion Therapy to get my "port accessed". (I told you last week what that means so if you don't know .. scroll down.) It's not as bad as it sounds. The alternative is far worse. But I felt weak even sitting there, on the gurney, having it done and I nearly blacked out. I went horizontal for a couple of minutes and the feeling went away. I'd never done that before and have only come close to fainting a very few times in my life.

When we got to chemo, my blood pressure was 101/69. Hm. Well that's why I felt so poorly. I think my BP meds are working overtime to lower my pressure and they might not be necessary right now. I'll have to talk to the doc about it. During chemo my BP went to 142/80 but it always rises slightly during chemo. I'm not sure why.

I slept through most of my chemo. And then we were outtah there. I'm always glad to get there (and out of traffic) and I'm always glad to be finished (and on my way home) and I'm really, really glad to get home. (Cause Dave has to open the gate!)

Only 10, 11 & 12 to go in this round .. wahoo!

Follow, follow, follow, ... follow the yellow brick road ...

My very first answered prayer came at age five. There was someone I was very attached to that had gone away and I was missing them. And one summer night (while I was supposed to be sleeping but instead I was waiting for my mama to get home from choir practice), I prayed with all my heart that God would please let me see that person just one more time. I may have even begged, I don’t remember, but I do know it was a fervent, heart-felt sincere prayer.

And the next day ... yep, the NEXT day, this person came to see me to tell me goodbye. And I knew that God had heard me. It was a pretty powerful revelation.

Yesterday was chemo eight of twelve. And the past week or so I feel as if I have hit a brick wall. Chemo is cumulative so it’s understandable that the strength I had at week 3 or 4 is now diminished at week 8. I’ve been praying for more strength, more energy and realized today that maybe what I need to be praying for is acceptance.

My infusion therapy nurse, Kerry, was an angel in scrubs as she accessed my port (read stabbed me in the chest with a needle. But really, it's no big deal. I love my port.) and inquired about my constitution.

I immediately started telling her just how weary I am. How I don’t feel like doing much of anything, even eat. And, yes, people, it’s bad when I don’t want to eat! I said that I feel empty and depleted and whiney and pathetic and AWFUL. And she stopped, looked me in the eye and said, “You are the most vibrant person I have seen this week!”

She reminded me that I am fighting cancer here, not receiving weekly botox treatments. That the effects of chemo are stacking up against me but that it’s clear evidence that the meds are doing their job. That housework and the rest of my life will wait for me. That maybe I’m being much too hard on myself. I hugged her, squeezed her and thanked her. She said that I had blessed her, but I can’t possibly see how. She was the first little present of the day.

Chemo eight was uneventful, painless and a breeze. Snagged a power nap and woke to the nurse removing my blood pressure cuff. And since it was an early ‘out’, we headed to the café downstairs to grab some lunch and kill time until my 3:00 oncology checkup appointment.

Dave and I got separated in the lunch crowd and when I rounded the corner to the seating area and scanned the horizon for my Dave but it was another, different but familiar, face looked back at me and I read the words on his lips, “Is that Darlene?”

Lately, like since I lost my hair, I am convinced that I no longer resemble the person formerly known as me, so I introduce myself to people all the time. And yes, they tend to look at me like I am nuts, smile and say .. “I know who you are!” So I was relieved (and grateful!) that right off the bat, hair or no hair, crazy hat or not, my friend recognized me. We’ve known each other since we were six but we looked really, really different then.

Giant, smooshy hugs ensued. He was there with his beautiful wife and sweet mama, also a patient at MDA. We lunched together and shared memories and our cancer treatment routines and before I knew it, nearly two hours had passed. I was recharged. And grateful for my second gift of the day. I figured this was God’s way of saying, “I know you have had a really bad week and you probably don’t think I am even paying attention, so here ya go. You’re welcome.”

Life is so strange. Just when you think you finally know who you are, where you’re headed, what your life is all about God throws a few detours, obstacles and mountain ranges in your path. It’s all good though sometimes hard to swallow. Having cancer is nothing like I thought it might be. My reaction to having cancer is nothing like I thought it would be. Chemo and M D Anderson are not at all like I imagined they would be.

God thought I needed a scenery change. He also decided maybe I needed a “makeover”. And whatever illusions I had about myself and mortality, He decided to rewrite and edit those as well. But, He also made sure that all the groundwork was in place for me to be treated at the best possible place on Planet Earth. He lined up all the dots and dashes, laid a big ole yellow brick road and set me on it with my own personal Tin Man (who happens to have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.) There have been no wicked witches or flying monkeys. Only beautiful, beautiful munkins and lovely fairy godmothers all along the way.

I have no idea what’s coming next but I’m not afraid. And I know that if God wants me tired .. who I am to argue? Maybe it’s His way of making me stop and think and be in awe of how He works. Like when I was five. Is He something, or what?

My MDA good fairies

This was week seven of twelve. More than halfway through the first round of chemo, I am experiencing some new side effects. My mouth feels a little scorched. Not really burned, like maybe I've eaten too much salt? And additionally, I've cut out all added salt to my diet because I am so sensitive to it. I find myself eating more (and brushing my teeth more) just to get rid of the bad taste in my mouth. I'll talk to the oncologist about it next week.

I thought the nose bleeds were subsiding a bit but they seem to have escalated a bit this week. I'm sure that this is all just 'chemo territory'. All the cells that multiply rapidly are affected whether they are cancerous or not. So mucous linings (nose, mouth) are susceptible to the power of chemo just like the Herschel cancer cells are.

My energy seems to be at an all time low. I didn't think it could get worse but I'm actually napping a little during the day. I'm not really sleepy, just so tired I need to lie down and then sleep comes. And I tell you all this not to complain (it could all be so much worse, couldn't it?), but just to let you know what's happening with my treatment.

The 4.9 lbs I supposedly gained last week lost 3.4 of their hold on me this week. I think it was a fluke. I'd been holding steady so a nearly five pound weight gain was an unpleasant surprise. Still, all this inactivity has to come into play at some point. I'm going to ask the doc if I can start Weight Watchers just to keep the extra pounds at bay. I think I know what she'll say. I think she'll tell me to quit worrying about it and go on Weight Watchers when I'm done and healthy. But it never hurts to ask.

Now. About these photos ... Dave refuses to take photos where I am not smiling. He does all these goofy faces in an effort to make me smile. I resist as long as possible just to see how far he'll go. Eventually, I am silly putty and he gets the photo he's after.

I'm grateful for his presence, always. And I'm especially grateful for his lovable support now. The only time we butt heads is when his protective nature goes into overdrive and I resist being 'taken care of'. Fortunately, it doesn't happen often. I think we laugh more than the average couple .. of course we are both infinitely entertaining .. (at least to each other.)

There are some other folks I am grateful for as well. One of the first people we see on our weekly trips to MDA is a lady attendant in the parking garage. She always tells me how pretty I am, asks how I am feeling and wishes God's blessings on me. I've come to look forward to her smiles. She starts my MDA day off on a sunshiney note .. and when she's not there I miss her.

My first stop every MDA visit is to have blood work to make sure all my counts are within line to continue my therapy. I've learned to ask for Miss Tori. She's the fastest, most painless needle in the west. The girl knows how to stick me perfectly each and every time.

And in chemo there a nurses aide named Miss Carol who always makes my visit pleasant. She's warm and friendly and welcoming. The really bad day when I had my port installed I didn't see her until it was time to go and I let her know that I had missed her! It's so nice to have these familiar faces to look forward to. And I know that I am not the only one they shower their sunshine on.

Dave and I talk a lot about when we win the lottery what we will do with all those countless millions. Since my cancer diagnosis, some of the things on that list have changed. And there are new recipients on the list, including these three ladies. I would love nothing more than to hand them a big check someday and thank them for the comfort, smiles and love that they shared with me weekly during my cancer journey. In the meantime, last week I took them all a dozen Dirt Road Heaven eggs. As eggs go, they're pretty priceless, you know?

Girl's Day Out!

Darlene & Bert, 2.9.11

Last week's chemo was a girl's day out. I can't remember the last time my sister-in-law and I had a day out together but clearly it's been far too long. Even a chemo day was fun with her along! I was anxious to share with her that this is 'no big deal' and we had a perfect day together.

Bert (aka "Roberta") has been in my life since I was eight years old. She and my brother started dating when they were 16 and married when I was 12. I can't remember a time when I couldn't depend on her for support, a laugh or a kick in the pants when I needed one. She was the second person I called when my mammogram clearly indicated I had a big problem.

This was No. 6 of 12 sessions in round one. It was effortless. My blood draws are getting easier now that I know who to ask for and the insertion of my port needle is painless. Chemo then merely becomes a plumbing issue when they hook up the bags of meds to the tubing inserted by the nurses at infusion therapy. We've got this thing DOWN.

Apart from the formidable fatigue (I've never felt this tired in my life!), the only side effects from chemo this week are joint aches that make me feel like I'm coming down with the flu, a little bit of insomnia and some change in taste with regard to food. Sometimes nothing tastes good. Despite that fact, the mean old scale says I gained a whooping 4.5 lbs. last week. THAT is just so wrong ..

It's been three weeks since Dave shaved my head. And since then, the only time I've left the house was to go to my weekly MDA appointments. But this week, me and my bald, hatted self went to the grocery store. And it was fine. I didn't see anyone run screaming from the produce section as I approached and frankly, I wasn't really paying any attention to how people looked at me. Maybe I have achieved some level of acceptance, finally.

Tomorrow is one of my all time favorite holidays. I love Valentine's Day and ordinarily I’d have bought or made cards and gifts weeks ago in preparation for this day when we share our love with those closest to us. I have two precious little girls and one precious little boy that I (were I myself) would have showered with silly heart shaped trinkets, toys and candies proclaiming to each how dear and special and loved they each are.

Not one for moderation, I’d also shower heart-shaped greetings on my big kids, Jared and his beloved Mikey and Ashley and her adored Prince Charming, Hooch. Dave would get the lion’s share of my red crepe-paper love fest and, if there were money enough, a special dinner or trip to some place where we could enjoy each other, remember how we came to be and express our gratitude for this love that came in mid-life.

But the truth is I’ve been so doggedly focused on myself the last three months that I almost forgot it was coming. There are no Valentines bought, no sugar cookies in the oven, no foil wrapped candies, no red plush toys … no nothing.

I’ve dropped the big Valentine’s Day ball big time.

Or have I?

Maybe (and this is a hard pill to swallow) I have just decided to shower myself with love. A nap. Another big glass of juice. A book and bed. The permission to be bald and not feel rotten about it.

So to all my loved ones please forgive this time of self absorption. Please don’t think that my obsession with my healing is any indication that my love for you is diminished or that my lack of thoughtfulness is proof of anything except that I desperately want to be well for you and for me .. So here’s to next year and 365 days of love until then.

Happy Valentine's Day Peeps!

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

I have lost my hair but I still have my sense of humor - mostly.

The Good (Or The Really, Really, Really Good):

I saw my oncologist on Wednesday for the first time since I started chemo. I like her so much. She's so warm and friendly and spends as much time with us as we need. I tell her each time I see her that I am glad she's there.

She asked me if I felt any difference in the tumor's size. It hadn't even occurred to me to check. My girls and I have had a tiff. We're not speaking. So I was really surprised, when Dr. M. couldn't "find" Herschel and I had to point him out to her, that he was considerably smaller, ill defined and not nearly as dense. WOW! Only five treatments in and we're seeing significant response to chemo. Thank you, God! Thank you, Dr. M.!

We're still on track for the remaining seven treatments of this round and the additional twelve week session to follow this one. I have a consult with a breast surgeon in March so surgery is still part of this equation but clearly we're talking (hopefully!) about less of a surgery.

The Bad (but it could always be worse):

I left my jacket (one I love) in my chemo room but it wasn't found by anyone so I guess it's gone. I just hate losing things. But I realized I had that jacket for more than fifteen years and I got it on sale at the end of the season for $40. so I really can't grieve for it except it was black suede and crochet and I really, really liked it.

(Really Darlene? Is this newsworthy? No .. but I needed a "bad" .. so .. shup.)

The Ugly (or I Can't Believe She Did It!):

So there she was, sitting across from me on the sofa. Her husband was the patient but he looked healthy so it took me a while to figure it out. They were fortyish, affluent, professional yuppie-types. She was about a size two (ugh.) with boots to die for. She had an Apple laptop and an emerald wedding band. (I suppose I was staring.)

I couldn't hear their conversation but she was clearly exasperated by something on her computer screen (later I learned it was a flight issue) but her husband didn't seem to share her angst. When he was called back for chemo, she was dragging up the rear and putting away her computer. Then she carefully stacked her four (yes FOUR!) empty styrofoam coffee cups (silly me, I reuse one), her empty cookie package and left them on the sofa!

She walked right past a trash can on the way into chemo. I was appalled. I got up, picked up her pile and walked them to the trash can, shaking my head at the gall of those kind of people.

About half an hour later (I was two hours late getting in for chemo), she came out, walked to the reception area, got a 'sign in' sheet to use for notepaper, whipped out her iphone and proceeded to be very unhappy with someone on the other end of that phone. She jotted notes, got angry and wadded up her paper and I thought "Oh no .. she's not .."

A Chinese lady (who was napping) had finished her coffee and the cup was sitting on the table beside her. Miss Snotty Trash Maker looked around, spotted the cup and put her wadded up paper in the lady's coffee cup! Then, again, she walked right past the trash can to stomp off into her husband's treatment room.

I looked at Dave, Dave looked at me with a big "No .. you don't!" look in his eye. Honestly, I'd have humilated her in that room full of people if only I could hear. Not hearing keeps me meek. But look out! When I get new hearing aids, I will be toting some new brass balls. And I will be prepared for Miss Snotty Trash Maker. What is wrong with people like that? If you know, please tell me? Meanwhile, I harbor a secret desire to see her again and give her a big ole piece of my mind ...

Chemo makes me feisty! Thankfully, I can only go for short bursts before I need a nap.

It Was A Day From Hell ..

A vision in hospital gear, no?

So yesterday was port surgery day and baby, it was a long one! We arrived at 7:30, a full hour before my appointed time, but at MDA if you arrive early, generally, you get seen early. Generally, but not yesterday! It was 10:30 before they took me back for pre-op stuff: nakedness, compression hosiery, antibiotic IV, stuff like that. And it was 12:30 before they wheeled me to the OR. My nurse, Millie, was great! The anesthesiologist, Pascal, was from Ghana, West Africa .. And his last name was a hyphenated alphabet soup, hence his being called “Pascal”. He was about 6’5” and a handsome blue-black gentleman with a soft voice. I liked him immediately. And, despite the fact that he messed up my eye makeup during surgery, we parted as friends. (Even though in my medicated state I kept calling him Pasquale. He just smiled wider.)

They brought Dave back to the recovery room at 1:45 and we were there for more than an hour while I shed the remnants of my sleepy meds. I wasn’t really in any pain but I was sore. Sometime around 3:00, they wheeled me to chemo. Since I had missed lunch in recovery, I was hoping to get something to eat in Chemo since my half of a hamburger from supper the night before was long gone. My chemo nurse was less than wonderful. This was a first as all my nurses (and all the staff) have been great so far. Dave and I repeatedly told her that I couldn’t hear her soft voice and yet she seemed to refuse to speak up. Finally, I stopped trying to hear her. Dave asked her if I could get something to eat since I hadn’t eaten all day and she just walked out of the room. She didn’t offer juice, soda or anything. We didn’t LIKE her. The cafeteria closes at 3 PM .. So Dave finally went to the gift shop and spent eleven dollars on nuts, crackers and a package of cookies. I didn’t leave chemo until 5:30.

I missed my appointment with my oncologist due to all the dominos shifting, so that appointment was rescheduled for next week. Next Wednesday will be another full day starting at 8:30 with a consult with my breast surgeon, blood work, chemo and my oncology visit. Being sick is hard work!

So, my port is in! I have two incisions, one about 1.5” long where the port is in place and another .5” incision on my jugular vein which is where the threaded the lead for the port (I think.) It’s not really painful, just uncomfortable but I am not to do much for several days and no lifting for a couple of weeks.

While I was in surgery, they placed a needle in the port so I would be good to go for chemo. YAY! No more IV sticks or hide and seek veins. Chemo will be a total breeze now. I’m still not feeling any nausea and my only side effects are fatigue and hair loss. I can’t really complain about that, after all, it’s proof that the chemo is working and surely Herschel knows now that he is in DEEP SHIT.

So tired & hungry!

I feel so very blessed to have Dave who is with me always (unless I throw him out of my room like I did yesterday!) He made the unfortunate mistake of telling me to “settle down” which didn’t set well with a hungry Darlene. Fortunately, he didn’t go far. And when I woke up from my nap, he was there, by my bed, staring at me. Mama says I need to be nice to Dave and I know she’s right. After all, where on earth would I ever get another guy who makes me laugh every day AND pulls my underwear up for me when I can’t?

Mood Swing!

Darlene & Betsey

Someone I love and respect last week mentioned that I might be in denial about how sick I am. I would immediately DENY that I am in DENIAL. But I've been thinking about it .. It's so funny because I am like the Wiley Coyote of preparation .. and like Wiley, I seem to buy all my supplies at Acme. Without fail .. they fail.

I'm never really prepared for anything life dishes out, so maybe that's the lesson in this. Stop spending so much time getting "ready" for the next shoe to drop. Just enjoy the time without the dropping shoes. You think?

Yesterday, for just a few hours, I was really upset about my hair coming out. I knew (on some level) it was going to, but I harbored a secret hope that I would be one of those odd characters who gets to keep their hair all during chemo and beyond. Not gonna happen. All during the night I kept imagining waking to find all my hair on my pillow when I woke. That didn't happen either. It's coming out 15 strands at a time .. at least today it is.

When I look outside I know how the oak trees feel: cold, bare, naked, vulnerable. In the spring, when they leaf out I think I might be a little more jealous than awe-filled like I usually am in spring. But there will be another spring and I, too, will leaf out.

I am rambling. What I am trying to say is this: It's important for me that the Herschel blog be a brutally honest account of all I experience while on this path to healing. So that means I will post pictures, like yesterday, that graphically illustrate my sorrow, my fear, my pain. The thing is .. within a couple of hours I was better, laughing and enjoying a tiny piece of gooey butter cake and a glass of juice. I have reinvented, refined and exponentially magnified the term "Mood Swing". So don't worry about me too much, 'kay?

As for being in denial, I might be. I don't feel "sick". I'm not experiencing most of the known side effects of chemo (yet) and apart from being really, really tired all the time, I'm doing okay. This doesn't feel like "cancer" but Dave warns me that it could get a whole lot worse before it gets better. And I know that. But, you know what? I am done trying to 'get ready' for it. It's just a waste of time. Everyday is a new day and I'll just try my best to get through that one before I worry about the next one.

By the way, the picture is from Saturday. Dave and I, my son and his family visited some local friends who have a shooting range on their property. It was a beautiful day and my last opportunity to shoot my gun before the port is inserted on Wednesday. After that, and as long as it is in place, no more rifles for me. I loved being outside that day -- I've been a house mouse for weeks and it goes completely against my nature. I enjoyed our friend's hospitality and watching Jared and Dave play with their boy toys. It was a really good day. And twenty four hours later, I was completely distraught over my hair falling out. And twenty four hours after that, I am practicing with my scarves and contemplating getting "The Wig" out. It's just a journey .. and I'm taking it one day at a time. Life really does go on whether you have hair or not. Amazing, huh?

Goodbye hair ..

..bitterly disappointed

Despite all my beliefs to the contrary, it turns out I am a mere mortal and susceptible to the consequences of chemo just like all my cancer sisters and brothers.

My hair is falling out.

Yesterday, I noticed my scalp was sore just like when, in grade school, my mother made my ponytail too tight. I was afraid it meant something .. and it did. Today when I run my fingers thru my hair, the hair comes with my fingers.

I thought I was prepared but Dave found me staring at a handful of it and the tears just flowed. Fortunately, Dave knows the best cure for hair loss and bit of a broken heart is to scoop me up and let me cry - just for a bit - and then to reassure me that all is well. Hair doesn't define me. For better or for worse ... life goes on .. and this too shall pass.

Tuesday (after a local ear, nose & throat appointment), we're off to Houston for afternoon bloodwork in preparation for my port surgery scheduled for Wednesday. After that, session four of round one chemo. Continued gratitude for your continued prayers. Much love, my faithful Herschel haters ..