Adolescence Redux?

Who knew acne was a possible side effect of chemo?  I didn't, but I do now.  Woke up yesterday morning with a major breakout, from chin on up into the front part of my scalp.  I don't know about you, but revisiting that particular aspect of adolescence was not on my wish list.  Oh well.  I lived through it before (nearly 60 years ago!), I can live through it again.  It seems both the taxol and the steroid they give with it can cause breakouts.  I'll see what the oncologist has to say about it when I go in for my next appointment on Monday.

I could tell that the breakout extended to my scalp because what hair I have (which is still most of it) is about an eighth of an inch long.  I went in last week and got my hairdresser to shave it all off.  I just didn't want to deal with clumps falling out randomly.  In the last few days it has indeed begun to thin out patchily, so my timing for the Big Shave was pretty good.

Brandy wouldn't let me pay her, just like she wouldn't let me pay her

for the pre-chemo pixie cut she gave me.

So I have been experimenting with head coverings.  I find I don't really like the turbans or chemo caps, and the wig feels like overkill for most occasions.  I like just wearing hats, and I've been having fun expanding my hat collection.  Here are a few examples.

You've seen the cowboy hat before, but Brandy insisted on taking this pic 

after the Big Shave.

This one always brings compliments.

Rapunzel about to make her debut, a dinner out at the Corner Kitchen

with old friends we had not seen in years.

My one exception to the chemo cap and turban ban: 

this vaguely pirate-style do rag I wear for working out.

Re other side effects: The news is good.  I did NOT have another headache, thank God, so apparently that was an isolated event.  Following the advice from online patient forums, I made a list of side effects I've experienced to take to Monday's oncologist appointment, and while there are seven items on it, they are all quite moderate and seem manageable.  No nausea at all, for example.  And no intense fatigue either.  Some, yes, but in almost two weeks I've only canceled out of one thing that was on my schedule because of needing to take a nap instead.  AND I have kept up with my exercise, 35 minutes of cardio five days a week.  Don't know how long I'll be able to do it, but so far so good.

I'm even still cooking up big batches of stuff to fill the freezer with, something neither Michael nor I expected to happen once chemo started.

Beef stew, directly inspired by an image our pastor used in his homily last Sunday.

I have no new profound insights to share, just one smallish observation.  This cancer treatment business is quite intrusive.  Yes, on one level it's just one 2-2 1/2 hour session per week, but all throughout every day there are what feels like a myriad of little fiddly things I have to deal with or remember to do.  It's little stuff, easy stuff, but there's a lot of it.  Most of it is designed to head off or mitigate side effects, so it's well worth doing.  But it does feel intrusive.

But it's for a finite time: two down, ten to go. One-sixth of the way through.

Support Comes in Many Forms

In the lead-up to my first chemo infusion yesterday morning, I have been blessed with support coming my way from many directions.  People have sent me cards, brought me flowers and candy, lent me chemo scarves, promised prayers.  It helps, folks, it really does! I truly do feel cared for and upheld by you all, and I draw much comfort and strength from it.

One quite lovely experience of support came in the form of a weekend visit by our son Peter from Salt Lake City.  He stayed with us from Friday until Sunday afternoon while he was in the area teaching master classes at ballet studios in Springboro, Mason, and Cincinnati.  We got to show off our fabulous new Main Library, which gave me occasion to notice that I really have been healing well from my surgery.  When I took a visiting friend through Main one week post surgery, I was pretty exhausted afterwards. This time, at just under four weeks, I was fine.  And having Peter with us, even in and out as he attended to his professional commitments, was a fabulous distraction from the count down to chemo.

One of these pictures is not like the other.  Can you see the difference?

I've also been aware this past week of a wise elder woman I was fortunate to have in my life, appearing in my thoughts unbidden but welcome.  My friendship with Betsy Kitch reaches back, oh I'm not really sure, maybe to sometime in the 1980s? Some of you knew Betsy too, but maybe not in as many contexts as I did.

Betsy was trained as a scientist, graduating from college in the 1950s with a degree in microbiology. (Think about that: a woman in the 1950s graduating with a degree in microbiology.) She married Jack, whose career was with the Air Force, and followed him to postings all over the world.  At some point after the kids were raised and launched, Betsy went back to school at the University of Dayton for a degree in religious studies.  She and Jack were devout and active Episcopalians, serving on the vestry of their small parish in Xenia OH and representing it as delegates to national Episcopalian assemblies.

When Betsy's mother died, leaving a modest inheritance, Betsy and Jack decided they didn't really need the money personally, so they set up a small family foundation to fund spirituality and spiritual growth related things.  A mutual friend introduced me to Betsy when she was looking for people to serve on the board of the foundation, which I did for a number of years.  We were both spiritual directors by that time, and found we had much in common.

The foundation sponsored a wonderful workshop that brought Tilden Edwards, co-founder of the Shalem Institute, to our part of Ohio.  And we gave grants to people to pursue spiritual formation and spiritual direction training programs, to make retreats, to conduct Biblical storytelling workshops--stuff like that.

Betsy became a friend, and later a long-time member of the spiritual directors peer supervision group that met at my house. She and Jack also became members of a monthly history-themed potluck dinner group we were part of.

But age was not kind to Betsy physically.  She struggled with a number of different forms of physical decline that caused her pain, diminished function, and short-term memory problems.  The way in which she embraced and walked that journey was profound, and deeply inspiring to me.  Her approach was both very practical and rooted in deep faith.  She used to say that there was little point wasting time bemoaning losses.  Better to regroup, assess the new situation, figure out what adjustments and adaptations you need to do, do them, and keep moving forward, pursuing your passions and fulfilling your mission in life, remaining as engaged as possible in the world around you.  All this she did, with grace, courage, and humor.

And it was not done with either denial or sentimentality. One could sense that she was re-purposing skills she had honed as an Air Force wife, packing up and moving to whatever new place Jack's career took them.

Example: in the last two or three years of her life, Betsy pursued and obtained training and certification as a lay preacher, so that she could serve in that capacity in their small parish that no longer had a full-time priest. This she did, and well, despite her physical limitations.  Or maybe because of them.

Sadly, Betsy was killed in a car crash on an icy January day in 2014.

But she has been very present with me in this cancer journey, encouraging me to assess, adapt, and move forward.  Thank you, dear friend Betsy.

UPDATE: One down, eleven to go! Yesterday's first chemo infusion went incredibly smoothly, no discomfort at all really.  We were at the cancer center from 8 am to about 12:30, but in future the time should be considerably shorter.  They are careful to introduce the meds slowly the first time.  I did, however, suffer a delayed reaction: a truly horrible sick headache beginning around mid-afternoon.  We even went back to the center around dinner time to be checked out.  The doc's directions were to go home, take Excedrin for the headache, and rest.  I was in bed by 7:15, having taken Excedrin and an anti-nausea pill. The sick headache process finally broke around 10.  We were told it might be related to the steroid they gave me, which is known to elevate blood pressure, but the doc didn't want to mess with my blood pressure med yet.  We'll see if it happens again.  I sure hope not.  Worst headache I've had in decades.

Me at the cancer center, infusion in progress, keeping snug under the lovely wrap made from recycled silk saris that I got at the Elephant Shop in Comfort, TX.