I tend to think of the Odyssey in terms of Odysseus's hair-raising adventures on his journey home from Troy. But it is instructive to notice that 12 of the 24 books of the poem take place after he gets back home to Ithaca. In other words, even when the traveling is over, he can't just resume the life he left. He has work to do to construct a new life in a profoundly changed reality.
That's me right now. I am gratefully shedding more and more aspects of "being in cancer treatment" and happily moving on to "just living." But it's not a simple matter of "getting back to normal." To shift metaphors, it's as if pre-diagnosis life were a mosaic. Cancer diagnosis and intensive treatment ripped up all the tesserae (the little square tiles a mosaic is made of) and shuffled them around. Now I am engaged in gathering and sorting the tiles, and using them to make a new picture. It has most of the same colors and proportions of colors, but some tiles got lost, and some new tiles have been added, so the picture won't be identical to the old one.
So, for example, a number of people have said to me, in tones of congratulation, "So, you're all done now!" No, I'm not all done. I still have a port implanted in my chest, and I'm still getting an infusion of herceptin through that port every three weeks, and dealing with the side effects of the herceptin. Yes, they're relatively trivial compared to the side effects of the chemo and the radiation (watery eyes, drippy nose, fluid retention and puffiness). But they're there, they're with me every day, and they didn't happen before this adventure began. They give a different texture to my life, and they won't go away until I finish with the herceptin at the end of September. (The good news is, as of yesterday I have passed the halfway point with the herceptin--yay!)
I also began anastrozole, the hormone blocking pill I will have to take for 5 years, and am now a little over 5 weeks into that experience. I have not really noticed any side effects from it so far, but I also note that online patient forums suggest some side effects may not show up for several months. So I live with the possibility that I may have to deal with some down the road, and for a long time.
New tiles in the mosaic.
More new tiles: While the neuropathy I experienced in my fingertips towards the end of chemo seems to have gone away completely (yay!), the neuropathy I have had in my lower legs and feet for many years seems to be permanently just a little bit worse thanks to the chemo, and my reflexes (to recover when I start to lose my balance) just a bit more diminished. I have experienced a little more unsteadiness on my feet, and I had two falls in quick succession, one bad enough to lead to x-rays of my right foot and right ring finger. No fractures, and both have healed up almost entirely, I'm happy to say. But I have had to become more diligent about using my trekking poles and more vigilant about developing the habit of visually observing where my feet are (since I don't get nerve feedback from them). New tiles, new colors.
But to balance all that, I do have a lot of good news to report!
Number 1: I have hair! Not a whole lot, true, but when I look in the mirror, I see a head with hair, not a skull with sprouts. It's a start. I'd say right now I have more hair than Jeff Bezos, but less than Mark Zuckerberg.
Jeff Bezos, founder and CEO of Amazon
and owner of The Washington Post.
A major bogeyman in Donald Trump's eyes.
Mark Zuckerberg, founder and CEO of Facebook.
A major bogeyman in lots of people's eyes,
thanks to the Cambridge Analytica mess.
I'm getting really tired of wearing hats all the time, but I'm still not quite ready to go out in public without one. Especially since apparently we're never going to have a real spring this year. My head gets cold! I don't understand how bald guys do it.
"Spring," allegedly.
Taken yesterday morning.
Number 2 good news: My energy level is way way better than it was, and so is my stamina, especially since I've started exercising again. I've been doing a special oncology exercise program run by folks trained in how to deal with things like lymphedema risk. It's twice a week, and next week will be my last week of it. Since my oncologist's guideline for exercise, to minimize side effects and lower the risk of recurrence, was 30-40 minutes of vigorous exercise 4-6 days a week, I have been working toward that by adding cardio days at Personally Fit, where I had been working out regularly before the diagnosis. I find myself increasingly antsy to be done with the oncology exercise program and get back to working with my trainer at PFit. So I went ahead and contacted her and set up a series of appointments for as soon as I finish the oncology exercise program. And meanwhile, when I go there to do my cardio days, I am so warmly greeted, both by staff members and "regulars" I have come to know by sight over the years, that it is very gratifying and motivating.
Number 3 good news: A lovely weekend visit over Palm Sunday weekend by my sister Anne from New Orleans and my niece Joan with her 14-month-old daughter Hazel from Houston. I really don't quite feel ready for air travel yet, so it is just such a treat that my sweeties are willing to come to me--Peter and Henry back in December, Anne and Joan and Hazel just now, and looking forward to Nick and Katey and their two little girls next month.
I'll close with some pix from Palm Sunday visit (they were all in shock at the weather!).
Hazel with her momma Joan at the airport
on their way to Dayton.
Anne and me riding the Mikesell's Potato Chips
delivery wagon on the Carillon carousel.
Hazel and Anne at Carillon.
A cherished family tradition is passed on:
Anne helping Hazel explore the antique toy stove
that belonged to Michael's grandfather,
that every baby thereafter has played with.
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