The End

This blog was born in July 2010 to document my crazy-ass midlife crisis/adventure in the U.S. Army (the first post aptly being titled "WTF?").  It then morphed into reporting on my war with cancer, while still serving in the Army.   Today, the Next Little Adventure ends.  I have been medically retired from the Army, and its time to start the next chapter of this precious thing called life. 

The past two months have been a whirlwind - finishing up my medical treatment, attending all the required transition briefings, filling out forms about forms to request a form to fill out the required form, returning all my Army gear, celebrating my 48th birthday, getting the RV organized, and planning a party to celebrate my promotion and retirement.  

Leaving the Army is bittersweet.  On one hand, I'm so excited to be going off on this adventure with Doug.  On the other, I was just promoted to MAJ, and with that would have come the opportunity to lead groups of junior officers and senior NCOs.  It feels a little bit like I let cancer win because I didn't fight back against the Army's decision to medically retire me.  But I knew that physically, I'd never be able to keep up with my Soldiers, and I absolutely did not want to be one of those officers!  I also came face-to-face with the truth that every minute of life is precious, and I didn't want to spend another one of those minutes away from what I love most:  my pack.  

I'll be working part time while we are on the road, teaching two online undergrad courses for my alma mater, State University of New York at Oswego.  I can do that any time of day, from anywhere that I have internet access, so its a pretty sweet deal.  Oh, and I enjoy it a hell of a lot more than I ever enjoyed my work as an attorney!  

Here's some pictures from all the celebrations the past month.  

With my two favorite ladies in the JAG Corps and Doug after the ceremony.

With two of my JAGC mentors - LTC (Ret.) Frank Rosenblatt and LTC Keirsten Kennedy.

LTC Lisa Satterfield and LTC Keirsten Kennedy - phenomenal leaders and forever friends. 

"Attention to Orders" - making my promotion official.

Doug replacing my CPT shoulder boards with MAJ rank.

Recognizing Doug for his contributions to the Army as a spouse.

Celebrating with James & Brookes, who came to San Antonio for the festivities.

Birthday cocktails - 48 years young!

So now my Army adventure is finished.   It was an amazing adventure and I have zero regrets.  Now I am a retiree with a DD214, no deadlines, no BlackBerry, and no more Sunday-night dread.  Doug always said "retirement is about 'want to' not 'have to'".  That's us now.  We'll be documenting our new adventures over at the Nomadic Norvells blog - follow our adventures there! 

MAJ (Ret.) Jennifer Norvell.  Out.    

Port Be Gone!!

Today, I got my chemo port removed.  This was the last physical remnant of all the chemo.  They just cut me open (with local anesthesia) and yanked it out. 

Not to gross anyone out, but this is what was in me:

Every time I got a chemo infusion, or needed blood drawn, or needed anesthesia, they'd just poke it right there in the center and it would go straight into my veins.

When the surgeon (same guy who cut off my boobs) yanked it out, he said "well you had a purple heart, but now I'm taking it away".  No really, it was all in good humor, so it was OK. 

Because we've shared so much the past year an a half, I'll show you the scar from taking the port out:

Yep, that's it.  I'm done.  Of course, since the port came out, that probably means the cancer will come back STAT.  But, the surgeon did say it was no trouble to put it back in, so I think that balances things. 

I am now FREE of all things cancer.  Woohoooooo!  Bring on the retirement celebrations!!!

Survivor!

Last winter, when I was in the thick of battle with the ChemoPoison monster, I read a post on a fellow Survivor Sister's blog in which she described walking a 5K fundraiser wearing a pink Survivor sash and cape!  In those days, I couldn't imagine walking to the other end of the RV, nevermind doing a 5K.  But I promised myself that if I made it to May 2018, I was going to do one of those 5Ks and wear my damned Survivor shirt with pride.   Today was that day.

No cape, but I got the shirt!

I walked the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in San Antonio with the Miracle Mile Steppers team from SAMMC (the hospital at which I got all my treatment).  There were two other survivors on the team and a whole bunch of doctors and nurses from the clinics.  I didn't think it would be emotional, but damn, being with all those fellow survivors really hit me in the feels.  Most of the team stayed together and it made for a fun, almost leisurely stroll through downtown SATX.

One highlight was being able to spend time with Bianca, Breast Nurse Extraordinaire at SAMMC.  During the diagnosis and surgery phases of my treatment, that woman saw some seriously messy crying from me; there was at least one full-on meltdown that made her run to get the doctor (who, upon seeing that there was no blood, rolled his eyes and went back to other patients).   I never knew nurses could specialize in just one body part, but now that I know how much stuff gets thrown at you all at once with this diagnosis, I sure am glad she was there to help me navigate it all.

Breast Nurse Bianca (yes she's wearing pink butterfly wings and antennae!)

Of course, Best Husband in the World was right there with me,
and didn't complain a bit when I draped him with a pink scarf!

Even Sunday gussied herself up for the event!

After the walk, Doug and Sunday walked over to the Riverwalk with me for breakfast and a mimosa.  I realized later that not only was today my survivor-tshirt-wearing-day, but it is also the one year anniversary of the final dose of the full-blown ChemoPoison (a/k/a Triple Cocktail).  Hey, some people celebrate Cinco de Mayo by getting drunk and eating tacos; I just kick cancer's ass.  😄

One year since chemo = SURVIVOR!

So with that, I'm considering this chapter of my little adventure closed.  Cancer has been a journey that I never thought I'd take, and one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  But it sure did teach me how to appreciate the little things and really be alive.  And for that, I'm grateful.    #alive

All the things they don't tell you

"It's temporary", they said.

"The worst part is over in 18 weeks", they said.

"Herceptin doesn't have any side effects", they said.

"Oh hell, I can stand on my head for a year - let's do it", I said.


They didn't tell me that the chemo would damage the nerves in my feet so badly that I would never be able to fully enjoy a long walk ever again. 

They didn't mention that the chemo would damage the connective tissues in my joints so badly that I would forever be in some degree of constant pain or discomfort.

They outright lied to me when they said the "brain fog" that keeps me from concentrating on my work, or remembering simple things like why I walked into a room, would get better after the chemo stopped.

They promised my hair would grow back, but they forgot to mention that my fingernails would be so soft they would routinely tear off, or that my skin would forever be so dry that it cracks and bleeds.

But I'm alive.  So that's something, right?

I'm not sure if this will get better.  The oncologist tells me his job is to kill the cancer, which he did, and these are issues for my PCM.  My PCM looks at me with fear, writes a bunch of useless referrals, and hopes my oncologist will fix what he broke with his poison.  And I dig deep, trying to find a way to grit through the pain, to focus through the fog, all while keeping a positive attitude and fighting spirit. 

But, I am tired.  Tired of the pain.  Tired of medical appointments.  Tired of being out of shape.  Tired of being constantly tired.  The whole #alive thing only gets me so far.

Oh, and did I mention that the Army no longer wants me in its ranks (despite selecting me for promotion to MAJ) because I'm simply not fit enough to deploy again.  Or run a PT test.  Or stay awake at my desk. 

Luckily, I have Doug in my corner.  Not once has he ever suggested that I should just "fight through it" or "put mind over matter".  Not once has he complained when I had to cancel plans, or spend half my day sleeping.  I know how lucky I am to have a partner who accepts the new me, and loves me (and my newly acquired "muffin top") despite the fact that I'm not the same person he married. 

This is reality.  Cancer doesn't get "cured".  I'm not "healed".  Just because the hair on my head (but not my eyebrows or eyelashes) has grown back doesn't mean I'm back to normal.  My joints hurt.  My feet burn.  My scars shoot lightning bolts into my armpits.  I can't remember your name.  This is the new normal.  This is the reality of cancer. 

#alive #reality #fuckcancer

Bye Bitch

Beyonce Bye GIF from Byebitch GIFs

As my father used to say "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!"  That pretty much sums up how I feel about 2017.

But let's not dwell on the past twelve months of hospitals, doctors, and Chemo-Poison infusions.  Because that, my friends, is in the past!!!

Ringing the bell on my way out of the clinic - this time its really the last time!

I'm starting 2018 with every reason to believe I am cancer free.  (There's apparently no way to really tell, but I'm just gonna go with the "cancer free" thing.)   There are still a couple of other medical things that I'll have to do in the New Year, but none of them involve poison.  #winning

Every single doctor appointment, every surgery, every chemo appointment, every trip to the ER, and all of the late night "fuck this; just fuck this shit" meltdowns, he was there by my side.  

 To love; to being alive; to perseverance; to new adventures; to justice; to furry companions; and to health!  Happy New Year!

It's Been a Blur

Since the last post, I finished the "big trial", and am thrilled to report that we got a fantastic result!!  Going into it, I honestly didn't know if my body would hold up 'til the end, but thanks to a creative combination of GNC supplements, caffeine consumption, KIND bars, and support from Doug, I made it.  Then, within minutes of the verdict, I found out I needed to immediately escort my client to a remote location in another state, to protect him from all the lunatics who announced to the Twitterverse that they were going to kill him.  So much for my much needed post-trial slumber (although it did keep me from indulging in post-trial celebrating, which probably wouldn't have been good for me either)!  

Once I returned to Ft. Bragg 2 days later, I crashed hard.  We were supposed to take a leisurely drive back to Texas, filled with hiking and breweries, but instead, I slept in the RV for 5 days straight.  We still managed to do a small hike and hit a brewery near Asheville, so all was not lost!

Pisgah National Forest in the Smoky Mountains

Boojum Brewery in NC.  What's a "Boojum" you ask?  Google it ... really.

Can dogs get drunk just by watching their humans drink beer? Perhaps.

We made it back to Texas just in time for the docs to pump me full of more ChemoPoison, and man, was that one tough.  The only thing I remember from the rest of November is sleeping, barfing, and wandering around in an incoherent fog of chemobrain.  Oh yeah, and there was that one totally useless trip to the ER when I was convinced I might actually be dying, but all they did was run some tests and tell me I was just full of poison. 

Damn doctors are trying to KILL me!!

Now, all of a sudden, its December again.  You know, that "wonderful time of year" when Corporate America brainwashes all of us into spending a bunch of money we don't have on gifts that nobody really needs,  presumably in celebration of a holiday that has absolutely nothing to do with giving anybody gifts.  #Resist 😏

Instead of gifts, we traveled to NJ to spend time with my mom.  We got to walk on the beach and visit a new brewery with an old grad-school friend.  We also ate way too many bagels, drank too much wine, and told funny stories about my father until we cried.  That, my friends, is the real holiday spirit. 

Jersey Shore

Backward Flag Brewing Company in Forked River, NJ

Finally, I am happy to report that I only have ONE chemo treatment left - on 28 December!  Because of the holiday, the nurse tried to push it into January.  OH HELL NO!!!!  Listen lady, I've already made a New Year's Resolution to avoid ingesting poison in 2018, so you're just going to have to squeeze me in this year.  With that light at the end of the tunnel, I can definitely get through the next month!

Ho. HO. HO y'all. 
via GIPHY

The Court is in Recess

Smack in the middle of one of the most important court trials of my life, and everything comes to a screeching halt so I can go get chemo.  F you cancer.  Just F you.

Alive

So this happened.....

I've never been opposed to tattoos, but never really felt strongly enough about anything before to actually get one.  But this - this being alive thing - that is pretty powerful.  This permanent mark on my skin is a combination of celebration and reminder.  Celebrating the triumph over death (at least for now); celebrating all the things we've learned through this journey; celebrating love and health and sunny days! 

But it also serves as a potent reminder.  A reminder that I am alive and that I almost wasn't; a reminder that today might be my last sunrise, so I better enjoy it; and most importantly, a reminder that even on the bad days, when the pain is almost unbearable or everything is going to shit at work, the sun still came up today, so its a good day, another day that I almost didn't have.  Deep, huh?

Let me explain the design, which was done by a wonderfully talented artist friend in Arizona (https://www.artexpressionsbyjen.com/).  The sun is a daily reminder of my father's spirit.  Those of you who didn't know him, my father was the model of optimism and gratitude.  He had his first heart attack when I was 5, and continued to have multiple additional heart attacks over the years until he passed away in 2015.  On top of all that, he also endured excruciating back and leg pain from severe stenosis in his spine.  He survived breast cancer.  He was on so many medications, the stock price of the pharmaceutical companies dropped when he died.  But you know what he said every single morning of his life?  He said "the sun came up again today - its another day!" with a giant smile.  He appreciated every single goddamned day he had and he never ever complained about his pain or illnesses or how many doctor appointments he had or how many medications he took.  He had a deep appreciation for every minute of the life he had, and loved my mother and me ferociously (even when we were being assholes) because he understood how precious every minute of life is.  It was his spirit and attitude that kept me going through the darkest moments of cancer, and that spirit that I don't ever want to lose.  When I told my artist that story, and asked her to put that in a tattoo, she came up with this, which perfectly captures my father's spirit. 

So there you have it.  Thanks for the strength, Dad!  Now every time I forget how lucky I am, or when I want to give in to the pain, I've got a little reminder on the inside of my left wrist.  Celebration and reminder.  😎

The Tamoxifen Ten

You've heard of the "Freshman Fifteen" but have you heard of the "Tamoxifen Ten"?  Its real.  And it comes without any of the fun of the Freshman Fifteen.

I know, I know, gaining ten pounds shouldn't phase me after surviving cancer.  But it does.  Maybe it's because gaining one pound can literally get me fired from my job.  Or because the first thing my promotion board sees is a life-size photo of me (not my resume, not my evaluations, not a list of cases I've won, but my photo).  Maybe because I exist in a work culture in which women literally starve themselves for weeks before getting their official photo taken, to ensure the photo shows that critical "half-moon" of blue sky between our elbow and waist.  Maybe because one of the documents in the "how to prepare your promotion board file" is all about "weight gain and your official photo".    

No, I'm not a professional model.  I'm just in the Army.  And yes, the Army is actually that obsessed with women's body weight.  There isn't any tolerance for an extra pound or a too-thick waist.  Fuck how good you are at your job - what really matters is looking perfect in your uniform.

So the Tamoxifen Ten is really disturbing.  I just survived a bilateral mastectomy and 18 weeks of wish-I-was-dead chemo, but what keeps me awake at night is the ten pounds I've gained from taking the drug that's (supposedly) keeping me alive.

Here's where my a-ha moment comes in, though.  Last week, I was traveling for work.  Despite the 12 hour stressful work days, 0500 flights, and multiple midnight rodeos with emails and other case prep, I still made time to exercise.  At the expense of sleep and rest.  Because Tamoxifen Ten.  By the time I got home, I was so exhausted, I slept for two days.  Doug says I need adult supervision.  He's got a point.

When I almost passed out at the gym the other day, after starving myself and then pushing myself way too hard at the gym, I finally told Doug (with the appropriate level of messy crying) why I'm so focused on pushing so hard at the gym.  It's because I have a HUGE trial coming up in October and the Tamoxifen Ten means my uniform doesn't fit perfectly.  Which means that the jury/judge will not be able to see past my extra-ten-pounds, which ultimately could negatively affect my client.  (Don't believe me?  Remember, this is the same culture that literally fires people who are excellent at their job solely because they gain a pound or ten)

You know what Doug said?  He didn't say "well you better starve yourself until then".  Nope.  He said "we'll just buy you a new uniform that fits better".   In his best "duh" tone.

He said he didn't give a shit about what the Army wanted me to look like, he'd rather have me alive.

This is why I love this man.

So today, I'll just do yoga.  And I'll keep eating healthy so my body can keep repairing itself.  And even though I'll be saying "fuck you Tamoxifen" under my breath, I suppose I will just buy a better-fitting uniform before trial.  Because being alive, and being healthy is kinda important.

First haircut

I finally gave in and paid a professional to clean it up a bit....

She even spiked it up with fancy gel. Doug says this definitely isn't AR 670-1 compliant, but I beg to differ.  It's definitely an improvement from when Doug shaved it all off with his clippers outside the RV back in January!

Hair

All hail the return of my hair!

I think its going to be blonde and curly.  There might be a little bit of grey.  I really need to get a haircut so its a little more even, but I just can't rationalize spending $60 for a little buzz cut that will take them 5 minutes.

Oh, and I never noticed how dis-proportionally large my nose was until these photos.

One more thing - I went to the dentist this week.  Despite holding a sugar-infused ginger candy between my cheek and teeth non-stop for 5 months, I didn't have a single cavity.  Score!!

Every day, a little bit better!

It's been 8 weeks since the end of the hard chemo.  I can't say its been all fun and games, but its a hell of a lot better than those 16 weeks when the oncologist was trying to kill me.

Doug took me to Vegas for my birthday in May, and the rest of the Norvell family surprised me by being there, too.  We ate great food, had a couple of drinks, spent a day in a cabana at the resort pool, went to High Tea at the Mandarin Oriental, did the spa thing, and saw a couple of shows.  The only thing that mattered was that we were all together, enjoying the little things in life.

The whole wacky family!

So much love!

The weekend after we got back from Vegas, our friends from Arizona - Kerri and Kate (and their four-legged owners, Bisbee and Callie) - drove all the way to San Antonio to visit us.  That weekend was filled with good food, wine (see a pattern?) and lots of dogs.  I was still pretty worn out from the Vegas trip, so we didn't do much exploring.  But it was great to catch up on everything we've missed since leaving Arizona.

Four energetic dogs all in one RV!

Then it was time to go visit Mom at the Jersey Shore.  The whole time I was going through chemo, she was such a support.  She even mailed me Irish Soda Bread kits every couple of weeks when that was the only thing I could eat.  I know she needed to see me as much as I needed to see her.  I forgot to take a picture with her, but I did take a picture of the ocean!

Seaside Heights, New Jersey

Traveling absolutely wears me out, but so does getting up too early, staying up too late, getting too hot, doing too much exercise, getting stressed about work, blah blah blah.  The docs keep telling me that my body has been through hell and its going to take time to get back to normal, but I don't like that one bit!

As far as treatment goes, I only have to get infusions once every 3 weeks - a triple-dose of the Herceptin - and I take Tamoxifen every day.  Apparently 7 out of 10 women have no side effects from that combo, but guess which group I'm in?  Essentially it feels like every single joint in my body has been hit with a sledghammer all...the....time.  Then there's the hot flashes and falling-off fingernails, but hey, I guess that means its killing off all those cancer cells.

Oh, and my hair is growing back. Check it out -

 
Happy Independence Day y'all!  Enjoy life!

Hair & cankles

So, my hair is growing back already....

Not clear what color its going to be.  Some of it looks blonde (or grey) but there is some dark fuzz there too.  It feels a lot like peach fuzz.

Had my first triple-dose of Herceptin last Friday (that's the targeted immunotherapy one that will hopefully keep the cancer from coming back).  Saturday brought very sore muscles and joints that were on fire.  But I was traveling, so I was thankfully distracted.  I also started the Tamoxifin (that's the one I stay on for 5-10 years).  Not a big fan.  The doctor warned that it would make my feet and ankles swell.  He didn't mention I'd develop full blown cankles.  I think I'm more upset about my new elephant legs than I was about losing hair.  (No, I will not post a picture).   But hey, its not cancer, so in the grand scheme of things......

I went on my first work trip this week.  Traveled back to Ft. Leonard Wood in Missouri (my least favorite place on earth) to be a "back seat driver" on a huge trial for a client I had to give up when I got sick. I didn't have to go, but I wanted to close the loop with this client, and also wanted to get back in the game.  All in all it was a success, but I learned a very important lesson:  I'm not ready to go back to work full time yet.  I wasn't even actively litigating - I was sitting behind the bar observing and helping the attorneys who took over for me.  And it absolutely exhausted me.  Just being "on" that much, and driving/walking/talking for 10 hours a day.  So yeah, Doug was right - I can't just flip a switch and be back to my old self. This is gonna take awhile.

The Grand Finale

On Friday, 5 May, I finished my last chemo cycle!!!  Tradition dictates that you ring a bell on the way out of the chemo clinic after the last treatment.  All the nurses stand around and cheer, and all the other patients in the clinic clap.

A little part of me is afraid I just seriously jinxed it, but whatever.  I also had my 3-month follow up with the surgeon this week, and after much feeling around where my boobs used to be, he concluded everything was just fine.  So between him and the Oncologist saying I am "cancer free", I'm just gonna run with that until I hear otherwise.

Doug and Sarah took me out for beers afterwards, and wow, did that IPA taste good!  Can you believe I drank two whole beers?  Doug said I was pretty funny after that.  Woo hooo - I'm a cheap date!!!

I'm not completely done with this cancer rodeo, but this certainly marks a turning point.  Everything from here is easy peasy compared to the past 6 months!

Let the Victory Parade Begin

You know what this is, people?

Yes, it's a pillow.  But not just any pillow.  Nope.  It's a brand new pillow.

You know how I said I drooled, sweated, and slumbered my way through chemo?  Yeah, well my pillow kinda took the brunt of that.  So I promised myself that once I had finished sweating out all the stinky ChemoPoison drugs, I'd buy a new one.  And not just any new one.  But a high-thread-count, goose down (certified humane, of course) fancy schmancy pillow.   This, my friends, is that pillow.

Hold onto your internet handlebars, folks, because there are going to be a LOT of celebrations like this over the next few weeks.  Sneak peak for Friday:  first beer!  Crazy.

The Final Countdown

OK, so its not quite that dramatic, but this chemo cycle has been a complete bitch.  The cumulative effect of six Triple Cocktails is rearing its ugly little alien head.  I've managed to sleep, drool, and sweat this week, and not much else.  I'll spare you the gory details.

Insomnia has been a thing this week ... maybe because I sleep most of the day.  Anyway, my faithful companion keeps me company at 0400, even if I have to bribe her with Ginger Snap Cookies (which incidentally, seem to be the only thing that doesn't make me feel like I ate an alien).

  

But the good news is this is the last round.  Just gotta get through this next week.  Keep swimming, keep swimming, keep swimming.   

28% Done!

First of all, I guess I should clear up any confusion caused by my last post.  No, I haven't given up on chemo and dragged the rest of the Norvell Pack on an epic road trip.  (Seriously people, have you ever known me to give up on anything?????).   The whole "I told Doug to hook up the RV" was more .... shall we say ..... aspirational.  Oh, there will be a road trip, and it will be freaking epic (think: mountains, beer, dogs, and an RV) .... it just isn't happening for a few months/years/somethings.

In other news, my heart issues seem to have stabilized.  I still get the flutters, racing, and helium-head, but I've learned to live with it.   Oh, and I figured out that if I (listen to the doctor and) stay away from caffeine, the heart stuff isn't as severe.  Yeah, that's right, Cancer - first you took my boobs, then my hair and wine, and now you're taking away my coffee too?  Cancer is such an asshole.

Today marked Week 15 of chemo.

Despite the giant tube sticking out of my chest, I'm actually having a good day!

Which went a lot better than Week 14......

Do you think the Barf Bag company would hire me as a promotional model???

Anyway, today I am 28.84% of the way done with chemo (according to the geteasysolution.com anyway .... y'all know I don't do math).  But the real news is that only ONE of those 37 remaining weeks is a Triple Cocktail ChemoPoison week!!  Next Friday marks my last dance with devil!  All the other drugs and surgeries in my future are just a good excuse to use the free internet at the hospital.

Happy Easter or Passover or Spring or whatever floats your boat this weekend.  Don't forget to stop for a few minutes every now and then, take a deep breath, and appreciate all the beautiful things.

 

 

My Kindred Spirit Woman

This.  All day long, this.

I just told Doug to hook up the RV.  We're hittin' the road!!!!!

Opening Day

99.9% of having cancer sucks.  But recovering from a nasty chemo in the hammock on Opening Day doesn't suck.  (Of course, it only lasted 2 innings before I was snoring away, but my Sox won anyway!)

Not Dead Yet!

We used to joke about this Monty Python scene all the time (well, usually only when Doug would crash his mountain bike....) - these days it seems appropriate just about every day.

No really - I'm really not dead yet - not even close, apparently.  After the little overnight hospital adventure in the last post, the docs did a few more high-tech tests.  I still have heart flutters and often can't catch my breath, but when the smart folks crunched all the data, it turns out I'm just fine.  My LVEF (that's Left Ventricular Ejection Fraction for you newbies) has decreased by 8%.  That's enough to warrant regular monitoring for the next year, but thankfully not enough to signal cardiotoxicity (which could mean stopping the chemo early or reducing the dose).  For chrissakes, I'm at mile 20 of the goddamned marathon, I am NOT going to quit before I get the coveted finishers medal!!! 😵

Other than that, its been a pretty good two weeks.  I was able to work a lot more than I have in the past, and actually had an appetite and some energy this week.  Not to sound too much like a hippie dippie love child, but I really think it may have something to do with the supplements I've started taking.  (Yes, mother, I asked my doctor - they're completely safe).   I'm currently taking 1500 mg/day of Spirulina (antioxidant and immune system booster); 1200 mg/day of CoQ10 (energy, heart function, brain function, and may fight recurrence of cancer); and 1000iu of good old Vitamin D (stops the growth of cancer cells).

Hippy Dippie Love Children after taking Spirulina & CoQ10

That's a wrap for tonight.  Long day in the ChemoPoison Torture Chair tomorrow - it's another 3-drug cocktail day.  The good news is that I get to start it with a massage, compliments of the Pain Management center at SAMMC.  I told you this place is amazing.

All expenses paid overnight stay at the luxury SAMMC!

Finally home from a somewhat scary but mostly annoying overnight stay at the hospital.  One of the potential side effects of the Herceptin is permanent heart damage, which, if not caught, could lead to congestive heart failure.  Given my family history of heart issues (even though the docs say I have the heart of an 18 year old) this was the one thing that really bothered me about starting this chemo regimen in the first place.  So, we've been pretty sensitive to looking for warning flags on that shore.

A few days after Triple-Cocktail #3, I had some heart flutters followed by wicked bad dizziness.  Docs did an EKG and ordered a bunch of tests for next week.  Well, yesterday, only about 24 hours after Triple-Cocktail #4, the same thing happened.  Doug insisted on bringing me to the ER.  The combination of having active heart palpitations, a bald head, and an "I'm a chemo patient" card got me moved right to the front of the line (well ahead of all the trainees complaining of sprained ankles and headaches).  By 3 pm, I had been all hooked up to wires, had another EKG, gave a few vials of blood, and seen no less than 3 different doctors, all of whom insisted that I be admitted at least overnight for observation.

So I spent the night in the hospital (no fancy city-view room this time), all hooked up to a constant heart electrofunctioning monitor, getting probed and prodded and measured every hour on the hour.  Of course, there weren't any more heart palpitations or dizziness, so nothing for them to catch with all their fancy monitoring equipment.  I bribed my way out of there this afternoon, promising to come back tomorrow for more fancy heart tests, and again on Wednesday to get fitted with another fancy heart monitor thingy.  Once again, I question the sanity in a treatment regimen that almost kills me in order to kill the thing that tried to kill me in the first place.

ChemoPoison Torture Chair

Spent my day strapped to the ChemoPoison Torture Chair.  Emptied both e-mail Inboxes, transcribed some notes, reviewed witness lists, wrote a memo about case strategy ideas, spent quality time with Best Husband in the World, and made my Chemo Nurse laugh her best infectious laugh on multiple occasions.  If only I could figure out a way to avoid the shitty journey to the edge of death that I'll be on for the next 10 days......😉

Keep Swimming

via GIPHY

Just finished Week 8 of this Chemo Adventure, and "keep swimming" pretty much sums up my goal for the next 8 weeks.  The effects of the chemo are getting stronger and lasting longer as the toxicity builds up in my beleaguered body.  I'm still thankful to wake up every morning, and grateful for all the wonderful people and blessings in my life.  But shit, most of the time, I'm just trying to muster enough energy to keep swimming.

The most persistent issue is fatigue.  Total body and mind tired.  Hell, you could put a top-of-the-line mountain bike and 50 miles of pump track in front of me most days, and I'd probably say "eh, whatever, I'm gonna go take a nap instead".  It's that bad.  

Then there's the burning nerve pain on the soles of my feet caused by the chemo.  Most of the time, its just an annoying burn, like my skin is on fire.  But if I go for a long walk, it's kinda like having a million sewing needles sticking up through my insoles with every step.  

Oh, and then there's my tastebuds.  Some of my Survivor Sisters say theirs just went dead.  Well, my special chemo cocktail makes my mouth taste like sour milk all the time.  Have you ever had coffee with sour milk?  Totally ruined coffee for me (I even walked right past a Dunkins in the airport and didn't order a single thing!).  The worst part - red wine is now unbearable.  I took a sip of Cabernet the other night and had to spit it out.  Me!!  Spit out wine!!!!!  I shit you not.

What else?  Oh yeah.  ***TMI ALERT***  There's also the burning pee.  Apparently a "very rare" side effect of the Herceptin is the joy of peeing barbed wire that's been soaked in battery acid and lit on fire.  (BTW...the Herceptin is the one I get to take until January.  Yay.)

Then there's the chemo-brain.  It's real, people.  Some days, there's just a fog that I can't see through.  Then there are the times I'll start to ask Doug something but by the time I get his attention, I've completely forgotten what I was going to say.  Every day, I try to do some research or write a motion for a case, but I just can't get past the words on the page to be able to process any of it.  So much for making any brilliant legal arguments in the near future.

via GIPHY

These are all just icing on the cake of the near-constant nausea, runny nose and eyes, spontaneous nosebleeds, bald itchy head, sore joints, aching muscles, and blisters inside my mouth.  That's the point of chemo, though, right?  They take you as close to death as they can, to kill the thing that tried to kill you in the first place.

But hey, my fingernails and toenails haven't turned black and fallen off (yet), as all the warnings promise.  I still have a few eyelashes left.  The fact that I've substituted unsweetened pomegranate juice for wine, and no longer eat anything enjoyable, means I won't have to fast for two weeks before my next Army weigh-in.  And Border Collies herding squirrels still makes me laugh so hard I cry.

The point, my friends, is not to complain.  Just sharing my reality .... and a gentle reminder that "when life gets you down, you know what you gotta do?  Just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming swimming swimming."
 

Carpe Diem

Half Way There!

Strapped to the ChemoPoison Torture Chair now .... but when this cocktail is finished, I'll be HALF-WAY DONE with the hard chemo!!  Woohoooooo!  Sounds like a cause for celebration - all of you need to go drink a bottle of wine for me, ok?

At least I get some work done while I'm stuck here!

The past week was great (no, really!).  The docs let me travel to Ft. Bragg for a court hearing, even though when this all started back in January, they were adamant that I would not be allowed to travel until May.  According to the oncologist, I have the blood work of an 18 year old (note he didn't say the "body" of an 18 year old.....), despite all the poison he's been pumping into me, so he let me travel. 

Doug came with me to make sure I listened to my body and didn't overdo it.  (Not sure why you all think I'm going to overdo it all the time....).  It was a successful trip.  Well, American Airlines did fail to transport our luggage, but in the grand scheme of things, that was a pretty minor blip.  

All geared up to resist all the germ-carriers on the flight!

It felt great to be back in the saddle in court.  I could have done without all the pity stares from the gallery, but I rocked the bald head and flat chest in my Army B's (semi-dress uniform we use for court hearings - no blinged up jacket, but skirt and heels required).  I even consumed a beer during a team dinner - and guess what??? - I lived to tell about it!  There's hope!!!!  😎

So, since that trip went so well, the doc is now inclined to let me go again, as long as the scheduling coincides with my ChemoPoison-related effects, and presumably if I continue to have the blood work of an 18 year old.  

The neat thing about feeling good during the last 10 days of a chemo cycle means I have something to look forward to during the purgatory of the first 10 days.  There's always a light at the end of the tunnel (and its not always an oncoming train).  So, as I sit here today, knowing that I probably won't emerge from under the Big Fuzzy Grey Blanket for the next week, it's OK because I'll eventually feel better (and maybe good enough for a therapeutic hoppy beverage during week 3).

If you're curious about what I was doing in court at Ft. Bragg, check out one of these articles:

Associated Press Article

New York Times OpEd