Fingernails, Burns, and Chemo Curl

My chest and the skin under my right arm were more severely burned than I had thought, so that for about two weeks following my final radiation treatment I had a significant amount of pain. Healing has come, although my chest wall is still tender after having a layer of all my skin in that area peel away in ugly grey strips. I’m thanking God that I developed no infection.

A result of the chemotherapy is that I am losing all my fingernails. As the old ones slough off, new nails are growing, beautiful and fresh. No pain at all.

DSC_4226Chemo curl. I’ve always had very straight, fine hair, and when I heard about the chance of curls developing after chemo, I ordered some! Voila! I now have curls, and am loving it. I’ve read fairly extensively about this phenomenon, but no one seems to know why this change often develops after chemo treatments. Usually the change is temporary; I’m hoping mine will be permanent.

I am feeling extremely well, and believe all my strength has returned. My 78th birthday was the 24th of July and my children threw me a delightful party in San Diego at the South Beach Jetty of the Pacific. Three grandchildren came home with Jerry and me, and at the end of their visit of almost a week I felt no more tired than I would have before this little session with cancer. I am extremely grateful, and with all my heart worship Jesus because of His extreme mercy to me.

Again, I want to thank each of you who is following me during this little detour. Your love, prayers, and comments are wonderfully significant to me. I treasure every word you are kind enough to send.

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Happy Posters on the Ceiling

Dr. Chan  is the doctor who ordered that I have a bone scan. Consequently, yesterday Jerry and I drove to Kaiser in Fontana where we parked at building 2, then took an elevator to the fourth floor where the Dexa Imaging Department is located. I was early for my 10:15 appointment, and they were quick to take me back where they weighed and measured me before leading me to the room where the test would be done.

IMG_0317 3In the early days of my diagnosis, my cancer was found to be an infiltrating ductal carcinoma with the further distinction of being hormone receptive. That means my cancer was feeding on the hormones my body produced. So, in addition to a mastectomy, chemotherapy, and 25 radiation treatments Dr. Chan prescribed a five-year regimen of a hormone blocker called Anastrozole. Unfortunately, one of the side-effects of this medication is the danger of bone weakening, leading to bone fractures. Thus Dr. Chan’s decision to have the density of my bones tested.

Dr. Chan highly regards hormone blocker medication as a very effective treatment for the type of cancer I have. He has mentioned this to me several times. “Out of all the treatments you are having for your cancer, this hormone blocker, which has fewer side-effects than any of them, is the most effective.” He went on to tell me that current literature suggests that in the near future it may be that women with my diagnosis may not need chemo, but that the hormone blocker could be all that is prescribed.

The bone density test was quick and painless. I lay flat on a table as a large, white imaging apparatus moved slowly over my body, measuring the density of my spine and of my hips.

I gazed upward, of course, and was delighted to see on the ceiling above me the posters I have pictured here. What a considerate act someone had thought of.  Someone then had hauled in a ladder, climbed up to the ceiling and with some sort of mastic had fastened those cheerful pictures and slogans. I loved it, and when the testing was finished I asked the technician if I could get my phone and take a picture. She smiled really big and said, “Yes!”

Yesterday was the first time I’ve looked at a ceiling to be reminded to hug, smile, and to take time for my family and friends, and that doing all those things contributes to my good health. How cool is that!

 

Recovery Monday

On other days, recent days, we would have pointed our faithful Jeep down the hill toward Ontario for one more radiation treatment, perhaps a short stand-in-line at the pharmacy, or a visit with one of my doctors. Not today.

Today, I recover. This morning I sat for awhile on the cement steps leading to our front deck. I watched. I looked and listened. I have blisters under my right arm, a sore, decimated chest wall beneath which is a grateful heart, and today I have a head that reels. I’m a follower of the news, one who listens much, who is interested in the election that looms before us. I’m aghast at our world. How can we humans speak as we do? How is it that we slaughter each other at such a rate? How.can.this.be.so?

The steps, though. Where I sit. I watch as two lizards dart before me. My camera is beside me, lens cover removed, and as I lift it to my eyes, the couple spatted, I guess, and in a flash one is gone. This one, though. This brave critter stopped quite near me. He posed, and held. Steady, he displayed his long “fingers.”

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Behind him stands a frog. Well, a replica of a frog, who is of green metal, and who appears to be holding a clarinet or some such instrument. I laughed when I noted these two critters in this juxtaposition.

DSC_3809-2And it was better than police shootings, or blatant lying, or coarse, vulgar language. Or the utterly ridiculous question of whose lives matter.

DSC_3788Hummingbirds rushed by Jerry’s face today as he watered plants in the front.

DSC_3795Bokeh, they call it. Light, unfocussed light shines through the scarlet bird feeder.

DSC_3782The bigger birds have scratched about and their food is scattered on the railing, and this morning there was a dead bird in our driveway.

And God knows. He is in charge. Still. Capable. Not in trouble. I rest. I recover.

 

Radiation 25

The night before, I baked the goodies I would take. Yesterday morning I wrapped them in a festive way. I chose cards and wrote notes on them. One for the exceptional clerk who checked me in almost every day at the Kaiser facility; the other for the sweet crew that manned Linac # 3 where they tended me over a 5 week period, 5 days a week. Linac is the name of the radiation machine. Number 3 is the one to which I was assigned.

From the first day, the calibre of people whom I have encountered during this quite unexpected detour in my life’s road has amazed me. I have been treated not only professionally, but in loving ways, and with utmost care and dignity. Yesterday was no exception. When I gave the little gifts, the staff were so appreciative. We hugged–some of us more than once–and yesterday  I felt as though I was leaving friends when Jerry and I walked from the facility to our car in the parking lot. “I’ll miss you,” a couple of them said to me. “Maybe we’ll see each other in a grocery store or something like that,” Zack said almost shyly to me.

DSC_3775Because it was my last visit, I was scheduled to see my radiation oncologist, Dr. Ro. I was surprised when after he examined me he said I had significant radiation burns under my arm, so that he must prescribe a cream designed for severe burns. I will see him for a follow-up visit in about a month. For a couple of days I had noted a little discomfort, but didn’t think too much about it. Perhaps because my entire chest wall where I had the mastectomy is quite numb is the reason for my feeling very little pain. The danger is infection, Dr. Ro told me, indicating that we must stay “on top of it.”

“Come by here after you’ve seen the doctor,” the receptionist told me when I checked in. “We have something to give you.” When I returned to her desk, she smiled broadly and handed me this certificate. Wished me well, said she would miss me.

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Rebecca had wanted to be with her dad and me, but she could not, so it was only loyal and faithful Jerry and me who went to lunch at Lucille’s Barbecue to celebrate my last radiation treatment. With not one complaint, this dear husband of mine has driven me every day to my radiation treatments–80 miles round trip. How blessed, how very blessed I am.

Sweetest daughter, Rebecca, came to our home later in the day, bearing lovely flowers, a balloon, and a precious hand-written card.

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So. I’ve jumped another hurdle, and am looking ever upward and forward. God is so dear and precious to me. Has held me close during these challenging months, and blesses me more than I could possibly deserve. I am forever grateful.

Sixty and Eighteen Go Together

It is the 18th day. It is the 60th year.

…….Counting the one this morning, eighteen is the number of radiation treatments I have had.

……Totaling them all, sixty is the number of years Jerry and I have been married. Today is our anniversary.

A year or so ago, as we talked about this momentous occasion and how we would celebrate it, high on our list was a Mediterranean cruise. Then came November 2015, my routine mammogram, and the quite unexpected diagnosis of breast cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes. We changed plans. The cruise deal was out, but after my chemo was finished and I had regained my strength, here in Crestline, we would have a nice party with our family and close friends. We decided on a date and made sure all our children were free at that time. Then Dr. Chan recommended I meet with a radiation doctor. I did so, and was shocked when Dr. Ro advised me to have 25 radiation treatments. We cancelled the party plans, understanding that when today arrived, I would be deeply into daily radiation treatments, and not knowing how sick or well I would be feeling.

So, today is the big day, and despite no momentous celebration, I am extraordinarily happy. And Jerry is happy. God has been extremely good to us. Blessed us. Favored us. Chose us. Gave us four remarkable children, a passel of grandchildren, a flock of great-grandchildren, and an enormous group of exceptional friends and other family.

Rebecca went with us to Ontario for my treatment, then we all went to The Cheesecake Factory in Victoria Gardens for lunch. Delicious food. Rebecca snapped a couple of pictures.

 

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Toward the end of Summer or the beginning of Fall, we plan to take a road trip up the coast of California. We have wonderful friends scattered here and there in this great western part of the United States, and we haven’t seen some of you for a long time. Maybe we’ll pop in for a visit. 🙂

EDIT: Just as I was finishing up this piece, a delivery lady  brought to our home the most beautiful deep red roses. Jerry grinned as she brought them in to me. Sure enough: Love, from Jerry. He is the best!

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Lessons in the Weeds

At Kaiser this morning, they took me in early for my 14th radiation treatment, so before noon we were back in Crestline, and since it was so early we decided to go to the lodge and have lunch with our senior friends there. We were more than half an hour early, so while Jerry signed us in and found seats, I would take a few pictures. I took my camera out of its bag. “I’ll snap a couple of pictures, then be right in,” I told Jerry.

I learned lessons during those few minutes this late morning and want to share them with you.

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I walked across a small field. Shaded by lofty oak trees, the land lay in shadowed darkness, so dense in some directions that I was unable to discern the objects that made up the short distance toward the creek bed. Then my eyes were drawn to a shinning pattern, for in the middle of the unlit, dusky regions glowed this round of glorious light.

This first lesson is obvious. In the midst of darkness, sorrow, and gloom, there always can be found a packet of light, a spot of joy, a round of glory. God is its source, and when we find ourselves frightened, surrounded by dreadful circumstances, unsure of anything, then is the moment to look about us . . .and find the light!

I sat down on a small bridge area and watched. Waited. Among the weeds little bugs were jumping, and as I looked closely, I saw they were lady bugs. I didn’t have a really fine lens with me, for this morning I had decided to take my oldest lens out of my camera bag, and use it for the day. So with my humble 18-55 Nikon kit lens, I photographed this fine lady. (Are there men lady bugs? Hmm . . . guess so or we wouldn’t have any baby lady bugs, would we?)

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The second lesson was also obvious to me, for as I stared, focussed, and refocussed on this tiny bug, I saw with comprehending eyes its struggle to reach the top of this drooping weed. She fell more than once as a small wind blew the plant back and forth. But she persevered, and when I left her she had neared the top.

So, as I walk my cancer detour, I too will persevere and will pick myself up if I fall. . .and if I do I will climb again.

And you? We’re all faced with disappointments, challenges we didn’t expect . . .but also with opportunity to fight more, seek the light, and climb higher. Onward!

 

Radiation and Celebrations

When I learned that Gentry’s high school graduation day would be toward the middle of my radiation treatments, I was not sure I would be able to attend, for the threat of side-effects, and especially of extreme fatigue was on my mind.

DSC_3559However, last Thursday came, the special day, and I was feeling wonderful. At 10:00 in the morning I had my 11th treatment. When it was finished Jerry headed our already loaded Jeep toward San Diego. We stopped for food then drove to Andrew and Shawnna’s home (Gentry’s parents) where we visited a couple of hours before it was time to leave. The graduation exercise were held in the open air theatre of San Diego State University. Beautiful. Very impressive. So very proud of Gentry. A meal for the family and friends at Lidos Italian restaurant followed. It was late when we plopped down on the comfy bed in Andrew’s home.

For breakfast Andrew took us to a charming place in La Jolla where we ate outside, the magnificent Pacific in our distant view.

Treatment number 12 was scheduled for early afternoon, so we said our good-byes and traveled again to Ontario Kaiser Permanente.

On Saturday, Mike and Melina drove over from Lake Havasu for Father’s Day. Jerry smoked scrumptious ribs, I added a few things, and on the back deck we four feasted.

Sunday morning: Father’s Day

We four joined Rebecca at her church in Rialto for a delightful service, then for lunch we met with Melina’s parents and others of her family at Martha Greene’s in Redlands.

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Rebecca and Michael hugged up with their daddy.

This morning I completed my 13th treatment. I feel wonderful! Onward!

 

The Day of My Ninth Radiation Treatment

It’s been a good day. Good to think that I’m a third of the way through these treatments. The irradiated parts of my skin are in great condition, and I still feel very well. As one of the nurses bent over me today adjusting my body on the table, I told her how terrible I felt with chemo, and how great I’m feeling now. She smiled, and with a touch of warning in her voice said, “The radiation effects can sneak up on you.” I told her I was aware of it, and that I have myself mentally prepared–just in case.

Early this afternoon here at our home, one of our Crestline friends (whom you may have met here) called and asked if I was up for a short visit.

Of course I was, and Jerry snapped a picture as this delightful 86 year-old charmer and I sat together in our living room.

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She came bearing a gift.

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The flower is a wild iris that she picked from along the road as she took her morning walk. (She walks a mile a day, sometimes two!) The bottle is recycled, she told me, and I could see it was. During these days of my cancer detour I’ve received lots of gifts, and extraordinarily beautiful floral arrangements. None surpass this beautiful, elegant, humble gift.

DSC_3534And so…….my day–the 9th of radiation–has been a very good one. Trust yours has been as well.

Radiation Oncology

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I followed the protocol of the Ontario Radiation Oncology unit by checking in with my Kaiser card and my driver’s license. The receptionist smiled, consulted with her computer screen, and handed back my material along with a buzzer unit–the kind that some restaurants use when you’re waiting to be seated for a meal. When the radiation staff were ready for me, the buzzer would sound, and I was just to walk through the designated door. Rebecca had walked in with me and after I  registered  we returned to the lovely outside area where Jerry waited.

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The weather was magnificent. We were calm.

DSC_3341I walked about snapping photos of the beautiful area. Jerry had a copy of the Los Angeles Times with him, and quickly delved into it. Rebecca really didn’t want me to take any  shots of her, although she was snapping away with her phone, but she let me take one. Wouldn’t you know–her eyes were closed. (Off subject: The excellence of phone photography amazes me. Rebecca captured the first two shots here with her IPhone–a 4, I believe.)

“This seat is getting a bit hard,” Jerry said at one point, so we moved to the indoor waiting area where the seats are padded.

My buzzer sounded. I laid down the magazine I was flicking through, said to my family, “I’ll be fine,” and walked through the door that led to the radiation chambers.

The buzzer kept buzzing, and when I passed a lady in the hall, I asked. “Is there a button you’re supposed to turn off?”

She smiled sweetly. “I did the same thing the first time. You’re to turn in the unit to the receptionist.”

I did.

In one of the dressing rooms, I stripped to my waist, removed my wig and hat, placed them in a bag, along with my clothes, donned a blue hospital gown, and walked out to find my place. I passed two or three other women and noted their gowns were tied in the back. I had tied mine with a lovely bow in the front. Rats! Here it was my first day, and I seemed to have failed the fashion segment of the deal.

After sitting in a chair a short time in the waiting room where I had been directed, Mary came for me. “We’re ready.” Her demeanor was happy and upbeat. I followed her in.