I saw the specialist today - one of the top doctors in Germany for Breast Cancer. What I can tell you is:
Had a bit of a scare yesterday - actually, quite a scare - about midway through the day I started shivering uncontrollably. I had on three pairs of socks, a hat, two jackets - and I still couldn't break the chill. Eventually I got into bed under four blankets and with a little space heater turned up full blast - after about an hour, it got a little better.
I wasn't running a fever so I didn't immediately go to the hospital, despite my doctor's recommendation - it would have meant calling Wendy and having her return from work early on a day I know she had a ton of things to finish. And she would have done it without a second thought or complaint - but who WANTS to go to a hospital? So I decided to sit it out and see.
The girls took really good care of me - mostly because I made it their chore (meaning they didn't have to clean anything else before dinner.) Evelyn decided I needed a hat, so she brought me her "Drama Queen" had and earmuffs. She even let me use her poop emjoi blanket when the four I already had over me weren't enough. It was actually really sweet.
Wendy came home and shortly after I went to bed - I could barely get up the stairs without passing out, and I just kept saying "This is WEIRD." And still no fever. A few hours later, I woke up sweating horribly under my hoard of blankets - and nothing I did could get my body to cool down. I opened the windows, laid on the cold floor and turned on a fan until I felt comfortable enough to go back to sleep with a single blanket.
This morning, everything hurts - probably from 16 hours of uncontrollable shivering - and I have a raging headache. But I'm not plagued with chills or hot flashes at the moment, and so the trip to the hospital is off the table (thankfully!)
That's the thing that I find hardest about post-cancer care - EVERYTHING scares you. Things you would have brushed off before cancer suddenly cause you to question your health in the scariest of ways.
I'm not complaining - just sharing parts of my story. Maybe they'll help someone else - maybe it's just helpful to me to express them.
So, I've been in Germany over a month now - it's been filled with ups and downs like anything else in life. I've caught everything the girls have brought home from school and been quarantined by the Garrison twice. But I haven't caught COVID and I'm continuing to grow my hair back and feel more "normal" every day.
Today I got a call from the doctor in Stuttgart letting me know that the results of my bloodwork were not good. Although a year without fried food did GREAT THINGS for my cholesterol, and I wasn't at risk for Diabetes at present - I have developed Neutropenia. This is not uncommon after chemotherapy - basically your body doesn't regenerate white blood cells the way it should - so you're susceptible to anything and everything, which then becomes a potentially life threatening issue. "Any fever should take you straight to the emergency room, and you need to tell them you have neutropenia - although their blood work will show that." She also warned me that COVID would almost certainly NOT turn out well for me.
Take this news on the day that thousands of Germans are standing before the Brandenburg Gate without masks protesting that their rights are being violated by trying to force mask requirements and social distancing. It's a TERRIFYING place to be. Although I'm extremely good about wearing my mask and avoiding others, it's alarming to see how many people simply refuse as a matter of "right" without thinking about how it potentially affects others.
Now I say this with caution - because I DO believe that my safety is firstly MY responsibility, and I don't go places where there are hoards of people - especially people without masks. But still - when did being a decent human being become a violation of someone's rights? I'm really struggling with that.
I'm being asked to share an office with another person - someone who doesn't believe that he should be required to wear a mask - EVER. And it scares me more than a little. I want to respect his beliefs, and support him - but I DON'T want to share an office with him if it puts my life at risk.
So many thoughts - so much emotion right now. It's going to be a battle to stay healthy for the next year - and to make sure I'm eating cleanly and staying as healthy as I can. I'm doing that. Because there's SO, SO much to look forward to in this life. So many friends I want to hug - so many babies I want to kiss - so many places I want to see.......
Much has changed in the past week.
First of all, I'm OUT of Kosovo and safely ensconced in my sister's house in Germany. I've got another week of required quarantine, but it's been an awesome week so far thanks to my sister's pre-planning. I've made homemade tzatziki, swiss zucchini rolls, coconut shrimp - it's been a week of fresh fruit and vegetables without a SINGLE use of the microwave. I feel like I'm in heaven after 8 months of eating in my barracks room.
Secondly, there's a BATHTUB - although i haven't been able to take one yet due to the third degree burns I suffered during radiation therapy. They got much, much worse after my last treatment - the skin turned black, and blistered in other places - and the pain has been so great I can hardly walk around. But after a week, it's starting to get a little better and I managed to get a full night of sleep for the first time last night. There is DEFINITELY a bath in my immediate future.
Thirdly, Fluffy. She's not Princess Peanut, but she's been my constant companion for a week as we take walks during the day, snuggle at night, and share treats at the table.
But how do I FEEL? Well, there's been so much pain from the burns I haven't really thought about it. Lucky, most of all. Very fortunate. Grateful. Still searching for my new purpose, but I've found my peace which is really what I hoped to accomplish over the past year. I'm making a list of things I want to do - write a short series paper about my year in Kosovo, work on a book with my Uncle Larry (award winning author), get my house repairs done, visit Ireland to pay my respects to Barbara, etc. Right now most of my goals are short term goals to help my sister (defrost the freezer, organize the pantry, clean the house, etc.) - but I'm looking forward to longer term things as well. And it's nice to have that long term mindset again.
Being with my nieces full time is HILARIOUS. For whatever reason, they listen to me as opposed to their mother most of the time. So when I tell them no wifi/television until their chores and homework are done, they give me the look of abject depression - BUT THEY DO THEM. And then I leave them in peace.
Not that it's easy with a 10 year old who is more stubborn than I am and a 14 year old going through all the teenage angst. But it's definitely worth it. When they try something I cook and actually enjoy it (or even if they try it and don't like it, it's a compliment), when they ask if they can help me with something, when they ask if I can help THEM with something.....there won't be many more years when it's "cool" to hang out with Aunt Knikki - and I'm really enjoying the time while I can.
Can't wait until quarantine is over and we can adventure (and by adventure, I mean going to Starbucks for coffee with them - I'm not insane).
Well, that's it. I'm done. No more chemo. No more radiation. Just some pills I'll be taking for a good long while (pills that cause Uterine cancer and other issues, but nevermind that today...) And i'm in a weird, weird place.
I'm not sure how I feel - this has been my primary focus for such a long time. My PURPOSE. And now, here I am with my whole life ahead of me and not sure what to do next. Except that I'm making plans - LONG term plans. Getting back to Broadway when it reopens. Visiting friends and family when I'm stateside again. Taking some pottery and stained glass classes.
Plans. It's a start.
This week went by pretty quickly - I spent a good deal of time with my dogs at the border inside Macedonia. They are far too skinny to survive the winter, and though I can't save them all - I want to. I really, really want to (except that one black one, who's a huge bully)
The radiation burns are FIERCE y'all. FIERCE. Like a sunburn on top of a sunburn that then gets sunburned again. It's blistering and painful and no amount of "approved cream" seems to be helping. But at least it's done. So it will start to heal - and hopefully the swelling in my arm will start to diminish as well. Radiation was DEFINITELY causing bad lymphedema.
Anyway.....today I cried. I cried for my Dad. I cried for Barbara. I cried for Ben. I stopped focusing on the treatment and started looking towards the future, but there are still some things in the recent past I have to grieve to move on. Now I can do that.
This is the really weird thing.
I'm worried that nobody will think of me now.
I'm no longer the girl with cancer. I'm no longer on everyone's worry list (for which I am hugely grateful). I'm no longer stuck in a third world country. I'm just an average Joe working for the government out of Germany trying to get by. Paying bills. Working on my house. Trying to survive the pandemic long enough to get back to "real life".
Shouldn't that be enough? What is this drive that constantly makes me want to feel SPECIAL and DIFFERENT and SOMETHING?
Like I said....I'm in a weird place. But it's a cancer free weird place, and I'll take it.
I got popped for a random COVID test this week. Oy. I can still remember the last time I got one and how painful it was for hours and hours.
I showed up at the hospital at 8:00 and there were A HUNDRED PEOPLE standing in line without social distancing, most with their masks down below their chin. I said, "Nope!" and sat about 100 yards away - then realized this was going to take some time, so I went and got coffee then came back, resigned to my fate.
But....I saw something wondrous.
THE MASSAGE TEAM IS BACK! Now, this is awesome in and of itself, but Preveze is trained in lymphatic massage - so this is medically INCREDIBLY for me. Suddenly, the prospect of someone scraping my brain cells through my nostril didn't seem like the end of the world. (happily, they have gotten MUCH better at it and it wasn't nearly as traumatic as I was expecting)
We set up a time just after my work schedule ended and i got an awesome massage to include manual lymphatic drainage. My arm is now half the size it was this morning and doesn't hurt nearly as bad.
Miracle of miracles.
It will take at least a week for the test results to come back, since they send them to Landstuhl in Germany for processing. But honestly, I'm not worried. I'm still isolated all the time - and I feel stronger and stronger every day.
(I even exceeded 8,000 steps today - so getting more and more active as the weeks continue)
One week remains of radiation and then, with any luck, I'll be leaving Kosovo. I can honestly say that I'm so grateful for my time here. I definitely could not have gotten through this year if I weren't sober - and dealing with things as they arose. Kosovo has been a tremendous help for that.
Even now, when the beer garden is open on base - it's not a temptation for me. I'm not saying I won't have a glass of wine here and there - I very well might. But I've conquered that particular demon - and knowing how sugar affects cancer cells, I don't see the benefit of drinking if it's going to feed those little buggers. I don't want to take this journey again.
My hair is growing back!
When I'm driving to Skopje every day, there is a dog (a border collie mix, no less) that sleeps at the border crossing on the Macedonia side. Often I bring a small bag of dog food or treats and ask the customs agents to give it to the dog.
On Wednesday, I drove through and held the small bag out of the car window and the agent looked at me oddly.
"What? What is that?"
"It's for the dog."
"For the dog?"
<i point at the dog> "For the dog. Food for the dog."
"You spent MONEY? ON THE DOG?????"
<he gives me a generic look of disgust>
At that point the female customs agent that I see most days ran over and took it and thanked me with a big smile.
I have to keep reminding myself that they view dogs very differently over here - and in fact, it's been said that people will intentionally try to run over stray dogs because they are unsocialized and viewed as a menace.
There's also a pack of feral dogs that live just over the Macedonian border on the side of the road by a little "Car Wash" stand. I'll often stop and drop food off there, since they mostly get food out of the garbage dump.
I don't normally touch them - because they are filthy and unsocialized.
However....
On Friday, the car wash was closed and the whole pack was laying around relaxing. So I got out and started pouring food. ALL the dogs came over, wagging their tails. One dog kept barking and scaring the other dogs away from the food (alpha dog) so I yelled at him and shook my finger and he backed away. I called to the other (afraid) dogs and put more food down for them.
I even petted one -the one I nicknamed Goldie - he's often on his own, and wags his tail vehemently when I see him. I let him sniff the back of my hand, and carefully gave him a scratch behind the ears. His tail increased wagging tenfold. So I called him a good boy and kept rubbing his head.
To which, the other (non-alpha) dogs immediately came over and tried to nudge his head out of the way so they could get head scratches. Oh, it made my heart hurt. I want to rescue them. ALL of them. I want to take them to the vet and get their hurts looked at - I want to bring them home and feed them and love them and let them sleep on cushy dog beds, especially as the weather is getting colder. I want to save them all. But I know I can't.
After CAUTIOUSLY scratching the four dogs, the alpha dog walked over to me and waited. I was like, "Nope. You're aggressive. Not putting my hand near you."
Okay, I want to save them all except one. I don't like bullies. Even though I think some love would fix him right up.
I'll try and get a picture of them next week so you can see how sweet they are. And how haggard. And beaten up. I WANT TO SAVE ALL THE DOGS. I wish I knew how - but there will always be more needing saved. Save the ones you can. Make a difference to THOSE dogs.
The worst week possible. I just....can't.
I can't even begin to process the loss of my beautiful and strong cancer buddy, Ben Hopkin, who passed away after an aneurism on Sunday. When I spoke with him on video chat last week, he convinced me that he was going to beat cancer yet again - despite the fact that he'd defied the odds two or three times already and achieved miracles the medical community couldn't fathom.
But his journey came to an end Sunday night - and it destroyed what was left of my broken heart.
I've written about him before, but Ben was one of those TRULY REMARKABLE souls - with a kindness and a vulnerability that he shared willingly with anyone. He was a fierce advocate for any marginalized group and actively participated in protests for Black Lives Matter and Gay Pride, even during his cancer treatments. He was a brilliant actor (he was one of the stars in the first thing I directed at BYU, Chicago) and director - and from what I've been reading from his students, a superb acting professor who could bring things out in you that you tried very hard to keep hidden from the world. I'm overwhelmed at the love and grief that's pouring out on Facebook.
So I'm going to continue blogging about radiation - but recognize that my heart is really NOT in it. It just seems like the world doesn't recognize what's been taken - even though I can see from the hundreds and HUNDREDS of tributes, that at least a small portion of it does.
Radiation went by smoothly and without much to tell - on Monday, my neighbor and friend Janice Middleton drove with me to Skopje. On the way back, we stopped at an outdoor restaurant and had a really nice lunch. It was such a nice change to have company - and to sit and chat and have a decent meal! (She doesn't work on Mondays and offered to come along) It was really good, especially after losing Ben, to feel that connection with someone - and to have a normal meal outside of my room. Plus, it was excellent conversation for the hour drive to Skopje and back.
After burying my father last week, I started out week three completely exhausted. I'd agreed to do some mentoring after work hours, though, so I knew there would be no rest for the weary this week.
On Tuesday night I heard that a much beloved friend had died in a tragic accident. She'd slipped getting into the bath and knocked herself unconscious - we'd just been speaking a few days earlier, and it put me in a complete state of shock followed by 12 hours or non-stop crying.
I skipped radiation on Wednesday. I hadn't slept a wink, I didn't want to do anything, I had a very impressive little pity party with myself. Barbara was one of the most wonderful and genuine people I've ever met - and the most incredible artist I've ever known. Truly. And we'd been making plans to get together - so this was just devastating.
And in the midst of my little pity party, when I'm trying to avoid anyone and everyone - I get a video call from my friend and cancer buddy, Ben Hopkin. He's been fighting his own battles through multiple different types of cancer and has been my inspiration and strength for this entire journey. Again, just the kindest man you could ever hope to know - and he's calling ME from his hospital bed as he embarks on a life changing / medical journal worthy clinical trial.
So, here's what I can tell you about radiation therapy - for me, it causes a tremendous amount of heartburn. The treatment doesn't hurt, although my chest looks like it's been through a really bad, inconsistent tanning bed for three times the maximum amount of time. And I have broken out in a pretty weird rash similar to the one I got the last few weeks of chemo.
This week, though, treatment was especially difficult. After months of being bedridden, and weeks of a downhill battle, my father passed away on Sunday, September 13th. Even though it was expected, and even though it was a merciful thing that finally removed him from this earth and the suffering he'd been under - it still caught me completely off guard. I was beginning to think he'd outlive me - he was such a strong and vibrant character.
Until recently.
When he couldn't get out of bed, and as such had to wear a diaper and be changed like a newborn - he couldn't remember how to use the remote for the television or his cell phone. He wasn't "Dad" anymore - and even though I continued to call him EVERY day and talk to him, long after he lost the ability to talk - I still loved him and it broke my heart to know that the world continues spinning when such a man has left the earth.
One day this week I was just not feeling up to driving - I've been crying my eyes out and have been completely dehydrated - so Shem offered to drive me. The border guards told me it was no problem at all, as long as he had a KFOR badge (which he does.)
On the drive to Macedonia, he started telling me about the history of the region and why everyone hates everyone else. It's not just religious differences, it has to do with countries taking over countries, genocide / racial cleansing, and simple overt racism - feeling that citizens of certain countries are frankly LESS than themselves.
Macedonians hate Albanians and Serbians. The feeling is apparently mutual. Everyone hates the Turks. But nobody is more hated than the Roam (a.k.a. Roma - the gypsies). Honestly, he went into great detail about the history between countries but I don't remember much of it as I hadn't had much sleep all week.
When we got to the border, Shem showed them his KOSOVO ID rather than his KFOR ID. I love Shem, I really do - but he has a tendency to stir the pot, if you know what I mean. So OF COURSE they weren't going to allow him through without proving that he had a COVID test within the last three days. That's the rule. He knows that's the rule. Only AFTER they called the supervisor over and started yelling at each other did he pull his KFOR badge out, and by then they weren't going to let him through regardless.
It was a really interesting lesson in cultural racism, but not one that I was particularly grateful to learn ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL for therapy. Folks, it got ugly. But eventually, we made it through and continued on to Skopje - late, but no worse for wear.
On the way BACK through the border, he AGAIN flashed his Kosovo ID. (I'm about ready to throttle him at this point) and AGAIN started a huge argument. So lesson learned - Shem will not be accompanying me to Macedonia in the future.
As for medical complications - oh my. The reason I asked Shem to drive in the first place was because I was super tired, and worried that I had developed a blood clot. See below:
Can you see the difference? It's NOT a blood clot, thankfully - but the lymphedema was a surprise since I haven't had this happen since they removed the lymph nodes in March. APPARENTLY, radiation therapy often causes this to happen.
The doctor said as long as I arrived before 11, we could get everything done today - so I somewhat groggily headed up to the hospital in Macedonia at 9:00 am - wanting to ensure I got the car back to the logistics team in time for their mail run.
Unfortunately, what the doctor MEANT was "come in a few minutes before 11" - so I sat there for several hours waiting to be seen. Not the end of the world - let's be honest - I had a book and a mask and waited patiently.
First there was a CATscan to create a 3D model of my breast prior to beginning treatment. This helped them to program the computer so that the radiation is ONLY targeted at the affected areas and not sent through my whole torso. Sounds really cool, right? It absolutely is hypothetically - but in reality, it's laying on a table while about 10-12 nurses rearrange your boobs in a freezing cold room. At this point, it doesn't phase me - I'd be surprised if there were ANY nurses in Macedonia who haven't had a poke at my boobs at some point in time or another during this journey.
When they finished, they needed some time to program the computer, so there was another 3 hour wait until I had my first treatment. I've been very nervous because although i've had PLENTY of x-rays in my clumsy life, I've read about the side effects of radiation therapy and wasn't exactly sure what the process entails.
You lay down on a table in exactly the same position you were in when they took your 3D model - and then the machine moves around you and radiates you. It's painless at the time and takes about 10 minutes.
The two radiation therapy techs are both gorgeous young men, old enough to be my kids. But they're very positive and professional and caring - and I'm grateful for them. Their names are Nebojsa (Neh-BOY-sha) and Alexei. Nebojsa is the kind one - Alexei is the super serious one.
When it was over - I drove back to the base. No big deal. Until about three hours later when I started feeling stabbing burning pains in my breast. Totally normal, according to the internet. Took some tylenol and forgot about it.
Next day - things went MUCH smoother - you go in to the changing room and put on a gown, they come and get you and take you to the radiation room, you do your ten minute treatment, and you're out of there. It takes about an hour to drive to the hospital each way and then about 30 minutes total to complete the treatment, including dressing. Easy breezy. The burning and stabbing pains are normal - they aren't consistent and they aren't unbearable. Today it just felt like I had a really bad sunburn, so I blasted the A/C on my chest the whole way home.
Three more days and all went smoothly - thankfully, there's no treatment on the weekend - which is a nice respite from the drive and the radiation.
.
One week down, four to go.
The hardest part about radiation therapy is getting there - the drive to Macedonia takes about 45 minutes, but can be longer if there are delays at the border. So far I haven't had any issues crossing either way - but I credit that to being American and female. The guards frequently want to chat about America and their experiences. This was my favorite this week...
I hand the border officer my passport. He looks at me.
Guard: "You like Biden."
Me: "What?"
Guard: "You like Biden, I can tell. You know why? You're wearing a mask. Everyone that wears a mask likes Biden. No mask? Trump."
Me: <laughing>
Guard: "See? It's true. I know America." <hands me back my passport>
--------------------------
Spending a week with the radiology techs, we're getting to know each other a bit - I figured anyone that spends THAT MUCH TIME touching my breasts, should at least be friends.
Both are Macedonian, both are young enough to be my kid, both would be considered "model hot" but someone a generation younger than I. To me, they are just "the boys" and very sweet.
The hospital in Macedonia is a remarkable difference from the public hospital in Pristina that I visited for my bone density scan. It's clean, efficient, and they have good protective precautions in place and enforce them (mostly). It FEELS like a hospital. And yes, you pay more for that - I was a little shocked at being charged for the whole five week treatment on day one - but it's worth it to feel safer, even though with Coronavirus that can be more illusion than fact.
The base is still on lockdown - so the fact that I can drive back and forth (and get across the border, since Macedonia and Kosovo are not playing nice with each other in terms of border crossing due to each of their virus numbers) is a miracle. There's always a possibility that they'll close the border for medical treatments and I'll have to stay in a hotel in Macedonia, but that hasn't happened yet.
One nice thing - I've developed a fondness for Albanian music. So I get to spend about two hours in the car each day just rocking out to songs I can't sing a word of - and it's a good great from the routine. I know I'm lucky to be off post. I know I'm lucky to be getting great care at the hospital. There's still a deeply rooted fear that the cancer will return - probably right when I've grown my hair back out - but there's no guarantee for any of us that tomorrow will come. So I push those thoughts back down to the pit and try and focus on enjoying the day and the beautiful things I have in my life - even in the midst of all this madness.
One of the things I haven't really talked about is the amount of unsolicited advice I received from people I've never met because my Facebook & blog are open to the public. It always seems to catch me off guard - and as much as I try to view them as people wanting to be helpful, well......you tell me.
Remember God loves you. He might need you home. He is calling a lot of people home lately. He has his reasons. If he wants you home he will take you regardless of your diagnosis. But he may want you to stay and he has allowed you to discover the cancer overgrowth to draw your attention to some course corrections you need to take. Do not be hasty in accepting treatment because of fear. You have time. You can start by avoiding sugar. It is the food for cancer. Cancer is anaerobic. Eat more alkaline foods. Cancer needs an acidic environment. Sleep. It improves immune function. Disclaimer I am not a doctor. I just read.
Cancer is not a death sentence. I encourage you to watch The Truth About Cancer Documentary. Cancer occurs in everyone. Usually our immune system takes it out. If there is an overgrowth of cancer there is a reason. You can find it and help heal your immune system. Most medical doctors attack the cancer. But it is just a symptom of a malfunctioning immune system. Chemotherapy and radiation only further weekend your immune system. I haven't looked into immuno therapy, but I think that may be a better way to go. There are reputable alternative methods. Don't let your fear of death rush you into a treatment that could reduce your chances instead of help them.
I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in August of 2015. A precious friend told me about Dr james herbal mix in West Africa, She gave me his contact number and email address,I contacted him quickly so he give me guaranty that his herbal medicine will cure my cancer and i will be heal forever I said Okay.I ask him about the process for the cure,he ask me to pay for the fees which i did and within 5 working days he sent me the herbal medicine then he instructed me on how to drink it for two weeks to get cured. So after drinking it for two weeks i was cured I'm so grateful and i promise i will recommend anyone with cancer to him and that what i'm doing.Dr James Herbal Medicine makes me believes there is a hope for people suffering from Parkinson's disease, Schizophrenia, Cancer,
I've also received alot of advice from friends - from people who have been through (or are going through) the same things I am - I am SUPERBLY grateful for that advice. That's a far cry from suggesting some untreated herbal remedy from West Africa that appears to cure everything. I have to be honest, I was SUPER curious about what it might contain - to be able to cure both cancer, epilepsy, dementia, herpes AND allergies - that's GOT to be some good stuff right there.
Oh, if anybody wants Dr. James' contact information - let me know.
Everything I knew about chemo and cancer came from watching "Dying Young" and reading Ben Hopkin's blog - so I really think i got a pretty good deal these past 17 weeks. It hasn't been pleasant, but other than some rough days and the trauma of losing my hair - it hasn't been unbearable.
This week......the cumulative effect of all that poison hit me like a pickup truck loaded with concrete travelling at warp speed. Vomiting, pain, chills, rashes, fevers - the whole raging gamut of yuckiness.
And I'm so GRATEFUL. Grateful for 17 weeks of "not nearly this bad." Grateful for excellent care in a third world country.
Grateful for a boss that doesn't threaten to fire me when I'm having a bad day or am especially chemo cranky. Grateful for the love and support from back home that's been overwhelming.
I've got about 7 more days of feeling like absolute garbage before things start turning around - so I probably won't be wholly social - but after that, LOOK OUT world! We are on the road to recovery!
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Okay - non Facebook version. You CANNOT even imagine the suckiness right now. Everything hurts. Nothing stays down. It's too hot in here. It's too cold in here. I'm having chills and sweats. My feet are burning on the bottom. I have a really strange nasty rash. And I'm suuuuuuper cranky. I mean, take my normal Resting Bitch Face - add chemo cranky - and then put the whole, 'no hair, spotty eyebrows, and the one or two eyelashes remaining' and it's more than slightly terrifying.
Hence, no picture on the Facebook post - I don't really need people to remember this look today. But I do want to remember how awful it feels right now. I want to remind myself that I survived this and that it got better. And better. And better.
Today (Tuesday) is my last day of proactive quarantine - let me be honest, I've been isolating for pretty much the last four months non-stop - but when you can't leave your room / porch, it's the first time it felt like being in prison. Can't take out the trash. Can't walk around the building for exercise. Can't pop over to the PX for an ice cream sandwich. And I wouldn't DARE risk it - because I'm kind of....well....NOTICEABLE on base. Not many tall, round bald women running around - so I'd inevitably be caught.
Fortunately, I had my socially distanced neighbors to keep me from going completely mad - and I did have coworkers drop by to see if we had any emergency needs (like Ketchup - EDDIE, you're a life saver!) so it's not like we were completely roughing it.
My oncologist is on vacation, so he let me know that there would be another doctor at the hospital - there were no issues getting there and getting checked in. Did my blood test, waited for the results for a REALLY long time, and then took my normal place on the chemo bed.
I didn't bring my laptop, and I wasn't really feeling up to reading, so I just laid down and closed my eyes. The nurse walked in and (since I don't normally doze) came over and stood directly over me to figure out if I had passed out. When I sensed something off and opened my eyes, I nearly had a heart attack with her peering over me - I think I probably gave her one too when I screamed a wee bit.
But otherwise - there's not much to tell. A few hours of poison, no major issues, and I was back on my way home. Stopped to pick up some fresh fruits - the SAME guy was at the fruit counter as last week, and he immediately put his mask on and nodded at me. No tantrums this time, thank heavens.
Fortunately, I made it back to my room just before all hell broke loose in terms of the summer storms we've been having. Sam allowed me to keep the car at the room until morning because it was quite literally causing flash flooding on base. The next morning, you could see TONS of crap everywhere that had been carried through the dirt roads by the rainwater - barbeques, trash cans, shoes - it was slightly creepy.
One. More. Week.
I found out it will be months and months before my immune system recovers - but at least my hair will start to grow back and I won't have hellish Fridays anymore.
While I've been in quarantine I've finished two more paintings - which I've really enjoyed. But beyond that, the isolation is starting to get to me - I am so tired of having to stay away from people. I miss hugs. I NEED hugs. And singing big showtunes at karaoke. And eating at a restaurant without having to follow the waiters to make sure they are wearing their masks. Blah blah blah. I get it, people. I get it. And if my life weren't in jeopardy, I'm not sure I'd be as diligently cooperative and compliant as I am - so know I'm not judging you.
But the sooner you wear the damn mask, the sooner we get things under control.
