Chemo # 2
As I type tonight, with the quiet all around me except the noise of the fan turning around and keeping me cool, Timothy downstairs painting away and Martha safely tucked into bed, I'm accompanied by "baby bottle" # 2 of chemo. Hard to believe we're already on cycle 2... seems like yesterday that we were sitting before Dr Neary at St Joseph's on Black Thursday to hear the news and now this... It was still very hard to go through the JCC doors and to realize once again I'm a patient. It's hard to swallow at times when I am doing normal things, sitting in church, eating dinner, puttering in the garden a little bit, that I am really sick. There are times when I still believe I'll wake up and this will all be over, a horrible, horrible nightmare and that I'll be back to work and waiting for the birth of our baby like any normal pregnant mother. But no, there I take myself and my pregnant belly into the Chemo suite and we're hooked up to saline and then chemo and as Ava kicks against me, the chemicals drip in. Chemicals that we dearly hope will be instrumental in kicking cancer's butt... in bringing the beast to its knees, in seeking it out like a mole or a spy and unearthing it and blowing its cover. I have to remember that these drugs are meant and designed to help... it's just hard when a little life is kicking inside and it feels so wrong. I cried today too when I was hooked up and the drugs were started, but maybe a little less since I felt like I was more on show today, my seat wasn't in a quiet little corner but rather in the midst of a busy room of others receiving their treatments and beside the nurse's desk where they bustle about busily from patient to patient, adjusting pillows, teaching, giving smiles of encouragement, starting each of us in our turn on our various regimens and treatments.
Today's treatment was accompanied towards the end by a little hiccup - suddenly my heart started to beat slightly irregularly. I was nearly done my two drugs, just a little bit to go, and then another part of my body had to go and cause trouble. I remember that when I was expecting Martha, my heart also did some funny things - I even saw a cardiologist, had an echocardiogram and a portable monitor to check things out and nothing ever panned out, despite the fact that I could hear irregular beats at times with my own stethoscope. So what's going on now? My nurse was concerned and let the on-call resident know and he came round to see me - other than vitals and a bit of a listen to my chest, there wasn't much more to do. We were eventually given the green light to proceed with the rest of the chemo, but I was frustrated - haven't I enough to deal with without another weird symptom rearing its head! Enough already! I've had enough! Don't cause trouble, don't delay things, don't interfere with our battle plan....Things seem relatively settled now but I'm just waiting for it to flare up again - maybe too much fluid in a pregnant body? Maybe jitters (although I didn't feel anxious at all at that point - was just looking forward to being unhooked so I didn't have to drag my IV pole to the bathroom for the umpteenth time in an hour!) Anyways, let's just pray that things stay calm and settled with the old ticker.
All around the room, each chair, filled with another story, another victim, another person battling this dread disease. Hard to fathom at times that this huge huge building and all those working there and volunteering there are all there because of the big "C". That there is such a need that the appointments are always full, the nurses are always bustling, the pumps are always ringing. Each face tells another story, or hides another reality - maybe battling for years now, maybe a new diagnosis like me, maybe alone, maybe with family, maybe cheerful or buried in a blanket shutting out the sounds and sights around them. Some regimens tougher than others, some in better shape to bear the beating that the chemo inflicts in its bid to quell disease. Already this week, Mom and I noticed some familiar faces from last week, the every-two-weekers like me? Will I continue to see those faces, will some fade away as disease gets stronger, will some more get to ring the bell of triumph that proclaims loudly and boldly to the rest of us chemo people and staff that they are "done with chemo!". It was someone's special moment and they rang the bell with joy, surrounded by family and the nurses waving them off and clapping and all I could think was selfishly, will I ever get to ring that bell? Or will the metastatic part of disease just linger there and never allow me to be totally free of this monster? It's interesting that what brings one person so much joy, brings sadness and worry to others. Am I the only one feeling this or is it in the hearts of more around me? I'm not sure entirely that if I am successful in this journey, this battle, that I really want to be working in this environment again... I think I will need to do something entirely different, find a new identity apart from oncology nursing, for I think that it will affect me so deeply, personally, each situation that working would be quite mentally impossible. I know that empathy would be there and understanding and care for people going through what I have been through but still...
Wow, I'm verbose tonight, must be the steroids.... seems to be affecting me a little differently than last cycle. I was even able to do some shopping with my dear Mom this afternoon, poking around a second hand shop for a bit, finding some treasures and doing something that I really love. Even some teeny tiny little onesies for our little Ava... so small and petite it's hard to imagine a little human inside them, but realizing that we just are waiting, how big will she be when she's born? We have no idea, only God, who is knitting her together in His way, with His hands and care, knows truly her frame and her makeup. And it's comforting to leave her in His hands... though oh so easy to take over and back the worry about how she's doing. Yet those precious kicks remind me of her presence and I was touched when tonight Martha lifted up my shirt and after commenting on my bandaid on my "owie", she was singing her bedtime songs to her little sister and gave her a gentle kiss. She's so excited to be a big sister (I do pray that that enthusiasm will linger when reality of a crying baby hits!) and I'm so proud of her for being so helpful already! She felt Ava kick already and was pretty excited by that too!
And so, we reach the end of another update... another day, another step forward and yet still with heavy heart and many emotions crossing the emotional pathways... making it difficult as always to sort things out... praying for guidance and strength for each step, for hope in the midst of the darkness, for joy in the midst of sorrow, for life in the midst of the fear of the valley of the shadow of death, for peace to accept our circumstances and yet to move forward despite them all, to rejoice in the gifts of intense fellowship which have been granted with friends and family, for the blessing of our surrounding community who continue to shower us with love and generosity through meals, caregiving, visits, cards, gardening, grass cutting, monetary gifts, offers of help with various jobs and tasks that we feel overwhelmed by. You all know who you are, our helpers, our angels on earth, God's hands and feet. He is using you all, each and every one, to be a blessing to us and to provide balm to our hurting souls... we love you all.
I'll leave you with words from Psalm 20:1-2, and 7-8... someone sent them to me this morning as an encouragement...
"May the Lord answer you in the day of trouble!
May the name of the God of Jacob protect you!
May he send you help from the sanctuary and
give you support from Zion!"
"Some trust in chariots and some in horses,
but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.
They collapse and fall,
but we rise and stand upright."
Today's treatment was accompanied towards the end by a little hiccup - suddenly my heart started to beat slightly irregularly. I was nearly done my two drugs, just a little bit to go, and then another part of my body had to go and cause trouble. I remember that when I was expecting Martha, my heart also did some funny things - I even saw a cardiologist, had an echocardiogram and a portable monitor to check things out and nothing ever panned out, despite the fact that I could hear irregular beats at times with my own stethoscope. So what's going on now? My nurse was concerned and let the on-call resident know and he came round to see me - other than vitals and a bit of a listen to my chest, there wasn't much more to do. We were eventually given the green light to proceed with the rest of the chemo, but I was frustrated - haven't I enough to deal with without another weird symptom rearing its head! Enough already! I've had enough! Don't cause trouble, don't delay things, don't interfere with our battle plan....Things seem relatively settled now but I'm just waiting for it to flare up again - maybe too much fluid in a pregnant body? Maybe jitters (although I didn't feel anxious at all at that point - was just looking forward to being unhooked so I didn't have to drag my IV pole to the bathroom for the umpteenth time in an hour!) Anyways, let's just pray that things stay calm and settled with the old ticker.
All around the room, each chair, filled with another story, another victim, another person battling this dread disease. Hard to fathom at times that this huge huge building and all those working there and volunteering there are all there because of the big "C". That there is such a need that the appointments are always full, the nurses are always bustling, the pumps are always ringing. Each face tells another story, or hides another reality - maybe battling for years now, maybe a new diagnosis like me, maybe alone, maybe with family, maybe cheerful or buried in a blanket shutting out the sounds and sights around them. Some regimens tougher than others, some in better shape to bear the beating that the chemo inflicts in its bid to quell disease. Already this week, Mom and I noticed some familiar faces from last week, the every-two-weekers like me? Will I continue to see those faces, will some fade away as disease gets stronger, will some more get to ring the bell of triumph that proclaims loudly and boldly to the rest of us chemo people and staff that they are "done with chemo!". It was someone's special moment and they rang the bell with joy, surrounded by family and the nurses waving them off and clapping and all I could think was selfishly, will I ever get to ring that bell? Or will the metastatic part of disease just linger there and never allow me to be totally free of this monster? It's interesting that what brings one person so much joy, brings sadness and worry to others. Am I the only one feeling this or is it in the hearts of more around me? I'm not sure entirely that if I am successful in this journey, this battle, that I really want to be working in this environment again... I think I will need to do something entirely different, find a new identity apart from oncology nursing, for I think that it will affect me so deeply, personally, each situation that working would be quite mentally impossible. I know that empathy would be there and understanding and care for people going through what I have been through but still...
Wow, I'm verbose tonight, must be the steroids.... seems to be affecting me a little differently than last cycle. I was even able to do some shopping with my dear Mom this afternoon, poking around a second hand shop for a bit, finding some treasures and doing something that I really love. Even some teeny tiny little onesies for our little Ava... so small and petite it's hard to imagine a little human inside them, but realizing that we just are waiting, how big will she be when she's born? We have no idea, only God, who is knitting her together in His way, with His hands and care, knows truly her frame and her makeup. And it's comforting to leave her in His hands... though oh so easy to take over and back the worry about how she's doing. Yet those precious kicks remind me of her presence and I was touched when tonight Martha lifted up my shirt and after commenting on my bandaid on my "owie", she was singing her bedtime songs to her little sister and gave her a gentle kiss. She's so excited to be a big sister (I do pray that that enthusiasm will linger when reality of a crying baby hits!) and I'm so proud of her for being so helpful already! She felt Ava kick already and was pretty excited by that too!
And so, we reach the end of another update... another day, another step forward and yet still with heavy heart and many emotions crossing the emotional pathways... making it difficult as always to sort things out... praying for guidance and strength for each step, for hope in the midst of the darkness, for joy in the midst of sorrow, for life in the midst of the fear of the valley of the shadow of death, for peace to accept our circumstances and yet to move forward despite them all, to rejoice in the gifts of intense fellowship which have been granted with friends and family, for the blessing of our surrounding community who continue to shower us with love and generosity through meals, caregiving, visits, cards, gardening, grass cutting, monetary gifts, offers of help with various jobs and tasks that we feel overwhelmed by. You all know who you are, our helpers, our angels on earth, God's hands and feet. He is using you all, each and every one, to be a blessing to us and to provide balm to our hurting souls... we love you all.
I'll leave you with words from Psalm 20:1-2, and 7-8... someone sent them to me this morning as an encouragement...
"May the Lord answer you in the day of trouble!
May the name of the God of Jacob protect you!
May he send you help from the sanctuary and
give you support from Zion!"
"Some trust in chariots and some in horses,
but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.
They collapse and fall,
but we rise and stand upright."
Keeping you in heartfelt thought and prayer...
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