I thought I'd try to get a picture of Madison and Casey into the blog. Casey is the red English Cocker, 13 years old Thanksgiving 2007, and Madison is the blue roan, 5 years old on Labor Day 2007.
I am the one in the glasses. :)
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
when we can't run away...
I know you can't physically 'run' away from cancer...but sometimes, you can choose to 'be' away. I give myself five minutes every morning to 'be' away, the ones in between the first alarm and the snooze buzzer. The alarms and buzzers remind me that I can't give up yet; those minutes in between are all mine.
Once I get out of bed, my time belongs to other things--to radiation and to chemo nausea; to the dogs; to work; to fighting to stay awake through meetings; to carrying on and pushing through. But those five minutes between the first alarm and the snooze buzzer--they are my chance to run away by just 'being' away, to escape to where ever I can take myself in my head.
I can't run from cancer...but in a weird symbiosis, neither can cancer run from what I and the docs are planning to do to it. We're both locked in the same gladiatrix cage--my body. And like Leroy Sievers posted the other day, when it finally takes me out, I hope someone can see that I beat the crap out of cancer in the process, that I gave cancer as tough a time as it gave me.
Once I get out of bed, my time belongs to other things--to radiation and to chemo nausea; to the dogs; to work; to fighting to stay awake through meetings; to carrying on and pushing through. But those five minutes between the first alarm and the snooze buzzer--they are my chance to run away by just 'being' away, to escape to where ever I can take myself in my head.
I can't run from cancer...but in a weird symbiosis, neither can cancer run from what I and the docs are planning to do to it. We're both locked in the same gladiatrix cage--my body. And like Leroy Sievers posted the other day, when it finally takes me out, I hope someone can see that I beat the crap out of cancer in the process, that I gave cancer as tough a time as it gave me.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
almost halfway there...
12 days of radiation and Xeloda down.
15 days left to go...but since I've got weekends off, on the calendar I'm halfway home.
Xeloda, on the surface, should make chemo easier. It's pills, not an infusion, so it's quick and easy like that. But the side effects (for me: tight abdomen, dry stools, heaviness in my chest when I do any kind of moving around, nausea, and then, today, diarrhea) never let you forget that you're still on chemo.
Compared to infusion chemo, radiation is a cakewalk (so far.) But I wonder what the next 15 treatments will bring, and I'm too superstitious to say out loud that dosing is going well.
Meanwhile, in Leroy Sievers' blog, he writes that his journey is getting tougher by the minutes. I wish him strength, and wellness, and pain-free time...and I am scared that eventually, that will be my road, too.
15 days left to go...but since I've got weekends off, on the calendar I'm halfway home.
Xeloda, on the surface, should make chemo easier. It's pills, not an infusion, so it's quick and easy like that. But the side effects (for me: tight abdomen, dry stools, heaviness in my chest when I do any kind of moving around, nausea, and then, today, diarrhea) never let you forget that you're still on chemo.
Compared to infusion chemo, radiation is a cakewalk (so far.) But I wonder what the next 15 treatments will bring, and I'm too superstitious to say out loud that dosing is going well.
Meanwhile, in Leroy Sievers' blog, he writes that his journey is getting tougher by the minutes. I wish him strength, and wellness, and pain-free time...and I am scared that eventually, that will be my road, too.
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