I write you from floor 3 of Swedish Cancer Institute, aka "the chemo floor". That's right, my very excellent blood tests have qualified me to return to this place to receive chemo once again. It's kind of like getting accepted into Harvard. Not to brag or anything, but my blood levels are majorly normal, kind of like YOURS, you non-chemo-receiving reader, you.
This past weekend, I travelled to Nashville and spent a wonderful time with the extended family. Congrats to cousin Tim and Katelyn. Nice job, Bec and Tim. Great to see you, everyone. Fun, fun.
This past week, I finished up sessions 8, 9, and 10 of radiation on my liver spots. Check that off the list. And now today, chemo. Ok, I suppose on paper that's not the awesomest week ever, but these things are relative to me, and I'm glad I am finally moving forward with treatment again.
So I'm now starting a NEW CHEMO. It's called DTIC, and it's usually used on lymphoma. A medical paper published in June showed that it's sometimes effective on colon cancer, too, so long as certain genetic markers are present, and I do have those markers. It's not a guarantee of remission again, but it's a shot. I'll have a scan in a few months to see if it's working. Feel free to send me a million prayers, good thoughts, energy, good vibes, or whatever you can muster. We kind of really need this one to work for ol' Shelldogg.
This past week has been unusually emotional for me. Historically, I tend to run rather even-keel in the emotions department, but for some reason, maybe it was being with family last weekend, I've been prone to tears this week. Both happy and scared tears. I've been easily knocked to my knees by my kids' conversation. I've gotten choked up thinking about the future, and people's lives without me. I've blinked back tears of sheer anger thinking about someone else marrying my husband 10 years from now. I've fought tears while lying on the radiation table, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the poking, prodding, burning, injecting, and pain.
This chemo is supposed to knock down my white blood cells, and also to make me nauseous. I got the nausea part nailed at this point. I can puke with the best of them at this point. We'll see how this chemo treats me, but if it's tolerable, we're headed off to the San Juans to go camping with some dear friends this weekend.
It's not a bad life I have. In fact, it's ALMOST a perfect life.