I don’t want my blog to become about cancer….but some days it takes over a little. I have to find the balance between creating and getting well.  My mother has been a huge help. We took a trip to Clark’s today for some juicing and smoothie supplies. The goal is to make more nutritional food that my body can spend little to no energy digesting.

“Dr. Mom”….leaving notes everywhere:

My hair is going to just be a few strands soon. It looks normal until you start inspecting closely. It’s falling out so evenly. All of my highlights are disappearing.

I had a nice offering to my little hummingbirds today. I hope too much hair doesn’t fly over to my neighbors yard. My friend Megan emailed me an excerpt from a book today about hummingbirds…..I wrote out a few parts that I loved:

The song of the Hummingbird awakens the medicine flowers. Hummer sings a vibration of pure joy.

If Hummingbird is your personal medicine you love life and its joys. Your presence brings joy to others. You join people together in relationships which bring out the best in them. You know instinctively where beauty abides and near or far  your journey to your ideal. You move comfortably within a beautiful environment and help others taste the succulent nectar of life.

Beauty is the target, and Hummingbird’s mission is to spread joy or to be destroyed.

Spread joy!

I’m finally home and resting from a full day of chemo treatment. I’m so exhausted and I have aches and pain like the flu…..but only from the waist down.  I was able to eat dinner and I’m just trying to drink as much water as I can to keep my kidney’s flushed out.  Below is a photo of Brett and I first thing this morning, 8:45am at the doctor’s office…..eek, we both look super tired, right?  Notice my hair? Brett said it’s looking super thin. My friend Tara came over yesterday to inspect it. She said my hairline has moved up about an inch underneath and some around my face too. And I have a reddish birthmark at the bottom of my head revealing itself that hasn’t been seen since I was a baby.  I’d cut it all off today but everyone thinks I should wait until this next round of chemo. I’m just tired of shedding.

Dr. L said I’m doing great with the drugs….my body is recuperating quickly after my treatments….so he’s moving my next round up a week (i.e. I’ll only have one week off in between). Below were my menu items today (the EMA in EMA-Co, same as last time)……all of these drugs have to be given one by one. That’s why it takes all day. I’d much rather be there all day as an outpatient than have to be admitted to the hospital for these drips. I’ll be back tomorrow for another treatment but it won’t be quite as long. New CT scans are being scheduled for 2 weeks from now to see how the tumors are reacting to the EMA-CO.

They used a pump today to try to keep the large Methotrexate drip more regular (the stuff that looks like mountain dew…..or neon radioactive material). I think it looks like centepede as it pumps the drug through the IV. I felt a little trapped when they first plugged it in. I like to be mobile and free. I drink so much water and I look forward to my every 20 minute trip to the bathroom. I solved that problem quickly though…..in my big bag of goodies I had brought my own extension cord and I moved the pump plug in so it was right at my fingertips. A few of the drugs are given as an “IV push” which means they inject it right in instead of a drip, drip, drip. I learn more medical stuff every time I go.

I’ve set all of my alarms so I don’t forget the “take or die” drug tomorrow. It’s Leucovorin and since I would prefer not to die:  I’ll take it at 7am EXACTLY and 7pm EXACTLY for two days. Leucovorin is a compound similar to folic acid and it’s an “antidote” to certain effects of the huge bag of Methotrexate I got today. It’s called a “chemoprotectant.”

Here’s the part I don’t like about being at an oncologist’s office: I see some very sad things.  I see some very sick people. I see a lot of grief at times in the waiting room by family members. I see preparations for what I know is the end for someone. I see a nurse lay a hand on a patient’s relative feeling helpless.  I see the end of hope.  I didn’t have a tough day. My day was cake. And as always, I’m just happy to be here.