Swell

One of the unfortunate side effects of having lymph nodes removed from your body is the swelling that can occur. It's called lymphedema. I never realized how important lymph fluid is to the body, but since I'm now light 26 lymph nodes, I now see how valuable those little suckers were. My left wrist and hand have begun to swell, and there are things I am going to have to do if I don't want to see my arm blow up to the size of a tree trunk. 

I had my first ever visit with a physical therapist yesterday, and she told me that lymphedema is almost unavoidable for women who have had lymph nodes removed as part of breast cancer surgery. One other thing she told me, which my radiation oncologist failed to mention, is that lymphedema can worsen after radiation treatment. When I visited with him last week, he seemed very concerned about the evidence of swelling, but said nothing about the possibility of it worsening. You just can't seem to get off scot-free with cancer; it infiltrates your body and still manages to surprise you even after you think you're done with it. I thought since I showed no evidence of swelling until about a week ago, I was going to be one of the lucky ones. Guess not. 

My physical therapist, who is originally from the east coast, like me (funny how many transplanted east-coasters I've met), told me not to panic. She gave me some information about how to perform lymphatic drainage massage on myself - yes, lymphatic drainage massage actually works;  it's not just a bullshit treatment you pay hundreds of dollars for at a fancy spa - and told me to order a specific type of arm bandage, which I will have to wear every day, for 23 hours at a time. I'm not at the "compression garment" phase of treatment, yet. I may or may not need a compression sleeve for my arm after I complete radiation. 

I am trying to stay positive about this latest side effect, since it certainly beats the alternative. I don't, however, want to spend the rest of my life with an outsized limb, as I mentioned above. I was shown pictures of what lymphedema can look like and it's not pretty. What's even less attractive is the fact that many insurance companies fail to cover the supplies like bandages and compression garments needed by patients to treat the condition. 

So, I now have one more hurdle to jump in this journey. Let's hope I manage to clear it. 

Nava

Beauty In the Breakdown

After yesterday's post about the continuing horrors of chemotherapy, I feel I have to redeem myself a little bit by posting something positive. 

Last July, shortly after my mastectomy, an old and dear friend of mine started posting links on my Facebook page to some YouTube videos made by one of the countless beauty "gurus" who review makeup and skin care products, in an effort to keep my spirits up. The videos she chose are made by a woman who is relatively close in age to us, with a very down-to-earth attitude and sense of humor about beauty. She ends each video with a few minutes of bloopers culled from the filming, which are flat-out hysterical. I've gotten many a giggle from those videos, and as a result, I've taken to viewing such snippets regularly. I've also become somewhat of a disciple of these women, and now there is a growing group of them whose videos I've begun watching obsessively. 

The link above is to a video made by British makeup artist Lisa Eldridge, who I wouldn't classify as a "celebrity" makeup artist (even though she regularly makes up celebrities for red carpet events). She doesn't have her own line of products, nor is she well-known here in North America. I stumbled onto her YouTube channel when one of the gurus I watch regularly mentioned her in a video. As the saying goes, I have found my "holy grail" beauty guru, because Ms. Eldridge embodies the aesthetic I very much admire: the ability to use cosmetics to look like the best version of yourself. It's not that I don't enjoy watching girls half my age transform themselves into goddesses of maquillage, with perfectly applied foundation, concealer, contour, highlighter, along with half a dozen eye shadows, liner and false lashes - it's never been a look I could ever pull off. I admire the skill and artistry these girls possess, but at this stage of the game, I would look like the draggiest of drag queens if I tried to emulate a look like that today. 

When I found Ms. Eldridge, I found my beauty scholar; her soothing, lilting accent, and her talent, have been a balm to my soul. Even though I don't have any eyebrows or eyelashes to speak of right now, I enjoy watching her expert tutorials where she applies makeup to herself and others, and the knowledge she imparts about makeup and skin care products. I've always been a junkie in that regard; there was a time in my life when I had in my possession enough makeup and skin care products to last about three lifetimes. It's possible I missed my calling by not becoming a makeup artist, or at least getting a job in the beauty industry, but I'm not the sort that would likely fit in well in that arena. Despite that, I do love to write about the stuff, and lately, watching these videos has been something of a lifesaver.

I must admit that before I was introduced to all this, my only use for YouTube was to search for snippets of old television shows, or watch music videos. I was not at all clued in to the vast beauty universe on social media. Now, I'm hooked; I've subscribed, followed, and commented, and I've learned quite a few tips and tricks I can't wait to try on myself. This has been my version of the "Look Good, Feel Better" part of having cancer, and it's done wonders for my psyche. 

You might be thinking, why doesn't she get all dolled up right now? The answer to that question is because I acknowledge my limitations. I refuse to be false, drawn on, and shimmery in my current state. For now, I prefer to express myself with my cheeky beanies and maybe a little lipstick. The time will come when I will once again join the ranks of the goddesses, and this time I will be armed with the knowledge that will ensure I get it right. 

Nava

Ten Days After

It's been ten days since my last chemotherapy treatment, and, well, I still feel like crap. I've felt like crap for so long that part of me was hoping for a minor miracle: I thought maybe since the chemo leg of this journey is over, I would feel better more quickly. Turns out I was kidding myself; I actually feel worse if you can believe it.

I've read so much and spoken to so many people that I don't even want to discuss the time frame for how long it will take to get back to normal. "Normal" has an entirely different meaning now, and part of me knows (but doesn't want to acknowledge) that this is going to take a very long time. My eyesight is still off, my hands and feet would get me thrown out of the dodgiest manicure/pedicure parlor - yes, my fingernails and toenails are that scary looking - and the supply of bloody crust my nose produces is prolific. If I could sell the stuff, I would likely be a very rich woman. And then there's my stomach, which can only be described as "bi-polar", and off its meds. Have I disgusted you yet? I could go into much more detail if you'd prefer; all you have to do is ask.

It really isn't my goal to disgust my readers, but the point I'm trying to make is that there has to be a better way. New ways to detect cancer are being introduced with some degree of regularity, but the treatment options remain somewhat archaic. Yes, many of them work quite well, but you have to put your life on hold until they work their way out of your body.

Part of what's causing my high level of sarcasm and irritability is that I am chomping at the bit to get back to work. I need to, for financial reasons, and I want to, because writing is what I do. Blogging helps, but no one is sending me money for my efforts here, much as I would love that.

Cancer, and many other illnesses have a lasting impact on people's lives, much as we don't like to acknowledge their lingering effects. We read countless stories about how some individuals manage to keep working and maintain a high level of normalcy in their lives despite the toll the treatments take. I have a hard time finding much truth in that.

When I saw my radiation oncologist last week for the first time in almost six months, he asked me how I was feeling. My response was "ravaged". That is an apt description for my experience. Even though I'm upright and muddling through, the treatment has indeed ravaged me. And it's not over yet.

Nava

Chemotherapy Leg Part 16

Now that I'm sitting here accessed, bagged, and dripping for (hopefully) the last time, I'm kind of at a loss for words. This is the end of chemotherapy for me, but I still have a course of radiation to complete.

I've lamented that I've done better than some, and not as good as others during my course of treatment, and I'm not going to miss this experience at all. Truth be told, I am grateful for having gone through it, because chemotherapy has taught me many things about myself. When life gets rough, you learn just how much resilience you have; when you think you've squeezed the last bit out of yourself, lo and behold you manage to find some more. Now, that doesn't include the time spent balled up in the fetal position under the covers, or the fits of tears and rage. Those are a given, and no amount of pharmaceuticals or pep talks can help you avoid them. That also applies to shitty life events that might not include a cancer diagnosis or other health crisis. Unfortunately, I've been through both.

The main thought in my mind currently is, what if this comes back? I know I shouldn't be thinking that, but the cynic in me can't help herself. For months I've read all manner of stuff about cancer, breast cancer, metastatic disease, and people's experiences with them. I've made friends on social media with women who have been treated for breast and other cancers, and I'm sorry to say that I'm keeping vigil for someone who is in the final stage of bile duct cancer. You never realize just how many lives cancer touches until you've been through it yourself.

One positive aspect of this experience pertains to what I do for a living. Somehow, some way, I am going to move forward as a writer who writes about what matters and gets paid for it. No more writing just to pay the bills. I did that for five years and it's time to move on. Just as I've found a level of resilience I wasn't aware I had, I've also found a level of determination that I've decided is going to  guide me through the rest of my life. It has to, because things cannot go back to being as they were before this happened. I don't really believe the whole "things happen for a reason" rationale. Instead, I believe that life is a series of roads we travel, and we have to pay attention to the interchanges and where they are taking us. Notice how I didn't use the word "exit". I'm ignoring the exits for now, and concentrating on where the next interchange is taking me. After all, I decided to refer to this as a journey, one that will continue for a very, very long time.

Nava

Chemotherapy Leg Part 15

I think I've reached the phase of chemo where I just don't give a damn about what I say or do. Hence the image of Britney Spears's first album to signify that I have only one treatment left after today. Actually, Brit is an appropriate metaphor for this experience because a few years after this album was released, she lost her mind and shaved her head. That's pretty much what's happened to me over these past few months.

I have a confession to share about the chemotherapy experience: No one, and I mean that literally, can tell you exactly what it will feel like and how horrific it will be. It is an experience that you cannot begin to imagine until you go through it yourself. Any number of well-meaning doctors and nurses will tell you, "Oh, it's not that bad", but the truth is, it is that bad.

Before I had my mastectomy, I admitted to my surgeon that the thing that frightened me the most was undergoing general anesthesia, since I'd never experienced it before. He told me that he'd never been put under himself. My reaction was, "Are you kidding me? Don't you people practice on each other in med school? Don't the anesthesiologists and the surgeons put each other under and remove superfluous organs like tonsils, appendixes, and spleens?" He laughed at me and explained that that's not how it works. I knew that, but I think it should be the way it works. If you're going to cut off people's body parts, you should have some idea how it feels to be on the receiving end of a scalpel. The same goes for chemotherapy; not that I'm wishing cancer on the medical professionals who have taken such great care of me, but they should at least have some idea how it feels to be pumped full of toxins and how they make you feel. I mean, servers eat the food at the restaurants they work in so they know what to recommend; oncology nurses and doctors should undergo at least one treatment so they have some idea what the patient is likely to experience. That way they can say, "Yeah, that sucks; I totally understand what you're going through." Or, "I can't recommend Adriamycin; the stuff will drain the life right out of you."

I realize that last paragraph is completely ridiculous. You have to understand that chemotherapy is cumulative. I've said that before and it bears repeating because the longer it goes on, the more your brain malfunctions and you start to think really bizarre thoughts. If there were television commercials for chemotherapy drugs, the side effect list would be enormous, and the first symptoms you'd be warned about are insane thoughts and crazy talk. I guess the same could be said about celebrity. Let's not forget that Britney Spears volunteered for the job; I didn't ask for cancer.

So, one week left. After that, I really hope my brain returns to normal, along with the rest of me. Sixteen weeks of this shit is just about all I can handle. At least I don't have to shave my head.

Nava

Chemotherapy Leg Part 14

The countdown has officially begun: after today's treatment, only two remaining. I am relieved and a little frightened because I've been consistently told that chemotherapy has a cumulative effect on the body, and that any side effects you experience might grow worse over time. I am sorry to say that's been the case for me over the past few weeks, and the odyssey of fatigue, neuropathy, and other assorted maladies keeps growing.

Last week, I regaled everyone with my "accident". This week, the emesis spewed forth from an orifice located further north on my body. I experienced a bout of random puking today, and lucky for me, I found myself in close proximity to my kitchen sink when it happened. Even luckier is that I have a garbage disposal, which meant I didn't have to clear a clogged drain when I was finished. Too much information again? Too bad. This is the only time I've puked since my chemo began in August. I consider that a triumph. If it continues, however, I will not be pleased. You know the saying: It's always darkest before the dawn.

I wish I had more amusing anecdotes to regale you with, but when you get this far into it, you just want it to end as quickly as possible. It's tough not having enough energy to do things you normally take for granted, and it really sucks when your life revolves around being close to a toilet or other receptacle in case your body decides to "surprise" you. Moreover, I don't even have the wherewithal to be pissed off anymore. I've accepted it, and just want it to end. I don't even want to think about radiation yet. There's time enough to contemplate six weeks of roasting like a rotisserie chicken.

Nava

Chemotherapy Leg Part 13

I'm up to treatment number 13, and there are only three left. And yes, I am triskaidekaphobic. I cringe whenever there is a Friday the 13th in any month, and do my best to avoid any bad luck. Call me crazy (and possibly obsessive-compulsive), but this is how I've always been.

I debated whether or not to share a bit of bad luck I had yesterday, and in the spirit of not holding back, I thought, why not? During a week that has seen various celebrities posing in varying degrees of undress, along with other distressing events, I can be self-effacing enough to share an unfortunate incident that occurred as I was driving home from running a few errands.

I had an accident, the likes of which I had never before experienced. Yes, I'm talking about that type of accident; the one people don't usually talk about because it is so demoralizing and humiliating that you normally can't help but keep it to yourself. But, since I've been spending the past few months being pumped full of poison, there isn't much I'm not willing to share. After all, my accident was a side effect of chemotherapy that happens to many patients. If it's not coming out of one end, it's coming out the other. Yes, that's disgusting, but true.

I will spare you the gory details, save for the fact that I took a shower with my clothes on for the first time in my life, and spent the remainder of the day feeling like an overgrown infant who had yet to be toilet trained. Hey - shit happens, but when it happens to you, the humor is sometimes difficult to come to terms with. We joke incessantly about bodily functions, but when you find yourself in such an unsavory situation, it can be thought of as bad luck instead of a reaction to outside elements that can sometimes cause your body to betray itself. It can be questionable food from questionable sources in foreign countries; too much alcohol; a virus; medication, or maybe even bad genes. Regardless of the cause, you just want to eradicate the evidence and move on. Unless, of course you're a writer like me who has no shame.

Keep in mind that you could just as easily be looking at naked pictures of celebrities, pregnant or otherwise. But those images are likely manipulated. Here, the shit is real; literally.

Nava