Christmas in the Sunny South

We celebrated Christmas in some very warm weather. The girls spoiled me rotten. I received so many hats and head adornments that my closet looks like a haberdashery.

Gary and I made gifts for each other this year. I gave him a portrait of Toby. He made me a wooden replicla of Toby. Betsy bought a Santa suit and numerous holiday outfits for Toby, and Katie helped him open his gifts. (You can tell who has captured all of our hearts.) By the way, he turned three on Christmas day!

Katie celebrated her 19th birthday on December 24. Our neighbor and dear friend Sean celebrated his birthday tonight. We just returned from his party. Good food and good friends.

It's nice to have time to devote to family, friends, and home.

Chemo Number Two - For Real This Time!

After my last attempt at chemo was abandoned due to yet another bad reaction to Taxotere, my oncologist designed a new treatment plan to include a relatively new drug called Abraxane along with the other drug I had taken previously, Cytoxin. After working with the insurance company to get approval for this new line of treatment, the doctor scheduled my second (real) treatment for Thursday, December 18. This date fell right in the middle of exam week, but my colleagues and friends jumped in without hesitation and took over for me; hence, my Lakeside worries were allayed, and I was able to focus on my medical treatment. Praise friendship!

Speaking of friendship, I feel compelled to discuss my parents before I write about this chemo experience. We lost my Dad to colon cancer three years ago, and I can’t even type the words “lost my Dad” on the screen without tearing up. He was our heart. Never did a gentler, kinder spirit walk the face of the earth. I mention this amazing man now because he and my mother made quite a pair. My Mom is the epitome of the social butterfly. Over the past sixty odd years, my parents made many, many friends—long-lasting friends. You know how people come into your lives and move on never to be heard from again? Well, my parents don’t know people in that way. When people came into their lives, it was forever. Be careful if you hook up with a Chase because we simply take “forever friends” to a new level. During the course of my experience with breast cancer, I have received countless cards and gifts from people my parents have cultivated friendships with over the years--people they went to school with (I’m talking elementary school here), people my dad served in the military with (fifty years ago), and many people who have to explain who they are in their cards (because they simply know me through my parents). When people comment to me that I am so fortunate to have such a strong support system, they are absolutely right. However, I owe that blessing to my parents who served as fertile soil for my growth as a human being, and I am so thankful that they instilled within me the importance of valuing people over things.

Having said all that, I’ll explain now that the above paragraph was intended to lay the foundation for a very cool gift I received in the mail. One afternoon, the girls—who live for mail time--brought in a big box addressed to me. As we love surprises, we all settled on the bed to see what was in the mystery box. Inside was an absolutely gorgeous regal purple shawl with a card from Andrea Ellerbee. In her card, she explained that she and my Mom had been friends since first grade, and she and her husband were attendants in my parents’ wedding; she had started a prayer ministry at her church in the North Georgia mountains called, “Crochet and Pray.” She further explained that she had crocheted this shawl for me while simultaneously praying for my healing. People from her church had prayed over the completed shawl and hoped that I would wear it during my chemotherapy treatments. I was so touched by her giving, considerate spirit and also by her love for my mother. The shawl was the very first item I packed in my “chemo bag.” I wore it proudly over my shoulders, feeling the love and prayers of Andrea and her fellow parishioners. My chemo went off without a hitch!

Many, many people from many, many faiths have asked permission to pray for me. I ask each one of them to pray very hard. I am always touched that I am connected with so many individuals on a spiritual level, for after all, spirituality is very personal. My students and I have been exploring the hero’s journey this semester, and of course, you can’t study the hero without words of wisdom from George Lucas of Star Wars fame. Lucas once said, “All religions are true; they just see different sides of the elephant.” I am moved by this notion and truly believe that as this point, I’ve got just about the whole elephant on my side! Keep praying, my friends—very hard.

Second Round of Chemo (Almost)

This photo is of Josh Mulloy and me. Josh was responsible for having shirts printed that say, "I support Ms. Chase in her fight." Students wear them on the day before or the day of chemo day. You'd be surprised how empowering that is--to have so many concerned people sending me strong vibes and support on chemotherapy days.

My second chemo day was a bust. It took about an hour to get a needle into a vein. I have very few visible veins in my arm. (Karen Field suggested we use my foot next time. I have great veins in my foot!)

I was prepared for this treatment. The night before, I took the medication as instructed by my oncologist: Dramamine, Pepcid, and prescribed medication. These drugs were designed to prepare me for the Taxotere and alleviate a further reaction to the drug. (I also took an Ativan for my nerves--and another one in the morning) I was good to go!

The Taxotere drip started, and it wasn't long after that those nasty little spider-like demons skittered across my shoulders, bring with them a burning sensation that made my skin literally shutter. My lips began to burn and shake. As I began to lose the ability to breathe, I looked down at my inflamed hands that had turned an unsual shade--tomato red. I couldn't believe it! I didn't even have a nurse sitting with me this time because I was well armed with drugs to fight off such an attack.

A bit panicky, I told Gary to let down my recliner, to sit me up straight, and to get someone quickly. I was gasping for air. In a flash, the nurses appeared with a doctor and hooked me up to oxygen. I was feeling "normal" relatively quickly. (I am beginning to think that there is nothing "normal" about me.) I asked when we would restart the procedure, and they told me that it wouldn't be today. I needed to be escorted back to the doctor's office to talk with him. My doctor was away at a conference, so I met with another very understanding doctor. He explained that I had had another reaction and that the burn on my hand at the injection site combined with two severe reactions to the Taxotere probably suggest that this medicine is not compatible with my system. He further indicated that I would need to come back on Monday to meet with my doctor prior to my next treatment. He said that I would most likely take my next treatment on that Monday as time was of the essence.

Much to my dismay, I began to cry and, in true teacher fashion, explained (through my sup sups) that next week is final exam week, so I couldn't possibly miss next week. He politely reminded me that we are working to enhance my percentage of survival and that they would see me next Monday. I tried to smile and assured him that I would be there.

I was so frustrated. I wanted for everything to go like clockwork. I wanted each treatment to occur on the planned date. I had lesson plans and a wonderful substitute teacher in place for the right dates. I felt so defeated, like everyting was all messed up. However, my substitute teacher was incredibly flexible and accommodating. I spoke with several of my colleagues/friends and felt instantly better. They assured me that everything will be fine as they are all there for me. No worries. I am, indeed, so lucky.

Speaking of my colleagues/friends, when I arrived home from work on Friday (late--because I was getting my ducks in a row at work), I was greeted with four amazing meals and a gift card indicating that they had been provided by a dear group of my LHS friends. They were from Dream Meals and are freezable and gourmet. Next week when chemo is truly underway, we will eat royally. My friends know my family well. When we experience turmoil, feed us. A little "comfort food" goes a long way.

I am not my hair.

Thirteen Days After Chemo – Thirteen is not my lucky number. I was prepared for hair loss on day ten. When it didn’t happen on days ten, eleven, or twelve, and my hair felt firmly anchored to my scalp, I was beginning to believe that I was not to be among the hairless after all. I was wrong. Technically, fourteen is usually the momentous day—and I knew that. Therefore, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when I wrung out my hair in the shower this morning and came away with two fists full of hair. The sight took my breath away. I toweled off and walked out into the bedroom to announce that I would be home late because my hair had finally begun to come out, and I would visit Martha after school to have my head shaved. As nonchalant as I tried to sound, Gary saw right through my eloquence (as he always does); placing his hands firmly on my shoulders, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Are you okay.” Unexpectedly, I burst into tears and sobbed on his shoulder. I wasn’t okay. Toby barked at my tears and needed to be consoled.

I told the girls before leaving for work. Katie, teary, asked what time and where she should meet me. Betsy, apparently angry at the situation and half asleep, indicated that she would not be attending the shaving.

I arrived at work and signed in. Around the corner came Mary Alice. She said, “How are you, sweet pea?” That’s all it took. I told her how I was. She hugged me and, once again, I sobbed . . . all over her pretty red sweater. She immediately spoke words of comfort and wisdom, helping me to get back to a positive place. Karen Lovekamp and Dr. Carney rounded the corner and consoled me as well. Throughout the day, news leaked to my friends and students that it was head shaving day. I entertained visitors all day long who came with well wishes and words of encouragement. Bekki reminded me that we have a plan in place, and this is just part of the journey. Kelly popped in with numerous times with new additions to add to the list of "Perks that Go with Chemo." Friendship is a beautiful thing.

Ironically, my students were studying song lyrics as social commentary today; they were each to select a song to bring to class. One of my students brought a song entitled, “I Am Not My Hair” by India Arie. I was inspired by the lyrics:

Breast cancer and chemotherapy
Took away her crown and glory.
She promised God if she was to survive,
She would enjoy every day of her life.
On national television, her
Diamond eyes are sparkling.
Baldheaded like a full moon shining,
Singing out to the whole
Wide world like, hey

I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations (no)
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am the soul that lives within.

I reminded myself that the decision to shave my head was mine. I wasn’t just allowing myself to be victimized by hair loss; I was choosing to shave it. This was an empowering mindset.

When I arrived at my car in the afternoon, my cell phone was ringing. It was Betsy! She said, “Where are we meeting you?” I was so happy. Both girls were coming. She and Katie were on the way. We met in the parking garage and went in together. Pam Anderson greeted me. It was so good to see her again. Martha was ready and waiting.

I sat in the chair ready to have my head shaved. Around the corner emerged another smiling face. Gary was there! I thought he was at school. Family intact, the process began. Martha shaved and shaved. Before I knew it, I was bald . . . and cold. You lose a great deal of body heat from your head!

Martha told me to move to the bench next to Gary. Mystified, I complied. Gary playfully rubbed my bald head as he got up and sat in the chair. Martha swung the cape around his neck and proceeded to shave his head! Now we are both bald. What a guy! His blonde, brunette, and redhead cried openly when Gary’s head was shaved. This gesture was a true demonstration of love.

Katie announced that we must go out to eat. Whenever we have family stress, one of us suggests, without fail, that we must eat out. It is the magic remedy. We all made our way to the Mellow Mushroom for a celebratory meal. I even showed the waitress my bald picture. I’m not shy.

Hair be gone!

Martha with me in my new wig!

Dinner at Mellow Mushroom

Nice head, Gary!

My Homebase Support Team

I received a picture today of one of my classes that wore pink for me on chemo day; they wanted me to feel their presence and strength as I faced the first session. One of them is wearing the shirt that students made in my support when I was first out for surgery. Positive pink power!!

Today is the twelfth day after my first treatment. Everyone around here (especially one of my fourth period students) is horrified to think that my hair might fall out right before their eyes. So far, it's anchored to my scalp pretty securely. I'm told that day fourteen is the charm. Be prepared, Laura!

Chemotherapy

I learned how to upload photos from my camera tonight. I am getting so technologically savvy it scares me. The pictures thus far were from a disc created for me by Lynne. She and/or her camera were responsible for documenting my journey up to this point. Betsy took several shots of me during my first chemo session. I am also including a photo of the beautiful roses sent to me by the English Department when I had surgery.

The first day back was great. It was so good to see my students and friends. Day eleven and I still have hair! Several of my students were concerned today that I shouldn't touch my hair lest it fall out right before their eyes. Because Betsy was so worried about the possibility of my hair loss today, she called me right after school to check on me and my hair status. Katie called from work after dinner to check of the hair situation. I guess it will turn loose when it gets good and ready!