My friends and colleagues wore pink in my honor on my last chemotherapy day!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Last Chemo Treatment!
Thanks to Dennis, my nurse, I had a one-shot needle insertion!
Betsy bought me the warriors shawl from Ford. It is beautiful and kept me warm during my last treatment.
(I LOVE shawls!)
(I LOVE shawls!)
Gary keeps me smiling!
Plugged in with blankets in place.
This has been a very exciting day. I completed my chemotherapy today! The experience was uneventful. Thoroughly medicated with Valium, Gary and I trekked to the oncologist’s office once again. Betsy had to work and attend classes while Katie spent the entire morning in class. Katie surprised me with a Demdaco collectible--the "Congratulations Child" and a card that made me weep. After arriving at the office, I met with the doctor who asked to hear once again the list of symptoms I experienced this time. Upon hearing my bizarre list of symptoms, he simply said that he was glad this would be my last treatment. I agreed.
I was sent to the “special” room for patients who need unusual care. (Actually, I think they just don’t want me to scare off the other patients during the needle insertion process or the breathing cessation experiences.) However, I did quite nicely today. I immediately hung my arm over the side of the chair, had previously drunk three big bottles of water, and placed a hot rice bag (prepared by Gary) on my arm to encourage plump, happy veins as I waited for the nurse. My nurse, Dennis (who couldn't find me since I was in the little room and not in the big room with the "regular" patients), was quite impressed with my work. He said that whatever I had done had produced three interesting sticking possibilities. He said he would first try the spot about three inches below the bend in my arm. He warned me that it was usually a tender spot; I said I was game, so the process began. The needle slid right in. Dennis said, “Let’s see if it works.” I held my breath as he started the drip. VOILA! It worked. My worries were for nothing.
The first bag was filled with Benadryl to ensure that my throat wouldn’t swell; consequently, I slept through most of the treatment. Gary sat by my side and read, making me laugh in my lucid moments. Before I knew it, the treatment was over, the needle was removed, and away we went.
Of course, we dined at The Chop House. I once again had baked schrod, and Gary once again had chicken fried chicken. Not a very adventuresome after-chemo meal—but excellent choices (once again), if I do say so myself.
My theory about the relative ease of this final treatment is that my friends and colleagues from school wore pink today in my honor. It was “twin day” for spirit week—an annual high school phenomenon. A group of my friends decided to be "twins" (or multiples or something like that) in pink in order to send me strong “pink power vibes” during my last treatment. It worked. I was particularly impressed that David Owen found or borrowed a pink shirt for the event. As I have said before, friends rock!!
I was sent to the “special” room for patients who need unusual care. (Actually, I think they just don’t want me to scare off the other patients during the needle insertion process or the breathing cessation experiences.) However, I did quite nicely today. I immediately hung my arm over the side of the chair, had previously drunk three big bottles of water, and placed a hot rice bag (prepared by Gary) on my arm to encourage plump, happy veins as I waited for the nurse. My nurse, Dennis (who couldn't find me since I was in the little room and not in the big room with the "regular" patients), was quite impressed with my work. He said that whatever I had done had produced three interesting sticking possibilities. He said he would first try the spot about three inches below the bend in my arm. He warned me that it was usually a tender spot; I said I was game, so the process began. The needle slid right in. Dennis said, “Let’s see if it works.” I held my breath as he started the drip. VOILA! It worked. My worries were for nothing.
The first bag was filled with Benadryl to ensure that my throat wouldn’t swell; consequently, I slept through most of the treatment. Gary sat by my side and read, making me laugh in my lucid moments. Before I knew it, the treatment was over, the needle was removed, and away we went.
Of course, we dined at The Chop House. I once again had baked schrod, and Gary once again had chicken fried chicken. Not a very adventuresome after-chemo meal—but excellent choices (once again), if I do say so myself.
My theory about the relative ease of this final treatment is that my friends and colleagues from school wore pink today in my honor. It was “twin day” for spirit week—an annual high school phenomenon. A group of my friends decided to be "twins" (or multiples or something like that) in pink in order to send me strong “pink power vibes” during my last treatment. It worked. I was particularly impressed that David Owen found or borrowed a pink shirt for the event. As I have said before, friends rock!!
Loving Donations of Locks -- Heather Hyatt (top) and Taylor James (below)
Two of my students were inspired by my cancer experience to cut their beautiful locks and donate their hair for wigs. Taylor James and Heather Hyatt had their hairdressers cut many, many inches of hair to contribute to a very worthwhile cause. I am so proud of them!
Speaking of hair donations, a very dear PTA volunteer at Gary’s school approached him one day and told him that she hadn’t cut her hair (which is a beautiful shade of red) for seven years, since her son’s birth. She graciously offered to cut her hair to have a wig made for me. I had already purchased a wig, but Gary and I were so touched at her selflessness and generosity. The world is full of giving and amazing individuals. Our family is indeed fortunate to be surrounded by such people.
Speaking of hair donations, a very dear PTA volunteer at Gary’s school approached him one day and told him that she hadn’t cut her hair (which is a beautiful shade of red) for seven years, since her son’s birth. She graciously offered to cut her hair to have a wig made for me. I had already purchased a wig, but Gary and I were so touched at her selflessness and generosity. The world is full of giving and amazing individuals. Our family is indeed fortunate to be surrounded by such people.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Human Pin Cusion: Chemo Number Three
My third chemo treatment was last Thursday, a week ago. This is the first opportunity that I have felt well enough and had enough time to write about it. That‘s probably a good thing. I have a better sense of humor about it now than I did a week ago.
I guess the best way to describe the experience is to say that I was like a human pin cushion—keep in mind my aversion to needles. The nurse who was my sticker person is usually a cracker jack at hitting veins the first time. Granted, my veins are less than plump—not exactly a nurse’s dream.
She first tried the vein in my wrist. It blew and is still numb. She tired the top of my hand and shook her head. I knew that one wasn’t happening. She tried a little to the left of the second attempt, and I sobbed as she again shook her head. The nurse, Gary, and I were all beginning to wonder if this chemo was ever going to happen. Perhaps I could just drink the stuff. I didn’t ask. I knew the answer. (I had already asked once before.) Finally, she decided to resort to the vein in the bend in my arm—not an acceptable site for chemo but probably the only vein worthy of further consideration. Voila! She was successful. The needle was in. She didn’t even move me from the back room where the “special” patients go. (I usually go there for needle insertion and then move out with the “regular” folks after my needle trauma is over.) This chemo day, I would sit alone with Gary. We visited for several hours, as the drip ensued. The door opened, and Katie popped in! What a cool surprise; she told me she had work to do after class, but she surprised me instead. The joy of daughters. Betsy had to work, but she was there in spirit. Finally, one more treatment was down, and we went for our “chemo lunch” at The Chop House.
My recovery time was very strange. I felt like an old woman. Gary gave me the $4,500 shot on the second day. The strange bone aches began. I was unstable and bumped into walls occasionally. Betsy and Katie had too much fun at my expense—chemo mom in action. Actually, a nurse explained that the Abraxane (the new drug) was affecting my blood pressure, making it irregular on each side of my body; therefore, I lost my balance a good bit. I wasn’t well enough to go back to work until the following Wednesday! I was beginning to get senile. Gary, Betsy, and Katie took amazing care of me, meeting my every need. They medicated me, shopped for me, cooked for me, and kept me from bumping into things.
The only thing I could really do was watch television, so I spent a good bit of time watching Grey’s Anatomy. I am now an addict. I think I watched for twelve hours straight one day. (Not bad for someone who is definitely not a television person.)
Being back at school has been wonderful. I’m back in full swing, looking forward to another long weekend, thanks to Martin Luther King Day! Hopefully, I can fend for myself this weekend.
I guess the best way to describe the experience is to say that I was like a human pin cushion—keep in mind my aversion to needles. The nurse who was my sticker person is usually a cracker jack at hitting veins the first time. Granted, my veins are less than plump—not exactly a nurse’s dream.
She first tried the vein in my wrist. It blew and is still numb. She tired the top of my hand and shook her head. I knew that one wasn’t happening. She tried a little to the left of the second attempt, and I sobbed as she again shook her head. The nurse, Gary, and I were all beginning to wonder if this chemo was ever going to happen. Perhaps I could just drink the stuff. I didn’t ask. I knew the answer. (I had already asked once before.) Finally, she decided to resort to the vein in the bend in my arm—not an acceptable site for chemo but probably the only vein worthy of further consideration. Voila! She was successful. The needle was in. She didn’t even move me from the back room where the “special” patients go. (I usually go there for needle insertion and then move out with the “regular” folks after my needle trauma is over.) This chemo day, I would sit alone with Gary. We visited for several hours, as the drip ensued. The door opened, and Katie popped in! What a cool surprise; she told me she had work to do after class, but she surprised me instead. The joy of daughters. Betsy had to work, but she was there in spirit. Finally, one more treatment was down, and we went for our “chemo lunch” at The Chop House.
My recovery time was very strange. I felt like an old woman. Gary gave me the $4,500 shot on the second day. The strange bone aches began. I was unstable and bumped into walls occasionally. Betsy and Katie had too much fun at my expense—chemo mom in action. Actually, a nurse explained that the Abraxane (the new drug) was affecting my blood pressure, making it irregular on each side of my body; therefore, I lost my balance a good bit. I wasn’t well enough to go back to work until the following Wednesday! I was beginning to get senile. Gary, Betsy, and Katie took amazing care of me, meeting my every need. They medicated me, shopped for me, cooked for me, and kept me from bumping into things.
The only thing I could really do was watch television, so I spent a good bit of time watching Grey’s Anatomy. I am now an addict. I think I watched for twelve hours straight one day. (Not bad for someone who is definitely not a television person.)
Being back at school has been wonderful. I’m back in full swing, looking forward to another long weekend, thanks to Martin Luther King Day! Hopefully, I can fend for myself this weekend.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
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.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
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.
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