The most recent chemo infusion on Monday was relatively uneventful. This was chemo #7 - only one more to go! Each week I'm terrified that it's somehow going to be delayed, interrupted or cancelled and I'll have to change my END DATE on the calendar. I want nothing more than to check this off on July 3rd and never see the 4th floor of Roswell Cancer Center ever again.
My sister in law drove from Boston to help watch the kids on Monday, and to help prepare meals and generally let me sit on the couch. Or outside by the pool where I subsequently got a headscarf tan line! That's a first and probably not the last for the summer. I don't know if you can tell in the picture - but there's a clear line of tan vs not tan bald head. I also have a fine downy baby goose-like fuzz from the hair that never fully fell out. As I like to joke with the kids, "I'm still bald!". Some people say their hair starts to grow back during the last weeks of Taxol chemotherapy, but we will see. For now, I'm navigating the high temperatures, sun and sunscreen.
The month of June is a lot for us. It's an emotional roller coaster of end of school year activities. I tear up with nearly every announcement of field days, graduation activities (even though I don't have a kid in the fight this year), choral concerts, final exams, SATs and prom. We did all of this and more in the first weeks of June. For the most part, the kids did an excellent job getting themselves where they needed to be and putting their best efforts into getting good grades. And Miss Delphine finished Kindergarten, which is wild to me.
A lot of people ask how the kids are managing with my cancer diagnosis - and my answer is still unsure. I mean, we have teenagers in the house... so the level of "caring" is hard to gauge. Do they ask me how I'm feeling sometimes? Yep. Did they tell their friends or teachers about what's going on at home? Maybe not until they absolutely had to. Or maybe everyone was just too busy moving forward to fall apart. (I might be a model for that kind of behavior.) We never openly panicked about my diagnosis and while sometimes I wish the kids would step up with their help around the house, I can't blame them for taking it all in stride. We aren't acting helpless or melodramatic about my treatment, so why should they? One step at a time, and maybe freak out in tiny increments over the unknowns.
Next steps: We've planned a little travel in between the end of chemo (still fingers crossed that the last treatment goes as planned). We are traveling to my other sister in laws' civil ceremony in California since the trip to France to see the full-fledged wedding ceremony was not in the cards for us this year. After that, on July 22nd and 24th, I will have my next set of scans - a breast MRI and another mammogram - to determine how successful chemotherapy has been. The good news is that I already cannot feel the tumors that sent me to the doctor in the first place, so I know they've shrunk. Then I will meet with my surgeon to talk about the next steps. I feel like I've put in the "hard work" with chemo and can hope that surgery will be minimal and my recovery time quick.
I'm very much looking forward to ringing the bell to signify the end of chemo and getting off this feel good/feel crappy/feel tired rollercoaster.
fuzzy suits you !
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