What to Eat During Chemotherapy

I kind of can't believe I've had a blog about living with breast cancer for more than FOUR YEARS now, and I haven't done a post about what to eat when you're going through chemo. I don't think. If I already have, go ahead and chalk it up to chemobrain. I've done posts about that, right?

Hint about what to eat: it's whatever you can stomach. 

Right now, even the word stomach sort of makes me want to vomit. I had treatment yesterday, and even though I'm on antibody-drug conjugate -- a targeted chemotherapy delivery method that isn't nearly as bad as the broad spectrum drugs I used to receive (I'm talking to you, carboplatin and taxotere) -- there are still some side effects. I've talked about the fatigue. I've probably talked about the nausea in passing.

But I don't know if I've talked about any solutions.

Here's what works for me (sometimes).

Zofran and/or Compazine: This is not the time to avoid medicines that can offer serious relief, with the important caveat (and possibly too much information) that anti-nausea meds can cause headaches and constipation, so you may want to do some cost-benefit analyses.

Ginger: Trader Joe's carries a great Ginger Beer (non-alcoholic, don't worry) that works wonders for staving off the waves of nausea. They also have some ginger chews that help when nothing else seems to.

Water: It's about the last thing I want in the days after my treatment (think how terrible a tall glass of water sounds when you're hungover), but water, especially with electrolytes, helps flush your system and is one of the truest ways I've found to feel better faster. When I was on broad-spectrum chemotherapy, I resorted to -- gasp! -- Gatorade or popsicles when my mouth sores were out of control. I know, sugar is evil, but sometimes it's a necessary evil. Kind of like chemo.

Smoothies: Fresh vegetables sound downright repulsive in the days after treatment, as good as I know they are for me and as much as I know my body needs the vitamins and nutrients to heal. So I've jumped on the smoothie bandwagon and make a version many mornings of the week. Bonus: it's one of the only ways I've found to get Quinn to "eat" his greens. Win/win.

Green Smoothie
Serves 1-2

1-2 ripe bananas
large handful of spinach and/or kale leaves
generous splash of orange juice or almond milk
1/2-1 cup other fruit of choice -- pineapple, mango, apple, or a combination
ice cubes

Throw everything in a blender and blend until smooth, then adjust taste to your liking. Sometimes I add a scoop of vanilla protein powder or a handful of raw almonds.

Banana Bread Smoothie
Serves 1-2

1 c. almond milk (I like unsweetened vanilla)
1-2 bananas
1-2 Tbsp. almond butter
ice cubes

Blend until smooth. Top with grated nutmeg, if you like. I serve mine with a colorful straw because it makes me smile.

Comfort Foods: This isn't the time to be concerned about your diet. Of course you want to be as healthy as possible, but sometimes homemade mac-and-cheese or stuffed shells are the only things that sound appetizing. I will say beware of tomatoes and tomato sauces, especially on broad-spectrum chemotherapies that can alter your taste buds and leave you with mouth sores. Acidity is not your friend on those drugs. But some soft pasta in a homemade salty chicken broth with sweet bites of chopped carrots? That could get me through some terrible queasiness.

Medical Marijuana: (NB: I have not tried this because I am prone to anxiety, in the past marijuana has tended to bring out the paranoid in me, and I do not need more of that in my life.) I have heard though that medical marijuana can work wonders for spurring a person's appetite. I am in favor of whatever works so you can keep your strength through treatment.

***

If all else fails, remember this:

Cancer isn't everything. Even on post-treatment days when the nausea feels overwhelming, tomorrow will be better. #truth #optimism

A photo posted by Jen Campisano (@jencampisano) on Sep 9, 2015 at 12:01pm PDT

What are your go-to recipes when you're feeling hungover from treatment? Do you have any favorite cookbooks? What alternative solutions have you tried to ease your nausea (or other treatment-related side-effects)?

Let's Talk About Sex (After a Cancer Diagnosis)

“If you’ve had chemotherapy, your sexual function has been impacted.” -- Dr. Sage Bolte

Most of us are pretty reluctant to talk about sex and intimacy in the wake of a cancer diagnosis. We think we should be focused on getting rid of cancer, or staying alive, so quality of life issues often take a back seat to the urgency we feel to be well. During active cancer treatments especially, sex is probably the last thing on many of our minds.

But at some point, most of us want to touch and be touched again.

I talked to one friend recently, who was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was twenty-five. She is in remission, but takes ovarian suppression medications as well as an aromatase inhibitor. She isn't even thirty and she's in menopause.

She described it as “life-altering,” to go from being a 25-year old with a healthy sex drive to basically not thinking about it for long stretches of time, and then only because she would start to feel twinges of guilt for physically ignoring her live-in boyfriend (whom she describes as a saint).

"It's never addressed," she said. "Oncologists don’t typically bring it up, unless you have the courage to talk about it first, and it’s hardly a comfortable topic. It’s mind-boggling."


Dr. Bolte, who spoke at the conference I attended at AstraZeneca about intimacy issues and about depression and anxiety after cancer, says this hesitance to discuss our sexual selves with our care team is unfortunate, because there are solutions.

One of the primary reasons patients give for not bringing up intimacy with their doctors is they fear there's no way around the loss of it during (and even after) cancer treatments. But sexual dysfunction is one of the top quality of life issues concerning cancer patients. And according to Dr. Bolte, the incidence of altered sexuality can persist for years.

Obviously, my experience is with breast cancer, treatments for which can cause a litany of side effects, including:

• mouth sores
• fatigue
• dry, cracked skin and mucous membranes
• often, loss of or damage to a major sexual organ (breasts) due to surgeries and radiation
• vaginal stenosis (narrowing) due to chemically-induced menopause
• hair loss
• weight gain (or loss)

Other cancers can lead to similar side effects, and my guess is that no one who's been through cancer treatments has been left unscathed.

In addition to debilitating physical effects are the pschyo-social and emotional ones. Partners often take on the role of caregivers, and it can be tough to transition between the caregiver/patient and lover relationships. It can also be tough to maintain a sense of peace about your body when you might feel it betrayed you by "letting" cancer happen. Or you might be self-conscious about a new appearance.

After active treatment ends, for those of us who are lucky enough to be able to move on to targeted therapies, sexual function may lag behind. According to Dr. Bolte, most of us want healthy, active sexual relationships, but many are reluctant to bring up the topic with our healthcare providers. Not helping is that most oncologists are just as reluctant to bring it up with us, their patients. 

So what can you do? What are the solutions?

• Discuss your concerns with your doctor. If not your oncologist, then maybe your gynecologist who may be able to recommend strengthening exercises or non-hormonal lubricants that can help. There is also this, which "can be done in lunchtime." How's that for innuendo?
• Talk to your partner about expectations. Sex during chemo is probably not a priority, but maintaining intimacy should be. Hold hands or cuddle during marathon episodes of Orange is the New Black. Make time for date nights (or afternoons, since us cancer patients are often exhausted by the end of the day.) Dr. Bolte said one couple she knows of started reading erotica to each other and arrived at their next therapy appointment with shit-eating grins on their faces.
• Communicate about desires and needs. This seems so straightforward, but things change so much after a cancer diagnosis. I'm noting it again because it is so true for me: we are often exhausted at the end of the day. Rethink when you might be more willing to connect. And certain areas might be too sensitive or painful to touch. Share these things with your partner before you're fooling around so that feelings don't get hurt if you recoil when your scar tissue accidentally gets grazed. 
• Go back to some of the basics. Make out like you're in your parents' basement in high school. Wear pretty lingerie if that's your thing. Write each other love notes. Take a bath together. The goal doesn't need to be sex as you once knew it. 

For additional resources, Dr. Bolte recommends the following books: Men Cancer Sex, Women Cancer Sex, and Sex Matters for Women: A Complete Guide to Taking Care of Your Sexual Self.

My Head Is So Far Up in the Clouds...

My head is so far up in the clouds and I don't even have a fun excuse as to why.

There is nothing quite like getting hit with a sinus infection and recovering from chemo to start off a week. I sort of feel like my head is floating above my body somewhere, but somehow it is still throbbing. Unfortunately, it is not too detached for that. Plus, I may have given myself whiplash with the intensity of some of these sneezes. My neck is sore, my eyes feel like they're swimming in slime, even my teeth hurt.

I'm not trying to complain, so much as set out a list of reasons why our house looks like such a wreck (sorry, honey).

A friend recently wondered at how I get everything done, and then I look around my house on a day like today, when I've barely left the couch except to drop Quinn off at school, and I want to set the record straight: I do not even come close to getting everything done.

There are piles of shoes by the door, beds unmade, laundry that needs to be folded, laundry that needs to be washed, and I have no earthly idea what we're having for dinner tonight, but a rotisserie chicken is sounding pretty accessible right now.

I want to do a post about my intentions for the new year, about goal-setting and sugar-reducing and my feeble attempt at the Whole30 thing. But that might have to wait until these antibiotics kick in. Right now, I need a nap (or a cup of coffee).

{5 days ago, when my head was in the clouds for a far different reason}

I just wanted to put it out there that some weeks I do have a decent amount of energy, and I take advantage of it when I can. On those weeks, I go hiking, I go to yoga, I sometimes even fold laundry. I spent a good amount of time over the holidays not thinking a single lick about cancer. I was able to put it so far to the back of my mind that I didn't even care that I had too many glasses of champagne on New Year's Eve, watching Fergie ring in 2015 with some truly awful performances in Times Square. I am so grateful for that. Really.

But on weeks like this one, I barely get out of my pajamas for days in a row. There is no balance, there are just ups and downs. This week, cancer is once again at the forefront, if only in side effects from treatment. At times like these, I remember that I'll feel so much better in a couple of days. (This too shall pass.) I think I said it here before, but the wise words of my sister-in-law bear repeating: You can get through any moment, and eventually, those moments add up and you're on the other side of whatever awful thing you were facing.

The fog will clear, my energy will return, and with any luck I'll be able to breathe through my nose again.

"Mommy, Are You Dying?"

I had chemo this week, on Monday. As usual, I've been in a type of fog all week. My mother-in-law is here visiting, and asked me to describe it. She wanted to understand what I was experiencing, and, by extension, what my father-in-law might have experienced when he was being treated for pancreatic cancer.

I struggled for the right words, but came up with this: "I just feel like my head is in the clouds."

It's like my thoughts are fluttering types of insects now, buzzing all over the place without ever standing still long enough for me to grab hold of one. As chemo week ends, it gets slightly better, but I'm not sure I fully recover between infusions.

And I struggle with how to manage my emotions, how to answer difficult questions, how to be a more present parent.

***

After chemo on Monday, I thought I could take Quinn and my mother-in-law grocery shopping with me, so that Chris could get some work done. And I don't know if Quinn is going through a growth spurt or this is just him being three or me getting chemo, but mid-afternoons have been rough for us lately. Like he needs a nap but the best I can hope for is some downtime in front of the t.v. for an hour. 

So pumped up on steroids and not yet starting to feel any side effects (I didn't think), I attempted to take my 3-year-old to the grocery store. It was exceptionally crowded at Trader Joe's, and I tried to convince Q to sit in the seat of my cart rather than get his own cart -- those miniature ones that TJ's offers for kids, which are such an adorable idea in theory. But Quinn would not be deterred, and I didn't think I was up for the fight. I told him he could have his own but he had to stay right next to me. He said he would.

I can see so many of you with kids already know where this is going.

First thing inside, right next to the salads, as I was trying to navigate the limited space between the employee restocking shelves and the elderly couple in front of me, Quinn started ramming his little mini-cart into my ankles. To his credit, he was staying right next to me. "Please stop, buddy," I asked him gently a couple of times. He didn't. My ankles were taking a beating. "Quinn, if you don't stop, you're going to have to sit in my cart," I reminded him, my voice getting more stern as I got more annoyed.

People were starting to stare at us. My son had already turned this into a game in his head. (He told me later he was just trying to be silly.)

I couldn't do it. Not on steroids, not after chemo, not in a crowded store. So I picked him up -- at which point he started screaming and kicking -- and said nevermind, we were going to skip grocery shopping that day. He kicked a shoe off in the parking lot on our way back to the car. A stranger kindly picked it up for us. He refused to sit in his carseat. It was close to 100-degrees outside, and I was out of breath from the walk to the car with a flailing child in my hands. I was also out of patience. He kicked me in the ribs as I tried to wrestle him into his carseat.

Nearly HALF AN HOUR went by. He was screaming, I was crying, cars were lining up waiting to pull into my spot as I tried to wave them along. I called Chris, who says I was so hysterical he thought I'd gotten into an accident. And then I growled at Quinn in a voice that sounded (even to my own ears) like I was possessed to GET IN YOUR DAMN CARSEAT. He finally relented. 

Thank you, chemo and steroids, for making me realize that I can, in fact, growl at this three-year-old (in front of my mother-in-law, no less). This is not the parent I want to be.

We both calmed down on the ride home, and we talked about what went wrong. Quinn and I promised each other we'd make the next day better (and we did). 

This, after my nurses cut my steroid dose in half a couple of sessions ago so that I would have less emotional reactions on my chemo weeks. The flip-side is my chemo side effects are bigger and badder, and I'm pretty certain I still have 'roid rage. 

I have felt terrible most of this week, because that's what chemo does with less medication to offset it. A doctor I follow on Twitter suggested asking my oncologist about not taking steroids at all, to take the emotional effects out of the equation. Or it could also be that, after seventeen months on this drug, its effects are building up in my system and this is just the way it is.

***

Fast-forward to this morning. Quinn woke up next to me (as he is wont to do; he inevitably sneaks in at some point in the middle of the night), and sweetly asked for a hug. Then we had this conversation: 

"Mommy, why are you a little bit sad?" I hadn't been feeling a little bit sad, I didn't think. Nostalgic, if anything.

"Because you're growing up so fast, and I want to remember all of it," I said and smiled at him. 

"Well, I'll remember it!" he promised. Then, this zinger: "Mommy, are you dying?"

I hugged him tighter so he wouldn't see the tears that immediately came to my eyes, the emotion that made me feel like my chest might crack in two. "Not anytime soon, honey," I told him.

"I want to remember when you die," he said. Then, "What does 'dying' mean?" Why did we have to have this conversation at 7:15 on a Friday? 

"It means when someone's not here with us anymore," I tried.

"Oh." He thought for a minute. "But I want you to stay here with me in this house forever!" 

"I want to, too, buddy. I'll stay as long as I can, okay?"

***

Man, it's been a long week. Here's to easier conversations and fewer side effects and being a more mindful parent in the weeks ahead. Other parents, how do you talk to your toddlers about cancer? How do you manage your side effects with children around? And, finally -- more steroids or less?

So Now I Feel Like a Slug

I started Monday morning with a hike up Piestewa Peak, where I climbed 1.2 miles uphill to the summit just in time for sunrise at 6:19 a.m. I'm not normally up quite so early, even on mornings when I hike, but one of our smoke alarms was running low on batteries and alerted us with a persistent beeping that woke Chris and me up at five o'clock. While Chris pulled every one of the devices out of their sockets, I left the house to get some exercise. This photo is from my iPhone. This is where Phoenix outshines DC.

I got home from my hike before Quinn was out of bed, so I even had time to shower and savor my first cup of coffee, all thanks to our faulty smoke-alarm batteries. Then Quinn woke up, I made breakfast, packed his lunch, tried to brush his hair (unsuccessfully), and eventually got him dressed in the correct dinosaur shirt before heading to preschool.

After drop-off, I headed to chemo.

So now I feel like a slug.

I'm nauseous and mopey and feel like my limbs are stuck in buckets of cement, my head in a vice.

This morning, Quinn wanted me to build him a transformer house out of pillows. He was not amused when I asked if I could sleep on one of the walls. He's at school again today, while I'm parked on our couch trying to slog my way through a to-do list that mostly requires making phone calls or filling out disability paperwork, and even that feels like it might need to wait until this fog lifts a little.

On days like yesterday and today, days I still have every three weeks, I'm reminded that although time is so very important, that we never know how much of it we've got, that despite myself I've felt a certain gotta-race-against-the-clock alertness since my diagnosis and I desperately want to enjoy every moment -- I must also take the time to recover in order to get back out there and grab life by the horns or just build a fort with my son. There is no magic way around it. I am knocked out, rolled over, flattened by this fatigue (FLATigue, as my friend Sarah calls it), and my only way through it is patience and time and more patience and a little bit of anti-nausea medication and the knowledge that this, too, shall pass.

So this picture from the top of a mountain is a reminder to me that it's worth it, that on my best days I still have energy for early morning hikes or taking Quinn to swim lessons, that there are better days just around the corner. There are better days ahead.

This Crushing Fatigue

I had chemo last Monday. Every three weeks, indefinitely. 

Last Wednesday, I went to a yoga class and ran into one of my regular instructors in the studio's lobby. She asked how I was doing. "Okay, just a little exhausted from chemo this week," I told her. "Oh, is this just maintenance stuff?" she asked me. "Sort of like that," I replied. Most people don't understand that my hair could be growing, I could be in remission, and still need chemo. Most of the time, I don't get into it.

Until scientists find some better detection methods and can tell me definitively that there are no breast cancer cells left, I will probably be on some sort of drug to keep this at bay -- just in case. As well as I'm doing right now, I am not willing to risk taking this safety net away, even if I have been flattened -- crushed -- by the fatigue of it.

According to the website www.chemocare.com, cancer-related fatigue is common: 

What is fatigue?

Fatigue can be confused with tiredness.  Everyone gets tired.  In fact, it is an expected feeling after certain activities or at the end of the day.  Usually, we know why we're tired and a good night's sleep will solve the problem.  Fatigue is less precise, less cause-and-effect.  Fatigue is a daily lack of energy; an unusual or excessive whole-body tiredness, not relieved by sleep.  It can be acute (lasting a month or less) or chronic (lasting from 1 month to 6 months or longer).  Fatigue can have a profound negative impact on a person's ability to function and quality of life.

What is cancer-related fatigue?

Cancer-related fatigue (CRF - sometimes simply called "cancer fatigue") is one of the most common side effects of cancer and itstreatments.  It is often described as "paralyzing."  Usually, it comes on suddenly, does not result from activity or exertion, and is not relieved by rest or sleep.  It may not end - even when treatment is complete. 

What I'm on is not as harsh as the toxic chemo-chemo I used to be on. This is no Taxotere or Carboplatin. But it is still cumulative (or I am just getting older and less adept at recovery). After 14 months of Kadcyla and almost three years since my diagnosis, I am wiped out. 

I don't have the words for how tired this chemo makes me. I was never much of a morning person before cancer, but now I am groggy until mid-afternoon. I am cranky and ornery and feel decades older than my thirty-five years. I feel like I'm moving through mud. I am irritable and short-tempered and I cry at the slightest frustrations because I don't have the energy for a more measured reaction.

Anemia isn't to blame; my blood counts consistently look okay, which was confirmed again this morning. I'm getting what most experts say is enough sleep per night: about 7.5 hours, give or take, depending on steroids or Quinn's sleep gymnastics or my anxiety levels. It's too hot to hike, but I'm still making it to a fairly intense yoga class three times a week, most weeks. (Though sometimes I think I go to yoga to spend most of my time in child's pose, resting on my sweaty mat.) I finished my 39.3-mile walk.

{Photo credit}

Am I overdoing it when I feel well? Is it being a parent to the energizer bunny? Is it the heat of the Phoenix summer? Am I not drinking enough water? Enough coffee? And the worst: is the cancer growing again?

I'll feel better in a couple of days. I'll make it to yoga again this evening and spend less time in child's pose than I did last Wednesday. Quinn and I will have the day together tomorrow, inventing new ways to beat the heat (I'm thinking ice-skaing lessons for both of us might be in order soon). We'll go to California for Chris's 20-year high school reunion.

And then I'll have a week and a half of feeling nearly normal before this cycle begins again. Just enough time to almost forget how sluggish I'm feeling now. 

Are you sidelined by chemo-related fatigue? How do you combat it? What other side effects do you take on in order to keep on keepin' on?

Flying Solo

This last week has been rough.


Chris has been out of town, analyzing soil samples twelve hours a day in a lab six floors underground somewhere in Minneapolis. Quinn and I are on our own. Quinn has woken me up most mornings by kicking me shortly after six a.m., moaning and groaning and whining that he wants "bres-feth". Over and over I remind him he has to stop whining, to say please, to not kick me, to no avail.

Mid-week, I told him he could go pour his own cereal and watch a show on his iPad. He responded, "I'm not old enough, mommy." Then: "Get me a waffle."

Me: "Say please."

Q: "Waffle please." Then, when we'd gotten to the kitchen, "I need green juice!"

Me: "Say please."

Q: "Please I need green juice?" he asked. Then he whined, "I don't want that plate! No! The orange one!" He was near hysterics over a damn purple plate. I hadn't even had coffee yet.

Me: "Say please, Quinn." I could feel myself growing more aggravated. I was ready to throw all of his plastic plates away, but I restrained myself. I mean, look at this face. You couldn't stay mad for long, either.



He ate two bites of waffle and told me he was done. I couldn't tell if my eyes were burning because they were so tired or because I was about to cry. Over a three-year-old and his waffle, for chrissake.

This morning, he didn't want to pick out an outfit, but didn't like the one I picked. He wanted to take his brown blanket to school and wrapped himself in it like he is a superhero, but then he didn't want it wrapped around his body in the carseat. He was mad that I couldn't fix it while I drove.

And when I dropped him off, he clung to me like he hasn't in a very long time, begging me to play with him just a little bit more, sobbing when I told him I had to leave because I have a dentist appointment and a doctor's appointment today. My heart ached. I couldn't wait to get a little break after an incredibly rough day yesterday, but when the time came to leave him, all I wanted to do was hold him and apologize for my impatience, my shortcomings as a Lego builder, my lack of energy this week.

I cried to Chris on the phone yesterday (Happy Father's Day!) because I'd seen a little girl in Quinn's class writing her OWN NAME on a piece of artwork last week. She'd drawn a picture of her mom in a red dress, and it looked like an actual mom in a red dress. Quinn scribbles in green and calls it a map to our house. I can't even take the time to get him to hold a crayon correctly, let alone teach him how to write letters. I'm pretty sure he thinks the alphabet goes "A, B, C, Q, R, S, W, X, Y and Z."

I try so hard not to compare, and maybe I wouldn't if I knew what was normal, what it was like to raise a child outside of cancer treatments, what it was like to have energy more than fifty percent of the time.

I had chemo last Monday, the day after Chris left for Minnesota. That night, I was up late because of the steroids, but the rest of the week I went to bed at the same time as Quinn: 8:15 or so. I got more sleep last week than I have in months, and I was still dragging most days. My head felt like it was in a vice, either from the chemo or the triple-digit heat, I'm not sure. Quinn and I watched an excessive amount of television, including "How to Train Your Dragon" at least three times.

Chris is home next week for a week, then off again for a couple of weeks in Kenya on the same day I have my next round of chemo. I was so panicked at the idea of another week like this last one, I called my mom yesterday and begged her to come visit the first week of July.

As Quinn wanted me to know as he clung to my leg this morning, sometimes you just need your mommy.

I May Have Found the Antidote to Chemo's Side Effects

When I showed up for chemo this morning, I still had a slight headache from this weekend. I drank too much wine on Saturday, yes (enough that our group landed at a Waffle House at one in the morning to nosh on cheese-smothered hash browns; alas, they did not prevent our hangovers as much as we had hoped), but I also cried a lot and was sleep-deprived from the outset of the weekend. I had taken the redeye to North Carolina to watch one of my best friends, Leslie, get married. As it turns out, I cannot recover from overnight flights or red wine like I used to.

There is nothing like a weekend of indulgence in fried chicken and pulled pork nachos and staying up too late (and maybe one shot of bourbon) to set you up for a successful round of chemo. Ahem.

I should note: this is a fairly rare thing for me, to drink excessively anymore. I know it's not recommended. I know moderation is what's best for staving off breast cancer (although I'm honestly not sure if they've studied it for cases of advanced disease like mine). I know my liver is doing lots of work as it is. I know, I know, I know. These reasons are why I am typically a one-glass-with-dinner-once-in-awhile type of girl. But it was a wedding.

I had a dear friend's marriage and a clean scan to celebrate. And then I had chemo this morning. Next week I might be on a juice cleanse, no joke.

I've mentioned before how wonderful my friends are. The wedding this weekend was between one of my friends who'd cut off her hair for me and a man she met while working in Jordan. Leslie and Bill are the type of people who make you want to be a better person, and I don't say that lightly. They have devoted their lives to helping others and to service in a way I can't say of too many people. Their collective resume (which I'm sure they don't have, but if they did) includes the AmeriCorps, U.S. Agency for International Development, the Army, nursing school, jumping out of airplanes, traveling the world, and just generally making it a better, safer, healthier place to live.

Leslie and her new husband are downright incredible people, so I shouldn't have been surprised at the gesture they made at their wedding, the gift they gave me and so many others. I had already been crying at the mother/son and father/daughter dances because let's face it. I am a sap.

And then Leslie announced that in lieu of gifts, they'd asked for guests to donate to a couple of charities close to their hearts, and that they would also be making contributions to The Special Operations Warrior Foundation and Play for Pink, which donates 100% of its funds to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. I knew they'd been planning this, and it still caught me off-guard, still had me bawling into my napkin and hoping the wedding photographer wasn't getting that particular moment on camera. I'm not exaggerating when I say my friends (and family, too) are helping to save my life.

My heart is so filled with love after this weekend that it will be the thing that gets me through the chemo side effects this week. It will be my antidote. And then I'll do that juice cleanse. 

Cookies, by way of Explanation

This is in no way a food blog, nor has it ever been. But chocolate chip cookies are showing up everywhere I look lately. See: here and here, and here, too. And after I dropped a hint last month that other health issues were plaguing me, I received a slew of phone calls, texts, and emails asking if I was okay. You guys are the greatest.

I think I'm okay. Let me explain.

{Photo credit}

I've always liked to cook, liked the process of combining ingredients into something greater than their parts. I might not be any good at chemistry, but I can bake, dammit. And I'd always prided myself on making a decent chocolate chip cookie--until I met Chris, that is.

Chris' grandmother had been famous for her cookies. At Christmas, she didn't just make a few varieties and leave it at that, the way the rest of us mortals do. Instead, as the story goes, she would bake for days, making seventeen different varieties of cookies to share for the holidays. In the neighborhood where Chris grew up, her cookie plates were a highlight of the season.

I couldn't compete with that. My cookies were okay, Chris told me, but they just couldn't hold a candle to his grandmother's. (I had to woo him with my genius wit instead.)

He told me the key was to refrigerate them overnight, and I scoffed at the idea. Who plans ahead for cookies? They'd always been a thing I'd decided on last-minute, when I had a hankering. That was the beauty of chocolate chip, I thought. It was a cookie that could come together in an hour, tops, when you had a craving for one.

But then I stumbled across this recipe (I'm telling you, everyone else on the Internet is craving chocolate chip cookies, too). So I gave it a whirl. Lo and behold, the cookies were heavenly--chewy, full of toffee flavor, and with the addition of a sprinkle of sea salt on top I may have even tied the score with Grandma. It only took nine years.

***

I can't blame the lousy winter weather on why I'm craving cookies. I don't have much of a sweet tooth. I'm certainly not pregnant (although they tested, just in case). And I'd be freaking out so much more if I hadn't just had a clean scan. There may be one other explanation: PMS.

I have essentially been on my period since mid-December. (TMI? Maybe...) That's two months, folks. While I am so very happy that chemo hasn't put me in permanent menopause, I am really tired of ruining pants, doctors appointments with no answers, not to mention cramping and crankiness and headaches and bloating.

So far, the bleeding hasn't made me anemic. Which is great, since it means I can still get chemo. Luckily, we were able to get things under control with a ten-day course of progesterone that my oncologist approved (I was shocked). And yet, my uterus is still shedding.

I have my third meeting since Christmas with my gynecologist this week, to try to come up with a solution that my oncologist will be on board with. The go-to choice for regulating periods, birth-control pills, is not an option for me because of the hormones. Another possibility would be a hysterectomy, although I really don't want to lose another body part to this disease. I'm hoping we can find some middle-ground.

***

In the meantime, I'm going in for more cookies. I don't know why, but they help.

What a Difference a Year Makes...

One year ago I had my ninth and last (knock on wood) Taxotere/Perjeta/Herceptin infusion, my 15th chemo chemo. Let me clarify that I still get chemo, it is just 180 degrees different than what I used to get. Meaning, my nails aren't about to fall off and I'm no longer in chemically-induced menopause and my hair is growing. I can hardly imagine the strength of the poison my body has endured. But oh holy hell what a difference a year makes.

Here's me sporting nearly an identical haircut to my oldest brother, Tim, last February -- just two and a half weeks after finishing chemo chemo and about a week after receiving the news that I could take a break from it because my scan had been clean.

I was so relieved, and so tired. Also, my arm was broken, so I was so in pain, too. But mostly, I was relieved. And happy.

Monday this week, I had chemo again, although I've lost track of what number this is. It's the one I started at the end of May, the targeted treatment Kadcyla. It's like the smart bomb of chemos, and -- so far -- it is working remarkably well for me. I am still tired, but not in the crushing, can't-take-this-anymore way I was last year at this time.

I should revise that. I am fucking beat this week, but that is in large part because chemo coincided with me catching what my friend Shelby refers to as the daycare ebola. I am so hopped up on Sudafed and cough suppressants and sinus headache meds right now, it sort of took me by surprise when I also had to take an anti-nausea pill this evening, but my incessant coughing is not helping settle my post-chemo stomach. I can only imagine the cesspool of pills sloshing around in there right now, but somehow the combination seems to be working. For now. My poor liver.

Anyway, I was going to post a photo of me one-year post chemo chemo, but no amount of good lighting was going to fix what was happening with my face today. Plus, I couldn't stop sneezing. No joke, I went to put sunglasses on to take Quinn to swimming this afternoon, and sneezed so hard, it shook the glasses off my face. Somehow, they ended up right in the line of fire. Yeah, too much. You can imagine the rest. Sorry.

So instead, here's me about a week before Christmas. I'm sure Chris will laugh at my selfie face, and I know it's not the best, but I see so much progress compared to last year at this time. And I'm not just talking about the length of my hair or the (relative) fullness of my eyebrows. I see peace and calm and health. Can't ask for much more than that, can I?

Unhappy Pills

Have I mentioned to you guys how much I dislike steroids? They're the flip side of my happy pills.

photo source

My nurses still administer them to me with every dose of chemo, a preventative measure to stave off side effects like nausea. They also stave off sleep, leaving me buzzing well past midnight, which is too damn late for this old lady. You'd think rest would be a good thing, right? But the steroids, they will not allow it.

Instead, I lay in bed Monday night, exhausted but unable to sleep.

And as usual when insomnia strikes, my head started going to scary places. Damn you steroids and your potential for inducing mood swings. I wondered whether this chemo is working, what my scans later this month will show, how much of this period of our lives Quinn will remember. I looked over at Chris, sleeping soundly next to me, as I approached near panic with the shitstorm racing through my head. Quinn is finally sleeping in his own bed and suddenly, I had to have my family all in one place.

So I did the exact opposite of what any parenting book would tell you to do (especially after the sleep woes our household has experienced this year).

I tip-toed into Quinn's room, scooped him up, and brought him into our bed. And, yes, fine--judge me. Then feel free to ignore me--or smack me, whichever--if I ever complain about Quinn's sleep struggles again.

Just as we got back to my bed, Q woke up briefly to yell out, "I no want my blanket!"which woke Chris, who wondered what the hell was going on. I told him I'd explain in the morning. He persisted. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," I admitted. "But I'll explain in the morning," I whisper-yelled. I didn't want to wake Quinn up. Chris probably thought I'd lost my mind, but I just wanted to snuggle in close to both my boys, breathe in the scent of them, hold their hands as the steroids finally lost out to sleep.

Unlike my previous courses of chemo, I don't have to take three days' worth of this crap with each infusion, so you'd think my craziness and insomnia would have less staying power. Somehow, the steroids still stick around in my system for a couple of days, and while I'm sure they're good for something, they mostly turn me into a blubbering mess of worry, compounded by exhaustion.

Just to top it all off (as if crazy train over here wasn't enough), they also cause major breakouts. It's like I'm going through puberty again, which wasn't awesome the first time around.

Tonight, I fell asleep on Quinn's floor while putting him to sleep. Chris had to wake me up to come eat dinner. Three days post-chemo, and the exhaustion has caught up with me. I have a feeling I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight and feel like a brand new person tomorrow morning. Take that, unhappy pills.