This is how I imagine the modern science of Chemotherapy working in my body. I admit that I am a Startrek fan. In my imagination the great ship Enterprise is my body. Even though there are cancer cells trying to destroy my Starship, yet it keeps flying through this particular dangerous valley of space. Other vessels come to the aid of the Enterprise. It keeps on going, a bit wounded, perhaps broken, yet it keeps going. And, in the end, with the help of the chemo, it will prevail!
And now, I must get going, reminding you that we are walking to Santiago de Compostela, and that one possible meaning of Compostella is "Field of Stars". We will see each other around, on the way to Santiago.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Depression and "staying in the moment"
Today is Tuesday. On Sunday I had what might be termed a not-so-good day. Nothing at all, except a general feeling of weakness that took over my whole body. I did not go out, I did not go downstairs, I just stayed in bed and slept.
Then Monday came along, and it was dark, overcast, windy, not a very friendly sort of day. I still felt weak and weary. By noon, it was a bit alarming. I did not want to get up, I just wanted to sleep. Nothing was interesting - not food, not conversation, not reading. I have a couple of films that I want to see, but it did not seem like a good idea at the time. Just no desire at all.
David was good to me. He kept his cool, and asked me from time to time if I wanted anything, but otherwise he went on spending time doing his things. That was helpful. Feeling as despondent as I did, the last thing I needed was to have someone hovering over me as if something dreadful was happening.
My mind was mostly blank. There was no challenge to think thoughts, or to get better. I decided that I would keep a watch over my mood, and not worry about what was happening, unless a third day of "blah" came along.
Today, the sun is shining, I did one load of laundry, and I had some tomato soup. I just decided that I do not like tomato soup any more. I cannot imagine ever liking it again! My sister Pichi warned me there would be days like this. "On such days, don't eat your favourite food, and don't listen to your favourite music" she wrote me. She is right. I could lose the taste for it!
Water is tasting salty. At first I thought it was something in the taps. So, I bought a bottle of something called smart water. It also tasted salty! It must be something related to the chemo. So, even though I dearly love fiddlehead ferns, and this is the season to enjoy them, I shall keep them for another time. Would not like to spoil that pleasure.
I do not feel sad or depressed today, though I had a conversation with someone who mostly spoke of negative things! I have resolved to avoid Google diagnosis, and to stay away from too much information about what is coming. "Stay in the moment", shall be my motto, for I cannot add a single inch to my stature, nor can I meet tomorrow until it comes.
And if it gets hairy scary, I shall call my sister the Peach, who is an expert in the art of distraction. I don't have two sisters for nothing! Each one has her own special talent and someday soon I shall tell you about Grace.
It is time I got going, and I will see you around resting, relaxing, and staying in the moment, on the way to Santiago.
Then Monday came along, and it was dark, overcast, windy, not a very friendly sort of day. I still felt weak and weary. By noon, it was a bit alarming. I did not want to get up, I just wanted to sleep. Nothing was interesting - not food, not conversation, not reading. I have a couple of films that I want to see, but it did not seem like a good idea at the time. Just no desire at all.
David was good to me. He kept his cool, and asked me from time to time if I wanted anything, but otherwise he went on spending time doing his things. That was helpful. Feeling as despondent as I did, the last thing I needed was to have someone hovering over me as if something dreadful was happening.
My mind was mostly blank. There was no challenge to think thoughts, or to get better. I decided that I would keep a watch over my mood, and not worry about what was happening, unless a third day of "blah" came along.
Today, the sun is shining, I did one load of laundry, and I had some tomato soup. I just decided that I do not like tomato soup any more. I cannot imagine ever liking it again! My sister Pichi warned me there would be days like this. "On such days, don't eat your favourite food, and don't listen to your favourite music" she wrote me. She is right. I could lose the taste for it!
Water is tasting salty. At first I thought it was something in the taps. So, I bought a bottle of something called smart water. It also tasted salty! It must be something related to the chemo. So, even though I dearly love fiddlehead ferns, and this is the season to enjoy them, I shall keep them for another time. Would not like to spoil that pleasure.
I do not feel sad or depressed today, though I had a conversation with someone who mostly spoke of negative things! I have resolved to avoid Google diagnosis, and to stay away from too much information about what is coming. "Stay in the moment", shall be my motto, for I cannot add a single inch to my stature, nor can I meet tomorrow until it comes.
And if it gets hairy scary, I shall call my sister the Peach, who is an expert in the art of distraction. I don't have two sisters for nothing! Each one has her own special talent and someday soon I shall tell you about Grace.
It is time I got going, and I will see you around resting, relaxing, and staying in the moment, on the way to Santiago.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Two down, six to go!
I am writing on Friday morning. On Tuesday I went with David to the Grand River Regional Cancer Centre, and had my blood work-up, which revealed I was fit for my second chemotherapy session. I met with Dr. Bahl, and with the coordinating Nurse, Erin, and away we went, to return on Thursday.
On Tuesday evening I felt a bit apprehensive, not a lot, but a bit of "Oh, dear, suppose I get sick this time!" The first session and the weeks that followed went so well, that I thought maybe it could not stay good for ever.
I need not have bothered. Wednesday morning dawned, slightly overcast, but not raining. We have had rain, it seems, for forty days and forty nights in SW Ontario! The grass has kept growing and growing, with no opportunity to mow - it was so wet. At the Hospital, once inside, it felt sunny and warm. There is a hopeful, good, open spirit there and I like it! No grim valley there, only light and hope - always hope.
An hour into my session I received a visit from a tall, cheerful man, with a beautiful shirt and purple tie. John Milloy, he has been a friend of David's, and mine, for many years. I appreciated his cheerful, supportive visit. Though he had attended the official opening some time ago, he enjoyed seeing the facility in action, with staff and patients actively doing their healing work.
As a chaplain at St. Mary's General Hospital, I have often taken a warm blanket to a patient. It was a different thing altogether to receive two warm blankets from staff and from a patient's relative. It is good to give - some say it is better to give than to receive. Yet is it humbling and reassuring to receive. And I have received so much -- a beautiful pink prayer shawl made by Dianne to take with me to chemo, a gorgeous multiculoured one from Katharine to keep me warm at home, books, lovely scented candles to burn brightly and remind me to stay centred, music, gifts of food, and flowers - our home has been full of flowers since March.
A few nights ago I received a visit from three lovely young ladies and their parents. They have been worried about their "adopted Grandma", and wanted to see for themselves that I am doing well. They are all under eleven, and very dignified. It was a beautiful visit. I plan to invite them to join me briefly on the Cancer Walk, when I join this activity next year. Together we will "walk to Santiago" telling the world that cancer can be beaten. Indeed, we are not alone. And on Thursday, my wonderful neighbour Debbie, who has so much work as it is, mowed our lawn!!!
I must get going, it is time for breakfast, the house is quiet upstairs, but I plan to wake them up (David and our dog Toby) with some Oscar Peterson music. I will see you soon, listening to some Canadian Jazz on the way to Santiago!
On Tuesday evening I felt a bit apprehensive, not a lot, but a bit of "Oh, dear, suppose I get sick this time!" The first session and the weeks that followed went so well, that I thought maybe it could not stay good for ever.
I need not have bothered. Wednesday morning dawned, slightly overcast, but not raining. We have had rain, it seems, for forty days and forty nights in SW Ontario! The grass has kept growing and growing, with no opportunity to mow - it was so wet. At the Hospital, once inside, it felt sunny and warm. There is a hopeful, good, open spirit there and I like it! No grim valley there, only light and hope - always hope.
An hour into my session I received a visit from a tall, cheerful man, with a beautiful shirt and purple tie. John Milloy, he has been a friend of David's, and mine, for many years. I appreciated his cheerful, supportive visit. Though he had attended the official opening some time ago, he enjoyed seeing the facility in action, with staff and patients actively doing their healing work.
As a chaplain at St. Mary's General Hospital, I have often taken a warm blanket to a patient. It was a different thing altogether to receive two warm blankets from staff and from a patient's relative. It is good to give - some say it is better to give than to receive. Yet is it humbling and reassuring to receive. And I have received so much -- a beautiful pink prayer shawl made by Dianne to take with me to chemo, a gorgeous multiculoured one from Katharine to keep me warm at home, books, lovely scented candles to burn brightly and remind me to stay centred, music, gifts of food, and flowers - our home has been full of flowers since March.
A few nights ago I received a visit from three lovely young ladies and their parents. They have been worried about their "adopted Grandma", and wanted to see for themselves that I am doing well. They are all under eleven, and very dignified. It was a beautiful visit. I plan to invite them to join me briefly on the Cancer Walk, when I join this activity next year. Together we will "walk to Santiago" telling the world that cancer can be beaten. Indeed, we are not alone. And on Thursday, my wonderful neighbour Debbie, who has so much work as it is, mowed our lawn!!!
I must get going, it is time for breakfast, the house is quiet upstairs, but I plan to wake them up (David and our dog Toby) with some Oscar Peterson music. I will see you soon, listening to some Canadian Jazz on the way to Santiago!
Another Planetary Pilgrim to Give me Hope - David Giuliano
My friend John Lochead shared a book with me recently. It is called Postcards from the Valley and has been written by David Giuliano. In 2006 David, a minister from Marathon, Ontario, had just been elected Moderator of the United Church of Canada, when he discovered that he had cancer. Listen to his story in three brief sentences, as he describes how his life changed on that day, as he stood on the stage, singing "Everything before us brought us to this moment, standing on the threshold of a brand new day":
The title Postcards From the Valley refers, I suppose to Psalm 23, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil". It is a wonderful little book, and I recommend it, both as a collection of essays about walking through cancer, and as a witness to the power of faith and determination to live a life that proclaims that "we are not alone".
Just yesterday I was saying to my son John that the emotions uppermost in my mind during these months have been gratitude and joy. Every time that have I dwelt "in the moment" I have been aware of how well accompanied I have been. Everywhere I have been treated with respect, and buoyed by a great company of friends and family, scholars, doctors, nurses and technicians, chaplains, and the extraordinary people who volunteer at the Cancer Centre. Indeed I can say: "We are not alone, thanks be to God".
Now, I must get on with writing about my chemo, in my next post. And I will see you around, taking my anti-emetic pills and my hugely expensive Neulasta, on the way to Santiago!
"On the sky the northern lights danced green and purple with our spirits. Afterward, back on earth Pearl and I sat on the narrow residence bed and marvelled at the remarkable thing happening to our lives. Then I felt a lump on my temple."His book deals in part with his journey through fear, cancer, surgeries, some facial disfigurement, more fear, radiation, more treatments, weakness, more fear. It also soars with hope, determination, faith, compassion, action. Listen just one more time:
"I dreamed of leading our church from a place of strength, wisdom and creativity. Instead I have been offering my weakness to the church, trusting that 'God's power is made perfect in weakness' (2 Cor. 12:9). I would not have chosen it, but I cannot deny that it has been a gift to me and to others."I have found Giuliano's essays on fear to be very helpful. Fear is something I have been acquainted with lately. Not fear of death, but fear of the effects of cancer, fear for my children, for David; fear that they have to go through this with me. And yes, fear for myself. Giuliano has reminded me that fear is not an emotion about yesterday, or even about today -- it is an emotion concerning tomorrow. This is a powerful reminder, because the fact is that we only own today, only this minute is ours. Tomorrow is not yet in our hands, is it?
The title Postcards From the Valley refers, I suppose to Psalm 23, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil". It is a wonderful little book, and I recommend it, both as a collection of essays about walking through cancer, and as a witness to the power of faith and determination to live a life that proclaims that "we are not alone".
Just yesterday I was saying to my son John that the emotions uppermost in my mind during these months have been gratitude and joy. Every time that have I dwelt "in the moment" I have been aware of how well accompanied I have been. Everywhere I have been treated with respect, and buoyed by a great company of friends and family, scholars, doctors, nurses and technicians, chaplains, and the extraordinary people who volunteer at the Cancer Centre. Indeed I can say: "We are not alone, thanks be to God".
Now, I must get on with writing about my chemo, in my next post. And I will see you around, taking my anti-emetic pills and my hugely expensive Neulasta, on the way to Santiago!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Welcome to Pilgrim Friends in a Lot of Places!
We have friends in many places, but I want to welcome and greet these, and thank them for following this blog! Thank you also for the e-mails you send me.
Many of you have may have happened upon this blog while you were looking for something else. Others are friends and family. To all, I give a warm welcome, and a firm commitment to keep on telling the story of this challenging journey. I do believe that Cancer can be beaten, and I am working with my medical team, dancing as fast as I can, while they work as hard as they can to make cancer history.
Today I have some news of side effects, but nothing outlandish or hard to live with. For the past three days I have had hard pain in my ribs, and felt quite tired. This was expected as a result of Neulasta, and we are taking it in stride. No fever, although I came close last night. And, though I have been diligent with rinsing and brushing, I do have a few very small mouth sores. This is also a consequence of Neulasta, and it is a small price to pay, for the wonderful support to my white blood cells that this medication affords me.
The Grand River Hospital pharmacy makes a potion, a "magical" rinse based on many different meds, and it sits in a cool-aid solution. See? I told you it is magical. We know, of course, that there is no magic to this. Every thing happens as a result of something else, and those of us who count our origins from faith traditions know that we are not alone.
I never told you about my shaved head. It is gorgeous, I am told by my family that I have a very nicely shaped head. Of course the hair on my head has not fallen yet, but I decided to meet this side effect out at the crossroads, rather than wait for it to find me at home. So, on the Tuesday after Easter, in the presence of my grandchildren Gabriel, Jacob and Grace, David, my sister Grace and my daughter Ioanna, we made an Easter event out of my shearing. My son-in-law Daniel Martin looked at me firmly in my eyes and said: "Mom, I am honoured to do this for you". It was a touching ceremony, affirming that although the hair will fall, yet it will, by the Grace of God, grow again.
On the day of my first chemo session, one of the volunteers offered the comment that for her the most difficult thing to cope with was the loss of her hair. I was reminded of a hopeful reading that I have heard many times during hard times. From time to time I have made references to my own personal faith in this blog. Indulge me, then, as I share with you a passage from the Prophet Ezekiel. His people were in exile, and despairing. There seemed no hope. Ezekiel, in his inimitable prose tells us a story. I do not expect this story to have happened as it is told, but I know that the meaning of it is true:
See, then the reading about the dry bones, which may be also the reading about my white hair:
Ezekiel 37
The Valley of Dry Bones
1. The hand of the LORD was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” I said, “Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”
4. Then he said to me, “Speak to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD!
5. This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. 6. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’”
7. So I spoke as I was commanded. And as I was speaking, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8. I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
9. Then he said to me, “Speak to the breath; speak, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.’”
10. So I spoke as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.
I have two beautiful white wigs, very short ones, like my own hair used to be. And I am getting a strawberry blond third hair piece, with auburn roots, to look as my hair did when I was younger.
What do I need to fear? - when Jen brought her beautiful children Chase and Sierra to visit, and I got to hold Chase for a good long time, while he slept.
There will be new breath, and new life, and yes, even hair, by the will of the Almighty. But first I must get going, And I will see you around, with my baseball cap, and my friends, on the Way to Santiago.
Many of you have may have happened upon this blog while you were looking for something else. Others are friends and family. To all, I give a warm welcome, and a firm commitment to keep on telling the story of this challenging journey. I do believe that Cancer can be beaten, and I am working with my medical team, dancing as fast as I can, while they work as hard as they can to make cancer history.
Today I have some news of side effects, but nothing outlandish or hard to live with. For the past three days I have had hard pain in my ribs, and felt quite tired. This was expected as a result of Neulasta, and we are taking it in stride. No fever, although I came close last night. And, though I have been diligent with rinsing and brushing, I do have a few very small mouth sores. This is also a consequence of Neulasta, and it is a small price to pay, for the wonderful support to my white blood cells that this medication affords me.
The Grand River Hospital pharmacy makes a potion, a "magical" rinse based on many different meds, and it sits in a cool-aid solution. See? I told you it is magical. We know, of course, that there is no magic to this. Every thing happens as a result of something else, and those of us who count our origins from faith traditions know that we are not alone.
I never told you about my shaved head. It is gorgeous, I am told by my family that I have a very nicely shaped head. Of course the hair on my head has not fallen yet, but I decided to meet this side effect out at the crossroads, rather than wait for it to find me at home. So, on the Tuesday after Easter, in the presence of my grandchildren Gabriel, Jacob and Grace, David, my sister Grace and my daughter Ioanna, we made an Easter event out of my shearing. My son-in-law Daniel Martin looked at me firmly in my eyes and said: "Mom, I am honoured to do this for you". It was a touching ceremony, affirming that although the hair will fall, yet it will, by the Grace of God, grow again.
On the day of my first chemo session, one of the volunteers offered the comment that for her the most difficult thing to cope with was the loss of her hair. I was reminded of a hopeful reading that I have heard many times during hard times. From time to time I have made references to my own personal faith in this blog. Indulge me, then, as I share with you a passage from the Prophet Ezekiel. His people were in exile, and despairing. There seemed no hope. Ezekiel, in his inimitable prose tells us a story. I do not expect this story to have happened as it is told, but I know that the meaning of it is true:
See, then the reading about the dry bones, which may be also the reading about my white hair:
Ezekiel 37
The Valley of Dry Bones
1. The hand of the LORD was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” I said, “Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”
4. Then he said to me, “Speak to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD!
5. This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. 6. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’”
7. So I spoke as I was commanded. And as I was speaking, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8. I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
9. Then he said to me, “Speak to the breath; speak, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.’”
10. So I spoke as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.
I have two beautiful white wigs, very short ones, like my own hair used to be. And I am getting a strawberry blond third hair piece, with auburn roots, to look as my hair did when I was younger.
What do I need to fear? - when Jen brought her beautiful children Chase and Sierra to visit, and I got to hold Chase for a good long time, while he slept.
There will be new breath, and new life, and yes, even hair, by the will of the Almighty. But first I must get going, And I will see you around, with my baseball cap, and my friends, on the Way to Santiago.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Neulasta Helps Planetary Pilgrims to Have Well Protected White Blood Cells
Yesterday, on my first day after chemo, I had an injection of neulasta. This is an amazing drug that helps breast cancer patients to cope with the damage to white blood cells due to chemotherapy. Chemo works by killing fast-growing cancer cells. Because chemo can't tell the difference between healthy fast-growing and unhealthy fast-growing, a potential side effect is damage to red and white blood cells.This would put me at risk of infections and delays in chemo treatments, which we would not want!
Now, I must be going, but we'll see each other around, on the way to wonderful Santiago.
The cost of this amazing drug is astronomical. We were told that the cost per injection is $2,300., and I will have to have a total of eight treatments. Here again, I have to state my sense of appreciation for the health care services we enjoy in this country. Thank you, Ontario! And thank God for drug benefit plans, right? It makes one wonder what it is that makes politicians in places like the U.S. not get it!
I feel well. No side effects yet, a lovely daughter, frequent calls from a son in California. The most amazing support from church and other friends. And David, always David!
Today we're going for a Mother's day mother-daughter pedicure. And we went for coffee with our family friend Barbara. Phone calls from great friends, and looking to setting up a calendar for visiting with a few friends during chemo. Can't wait till I see Wayne, who said he'd be "honoured" to go with me. The way I figure it, chemo does not have to be boring. A pain, inconvenient, maybe? Yes, perhaps, but boring when you have friends? No way!
Eight years ago today I was crossing Puente La Reina, on my pilgrimage to Santiago. Puente la Reina is a five arch bridge over the River Arga. It was endowed in the 12th century, by the Queen whose name was Dona Mayor, as a benefit to pilgrims, and for her soul.
Puente La Reina was a delightful town, and I much enoyed being there, catching up on my emails, and on my pilgrimage blog. I read a bit of that old blog today. What a different geography this present pilgrimage is, yet how inspiring and hopeful both have been!
Puente La Reina was a delightful town, and I much enoyed being there, catching up on my emails, and on my pilgrimage blog. I read a bit of that old blog today. What a different geography this present pilgrimage is, yet how inspiring and hopeful both have been!
Now, I must be going, but we'll see each other around, on the way to wonderful Santiago.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
First Treatment; Seven to go!!!
This was a good day. Leisurely breakfast, time with my daughter and David, gradually making our way after lunch to Grand River Hospital.
Grand River Hospital hosts the Regional Cancer Centre. Thanks, Ontario for such a wonderful gift. And thanks to the Balsilie family for the beautiful building! Now that is a great investment, Mr. Balsilie, and I assure you it is much more appreciated than any hockey team that you might have invested in... I have invested in many a Blackberry during my career, and I am grateful that I am benefitting personally from your family's generosity.
First we had pharmacy teaching. The pharmacy teaching went very well. The Pharmacist was very helpful, explaining, clarifying, answering questions. I like it when professionals treat you like an adult. Even if you are sick, you are still a person with an intellect, with questions and concerns.
In the Chemo Suite, I preferred to sit. A call from my son John in Los Angeles was just the thing to get me started. After that I could turn off my phone. A quick visit from the most amazing chaplain John at Grand River Hospital. It was good to see him. I don't need to see him all the time, but this first time it was good. It centered my thoughts on hopeful things.
Lots of interaction with volunteers, and staff, all of them cheerful, hopeful, pleasant and respectful. My chemo nurse did all the work, giving me all the medication and information I needed. After two hours I was free to go.
As we left the hospital, a quick message from my friend Sara made me feel peaceful. I am being such a baby, aren't I? Sara knows about these processes from the inside, and her questions and comments made me feel calm as I left the safety of the hospital and went home.
Tonight we are having Vietnamese beef and noodle soup. Simple, not too salty. It is ready. And for good measure, David bought me some crackers. But I hope I may be spared the nausea. I intend to be vigilant about taking the enti-emetics and have no desire to be a hero.
So, it is time I got going. Sunny evening; soup's on. Family around. We are not alone, thanks be to God!
May is the best month for pilgrimage. Daffodils blooming, poppies everywhere, and mustard seed blooms covering the mountains of Northern Spain. I will see you around, surely, on the wonderful way to Santiago.
Grand River Hospital hosts the Regional Cancer Centre. Thanks, Ontario for such a wonderful gift. And thanks to the Balsilie family for the beautiful building! Now that is a great investment, Mr. Balsilie, and I assure you it is much more appreciated than any hockey team that you might have invested in... I have invested in many a Blackberry during my career, and I am grateful that I am benefitting personally from your family's generosity.
First we had pharmacy teaching. The pharmacy teaching went very well. The Pharmacist was very helpful, explaining, clarifying, answering questions. I like it when professionals treat you like an adult. Even if you are sick, you are still a person with an intellect, with questions and concerns.
In the Chemo Suite, I preferred to sit. A call from my son John in Los Angeles was just the thing to get me started. After that I could turn off my phone. A quick visit from the most amazing chaplain John at Grand River Hospital. It was good to see him. I don't need to see him all the time, but this first time it was good. It centered my thoughts on hopeful things.
Lots of interaction with volunteers, and staff, all of them cheerful, hopeful, pleasant and respectful. My chemo nurse did all the work, giving me all the medication and information I needed. After two hours I was free to go.
As we left the hospital, a quick message from my friend Sara made me feel peaceful. I am being such a baby, aren't I? Sara knows about these processes from the inside, and her questions and comments made me feel calm as I left the safety of the hospital and went home.
Tonight we are having Vietnamese beef and noodle soup. Simple, not too salty. It is ready. And for good measure, David bought me some crackers. But I hope I may be spared the nausea. I intend to be vigilant about taking the enti-emetics and have no desire to be a hero.
So, it is time I got going. Sunny evening; soup's on. Family around. We are not alone, thanks be to God!
May is the best month for pilgrimage. Daffodils blooming, poppies everywhere, and mustard seed blooms covering the mountains of Northern Spain. I will see you around, surely, on the wonderful way to Santiago.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Some Planetary Pilgrims are Lucky to Have Friends Like Josh!
My friend Josh, whom you met once already, has written a wonderful blog about how to live with chemo. It is amazing advice for surviving many other challenges. On the eve of my first day, I offer Josh Martin's wisdom. Josh, how did you get so wise, so young?
Tips for navigating chemotherapy/cancer treatment
Posted on April 26, 2011 by joshmartinink
"My friend and mentor, Myrta, was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. It was an upsetting blow to be sure. But the doctors are optimistic that Myrta will be able to beat it and that’s very comforting to hear. Optimism aside, she still has a long road of chemotherapy and radiation treatment ahead of her and that’ll be tough. Her treatment starts this Thursday and will be ongoing throughout the Spring, Summer and into the Fall.
I remember shortly after I had been diagnosed with leukemia a few years back, Myrta called me. “I hear you’re unconquerable,” she said over the phone in her usual inspiring and reassuring way. Those words filled me with amazing strength. Many of you will remember how “unconquerable” became my mantra and rallying cry. Now you know where that came from!
Myrta’s an incredible woman and I know her own unconquerable spirit will serve her well in this journey. In situations like this I always feel helpless. But having gone through a lot of chemo and radiation myself, I hope that I can offer some insights from my own experience that might be helpful. Everybody’s experience is different but I hope there are some useful nuggets in the 10 tips I’ve listed below.
On top of being one of the kindest, most sincere and compassionate people I know, Myrta is also a very talented writer and has been blogging about her experience with breast cancer. Click here to check out her blog and be sure to leave some words of encouragement.
Visualize: In one of Myrta’s recent posts, she talks about how she pictures herself as a boxer getting ready for a big fight. It’s interesting because that was definitely the same imagery that I used while I was undergoing treatment. Visualization is a great technique and really helps focus your energy on a mental image. I’m a big Rocky fan, so I’d often picture myself like him in the ring against a big opponent. And like the Rocky films I knew that round after round of chemo I was going to take a beating. But like the Italian Stallion, I just needed to keep on swinging and I’d win in the end. I also found it helpful to use less violent imagery. I’d visualize myself in the most tranquil and happy place I could conjure. For me it was at the end of a dock next to a cottage on a warm summer day. Just sitting there in the sun; completely healthy and at peace.
Get out of your head/distract yourself: Oh man, this was a big one for me. I have a WAY too active imagination and getting caught up in my thoughts can be very dangerous. If you find yourself brooding on things or letting your imagination run wild, it’s time to get out of your head. Call up a friend, watch some TV, go for a walk, do a crossword—a lot of time you can be your own worst enemy.
Stay off the Internet: Another big one I learned the hard way. In my attempt to be as prepared as I could be, I spent a lot of time doing research online about my disease. BE CAREFUL! The internet is a minefield of misinformation and out-dated material. That’s not to say you shouldn’t try to be as informed as possible (see the next tip). It just means, don’t get carried away, choose your websites wisely and remember that no two cases of cancer are the same and everybody’s experience is different.
Be your own advocate: My doctors and nurses were awesome while I was undergoing treatment. But the reality is that they’re very busy people with too many patients and as a result they may rush through explaining things to you or throw around terms that go over your head. You have to be your own advocate. Insist that they explain things if you don’t understand something. Bring a list of the questions you want to ask and make sure they take the time to answer all of them. And also remember: doctors aren’t mind readers. It’s up to you to bring to their attention how you’re feeling and the concerns you have.
Focus on the big picture: Keep your eye on the prize. It’s a long haul and you’ll need to be patient. Keep reminding yourself that it’s only temporary and don’t lose sight of the ultimate goal of restored health. It can be a tough slog but the reward is definitely worth it.
Laugh: I’m a firm believer that laughter is the best medicine. That, and heavy doses of methotrexate. It’s important to stay upbeat and enjoy the lighter side of life during treatment. Whether that’s reading the funnies, watching a comedy or downloading “footballs-to-the-crotch” videos off of YouTube, laughter will do the body good.
Set boundaries: I have a hard time saying no. But learning to say no is very important. People want to talk and visit because they care and want to be there for you. But you need to be okay with being selfish now and then when you’re not feeling up to company. Visitors are awesome but can also be exhausting and you need to stay well rested so your body can do its thing.
Journal/Share: This tip is related to the one about getting out of your head. A great way to process the jumble of thoughts ricocheting inside your skull is to talk them out or put them to paper. I’m terrible at sharing my thoughts and feelings. But putting them “out there” gives them form and allows you tackle issues more effectively.
Stay positive: Attitude is everything. Surround yourself with positive people and avoid the negative ones. Read biographies about people who inspire you. Keep positive quotes posted around the house. Keep a gratitude journal and remind yourself of all the wonderful little things going on in your life.
Be disciplined: There were a lot of times during treatment when I would have preferred to just stay in bed. The chemo made me extremely fatigued. But it’s important to be disciplined about doing your part in getting healthy. This includes things like taking your medication on time, drinking plenty of fluids even if you don’t feel particularly thirsty, trying to eat decent amounts of food to keep your strength up, doing light exercise if your doctor recommends it and keeping all your appointments.
These things worked great for me. As I said though, everyone is different and will have their own ways of dealing with difficult situations. So here’s to my unconquerable friend, Myrta. I’m right here in your corner and know that you’re going to do great!"
Time to get going. I will see you around, on the other side of the first chemo, on the way to Santiago!
Tips for navigating chemotherapy/cancer treatment
Posted on April 26, 2011 by joshmartinink
"My friend and mentor, Myrta, was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. It was an upsetting blow to be sure. But the doctors are optimistic that Myrta will be able to beat it and that’s very comforting to hear. Optimism aside, she still has a long road of chemotherapy and radiation treatment ahead of her and that’ll be tough. Her treatment starts this Thursday and will be ongoing throughout the Spring, Summer and into the Fall.
I remember shortly after I had been diagnosed with leukemia a few years back, Myrta called me. “I hear you’re unconquerable,” she said over the phone in her usual inspiring and reassuring way. Those words filled me with amazing strength. Many of you will remember how “unconquerable” became my mantra and rallying cry. Now you know where that came from!
Myrta’s an incredible woman and I know her own unconquerable spirit will serve her well in this journey. In situations like this I always feel helpless. But having gone through a lot of chemo and radiation myself, I hope that I can offer some insights from my own experience that might be helpful. Everybody’s experience is different but I hope there are some useful nuggets in the 10 tips I’ve listed below.
On top of being one of the kindest, most sincere and compassionate people I know, Myrta is also a very talented writer and has been blogging about her experience with breast cancer. Click here to check out her blog and be sure to leave some words of encouragement.
Josh Martin's Tips for navigating cancer treatment
Visualize: In one of Myrta’s recent posts, she talks about how she pictures herself as a boxer getting ready for a big fight. It’s interesting because that was definitely the same imagery that I used while I was undergoing treatment. Visualization is a great technique and really helps focus your energy on a mental image. I’m a big Rocky fan, so I’d often picture myself like him in the ring against a big opponent. And like the Rocky films I knew that round after round of chemo I was going to take a beating. But like the Italian Stallion, I just needed to keep on swinging and I’d win in the end. I also found it helpful to use less violent imagery. I’d visualize myself in the most tranquil and happy place I could conjure. For me it was at the end of a dock next to a cottage on a warm summer day. Just sitting there in the sun; completely healthy and at peace.
Get out of your head/distract yourself: Oh man, this was a big one for me. I have a WAY too active imagination and getting caught up in my thoughts can be very dangerous. If you find yourself brooding on things or letting your imagination run wild, it’s time to get out of your head. Call up a friend, watch some TV, go for a walk, do a crossword—a lot of time you can be your own worst enemy.
Stay off the Internet: Another big one I learned the hard way. In my attempt to be as prepared as I could be, I spent a lot of time doing research online about my disease. BE CAREFUL! The internet is a minefield of misinformation and out-dated material. That’s not to say you shouldn’t try to be as informed as possible (see the next tip). It just means, don’t get carried away, choose your websites wisely and remember that no two cases of cancer are the same and everybody’s experience is different.
Be your own advocate: My doctors and nurses were awesome while I was undergoing treatment. But the reality is that they’re very busy people with too many patients and as a result they may rush through explaining things to you or throw around terms that go over your head. You have to be your own advocate. Insist that they explain things if you don’t understand something. Bring a list of the questions you want to ask and make sure they take the time to answer all of them. And also remember: doctors aren’t mind readers. It’s up to you to bring to their attention how you’re feeling and the concerns you have.
Focus on the big picture: Keep your eye on the prize. It’s a long haul and you’ll need to be patient. Keep reminding yourself that it’s only temporary and don’t lose sight of the ultimate goal of restored health. It can be a tough slog but the reward is definitely worth it.
Laugh: I’m a firm believer that laughter is the best medicine. That, and heavy doses of methotrexate. It’s important to stay upbeat and enjoy the lighter side of life during treatment. Whether that’s reading the funnies, watching a comedy or downloading “footballs-to-the-crotch” videos off of YouTube, laughter will do the body good.
Set boundaries: I have a hard time saying no. But learning to say no is very important. People want to talk and visit because they care and want to be there for you. But you need to be okay with being selfish now and then when you’re not feeling up to company. Visitors are awesome but can also be exhausting and you need to stay well rested so your body can do its thing.
Journal/Share: This tip is related to the one about getting out of your head. A great way to process the jumble of thoughts ricocheting inside your skull is to talk them out or put them to paper. I’m terrible at sharing my thoughts and feelings. But putting them “out there” gives them form and allows you tackle issues more effectively.
Stay positive: Attitude is everything. Surround yourself with positive people and avoid the negative ones. Read biographies about people who inspire you. Keep positive quotes posted around the house. Keep a gratitude journal and remind yourself of all the wonderful little things going on in your life.
Be disciplined: There were a lot of times during treatment when I would have preferred to just stay in bed. The chemo made me extremely fatigued. But it’s important to be disciplined about doing your part in getting healthy. This includes things like taking your medication on time, drinking plenty of fluids even if you don’t feel particularly thirsty, trying to eat decent amounts of food to keep your strength up, doing light exercise if your doctor recommends it and keeping all your appointments.
These things worked great for me. As I said though, everyone is different and will have their own ways of dealing with difficult situations. So here’s to my unconquerable friend, Myrta. I’m right here in your corner and know that you’re going to do great!"
Time to get going. I will see you around, on the other side of the first chemo, on the way to Santiago!
Monday, May 2, 2011
The Waiting is Almost Over for this Planetary Pilgrim!
I am writing this on Monday night, May 2nd. We have already voted, and are getting ready to watch the results of the Canadian Federal Election. Tomorrow, my daughter Ioanna will arrive to be with us during my first chemo treatment, on Wednesday, May 4.
There was a week's delay in starting this treatment, due to respiratory congestion and a pretty strong reaction to an antibiotic which had been prescribed almost a month ago. I have been coughing pretty violently, and suffered from a very bad case of urticaria (hives). From now on I shall stay away from Keflex, and all related meds!
Am I ready? Yes. Am I ready? Yes. Am I ready? Well, I am a bit apprehensive, yes, I will admit. But I shall make it, with the hard work of the Grand River Hospital team, the ministrations of my friend Marion, the prayers and support of friends and family and my daughter and David. They will come with me to the first session.
After that, I am looking forward, from time to time, to going with other friends. I look forward to spending two hours with a few special friends while the chemo is administered. What shall we talk about? I have no idea, but I look forward to spending quality time with them. How often do we get to do that?
The post immediately below this one, is an interview with Dr. Sheela Basrur, who led us through the SARS crisis in Ontario some years ago. Later, when she needed treatment for the cancer she was diagnosed with, she came "home" to K-W for treatment and support. Dr. Basrur did not make it, but she remains a shining example of compassion, courage and grace under pressure. May her memory be eternal.
This coming week we shall celebrate Nursing Week. What an amazing group of professionals they are! I am posting this interview as my tribute to all the nurses I have known, both friends, family and colleagues at St. Mary's Hospital and elsewhere. To all of them, thank you! Thank You! Thank you!
And now, it is time I got going, but we will see you around, soon, on the way to Santiago!
There was a week's delay in starting this treatment, due to respiratory congestion and a pretty strong reaction to an antibiotic which had been prescribed almost a month ago. I have been coughing pretty violently, and suffered from a very bad case of urticaria (hives). From now on I shall stay away from Keflex, and all related meds!
Am I ready? Yes. Am I ready? Yes. Am I ready? Well, I am a bit apprehensive, yes, I will admit. But I shall make it, with the hard work of the Grand River Hospital team, the ministrations of my friend Marion, the prayers and support of friends and family and my daughter and David. They will come with me to the first session.
After that, I am looking forward, from time to time, to going with other friends. I look forward to spending two hours with a few special friends while the chemo is administered. What shall we talk about? I have no idea, but I look forward to spending quality time with them. How often do we get to do that?
The post immediately below this one, is an interview with Dr. Sheela Basrur, who led us through the SARS crisis in Ontario some years ago. Later, when she needed treatment for the cancer she was diagnosed with, she came "home" to K-W for treatment and support. Dr. Basrur did not make it, but she remains a shining example of compassion, courage and grace under pressure. May her memory be eternal.
This coming week we shall celebrate Nursing Week. What an amazing group of professionals they are! I am posting this interview as my tribute to all the nurses I have known, both friends, family and colleagues at St. Mary's Hospital and elsewhere. To all of them, thank you! Thank You! Thank you!
And now, it is time I got going, but we will see you around, soon, on the way to Santiago!
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