High Noon

Mark this the first time I've willingly woken up in the 8's since I was diagnosed. The Hodge has given me the excuse to sleep until my will without anyone's judgement for the first time since college, so you bet your bottom I've been taking advantage of that.

Butttt yesterday was my first day of chemo, (at noon) and I woke up at 8 unable to fall back to sleep. I guess there's a lot on my mind and writing in here with a cup of chamomile and mint tea was the first thing I could think of to make me feel better.

Oof I always feel like I'm back-(b)logged (heheh.. stupid) with this thing because my last one was before I even knew when I was getting my port put in. That happened last Friday, and call me crazy, but it was slightly...enjoyable.

The doc who put my port in was the same one who did my bone marrow biopsy, who me and my mom-especially my mom-took a liking to (after two glasses of wine at Carrabba's the night of my biopsy she told me he was my soulmate, then when my dad and I laugh-scoffed at her, she backtracked to "someone LIKE him" would be my soulmate, "since he's really funny and outgoing and not necessarily conventionally good looking but attractive, you know?" The morning of the biopsy as I brushed my teeth she walked by the bathroom. "I know the nurse said no makeup but a teensy bit of mascara is okay I think," she said. Then we both burst out laughing.

I was much more relaxed for the port placement than I was for the biopsy, and it allowed me to freely chat with the nurses rather than stare and nod like usual. One nurse practitioner, who was really sweet, kind of made a gigantic deal that her birthday was the day after mine. Like, she must've said it five times, then went on about how we're both Aries girls and yeaaaaaaah! So when she got down to business and asked me when I was diagnosed, I said "...your birthday!" and even though she laughed a little bit, her face kind of dropped. "Oh God, I am going to remember that for the rest of my life," she said.

Eesh, hah but really, I am realizing that my jokes about being sick need the right kind of audience. Example: when I knew I had the tumors (and therefore in my mind was picturing the worst, even though we didn't know for sure) I was at a local bar with Jenna and my other two friends John and Martucci. I think I had told John a day or two before, so naturally, he and I were already ready to crack the really insensitive jokes I'm talking about. Our conversation went something like this:

After telling him "Do You Realize??" by the Flaming Lips would be the song played at my funeral (that's actually not a joke, take a listen, kiiinda perfect. And don't steal it if you die before I do.)

So anyway, after that, it reminded me I wasn't sure if I'd be able to go to Bonnaroo. So I turned to John with a grin on my face and said in mock seriousness, "JW, would you buy my Bonnaroo ticket if I die?" to which he gave the most perfect answer in the world: "Sure but....why would you need the money?"

I cracked up so hard but through my tears of laughter I saw Jenna go to the bathroom. She looked a little bleary-eyed when she came out but I didn't want to make it worse, so I waited till we got to the car to ask if she had been crying. "Yes, you asshole! Hysterically!" she said laughing. "Martucci was rubbing my back the whole time you and JW were talking! Ugh. You're an idiot."

So I've been trying to know my audience. But you can't with a blog so you can all just think I'm either putting humor to a decent purpose or think I'm being insensitive. Your pick.

Back to the biopsy. To add to my good mood there, the nurse was able to put the IV into the crook of my arm, which let me tell you, makes all the difference in the world for a squeamish one. I found using the veins on top of the hand much more painful, and that they can inhibit some use of your hands the following days after. Crook of the arm was just like having blood drawn. But now I have a handy "Super Port" installed in my chest which can be used to draw blood, give liquids, and be used in CAT and PET Scans.

When they wheeled me in, this tech came out and was like, "HEY! How ARE you? How have you been doing???" And I was like, uhmmmm did I meet this guy and not know it? "...Good, good," I said. "That's great!" he said. I then just kind of stared and did the pursed lips smile, nod your head thing when he said "Well I'm Ray, I'm one of the lab techs that'll be workin on ya today! Just gonna get some things prepared and we'll have you set up in no time."

The lab techs (there were 3) and my doc really did get down to bidnass as soon as I was wheeled in. As they were sterilizing the site, the female nurse looked down at me and said "Ok, time for your fun little cocktail!" as she plugged sedatives into my IV. I had told my doc that after the bone marrow biopsy (which, by the way, was soooo not that bad thanks to all the sedatives and pain meds I got) I had felt a little queasy. So I was on a nice flow of sedatives, pain killers and anti-nausea drugs. Barely a minute had passed by when I looked at the ceiling and noticed the tiles were moving.

"Any music requests?" my doc asked. "Rolling Stones? Beatles?"

"Beeaaattlessss," I slurred out, transfixed by the waves on every surface I looked at. Then I began to sing along with "Eleanor Rigby." See what I meant about fun?

I was pretty sore after though. They made two cuts--one above my boob on the right side and one in my neck a few inches above it. The port on my chest is where the needles for chemo go, and the drugs travel up the tube into my jugular vein. (If it sounds like if I'm not disgusted by thinking about a tube in my neck, change your mind this instant.)

The next day kicked off Cody (little brother!)'s graduation ceremony in Boston, and a couple zombie wounds (like seriously looked like what a makeup artist would create) on my chest weren't stopping me from going. I had such a great weekend. I ate like a queen and had a blast with my family, but most importantly, I got to see Cody in his natural habitat. I could see why he was so bummed to leave BC--he has a really fun group of friends (part of that is based upon the fact that his neighbors across the hall complimented my shoes), and Boston College is just so....college. There was such a sense of camaraderie between all the seniors--they had a whole week of fun activities for them like dances and mud volleyball (Oh my God what I would give for that.) New Paltz was just like... "Uhhh...if you managed to get your degree in four years, good job! Hardly any of you do anymore! Do you want to have a champagne toast with the president of the school? Oh, you'd rather drink mimosas with your friends and roller skate around your house? That's ok, I don't blame you. Oh and by the way we're giving Natalie Merchant an honorary doctorate but she's not going to sing or speak at graduation. Actually no one is, and you're going to have to sit through the speech of a valedictorian who's like 38 and managed a 4.0 GPA by taking one class a semester over 11 years! ISN'T THAT IMPRESSIVE."

So yeah, I had a kickass time and kind of vicariously lived through Cody for the weekend. He's home now till mid-July when he starts his job in NYC. Kid graduates magna cum laude and had a job lined up by the January before he graduated. It's a testament to how much I love him that I'm not seething with jealousy and just unbelievably overjoyed to have him home.

The day after we got home was a day I had been simultaneously dreading and looking forward to: the pre chemo cut your hair short so you don't wake up to the hair you've been fervently growing since last spring when you got that weird, asymmetrical hipster haircut laying on your pillow day. My hairdresser, Kristen, was an abbbbbbbbsolute peach, I can't even tell you. I went in wanting a pixie cut and then changed my mind to a faux hawk halfway through so she gave me something in between. I've been wearing it up since it's been hot (and with it down I just kind of look like the moon and not Carrie Mulligan or any other skinny bitches who actually look like pixies.) Consequently I look preeeetttty dykey, which would've gone over spectacularly my sophomore year of college, and every mirror in my house screams "JIMMY NEWTRON" at me when I walk by it, but whatever--soon my hair is not even going to be an issue and my bangin' scarfs and fedoras will. Mrs. Rapp, my dad's secretary and the breast cancer survivor I mentioned before also hooked me up with a bunch of scarves and how-to's--like how to make a turban out of a t-shirt so it's super comfy. Like my mom said yesterday, she's been our biggest support system through this. So here's props to you, Mrs. Rapp! I can't imagine going through this without you.

Oh. I also got a wig and it's blonde. Yes.

MAN, I apologize for how long this is. But what a nice way to spend your Friday before Memorial Day in the office, right? RIGHT?

Like I said, chemo was yesterday. I wasn't nervous the night before, but heading back into the infusion room I wimped out. Both my parents came to hear the explanation of everything. I actually sat next to one of the nurses at Mather who did my pre-surgical testing. She has breast cancer, and was on her fourth treatment. She was looking pretty good, had to say. So that helped. But then when the chemo nurse came at me with the needle that goes into the port, I was all Sweaty Mc Wide Eyes. That did not feel good. No sir. But the Mather nurse (gotta find out her name) told me to get a prescription for Lidocaine, which numbs the skin and "makes all the difference." You can bet I had that script five minutes later.

I was there for five hours due to set up and allergy testing and what not. But the nurses said I can usually expect only about two from now on, which ain't bad! I was expecting 3-4. Although maybe my doctor was counting wait time on that. But time passed kind of quickly for me. I'm reading Tina Fey's Bossypants, and that lady is a laugh riot. I also listened intently to the new Fleet Foxes album, "Helplessness Blues," which is one of those albums where the songs can all really run together unless you make it your mission to get to know each one on its own. May I recommend the waltzy "Lorelai" and the first half of "A Shrine/An Argument." The latter contains the lyrics "Sunlight over me no matter what I do/Apples in the summer all cold and sweet/Everyday passing complete," and I just feel like that's kind of a perfect mantra for me right now. I'd say the first line would make a nice little tattoo but I'd get a tisk or a "really." from my mom, so I won't. (But it would. Just saying.)

The worst part of chemo was learning more about how awful the pharmaceutical industry is in this country. One of my chemo drugs is denied by my insurance (one that keeps my white blood cells up, which, hello, important) but they will pay for me to get it in smaller doses as an injection in the arm (DAMNIT) every week until it seems I level out. But that isn't what got me so upset. My doctor came out and told me that one of his patients, a breast cancer survivor, had to get a kidney transplant that I think is unrelated to that. But the kidney procedure and subsequent treatment can actually cause her breast cancer to come back full force if the doctors aren't absolutely positive there is no cancer left. So how do you check for no cancer? A PET Scan. What did her insurance deny her? A PET Scan. I wanted to cry on the spot when he told me that, but I'm making it my mission to stop being such a human Splish Splash, especially at chemo when everyone else around me is probably worse for the wear. But honestly, how do you live with yourself working for a company that makes decisions like those--and worse ones--as a daily practice? Money ruins everything.

I'm going for that shot today. Apparently it can make you kind of achey, but otherwise I'm doing pretty good! Little weird feeling, but luckily I've always been partial to seltzer, which helps a lot. And gives me an excuse to belch my heart out without reprimand from my family. Plus my Aunt Connie sent me an awesome book called "Eating Well Through Cancer" that has a ton of tips and recipes to follow. Cody's on that "I just came from a disgusting shared college kitchen and want to cook in this lovely, clean, gourmet one," which is just dandy if you ask me. Hopefully I'll continue feeling well for the rest of the weekend, seeing as it's the kick off to summer and there's bbq's to attend. Speaking of food, two hours have passed since writing this and it's time to get my grub on.

And srsly, I'll try to keep this to under 12,000 words next time. Srsly.