While I'm not looking forward to the next 7 to 10 days as they will be tiring and everything except cream cheese will taste like crap, I do feel like singing right now- this song in particular:
In about four weeks, I should start feeling a bit more like my normal self. My hair will start growing back (I'm not sure I want it to, actually...It's easy being bald) and I will have to begin shaving all them parts I haven't had to shave in months. Interestingly, I did not lose my eyebrows or lashes, and my oncologist says at this point I probably won't. My oncologist (who did I mention I adore? Dr. Natarajan at Lahey) also says I should really be feeling better in about six weeks and that my voice should come back, just in time for my writing conference with Dinty Moore at the Vermont College of Fine Arts! (when I meet him I will find out if he was named after the soup. Unless someone knows and can clarify this for me...) Last year I almost went to this same conference but talked myself out of it because I was worried about money and feeling guilty about leaving my family for a week. This year, I have a second chance to go, with a little scholarship $ from the conference as well, and that's no longer something to snub one's nose at, eh?
Speaking of things I look forward to, here's the bucket list I made a few weeks ago:
- See Billy Joel in concert. What can I say? I'm a native New Yorker. If he retires from concerts before I get to see him (as I read somewhere recently) , he's on my shit list. Actually he was on my shit list once before when I met him (stalked him) in the Hamptons and he didn't buy me chocolate when he had the opportunity, although I'm over it. See pic.
- Travel more. Get to Israel already, the land for which I was supposedly named (Ami means 'my country' in Hebrew according to my dad) and where there are many relatives I have yet to meet. Money and fear have always been the issues. While money is simply a reality, fear doesn't have to be anymore if I don't let it.
- Get a dog. Not immediately, but this must happen. I talked Ben into it recently, and then when he agreed, talked him out of it. For now. It's a responsibility I'm not yet ready to consider with those other responsibilities called two boys...but soon, perhaps. Dogs really do make me happy when they are not shitting on the floor or begging to go out at 5am. Although maybe that would help with time management...
- Get a handle on time management. Did you see that coming? I want to live a more fulfilling life moving forward - and set a better example for my kids. I want time to read more, and write more. -particularly the book I've been trying to write for 15 years, and all those unwritten essays. I want to be less stressed. I think a huge part of this is better time management. So if you know a time mgmt coach who can whip my ass into shape, let me know. A 2-for-1 deal with the hubby would be great.
- Take piano lessons again. I quit when I was ten or eleven...right after my first recital where I played, what else? Billy Joel's Piano Man. This was right before my evil Jewish girl-gang days. Sigh. My apologies to anyone reading this who knew me then and thought I was a little jerk. I was.
I realize these are somewhat high aspirations and I may simply fall back into my old patterns, but one can hope. I also hope to never again take the simple gift of good health for granted. I don't want to forget how wonderful it is just to feel good today. For things to taste good. To enjoy a good cup of coffee. A good bowl of ice cream. To not feel so tired and sick you can't even sort a pile of laundry. Although maybe that's a perk...
A lot of friends have asked, what happens now? Are you done? Are you cured? No, I'm not done. This journey is kinda long. Surgery is done. Chemo is done. As soon as I return from the writing conference in mid-August, I start radiation every day Monday - Friday for six and a half weeks. I'm told radiation is typically a cakewalk compared to chemo. And although it's every day, it's about 15 minutes --you're in, you're out. After that I will start Tamoxifin, a pill. Estrogen therapy. And I will continue to get one drug called Herceptin intravenously every three weeks (I'd been getting it with my chemo drugs already) until next March--one year from when I started chemo. Fortunately herceptin is not a chemo drug, but a targeted therapy for the kind of cells identified in my biopsy and does not really have side effects.
As for Are you cured? Who can say for sure. I was given chemo as what they call adjuvant therapy - there was no sign of cancer spread on my scans, so it was just in case. So technically, I should be "cured." My doctor uses the word cured, but she also says there are no guarantees. For the first year, I will have blood tests and scans about every 3-4 months to see how things look; to make sure nothing changes.
People have called me brave during this process, which is nice to hear, but what else can you do? You just do it, ya know? I know some of you reading this have already lived this experience. Knowing you could be brave and survive inspired me to be brave as well. I hope everyone else reading this never has to go through cancer treatment, but if you do, here's what I recommend:
Get yourself a great therapist with a wonderful sense of humor. Surround yourself with an incredible tribe of friends, acquaintances and supporters -- both online and in the real world. Let yourself be surprised by who rises to the occasion, and don't beat yourself up about who may not, for whatever reasons. Maybe someone will shave your head for you, or even walk in your honor this year in the Avon Breast Cancer Walk ( go Sara Sellitti)! In these ways, I've been blown away, and blessed. If you can, get yourself an awesome moldy green happy place blanket, and as many Will Ferrell movies as possible, and I just know you'll be OK.
Yes, I am capable of more than I ever thought possible. It wasn't that long ago when I was quivering in my boots about surgery and chemo. And now they are both behind me.
But I couldn't have done it without all your humor, love and support. Thank you thank you thank you everyone...now let's all go celebrate Independence Day Indeed!
xo
Radiation? Tamoxifin? Herceptin?
ReplyDeleteNo, no, no. You are doing it wrong. It goes:
- Diagnosis
- Beginning of treatment montage
- Visible signs of the change of seasons (leaves falling off trees, snow, green grass, people playing frisbee in a park)
- End of montage luncheon
Amy:
Wow, I sure am glad that's over.
Kevin lifts his glass up.
Kevin:
Congratulations, Amy. We are all so proud of you.
The others at the table murmur in agreement as glasses are clinked together.
The waiter approaches with the bill. Before anyone can reach for it, Amy grabs it from him.
Amy:
Nope . . . (dramatic pause) This one is on me.
The others at the table smile knowingly and nod their heads even though, to a person, they don't really understand the symbolism of Amy paying the bill.
Kevin (to the waiter):
Can you please add one of those Cheesecake Factory leather jackets to the bill?
Amy's smile slowly begins to harden.
Waiter:
But of course. And the size?
Kevin:
Extra rugged.
Waiter:
Very good, sir.
That's how it's done. Go ahead, watch any TV show or Lifetime movie. After the snow melts and the people start playing frisbee, the protagonist reflects, momentarily, on the finished journey, accepts the congratulations of friends and family, and then either moves onto the next dramatic incident (a bobcat is loose in the neighborhood; a parent at the kid's school is trying to ban books; etc.) or freezes in mid-smile as the credits roll and a song that sounds vaguely similar to Christopher Cross's Arthur's Theme (The Best that You Can Do) plays. What the protagonist doesn't do is interrupt the proceedings to take his or her Tamoxifin tablets.
If you'd like, I'm more than happy to discuss this issue further with Dr. Natarajan.
Hmmm...I do like this scenario much better. However I'm not sure there is a jacket size extra rugged enough for you.
DeleteNow, as to the rest:
ReplyDelete- If you had told me that you were finishing your treatment on July 3rd, I have to admit that I probably would not have made the connection between it and July 4th. Sadly, and more to character, I most likely would have ask to borrow $35 ("Happy people are an easy mark," I would have heard my grifter parents saying in the harsh Liverpool accents that they used because it sounds so good in voice-over flashbacks).
- The New York Times had an article about the building used in the Jefferson's opening title sequence. There was a young kid who lived in the building at the time the show was airing, and he would run to his balcony and start waving every time the show would come on because he thought the show was shot live and that people could see him when the camera panned up the building at the end of that scene. I love that story.
- I would like to shake the hand of Dinty Moore. A person with that unique moniker has been forged through the fires of bad jokes and puns his whole life and, from all appearances, seems to have emerged the stronger for it. If it was possible to go back in time, I'd invite him to the scene of your end-of-chemo lunch (noted above) and order him a Cheesecake Factory leather jacket as well (even though, to be honest, I don't imagine the me in that scene ever really wearing that jacket . . . I mean, seriously, why would I? ((consumed with anger, the Amy from that scene punches a hole in her living room wall)).
- I love the bucket list that you made, even though your mentioning of a Billy Joel concert reminded me of an old girlfriend who broke up with me after I had purchased two tickets for us to one of his mid-'80s shows (and yes, I did end up going by myself . . . and yes, it was a horrible, horrible decision on my part ((CUT TO a heartbroken and acid-wash jeans wearing Kevin sitting next to an empty seat as Joel serenades the crowd with She's Got a Way and Just the Way You Are)).
Owning a dog is the greatest thing in the world, even greater than indiscriminately using hyperbole to describe things (which, in itself, is the absolute best thing ever!). Having a dog is like being best friends with Mark Twain and Abraham Lincoln . . . 24/7!
And travel, piano lessons and better time management? Who can argue with those? I can play the very first few bars of Ode to Joy, and every time I do it makes me feel about ten feet tall.
. . . Ya done good, Amy, and you should feel proud. Sure, to some degree, you "just do it." But you did it with class and humor and a form of introspection that you were generous enough to share with the rest of us.
And for that, I thank you.
Aw thanks Kevin. Your comments are awesome.I do, however, have to question this 1980's Billy Joel concert of which you speak. I'm guessing the songs you would have heard at the time were more likely "Tell her about it" and "Uptown Girl." This didn't really happen, did it? The Jeffersons/kids story, on the other hand, sounds highly plausible.
ReplyDelete