Two nights ago I was having a candlelight dinner with Zack. Charlotte was out, Zack had an hour before his hockey game and we were relaxing over a light supper of Kelly's Winter Warm-up Soup, Rustic Baguette and veggies. It was lovely. As I chatted with Zack, I placed my right hand up the left side of my neck. My brain made the sound effect of a toddler unsuccessfully attempting to lift the needle off of a playing record. My fingers went...poke, poke, poke. Then calmly I moved closer to Zack and asked if there was something strange about my neck. "There's a vein sticking way out," was his confirming response. I went to the mirror. Yup...big vein in neck...very, very engorged and blue with internal pressure building by the second. "Do you think veins can burst?" I asked Zack, wishing at that moment that I had picked med school over business school and knew what the eff was going on.
What to do? 7pm on a Monday night. Who to inconvenience with my question about whether this is a life-threatening situation or just a cancer glitch? I decided to call Lisa, the fabulous mom of one of Charlotte's best friends, a GP who conveniently lives two blocks away. She said that she'll just stop in to take a peek as it's hard to describe things over the phone. I sit back down to the table and start gulping back my soup saying to Zack, "well, if I have to go to the hospital at least I'll be full of Kelly's soup." Zack smiled and said "That's what I love about you Mom, you're so cool in these situations." I'm glad I give that impression although it's not exactly true.
Lisa came by and was very reassuring. No, the vein would not burst. No, it was not acute. Things to watch out for would be worsening symptoms, headache etc. but that it could at least wait for the morning or even today when I have an appointment for my happy-bone IV at the Cancer Agency. Off she went but I was not quite 100% convinced that I was okay given how much internal pressure there was. So...I did some "research" on the Internet, finding out the the bulging blue vein is known the "jugular" and that bulging neck veins can be related to pericardial effusion (which led to a middle-of-the-night ambulance ride this past summer), chest tumour or cancer in the chest region.
I zipped off a quick email to my oncologist describing my symptoms and what Lisa had said as a "just in case" and amazingly and very reassuringly received an email back less than an hour later saying that it could be a symptom of any of the cancer-related issues that I had just learned about or it could be nothing that all and that she was in clinic the following afternoon and would be happy to see me then if I was still concerned.
I went to bed feeling wildly appreciative of having been able to avoid a just-in-case trip to Emergency and woke up with the internal pressure gone. Whew! It's great to experience that some weird new symptom does not necessarily mean some dire new way in which the big C is going to work my inventory. I'm all for personal growth but I am just fine with the current rate and am not feeling the need for any added growth "opportunities."
I was reflecting this morning about the jugular vein as I happily noted that it was behaving itself and was trying to remember what the exact idiom was. "Going for the jugular"...it's kind of like "kill" or "be killed." Do I let the cancer kill me or do I kill it? And what would "going for the jugular" mean for a Zoë. Those of you who know me and those of you who have seen me on crosswalk duty at Charlotte's former school will attest to the fact that I have easy access to ferocity. That said, I have never been comfortable with the war-like mood that people often are described to have in their relationship to cancer.
Slightly veering off-topic for a moment, have you ever noticed how people's death from cancer is described: "lost his long, hard-fought battle with cancer," "courageous struggle with cancer," or "died after a ten-year fight with cancer."
That language just does not work for me. I have an immense aversion to war and can't imagine waging war with my own body. I do realize that in a certain way that my body is trying to kill itself, that unchecked the cancer--notice that I never say "my" cancer as it is an uninvited guest and in no way belongs to me or reflects my true identity--will cause my untimely demise.
So my point of reflection is how to appropriately respond to something that is going for my jugular? If it is "kill or be killed" and I am adverse to waging war, then what is to be done? I think that I need to be a cancer-whisperer. I need to come along side the cancer, taking lots of quiet, meditative, contemplative time to learn what it is that is wanted and needed. What changes do I need to make in my life? I have some ideas of how I managed to beat the odds once and then managed to re-create cancer in my body. There are internal and lifestyle shifts that I made originally that I was not vigilant about as the years passed and the first cancer dance became a foggy memory. I do not blame myself or judge myself. I just think of cancer--in my case--as being the Universe's way of cutting through my thick-headed existence. If I had kept up my meditation practice perhaps something much subtler would have sufficed? I don't know what or if I could have dodged this recurrence but now that is here what I fervently wish to do is learn what it is that I am to learn, regardless of whether that resultant wisdom will cause me to heal into life or heal into death.
My version of "going for the jugular" also involves going directly from the head to the heart--it's just more feminine. And for someone who has the fierce, ferocious and feisty angles already covered, this is undoubtedly part of my work.
Here's Charlotte modelling a Quash Cancer hat. I am going to get some more made up. The 100% cotton, black military cap with hot pink lettering (same as my Quash Docs), a groovy side pocket and adjustable brim and back will sell for $25 Cdn. (+ tax and shipping) and 100% of the net proceeds will be donated to Callanish Society--a non-profit organization that provides weeklong retreats and support programs for people with cancer, and their loved ones. For more information on Callanish Society, go to http://www.callanish.org/. You may place an order by emailing me at: zoe@screamingpeacock.ca.
I was told to tell the nurse about any sign of an allergic reaction and so about half an hour in I commented that I had just gotten a really bad headache and that I was starting to have the sensation of my throat closing. The nurse called the doctor, stopped the chemo and gave me an IV of benedryl. One gripe: when the doctor came in he spoke to the nurse less than a foot away from me without even looking at me for five minutes. He was charming and reassuring when he got around to looking at me but--call me picky--couldn't he have at least made eye contact with me whilst getting the lowdown from the nurse?
After being there for about an hour and a half I needed to change rooms as the nurse was going off duty. I trundled down the hall, IV bags a-swaying, rather bleary from the benedryl and just as I was smiling at the new nurse and about to say "Hello," I was introduced as "This is Herceptin." "Actually, I'm Zoe and I'm getting my first dose of Herceptin," I replied.
I'm not planning on making a big deal out of these dehumanizing moments...but I do feel as someone who is not easily intimidated by those in authority positions that if I can subtly remind heathcare providers that they are dealing with people not allergic reactions or chemotherapy cocktails then I should. That said, I want these people to like me...they put big fat needles into my veins, fetch me extra pillows and warm flannel blankies.
Finally, after 3 1/2 hours, I got to go home. Tom and Laura had been hanging out with the kids. I ate an entire papaya and went to bed before 8pm.Charlotte most endearingly bringing me peppermint tea of her own initiative. I'm so grateful that Charlotte and Zack are old enough and independent enough to put themselves to bed.
Chemo #1(b)--2/6/2009--Taxol and Carboplatin
Crazy morning trying to get myself ready to be at the Clinic for 8:30am as well as getting groggy kids up out of bed, getting us all fed. Tom arrived early to walk Sadie and return to take Zack to school. Charlotte prepped her lunch waiting for her carpool pick-up and surprised me by handling all the breakfast dishes so that I didn't have to come home to them.
I was the first patient in my room that has four chemo "stations" in it. They stagger arrivals so that it's not too nuts for the nurse. It was explained that there would be over an hour of pre-meds for anti-allergic reaction and anti-nausea and then about 4 1/2 hours of chemo.
I was feeling a bit anxious as the nurse the previous night had referred to the carboplatin as being the "nasty" one. To psyche myself up I had donned on my Fuck Cancer hat and made sure that I had brought along things to soothe, nourish and entertain: chanting tape, thermos of herbal tea, two huge SIGGs of water, home-made smoothie, IPOD chockful of Daily Show and Colbert Report, eye mask, etc.
The seven hours went by pretty smoothly...I didn't have any reactions this time, I had put a heating pad under my back so I avoided the back pain that I had had the afternoon before, my chemo companions were all very lovely. The one hard thing was to watch a young woman--F.-- (late 20's?) having a really rough time with her chemo--throwing up repeatedly. I was glad for my eye patch and BOSE headphones as I'm one of those people who is prone to empathetic puking. F. was so lovely and completely enamoured by my hat. "Where did you get that?" she asked in a calm moment and her equally lovely young husband wrote down the website address, which for those of you who are interested is: http://www.jackiefarry.com/ and click on the very top bar "Tell Cancer Where To Stick It." It can be yours too for only $20 US!
I felt really quite fine after the chemos in an "I know good drugs are helping me feel better than I would otherwise be feeling" kind of a way and decided that I would take the bus home so as to get some fresh air and sunshine and a bit of a walk prior to crashing. Zack was about to take off to spend a thank-god-my-first-mid-term-week-is-over weekend at Tom and Laura's and Charlotte went off to bake cookies with a friend.
I was asleep by 7:30pm and then awoke around midnight to that unfortunately familiar sensation of drowning from the inside out. Obviously my body just can't easily absorb lots of fluid at the moment and there was lots and lots of fluid in those IV bags. I just kept adding pillows until I could fall back asleep.
I know that whatever my worst of the chemo cycle will be between day 7 and day 14 and that I should expect to be harder and harder hit (relatively speaking) with each dose. That said, I can say that I am feeling relieved that I seem to be getting off lightly and am crossing fingers and knocking on wood that my constitution will be able to stand up to the onslaught with its usual fortitude.
I start chemo tomorrow. All it took was BBF (Beloved Best Friend) Kelly coming over from Victoria and having a day-long playdate with her, with lunch at Aphrodite Cafe with BBF Dolly with a brief appearance from Cousin Tara. 
