Dear All,
I hope you have all been well these past few months, and the beginning of a New Year has brought the changes you had hoped for on New Year's Eve. Even if your resolve to stick to your resolutions has been lackluster, you still have ¾ of the year to make them all come true…including the weight loss! (You know who you are…)
As Passover, Easter, and Pagan Spring Fertility and Renewal festivals approach, I wanted to take this opportunity to wish you all a wonderfully blooming time and give you a little update on things here.
Though chemotherapy officially ended on January 9th, some side-effects remained; most notably my total lack of hair and the weight gain. As I have mentioned before, chemo drugs completely obliterated the flora in my intestinal track forcing me to eat very bland and starchy foods for the duration of treatment. I guess the steroids I took to withstand the pain didn't help either as they made me very puffy. In the end, this translated into a 20 lb (~9 kilo) gain...@#$%&!
Once chemo ended, my body completely hairless, immune system destroyed (AND trying to fight the flu), I headed for a restorative sojourn to the beach and spent some much needed time with family. I was happy to soak up the sun, disconnect from the world, swim, sunbathe, meditate and read. It took me some three weeks to start feeling better, but after much sleep and surf, I felt like a person again. I finally went for walks and started eating more normally—especially vegetables, fruits, and other raw foods including sushi. (Yay!)
The steroid puffiness faded soon after my energy started to slowly return, but there was no sign of new hair still. Even worse, the waves knocked out every last lash and eyebrow which made my eyes sting violently without any protection against the acidic mix of sun block and saltwater. On the upside, I was incredibly aerodynamic in the water; which aided my first few attempts to swim. Gleefully my stomach muscles engaged and I was able to swim for the first time in over 8 months. I was terrified my torso would just sink like a log and I'd never do another triathlon again. I didn't get very far, mind you—given my weaken state, diminished range of motion in my arms, and the salt water in my eyes—still, my stomach HELD UP!!! One triathlon sport down, two to go.
A steady fruit and fresh vegetable diet also kick started the slim down, but it's been a painfully slow process. My body is a little whacked; some weeks I am up, some down. It seems no matter what I eat or do, I can't get the weight to stabilize. My doctors keep telling me I have to be patient and let my body heal itself slowly. Intellectually this makes perfect sense, but emotionally the weight gain simply added insult to injury, and it hurts.
Upon my return in late February the docs checked everything out and deemed me ready for nuking. I have never been this excited about radioactive isotopes! It's totally spacey, and duly complicated. You see, this stuff can kill you, so they need to make sure that only the cancerous parts are nuked, and at the right levels too, lest the treatment give me MORE cancer…crazy science! But how does one prevent adverse effects? Sadly, one doesn't…only prayer (and potent drinks to induce denial) can possibly account for all the unknowns. Still, glowing in the dark is much better than being dead, so I agreed and on we went.
First there are tons of x-rays from every angle to pinpoint the specific field to be nuked. I guess this also serves to give the body an early taste of radiation. Then comes the simulation. This generally involves you laying down semi-naked for hours, and hours on a gooey platform that eventually retains the contours of your body. I am so glad they told me how long the test would last BEFORE we started and I COULDN'T move AT ALL…no wait, that's the one detail they left out! The simulation, then, doubled as a test for my bladder capacity and control. Turns out I can hold it for over 3 hours without moving—and you thought my talents were relegated exclusively to the classroom!
Aside from the near-bladder explosion, the "test run" went very well. They determined the coordinates to align me with the machine and promptly tattooed markers on my body. These would then be used every day for 30 treatments to assure we were nuking the exact same area. Why is this important? Well, we wouldn't want to further damage any surrounding tissue, like for instance, the heart and lungs. Unfortunately, part of having been an athlete for years is powerful (namely big) lungs. Though they tried their best, and were able to avoid radiating the heart, they couldn't avoid nuking part of my left lung. Thankfully this will only mean a constant cough I may never be able to shake. Fun! And thus the nuking commenced on a Thursday morning promptly at 8am. I pleaded for a more humane time, but sadly other pesky cancer patients had taken the good slots! Alas, the nice tech promised me 10 am nukings after the first 10 treatments. (Score!)
If this treatment had a warning label, it'd read something like this: Extreme hazardous materials. Use only under insufferably overqualified adult supervision and confined to a vault-like room with foot thick steel reinforced walls and doors. Upon administration be sure that all non-cancerous personnel leave the premises to avoid exposure. Extreme hazard if subject moves even a millimeter during administration. Subject may experience extreme fatigue, dizziness, claustrophobia, muscle spasms, sunburn-like symptoms including itching, scaling, severe rash, cracked skin and intense pain. Subject may also experience electricity-like pain emanating from affected area and radiating along limbs and nerve-endings. Finally, treatment may cause cancer at margins of radiated field, and may in no way prevent further recurrence in areas outside the said field. Treatment may be given only once with an acceptable level of risk to deem it "safe." Subject, though mildly radioactive, does not glow in the dark; is not dangerous to babies, puppies, small rodents (including tiny doggies) or plants; subject cannot power her own house, or perform any cool party tricks.
On the positive column, radiation does in no way impede hair growth. My overachieving follicles (did you really expect anything less?) are so ahead of schedule they'd managed to fold time, as a mere 8 weeks after the end of chemotherapy I had TWO rows of eyelashes and full eyebrows that once again required grooming. My hair started growing in inconsistent patches about 4 weeks after chemo. After much shaving to strengthen the lint that first appeared atop my head, growth has finally stabilized and now covers the entire head evenly for a soft brush feel at about ¼" inch (~0.5 cm). Another cancerous joy is the guess-what-color-and-texture-your-new-hair-will-be game. At the moment my once medium ashy brown has turned into deep charcoal black. As for the texture, given that the hair is not sticking straight up, it may indeed be a bit curled rather than its original straight self. Most patients tell me I should be happy it's black rather than entirely gray—which is the other popular option.
And thus the past few months have gone between recovery and radiation. My first blood test some 6 weeks after chemotherapy showed that my immune system is back to normal and firing on all cylinders. The doctors were also pleased to see that all blood particles are regenerating normally, which amounts to an amazingly fast systemic recovery. I am currently at the very tail end of radiation and the conclusion of the cancer-fighting battles that started on 16 August with the tumors' removal. We'll know if the war is won in about 12 months though. In order to improve my survival chances by 50% I'll have to make it to 4th April 2008 without remission. Thereafter, my chances of survival will increase by 12.5% for every year I make it without cancer for 4 years. This will bring me to 5 years of remission upon which my overall chance of dying from cancer will diminish from 100% to a mere 30%. Simply put: if I make it to 5 years and I am still in remission, there's a 70% chance that I'll become the rocking old (and all around cool) broad I know I can be.
So what now? In the long term: wait and live. In the short term: visit with family and friends, and retreat again to give my body a chance to heal in preparation for a second round of surgeries. In June & July I will undergo two more surgeries to finish out the girls and assure that all pesky cancer cells are vanished. I am yet to fully discuss the complete follow-up plan with my docs, but they assure me I will be under intense observation for the first (and most critical) 12 months. But no fear, as I have mentioned to so many of you, cancer will not kill me…I've decided this and it will be so.
Though I remain steadfastly positive, I am tired; actually physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted. Being sick and generally incapacitated for this long has been a test of will I hope never to endure again. This prolonged house arrest and inactivity have been incredibly hard on my spirit. I want nothing more than to be training as the triathlon seasons gets underway, I miss my work colleagues, and friends, and want to finally stop being in pain. And though I know these side-effects are temporary and inevitable, I still long for my body to allow me to do the things I enjoy. But, as my dad says: "La luz de 'alante es la que alumbra" (The light ahead illuminates the path); so I march onwards undeterred, though at times frustrated, to the light.
I want to thank everyone who through their actions have made my treatment bearable and my recovery possible. May you continue to turn your words into deeds, and never speak in vain.
Until June…Lots of love as always,
Paola
PS: If you made it this far, thanks for indulging my very, very long update…Chag Same'ach Pesach! Peace to your home and joy to your heart.
