This year we were invited to spend Christmas in Nantes with Virginie's family. I was looking forward to this so much, but began to have doubts about whether or not I would be able to make the trip. Following the chemo, I experienced a few days when I was really tired, so I wasn't sure if I would be able to stand the long train ride.
Despite the SNCF website's attempt to thwart his every endeavor, Mr. T managed to make the train reservations and to pick up the tickets. Virginie had preceeded us by several days and it was up to us and Alec to join her. Fortunately, the day before our departure, my energy level was back to normal, and we declared all systems GO!
Alec packed an incredible travel snack pack, including two bottles of kombucha to hold me over for the holidays. The train trip went smoothly, despite a 30 minute delay for our connection at Marnes la Vallée, where Disneyworld Paris is located. Alec declined all offers for Mickey Mouse ears despite my insistence.
Sandra, Virginie's sister, picked us up at the station and delivered us to our hotel, which is just right next door to their apartment. Very convenient, indeed. The next morning, Alec played the tour guide and took us around the center of Nantes, whose charming city center is reserved for pedestrians only. We then took the train to Challans, to join Virginie's family at her mom's (Martine) house, near St. Gilles-Croix-de-Vie, a seaside resort on the Atlantic.
We spent the next few days with Virginie's family doing what the French do best during the holidays: EAT! It is what I affectionately refer to as a FrogFest. For Christmas Eve, Martine made a very atypical meal for Christmas, but a big family favorite: couscous. It was sublime! Christmas Day featured Pere Noël's visit in the morning, an expedition to find tobacco for the multiple smokers and incidentally, oysters, followed by a "brunch", defined more by the menu (raw oysters as a starter, followed by pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs), than the hour of the meal since we only sat down to eat at three o'clock in the afternoon! As soon as we finished eating, I was back in the kitchen to make seafood gumbo for the evening meal. I really wanted to share a typical dish from Louisiana with Virginie's family as a contribution from Alec's heritage. It was really well received much to my great satisfaction.
The next day, Alec took Mr. T and I for a long walk along the beach at St. Gilles. It was a beautiful winter day, crisp, cold yet sunny. Low tide revealed two small starfish of a most wonderful lavander color. We put them both in a tiny tidal pool and checked on them on the way back to discover that at least one had been resuscitated. Alec remarked the unusual absence of seagulls, to which I replied "Where?", providing him the challenge of indicating where something isn't. I think he's still trying to figure this one out, maybe not realizing that I'm half-deaf at times.
Back to Nantes that evening, where Alec & V invited Mr. T and I out to dinner at a quiet little restaurant in the neighborhood. The next day, we had yet another walk-about in town, visiting among other things, Le Lieu Unique, former biscuit factory. Delicious, but noisy, lunch at the Coq en Pâte restaurant before our departure. Alec & Virginie took us by tram to the station, where we had our tearful (speaking for myself, of course) farewells. The trip home was trying since it seemed that the train was full of tired, whiny kids and their even more tired parents who had abandonned all attempts at calming them.
The surprise upon arriving in Brussels was that not only had the snow remained on the ground, but it had snowed even more while we were gone. I was so glad to make it to my warm, quiet home and find my kitties safe and sound.
And I was even more glad to realize that I had had the strength and energy to make the trip there and back again.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Untainted Bucket
It was with much anticiptaion that I had my first chemotherapy session this Tuesday. Mr. T and I went to Bordet to check me in. Since all of the day clinic spots were taken I was admitted on the ward for the day. First event was the inevitable blood test (lucky for me that I've got great veins!) just to check the white blood cell count before proceeding. Then the nurse opened the port-a-cath , the catheter implant put in specifically for the chemo sessions. I didn't feel a thing.
Alec and Virginie came after lunch so that Mr. T could go home. The nurse gave me a shot of Phenergan (anti-allergy, which made me a bit sleepy) and then hooked up my drip with several incoming tubes, one for anti-nausea medication, and the other with Taxol in a glucose solution. It took about 2 hours for that to go in, and then another hour for the Carboplatin. Very uneventful afternoon just snoozing, chatting with A & V, and doing some knitting. Once unplugged, Mr. T fetched us and took us all home.
Amazingly enough, I didn't really have any adverse reaction to the treatment. I had been warned that the first four days would be the toughest, so I was prepared to be sick, but to what extent I had no idea. The pleasant surprise was that I was hungry for supper, and the new bedside bucket that Alec and I had shopped for last week remains unused.
The next day, Virginie and I returned to Bordet for a consultation with the "ergotherapist" in the rehabilitation center who showed us all sorts of ways to wrap turbans, using scarfs that I had brought and things that she had on hand. The rule of thumb is that my hair should start to fall out about 14 days after the first treatment, so I wanted to be prepared. I can't stand the idea of having a wig, so I'm opting for the exotic look, stopping somewhat short of Carmen Miranda's style.
That afternoon, I had my first MRI to focus in on what's happening in the abdomen-pelvic area. An excellent exercise in "letting go": I was hooked up to -- yet another -- drip for the contrasting agent, strapped to the guerney with plastic plates full of solenoids, kitted out with industrial strength headphones and a little beeper in my hand in case of panic, and then left on my own with the machine for about 30 minutes. I had decided NOT to open my eyes since I didn't really want to see how confined I was and I managed to not cheat. To make the most of my time, I meditated but what a challenge that was! Me: "May I be filled with loving-kindness." Machine: "Inspirez et bloquez" Me: "May I be peaceful and at ease". Machine: "Respirez normalement" Me: "May I be healthy" Machine: "BOOP BOOP BOOP", Me: "May I be happy" Machine: "DEET DEET DEET". Although incredibly grateful to have access to such advanced medical technology, I was relieved to be set free.
Coming home afterwards, I was really tired and experiencing twingy pains in my abdomen and rib cage. This went on through the evening and though a bit unnerving, I attributed it to the fact that the meds were actually working on those pesky little cancer cells. Thus, my running rendition of the cancer cells trying to contact their Mother Ship: "Capitain, captain, we're experiencing problems with the beta-tubulin binding. Microtubule disassembly is malfunctioning. Apoptosis is in overdrive! DNA replication fail."
Snow on the ground when I woke up yesterday. I was moving a bit slowly so I took it very easy all day, just knitting, watching a PBS show on Darwin and chatting with Virginie. Nice nap, and then Alec took me out to air me "like an old mattress" as he said. We went for a walk in the Park Duden, and marvelled at the snowscape, quoting from the cult movie, In Bruges, "It's a winter f**king wonderland!".
And it still is today.
Alec and Virginie came after lunch so that Mr. T could go home. The nurse gave me a shot of Phenergan (anti-allergy, which made me a bit sleepy) and then hooked up my drip with several incoming tubes, one for anti-nausea medication, and the other with Taxol in a glucose solution. It took about 2 hours for that to go in, and then another hour for the Carboplatin. Very uneventful afternoon just snoozing, chatting with A & V, and doing some knitting. Once unplugged, Mr. T fetched us and took us all home.
Amazingly enough, I didn't really have any adverse reaction to the treatment. I had been warned that the first four days would be the toughest, so I was prepared to be sick, but to what extent I had no idea. The pleasant surprise was that I was hungry for supper, and the new bedside bucket that Alec and I had shopped for last week remains unused.
The next day, Virginie and I returned to Bordet for a consultation with the "ergotherapist" in the rehabilitation center who showed us all sorts of ways to wrap turbans, using scarfs that I had brought and things that she had on hand. The rule of thumb is that my hair should start to fall out about 14 days after the first treatment, so I wanted to be prepared. I can't stand the idea of having a wig, so I'm opting for the exotic look, stopping somewhat short of Carmen Miranda's style.
That afternoon, I had my first MRI to focus in on what's happening in the abdomen-pelvic area. An excellent exercise in "letting go": I was hooked up to -- yet another -- drip for the contrasting agent, strapped to the guerney with plastic plates full of solenoids, kitted out with industrial strength headphones and a little beeper in my hand in case of panic, and then left on my own with the machine for about 30 minutes. I had decided NOT to open my eyes since I didn't really want to see how confined I was and I managed to not cheat. To make the most of my time, I meditated but what a challenge that was! Me: "May I be filled with loving-kindness." Machine: "Inspirez et bloquez" Me: "May I be peaceful and at ease". Machine: "Respirez normalement" Me: "May I be healthy" Machine: "BOOP BOOP BOOP", Me: "May I be happy" Machine: "DEET DEET DEET". Although incredibly grateful to have access to such advanced medical technology, I was relieved to be set free.
Coming home afterwards, I was really tired and experiencing twingy pains in my abdomen and rib cage. This went on through the evening and though a bit unnerving, I attributed it to the fact that the meds were actually working on those pesky little cancer cells. Thus, my running rendition of the cancer cells trying to contact their Mother Ship: "Capitain, captain, we're experiencing problems with the beta-tubulin binding. Microtubule disassembly is malfunctioning. Apoptosis is in overdrive! DNA replication fail."
Snow on the ground when I woke up yesterday. I was moving a bit slowly so I took it very easy all day, just knitting, watching a PBS show on Darwin and chatting with Virginie. Nice nap, and then Alec took me out to air me "like an old mattress" as he said. We went for a walk in the Park Duden, and marvelled at the snowscape, quoting from the cult movie, In Bruges, "It's a winter f**king wonderland!".
And it still is today.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
From Uncertainty to a Plan of Action (P.O.A.)
Last Friday, I met with Dr. D., who had all of the test results by then. She carefully went through the pathology report and the PET/CT scan results, explaining what type of cancer (definitely ovarian) and the extent of the distant sites. She reassured me that these metabolically active hot spots were all small in size (< 1 cm), and that this type of cancer responds well to chemotherapy.
So the P.O.A. is as follows: three sessions of chemotherapy, followed by the "debulking" surgery, and then three more sessions of chemo. Each session is three weeks long, the first week being the most difficult regarding side effects. The second week is characterised by a low level of white blood cells, thus increased vulnerability to infection. The third week gives me time to regather my strength and build up the white cell count before the next cycle begins.
I made a special request to see my PET/CT scan in 3D, so we were allowed to go down to the lab where one of the doctors gave us a thorough explanation of the results. It helps me a lot to be able to visualize exactly what's going on on the inside.
This "need to know" also applies to the drugs used for the chemotherapy -- I looked these up on Wikipedia in order to understand exactly how they act at the cellular level. Fascinating! (See Taxol and Carboplatin, if you're interested.)
The first session is planned for next Tuesday, Dec. 14th.
Yesterday, Virginie and I went shopping for comfortable turbans to keep my soon-to-be-bald head warm. I also stocked up on comfortable lounging clothes.
I'm so relieved that the actual treatment will soon begin!
So the P.O.A. is as follows: three sessions of chemotherapy, followed by the "debulking" surgery, and then three more sessions of chemo. Each session is three weeks long, the first week being the most difficult regarding side effects. The second week is characterised by a low level of white blood cells, thus increased vulnerability to infection. The third week gives me time to regather my strength and build up the white cell count before the next cycle begins.
I made a special request to see my PET/CT scan in 3D, so we were allowed to go down to the lab where one of the doctors gave us a thorough explanation of the results. It helps me a lot to be able to visualize exactly what's going on on the inside.
This "need to know" also applies to the drugs used for the chemotherapy -- I looked these up on Wikipedia in order to understand exactly how they act at the cellular level. Fascinating! (See Taxol and Carboplatin, if you're interested.)
The first session is planned for next Tuesday, Dec. 14th.
Yesterday, Virginie and I went shopping for comfortable turbans to keep my soon-to-be-bald head warm. I also stocked up on comfortable lounging clothes.
I'm so relieved that the actual treatment will soon begin!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Eating to Defeat Cancer
Good fortune has it that Mr. T (and I) have a good friend, Gerry Gehr, in the States who is an oncologue. Gerry is a member of the Angiogenese Foundation which does research on preventing the vascularisation of cancer cells. Their research has shown that in addition to specific medication, certain foods have these properties as well. A MUST watch, the Ted Talk on this subject: the link can be found on their web site: http://www.eattodefeatcancer.org/
Naturally I've printed out their list of cancer-defeating foods and have been favoring them in our diet lately. The site also features great recipes from several chefs with whom they are collaborating.
Saturday evening Alec and Virginie arrived to spend some time with us. Virginie, my "belle-fille" (isn't that such a nice word? so much more flattering than 'daughter-in-law'!) came equipped with a "mother" starter of kombucha. (See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kombucha) She showed me how to prepare the green tea and sugar infusion to feed the culture. So now I have my own kombucha factory dividing away in the kitchen. The culture smells somewhere between beer and vinegar.
As Adelle Davis once said "Let's eat right to keep fit". (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adelle_Davis)
Amen and Bon Appétit!
Naturally I've printed out their list of cancer-defeating foods and have been favoring them in our diet lately. The site also features great recipes from several chefs with whom they are collaborating.
Saturday evening Alec and Virginie arrived to spend some time with us. Virginie, my "belle-fille" (isn't that such a nice word? so much more flattering than 'daughter-in-law'!) came equipped with a "mother" starter of kombucha. (See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kombucha) She showed me how to prepare the green tea and sugar infusion to feed the culture. So now I have my own kombucha factory dividing away in the kitchen. The culture smells somewhere between beer and vinegar.
Once the culture goes into production, I can add this beverage to my daily routine.
Last night, Virginie and Alec prepared our entire meal from The List. Delicious! She's a wonderfully creative cook, and Alec is great at grating!As Adelle Davis once said "Let's eat right to keep fit". (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adelle_Davis)
Amen and Bon Appétit!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Life on the Fast Track
A tout malheur, bonheur est bon. (Every cloud has a silver lining.)
So I'm very grateful that Dr. Forton is on my case. His wife, director of the hematology lab at St. Pierre, went all out and started the ball rolling for me at Bordet Hospital (THE best cancer hospital in Europe!). She organized an appointment with an oncologist, not just any oncologist, but the director of Bordet herself.
When Mr. T and I showed up to meet her, she had already set up several exams. an appointment with the surgeon, and the exploratory surgery had been scheduled.
Last week I did all of the various tests (PET scan, chest XRays) and met with the surgeon and the anesthesist. The surgeon moved the surgery forward and had invited a colon specialist to join her.
Monday, November 30th, I had the exploratory surgery, followed by more tests. She took a snippet of one of the nodules in order to perform a biopsy. All of the test results should be ready by the time I meet with the oncologist next Dec. 10th. By then I should know exactly what type of cancer I have, what stage it is in, and what the protocol is that I'll be following.
Considering that Dr. Forton said that we have to move fast, I think that things have been fairly racing along. Only two and 1/2 weeks after receiving the news that rocked my lifeboat and reorganized my list of priorities, I've got the best cancer specialists on my case, all my preliminaries tests behind me, and I'm bracing myself for what's in store for me, all the while remembering to live just each day to its fullest and only one day at a time.
So I'm very grateful that Dr. Forton is on my case. His wife, director of the hematology lab at St. Pierre, went all out and started the ball rolling for me at Bordet Hospital (THE best cancer hospital in Europe!). She organized an appointment with an oncologist, not just any oncologist, but the director of Bordet herself.
When Mr. T and I showed up to meet her, she had already set up several exams. an appointment with the surgeon, and the exploratory surgery had been scheduled.
Last week I did all of the various tests (PET scan, chest XRays) and met with the surgeon and the anesthesist. The surgeon moved the surgery forward and had invited a colon specialist to join her.
Monday, November 30th, I had the exploratory surgery, followed by more tests. She took a snippet of one of the nodules in order to perform a biopsy. All of the test results should be ready by the time I meet with the oncologist next Dec. 10th. By then I should know exactly what type of cancer I have, what stage it is in, and what the protocol is that I'll be following.
Considering that Dr. Forton said that we have to move fast, I think that things have been fairly racing along. Only two and 1/2 weeks after receiving the news that rocked my lifeboat and reorganized my list of priorities, I've got the best cancer specialists on my case, all my preliminaries tests behind me, and I'm bracing myself for what's in store for me, all the while remembering to live just each day to its fullest and only one day at a time.
There are rumors I have tumors
It's funny when I look back over the events of the past few weeks when I think about the various coincidences that have put me on the path that I'm on today.
This year my boss approved my attending an information security conference in London for 3 days. Cost-cutting measures had made this impossible for the past two years, but I had managed to convince him that this was necessary for my "continuing education". Off I go to the RSA Conference in London, Oct. 12 - 14th.
So alone in the calm of my London hotel room, I was massaging my abdomen to relieve the symptoms of my usual travel constipation when I discovered The Lump. I also started noticing that I had to urinate more frequently than usual and that I had unusual pains in the abdomen, sometimes dull and pulling, sometimes sharp. I kept examining my abdomen over the next few days and nothing changed, so upon my return I made an appointment with the gynecologist who had done minor surgery on my bladder last year.
His office is equipped with a sonogram and after the exam, he declared that it was "nothing gynecological", but he did order a urine test to make sure I didn't have an infection. Since I was to see my regular gynecologist in 3 weeks he put her on the list for the test results.
So I waited to see my regular gynecologist for my annual check-up and I mention The Lump to her. She checks the urine analysis to see that indeed there is a slight infection for which she writes out a prescription, and then she examines me. She seems unsure as to what it is and advises that I make an appointment with a gastro-enterologue (which will take about 3-4 weeks to get in to see him) and suggests that I follow the evolution of The Lump in the meantime. But she doesn't seem overly concerned or alarmed.
So I head for my place in France for a long weekend and I'm vacillating in my head between "big poop" or "cancer". A wise girlfriend whom I called to share this schizo frame of mind, asks me "Do you really want to wait a whole month to find out what's going on? What else can you do?". Flash of insight: go see the family doctor, Dr. Queval, in our little village. I tell him the whole story and essentially ask him to reassure me while waiting for the next appointment, but he doesn't seem happy after the exam and prescribes a blood test (with cancer markers) and a scanner. So I convince myself that I have diverticulitis.
Monday back in Brussels, I get the blood test done and then go see the family doctor there, Dr. Forton, for other reasons and mention to him the fact that I've been pre-occupied by my health and The Lump. So he examines me, and *really* doesn't like what he feels and prescribes an emergency sonogram for the abdomen the next morning.
Tuesday morning (Nov. 16), I'm in luck! I call the clinique for the appointment and someone has just cancelled that morning and they can take me at 10 o'clock. The radiologist does the sonogram and tells me that he would like to do the CT scan immediately. After the exam, he calls me into his office to give me the CD and the written results to take to Dr. Forton that evening. I know that something is not right when I notice that he has trouble making eye contact with me.
Tuesday evening, I take the results to Forton, who reads through and tells me that in addition to The Lump there are 4 other nodules that were detected in the abdominal cavity. Never one to mince words, he tells me "You've got cancer and it has already metastisized. Now we have to move fast!"
Rumors confirmed.
My denial stage lasted about 15 seconds.
This year my boss approved my attending an information security conference in London for 3 days. Cost-cutting measures had made this impossible for the past two years, but I had managed to convince him that this was necessary for my "continuing education". Off I go to the RSA Conference in London, Oct. 12 - 14th.
So alone in the calm of my London hotel room, I was massaging my abdomen to relieve the symptoms of my usual travel constipation when I discovered The Lump. I also started noticing that I had to urinate more frequently than usual and that I had unusual pains in the abdomen, sometimes dull and pulling, sometimes sharp. I kept examining my abdomen over the next few days and nothing changed, so upon my return I made an appointment with the gynecologist who had done minor surgery on my bladder last year.
His office is equipped with a sonogram and after the exam, he declared that it was "nothing gynecological", but he did order a urine test to make sure I didn't have an infection. Since I was to see my regular gynecologist in 3 weeks he put her on the list for the test results.
So I waited to see my regular gynecologist for my annual check-up and I mention The Lump to her. She checks the urine analysis to see that indeed there is a slight infection for which she writes out a prescription, and then she examines me. She seems unsure as to what it is and advises that I make an appointment with a gastro-enterologue (which will take about 3-4 weeks to get in to see him) and suggests that I follow the evolution of The Lump in the meantime. But she doesn't seem overly concerned or alarmed.
So I head for my place in France for a long weekend and I'm vacillating in my head between "big poop" or "cancer". A wise girlfriend whom I called to share this schizo frame of mind, asks me "Do you really want to wait a whole month to find out what's going on? What else can you do?". Flash of insight: go see the family doctor, Dr. Queval, in our little village. I tell him the whole story and essentially ask him to reassure me while waiting for the next appointment, but he doesn't seem happy after the exam and prescribes a blood test (with cancer markers) and a scanner. So I convince myself that I have diverticulitis.
Monday back in Brussels, I get the blood test done and then go see the family doctor there, Dr. Forton, for other reasons and mention to him the fact that I've been pre-occupied by my health and The Lump. So he examines me, and *really* doesn't like what he feels and prescribes an emergency sonogram for the abdomen the next morning.
Tuesday morning (Nov. 16), I'm in luck! I call the clinique for the appointment and someone has just cancelled that morning and they can take me at 10 o'clock. The radiologist does the sonogram and tells me that he would like to do the CT scan immediately. After the exam, he calls me into his office to give me the CD and the written results to take to Dr. Forton that evening. I know that something is not right when I notice that he has trouble making eye contact with me.
Tuesday evening, I take the results to Forton, who reads through and tells me that in addition to The Lump there are 4 other nodules that were detected in the abdominal cavity. Never one to mince words, he tells me "You've got cancer and it has already metastisized. Now we have to move fast!"
Rumors confirmed.
My denial stage lasted about 15 seconds.
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