June 17, 1998   Well, I'm finally finished with all the endless pokes, prods, tests and procedures and ready to start treatment.  As I'm sitting here, I can take stock of the results of the last 5 weeks on my body.  On the left side of my neck, over a prominent lump that consists of a cancerous lymph node, I have a 3 inch scar from my biopsy, just beginning to show signs of fading from an angry red color to something more benign.  In my lower back, just above the left side of the top of my pelvis, I have a still somewhat sore but nearly healed hole where the doc used something akin to a small drill to take out a sample of my bone marrow (yes, it hurt!).  On both arms, I have some small but colorful and tender bruises where some poor nurse poked me 5 times in 2 arms trying to start an IV on me.  In my right neck and chest, I have two fresh surgical incisions where my new "portacath" was inserted under my skin, so that I can rest assured that I won't get any more of those arm bruises.  

The portacath is an entry site under the skin of my chest where the nurses will insert any needles that need to go in me either to take blood or give chemo or other medicines.  It threads up directly to a vein in my neck.  Very cool but somewhat odd to have this foreign object protruding from my chest under the skin.  Not to mention since I just had the surgery yesterday, it's very stiff and sore.  It's kind of like having a high powered rubber band constantly pulling down on the right side of your head.  Straightening out is difficult at best, and we're changing my nickname to "Tilt"!  

All this stuff, while annoying, is pretty minor in the grand scheme of things, and all of it will completely heal in a short period of time.  What's exceedingly strange to me tonight, is that despite all these minor irritations, I am feeling basically pretty damn good.  My energy level is close to normal, and the diet I'm currently on seems to have cleared up my asthma!  So to really believe that I have a deadly disease, and that in order to live, I must submit myself to a harsh treatment that will almost definitely cure me but also almost definitely affect me negatively in a myriad of short and long term ways, is difficult at best.  There is a distinct feeling of standing at the edge of a precipice, getting ready to take a long plunge -  

At the same time, I want to get my first chemo over and done with so I have a better sense of what it entails for me personally.  One thing I have learned is that a known quantity, even if it is an undesirable known quantity, is vastly better than an unknown quantity being tossed about endlessly in my brain.  Just as getting my definitive Hodgkins diagnosis was infinitely better than not knowing for sure what I had, I think undergoing my first chemo treatment, even if it's difficult, will be infinitely better than imagining what it might be like.  I can imagine some pretty nasty stuff.  However, odds are my first treatment really won't be that bad.  I get some nice anti-nausea drugs to take beforehand, and I had a very nice acupuncture session today to get me ready.  I'm taking various supplements and herbs to boost my immune system, and having some energy work done on me tomorrow night.  I've even got the "mental imagery" tape ready to play while I'm getting my treatment, and some good food in the fridge, whipped up by my recently acquired new personal chef Denise (okay, so she's not my personal chef, but one of my best friends who happens to be  fabulous cook).  So my i's are all dotted and my t's are all crossed.  Time to get on with it -  

One more aspect of all this I want to mention - many of the folks I've spoken to over the last month who have undergone chemo themselves recommended that I 
come up with some kind of positive visualization of how chemo goes after the cancer in your body, so that you can mentally picture that idea while you're getting the chemo.  For instance, a friend of mine visualized the chemo as catfish swimming through her body, eating all the cancer cells.  Makes sense since catfish are "bottom feeders", and she went so far as to get some live catfish in a tank while she was undergoing the chemo (interestingly enough, they all died very shortly after her chemo was finished!)  Anyway,  I like that particular visualization, but was still sort of wanting to come up with something on my own that was more personal to me.  I have a small stone turtle that I purchased on my recent pre-diagnosis trip to Arizona from a little Navajo girl at Canyon de Chelly, who told me it symbolized "long life", and I've been carrying it with me since my diagnosis.  It reminds me not only of how I am determined to live a long life, but also how "slow and steady wins the race".  I've already learned the value of patience and letting things happen in their own time with all of this, but the turtle is a good reminder for me when I start to get impatient.  However, I just couldn't think of a good way to fit my turtle symbol into a chemo visualization.  

Finally, on a dog walk the other night, Shari suggested that my dog Sammy might be a good visualization for me, since his very favorite thing is to find and eat really nasty horrible stuff - things like manure and long dead fish near the river are his favorites.  We jokingly call him "vile dog" sometimes when he snacks on such gross things, but he loves them!  So while this visualization doesn't feel very deep or spritual per se, the idea of envisioning cheerful bounding yellow labs bouncing around my body enthusiastically gobbling up gross cancer cells at the very least makes me chuckle, and just thinking of my perpetually happy dog always makes me feel better anyway.  So come tomorrow, I'll be thinking of little leaping Sammys playing carefree in my lymph system.  I figure it can only help!  

10:55 PM  
Carpe Diem  
   
 

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