So Close ... 3.4!

Now that we've switched chemotherapies and I don't have to do two days in the hospital, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm really trying to make the most of the new schedule. Today, I was heading in for just 1 hour of chemo - can you believe that?? Just an hour. Two weeks ago I was hooked up to the Methotrexate for 24 straight hours plus two other drugs. No more. I'm on the chemo fast track now!!

I planned quite a nice afternoon for myself. Bloodwork at 12:30, lunch with my Special Guest, my wonderful neighbor Jeannette, then a brief stop at the Chemo Lounge for a quick infusion. Arriving at the lab, Cindy and the ladies remarked they had missed me yesterday, Tuesday, my normal bloodwork day. It's nice to know you're loved, especially when the lab techs notice you're missing.

For Week #2, I can get bloodwork on Wednesday just a few hours before the shorter infusion. It's called convenient and I could get used to that. Bloodwork - check. The only snag was that Cindy the tech and Jeannette, an RN, noticed when the needle spot kept bleeding. They said my blood looked "thin." Jeannette described it as "watered down kool-aid." It looked red to me, but what do journalists know?

I was obviously not concerned about blood, just concerned if we would be able to get two loaves of bread at Macaroni Grill for lunch. Priorities, people! Jeannette and I would have licked the salty, greasy goodness off the top of that loaf of bread, but that's not socially acceptable. So we ordered salads and tried to be adults.

When we finally get to the office, I don't even make it down the hallway to the Chemo Lounge before Kristin says, "Your platelets are 22. You can't stay here." Some welcome! It turns out that wasn't the only disqualifier: my red blood cells are 5.9. Let's recap: platelets should be like 90 for chemo. With this new chemo, we can go as low as 50. But 22 is just too damn low. Red blood cells should be 12. Mine were less than half. Numbers in the 5's typically require a blood transfusion. So when Kristin said I would need one, I went into Long Island mode and said, "Whaaaaat?" She then asked Dr. Evans and weaseled me out of it.

The side effect of low red cells is shortness of breath. Jeannette said it was amazing I wasn't fainting every time I stood up with counts that low. I said I did have to run after the garbage man this morning - literally run - and when I caught up to him, right at the bottom of the driveway, mind you, I was huffing and puffing as if I just ran the NYC Marathon. So, yes, I would say I'm experiencing some mild shortness of breath.

In all this confusion and throwing numbers back and forth and talking my way out of a blood transfusion and seeing all my friends in the Lounge, I forgot to ask about THE number. The hCG. Kristin casually says, "Your number is 3.4!" Jeannette and I snapped to attention then started jumping up and down like we just won the Powerball. I nearly forgot to ask what it was ... but was so pleasantly surprised by the results.

Wouldn't it be crazy if this new chemo just nips this in the bud (or butt?) once and for all? All those weeks of up and down and up and down. Let's just cut this cancer at the knees and be done with it so I can go on vacation with my husband and sip cosmos on a white sandy beach somewhere.

3.4 is soooo close to 2.0 - Let's do this!!

"33 and Nearly Cancer-Free"

Another year older, not really any wiser ... just older. It was my 33rd Birthday yesterday and sometimes birthdays wig me out. I had no emotional reaction to this one. The only way I really reflected on it was ... by this time next year I won't have cancer any more. They say it's good to have goals. "Thirty-four and on the Dance Floor" will be my mantra for next year!

Needless to say, many of you - "the village" of people who have been so supportive while I've been sick - sent great birthday wishes! I'm so thankful for the fun and the laughs. I smiled a ton over the weekend enjoying so much birthday cheer. Here's just one example. Chris' awesome Physician Assistant and our friend, Jess, sent this card:

It reads: "A cosmo doesn't blend so well with birthday cake, so the cake may have to go."
I mean, c'mon people, did they make this card just for me?!? Can't you hear my saying that in your head?? "Sooooo ... the cake may have to go."

I'm feeling good (well, for the English sticklers.) It's easy to forget that I just started brand new drugs on Wednesday. In my mind, I treat all this as one big blog of chemo. But there are differences between each drug and I'm interested to see if anything funny starts to crop up because of these. We were with several friends this weekend and I had terrible gas. There's nothing like trying to hold it in all day while you're with friends you love enough not to smoke them out of the house. So I declared after a few hours, "I have terrible gas, it's probably the chemo. I apologize in advance." Someone else said, "I too have terrible gas, it's probably from the beans I ate." I was happy to know we were all on a level playing field.

My mouth hurts. Mommy said it's as if Methotrexate is getting one last stab at making my life miserable before it is gone for good. Methotrexate was the chemo drug that caused the 2 day hospital admission and mucusitis. We've stopped using it now. Although, I've been mostly spared of bad mouth infections, my tongue and inside the sides of my cheeks are killing me right now. Plus, last night swallowing felt like forcing glass shards down my esophagus. After 12 straight hours of sleep, I woke up a happier girl. When in doubt, take a nap. Those are my parting words of wisdom as a newly minted 33 year old.