A Little Blood Never Hurt Anyone

What a difference a week makes! I'm feeling so much better. The sores in my mouth have healed and I'm back on solid foods again. I made up for lost time last night by going to Macaroni Grill (the closest thing we have to an Italian restaurant in Lancaster County) and eating my share of four ... count them ... four loaves of bread! And that was before appetizers and dinner!

It's all a big change from the first week post-chemo. I was miserable and I had the blood work to prove it. Even though I'm finished with chemotherapy, I continue to get routine blood work to make sure nothing is out of whack. And I still get to visit the Chemo Lounge each Wednesday, but I don't have to sit for poison. I'm simply there for a red cell booster shot and to say hi to Kristin and my friends.
When last week's blood work arrived it was no surprise my platelets were 12. Supposed to be 100, I've rocked a low of 6, but 12 is pretty damn close to the bottom. It's no wonder my nose was bleeding like a coke addict on a bender. I called Chris the morning of the blood work and said to him, "Guess what my platelets were?" He promptly replied, "Twelve." So I just assumed he had looked up the results on the computer himself. But he didn't - that was just his educated guess. Hit it right on the head! That's how good he is!!

Then my genius husband goes on to explain how he came up with that number. He said when one nostril bleeds, he knows the platelets are below 30. When two nostrils bleed, the number will be lower than 20. When they both bleed and I can't get them to stop, he estimates the platelets are below 15. Given the amount of tissues I had shoved up my nose that week, he figured a 12 - and he was right! That's just one reason doctors go to 13 extra years of school - they can do parlor tricks like, "Guess My Age, Guess My Weigh, Guess My Platelet Level." Comes in handy at parties.

So with platelets of 12 and constant nose bleeds, basic tasks become life threatening situations. My hair is growing back ever so slightly, so shaving my legs is back on the To Do List. I have the 5 blade women's razor for that "extra close touchable shave." It also shaves some money out of your wallet when you have to buy replacement blades. I hear people are taking out small loans just to get a 6 pack of the Schick Quatro - and that only has 4 blades.

Well, one of my 5 blades nicked my knobby knee. I didn't feel a thing, didn't notice a thing until I got out of the shower and it looked like Tanya Harding had taken a iron pipe to my knee. It was dripping blood. That's what platelets of 12 will get you. No more chemo, just a couple of fun side effects to ride out until I'm back to my old self.

Old self ... here I come. I hope you are as much fun as I remember!

The Amazing Mrs. Mitton

Anyone who knows me well knows that Joe Mitton is my best friend and former work husband. We have since divorced because I helped him get another job. It's the last time I do that for a friend who I want to stay at WGAL. No nice recommendations anywhere for you, Andy Manifold!

I was also Joe's Best Man at his wedding. Yes, his Best Man. I liked to refer to myself as his Best Person, but let's not get all PC about it. He threatened at first that he was going to make me wear a tuxedo, but I did get to wear a Best Man dress. Right before we stepped out to the altar for Joe's wedding, I started to lose it. Choking back tears, I said, "Joe, seriously, I don't think you picked the right person." He said, "Um, no. You're wrong. I think Juliet and I are perfect together." Which of course, in true Joe fashion, made me laugh and stop crying. I said exasperated, "No, I mean for your Best Man. Juliet is wonderful. I'm a Best Man mess!"

That's just one of a gazillion funny Joe and Mer stories. It's no wonder Joe is so funny and wonderful though when you meet his mother, Maria. As the mother of nine (yes, NINE!! Joe is #3, I think. Don't make me name them all in age order. I'll definitely leave someone out.) Mrs. Mitton has obviously done something right. Her caring and kindness has be evident throughout my entire illness.

From funny cards, to inspirational gifts, even a Happy Hamster Hallmark book that talks ... Mrs. Mitton has helped keep my spirits up the whole time. This week she helped mark the end of my chemo treatments with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I got sunflowers from my mom and Bruce and roses and daisies from Mrs. Mitton. When you walk in my house you can tell something special has happened. It's not everyday you get a "Congrats on the end of chemo" flower delivery. That's something special.

But my favorite Mrs. Mitton gift has got to be this one:

My very own Bald Beauty!! How hysterical is this?!?! Meet Sophina, the True Hope Moxie Girl! She comes with two outfits, a knit hat and a cue ball head!!! What will they think of next??

I don't know who came up with this idea and how the conversation went around the corporate board room table. "Let's corner the market for little girls who have cancer and are going bald. I bet we'll be able to sell hundreds of these at St. Jude Children's Hospital!" Well, even if their target audience was small children affected by cancer, this 32-year old child is LOVING this doll.

You know how Suri Cruise doesn't go anywhere without a stuffed animal (and high heels? No wonder why they are always carrying her!) I am not going anywhere without my Bald and Beautiful dolly Sophina.

Thank you so much Mrs. Mitton. You've made this cancer journey fun! That's not easy to do. My hat (and my hair) are off to you!! xoxox

Aunt Dor: Kick Cancer's Ass, Literally

Alright, after last night's post, I realize I'm a little depressive right now. So I'm trying to regroup today and look at the positive side of mucusitis. I no longer have to have chemotherapy and this is the last time I will feel like this. There are so many wonderful people who have been my cheerleaders throughout this ordeal and they're all lined up meeting me at the finish line. When I feel like shit, I will think of you all and smile (if it doesn't hurt too much).

I was never actually a cheerleader but a recent pick-me-up piece of mail reminded me what I did do in high school:
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I love Aunt Doreen. She's my mom's youngest sister and the silliest of the aunts! She's sometimes technologically challenged but with the help of my 13-year old cousin Alison, Dor is making it into the 21st Century. She's been reading this blog and is so proud she mastered that. So I thought we would honor her efforts with a funny post.

People often say "Kick Cancer's Ass!" I'm all for it. You know I'm pro-cursing, so the fact that there's an expletive in there only makes the phrase that much better! It's even ok to say this in public. No one is going to shoosh you when you're making such a profound, anti-cancer statement. But it does get me thinking...
In my case, Kick Cancer's Ass is pretty dead on. Unlike Farrah Fawcett (may she rest in peace) I don't have rectal cancer. But the uterus is in the same general area. (I can't imagine answering that question over and over again. "What kind of cancer do you have?" "Umm, it's rectal cancer. Yes, ass cancer." Ask Joe Mitton. I'm pretty sure that's a South Park episode.)

The other thing is I kept having to get those shots in my rear end. So while Cancer was literally getting me in the ass, I in turn, was trying to kick it in it's ass.

So I had to chuckle when Aunt Dor fished this photo out of the achieves: I know how to kick alright!

This is my Kickline picture from 8th grade, circa 1993. I didn't make the cheerleading squad (thank god, in retrospect) so I settled for the kickline. With 4 feet of leg, I was destined to throw them in the air. The note says, "Mer, Keep up the "Team Spirit!" ... Dor. Love it! I don't know if you can in the pic, but my bangs: atrocious; the gloves: ridiculous; the shiny stockings: if only I got a job at Hooters after this I could have worn them under the short orange shorts instead of the red and white pleated skirt; the blue socks: retarded - it was our last ditch effort at getting some blue in the outfit because once the school's combined we went red, white AND blue. Patriotic Smithtown! And somewhere, there is a picture just like this of Katie Lynch. I'm going to go through the boxes in the basement right now just to find it!

Love the blast from the past and yes, I'm trying to keep up the team spirit! It's good I have such a wonderful team!



I'm Done With Chemo, But Chemo Isn't Quite Done With Me

There's a finish line, right? Like someone holding up a white piece of tape that I can run through with my arms in the air. That way I can cheer and laugh and cry and collapse into a ball because I'm so exhausted from this cancer that I can't bear to stand anymore. I'm envisioning one of those shiny silver foil blankets they give out at the end of marathons. Is that was the end of cancer looks like? Because there's no white tape, no foil blanket. We're not there yet.

It's been 6 days since the "Cisplatin Incident" - it sounds like it could be a Michael Creighton novel. That was a shitty day and although I make everything sound more dramatic (and hopefully funnier) than it actually is, that shitty day is ruining the rest of my week. That Benadryl is like crack. Does crack make you fall asleep or keep you up? Maybe it's like pot - that makes you sleepy I think. Well, whatever illicit drug it's most closely related to ... I slept for the next two days. It's as if I could feel the shit pumping through my veins, waves of it washing over me, making me drowsy but in a nice "ahh, I'm just going to rest on this cloud and close my eyes for just a bit" way. So Thursday and Friday were shot.

We went to the beach for the weekend. My goal there is to sit my ass on the chair facing the water for as long as possible. I envision the healthy cells kicking the shit out of the cancer cells every time I hear the waves crash on the beach. To me, it's like the sound of relaxing calm and cancer death simultaneously. This weekend, it didn't work. All I wanted to do was sleep, inside, not near the ocean, in the climate controlled environment of the apartment. That's a shitty day if I want to be inside rather than on.the.beach.

Sunday night I can tell it's going to be bad. The impending mouth infection. It's creeping. In the past, the sores would have sprouted by Sunday. But this last bout of mucositis is taking it's time to kick in. And it's brewing.

Monday my mouth looks like a leper slept in it. It's gooey and crusty at the same time. Is that possible? It hurts a bit inside my mouth, like down my throat and on the inside of my cheeks - that's nothing new. But these sores all around the edge of my lips make it impossible to drink a cup of water. A straw, you say? I tried. Even worse because I have to make my lips make the "O" shape and that hurts like a motha. Mushy foods, if it all. I've lost 4 pounds. That's the only silver lining.

Can't move my lips much, but I can nearly move my hair! It's almost long enough to brush!

"Other" areas are bad too, but that cannot be discussed in this forum. I'll save that for the 50 Shades of Grey edition of my cancer book. I'm in pain, but more than that, I'm annoyed. I'm tired. It's over - the chemo. Never again. It's just that the finish line is a little further away still.

Will someone be waiting there for me ... with a foil blanket and a Cosmopolitan?? I could really use a Cosmo.

WGAL: Part 4 - The Wig Lady

WGAL has been so wonderful and supportive during my cancer treatments. I'm always reminded of how my boss DanO took the sting out of telling him I was sick again with a little humor. He said, "I checked the Employee Handbook and you're totally allowed 2 bouts with cancer. It's 3 time when we cut you off." Amen, Brother. If we get Cancer #3, Chris is just going to take me out back and shoot me!

It's been devastating to be out of work for so long. I worked through a lot of Cancer #1, but that was Little Girl Cancer and I learned quickly this time, that Big Girl Cancer was a different story. But it's all the stories I've missed at WGAL that make me melancholy. I monitor all the e-mails that come in, watch the newscasts and get WGAL Breaking News Alerts on my I-Pad. It's just not the same.

Good old Lancaster City has had it's share of shootings and stabbings. Always makes for a good story and 5:00 and 6:00 live shot! (That's the slightly warped way journalists deal with tragic events!) I missed the whole Sandusky Trail. WGAL's coverage was second to none! Aces, as always. I love the energy of the newsroom when we are at are best, covering the breaking news, the stories that matter. It gets my blood pumping. Right now, the only time my blood is pumping is when I have to walk up a flight of stairs - blood pumping and some huffing and puffing, too!

All I wanted to do was sit at my desk and hear the collective gasp when Ann Curry announced she was leaving the Today Show. I wanted to call our Noon Producer Lauren right away for her take. She and I had a good time making fun of the outfits Ann would wear and how she would talk so fast you couldn't understand a word she was saying. I mean, it's sad her co-anchorship ended as it did, but there was no love lost for me. That's the morning you want to be with all your Newsie friends and dish about the industry gossip. I miss it there. Hopefully, without the poison pumping in, I will now get strong and head back to work at 100% - a new, cancer free person to share the desk space with Susan.

Here's the link to my 4th and final Cancer Journey story. Many thanks to the Managers for letting me do this series, to Kim Lemon for her gracious anchoring of them, and most of all to Andy - my friend and photographer - who really brought life to what could have been very depressing stories. You all helped keep me afloat.

WGAL: Part 4 - The Wig Lady

Give Credit Where Credit is Due

I have come through this because it was God's will. And the hope and prayers and support from my family and friends have helped keep my spirits up and my mind healthy while by body heals.

Thank you.

My mom gave me this quote at the beginning of my treatment and it brought be a lot of comfort.

Joshua 1:9
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.

For like 30 sec. I thought I might die.

I've never been short on drama and yesterday was no exception. IT WAS MY LAST CHEMO TREATMENT!!!! Yeah, yeah, holy cow, big fricken yeah! Marcia and I were smiling ear to ear as we climbed in the car for the last time. We did our Wednesday morning lab routine with a twist. Instead of simple coffee and tea at Dunkin' Donuts, we upgraded to Ida's Cafe, an adorable breakfast and lunch joint with delicious French Toast and Eggs Benedict. We felt like treating ourselves for all the time she and I have put into fighting this damn cancer.

All was well with the world until 2 pm. Kerri, my 28 year old fellow patient, was celebrating her last treatment too. So fun! She made two delicious batches of cookies. I bought a pint of ice cream at Turkey Hill. (Baking's not my thing. Using my debit card at quickie marts is more my thing!) So we toasted ourselves and patted each other on the back and vowed never to come back to the chemo room for chemo. Maybe just to see Kristin - but that's it!

Yeah! Last day of Chemo! Hurrah!

I was asleep for a bit. The 50mg of Benadryl does it to me every time. Then it got interesting. Out of nowhere I start feeling weird. I think you feel weird a lot when you're on chemo. If I have a nose bleed, I blame chemo. A headache, chemo. A pimple, must be chemo. A bad hair day ... well those don't happen anymore ... because of chemo. You get my point. But this was different.

If you are going to have a small crisis you need two people by your side: Kristin and Dr. Evans. It was Kristin who looked right at me and asked, "Are you okay?" I wasn't but I couldn't even articulate exactly what wasn't okay. So after she prompted me, all I said was, "I'm feeling really weird."

If I said that to my sisters they would laugh and balk and say you've always been weird. But Kristin (despite her being one of three girls and having the same sense of humor my sisters have) was on it in two seconds. She said you're having an allergic reaction to the Cisplatin, the chemo that was dripping in. As my symptoms got worse, Kristin sprung into action. She stopped the chemo immediately. Asked me all these questions. Could I breathe? Did my throat feel like it was closing. No. I could breathe but I was getting a little panicky. For an instant, I was like, this is it, something is suddenly terrible wrong. My face felt like it was burning, I was dizzy and all of a sudden terribly nauseous. I felt like I wanted to throw up but couldn't. My belly was cramping and I knew I never felt like this before.

Krisitn gets Dr. Evans who was on the phone. She said, "Come quick. Well, finish what you're doing, but come quickly after that." That part makes me laugh. All I remember was Dr. Evans sitting right next to me, talking to me, asking me questions, checking my pulse, monitoring my breathing. Simultaneously, Kristin pumped in some more Benadryl, 100mg this time - double the dose I got in the morning. They started some fluids and said that would help too.

The women explained it would take a little bit for this to subside because it would take a little time for the Cisplatin to dilute in my system. I had to go to the bathroom. Afraid to leave me alone and because of the benadryl I was walking like a drunken sailor, Kristin came with me. She's seen enough of my ass cheeks already, what's the difference if we tinkle together. I sat back down in my barcalounger, calmed down and then promptly passed out from the drugs. I woke up about 20 minutes later a different person. I wasn't being called to the bright, white light. I was alive and well albeit a little groggy. These women saved the day yet again.

So, yes. I'm done with chemotherapy! I'd do back flips if I had the energy. In great Meredith fashion, I went out with a bang. Crisis averted. Moving nowhere but forward.