Category Archives: chemo

back to school

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by in azahartravels, cancer, cats, change, chemo, hope, tapas tours, websites, work

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printingMorcilla overseeing the printing

I’ve often thought that September feels like the real “new year”, rather than the first of January. Summer holidays are (mostly) over, shops and bars have reopened, there are lots more people out and about. This week especially has a distinct “back to school” feel to it as I get things organised for the whack of Sevilla Tapas Tours booked over the next couple of months and settle back into a routine of getting chores done and going to the gym. Meanwhile I chip away at the iceberg of blog posts and articles that need to be written or updated, including editing the 3000 or more photos I took over the summer. Any spare time is being spent on putting together my new Trip Planning biz, which is pretty much ready to go but still needs fine tuning before I properly launch it.

It’s also a time for taking care of practical matters like tax stuff (ick) and finally seeing the dentist. I had planned to put the latter off until the next PET scan, but after having lost a fourth filling (plus much tooth) last month, another fell out over the weekend and, well, FIVE half-gone teeth seems like too much to ignore. I’ve got my oncology appointment on the 22nd, so blood work will have to be done before that, and then the quite possibly scariest PET scan of all will be sometime in October. So much hinges on this one coming back clean as it’ll mark five years since my last chemo and – if all is well – a change in how I’m monitored. Most likely I’ll switch to having annual PET scans instead of every six months and maybe they’ll even remove the chemo port. Both of these would be such much-needed positive changes in my life (I can’t even bear to consider the alternative) that I’m almost too scared to hope. I’ll let you guys do that for me. 😉

But at least so far, it’s all good this September. Lots to do, lots of new stuff coming up. Very exciting. How about you? How’s your “new year” coming along?

unprintable

03 Monday Feb 2014

Posted by in cancer, chemo, weird

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FingerprintsToday I went to renew my residency card, which included getting a fingerprint taken, and the woman at the immigration office couldn’t get the machine to “accept” my print. She said they were very faint. It was then I remembered hearing something about this while I was on chemo, that taking Xeloda could actually wipe out your fingerprints, as happened to this guy. After quite a few tries with both thumbs and a couple of fingers the machine finally gave a little “ping” and I was okay. I was beginning to worry, wondering what would happen if they couldn’t get an acceptable print. So that was a relief. Also a good thing I never tried using the fingerprint ID option on my new iPhone…

the best I can be

06 Tuesday Aug 2013

Posted by in blogging, cancer, change, chemo, friends, hope

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polaroid patThe other day I came across this post written by Pat Is this the best I can be? in which she’d linked to this post that I’d written on the same day in October 2009, and in those blog posts both of us were questioning our lives and our behaviour, ways of coping, etc. And it got me thinking…

First of all, I spent a bit of time on Pat’s blog listening to her voice again. She was such a naturally talented writer along with being wonderful in so many other ways. And I realised that it’s been almost three years since we wrote those posts. I’m still here, Pat is not. But who knows what the next PET scan in September will reveal?

And so what I mostly started thinking about was “wasting time”. It seemed that for awhile I was doing everything very intensely because it truly felt like DEATH was just around the corner. These days I am mostly aware of my condition (stage 4 cancer survivor – at least so far!) during my monthly visits to the hospital to get my chemo port cleaned out, and of course every six months when I go for my PET scan. The latter always terrifies me and I’m a mess for about a week or so before. Lucky for me that I get the results straight away and don’t have to also go through the stress of waiting a couple of weeks afterwards.

Anyhow, there are, and always have been, a lot of things I don’t like about myself, so that is a daily struggle. I mean, I think I am mostly a “good person” (whatever that means) but my days are full of self-criticism because I could always be Doing Better. And then I don’t do better because this (rather abusive) inner-dialogue tends to wear me out, though I think I still end up mostly Doing Okay. When I was going through chemo and recovering from operations I tended to cut myself some slack and not be so hard on myself and I guess that reading those blog posts made me aware that I’d slipped back into this beating-myself-up rut. Which is, frankly, a waste of time. Not to mention counter productive. And exhausting.

When Azar, the love of my life, died last September I made a promise in honour of his memory to try and be the same person I was with him when with other people. You see, he was just so easy to love and it turned out I actually really liked who I was when I was with him. Because with Azar I was always the best I could be. And well, I haven’t always remembered that promise but all this recent thinking has brought it back. So I’m going to start making that my daily goal, and I even think I’ll try to include myself along with those “other people”.

Wish me luck!

port cleaning queue

05 Tuesday Jun 2012

Posted by in cancer, chemo, hospitals

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So most of you know by now that just over four years ago I was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer with metastasis to the liver, blah blah blah…

The second time I had to go on chemo (April 2009) I was saved from frying what was left of my hand veins by having a chemo port surgically installed. Actually in a bit of an awkward place, right between “the girls” (most diagrams I’ve seen of ports show them higher up and to one side).

Anyhow, as I am still considered high risk for recurrence the port will probably stay in place for about five years and it requires monthly maintenance – a flushing out and then an injection of an anti-coagulant so that the tube doesn’t get blocked up with gunk and end up killing me. And so yesterday I headed over to the hospital for the monthly port cleaning.

Sometime last year they moved port cleanings over to the blood lab building, which at first I though was a pain because I could only go between 12- 1pm. But after going a couple of times I realised that it was way better than going to the chemo room and waiting sometimes up to an hour and having to see all the others undergoing treatment while I had the port cleaning done.  At the blood lab there is normally nobody there when I arrive and I am in and out in a flash, and am even on a first name basis with the nurses.

But today there was a queue. Not a huge one, just four other people ahead of me. So no problem. Except that all of them were obviously so much younger than me, perhaps in their early thirties. And that made me so sad…

it’s official!

03 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in cancer, change, chemo, hospitals, sevilla, silly, weather

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Forget equinoxes and time changes, for me autumn doesn’t officially arrive until the first day I have to put on shoes. Which was today. Had to go out to the hospital this morning for the monthly chemo port cleaning and, while the heavy overnight rain had stopped, it was still a bit blustery and coolish. Dammit. I didn’t need to wear a jacket, but bare legs and mostly bare feet seemed like pushing it, so out came the dreaded tights and the (very dusty) purple shoes.

Not bad, I guess, but some years I’ve managed to keep wearing sandals until the last week of November. Basically it depends on if it rains.

Anyhow, I got a taxi over to the hospital. It’s different since they changed the port cleaning location – I used to go to the chemo infusion room in the evenings when they weren’t so busy and now I go to the blood lab building between 12-1pm. It’s actually a bit better not having to go to the chemo room, but it’s still a monthly reminder of THE CANCER and that the reason I have to keep this port in for five years is that they expect that I’m going to need it again…

But not today. There were two nurses on duty when I walked in and they immediately asked why I was dressed totally in black. I said I wasn’t, that I was wearing purple shoes and red earrings, but that didn’t satisfy them. Then I realised they must have thought I was in mourning, so I told them I was mourning the sun. Cracked them up. And they also relaxed, no longer worried I was a recent widow on top of having a chemo port in my chest.

So now that it’s autumn (it’s not officially winter until the Christmas lights are turned on) I need to go through my pathetic array of “warm clothing” and see what I can pull together. Even though it actually got up to 20º this afternoon. But I don’t want to buy anything new until I lose another ten kilos…

How’s the weather where you are?