The Dentist

Today, I am excited to report that I went to the dentist.  I wasn't allowed to go to the dentist during chemo because one of the possible side effects of the chemo was poor blood clotting; I wasn't allowed to bleed on purpose.  In addition to having my teeth cleaned, I also had my front tooth sanded down.  I had chipped it the same month I was diagnosed with cancer.  (I think I still have some of the sand paper in my mouth... are they suppose to use that stuff?)

The house is moving right along.  It needed some TLC, so we're giving it the love before we move in.  House decision-making is interesting.  Questions like - how can we cheaply fix [enter myriad of general housing problems] and still have a house requiring the least amount of repair for the next few decades.  As many of you know, I'm a product of the depression, so I'm super cheap (I'm older than I look).  Eric is very good at being cheap too.  We both have clothes from high school ... they fit nicely next to each other in the closet.  I've always wondered how people can afford this season's hot new item ... but then again, I do have parachute pants ... somewhere.  Perhaps we should clean before we move.... i digress.

Home repair is well ... stressful, but not very stressful.  I once heard that home renovation is worse than med school, but so far, home repair is about as bad as flossing.  I just jinxed us ... didn't I?  Perhaps we owe our restful nights to our cruise-y contractor who ... well ... must have been an Australian surfer in a past life.  Back when I was traveling, one of my favorite lines came from a full-time snowboarder at Whistler who mid-afternoon proclaimed "there's a lot of day left" and then he proceeded to talk about whether he should "invent hacky-sack gloves" so your hands don't get cold while you're kicking the hacky-sack ball with your foot.  I digress ... again. Anyway, here's a shout out to George our contractor and friend.

There's a lot of night left, but I'm still going to catch some zzzzz's.

Oh yeah.... no one used sand paper ... really.

Ahhh summer

My hair is growing and growing.  I now have a head of short hair .... and as an added bonus, I still have the few long hairs that didn't fall out during chemo.  I haven't told Eric, but I cut those long hairs tonight.  Usually cutting several inches of hair is a big deal, but when you're only cutting a few hairs, it doesn't seem like a big deal.  So, now my hair is getting closer to being all one length.  (I still haven't looked in a mirror since I cut my hair; hmmm ... odd.)

Eric and I had an improptu gathering with our neighbors tonight.  We ordered pizza and all eight kids played together; Brennan was well taken care of.  Here's to kids running up and down the sidewalk playing ghost in the graveyard in the middle of Chicago after dark!  What a perfect midwestern summer night.

The world post chemo

I've heard on several occasions that the time immediately following chemo can be difficult.  Difficult to go back to work.  Difficult to continue to have post-chemo ailments that can't be seen. Difficult to figure out what life looks like post cancer.  So difficult that I've heard reports of people having post-chemo depression. I'm going to get right on that depression as soon as there's enough room in my head to feel anything more than pure joy that I don't feel like ... pardon me ..... crap! 

These reports of depression have actually puzzled me for the past couple months.  The benefit of having cancer is to be able to live like you were dying. Isn't it?  (um ... come on guys ... that's a reference to a county song)  You now have permission to take risks and make sweeping changes.  Not like cleaning out your closet (I've always wanted to "want" to do that), but more like selling your house and taking a boat to Fiji.  Alright alright ... I know... I just want an excuse to travel.

What I'm *starting* to understand is that the last eight (yes eight) months was difficult ... perhaps you could even say traumatic.  The PFT or Pulmonary Function Tests alone (those are the phone booth tests where you breath into a tube while in a small enclosure.  Easy for 99% of the planet, but my .... worst nightmare.  No no... I wouldn't exaggerate.) are the definition of traumatic.  They should at least label them accurately -- the FTN would be much more to the point -- the Find a Therapist Now Test.  Then there was the root canal of the back (aka - the bone marrow test), two surgeries, several CTs and PET scans, and a whole bunch of chemo.  oh yeah ... the hair loss.  and last but not least... the looming cloud that the cancer could come back. 

When the time came to choose (yes choose) to go through the battery of testing and chemo, I just did it.  My body pumped itself up and off we went.  But, looking back, I keep thinking .... WHAT!#%$!  ...that was nuts. 

So... to sum this blog entry up:
1. Post-chemo can be difficult
2. My head is too small to contain anything other than the joy of not feeling like poop.
3. PFT tests (aka. FTN tests) suck.