Settling into life

I find it hard to wrap my mind around the paradoxes of this disease. I'm alive and focused on living while my chances of imminent death are higher than they've ever been. Median survival for my diagnosis doesn't let me reach 40, although I have strong reasons to believe I'll be on the good (alive!!) side of that. I'm working hard to keep myself well while the treatment kills far more than cancer. Even when treatment works, it could damage my brain or heart or kidneys or the nerves in my feet and hands. I am and will be irradiated on a regular basis, which may cause a different cancer or all sorts of other problems long into the future. It's hard to trust that everything is necessary, but the alternative is worse.

I am doing what I can. I find myself repeating that phrase all the time lately.

Since the last post, I finished one set of chemo drugs and received two rounds of the next, solo, version. It feels good to have one part of the treatment checked off, all done, hopefully never to be needed again. Doxetaxel turns my top half tomato red; antihistamines turn me peach again. I want to sleep for the week afterwards. Digestion confuses me and I'm not interested in food for probably the first time in years. My bones ache days 3-5 and my feet don't work properly. My toes aren't numb, which I was expecting, but the balls of my feet and outside of my calves are. My legs are liable to collapse out from under me if I hurry. I walk everywhere deliberately like an old woman and don't know whether to be grateful I may reach that state or sad I am already there.

My external PICC tube is gone, replaced with 'minor' surgery to put a portacath under my skin. (I pictured tweezers or possibly contraceptive implant removal. This was more involved.) The PICC was turning red, getting constantly bumped by my girls, took weekly care, and was working its way out each time I used my muscles. It's been bliss to both soak in the tub and swim in the summer heat. This new device is going to stay in a long time as insurance policy against not needing it again. I'll have a party when I'm clear two years and all this is behind me, and until then I've got a hard bump under my collar bone.

Good news... my hair is coming back. I've got tiny little eyebrow hairs coming in and some lovely soft peach fuzz on my head. I've never been so happy to see less than half a centimetre of hair in my life. It's a small thing, and I enjoyed playing with the eyebrow pencil, but it's hopeful to see new life appear. Long may it continue.