Give Me a Break!

This post may be a little bit scattered. I try to stick to one subject but I’ve got a couple of things to talk about right now. The title of this post has multiple meanings, as you will come to find out.

First, I have been granted a three month break from chemo. After 20 weeks of once a week treatments, my doctor decided that the side effects warranted a break. I had asked for two weeks off for an upcoming trip, but after discussing the side effects in more detail she decided that it was time for a longer break. Most worrisome to her is the neuropathy. Neuropathy is pretty gnarly. While it isn’t what I consider painful, it is annoying and a constantly present symptom that causes several issues. First of all, in case you don’t know, neuropathy is the disfunction of peripheral nerves. It causes numbness in your hands and feet.

Let’s begin with the feet. The biggest issue is balance. When you can’t feel half of your foot, there is a delay in the message being relayed to your brain with each step. It takes slightly longer for me to realize my foot is on the ground and stable. This slows me down, and I feel like I am walking funny. I’m not sure if anyone else notices, but it’s very apparent to me. My hands are numb from the 2nd knuckle to the tips of my  fingers. Sometimes I drop things when I feel like I’ve got a good grip on them. Fine motor activities are difficult. Opening cans, peeling tape, picking up small objects…..don’t always go so well.

Although the neuropathy is annoying, the biggest problem for me has been fatigue. I get up, shower, get dressed, and I’m out of breath. Short walks feel like marathons. I can hardly do 1/2 of what I used to be able to do. Sleep does not help. That’s the hardest thing to explain. It’s not the type of fatigue that a couple of extra hours of sleep will help. I feel like I’m twice my actual age.

The other side effects, gastro-intestinal stuff, dry skin, baldness, finger nails separating from the nail beds, etc. are just icing on the cake of suffering. At one point, I began to truly understand how cancer patients can be kept alive, but at the same time, they don’t have any quality of life because of the treatment. When my last scan came back clear, I was so happy and excited, yet completely unable to show those emotions physically. For a second I thought “YES! I get to live longer!” The next thought was “But do I want to?” The mental toll is real as well, but that is perhaps a subject for another post.

So, what else could “Give Me a Break!” possibly mean? It’s the whole PINK thing! Every October I get on my soap box and preach to the world…..”Enough with all the pink awareness crap!” I don’t find pink necessarily offensive, I just want people to realize a couple of things. One, we have to move past awareness. It’s 2019 and everyone on the planet is aware of breast cancer. I was aware of it back in 2001 when I got my first diagnosis. It didn’t stop me from getting it. I was also aware of it in 2012, when I was re-diagnosed stage IV. Awareness didn’t stop it from spreading. People live under the delusion that wearing pink clothes, painting themselves pink, buying pink cars and pink food, painting their nails pink etc. is actually DOING something. It’s not. The only thing that truly does anything is RESEARCH! And, like everything else in the world, research costs money. I would much rather see someone donate $5 to an organization that funds research, than buy a pink t-shirt. See the end of this post for two organizations that I have found give 100% of all donations to fund actual research.

Two, being stage IV is different than having early stage breast cancer. For patients diagnosed stages 0-III, there is a beginning and end to treatment. There is still hope that they’re cured. There is reason to celebrate. For stage IV, there is no cure. The “average” survival time is 3-5 years. There will never be an end to treatment. All we can hope for is prolonged life. We hope that they will find new drugs, new treatments to keep us alive a few more months, maybe years if we’re lucky. We can’t call ourselves “survivors.” I would never deny the early stage patients the pleasure of celebrating their recoveries, it’s just that we can’t be included in that group. No one wants to talk about the 40,000 plus men and women that die of breast cancer every year. That’s not nearly as much fun as celebrating the survivors who “beat” it. I just want people to realize that cancer is not pretty, it’s not easy, it’s not fun, it’s definitely not pink.

If you’ve read this far and you’re still with me, thank you! Here are those organizations I was talking about:

http://www.metavivor.org             www.standuptocancer.org

Your support is so appreciated!

 

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Complete Response to Therapy

Back in July, the pain in my right leg escalated to a pretty serious point. I had been having a little trouble with it on my trip in June, but I had chalked it up to the extra walking and activity on the trip. However, when we returned the pain continued to worsen. My doctor first ordered an X-Ray and everything looked normal. But because the severity of the pain, she ordered a bone scan. Unfortunately, the bone scan looked ominous. Cancer seemed to be everywhere. My pelvis, my arm, my spine, my ribs, my skull, and, yes, both femurs. Which likely explained my pain.

Guess what……RADIATION again! The only reason I didn’t blink an eye was because it was going to possibly reduce or eliminate the pain in my leg. 5 shots to the right femur, and honestly, it was pretty easy. What wasn’t easy was the mental toll that scan took on me. I questioned my oncologist about progression. In April, when we did a PET/CT, there was nothing reported on my femurs or ribs, so it seemed as if  the chemo I am on, might be a bust. The femurs were easily explained as the PET/CT did not go low enough to see the spots on the femurs. The ribs, she reasoned, were possibly just too small to see at the time. She told me to do at least three more chemo treatments and then get another PET/CT. I reluctantly agreed, but was not so optimistic about the chemo doing its job. The good news is the radiation did reduce my pain. It did not eliminate it, but it is much more bearable.

Fast forward to August 9th….PET/CT day. This was tough as I wasn’t feeling good about it. I’m not sure why I scheduled it on a Friday knowing I would have to suffer the weekend wondering about the results. Maybe, underneath it all, I just wanted time to prepare for the worst news.

Sunday night I was hit with a major wave of anxiety. I knew the results would be in my email Monday morning. I started researching what type of chemo might be next on the menu. I got on my cancer discussion boards and asked for some encouragement. I didn’t want to go to sleep. Eventually, I decided it was time and headed to bed. But, not before deciding to clear out my email inbox.

I opened my email, and there it was. “Message from Kaiser.” I almost didn’t open it because usually when messages come through that late at night, it’s only an appointment reminder. But I opened it anyway and it was the results from my doctor.
When I clicked on the report, the first words I read were “Complete Response to Therapy.” Wait, what? What does that mean? I’ve never had a report say those words….EVER. As I continued to read, it meant that NOTHING was lighting up. No cancer was detected! If you know how a PET/CT Scan works, they inject you with a radioactive sugar and cancer consumes the tracer very quickly, thus “lighting up” the spots that are cancerous. And, as I said before, nothing was lighting up. Unbelievable.

So, anyone confused about how my bone scan had me planning my funeral and a PET/CT detected no cancer just a few weeks later? Yeah, me too! Bone scans do not “light up.” They show basically black spots where something is detected on the bone. “Something” could be cancer, could be scar tissue, could be old fractures, etc. Basically, it doesn’t discriminate between cancer and everything else. It was assumed that all of the black spots were active cancer because of my history and because that’s what we’re looking for. As it turns out, comparing PET/CT’s to Bone Scans is pretty useless. As my doctor said, we’re comparing apples to oranges.

What is useful is comparing a current PET/CT to a previous PET/CT. In April, I had three vertabrae with cancer, pelvic spots, a spot on my arm, and the ever present spot on my skull. If you’ll remember, this is when it was decided that I had to move on to IV chemo and I began the drug Taxol on a weekly basis. I knew the IV chemo would be tough, but had high hopes that it would also be effective. I never imagined it would be SO effective.

Now there is always a flip side to good news. The good news is my scan is clean for now, the bad news is the chemo is most definitely taking a physical toll. Neuropathy has kicked in so I have numbness, tingling, and pain in both  hands and feet. I’m tired and get tired very quickly. I’m bald. Gastro-intestinal symptoms are constant. I never know what or when those will hit. Everyday I wonder will it be heartburn, bloating, diarrhea, and occasional nausea. I’m on more meds to address side effects than I am to address cancer. That’s how this whole thing works. My oncologist told me that she cannot leave me on this chemo indefinitely as the effects will be cumulative. But, there are other options and possibilities that include dose reduction and/or taking breaks that can help with the side effects.

Now it’s important to note that the result of this scan DOES NOT mean I’m cured. There is currently no cure for Stage IV breast cancer. If I’m lucky, the drugs will hold the cancer at bay for many months, maybe years, but, in the end, it will return. We can only hope that it’s later and not sooner. For now, I’m just thrilled that it’s all under control and I can breath easier for at least a few months. I can count on being alive for some more trips and milestones. Thanks to everyone who always sends words of encouragement and love as I make my way down this road. It means so much to me!

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For Real

I sometimes struggle writing this blog. Cancer is a ride that takes me through many twists and turns, ups and downs, highs and lows. Part of me wants to always be positive, look at the good and downplay the bad. At the same time, it wouldn’t be honest to do that. It would feel like a betrayal to myself and all other cancer patients to hide the real cancer experience. So, I’m not going to do that. But, I am going to start with the positive.

In April, I went to South Africa. It was a trip of a lifetime. There are simply no words to describe what it’s like to see animals in the wild. To be so close and observe their magnificence in their natural habitat is simply awe inspiring. I will never be able to enjoy a trip to the zoo ever again. I was never a zoo fan to begin with, but this sealed the deal. Not only did we do the safaris, but we spent time in Capetown and went to Victoria Falls on the Zambia/Zimbabwe border. I had only dreamed of visiting such exotic locations and to actually do it…….sometimes I feel like it must have been a dream.

After I returned from Africa, it was time to face the music and figure out what was happening with the cancer. I was scanned on April 30th and the news was not good. Definite progression this time. Three new vertebrae and a spot on my left arm. At least there was no question that it was time to move on. But, moving on was a real slap of reality. IV chemo once a week, every week, indefinitely. I had another trip coming, so they wanted to get things started and get a few treatments under my belt before I left. In a matter of three weeks, I had three IV chemo treatments, lost my hair, had a port surgically placed, and prepared for another major trip.

Chemo 1, some pretty major fatigue, followed by some major back pain. Pain as in can’t sleep, taking the narcotics, lying in the fetal position waiting for it to kick in kind of pain. I was x-rayed and no source of the pain was discovered. It did slowly improve….thank goodness.

Chemo 2, muscle aches. I felt flu like and again, pretty lethargic.

Chemo 3, nausea and stomach upset, along with hair loss. I was also quite upset when after having my port placed, they decided it couldn’t be accessed because of possible infection. I was so looking forward to NOT being stuck and having the IV, only to be told it was “on hold” until I complete a course of anti-biotics.

And then it was time for my trip to the Baltics. I know I said chemo would be once a week, every week, indefinitely, and it will be…..except when I travel. My doctor knows I have some pretty lofty travel goals and that those will always come first, as long as I’m well enough to fulfill them. She is in complete agreement. So now I know a sure way out of chemo is to plan a trip!

My trip was incredible! I absolutely loved the Baltics. St. Petersburg, Russia is by far, the most beautiful city I have ever seen in my entire life. It was unreal. Everywhere I looked there was unbelievable architecture, picturesque scenery, and unrivaled history and culture. I was in awe. We also visited Tallinn, Estonia, Stockholm, Helsinki, and Copenhagen. Not to mention our days in Amsterdam and Belgium prior to the cruise. The weather was wonderful and I saw and experienced so much! I consider myself so lucky!

I returned on June 13th and it was back to chemo just a few days later. As I write this, chemo was three days ago. Today has not been a great day. I’m tired and for whatever reason, my leg hurts. That’s the fun thing about cancer in your bones, pain seems to randomly come and go in weird places. The good news is they were able to access my port this time. On Monday I go in for blood work and Tuesday I get another treatment.

My doctor asked me how I was doing and I told her that I feel like this cancer stuff is “for real.” It’s harder to ignore or bask in denial when I’m being treated every week, dealing with chronic pain, and managing a new slew of side effects. It’s also hard to look when I pass a mirror and see Uncle Fester staring back at me. I’m not a vain person, and I know I should feel lucky to be here…..with or without hair, but sometimes I just look at myself and want to cry. I had to have a new passport photo taken today and it just kind of broke my heart to compare it to my picture from 10 years ago. I’m pretty much unrecognizable, and truth be told….it hurts. Who knows if I will ever have hair again.

My next scan will be around September. Hopefully we will see some improvement, or at least stability. Hopefully my body will adjust to the new chemo and side effects. Hopefully I will get to continue traveling and spending time with my family and friends. While I feel it getting harder, I don’t think it’s time to throw in the towel just yet. I’ve got a lot more to see and do. I try to set small goals and big goals. When I was first diagnosed terminal, I just wanted to live to see my son graduate high school. Now, with a little luck, I may actually see him graduate college! It’s not too far away. And in a few weeks, guess what……..another trip. Just a short one this time, to New York City. But, I’ve never been and I’m very excited to see it. I think my travel plans really help to keep me going through the treatments.

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Realistic Optimism

My January Pet/Ct scan came back as a “mixed bag.” Overall, the cancer is stable, except for 2 spots in the lower pelvic region that progressed. One progressed in both size and activity. The other progressed in activity only. These are perhaps the most difficult scans to deal with. The options: 1) Do nothing. Stay the course and see what happens. I’m not usually a “do nothing” fan. I’m more of a proactive kind of person that likes to address issues before they become bigger. 2) Call it progression, ditch my current chemo and move on to the next drug. The problem with this option is that I am at the threshold of IV chemos. IV chemo meaning, have a port placed in a major artery, go in once a week, get an infusion, lose my hair, etc. Certainly not fun, but something I always knew was coming. 3) Radiate the two problem areas, stay on the current oral chemo, and re-scan in a few months. This way, if there is truly progression, we will see it in other areas. With my oncologist on maternity leave, I consulted with the radiation oncologist and chose option 3.

Back to radiation I went. Radiation does not hurt while you’re receiving the treatment. It is pretty easy. You lay there, very still, while a huge machine rotates around you. They first take x-rays to insure you’re lined up correctly and the dose will be delivered to the right spots. I always know when the dose is being delivered because there is a very distinct buzzing sound. The techs come in, help you get off the table and off you go. Rinse, repeat for however many days/doses you’re getting. This time it was five. They tend to do 1, 5, or 10 in cases of cancer that has spread. Early stagers (which it’s been 18 years since I qualified for that category) get 35-40 daily treatments. But in early stage, the goal is still to cure the cancer. In my case, they’re not looking to cure anything. The idea is to control symptoms, and prolong life. I thought I had escaped my latest round of radiation side-effect free. But, unfortunately, about 10 days after finishing, I developed a very painful sunburn in the pelvic region. I won’t get graphic, but this is skin that doesn’t see the light of day much anyway. It was so painful! It blistered. It peeled. I had to go commando for a couple of weeks. I was quite happy when it was resolved.

My oncologist returned from maternity leave in February. She agreed with my decision and we scheduled another Pet/Ct for the end of April. So, I bought myself at least 3 additional months of oral chemo. I hope for more than that, but if there is clear progression in April, it will be time to switch. I leave for South Africa at the end of March for two weeks. I’m so excited as this trip has been on the calendar for a little over a year. I don’t suspect I’ll ever be able to afford another South Africa trip, so this really is a once in a lifetime event. I’m lucky that my doctor supports my traveling and is willing to work my visits and treatments around my trips, but that will become more difficult if I have to go in once a week.

I am trying to be “realistically optimistic” about the situation. Realism is necessary in accepting this bullshit diagnosis, for lack of a better term. You have to accept that there is no cure, treatments suck, side-effects are numerous, and you’re never going to be done with treatment……at least until you die. The optimistic side is the fact that I am now over the 7 year mark of survival. At diagnosis, I was told 3-5 years is the average. I’ve managed to avoid the IV chemos for these 7 years, which is rather remarkable. And, I am maintaining a decent quality of life. I won’t say it’s always easy, but I’m still able to work part time, travel, socialize, and keep checking off all of those items on my bucket list. Realistically, I know it will end at some point, but optimistically, that point is still years away!

I’ll post an update after my trip and my next scan! Fingers crossed!

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Random Thoughts

Today is my 46th birthday.  Birthdays have a different feel since being diagnosed as terminal. You can’t help but wonder if it’s your last one. Some people feel sad as they get older, but I can only describe each birthday as a sense of relief. Relief as in “I made it!” I think about the people I’ve lost and how old they were when they died. While many of them died young, I still hope to live as long as they did.

This past year has been one heck of a ride. So many ups and so many downs. I gave up a career I loved, but traveled to so many incredible places. My mother’s health has not been good, yet she is living with me so  I can be with her. I started chemo with many side effects, yet the cancer has remained stable. I lost another friend to cancer in November, yet was so fortunate to have spent time with her despite the fact we lived 9,000 miles away. I think life is probably like this for just about everyone, cancer or not. We treasure the good, get through the bad, and try to catch our breath in between.

This year I found myself in England, Spain, France, Italy, Vatican City, Greece, Monaco, Malta, Panama, Colombia, Guatemala, Costa Rica, and Mexico. I loved the different languages, cultures, customs, scenery, and adventures. I learned more during my travels than I could ever learn from a book or a website. However, despite all I learned and all the differences, what struck me most is how similar people really are. I can’t explain why but I can say that I feel a much stronger connection to humanity as a whole. The human experience is universal in my opinion. And this is what drives me to continue to travel and experience new places and new people.

People say that transitioning to retirement is hard. The lack of routine, purpose, activity can be hard for some. I, however, can’t say that I ever find myself bored. In fact, I’m not sure how I ever held a job. There are so many things I had hoped to accomplish…..organizing the basement, catching up my scrapbooks, cleaning the house, volunteering, etc. Some of the projects have been started, but time just gets away from you.

Tomorrow is my 6 month PET/CT scan. Sometimes I have a good feeling about them, sometimes I have a bad feeling about them. This time, I have no feeling whatsoever. I really don’t know what to expect. I feel good, other than the typical side effects from the chemo. The results will be what they will be. Of course I hope for stability or improvement, but if it’s progression, I will deal with it.

I have a lot of hope for 2019. I hope to complete my planned trips. In April we are scheduled to go to South Africa. In June, the Baltics. I’m so looking forward to these trips. Areas of the world that I thought I would only dream of visiting. I’m also looking forward to seeing my brother in a couple of weeks. I’m hoping for more time substitute teaching. I miss the kids so much. I hope to accomplish some of these projects that I started. I hope for more time with friends and family. Most of all, I hope my health remains stable.

I also hope to update my blog more often. Again, one of those intentions in retirement that goes by the wayside.

I hope everyone has a very happy 2019!

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I Used to be…….

I used to be a teacher. I used to be a teacher. No matter how many times I say it, I can’t seem to get used to it. These last few days of my teaching career have been pretty emotional. I am so sad to be giving it up. I love teaching and I love the kids. Physically, I’ve been ready for awhile. Mentally and emotionally I’m not even close to ready. I feel like it’s the right decision, but that doesn’t make it an easy decision.

Here is what I WON’T miss………………

Getting up at 5:30 am.  Not being able to go to the bathroom when I need to go. Grading huge stacks of papers. Staff development that does not do much to develop my teaching ability. Spending hundreds of dollars of my own money on classroom supplies. Fighting politicians who refuse to listen to teachers and do what’s best for kids. Scarfing down my lunch in 30 minutes or less. Working when I’m sick because writing sub plans is too much trouble. Planning possible escape routes out of my room in case of an active shooting situation. A confusing and arbitrary teacher evaluation system. Standardized tests. Worrying about my students’ mental and emotional health, home situations, etc. Not being able to sleep as I think about how much grading I have, how many lessons I have to prepare, how many meetings I have to attend……………….

Here is what I WILL miss………………..

The excited chatter of a room full of teenagers. Waves, high fives, hugs, greetings from my kids. Notes of thanks and tokens of appreciation. Seeing the kids achieve academically, athletically, socially. Watching a shy, awkward freshmen grow and develop into a strong, confident senior. Visits from past students. Intellectual conversations with colleagues. Fun, outrageous and not-so-intellectual conversations with colleagues. Friday afternoon socializing. Being a part of a team. Having a “work” family. Putting together lessons that are engaging and effective. Homecomings, sporting events, spirit days, proms. Snow days. Planning periods. Collaboration. Starting a new school year each August. Reflecting on the past school year every May. The eternal optimism, energy, and enthusiasm of youth.  The laughter. The celebrations. Teaching a content that I’m passionate about. Feeling like a contributing member of society. Having a routine. Knowing that my work is important and really matters. Shaping and having an impact on the future.

When last I wrote I had just started my new chemo regimen. It’s tolerable, but side effects are a battle. I’ve dealt with fatigue, hand/foot syndrome, a few mouth sores. I take the pills for two weeks and then take a week off. In February, a scan seemed to indicate that the medication was working. Most spots were stable or had shrunk. One rogue spot had grown slightly. We will scan again toward the end of July.

My hair has still not grown back from the radiation in September. My radiation oncologist said it may never come back. Other patients say it will but it takes a year or longer. I was hoping to have some hair for the summer, but it’s not going to happen.

I leave one month from today for a dream trip to Europe! Finally, I get to see some of the amazing places, ruins, and artifacts that have been a part of my curriculum for so many years. I will visit London, Barcelona, Monaco, Florence, Rome, Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, Malta, and Paris. I can’t begin to express how excited I am.

And so begins my life of early retirement. I’m so lucky that I’m able to do it. However, I would gladly trade my early retirement for my health plus another decade of teaching. My career is not ending when and how I wanted it to end, but I plan on making the absolute best of the situation. I will have to get used to saying, “I used to be a teacher.”

 

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From Thriving to Surviving

I’m not going to lie. The last 4 months of 2017 were rough. Radiation to the head is no joke. The fatigue was rather debilitating and losing 3/4 of my hair was an emotionally tough blow. It’s one thing to know you have cancer. It’s another thing for everyone else to know. It’s not as if I am particularly private about my diagnosis, I mean I am sitting here blogging about it! But walking around and having the whole world know, whether I want them to or not, is hard. I know I could wear hats, scarves, or wigs, but they’re all very itchy and uncomfortable. If there is one thing I don’t need is to voluntarily add to my physical discomfort. So, since the beginning of October, I’ve faced the days bald. The up side is I’m saving a ton of money on haircuts, coloring, and shampoo and styling products.

As soon as radiation ended, I began a new cancer drug combo Aromasin/Afinitor. I was warned about Afinitor. Apparently, it can cause some pretty mean mouth sores. So I prepared. I took everyone’s advice. I bought the expensive mouth wash and put the pills into gel caps to keep them from contact with the inside of my mouth and throat. The result? NO MOUTH SORES! I celebrated my successful avoidance of the nasty side effect! Other than that, some fatigue but otherwise not too bad. The best news came on November 6th when a PET/CT scan revealed the drugs were working. My tumors were smaller and less active than the scan at the end of July. Things were looking up!

On November 17th, we closed on our new house. Life became pretty busy. I was juggling work, moving, cancer, a new pet (our rescue kitty-Hazel), and I was tired! At a routine oncologist appointment I decided to be a good patient and get a flu shot. My reward for being good was a nasty infection at the injection site which required a nice week long course of antibiotics for Thanksgiving.

Things really went downhill health wise in December. I developed large, red, painful bumps on my scalp. I went to see my oncologist and she diagnosed it as foliculitis. Another fun side effect of my drugs. A topical antibiotic was prescribed. Turns out that mouth sores and foliculitis  are not the only side effects from my new drug combo. Blood work revealed sky high blood sugar levels and liver enzymes that were more than 4 times higher than normal. My oncologist had me stop taking the Afinitor immediately until my blood work normalized. It took a couple of weeks, but things normalized and now we had to make a big decision. She said we could try the Afinitor again at a lower dose or move on to the next option which is a drug called Xeloda-an oral chemotherapy. After some painful deliberation, we decided to move on. The deliberation was painful because it’s hard to give up a drug that you know is working. However, the toxicity and risk to my internal organs was just not worth it. So moving on to Xeloda.

One more fun little side note for December…..I came down with the ear infection from HELL! Seriously, I felt horrible. I had vertigo, stabbing pain in my ear, my eye was swollen, and of course it spread! The first antibiotic didn’t help. I then received a shot of a strong antibiotic and a new oral one as well. When even that wasn’t helping, I ended up in the ER and threatened with hospitalization if the infection had spread into my eye or my mastoid bone. Luckily a CT scan showed that it remained “pre-septic cellulitis” and I was not hospitalized. I literally crawled into school those last few days. I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it! But I did. I had never been more thankful for a break to arrive!

So on December 28th I started the Xeloda. Possible side effects…..too many to list! But it doubled the number of pills I am taking per day! I’ve been tired, had some mild nausea, and stomach upset. This drug is two weeks on, one week off. I’ve been warned about the major side effect, hand/foot syndrome. Apparently, the palms of my hands and soles of my feet could become very red and burn, maybe even blister. The skin could peel off and it could be quite painful. It sounds like very few patients escape this, but it does take a couple of cycles for it to kick in. Something to look forward to for sure.

Prior to this tumor on my head, I would tell people that I am not just surviving, but thriving with my cancer diagnosis. I fear it’s changing. I’m still surviving, but I no longer believe I can use the word thriving. Each day is a bit of a struggle, some days are worse than others. I’m going to try to make it through the semester, but I will have to call it quits at that point. I just don’t have the physical stamina to teach for 8 hours a day. It’s really hard for me to give up teaching. I still love it. I think I’m still good at it. I’ll miss the kids, I’ll miss my colleagues, I’ll miss feeling like a contributing member of society. I suppose I should feel lucky that I’ve managed to continue for 6 years post diagnosis, but it’s still a huge blow. I know it’s the right decision, as I may actually survive a little longer with less stress and more time to focus on my health, but it will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I hope I can get through the semester and cherish these last days of my career.

Happy New Year to everyone. I wish you all a year of health and happiness!

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