Romantic Comedy of Errors

Well, I'm back at Emory. Round 2 of chemo. As many of of you know, my hair has been falling out like crazy. It's really depressing and makes a huge mess as you imagine. So first order of business upon checking into the hospital, before even starting chemo, was to shave my head. And (tell the truth, shame the devil) bald actually looks pretty good on me. I have a nicely shaped head, so I think that helps. The picture was taken on Dad's Blackberry, so it doesn't look perfect, and makes my head look disproportionate, but it's a good general idea of the new look I'm currently rocking.

On Saturday, I got to go to Park Bench Tavern in Buckhead for the first time in weeks. Definitely missed the place and the people. It was so nice to see my friends in a non-helping-me-move capacity or with me in a hospital gown. I got dolled up, Liz was in town, and I knew the crush would be there. A bit of background about the crush: it's a low-grade crush, but I've put a couple of months of solid work into it, and there's flirting and friendliness and all the fun things a crush should have. All systems point to a fabulous evening, right?

Meh. I get a wonderfully warm reception from Crush and the other fabulous bartenders of Park Bench. Hugs and "We miss you"s are always an ego boost. I got to see some of the Skeenation family as well, whom I've missed. We had an awesome time, and there may have been some flirting moments, but I'm such a disaster at flirting under the best of circumstances (see title) that I could have completely misinterpreted the whole evening. I may need to go to WTF is Up with My Love Life? for confirmation or denial...

But I've come to realize it's almost impossible to flirt anyway when you have cancer. All of these anecdotes and romantic dramas where girls meet these wonderful guys and start relationships have to be completely fictional. Guys suddenly go completely bonehead when confronted with girls who have cancer.

It doesn't matter that you've been flirting with this girl for a couple of months-- find out she has cancer and she goes on this untouchable pedestal, like it would be wrong to think about her in a dating/relationship/sexual capacity.

For those of you who don't understand, let's put it this way: It's like when we girls put guys in the friend zone. There's no hope for them to ever move beyond it. It's the same thing here.

Le sigh.

The Makeover Episode

Well, it's done.

I keep hearing Tyra Banks's voice repeating "Rose-MARY's BA-by haircut" over and over again. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you've obviously never caved to wasting a Saturday on an ANTM marathon.

My hair is gone. Yesterday, it started falling out by the handful, which was obviously alarming and really upsetting. I cried a little bit, but I was somewhat stoic about the actual haircut. I'm not crazy about it, but that doesn't matter because at the rate it's falling out, I'm going to have to get my head shaved next week. I guess I'll have to pencil this in before I check back into the hospital for chemo.

I think I'm surprised at how emotionless I am about my hair. Maybe because it's falling out so fast and I know it'll be gone before long, I'm saving up my sad. Now I'm just panicking about stupid stuff like not knowing how to tie a decent headscarf.

I also finished reading "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips" by Kris Carr. If there is such a thing as a manual for having cancer as a young woman, this book is it. She handles it with humor and she writes in a way that makes me feel like I'm not going crazy having the feelings I have. However, I will be ignoring her chapter on how a vegan lifestyle worked for her. I can give up my hair; I'm not giving up bacon too.

Good Days and Bad Days

I'm struggling today.

My standards of accomplishment are rapidly changing as this illness progresses. The mass is shrinking or breaking up and that's great progress. My blood counts are low but not low enough that I need blood products. I slept for almost three consecutive hours last night (and dreamed about some old Wild Wing friends). I walked to the mailbox and back by myself.

I'm also sad. Some of it is the medication. I am teary-eyed and depressed today and frustrated with myself at my lack of progress and energy. I am annoyed that I can't work up the energy to do Pilates and that I'm spending the whole day nauseated and curled in up in what Mom and I call Grandma's chair. Even the pills aren't helping the nausea, I'm stuck eating boring food, and the chemo-metallic taste isn't going away. My concentration still sucks and I can't finish magazines in one sitting.

Mom and I were talking earlier and I told her (and I'm trying to accept) that I just have to accept that I'm not going to feel great every day. I have to accept that some days it's a victory that I get out of bed. I can't beat myself up because I don't have the level of energy I had pre-chemo. Some days, I just have to use food as fuel, and hydrate and that's enough.

I also discovered I am one of the people in this world who hallucinates when they take Ambien. The breaking point came Tuesday night when I went on an hour-long freak-out, creating segments of a TV show that weren't happening, hearing voices, and convinced people from HR Pufinstuff were there for me while I was losing my hair. My mother was disturbed, obviously, as she tried to talk me down, but I was just terrified. I have absolutely no desire ever hallucinate like that again.

Also on the note of my hair: It's going to be gone by March. In my head (no pun intended), I am okay with the idea of losing my hair. I am okay with the idea of a cute Emma Watson pixie cut and know it's just hair and it's just temporary. But the reality of committing to cutting my hair, say this weekend, is just more than I'm ready for. It's stupid. It's hair. I used to be the person at the salon who was so "whatever" about every style.

Today I just don't feel ready for any of this.

Fighting the Boredom and the Nausea

First day out of the hospital!!!!

I'm sure I'd be more excited if I didn't feel like I was about to lose my last three meals. Additionally, I can't keep a consistent body temperature. Georgia is very cold right now, so it's very difficult to stay warm, but I feel like I'm having a hot flash.

Obviously this causes some discomfort.

I also am going slightly crazy with the television commercials that seem to be on constant loop. In particular, there's an ad for ADHD medication featuring an eight-year-old kid, and says to be cautious letting the kid operate heavy machinery. What the heck is a kid doing operating heavy machinery in the first place?

This could be the plethora of drugs I'm on talking. Last night I dreamed there was a horse staring at me. And judging me. This is mildly disturbing to wake up to, as one might imagine. I think I could handle all this much better minus the nausea. As soon as I locate some ginger candies, I feel like the world may start to look up again.

On a side note, I miss my doggy, but I'm so glad he's in good hands with Jaclyn and Richard and the rest of the Enners-Bates household....

When the Parade Passes By....

I've come to the conclusion that the only hospital you can get a restful stay in is rehab.

Since yesterday, my room has been a revolving parade of doctor-visitors and hospital personal. Don't get me wrong; it's nice to feel important but when one sleeps in 45-minute increments, the last thing I am is pleasant. Truthfully, I'm not always pleasant on a full night of sleep, so obviously this is intolerable. I kid you not: yesterday an hour did not go by that someone wanted to talk to me about prescription meds, my mental state, my religious state, my symptoms, and my feelings.

Eventually my oncologist told everyone to go away and let me take a nap. Bless her.

Last night b/c of all the fluids I'm on through chemo, I was up every 30 to 45 minutes. Eventually at 5:30 a.m. I gave up and watched "Murder She Wrote" instead of trying to sleep. And then vitals started. Every two hours. And more talking about meds.

And then I got chewed out when I wasn't hungry. And the doctor told me not to take naps.

Yes, I am bitching today. I'm tired and crabby and waiting for Saturday night/Sunday morning to get released, which I am looking forward to of all things.

Before then though, I have to learn to give myself injections, and my head started itching, which according to my doc means my hair will probably start falling out sooner rather than later.

I'm thinking of an Emma Watson pixie cut and some stunning stilletos. Cancer's no reason to lose one's sense of style.

I've also developed a craving for bologna sandwiches and cheesesticks. Not very Emma Watson, but nothing's perfect. I can't decide if it's classier than all the pudding I'm eating...

How to Get Into a Hospital

Well, as you might imagine, time goes on. By Tuesday, I have been diagnosed with a large B-cell form of Non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and have been ordered to the Emory-Decatur branch of the hospital. My very cool oncologist, Dr. Lechowicz takes one look at me and the fact that the left side of my face it turning blue (And who wants to be Florida or Auburn-colored anyway?) and orders me into the hospital that afternoon.

I do not take this very well. I do not like hospitals and I’m pretty sure I started crying.

I haven’t been crying much through this whole process. I’m afraid if I start I won’t stop, and to that point, I still haven’t had a good cry. I’ll probably wait til after I get the results from my bone marrow biopsy. I keep saying I’ll wait til after some landmark.

As such, I’ve been in the hospital since Wednesday afternoon. I’ve had a CT Scan, a PET scan, and ECHO (revealing fluid around my heart), all sorts of machines hooked up to me, been told I can’t have flowers or anything alive, and a bone marrow biopsy.

I started preliminary chemo therapy Thursday and I have to wear compression socks that make me feel like I’m dressed like one of the Founding Fathers.

The rumors are true. Chemo sucks. It makes one skin dry, bloated, and I have no appetite. I’m on a cocktail of drugs that would make weekend recreational users jealous, but they make be both exhausted and unable to sleep.

On the upside, I keep getting pudding.

Bone marrow biopsy results should be back by Tuesday, and we should get results about whether things have spread to my bone marrow and what stage my lymphoma is in.

The nurses have encouraged me to make my room my own, so we’re working on decorations, and I have named my IV drip Harvey after the rabbit in the Jimmy Stewart movie. Mom is making him some ears.

Life of a Lymphomanic-- Week 1, Part 2

FRIDAY, January 27, 2012-MONDAY, January 30, 2012

While I begin to fight the good fight, life still must go on. Right before Christmas, my apartment complex announced they were raising my rent, and I refuse to pay a ton of money to live in Kennesaw. Just not going to do it. So special thanks to my new roomie, Nurse Noelle, for opening up a room to me and Buca.

Also thanks to Jaclyn Enners Bates, Cason Wallace, Heidi Wetherbee, Mom, and Dada Yarborough for coordinating my move, and to Richard Bates, Brandon Cole, Brian Hubbard, Andrew Boyd, Brad Sims, Shawn Theroux, and Eric Williams for helping move my stuff.

Too bad I haven’t actually slept in my apartment yet…

Life of a Lymphomanic-Week 1

Some of you have heard the rumors, some of you know what’s really going on. Basically it boils down to: I’m going to be “in hiding” for the next 10 days, I wanted you to know the truth, know it from me, and know that cancer can be funny when I’m the one telling the story.

MONDAY—January 23, 2012

At the law firm, doing the filing

Dad’s Paralegal, Dada: Your father’s tired of you being sick. He’s got Dr. Kaufmann waiting for you at Emory-Midtown. Leave now.

Me: But I’m in the middle of filing.

Dada: Yeah, he doesn’t care. Go now, or I’m going to get in trouble.

Scene

So I drive myself to Emory-Midtown. I’ve been fighting a cold that’s been getting progressively worse since November. I’ve been diagnosed as having everything from a respiratory funk to bronchitis.

Nothing’s helping. Not antibiotics, not steroids, not inhalers, breathing treatments, nothing. Around Christmas, I noticed a lump has started growing on just under my neck. Neither of my doctors are worried; one of them says it’s the result of a pulled muscle from all the coughing.

I haven’t slept well or fully through the night since November.

Scene—Kaufmann Clinic

Dr. Kaufmann takes one look at me and orders me upstairs for a chest x-ray.

My whole world starts to change.

“You have a mass in your chest. Now don’t worry; it isn’t necessarily cancer. Do you want me to call your dad and explain all this to him? And we’re scheduling a CT scan for you tomorrow.”

TUESDAY—January 24, 2012

Dunwoody Imaging, CT Scan

I start to cry before they slide me through the machine. This is really too much to be going through by myself. This is too much information to be taking in. What’s going on with my body? Well, whatever going on in my chest, I can’t breathe as I lay back.

Kaufmann Clinic

My father shows up to listen to the test results of my CT scan that’s been stat-rushed back to Emory. At this time, I’ve never been more glad to have my Daddy next to me. A new doctor is introduced into the mix. I will come to learn there will be a cast of thousands as far as doctors and hospital personnel that become standard. Today, I meet Dr. Pickens. He tells me there is a 10 cm mass growing around my chest.

For those of you not good with the metric system, I have a softball growing in and around my chest and starting to squeeze my internal organs and veins.

“Now, we need to schedule a biopsy, do you want to wait to get that done?” Dr. Pickens asked.

I give him a look questioning his intelligence. “Absolutely not. Can you schedule me today? Tomorrow?”

“Well, Thursdays is the earliest we can get you in.”

“Perfect, first thing on Thursday is perfect.”

Wednesday—Emory-Midtown

Pre-Op Shenanigans

For those of you who’ve never had surgery like I never had, Pre-Op means paperwork and a physical and a wonderfully chatty nurse named Sandra

Report for biopsy at 6 a.m.

Thursday—Emory-Midtown

We report at the hospital at 5:40 a.m. In case you can’t tell, my parents and I are a little nervous. I go to the pre-op room and I proceed to get pumped full of drugs.

The stress of the week starts to catch up to me and I start to stress out and have a panic attack. The nurse recognizes that I am just a girl who needs her parents, so she calls my parents out of the waiting room to come sit and soothe me. They also give me happy drugs. This is a temporary fix.

Because I have so much pressure on my chest, when they take me to the operating room, I have to wear a mask pumping my lungs of pure oxygen. Because there’s so much pressure on my chest, I can’t have my anesthesia through IV, so I’m getting my oxygen and anesthesia through a mask that covers my mouth and nose. I am convinced I am being smothered. I start to tear up again.

As you’ve guess by my week so far, I’ve stressed and upset this week. It turns out I do not take to anesthesia too well because as I come off the sleeping gas in post-op, I go into fight-or-flight mode and fight six doctors. I have a wicked awesome bruise to post a photo of in the near future.

Out-patient surgery means I get to go home as soon as I can walk a bit under my own steam. Believe me when I say I am determined to get out of there ASAP.

Now, all we can do is wait for the biopsy results, which will come Wednesday at the latest….