This post chemo #3 has been difficult. I have not been able to get back my energy as I had the other times. Monday I was determined to get off my butt and go for a walk with Jeff. My oncology nurse has encouraged walking, even two short walks a day are important.
As we headed up the hill I knew I did not feel well. Jeff was immediately ready to turn me around and go back home but before that I started to go down, I was feeling faint. He managed to get me across the street and sit me down on a curb. I blacked out for a new seconds. It was a strange sensation. He was talking to me and told me he was gently slapping my face. I remember feeling like I was sleeping and hearing his voice at the same time. It all happened very fast.
A neighbor driving by saw us in distress and immediately stopped her car. I had never met her. She asked if I needed a ride home and I got in her van. I told her I was reacting to the effects of chemo. She said her husband was under chemo now too. I couldn't believe it.
As soon as I got home, Jeff had me lay on our sofa. I called my oncology nurse and she did a quick assessment over the phone. I was not short of breath and was lucid though shaken. She spoke to my doctor and advised us to go to the UCSF emergency room on Parnassus Ave. in San Francisco for a complete workup.
We did not leave in a huge rush though I didn't even bring a toothbrush not expecting to stay overnight. Poor Jeff, I felt terrible to put him through all this drama. I laid down in the backseat with pillows under my knees. It had just rained so I was smelling that special earthy first rain on the sidewalk smell and watching the freeway go by from a strange backseat perspective. Jeff kept telling me to talk to him. He wanted to be sure I was alert.I don't even remember the silly conversation I tried to keep up.
We knew it was better to stick with UCSF since all my data and medical records are in their system. My oncology doctor had told them what kinds of tests I needed. I didn't have to wait to long in the emergency to get seen. I was lucky. I had my own private cubicle, room 9. As the day wore on, patients were left on gurneys for hours because there were not rooms for them. The doctors and nurses administered to them in the halls.
My nurse, Thomas, was extremely competent. I had many tests checking for infection, my heart, and g-d only knows what else. The good news was that nothing was showing up. My blood pressure was low and out of caution it looked like I would be spending one night.
I keep wondering how a previously healthy person can get messed up by chemotherapy in so many ways.
They had decided to keep me already by 4pm but I was not moved to my room until almost 8pm. This is the system at UCSF, great care but you have to be PATIENT. It is so interesting how UCSF, as a teaching hospital approaches everything. A team of doctors decided I would stay over night. Several doctors of the team came to speak to us.
The doctors look SO young. I can see I am getting older. They were very kind but the annoying part is one doctor might ask you the whole megillah story and the second doctor might do the same thing.
Jeff asked them the most important question. What made me pass out? They really did not have a pat answer. I think dehydration played a part and the fact that my hemoglobin count is quite low, a typical effect of chemotherapy. It was going to be a long wait until I would be moved to my room. Elana arrived to be with me and brought me a goodie bag with toiletries and magazines. I told Jeff to go home as he had been with me for hours. After Elana stayed with me for a while, I told her to go home too.
I was finally moved to my room around 8PM. Tuesday morning when the doctors came by they had decided that I should have a blood transfusion but could go home later in the day.The blood transfusion would give me a boost.
My nurses were caring and knowledgeable. I ordered food from a menu trying to eat though my appetite is iffy at best. The variety of food one can order varies greatly from Mexican to Asian to standard American fare. I drink constantly and had IV fluids going as well.
My sister Linda came around 9:30 to stay with me She is always encouraging and with her medical background asked the medical staff some questions. . I told Jeff to come in later since it would take a while until I got my transfusion. He arrived around around 12:30pm.
At around 2:30 I sent Jeff out to get some air and to locate me a chocolate ice cream bar. By the time he returned, I was hooked up at last for the blood.. At 5PM we entertained ourselves with the Giant's game and finally by around 6:00PM I was discharged.
I wish I could say, instant recovery from the blood, but I'm still taking it easy today. As hard as it might be to believe, at around 2:50 PM, almost 24 hours exactly from the start of my transfusion, I started to feel like myself.
The good news that my next treatment, #4 will take place next Tuesday as scheduled (hopefully barring any more surprises.) Number 4 means two things...I will be half way done and that is the end of the AC phase of the treatment.
Though this was an expected setback, just like the old Yiddish folktales things could have been worse. I could have been alone, fallen and hit my head, blah blah blah.
So I'm here, OK, determined to get though this and on with my life. I'm sustained by my little grandsons. Elijah just starting eating solids. Saul sent me a picture of him chowing down on carrots. They were everywhere...in his hair, in his feet, all over his face. I said he needs a HAZMAT suit. Little Yeshaya grows by the minute and has pinchable cheeks. He can't stop smiling and laughing.
From what I have heard, the last four treatments are different and somewhat easier. I can only hope and pray.
Go Giants.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Monday, October 13, 2014
My Writing Life and Getting Ready for Number 3
Some of my blog followers have asked about how I started writing. When I "retired" in 2009, I knew I wanted to do something different. I had already put in years of volunteer leadership in the Jewish world and though I immediately found some new volunteer gigs (teaching English as a second language to Chinese Seniors, and volunteering as a tutor in an Oakland grade school) I needed to find something else that would be meaningful and stimulating.
I thought I might like to try creative writing and searched on the internet for classes. By chance I found a writing workshop which met on Thursday mornings near Lake Merritt, Lakeshore Writers They had an opening and I signed up. I was nervous.
What was I even thinking that me, a 59 year old, could start creative writing at my age. Though I had written endless term papers as a history major, I had done almost no creative writing. However I had a vivid imagination. As a child, my sister and I put on elaborate plays for our parents on Saturday afternoons. I was the ringleader of great backyard adventures; playing pirates, stagecoach and whatever else I could cook up.
At the first session, the facilitator, Teresa Burns, explained that during the two and half hour class, we would write three times using the Amherst method. This meant we would write to prompts then read what we we had written and the participants would discuss the positive aspects of what they liked in the writing. There were eight of us and I was the oldest. I remember the first prompt... we were supposed to write about hair. At first I panicked, then I settled in. I could write a piece based on my daughter Elana's mane of wild hair which had a life of its own.
I was hooked.from the first class. I knew this was what I meant to do. I loved the workshop and repeated it many times. My fellow writers, some of whom I wrote with repeatedly, were amazing, and I still remember their writing voices. I learned that every writer has a distinct voice layered with personal experience and their history that infuses their fictional writing.
I have taken other writing classes in San Francisco and Berkeley through OLLI, Osher Lifelong Learning in memoir, poetry and screenwriting.
I began writing intensively in my free time and discovered the world of writing contests and on-line publishing and started sending my short stories, poetry and non-fiction all over. I have had a number of pieces published and to be sure have received my share of rejection notices as well. I have had to learn to just get over the rejections and keep at it.
What I have realized is that since becoming a "writer", and you should know it is not easy to call myself a writer, is that I have developed a sixth sense. I have become an observer of people and mannerisms. I tune in to random conversations at the market or on a BART train.
I often go back in my memory and conjure up the images of my childhood ... our beloved neighbor handing me poppies over our splintery fence,.my mother's old O'Keefe and Merritt stove in our sunny kitchen, the beauty of the magenta rhododendrons at Golden Gate Park, lazy summer afternoons in Calistoga. These kaleidoscope images pop up in my stories and poetry.
Ironically my current health situation will give me much to write about. I have already sent away two new poems to a literary magazine.
OK...so I've been stalling. My number 3 chemo is coming up this Tuesday. The only thing I know for sure is that receiving chemo is like being on a runaway roller coaster with constant ups and downs . Because my resistance is lower, I am very susceptible to little viruses and this round I had a slight cold and a mild stomach thing. Because I'm constantly thirsty, our Indian summer hot weather was not pleasant. Basically I figured out that chemo leaves one delicate and vulnerable.
When I have a good day, as I have said in previous blogs, I am truly grateful. What a lesson I am learning... to treasure life day by and good health. My two local grandsons, Elijah and Shaya are still my biggest cheerleaders and no matter how crappy I feel they make me feel better.
Thanks to all of you for sticking with me as I navigate this bumpy road. I treasure your cards, emails and messages.
I thought I might like to try creative writing and searched on the internet for classes. By chance I found a writing workshop which met on Thursday mornings near Lake Merritt, Lakeshore Writers They had an opening and I signed up. I was nervous.
What was I even thinking that me, a 59 year old, could start creative writing at my age. Though I had written endless term papers as a history major, I had done almost no creative writing. However I had a vivid imagination. As a child, my sister and I put on elaborate plays for our parents on Saturday afternoons. I was the ringleader of great backyard adventures; playing pirates, stagecoach and whatever else I could cook up.
At the first session, the facilitator, Teresa Burns, explained that during the two and half hour class, we would write three times using the Amherst method. This meant we would write to prompts then read what we we had written and the participants would discuss the positive aspects of what they liked in the writing. There were eight of us and I was the oldest. I remember the first prompt... we were supposed to write about hair. At first I panicked, then I settled in. I could write a piece based on my daughter Elana's mane of wild hair which had a life of its own.
I was hooked.from the first class. I knew this was what I meant to do. I loved the workshop and repeated it many times. My fellow writers, some of whom I wrote with repeatedly, were amazing, and I still remember their writing voices. I learned that every writer has a distinct voice layered with personal experience and their history that infuses their fictional writing.
I have taken other writing classes in San Francisco and Berkeley through OLLI, Osher Lifelong Learning in memoir, poetry and screenwriting.
I began writing intensively in my free time and discovered the world of writing contests and on-line publishing and started sending my short stories, poetry and non-fiction all over. I have had a number of pieces published and to be sure have received my share of rejection notices as well. I have had to learn to just get over the rejections and keep at it.
What I have realized is that since becoming a "writer", and you should know it is not easy to call myself a writer, is that I have developed a sixth sense. I have become an observer of people and mannerisms. I tune in to random conversations at the market or on a BART train.
I often go back in my memory and conjure up the images of my childhood ... our beloved neighbor handing me poppies over our splintery fence,.my mother's old O'Keefe and Merritt stove in our sunny kitchen, the beauty of the magenta rhododendrons at Golden Gate Park, lazy summer afternoons in Calistoga. These kaleidoscope images pop up in my stories and poetry.
Ironically my current health situation will give me much to write about. I have already sent away two new poems to a literary magazine.
OK...so I've been stalling. My number 3 chemo is coming up this Tuesday. The only thing I know for sure is that receiving chemo is like being on a runaway roller coaster with constant ups and downs . Because my resistance is lower, I am very susceptible to little viruses and this round I had a slight cold and a mild stomach thing. Because I'm constantly thirsty, our Indian summer hot weather was not pleasant. Basically I figured out that chemo leaves one delicate and vulnerable.
When I have a good day, as I have said in previous blogs, I am truly grateful. What a lesson I am learning... to treasure life day by and good health. My two local grandsons, Elijah and Shaya are still my biggest cheerleaders and no matter how crappy I feel they make me feel better.
Thanks to all of you for sticking with me as I navigate this bumpy road. I treasure your cards, emails and messages.
Monday, October 6, 2014
When I Grow Up
When you have cancer you do think about time, longevity and the quality
of life. Two of the most remarkable women I know are in their nineties.
I recently said to my sister's mother in law, Marian, who just turned ninety three, that I wanted to be like her when I grow up. She is an amazing woman. During her working years, she was an Egyptologist teaching at San Francisco State. She led numerous tour groups to visit the pyramids. Marian has many interests. She is an avid Giants and 49'er's fan and never misses the opera, ballet or symphony. She continues to take classes at the Fromm Institute and is about to leave for a trip to China with one of her sons. If you want to reach her, you better call really early in the morning because she might very well be out.
Every summer she hosts a full house of family and guests at the family home on idyllic private lake in Stratford, Connecticut. Jeff and I were part of the gang there one summer.
What I most admire about her is her spirit and attitude. Having lost her dear son, Peter, my sister's husband, this year from a difficult illness, she doesn't wallow or feel sorry for herself. The other day she said to me, "you have to look forward, not back." Over the years we have enjoyed many wonderful meals and family celebrations in her Twin Peaks home taking in breathtaking views of San Francisco. "Mimi" as she is known to her flock of grandchildren and great grandchildren is one of my role models.
Another nonagenarian whom I admire is in many ways is completely different from Marian,. She is my mother's cousin Trude who turned ninety this past August. She is a force of nature though she is barely five feet tall. Trude is the one remaining cousin of my mother's family, the last link to my mom in many ways.
Trude has an amazing spirit like Marian. Her nickname is "Butterfly" and she lives up to the name flitting about, spreading her little bits of family news as she stays in touch and shares her affection with her extended family. She loves hearing about my grandchildren and adores when the Israeli crew came to visit her in San Francisco.
Trude was born in Fronhausen, a small town in Central Germany, near my mother's home town. Her story of survival in brutal ghettos and concentration camps as a young girl, later being reunited with her beloved sister Jenni is a book of its own. Her dear mother and two older brothers did not survive.
Trude and her family were beloved in their small town and known for their generosity. On a trip to Germany, I visited my mother's picturesque village and Trude's home, spending time with people who remembered her family and heard the stories firsthand.
In the last twenty years, several determined young Germans, not even alive during the war, have dedicated themselves to establishing an organization to insure that the Jews of this region are not forgotten. Trude is like a celebrity to them. She receives many phone calls, visits,letters and emails. The group they have established have re-dedicated a synagogue that was destroyed and maintain the Jewish cemetery. They commemorate Krystalnacht. They give lectures and hold symposiums. Trude is their beloved poster girl..Sometimes it is too much for her to keep up her relationship with the group because painful memories get rekindled.
So...now about me. Chemo #2 was somewhat easier than #1. Jeff keeps telling me I did much better. I want to believe him and I think he is right.Every day brings new challenges but I know I can get through this.
And I did get my hair buzzed. Yeah, I'm over it already. I shed a few tears but I'm done with that. I now alternate between two wigs and a lot of head coverings
My biggest complaint right now is some days I feel draggy, but when I feel good I try to do things.
I continue to receive surprises, emails and cards. I had a lovely collection of goodies left at my door by an old friend and a whole box of treats which arrived by Priority Mail. Sometimes I feel spoiled by the love and good wishes.
My former Thursday morning writing group just found out about my situation and have sent me some wonderful and encouraging messages.
Thank you again to family and friends for helping me get through these days. And thank you to Marian and Trude for being my inspiration of how you can live to a good long age and be vital and alive. When I grow up I want to be like you.
I recently said to my sister's mother in law, Marian, who just turned ninety three, that I wanted to be like her when I grow up. She is an amazing woman. During her working years, she was an Egyptologist teaching at San Francisco State. She led numerous tour groups to visit the pyramids. Marian has many interests. She is an avid Giants and 49'er's fan and never misses the opera, ballet or symphony. She continues to take classes at the Fromm Institute and is about to leave for a trip to China with one of her sons. If you want to reach her, you better call really early in the morning because she might very well be out.
Every summer she hosts a full house of family and guests at the family home on idyllic private lake in Stratford, Connecticut. Jeff and I were part of the gang there one summer.
What I most admire about her is her spirit and attitude. Having lost her dear son, Peter, my sister's husband, this year from a difficult illness, she doesn't wallow or feel sorry for herself. The other day she said to me, "you have to look forward, not back." Over the years we have enjoyed many wonderful meals and family celebrations in her Twin Peaks home taking in breathtaking views of San Francisco. "Mimi" as she is known to her flock of grandchildren and great grandchildren is one of my role models.
Another nonagenarian whom I admire is in many ways is completely different from Marian,. She is my mother's cousin Trude who turned ninety this past August. She is a force of nature though she is barely five feet tall. Trude is the one remaining cousin of my mother's family, the last link to my mom in many ways.
Trude has an amazing spirit like Marian. Her nickname is "Butterfly" and she lives up to the name flitting about, spreading her little bits of family news as she stays in touch and shares her affection with her extended family. She loves hearing about my grandchildren and adores when the Israeli crew came to visit her in San Francisco.
Trude was born in Fronhausen, a small town in Central Germany, near my mother's home town. Her story of survival in brutal ghettos and concentration camps as a young girl, later being reunited with her beloved sister Jenni is a book of its own. Her dear mother and two older brothers did not survive.
Trude and her family were beloved in their small town and known for their generosity. On a trip to Germany, I visited my mother's picturesque village and Trude's home, spending time with people who remembered her family and heard the stories firsthand.
In the last twenty years, several determined young Germans, not even alive during the war, have dedicated themselves to establishing an organization to insure that the Jews of this region are not forgotten. Trude is like a celebrity to them. She receives many phone calls, visits,letters and emails. The group they have established have re-dedicated a synagogue that was destroyed and maintain the Jewish cemetery. They commemorate Krystalnacht. They give lectures and hold symposiums. Trude is their beloved poster girl..Sometimes it is too much for her to keep up her relationship with the group because painful memories get rekindled.
So...now about me. Chemo #2 was somewhat easier than #1. Jeff keeps telling me I did much better. I want to believe him and I think he is right.Every day brings new challenges but I know I can get through this.
And I did get my hair buzzed. Yeah, I'm over it already. I shed a few tears but I'm done with that. I now alternate between two wigs and a lot of head coverings
My biggest complaint right now is some days I feel draggy, but when I feel good I try to do things.
I continue to receive surprises, emails and cards. I had a lovely collection of goodies left at my door by an old friend and a whole box of treats which arrived by Priority Mail. Sometimes I feel spoiled by the love and good wishes.
My former Thursday morning writing group just found out about my situation and have sent me some wonderful and encouraging messages.
Thank you again to family and friends for helping me get through these days. And thank you to Marian and Trude for being my inspiration of how you can live to a good long age and be vital and alive. When I grow up I want to be like you.
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