Kauai, my B-day and chemo started

Okay, it's quiet now, in the eye of the hurricane. I've slowed down just enough to catch you up on the blasted, whirlwind, turn-of-events that August presented me with. I was scheduled to have a port put into my chest, originally, on August 3rd so I could begin chemo on August 20th. However, with the last weeks of July being spent inside, under a cold, dark, windy fog bank here in San Francisco contemplating chemotherapy for the next six months of my life and what that means...I snapped. I mean, not in a violent or insane way...though in the moment, what was coming out of my mouth was so uncharacteristic of my practical, calm, well planned nature that I know Spike was definitely frazzled. It was a terrible Monday, maybe the coldest, foggiest day of our summer. I had gone to see Dr. Lee that morning to check in one more time on the progress of my healing in order to get the green light to start chemo. And he determined that though it wasn't ideal, it would be fine. My body had healed enough that the chemo, though it might stall the healing process, would not interfere with his work, and a year from now, he felt confident that my breasts and thighs would make a full recovery. Spike and I went home, did some chores, both feeling low energy and a bit melancholy...we decided to snuggle down in bed to watch back to back episodes of "Nurse Jackie". At the time, it seemed like a great idea, but on the eve of my surgery, watching episodes of patients dying at the hands of careless doctors and nurses, I started getting anxious. I got out of bed, looked outside at the dark gloomy fog rolling in on top of the already dark overcast sky and then I shuffled into the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stopped for a moment. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. Sure, I had just colored my hair, lighter than usual in an attempt to 'have some fun' before loosing my hair from chemotherapy. But there was more...I was pale, thin and had dark circles under my eyes from all of the sleepless nights over the last 2 1/2 months I had spent trying to recover and feel strong before starting chemo. I was not strong. Sure, for 2 1/2 months, I had taken it slow, ate a very specific, healthy diet, followed the doctors orders, been gentle with myself...And my body had done an amazing job of regenerating, but I wasn't myself. Not the self that I remember anyway...running up Bernal Hill full speed the day I got my diagnosis, getting up every morning before the sun was up and working until the sun went down, and loving every minute of it even though it was hard. I wasn't choosing what I did every day now, I wasn't eating what I wanted when I wanted it, I wasn't challenging myself physically, mentally and emotionally. My life had become all about recovery, day in and day out. Working from my deficits, not my strengths. And that was not good, especially if I was going to get through the next six months, I needed to reconnect with that fire, that unstoppable will and that connectedness that makes me who I am everyday. So, I went back into the bedroom and announced with absolute clarity "I'm sorry, I can't watch another episode of "Nurse Jackie" right now. In fact, I need to go. I need to go far away, where it's warm and nobody knows who I am." Spike stopped the DVD player, looking baffled and said "Okay, should we go up to the river this weekend?" I quickly said "No. I need to go far, far away, right now, tonight. I'm not going to get a port put in my chest tomorrow, and I'm not signing up to start chemo. I need to just go clear my head, do what I want to do, not think about chemo or cancer for a week. Then, I'll make decisions, but I absolutely will not do it right now." We went back and forth for a few hours negotiating all of details, and settled on a plan to use her miles and get two tickets to Kauai(an early b-day present for me). I jumped on-line and started looking for a place to stay, and she started calling, canceling, rescheduling and clearing our schedules for the next week. 48 hrs. later, we were in 80 degree, warm, tropical weather, laying on the beach in Hanalei drinking ice cold beers. For a week, I surfed, snorkeled, swam, hiked, ate fresh fish, papaya and coconut every day. I was in pain every night, but it was worth it. I got pummeled by the waves, bruised and cut by rocks I was climbing and eaten alive by mosquitoes, but it didn't stop me. It fed me, made me strong, made me remember who I am. Spike and I laughed, sighed relief and breathed deeply, taking in every moment.

It's a good thing, because August was still bringing it, and hitting me and the people around me whom I love so dearly, hard. I was contemplating leaving my school, and starting a new job while going through chemo and at the same time got wind of some really difficult news from back home. It's one thing when you are challenged yourself with disease, healing and recovery, but I think in some ways it's even more difficult to stand by as people you love are challenged with disease, healing and recovery. In a conversation with my Mom, I was telling her that it seemed like all of the sudden everyone around me was dealing with a loved one battling with cancer, recovering from a stroke, or other devastating and difficult health related issues. She reminded me of the metaphor of bringing things into one's consciousness. "As soon as you buy a new car, suddenly you start noticing that very same car all over town. Then as you get used to the new car, you become less aware of all the others." I don't know how I feel about this. I mean, I never want to become less aware or get used to others suffering, but maybe there is something to being aware of my own challenge that definitely tunes me into the challenges of others. I'm considering it an opportunity to pay forward all of the good love, support and energy that's been given to me. So, upon returning from Kauai, I rescheduled my port procedure, gave my resignation to OUSD, cleaned out my office, started a new job and had my 39th birthday on the hottest day of the year...a blazing 97 degrees and a big beautiful full moon! And scheduled my first cycle of chemo on 9/3/10. The port was painful, the resignation and closure with my beloved New Highland Academy school community was painful, but my strength was back. I was feeling recharged from my time in Kauai and it was invigorating to start a new position with another tremendous group of educators at Partners In School Innovation http://www.partnersinschools.org/ The port (mine is the deluxe power port model http://www.bardaccess.com/port-powerport.php?section=Features ) is like my bionic transport for all, things intravenous; no more needle sticking, blown veins and bruises. It rests as a 1 inch diameter half sphere just beneath my skin, 2 inches below my right collar bone and has a tube connecting up into my neck, feeding directly into my jugular vein. Happy Birthday to me...39 and doin' fine, 115lbs. 5'2" and will be completing chemotherapy just after my 40th birthday!

On Friday, 9/3/10 at 9am, Spike and I arrived at St. Mary's Infusion Center for my first cycle of chemo. We were met by my fabulous oncology nurse, Peggy, who has been working there as an oncology nurse for 39 years! Needless to say, she's the queen bee and runs the show there.

My oncologist, Dr. Ken Yamamoto met us there soon after, and together the four of us reviewed and discussed the plan. Starting that day, I would receive 6 cycles of 2nd generation TCH Chemotherapy every 21 days, then continue the H (herceptain) infusions every 21 days combined with hormone therapy for an entire year, completing treatments 9/3/11. All of course contingent on whether or not I have any allergic reactions to this first cycle. Once the plan was confirmed and the drugs were ordered, Peggy began to prepare my port for infusion and took some blood samples to check my counts. Oddly enough the blood work showed me to be anemic again. To start chemo, they need your blood count to be at least 13-14, I started at a 6 with an iron absorption rate 4.4%...Not good news at all! So, we proceeded with caution, starting a regular saline IV bag first, then adding a bag of Zolfran (to prevent nausea) and steroids (to prevent joint swelling) and Tylenol (for muscle pain). The first chemo drug was Taxotere. Peggy started the drip slowly checking me for signs of allergic reaction, but all signs were clear!

In between drugs, Peggy hooked up an IV bag of saline just to help keep me well hydrated. Next, she hooked up a bag of Benydryl and antihistamines to prevent allergic reactions to the next chemo drug, Carboplatin. The Benedryl and antihistamines made me really sleepy and woozy, but before I knew it, the Carboplatin was dripping and there were no allergic reactions, it was 5 o'clock, I'd been at the hospital for 8 hrs. and was getting pretty tired, but still had another Saline and one more chemo drug to go. I finished the final IV bag of Herceptain with no allergic reactions at 6:30pm. Peggy gave me prescriptions, and instructions for handling side effects, flushed my port, and we were out the door at 7pm. 7.5 hrs. of IV drugs...I was exhausted!

It's been six days since my 1st cycle of chemo, and I'm so grateful that I had no allergic reactions, the side effects have been minimal and I've been able to go on with life fairly normally. When people ask how I'm feeling, the best I can describe is like an ongoing hangover. I feel, queasy, weak, headaches and zapped of my energy, mostly. I'm taking an incredible regiment of vitamins, minerals, amino acids, herbs and supplements, drinking tons of water, Kombucha and coconut water and sleeping 8-12 hrs. every night as well. Yesterday, my fabulous friend, stylist and owner of Honeycomb Salon http://honeycombsalon.com/ , Gillian Hanson, took me to UCSF for a wig fitting. Saturday, at the salon at 4:40pm will be champagne and a ceremonial bon voyage toast as she shaves my head! All are invited! Following that event we will be at El Rio for a special benefit fundraiser to help Mama Jan with her medical bills as she battles cancer.

Today, has been my first really tough day. I woke up with blood in every orphus; bloody nose, bloody stools, bloody urine and I started my period (which is NOT supposed to happen during chemo). This is all blood that I don't have to lose. I'm feeling especially exhausted, headaches and am running a low grade fever. Several hours after my morning meditation, I got word that my dear friend Miche's father, Brian Alexander Debrow had passed after complications stemming from a surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from his spine. Rest in peace, Brian, your love and light continues on in the hearts of all whom you loved.

Tomorrow morning, I go back to the infusion center for more blood work and either and iron infusion, blood transfusion and/or antibiotics.

"Every moment of light and dark is a miracle" -Walt Whitman

-1 cycle down 5 more to go!

-Maragaret Belton turned 30 and debuted her Patsy Cline tribute band "The Patsichords"

-The Belton Bonus Mom, Jan, finally was able to start chemo!

-New Highland Academy launched another successful school year with two interim principals.

-Petey had a successful hand surgery and is recovering rapidly!

-Love and thanks to you all for your continued encouragement and support & I hope to see you Saturday at El Rio if you're in the Bay Area!