New Beginnings

My thoughts go back to May 4th.
I'm sitting in my car, summoning my courage to kick in.
"I can do this..."
Three weeks ahead of me. How will I react to the IV chemo? Will I fly by or be one of the "problem children"?
Lots of questions. Lots of unknown.

Fast forward. As is the case every time, each day happened. Morning - evening. A new day. Every day.

I did fly by. My body responded to the IV nutrients and chemo without incident. My blood test results caused my doctors to smile. I met new friends - compatriots on the same journey of healing.

Three weeks.
And then - it was over. Graduation day, we called it. As each one finished their last IV and their PICC line was removed, pictures were taken, contact information exchanged, hugs and, yes, a few tears were shed. Back to Colorado, California, Wyoming, Massachusetts, Hawaii...

Hubster came to help me pack up. It's amazing how one can accumulate so much extra in just three weeks.
One last trek down the mountain, and just for good measure to remind me that I'm glad I don't have to make the trip again, it rained. In the middle of a rain cloud rain. The kind that makes you wonder if they should install turbo drive on the windshield wipers. That kind of rain.

So now I'm home with my new best friends for 3 months. These guys pretty much took over the house...and my life. Some I swallow before a meal, some with a meal and some - after. Yellow ones, brown ones, white ones.
But lets face it, the alternative - you know - eight hours per day hooked up to poisons dripping into my defenseless body for 6 to 8 months...
This is a picnic at the park.
My tumor is located in a spot that makes it uncomfortable to stand and walk at times. As the treatment hits its mark, the tumor will expand and shrink. This is the nature of the beastie.
I just began my low dose oral chemo. 3 times a day for a week, and then a week off. This continues with all my BFF supplements for 3 months. Then...
Cancer free?
That's what the doctor ordered. That's what we're all hoping and praying and working for.
Time will tell.

Week One. It's a Wrap

"You're in the front row of the chorus line."
I like these words.
At the end of my first week, Dr F gives me the low-down on my blood tests.
They look good. Very good.
I leave the Center with a spring in my step and a big smile on my face. My first week - in the can. My body is responding, G~d is on His throne, and all's right with the world.

My schlep down the hill is uneventful. Two hours later, I pull into my driveway.
I'm home. My house, my family, my bed. Ahhhhhh.
From Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, I can relax. No infusions.

Hubster and One and Only Son prepare Shabbat dinner while I hang out on the couch. You know, I could get used to this. Costco rotisserie chicken and artichokes hit the spot. Yes, I'm a blessed woman.
 And there's more.
On Saturday evening, after a restful Shabbat day of napping, I'm treated to dinner, gifts and lots of love from Lovely Daughter, Son-In-Love, a pile of Grands (count them...5), Hubster and One and Only Son. Pre-Mother's Day, don't you know.
And there's more.
On Sunday, I'm loved on by 3 more Grands.

But now, I must pack up and take my leave. It's been a delightful weekend - too short.
Time to return to Century Wellness Center for my second week.

On Monday, the routine begins again. I meet with Dr I for an exam. All my innards are good and healthy. Recovery is progressing as planned.
As I enter the infusion room, my IV friends are there too. We've all survived our weekend, and we greet each other like college buddies returning from our weekends. We catch each other up with our stories.
Back to the business of healing.

On Tuesday, I meet with Dr M. Such a treat. His upbeat manner is good for the body and soul.
We talk about the weekend and he gives me the blood report from the test taken on Monday.
Yup, my little blood soldiers are doing their job - everyone from the Lieutenants to the Special Forces. All are carrying out their duties.
It's chemo day. Finger pokes and orange juice. Within 2 hours, I'm done.
It's a windy day. I'm ready for a little nap before I venture out to Whole Foods.

My mind goes back to the infusion room at the hospital and I can't help but become sad. Very sick people, curled up in blankets, alone and silent, enduring yet more bags of chemotherapy. Most will be there for 6 to 8 hours. And then there are the ones confined to beds in the cancer ward. Hair gone, strength gone; and many with no hope of recovery. They've given up, biding their time until their bodies can't take the stress of more poison.
Is conventional Western medicine really in the business to save lives...
I wonder.
Next: My friends and their stories.

Healing Cruise

Century Wellness Center cruise.  At least so far, that's what it feels like.

Hubster and I took an Alaskan cruise several years back. We boarded a ship, set sail, met
new people - all headed for the same destination. The ship staff's main goal was to insure that we were happy, pampered and had our needs met.
We hobb knobbed with people from all walks of life, of varied ages and from all parts of the US. Some were wealthy and the trip didn't even dent their bank accounts while others no doubt mortgaged the farm to fulfill their dream. But as we sat together in the dining room, we were all on equal ground. It didn't matter. We were living the high life.

And now, I'm experiencing somewhat the same thing.

As I sat in the parking lot on Monday morning, allowing myself a few final moments of thought...
What's it going to be like? Will my body respond to the treatments? Can I chicken out and go home?
I received a phone call from my son telling me he loved me. It was quite unexpected and very serendipitous. I'm sure the L~rd planned that one. I breathed a last prayer and made my way into the waiting room to begin the new adventure.

After waiting awhile I was ushered into the back room by the nurse with an apology for the wait. There were quite a few others who were newbies ahead of me. The first day takes a little longer.
I met with Dr I who went over my chart and our consultation meeting. We discussed my present health. Then I was ushered into the infusion room to begin my first bag o' gold.
What a difference from the hospital infusion room where I had my PICC line inserted. Night and day!
The atmosphere was cheerful and hopeful. Conversations filtered around me. Already, the meet and greet was in gear.
I was prepped and attached to my first infusion. The cruise was on. Within minutes, I was included in the introductions. We were all first timers. The two hours passed quickly and friendships blossomed. We're all on the same journey and we want to do it together. As others finished their treatment, we'd all wish them a pleasant day.
"See you tomorrow."
"Let's do this again."

Yes. I made the right decision. This is a place of healing. With every drop of liquid in my veins, every swallowed capsule, every smile, every conversation, new friend, touch - my body, my soul and my spirit are being renewed, restored, refreshed.
I'm on a journey of recovery. I'm on a cruise.

And It's Tasty Too.

Vitameatavegamin... And it's tasty too. The next salvo in my arsenal of weaponry...
Actually, it's called PolyMVA.

 "A unique formulation contains a proprietary complex of Alpha-Lipoic Acid and the mineral palladium (which we refer to as LAPd), Vitamins
B1, B2 and B12, Formylmethionine, N-Acetyl Cystiene, and trace amounts of Molybdenum, Rhodium, and Ruthenium. It is designed to provide energy for compromised body systems by targeting the energy charge transfer mechanism of our cells (the mitochondria) while protecting them as well from free radicals." (PolyMVA website)

All those big, $5 words to say it's like re-charging your cells with energy. Makes them into mini superheros to fight the bad-guy cancer cells.

The protocol began with an oral dosage - and I will not lie, the stuff tastes nasty. Thankfully, it's only 2 teaspoons at a time, and with coconut or almond milk and a drop of stevia, it goes down better...like...like a spoon full of sugar! Or not.

I moved on to an IV bag of the stuff. Tuesday and Thursday, I'd schlep to the clinic for a 2 hour drip. It looks like Dr. Pepper or root beer in bag form. Then I did an IV chaser of Myers - or Mountain Dew. 

My body drank in the brew  and smiled. My veins, however were getting rather tired of the whole thing. By this time I'm into my ninth month of needle pokes. The ol' veins started playing a game of hide and seek or smoosh. The needle would approach, and the vein began to crawl away or scrunch down and hide. We could hear the little dudes with their tiny voices, "noooooooo. Run away, run away."

I elaborate more in this past blog, FIVE POKES AND A PUPPY

In December, the four month IV PolyMVA protocol ended. No more pokes, no more bags. I would, however continue my diet, vitamins and minerals and oral PolyMVA. Now it was time to see how my body responded to all the "real medicine". Would Dr. M and Dr. S gloat and smirk if my body didn't respond and I began to fall apart because I didn't go the conventional route? Would I be "another statistic" of holistic healing gone bad?

Next: Numbers and images tell the truth.
GiveForward

Five Pokes and a Puppy

My naturopathic doctor sat on the footstool next to my recliner. Her eyes registered compassion and sympathy. "I'm not going to poke you anymore," she said. My veins squealed their delight.
Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, I drive the 30 minute trek to have my IV infusion of healing juices. My body welcomes the fluid as it drips it's magic elixir to make me healthy and whole. But my veins see it in a different light. That tiny little needle and catheter have become harbingers of pain and my veins don't like pain. When we first began the IVs they were happy little tubes. "Sure," they said. "We're strong, courageous. Hit us with your best shot." But as of late, their tune has changed. Their itty-bitty sing-songy voices cry out, "nooooooo". They crawl away. They smush down into flat lines. Anything to avoid that pokey thing from invasion. They're smart little dudes.
So the dance goes like this: The needle approaches my arm or hand. I squeeze the little ball, my touchas rises from the chair - ever so slightly. The needle is in... But then... The veins roll and twist and flatten. Good grief, guys, my pain is over. Is yours now just beginning? Vein up, dudes! Granted, most days are better than this. On those, "Celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music," days, one poke is all it takes. I'm now free to watch a movie, take a nap, schmooze with others who are attached to a tube and pole...
But this day was a five poke day with zero results. 
Then, when I was about to pack up my toys and shuffle out, without my vein juice, a serendipity happened.

My sweet friend was finished with her treatment. Dr. Y mentioned something about taking her puppy and going home. Now we all know  the word, "puppy" is used for all sorts of things. But today, the word puppy was... a puppy. My friend reached over to the side of her chair and pulled out of a small, plastic travel case, a minuscule, no bigger than a minute ball of fluffyness. Now this was better than all the IVs in China. (Are IVs made in China like everything else?) My hand met her fuzzy head and we bonded. Then Dr Y took her and Elsa cuddled up in her lap for a sweet puppy nap. Two patients, one doctor, a puppy, and time to connect as sisters in a world where it's easy to speed by. What could be better?
I walked out of the office with five bruises and no treatment. I went home with peace, comfort, warmth in in my heart and a smile on my face. I think my healing journey was accomplished for the day.

The Care and Feeding of Your Heart Repair.

Recap: Hubster has a stent placed in his 99% blocked artery.

This tour of hospitals is about over. Today is moving day. We get to go home. I wonder if Trip Adviser has a section for "favorite vacation spots - hospitals".
Estimated departure time is between 11 and noon depending on when Dr. Stentnballoon comes to give his parting remarks.
I miss his visit, but Hubster is given the green light. Now we wait for the nurse to come with the "care and feeding of your new stent" information.
Medicine. My never touch the stuff man will now be a card carrying pill popper. Five of them. One, with a warning by everyone associated with this procedure that he has come in contact with - "you MUST take this EVERY DAY for a year. EVERY DAY. NO MISSED DOSES, or you may... drumroll... DIE." Okay, this one is pretty important. We won't even discuss all the side effects that could happen. If you take this medication you may die. If you don't take this medication, you may die. Its comforting to know Hubster and I are cared for by the Creator of the Universe and knows the beginning from the end. Our days are written in His book.
Dressed and ready to go, except for the IV tubes that need to come out at the last minute. We wait. His nurse comes in with a teaser. "Give me about 15 minutes." We start the countdown. Finally she comes in, takes the remaining remnants of Hotel Hospital Down Town out of Hubs arms and then goes through the rules of the new game. You can do this. You can't do that.
While she finishes up, I get the car and wait for my man. I have his get well balloon. Time to go home.
So, to wrap this up - we went out on Thursday for dinner. What we got was dinner and entertainment.
Next time, I think I'll cook dinner at home. Oh yeah, dinners? Low fat, low sodium, low calories, low carbs. There goes Chinese food anyway.