As per usual, my biweekly infusion of toxic chemicals went off without a hitch, except that we wound up moving into disk three of How I Met Your Mother, which we were going to save for the last session. We quickly realized it wouldn't be a problem though, because we'll have to dedicate lots of time during my last chemo session to celebrating, hopefully with sparkling cider and cupcakes, or rice pudding, or Pinkberry, or other stuff that is too awesome for me to have thought of yet.
We also ordered from Nanoosh, and let me tell you, it is the best part of chemo. I hate to say it, but having my mom buy me all these delicious lunches has almost, but not quite, made the whole cancer thing worth it. Blanca and I split a hummus chicken wrap and some tabouleh, which reminded us of the most amazing restaurant we went to in Cairo, in LBC (life before cancer). I recommend both Tabouleh in Cairo
and tabouleh at Nanoosh.
And I'm hungry - can you tell?
As for side effects this time around, I got pretty twitchy during the infusion - apparently that's a side effect of the Benadryl they give you beforehand - but it goes away pretty quickly. I'm a little bit tired (but it really just feels more like grumpy than anything), and I'm down to about twelve eyelashes total and about as many eyebrow hairs. I am also really, really pale, and the dark circles under my eyes have never been worse. Though I was already forced to develop a personality during the glasses-braces-frizzy hair period of grade school, chemo serves as a refresher course in not being too into one's looks.
The webbing between my fingers is sort of itchy, which is apparently the result of the Taxol leaking out of my capillaries and irritating my skin. Gross. The resolution? Avoid overheating my hands and feet, which means avoiding hot showers, immersing my hands in hot water to do dishes, and even wearing rubber gloves. Though honestly, it feels a little bit like I'm wearing rubber gloves already, since my fingers are pretty numb (especially on my right hand).
Word on the street (or at the cancer hospital, anyway) is that it all goes away within three-ish months.
ONE MORE CHEMO TO GO, PEOPLE. Hold onto your hats.
SO HAPPY!!
ReplyDeleteHi Caitlin,
ReplyDeleteYour blog is amazing. can you get in touch with me at maria(at)dreamslate.net? I would like to talk with you about a documentary project I'm working on with director Cynthia Wade that focuses on women's relationship with their hairloss as they go through chemo. thank you.
all best,
Maria Pusateri
Hi Caitlin,
ReplyDeleteLast chemo is a week from tomorrow, right (Friday)?
I guess you must not look like you did when I saw you last week because I thought you looked great. Then again, I don't remember you ever going through an awkward stage even in grade school.
I do distinctly remember the transition from wispy, pin straight and thin hair to thick, curly and gorgeous. How old were you when that happened? And from the chatter around Sloan, does hair generally return to the texture it was? Lucky for you that it was all good (your thin and thick hair).
I know you have a lot of activity happening in the near future.
You must be so ready to move on to the next chapter of your life's story. Where others would have crumbled, you have remained brave and beautiful.
Looking forward with great expectation to the long wonderful life you will live.
Actually, the chatter is that it usually comes in curly, so God only know what that means for me! Also, it often comes in an entirely different color - usually grey at first. I have some wisps now (they waft when I walk like I imagine an old man's hair does) and they are mostly dark brown, but there are some translucent-y blonde ones in there too. Sooo - we'll see?
ReplyDeleteWe are counting the days. Loving you well
ReplyDeleteCaitlin,
ReplyDeleteNow that we are in final countdown mode, I have to write. For months, I have been reading your nearly best seller blog and wonder how the heck you can, in the face of all of this, make me laugh, and of course, tear up! I have followed every blog and comment and others who I know follow as well asking me what is your secret. To that, I say - I don't know. I would love to think it's the Rago family genes and wit- but seriously, it's all you. I always admired you, your intelligence and determination-really, who decides to present a thesis in Italian?- but you have really topped yourself on this one.
I am so proud and in awe of you. The lessons you have taught us all can't be found in any classroom or book.
Love you a lot.
Aunt Marissa