T-1 HOUR

UNTIL MY LAST CHEMO EVER.

I should probably get out of bed and put on some pants.

I Don't Need Witty Subject Headers

BECAUSE MY LAST CHEMO IS TOMORROW!

I just moved into my very own apartment and it is truly fantastamarastic.  Since I never knew what would be cause for a "situation" in my old apartment (a dish in the sink? having friends over? not taking out the trash ten days after a mastectomy?  not taking the cat to the groomer often enough during chemo?), it was actually more stressful dealing with my roommates than coping with cancer, a bilateral mastectomy, and chemo all put together.

I'm looking forward to coming home after my VERY LAST chemo and for the first time being able to relax and focus on feeling better instead of walking on eggshells and hiding in my bedroom trying not to set off an explosion that I'm too drained to effectively deal with.  PRO TIP (now tinged with bonus bitterness!):  If you ever know someone who gets cancer, try to remember that while it may inconvenience your life somewhat, it is inconveniencing the Cancer Person to a degree you cannot comprehend.  Though you didn't sign up to be a Cancer Friend, they did not sign up to be a Cancer Person.  It's unfair to everybody, but try to maintain a certain degree of human decency.  Otherwise you'll have to accept that you're a different kind of person than you may have liked to think you were, and accept the friendless, lonely, small life that's part of the package.

I don't have a couch in my new place yet, so in the meantime I am going to construct a box fort to end all box forts in my living room, complete with pillows inside so I can invite people in and lounge in it.  I'm imagining something like this, except inside a number of cardboard boxes:

In just over 24 hours, I'll be finishing my last infusion of toxic chemicals ever.  Don't put the party hats on quite yet, but hold them at the ready.

ONE TO GO: Chemo #7

I had my second to last chemo on Friday, with my mom, my sister, and Blanca in tow (as always, thank you thankyouthankyou).  We also met up with Marilyn and her chemo entourage, and picked up some other people in the waiting room.  It's at the point where I know almost everyone in NYC who gets chemo on Fridays.  And not that I'm anything but glad to meet people, but I'm really ready to start meeting people in some other context.

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.

NO MORE NEULASTA!

So my last chemo / Neulasta count has turned out to be a little bit off.  What?  Why, you ask?  Oh, it's becuase


I NEVER HAVE TO DO A NEULASTA SHOT AGAIN.

Ok, I'll back up.  Last week, I had a lot of chest pain, and is a big deal in the 'people with serious diseases' club.  When I showed up to urgent care, they even let me skip all the lines.  However, as soon as an EKG showed that I probably wasn't going to expire in their care, I had to languish in my tiny waiting area for five hours while they ran random tests, waited for test results, and generally tried to figure out why it looked like I was having heart failure, all without ever saying the words "heart failure."  After the EKG, blood tests, a D-Daimer test (yea, I don't know what that is either), and a chest x-ray, the official response was "Well, we don't know, but we know it probably isn't any of the things we check for, so you can go home."

Obviously, I immediately headed to Blanca's where I got takeout and bemoaned the loss of a perfectly good Taco Tuesday.

The next morning, I got a phone call from my oncologist, who was able to resolve in five minutes what urgent care couldn't in five hours.  Usually, chemo suppresses your immune system and kills your white blood cells, leaving you subject to infection.  To prevent this, I've been getting Neulasta shots to stimulate my bone marrow to produce more white blood cells.  However, because my body refuses to lie down and take it, chemo hasn't been suppressing my immune system.  So with the Neulasta, I had enough white blood cells floating around my body for ten people. 

Remember when everything hurt, even my eyebrows?  It's because I was having a "bone marrow flare," which can cause chest pain, sternum pain, shortness of breath, and all the symptoms that originally looked like they might be part of a heart problem.

So the upshot here is that I don't have to get Neulasta again, since I obviously don't need it.  I'm ecstatic, both because Neulasta is horrible and because it costs six thousand dollars every time I get one.  As someone lucky enough to have great insurance, I'm obviously not paying all of that, but even so...  Let's just say that I am going to have some very strong opinions on healthcare after this is all over.

Anyway - 7th chemo tomorrow.  The show is closing soon, people - get your tickets before they're gone!

All Told, Not Bad

Status update:

Some combination of Taxol and Neulasta means that my back hurts, my neck hurts, my arms hurt, my eyebrows hurt when I wiggle them, my tongue hurts when I talk, my throat hurts when I swallow, my jaw hurts when I chew.  This is actually a great way to discover new muscles that I never gave much thought to before.  For example, I have never thought to appreciate the muscles that allow my eyelids to blink, and now they're getting their revenge.

On the up side, I think decreasing the steroids worked, because I'm not in a horrible mood.  Or at least, in a surprisingly good mood for someone whose joints and muscles are entirely on strike.  But if anyone needs me for a while, I'll be on my couch eating soup and watching TV.

Oh, and if we're counting down (because I am sure am):

TWO MORE ROUNDS OF CHEMO
ONE MORE NEULASTA SHOT

Food, Makeup, and Sitcoms: A Rundown of Chemo #6

I had chemo number six today, which puts me halfway through Taxol, and 75% of the way through chemo!  Today's infusion went without a hitch.  They halved my dose of steroids (which is what my oncology team thinks much the cause of my foul mood was all last week).  As per usual, it took a long time, but we got through an entire disk of How I Met Your Mother, so it was pretty much perfect in that regard.  Also, we DID successfully get delivery to Sloan Kettering, though it wasn't dumplings.  I had a Mediterranean Tuna wrap for lunch - so delicious.  PRO TIP:  If you are getting things infused into your arm, the arm is not very useful during that time.  Wraps are easy to eat with one hand (particularly if your friends take the foil and packaging off for you), and thus are an A+ chemo food.

After chemo Mom, Blanca and I went to Sephora to pick up eyebrow filler, since mine are looking a little sparse.  After extensive online research and real-life testing, this is the one I wound up with:

Urban Decay Brow Box - A Chemo Must

It's amazing.  Honestly, I'll probably keep using it even when my eyebrows are back in full force.

They seem to be falling out very, very slowly.  In another month, I expect them to be mostly, but maybe not totally, gone (everyone collectively cross your fingers for my eyebrows and eyelashes).  The good part (because with cancer, it's important to cobble together all possible "Good Parts") is that they come back very quickly - Cancer Friend Katie's were back within three weeks with a little help from Lastisse.

Nathan pointed out today that it's really time to start planning how to celebrate my last round of chemo, and I agree, as it takes about a month to plan a proper "last chemo ever" party.  Obviously, there should be food.  Obviously, there should be friends.  Beyond that, I'm open to suggestions.

Cool Things To Do In NYC Tomorrow

1. Visit the Statue of Liberty.
2. Shop on Madison Avenue.
3. Eat dumplings in Chinatown.
4. Come to Sloan Kettering for a chemo party.

We'll be watching How I Met Your Mother (thanks Amanda!) and doing other things that are more awesome than whatever else you were doing. And now that I mention it, maybe there will be some dumplings as well. Seriously - someone coming to chemo tomorrow let me know whether we can Seamlessweb some dumplings to the Breast Center.  Blanca, I'm looking at you.  Seriously...I am at your apartment right now looking at you.  Maybe we can sneak them inside in plastic bags so no one smells them. Then we can all hide in this closet from the waiting room to eat them.

Three more rounds of chemo to go - come for the adventure, stay for the dumplings.