This morning I experienced both the blue light behind my eyelids, and the ozone scent of radiation in my head. It’s a bit amazing to me that I can have such a short treatment—two minutes total—and feel any sort of effect at all, but there you have it. I feel mostly normal (for these days, that is), but I was E X H A U S T E D yesterday afternoon, and had to go lie down for an hour and a half or something. Of course, I’d spent several hours on our boat, driving around various friends, and gone to a park and had a sandwich and dragged myself up a hill to use a park bathroom (which involved me using a ninja move with my foot to flush the toilet—I was not going to touch the lever with my hand) . . . so I suppose it was a big day for someone with lungs at half-capacity.
I continue to find it amazing that the boat is such a respite from “real” life. I suppose it’s because there’s not much physical I have to do—just drive—but I’m sitting, and holding on to a wheel, so the bumps aren’t really bumping as much as for other people on board, and the wind is rushing in my face (perhaps approximating running?), and there’s sun and glint and fresh air and water, and I have a connection with my dad, even though he died 15 years ago.
But, I am a little, um, blocked up. Last night I took some Senna, and today I’ve taken Colace and a large quaff of magnesium citrate (which claimed to be “pleasantly lemony” . . . but I’m not sure my idea of “pleasant” is the same). Ah, yes, the discomforts of treatment. I continue to be awed, a little, by the number of things I’m taking to make everything work “normally.” For example, I think I’m now up to these:
1. Radiation in the morning
2. Zofran to keep from throwing up from the potential swelling of the radiation
3. Dexamethazone to keep the swelling at a minimum
4. Keppra to keep from having seizures
5. Senna
6. Colace
7. and Magnesium, all three for my bowels.
8. Baby shampoo
9. and Eucerin, to keep my head skin as healthy as possible.
Ian and I are talking about designating a part of our house, growing larger all the time, for the “therapies”. Fortunately, our dining room table gets pretty big, so we should be able to come up with a workable solution.
I am noticing a bit of a slow-down on my brain function here, too. Nothing serious, and I still seem to be both better at short-term memory, and better at multitasking than Ian. It makes me happy.
10 comments:
Hi - this is Tom from your mom's quintet. My wife, Barb, has had a shunt installed, and it works very well. If you need this procedure, don't sweat it, you've already been through much worse. Also, if you haven't already, get a power of attorney for Ian - it might be helpful for you both later. You will continue to be in my prayers!
Hello Calin,
It's Patricia and Kimberly. Thank you for sharing your blog. We have been checking in everday,and we are thinking of you and all of your people.I know we don't know each other very well but you know how your mom tell such great stories,well we have heard lots of great Calin ones!!! But you were in my mind a lot this weekend,we just got back from Orcas. It's a very special place for me and sounds like for you too. We used to stay at North Beach Inn and I saw you guys had also. Well I'll be going up off and on this Summer so let us know if you want anything done at you place. Love K and P
Thanks for the offer, Patricia and Kimberly. We planted a bunch of new trees this summer, and may need to have someone water them a couple times (pretty easy to do with the hose and the water on the prop already) until I'm allowed to head up again. And thanks for reading :)
hi,
i'm a friend of a friend, and just wanted to say thanks for sharing your experiences, and that i'm sending oodles of good vibes to that tricky spot at the base of your skull... think of it as cosmic wd-40 to grease the tight spots!
Hello Calin,
Thank you for sharing your stories. I do not know if we have ever met, but I have met your wonderful husband Ian many times. My name is Brianna and my husband's name is Nathan and we are very good friends of Mr. Ruf. I want you to know that you and Ian are in our thoughts and prayers. Also I love burning candles and I have created a healing candle for you that I light once a day. If all I can do is send some good mojo to bring healing and peace...then I will. Take care and stay in good spirits. Once again, thank you for sharing and I will keep checking in.
I am quieting my mind, opening my heart, breathing in, exhaling, and imagining the fluid slowly being released from the tumors and dripping through the space at the base of your brain. I am imagining every last bit of cancer in your body in retreat--cell by cell it surrenders to your life force, to that very strong body of yours, and disappears. (Once, when we worked together at the magazine, you told me that you used to imagine this--the cancer disappearing, cell by cell, as you'd pull weeds from your garden--I think that's a very strong image.)
I imagine your lungs filling with air. Your bones preparing for more days spent on horseback. That brain of yours sending more of your words into the universe....
I will imagine this again and again and again, throughout each day....
Oops. I'm writing this from a friend's computer. ronb (the post above) is me, sassyglassesgirl--a.k.a. Susan.
:)
Calin,
The boat is perfect because as a Scorpio you should be completely surrounded by water. In retrospect, maybe a goldfish would have been easier than the puppy.
Love,
A
The boat is perfect also because you can drive it. Not much danger from potential seizures!
exactly, Deane :)
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