Acronym City and rain on my bald head

Me and Coworker Connie

Last week I had lunch with some friends from work. We caught a bus (where this did not happen) to the Loving Hut and once on the bus, I put on my uniform. My glasses immediately fogged up. Two of my friends had their toddlers with them, and my appearance didn't throw them into paroxysms of terror.

Dang.

*******

Now we're going to take a little trip through Acronym CIty.

I have my fourth and final treatment of AC today. This causes both relief and anxiety. My first two treatments had very few side effects. The third one two weeks ago kicked my ass. So while this is my final AC cocktail, I'm nervous about how my body will respond.

Last weekend I had what was probably an ocular migraine. I was looking at my laptop and suddenly was unable to see all of the screen. At the same time, I saw a bright squiggly line in the corner of my eye and I had a dull pain across above my eyebrows.

WTF?

Normally I would have ignored these odd little effects, but since I'm taking chemotherapy I called the consulting RN. As I was talking to her, my symptoms disappeared. The consulting nurse consulted with an ER MD, and told me that if these symptoms did not appear again, to talk to my GP. If they did appear again, I was to get into the ER PDQ, if not ASAP.

That night in the middle of the night I woke up to a spontaneous nosebleed.

Great. Now I have a brain tumor. That's all I need. I'm SOL.

I talked to my GP yesterday. She wants me to have an MRI of my head.

Probable MR results

About three weeks from now I'll start a new chemo cocktail. Once a week for ten weeks, if my body tolerates it, I'll be the lucky recipient of infusions (like infusing olive oil with rosemary?) of Taxol. "Because it is quite thick and sticky, it requires a pump to properly administer the infusion", one Web site says and as not shown here.

The side effects are supposed to be less than AC, but we'll C.

We're now leaving Acronym City.

*******

I've been thinking about the term "battle", which comes up a lot like the term "survivor" in conversations about cancer.

I don't believe I'm battling cancer. I'm not battling anything that I'm conscious of. What I am doing, I believe, is looking for humor while voluntarily poisoning my body in response to having cancer and its bizarre side effects.

I also don't think I'm a survivor. 

Who knows? There may still be a couple of cancer cells floating around in my body. There probably are. There could be some left after the poisoning's done. If so, I don't qualify as a survivor. And if so, they could result in nothing, or my death, or more treatment. 

What's being a survivor mean? Does it mean I survived treatment? I don't think I'll ever "survive" treatment. I'll continue to be affected by it (memories and physical scars) for the rest of my life.

My Papa and me and my concept-free brain

When I was a child and first heard the term "remission", I didn't understand what it meant. In my child-like and concept-free brain, I figured you either had cancer or you didn't. It wasn't until I was an adult that I understood that remission meant a person was symptom-free, but the cancer could re-blossom at any time.

Interestingly, "remission" is not a word I've heard spoken out loud during my diagnosis and treatment. Perhaps the word has fallen out of favor in the world of those who are "battling" cancer as either its "survivors" or treaters.

*******

Yesterday I went outside hatless in the rain. 

A new sensation! 

I liked it. 

It was the physical equivalent of one of my favorite sounds - rain falling on the roof of our VW camper.