vison

Trick or Treat: Black Halloween.

2011-02-18T03:36:21Z

I began to visit here last year when my husband was dying of prostate cancer. I posted a few times after he died and many people kindly posted or emailed me condolences. I lurked on the site for awhile, but the summer was very busy on our farm and my computer time was usually taken up with business matters.

Then, this past Halloween weekend, I found a lump in my right breast. I can still feel the ugly shock of the moment, and the sick, sinking feeling - I KNEW it was cancer, and I was right. That was bad enough, of course, but it seemed more than commonly “unfair” to me since I had already had one bout of breast cancer in 2005. I had then had a lumpectomy and chemotherapy and radiation; that took up almost the entire year. I endured it and came out with the certainty I was cured and need never think of it again.

I was wrong. It’s not fair. But it’s been many years since I had any notion of life’s fairness and I took this new blow the only way I know how: standing up and determined to fight.

This is a “new primary”, not the first cancer returned. Instead of a lumpectomy, I had a mastectomy and I have had 2 of the 4 chemo treatments my oncologist recommended. At the moment I am pretty much bald. I look in the mirror and I see that I now look almost exactly like my late grandpa, a dour and stout old Scot. His face glowers out at me and it makes me laugh.

Ha ha, she laughs. And yes, she does.

At the end of March I will be done with the chemo. My hair will grow back. At some point I will have my left breast removed. Life will go on. I expect many years of joy and many more tribulations. Nothing stays the same. How awful it would be, if nothing ever changed.

Memories

2010-06-07T03:28:01Z

I spent a few hours today scanning photos, preparing for Chris's memorial this upcoming Saturday.

I fell in love with my darling all over again, looking back over our life. I wish I could talk to him just once more, to tell him again how much I love him.

If you can, this very minute you look into your beloved's eyes and say, "I love you and I will love you forever."

Sad news

2010-05-30T20:13:30Z

My dear Chris passed away Friday May 28, 2010. It was our 45th wedding anniversary.

He had a hard ending, my poor darling, and I am glad he is not suffering any more. But we thought we had more time. It was not to be.

Stuff hits the fan.

2010-04-17T17:58:33Z

Well, what with one thing and another . . .

My husband broke his right wrist on March 29. Since he's left-handed it is not QUITE as much of a nuisance as it could be, but it's still a major pain the the butt. He'll have the cast on until mid-May. He can't do much in the way of work. That is, he can do less than before. :( However, he's still doing what he can. The broken wrist was not due to his illness, one of the farm machines had a steering failure that caused my husband's hand to smack very hard into a wall.

He also had to have a blood transfusion last Friday, April 9. He may have a bleeding ulcer, due to the various strong meds he's on. He got so pale and weak! His red cell count was dangerously low. And had one episode of vomiting blood. So he's on a drug to deal with that. And, besides, the low blood count could be from cancer in the bone marrow, although at this point the Dr. thinks not. He needs to have an X-Ray of the G I tract. *sigh*

However, the Gabapentin does seem to be helping with the hot flashes. And it's playoff hockey time, with our Vancouver Canucks in the hunt for the Stanley Cup.

Carrying on

2010-03-26T13:30:36Z

So my husband's checkup today was a bit good and a bit bad. The PSA number has gone up again, but the rate of increase has slowed dramatically, which means the medication is having a good effect. The oncologist seemed cautiously pleased with that.

But his pain continues and there is no real way of knowing if it is all due to the cancer or, especially in his left shoulder, it might also be advanced arthritis. He's likely going to have some more X-Rays, but they may be of no use as far as determining the exact source of the pain. Dr. W recommended that he take Advil rather than T3, in concert with the stronger pain meds. She also prescribed Gabapentin as promising some relief from the awful hot flashes. I asked her if menopausal women would get relief from hot flashes from Gabapentin and she said it's being studied. The hot flashes are enervating and they also disturb Chris's sleep something awful. So hopefully this will help.

We felt somewhat happier when we left the doctor's office. I had hoped that the PSA number would have maybe gone down a bit, but I'm grateful there was any improvement at all. None of this is good, of course. I suppose the truth is we are facing a steady decline here. This is hard to accept. But Chris is able to keep working, not as much as he'd like but at least he's out there where he loves to be.

I'm working this over and over in my mind, trying to figure out if I am right in thinking of going to New York. I want very much to go, but on the other hand, my poor husband shouldn't have to fend for himself because I'm off having fun somewhere. Other times, it was fine because he was perfectly fine on his own. I can work out the kids' schedules ok. I don't know. Dithering.

Side fx

2010-03-02T23:50:26Z

For the last 5 or 6 days my husband has been having a bad time. I began to wonder how he could "go downhill" so fast, get "worse" so fast. We had been told he would suffer some after effects from the radiation, but he seemed very ill, too ill for just that. So I allowed myself to panic there, for a day or so. Then today at lunch, for the fourth day in a row, he threw up his lunch and had to go lie down for a half hour. He is yellow, and easily exhausted.

Well, of course, once I re-read the inserts on his new medications I learned that these are common side effects of the drugs. It is unlike me to freak out like this, I guess the stress of it all has got to me. It might be the disease, of course, but this time I'm waiting for what the doctor has to say.

The uphill slope

2010-02-27T17:41:34Z

Sometimes words bubble up like spring water.
But this is blood. My world is bleeding
And nothing is whole any more.
Open wounds and white bones shining;
Pain as loud as semi trucks gearing down to go uphill.
I hear them at night, the sound comes
With the cold careless moonlight across the bed.
Numbers on their sides telling how much they can bear.
No numbers on me. Just the sign for infinity, I guess.
Woman holding up the roof, turned to stone.
The rumble of the trucks like the earthquake
That will turn the stone to dust.

Do we glow in the dark yet?

2010-02-18T16:01:33Z

So, Tuesday Chris had his last radiation treatment. It has not been easy for him. Because the radiation is targeted at his lower back, it has affected his stomach and he's experienced quite a bit of nausea. I went along with him yesterday because he did not have a good time driving home on Monday.

Then we saw the Chemo doctor. She was very good, thorough, and encouraging. He will not be put on "real" chemo right away. There is an intermediate sort of drug that should help and also he is to stay on the hormone treatment. He hates the estrogen because of the side effects, but the doctor was adamant that he must keep taking it to reduce the testosterone. The thing is, that the aggressive cancer that has got into his bones - while it is still prostate cancer - is "immune" to the hormone and is NOT fueled by testosterone. Still, the estrogen does definitely stall the testosterone-fueled kind and so he has to keep taking it.

We hope, of course, that this "intermediate" drug has a good effect. She spoke of 2 years or so on that, and then, depending on how it goes, maybe needing stronger chemo. Of course, there is the possibility that this treatment will not work in which case Chris will move on to stronger chemo sooner. I hope not.

He has asked both the oncologists if the outcome would have been different if he had had surgery to remove the prostate, instead of having the Brachytherapy - radioactive "beads" implanted in the prostate. The answer was "probably not". ( :( I hate those "probablies".)

There are no guarantees with any treatment for any[/u] cancer, and some decisions need to be made that are not just "medical". Chris was told at the time, in 2003, that he could not have the surgery due to his history of heart disease, but in retrospect that was probably being over-careful. He's had 2 pretty major surgeries since with no trouble.

He's been given some better painkillers, and that has led to him getting some proper sleep, which is a big help. He was warned that the side-effects of radiation may get worse for a week or so. But it already seems to have helped with the pain. He seems to walk more freely and not so bent over.

This is a very wearying time. I hate to see him in pain and, worse, to see him feeling low and almost in despair. He is not afraid of dying, it's not that, it's that he worries about what will happen to our lives without him. It's very hard to answer this.

But those moments don't last, thanks be. He is generally dealing with this in the usual Norske way.

Nuking isn't all bad.

2010-02-10T23:49:08Z

Things are chugging along. Chris had his visit with the radiologist this morning and he had his first radiation treatments right after lunch. They nuked his left shoulder, where they found "stuff", and then they nuked his lumbar region. The shoulder was a one shot deal, but he has 4 more scheduled for his lower back. Tomorrow and Friday and then Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon he goes to the chemo guy.

I went with him. It was very weird going down to the radiation labs. I spent so much time there when I was getting treated and for a few minutes I felt something odd, like being afraid or reluctant or something, as if it was all going to turn out to be a trick and it was ME that they were going to treat. The feeling passed, but it was awful while it lasted.

While Chris doesn't like it, I'm not going for the next four radiation treatments. I know he likes the company but I wanted to say to him, "What if I had died, bucko? You would have had to learn to to a lot of stuff on your own." What a horrible thought. What a horrible thing for me to even think of saying, but as I said, I had the weirdest mix of feelings. I guess I spent too much time at the cancer clinic before.

I don't mean to say he can't manage, of course he can. But men are different. Or I guess it could be just him. But I know the oncologist said, "We like the wives to come with the husbands when the men are being treated but we'd almost rather the husbands didn't come with the wives when the women are being treated." Something to that, I think.

I am really, really, really trying not to think too far ahead here. The words "palliative care" have not been spoken, the word "treatment" is used all the time. I confess I was really frightened. Like REALLY frightened.

I have always been so accustomed to my husband just going along, strong as a horse, never sparing himself, never being sick until a few years ago. He was over 60 years old before he ever had a prescription drug, if you can imagine. He broke bones playing rugby and riding bikes, he has been stepped on by cows and dropped 50 pound blocks on his feet, and crushed his hand, had his nose smooshed, etc., but it never slowed him down. He's really impatient with all this.

But you know some people get right into being sick, it's the biggest thing that ever happened to them? For the first time, they are the centre of attention and a whole bunch of doctors and nurses are focused on them, etc.? You see these people at the cancer clinic and other hospitals all the time. They say, "my cancer" or "my heart trouble" as if . . . . I don't know. As if it was some kind of special thing that only special people get? Hard to explain. I should NOT be judging them, I know, but all I ever wanted was to get the whole thing over with and get on with my life, and my husband is the same.

So, that's the news for today.

Our friend the Atom

2010-02-06T18:22:35Z

When I was girl growing up in the 50s, we used to read about how atomic energy would make electricity so cheap they wouldn't bother billing people - it was going to be free. We'd all have little personal helicopters and live in plastic houses under the sea.

And "they" would have found a cure for cancer.

My granny died of breast cancer in 1955, when I was 11. She had a terrible time of it, I guess. Once she showed me what The Cobalt Bomb had done to her - from the waist to her shoulders she looked like a burn victim, her skin red, raw, puckered, scarred from the mastectomies and the crude radiation treatments. There was no chemo then, not that I ever heard of.

I know from my own radiation treatments in 2005 that the cobalt bomb is a thing of the past. I had 42 sessions of radiation over 8 weeks or so and all I got was a pair of tiny tattooes and a slight tan on the affected breast. I also got cured.

My husband will be getting 5 radiation treatments on his back/lumbar region where the pain is the most severe. The radiologist said it would almost certainly relieve the pain by shrinking the cancer, killing cancer cells. I was so afraid they would say the words "palliative care" but they said the word "treatment" and so we are feeling somewhat relieved.

This doctor was puzzled by the quick and sharp increase in my husband's PSA, but he stopped short of saying it never happens. It does, obviously. However, my husband will be staying on the Lupron unless the chemo doctors decide against it - which the radiologist thought was unlikely. He also said that there would be more tests, of course. I sort of liked to imagine that the PSA was wrong - that someone made a mistake. Doubtful, though.

So, onward and upward.

Waiting

2010-02-04T14:52:16Z

It's 7:41 am, February 4, 2010. At 10:00 am my husband and I will be seeing a radiation oncologist and it is possible my husband will even get a radiation treatment today.

I have been looking over this excellent website, reading some blogs, some posts in discussion forums. But I can't really settle, can't really concentrate. Too intent on that upcoming appointment.

Still, life goes on. Dinner has to be thought of, laundry folded, beds made, kitchen tidied. Kids sent off to school. My husband and I are raising our 2 youngest grandsons, boys who are 12 and 15. The lights of our lives! Their Mum died in 1999 and their father, our son, went off the rails for a long time. But he's back on track now, and last night I told him some of what's going on with his Dad and he went very quiet and after a time he said, "I wish you hadn't told me that". The odd thing is, when I tell my Mum - she's 85 - she is going to say the EXACT same words.

Our other son reacted differently. But they are such different personalities they might as well be from different planets. That's the trouble with kids: whatever you learn about how to deal with one is of no use whatsoever with the next one. :) My "boys" are 44 and 38, but your kids are your kids forever, right?

I talked to my 2 youngest sisters, both of whom were enormously saddened. It's been a tough few years for our family, what with one thing and another.

So here we are. My husband is still asleep, time to wake him up. He will probably go out to the farm and set the crew working before we leave for the cancer clinic.

I wish this day was over.

The little black train

2010-02-01T16:59:00Z

I have long been a fan of the Original Carter Family. When my sister died in January 2008, I tried to console my grief by listening to music, and the Carter Family seemed to be the best consolation. One song stays with me: The Little Black Train. "There's a little black train a comin', set your business right, There's a little black train a comin', and it may be here tonight". Well, in my sister's case it WAS "here tonight". She lived in Calgary and we live in BC, and until her husband called us to tell us she was gravely ill, we had no idea that anything was wrong. She must have known she was very sick, but death still caught her by surprise - we have never really known why she died. It wasn't cancer, most likely. But that's another story.

On Boxing Day of 2008, my brother John called me to say he was terminally ill with pancreatic cancer. He and his family had spent Christmas day with us, but he waited until the day after to tell us. He died on May 27, 2009, 13 years to the day after my Dad died of leukemia.

I had my own tussle with cancer in 2005, treated successfully for breast cancer. While it wasn't a walk in the park, it wasn't the worst thing that ever happened. I am fine, my followup mammograms are all clear and the only lasting damage is a scar on my left breast where they removed the lump, and some edema in my left arm.

But before that, my husband was treated for prostate cancer in 2003, in the midst of a terrible family crisis. He had brachytherapy and all went well until the winter of 2008, when his PSA number began to climb and was up to 25 in May 2009. So, in June of 2009, he had his first injection of Lupron. In September his PSA had dropped to 6 and we were thrilled. In October he had his second injection of Lupron. (It's an estrogen hormone treatment.)

However, over the winter he began to tire easily and experienced an increase in pain in his lower back. We had been in a car accident in November of 2008 and he had been having a lingering backache from that, but I knew in my heart that this pain over the last few months was not still from that car accident.

We are farmers and he is still going out to the farm every day - and that walk from the house to the shop is about as far as he cares to walk at once. About 100 metres. Then he sits and rests. So when his latest PSA came back at 120, it was horrible news but not really a shock, if you follow me. The cancer is "ignoring" the Lupron and has spread to his bones almost certainly.

Something else that I have not mentioned to him, and am almost unsure of mentioning here, is that he smells like cancer. My brother's wife is a nurse, and when we visited there in the weeks before my brother died, she whispered it to me that she could scarcely bear the smell but that it was part of the disease. I have read about this, it was one of the reasons long ago why doctors were advised not to smoke - smoking reduces the acuity of our sense of smell and in those old days of no lab tests, the doctor needed all his senses to diagnose patients. They still do, but that's also another story.

He hates the effects of Lupron, the hot flashes disturb his rest. He is going to have chemo and from what I have read, it will almost certainly alleviate his pain. We don't know yet what chemo regime he will have, and there is also the possibility of radiation. We understand that this won't "cure" the cancer, but we won't get hung up on that just yet. He had X-rays on Friday January 29 and we will know more when we see the results of those.

He's out at the farm right now, and I'm sitting here doing payroll. I said above that the Little Black Train sometimes takes us by surprise, but in this case, we're not letting it stop at our station. Not yet, anyway.

Riding the cancer train

2010-02-01T14:42:00Z

While I have posted to several internet discussion forums over the years I've never "blogged" before. I ask for your patience while I figure this out.