As Cool as I Am

Two car seats, one stroller, two pairs of shoes, two coats, one laptop, one bag of liquid formula, one Mary Poppin’s size carry-on full of tricks, one adult, one toddler wearing only one hot pink sock, one infant, and a partridge in a pear tree hobbled through the Las Vegas airport security on Friday en route back to Juneau. We took up the entire conveyer belt and the metal prepping tables, it was quite the sight!

Earlier that morning, my friend Cristina suggested that I just make believe the flight from Las Vegas to Seattle was going to be easy, “Live in the Land of Mr. Rogers.” I took it to heart, even as people glared at me while going through security because I was taking so long.

Seeing that it took a quarter of a century to get through security, by the time we got to our gate, boarding had already started. The gate agent saw the herd approaching and fast tracked us to boarding, cutting us in front of the MVPS and Gold Star Elite. Most people were happy to move and let us go ahead, except for one woman who glared at me while loudly whispering to her husband, “If this woman and her kids think she’s getting ahead of me, she’s got another thing coming!” I didn’t know a woman traveling with two children were considered the plague, but I learn something new every day! Afraid of “what might come” if I went ahead of her, I just smiled and dramatically and gracefully bowed and motioned her ahead- she didn’t know what hit her. There was a nasty twinge inside of me that wanted to whisper to her- “And while you’re judging me, I just want you to know I have cancer- take that!”

When we got on the plane, I handed Aurelia to the flight attendant and went about installing Lena’s car seat into the airplane seat, something one needs an engineering degree to do. When all was staged and Lena was fastened safely in her car seat, the stewardess returned Aurelia and asked where our final destination was. I said Juneau and she said and I quote, “No wonder. Juneau people are always so easy-going, cool, calm, and collected.” SCREEEEEEECH!! Put on the breaks! Was I just described as “easy-going, cool, calm, and collected?!” I had sweat dripping off my forehead and my blood pressure was probably through the roof, but I, Frances H. Field was just described as “easy-going, cool, calm, and collected.” Life was good and living in the land of make believe was definitely working in my favor.

Lena was an angel on the flight. The man in front of her seat complimented her and said it was the first time he had a child sitting behind him who didn’t try to perform chiropractic procedures on his back mid-flight. The best part was when we hit severe turbulence and it was so bad that the woman behind us (obviously fearful of flying) started sobbing. Lena started singing the words to The Black Eyed Peas “I Got a Feeling” at the top of her lungs (she didn’t mean to, her ears were plugged) and by the time Lena threw her hand up in toasting position and shouted the lyric “Mazeltov” the woman was laughing.

Addison’s mom met us in Seattle at the top of our gate. She’s coming to stay with us for the month of March to help out which I am so looking forward to. When I saw her I knew we had made it and survived the flight. Yippee! It was also when we saw Addison’s mom that she told us we were on the milk-run all the way to Juneau stopping in Ketchikan and Sitka before arriving in Juneau five hours later. Somehow the fact that we had three more flights instead of the 2 hour direct flight from Seattle escaped my memory. At least I’d have Grandma Field to help entertain.

Nearly 7 hours later when we finally made it to Juneau; Lena disembarked the plane and happily skipped up towards the airport in her Arizona sundress and sandals as the cold wind shook the gangway. When she came through the doors into the boarding area, she threw up her hands in the air and cheerfully exclaimed, “We actually made it!” It was greeted by laughter by the people waiting to board their flight.

There is a good lesson to be learned here. One, it was a historic day because I, Frances H. Field was described as “easy-going, cool, calm, and collected.” But more importantly, I’m learning that there’s no point in letting a thing such as a solo flight with a toddler and infant get the best of me, I’ve got bigger hurdles to overcome and I best save my energy for them. I don’t think we can expect a changed Frances over night, but I’m sure as heck going to try.

Come Back Down

Two weeks ago when I had my meltdown on the kitchen floor, I didn’t quite comprehend the depths of why it was happening-- that is until it started happening again. This time, it hit me at the same exact time, day 5 after chemo and I didn’t come out of it until the evening of day 6 (tonight.)

The past two days have been really hard and until now, it wasn’t making sense to me why. Here I am “relaxing” in Lake Havasu with my parents, getting the extra help with the girls, and yet I can’t seem to shake the funk of being overwhelmed, depressed, confused, and basically not myself. I have no patience, I’m exhausted (yet can’t sleep), and I can’t make simple decisions. My mom really noticed it today and raised concern. I snapped at her and said “tough, there’s nothing I can do about it!”

We went to dinner tonight and noticed the restaurant we were dining at had an early bird special for seniors, which mom noted thankfully we missed because the seniors would be out in full force! I told my mom, “What are talking about mom, you’re one of them!” She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “That’s my Frances, you’re back.” I nodded back with tears in my eyes and said, “I am. It’s hard mom. It’s really hard.”

So here I sit with insomnia trying to figure out why on earth this is hitting me this way. Where do I go and who the heck am I on day 5 and 6? Then duh! It hits me. I’m coming down.

The meds they give me after chemo are an upper. They keep me elevated and loopy so that I don’t get sick. So, for the first four days that I’m on them, I’m pretty numb. I can wander through the first four days just happy I’m not puking my guts out. But after day four, no more drugs. At least I think that’s what’s going on. I absolutely hate it and wonder if I’d be better puking my guts out than feeling so low that I feel I’ll never get out of the hole I’m in.

I’m seeing my oncologist in Seattle next Friday and I am going to talk with him about this. When I was first diagnosed he said I’d survive this as long as the meds didn’t make me crazy and make me want to stop treatment. I thought he was kidding. No fear, I’m not close to wanting to stop treatment, but perhaps they can give me something else that makes me less crazy, because right now, I feel like a loon and I’m not so fond of that.

Thank you

The amount of help and sense of love I have received since I’ve been diagnosed with cancer is unbelievable. From flowers and cards immediately sent to my hotel and house, from friends and family driving to be with me in Seattle, babysitting (me and the kiddos), telephone calls, hats, scarves, gift certificates for massages, my Facebook support group, e-mails, meals, head shaving and hair dying, presents, wristband wearing friends and coworkers, lending of an electric blanket, state sick leave donations, and money to help with medical and travel expenses—I can’t even begin to express how loved I feel.

I was floored when Addison came home from the work the day we were leaving for Arizona and said, “This is for you,” as he clumsily handed me a thick envelope. I asked him what it was as I fumbled to open it and found bill after bill of cash and check after check and two cards filled to the brim with well wishes. I couldn’t even speak; I just held the envelope and cried. I finally muttered, “oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” Addison couldn’t look towards me and instead just looked out our bedroom window and said, “There’s over six hundred dollars in there.” The money came from his coworkers and volunteers at the Juneau Douglas City Museum and Parks and Recreation (the division that oversees the museum and a place I briefly worked when we first moved to Juneau.) Addison’s boss Jane, a cancer survivor, organized the effort.

I can’t write this entry without tears coming to my eyes. It’s not the money (although greatly appreciated) it’s the people in our lives that I see maybe once a month (if that) who care so much to do such great things. It dumbfounds me and leaves me embarrassed and speechless. I just hope that I can be half the friend and support that everyone has been to me if any of my friends or coworkers is ever in need. Heck, if anyone is need. I’ve heard people I don’t even know have donated leave to me for my state job.

All I can say is get ready for a party. Get ready for a huge thank you party come August! Everyone is invited, even the neighbors we don’t know yet. There has been talk of a Hawaiian luau party and a roasted pig, or perhaps renting the Spinning Pig BBQ. (I don’t know why the pig keeps coming up in conversation of party planning; we’re not really pig people, although my grandfather was a pig farmer) But anyway, stay tuned everyone. The party will be big and you all are invited. You all are part of this recovery effort and believe me when I say I couldn’t make it through without you. If love alone can cure cancer, I’m set.

Vacation

Today I’m getting chemo in Lake Havasu City, Arizona. We’re visiting my parents who have joined the rest of the snowbirds from the North Country and flown south for the winter. It’s been very relaxing and the kids seem to be really enjoying themselves. Lena is living in shorts and although battling a cold, Aurelia is chipper and full of smiles. Highlights include cruising around the block in grandpa’s ’32 Vicky.

Lake Havasu is the third place I’ve received chemo and it’s different everywhere I go. Maybe I should go on a world chemo tour and become a travel writer hunting out the best places to get chemo. My first book could be entitled “Chemo on the Go: The Best Places to Receive Chemo.”

My medical experience in Lake Havasu has definitely been interesting to say the least. I first met with the local oncologist. His office was decorated in the colors of teal, coral and cream with wicker furniture and cactuses. He looked like an older Ken Doll wearing frayed white jeans, brown loafers, a light blue button up shirt that was only buttoned as far as his naval with a giant gold cross necklace draped around his neck. He was a far cry from stylish Dr. Fisher in Juneau. The purpose of my pre-chemo appointment is for the Dr. to give me a quick physical to make sure I’m strong enough for chemo and that I have no blaring illnesses. Ken Doll simply looked at me and listened to my heart and then left. Okay, guess I’m good to go!

My mom came with me to chemo this morning and was quickly turned away at the door as they only allow patients in the dingy room with old overstuffed brown leather Lazy Boy recliners. Monk was on TV and all I could think was Monk would not want to sit in the dirty looking Lazy Boy- neither did I! They didn’t have any of my medications that I’m supposed to take prior to starting chemo so my mom had to run to Walgreens to get it. Unfortunately, because they didn’t give it to me before they started, I’m already feeling dizzy and nauseous and I’m not even done receiving all of it. This may make for a tough next few days.

The infusion nurse here is nice, but not as efficient as Tamara back in Juneau. Tamara dots all her I’s and crosses all her T’s. Given the trouble I’ve had with my port, I like that Tamara takes such care to make sure it’s working before she begins. The nurse here just jabbed the needle in my port (with no numbing agents) and immediately started the infusions. Also, at Virginia Mason and Bartlett, they continually check to make sure I am indeed Frances Field and confirm my birth date each time they start a new drug. Then they tell me what they are giving me before starting the medication. This time, the nurse just hooked things up and went to town pumping me full of the drugs. I just hope I got the right things and not someone else’s meds.

So far, Lake Havasu would be low on my travel list for where to get chemo, although high on my list of places to visit just for fun!

Here Comes the Sun

I admit it, I had a rotten week. I made it through chemo weekend only to find myself exhausted the rest of the week with a fuzzy head, a sick Lena, a messy house and way too much to do before we were to leave on vacation. I haven’t been in the mood to write because my goal for this blog is if I don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. However, an anxiety attack on the kitchen floor this Tuesday taught me that I’m just going to have to accept that not every day is going to be roses the next 6 months.

Tuesday was pretty rough. Lena had a temp of 102.3 at 2 am, so I kept her home from school. Of course all day Tuesday she was wired like a puppy on espresso. She was bouncing off the walls, climbing the ceiling and singing at the top of her lungs. Aurelia chose Tuesday to be her one fussy day this week and wanted to be held all day long. The cat was as energetic as Lena, and poor Yasha was so stressed, she was hiding her head under the bed like an ostrich. (Yasha reads me like a book.) This was the one day that I had set aside loads of opera work that I had been procrastinating and my rigid-self just couldn’t accept that I wasn’t going to get a darn thing done. I don’t like being unproductive and I like the feeling I get when I cross things off my list.

My mind started to wander to the “how unfair” mode. It was at that time my friend Kris called and asked if I was going to the meeting that night. Okay, I have a confession to make to the outside world- I am in a sorority. (College friends: this is your cue to put your hand over your foreheads, gasp and faint.) That’s right, I, Frances H. Field am in a sorority. But don’t worry, we don’t wear pearls and cardigans, or drink cheerleader beer, and I don’t think a single one of us married a Frat Boy. Basically, we get together once a month to talk, eat dessert, drink wine, present a program, play a game, or do a community service project. They are a great group of women and I am honored to be associated with them. Many of them have been cooking us meals and dropping them by the house which I truly appreciate on my chemo days.

When Kris called there was a part of me that didn’t want to go, but I knew I’d have a good time if I went. So I told her I’d go and then she reminded me we were having a Valentine gift exchange. Crap. I had forgotten and didn’t even buy a gift. Kris said not to worry; she would bring an extra one for me. In my pre-cancer days, I would never have accepted her offer, but I’m trying to learn to accept help so I thanked her and happily accepted.

The meeting turned out to be great as always and even though I went feeling exhausted, I left feeling energized. There’s something to be said about spending an evening with good friends who are incredibly loving and supportive, especially after a bad day. I need to continually remind myself this. It’s the support of my family and friends that are going to get me through this next six months. They are here for me, I just need to learn when to ask for help.

We’re leaving tonight to go to Arizona. We are all looking forward to the break and sunshine. Lena’s had her coat (and snow boots) on since 7 am. I can’t say I blame her. In my head, I’ve had my shorts and flip-flops on for over a month.

Man on the Run

12 years ago, my friend Gretchen introduced me to a Canadian band called Captain Tractor and convinced me to go see them play in Eugene. It was that night in Eugene that I met one of my dearest friends Brock who just happened to be in the band. I made a fool of myself while doing the Kozatsky (Russian kick dance) to one of their songs and we instantly became friends. Even though Brock lives in Canada and I have lived in multiple cities over the past 12 years, we have remained good friends and geekily admit to playing a near daily online game of chess or scrabble. (which is why Addison refuses to play chess with me. 12 years of playing non stop can actually give someone an edge!)

From the moment Brock heard I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s, he has been a tremendous support system to me from afar. Brock has a lot of people in his life who are lymphoma survivors, and he has also lost family members to lymphoma and Leukemia.

In 2003 Brock started having heart troubles at the ripe age of 31 and was diagnosed with Myocarditis. Shortly after his diagnoses, he started training to run marathons somewhat under doctor's orders to prove to himself that he was okay. (Proving to myself that I am going to be okay is something I can completely relate to.)

Brock’s first marathon was in Oct 2007, The Royal Victoria Marathon. Since then he has run 7 full marathons, 4 half marathons, 2 triathlons, a couple 10 & 15ks and an Ironbike. He has raised, to date, $7,720.00 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Canada and donated countless volunteer hours as a mentor.

For over a year now, Brock has also been a run/walk coach in the The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training® (TNT) . On June 6th, 2010 Brock will be once again running for a personal best at the San Diego Marathon. A personal best in speed AND in fund raising as a member of Team In Training raising money for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Canada (LLSC). So, he is asking friends and (I am asking my friends) to help by making a contribution! When you contribute, you are supporting LLSC’s mission to cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin’s disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families.

Two years ago I told Brock I wanted to run a marathon with him, and then I got pregnant with Aurelia. So we postponed it to the next summer. Then I got diagnosed with Hodgkin’s. That now puts us out to summer of 2011. But I will run a marathon with him and I look forward to having Brock (and any other friends who want to join me) run it by my side.

Thanks Brock for being such an awesome friend to me and for having such great devotion to your cause.

To check out Brock’s donation page, please visit: http://tinyurl.com/brock-tnt

Sounds Strange

This is going to sound incredibly odd, but I had the best chemo treatment today at Bartlett Hospital. I opted to go alone and leave Addison at home with Aurelia because I just wanted a break from everything. Don’t get me wrong, I love my girls and Addison, but I just wanted a few hours to myself that didn’t involve wiping noses, changing diapers, chasing Lena, or cleaning up messes. For the 4 1/2 hours I was at the hospital, I almost felt like I was at a relaxation spa, except instead of getting a massage and pedicure, chemicals were being pumped into my body.

I was a little nervous because right before I left, my port incision started leaking a bit of fluid- drat! It hadn’t leaked at all since last Friday, but wouldn’t you know it, right before I need to go in, it starts up again. Dr. Fisher said if it was bad, they would give me chemo in my arm. Tamara the infusion nurse was not pleased when she saw it, but felt it was good enough to go ahead. I am really hoping this thing heals and stops causing problems.

Tamara is so amazing. She is the only nurse in the chemo unit and does the work of 10. She runs around between patients like a jumping jack firecracker, popping in to reset alarms and check on people. She runs a tight ship with warmth and compassion, and everyone loves her for it.

Aside from getting chemo, today was spent working on Aurelia’s baby book, watching a movie on my laptop, resting, and reading. I was a little worried because I didn’t eat breakfast before coming and I was going to be here through lunch, but no fear, Tamara ordered everyone lunch from the cafeteria. Three cheers for Tamara! To say I was excited was an understatement. Most my lunches are eaten standing up while holding Aurelia and usually consist of something I can make with one hand. Then Lena usually asks for every other bite resulting in me not getting much to eat. My lunch today consisted of hot roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetable barley soup and vanilla pudding with whipped cream, it was heavenly, and I actually considered licking my plate, but the curtain wasn’t drawn and I didn’t want to look silly. The two men next to me couldn’t finish their lunches; they must not have kids under two.


I left chemo feeling really relaxed and rested (and kind of high.) The man next to me was also relaxed; he was snoring so loudly, I swear he was the one who set the car alarm off outside. But even his lumber sawing couldn’t annoy me today. I am happy this is a place where people can come and get the rest and care they need. Who knew chemo could be so enjoyable? (Knock on wood!)

All I Want

For the past week, I’ve been saying all I want is to have cancer, receive my chemo and be done with it. I don’t want an infected port, I don’t want my white blood cell count to be low, I don’t want to be a burden to people, just give it to me and let me fight it. But from what I’ve been told all the extras are part of having cancer and I’m just going to have to deal with it.

I was supposed to have surgery yesterday to remove my infected port. They were going to remove it, place a pick line in my arm, and then the following week, remove the pick line and put another port back in my chest. The surgeon who was going to remove it is one of the most well known performers for the opera company that I am employed by. When I found out he was the one who was going to do it, I called my mom and said, “Guess what, The Mikado is operating on me tomorrow!” It was very odd sitting on the examination table not talking about opera, but instead talking about if he was going to have to cut me open or not.

Since I was a new patient, I had to fill out the standard health history form. For the first time in my life I had to check yes to the “Have you had or do you have cancer” box. It was a very odd feeling checking that box, almost like I had to confess, no jokes about it, just the facts ma’am.

Turns out The Mikado (AKA Dr. Miller) said it didn’t appear my port was infected, so he didn’t feel the need to take it out. Great news! Tomorrow when I have chemo, they are going to do a culture, just to be on the safe side. But that’s tomorrow. Today I’m just a woman with cancer receiving chemo to fight it.

The Luckiest

Having Hodgkin’s has re-opened many lost connections that I used to have. It’s been great getting back in touch with people, even if it is because I am sick. One of the connections I made was with a college friend Aria. She is a lactation consultant who lives in Oregon. For the past month, Aria has been my personal consultant when it came to the drugs I was on. She’d look up the drugs and then let me know if could keep nursing.

Before I found out I had cancer, I had froze lots of milk just in case I was going to have to stop nursing. After I was diagnosed and had my first round of chemo Aurelia was put on formula. Addison and I noticed she didn’t throw up nearly as much on formula as she did with my milk. Immediately red flags went off and I thought for sure my milk must have been toxic to make her throw up so much. Could the Hodgkin’s have an affect on her? Aria didn’t think so and thought it probably had to do with acid reflux and/or positioning, but just in case, she threw it out to a world-wide listserv of lactation consultants. I mean, what luck, I’m getting expert advice from all around the world!

Responses flowed in and basically all said Hodgkin’s is not transferrable and therefore, no, my milk was not bad for Aurelia. She probably just does better feeding from a bottle. Good news for me. But, there was a response about a mother in the Netherlands that really got my attention.

A woman pregnant with twins in The Netherlands was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s at 9 weeks pregnant. She’s been undergoing chemo treatments while pregnant. I can’t even imagine. I was told I’ve most likely had this before I was pregnant, but I’m thinking perhaps it was a good thing I didn’t know. Maybe they would have caught it earlier, but the thought of me having to undergo chemo while pregnant scares the daylights out of me. My heart really goes out to this mom.

I’ve never felt very lucky. Bad luck always seems to find me. Friends used to say, “If it’s going to happen to anyone, it will happen to Frances.” But here's the thing, since being diagnosed, I’ve been feeling so lucky, so very lucky. I feel lucky I got Hodgkin’s as opposed to another cancer, I feel lucky that my doctor caught it on a whim just by looking at me, I feel lucky I have someone like Aria to ask the world questions for me, I feel lucky I didn’t have to undergo chemo while pregnant, I feel lucky I have a great family and so many friends who are supporting me. I feel lucky. That’s all.

It Happens Every Day

Making white blood cells hurts! Here we are, going about our daily lives making white blood cells and not even thinking about it, but as soon as we are given an injection to help us make more- watch out! I spent the much of the Saturday curled up on the couch groaning in pain. Addison had to give me my second shot on Saturday morning and it really set me over the edge. My lovely nurse Lena held my hand and stroked my head and said, “Its okay mommy, this won’t hurt a bit!” as Addison jabbed the needle into my stomach. Lena was right, the shot itself didn’t hurt, but the effect of the meds did. A few hours later, I had shooting spasms up and down my spine that brought up memories of child birth. My joints hurt so bad I was stumbling around the house, trying not to move. I am not looking forward to doing this every time I have chemo.

So, make sure you thank your bone marrow for making white blood cells every day without the help of drugs. It works very hard and deserves a pat on the back, leg, arm, or wherever bone marrow is present!