Poem

I thought I would share a poem I wrote about a week or so ago.

Crossing the Finish Line

The super sticky
white
steristrips
are looking dog-earred
and grey
day by day
one falling off here
another there.

The last reminants
of the year long
cancer treatments
that ravaged
my body
and wearied
my brain.

Avenging the reckless
little tumor that
decided to try
and make a home
in my left breast.

In addition to the poem, I'll share what happened a few days ago when I did take the last of the steristrips off.  I took them off at night before bed.  The next morning my son came into my room and that was the first thing he notice: "Momma, you don't have any band-aids!  Momma, that means we can tussle" (play fight). I affirmed, this is true.  Then my son said, "Momma, we need to celebrate.  We need to make chocolate pancakes." So we did.

Wow, busy yet a typical day

Today my son and I had an afternoon nap together where both of us slept for almost four hours. How did we get so tired? Imagine, a little person, who is about three and the exuberance with which he lives. Last night was a late bedtime, so, inevitably the little guy gets up earlier than usual, today, 5:30 am. Fortunately with a bottle of milk and the offer to sleep in momma’s bed allowed us to sleep until 8:30 (phew). We get up, and snuggle and have fun.  I get us going and make our beds. As I get changed, he has already unmade my bed imagining he is a digger. We go downstairs to have breakfast. While preparing breakfast he pulls up a chair to stand on and starts trying to “make with me”.  All is OK until he stops listening to my instructions and starts trying to put his own ingredients (the ever handy salt, pepper and tea sitting on the counter) into the pancake batter. Somehow in redirecting to play with toys I am covered in flour and batter. I finish making breakfast, we eat and all is well.

Our plans with friends have changed. He has a mini-meltdown, even though we’re seeing them tomorrow instead.  Now to keep this little guy occupied for the next few hours – which by the way there is food and juice on the floor and table, a big pile of dishes (some from yesterday) to clean and laundry from a few days ago to fold. Little guy is asking questions non-stop and saying things which he wants me to listen to and respond to. The solution: set up the slip and slide (a long plastic mat with a sprinkler like hose on one side and a small pool at the end) and let him run around while I do housework. This comes with consequences – like a sandbox that becomes a mud puddle and the gravel underneath the patio stairs being hosed out of place... oh and a waterlogged backyard. Obviously the slip and slide became boring.  After much running around and redirecting (I did manage to get my vegetable garden watered) it was time for lunch.  This is almost a reprieve as I know nap time is coming and lunch is fairly straightforward.

In amongst these events, there is drawing, playing with glue, imaginary play, requests to talk to his uncle on-line, requests to watch a movie, playing doctor and putting band-aids on momma's boo-boos (my port) and peeing on the floor because he’s so engaged in his activities. Somehow in all this, after nap, I managed to mow the lawn (with his help, walking behind the mower with me), make a dinner (this was movie time), bathe my child, read bedtime stories and tuck him in so he was asleep before 9pm.  Tonight is more laundry, sorting out my new phone system (as my other telephones were not a holding charge for more than 15 minutes), cleaning up from the dinner, organizing for tomorrow (off to the science centre with friends and a birthday party for my mom) and doing this blog entry (which I've been wanting to do). Somewhere in this typical day I am supposed to be monitoring my side effects that are lingering from chemotherapy, I want to continue to be proactive of my health (rather than take short cuts in food) and take time for myself. Throw in some chemo-brain, or more serious side effects and this becomes a little crazy. I am thankful for the daycare that I have and the subsidy that allows me to continue to afford to have my son in daycare.  If this was every day, I don’t think I’d be doing so well with my health - or I'd just be too busy to think about it.

Growing Together

Today I’m happy about having a home that is relatively clean. Now, for those of you who have lived with three year olds, I’m sure you know what a luxury it is to have a clean home.  Today is even better, because I managed to recruit my little guy to vacuum with me.  I find that the more that I can involve my son in the day to day tasks, the easier running my household seems to be.  A small accomplishment, I think, for a single parent who has a lot on her plate.

Of course, I can’t always guarantee Little Guy will be cooperative.  What I find is working for us is having a lot of different activities and friend/family who come out or who we meet up with who will engage us in lots of different distractions. Tomorrow, I have loose (the plans always need to be flexible) plans to finish planting my vegetable and herb garden with my son.  I know he’ll like playing in the soil and watering everything, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to follow the instructions for planting.  If all works out, there will be a visit with one of my close friends and her son.  This will be endless fun for Little Guy as he really enjoys their company. Then there will be the much coveted (by me) nap and go to my in-laws for Sunday dinner.  Full day, but keeping us busy seems to prevent my little guy from destroying the house out of boredom.

On the thought of gardening, this year I am trying something new.  Now, pretty much anything with gardening is new for me.  I have very little experience growing anything, beyond some very tolerant houseplants.  With my concerns around health I have a strong interest in eating organic and I find I am very concerned about the pesticide load and other chemical load that my body has been exposed to.  I know I have a few decades of living life eating and exposing myself to these things, but I still think that limiting my expose can only help. So I decided that I want to plant an organic garden.

My mom has contributed in the great idea of using my old recycling bins to be my garden containers. That way I know the quality of soil that I am growing my plants in. I have found a source of organic seeds and plants. The only drawback of this plan is the recycling bins are plastic, but I know they are not being heated and it is the type 5 plastic, so perhaps a little less risk. When I finish planting my garden, I’ll take some pictures to share how the garden looks.  I’ll see how the plants take, and all going well, I’ll have strawberries, potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, beans, radishes and a wide variety of herbs. I specifically chose a few plants that are known to carry a high pesticide load and then I chose tomatoes because I love them fresh picked and the radishes are “Easter egg radishes” which, truly I just wanted to see what they look like when grown.

Sh*t Happens

This morning started fantastic. I had my loving angel child snuggling with me, being cooperative and eating a good healthy breakfast.  I am emotional today as I am getting my genetics results and there is now a request to put in port (for chemo and blood samples) for tomorrow that I need to make a decision about.  I go upstairs to get ready to leave, find myself taking a call with a medical professional to discuss this port thing in more detail and to make a decision for tomorrow.
While I talk on the phone, it seems too quiet so I make my way downstairs to see that my angel child, that sweet little guy, has pooed on the chair he likes to stand on in the kitchen.  He has poo against the sliding door, there is poo in his hand, he is gleefully tearing around and smearing! I am still on the phone at this point getting pertinent information and coaching him to stay in the kitchen – all I need is for him to dash to the livingroom carpet and upholstered couch – and the patient scheduler of this procedure is being told, “I’m sorry, potty training issues” and keeps hearing, ”Stay in the kitchen”’ very firmly in her ear.  Once phone call is finished I take said angel child to the bath and promptly find myself crying.  A call to my dad calms me, he drives over and takes over getting the little guy to daycare.  I spend my morning making my kitchen spotlessly clean and disinfected. I wonder if this is a reflection of what little guy feels about all this medical intervention his mom is involved in?

So today has been a mixed sort of day.  I should let those who are following know that I am doing well post first session of chemo.  I was concerned about catching a cold with a cough arising yesterday, but that seems to have passed.  Perhaps I need more sleep.  Yes, I was incredibly fatigued on Sunday – you needed a spatula to lift me up out of bed.  Then Monday I had boundless energy – I’m guessing the impact of the drop in white blood cells and then the drug that replenishes them musta kicked in. However my auntie, who had the same chemo regime a few years back, tells me the white blood cells drop in the second week and this is when I need to be ultra vigilent about infections.

The genetic testing results are negative, so that means I am not being recommended to do more surgery. Hurray!  As I shouldn't drink a celebratory glass of wine I opted for dark chocolate and dried cranberries for a treat. Because of the family history clearly has a genetic predisposition to breast cancer, we (my family members) are being asked if we’ll volunteer our blood to do more genetic testing and so researchers can try and understand what is going on with families where there is a lot of breast cancer but not BRCA 1 or 2. The genetics team I've been working with says they have about 20 families like this.

About the port, the port thing allows for blood to be taken and chemo drugs to be administered rather than being poked by needles each time.  I know this is going to be better for me and will eliminate being poked for everything in the next year; and I won't look like a junkie with track marks all over by the end of my treatments; however it is a medical apparatus that is on my being 24/7 for the next year and a bit.   I am not liking the idea that I will physically have something on my person to remind me of the treatment I am receiving.  I guess it makes the job of keeping positive and keeping “normal” a little more difficult.  Another challenge to wrap my brain around; breast cancer treatment sure does a lot to impact one’s self image - more about that and wigs soon.