Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes....

How do you measure a year in the life?

I measured it in ultrasounds and biopsies, black masses, and sinking feelings.

I measured in it terror-filled hyperventilating half-breaths,
sleepless nights,
early mornings, deep breathing and doctors visits.

I measured it in MRI's and EKG's, blood tests, urine tests, blood sugar tests, finger pricks, and baby kicks.

I measured it in 16 rounds of chemo, hair strands falling out, rainbows of bandanas, and pre-natal non-stress tests.

I measured it in confused stares, loud whispers, grasped hands and prayers.

I measured it in perfect baby girl first cries, in surgery, in CT scans, in pathology reports, in interminable medical bills.

I measured it in help from strangers, kind words, unknown prayers and donor milk.

I measured it in rainy days, grey clouds, heat waves, and electric purple sunsets.

I measured it in stifled shower sobs,
in laughs with chemo nurses,
in baby toes and late night feedings.

I measured it in 33 days of radiation, deep burns, painful cries and peeling skin.

I measured it in a 38th birthday, a 49th for my husband, and an awesome 3rd birthday for my boy.

I measured it in stupid cruel comments, in beautiful gestures, in buckets of tears, oceans of hugs, and yes, cups of coffee.

I measured it in long walks with baby, laughs with my boy, hugs with my husband, and love from family and friends.

I measured it in renewed dreams, hungry views of travel, terrified glances over my shoulder, tentative plans for the future.

That's how I measured a year.

Watchers.

I believe that I have family watching over me. I always have. I've been the kid that wanted to be able to talk to and see ghosts for as long as I remember but alas - never happened. But I truly believe that all of the family that went before me, even those I never met, watch over me, and they are in charge of different things. One time in boot camp (don't get all Alyson Hannigan on me...I said boot camp, not band camp), I wore the wrong boots. In boot camp, that is not a fashion faux pas, that is a major infraction and I was terrified when I realized my mistake. I sent a request up to my cousin Johnny, who was a Marine killed in Vietnam when he was 18, 6 years before I was born, to please let the drill instructors not notice my boots and to let me be able to change them unnoticed. The DI's looked around to make sure we were all in our IBC boots, which I was not, I was in my jungle boots, and.... they didn't notice me. I was able to safely change my boots without having to go to the quarterdeck and I fully believe to this day that was Johnny's doing. I have many many watchers (I'm not quite sure most of the people in my family can be referred to as angels :) )

I started chemo on July 23rd, my uncle's birthday. I finished chemo today, February 13th, two days before my grandfather's birthday. These were the two men I was probably closest to for most of my formative years. My grandfather was my everything for a very long time. I idolized him until I grew a little bit and realized he was just a person with person faults and foibles, and lord knows I did not like some of his viewpoints and let him know it. We were the only two Aquarians in a family of Leos, so we had to stick together from early on. I can only imagine had he been able to meet my kids. He would have loved Jack but he would have been enamored of Amelia. My pop-pop died an exceedingly painfully slow death of stroke induced dementia - it was a long long ten years that I would never wish on anyone.

My uncle on the other hand, we could fight like cats and dogs. He was 18 when I was born and mentally probably a generous 16 so we sort of grew up together as a weird brother/sister kind of relationship. Oh, that man irritated me something fierce quite often but we shared many adventures and he loved me more than most, of that I am sure. He died of complications of type 1 diabetes that he had for over 40 years.

I know they have been watching over me and I pray that maybe since they helped the first chemo work so very well, they helped this one work as well too, and will help the coming radiation zap anything it is supposed to. I pray that even though I know they would be so happy to have me, they know that I am so very needed down here for these two small children. I pray that my Aunt Elaine, who I loved so much and who was so fearless in her younger days knows how much I have to do and want to do and and sends all of her goodness down into this medicine to make it work, and sends me the strength that she had in her painful older days. I pray my cousin DeeDee, who I know so desperately wanted to see her own 5 kids grow up, knows very well that 38 years, while generous compared to some, is not nearly enough time, as it wasn't for her, and sends her faith and good thoughts to work down here. I know that they, and all the others up there, know that I have many many more promises to keep, and so many many more miles to go before I sleep.

Hot in here...

Not only do I not get to partake of the wonderful caloric benefits of nursing this time around, the steroids I get make me gain weight. It's so much fun to go to chemo every week, get on the scale, and see a pound higher. So I get to be disfugured, post-partum, fat, and on top of it, really frickin hot! I don't know if this is a common side effect or not, and this is not hot flashes, this is "I feel like it's 95 degrees all the time, regardless of whether it's 78 out like it has been the past two days, or whether it's in the 30's at night". Fun! I am literally kicking off sheets and sweating when it's about 55 in our bedroom at night. I am convinced the baby is burning up because I can't quite get the fact that it's only me that feels this and that everyone else is feeling rather wintery (well, minus the past two days). Thank goodness my hair is growing out and if I'm feeling rather kicky I can go without a hat because when I go for my daily walk I come back and am sweating through my inch of hair.

Okay, that's enough complaining...what I'm thankful for: that those same steroids that are making me even fatter seem to also be keeping at bay the lovely cooties my son has been bringing home lately; that I truly hopefully only have three more weeks of dealing with this picc line because we are just not getting along anymore; that we do have a relatively easy baby with all of this other stuff going on, and that her sweet face and smiles give me something to look forward to.

Halfway through.

Halfway through my ride through Taxoltown. They slowed my infusion waaaaaaaaay down and I don't have reactions anymore however I am in the chair for 4.5 hours - ugh. But I started watching American Horror Story this last time so I think for the next 25 hours that I have left in the chair, I should at least now be entertained between catching up on series I've been meaning to watch, and giving into a few benadryl-induced naps. Other than the very long time I spend in the chair every week, I'm not doing too bad with this chemo either. I haven't even lost my hair, and I was supposed to, in fact the nurse said usually by the second treatment or so people have lost their hair. Sort of freaking me out that I am having so few side effects - in fact if it hadn't been for the reactions I was having I would think I was getting a placebo. The thing I am most happy about being halfway through with though is having this PICC line in... I am sooooo over this. I'm over having to wrap my arm every time I take a shower, I'm over my skin starting to peel from having the medical bandage over it constantly and I'm over being able to feel the line inside my arm when I move it certain ways. Over it!

Et tu, Taxol?

Well, Jack erased the whole post I had, then the baby woke back up so let's see if I can retype this
one-handed. Second Taxol treatment in, ten more to go. Taxol was supposed to be easier than AC but since I didn't have any side effects from the AC maybe I'm not the best example of comparisons. I had my second reaction yesterday - about 5 minutes after the Taxol starts I get bright red, intense hot flash, blood pressure goes up, I feel light headed, and yesterday, I got the lower back pain they talk about (apparently that's from your adrenal glands trying to shoot out adrenaline). So they stop the medicine, gave me more steroids, waited for my bp to stabilize, and then started it again reallllly slowly. After reading on the internet, it seems reactions like this are not that uncommon, and some are way worse. There is another medicine, same as Taxol, called Abraxane, that is "wrapped" (preserved) differently and therefore, does not produce these reactions in people. However, it is super super expensive so Dr's don't use it unless people have severe or constant reactions to Taxol. Ahhhh, big medicine, I love you.
I know I have 10 more treatments to go (Feb. 13th, I'm stalking you) I'm hoping my side effects stay minimal. I know with Taxol they tend to show up as time goes on and the drug is in you more cumulatively, but here's hoping. Last night I was pretty wiped out and tired, but today I seem to be okay.

I know I get many thoughts and prayers from people who read this...can you keep Martha in your prayers too? We found each other on the internet after I was diagnosed, I think through Babyrabies maybe. She is almost on the same timeline I am, I think she was diagnosed a month before me when she was 32 weeks pregnant, but her protocal has been a bit different. She had a lumpectomy last week and they found more tumor than they thought was supposed to be there per her last MRI, so she went in for a mastectomy and lymph node removal yesterday too. Kind of a surprise after you think something is not there, so harder to process I think. Thanks!