So sad, Goodbye Bald Head

The Chief Inspector and I took a moment the other day to mourn the passing of the bald head.  It was a good head, and we will miss it.  No more smooth top, no more Uncle Fester, Mr. Clean bye-bye.  We will miss it.  We wiped our tears and knew that an era had ended.

Life will never be the same.

Take Small Steps and Drink Lots of Water

Yesterday I felt truly awful...and none of my usual tricks seemed to help.  I don't know if it is the cumulative effect of the drugs, or because I'm worn down or because it's the last chemo and I gave in to it.  Probably a little bit of everything.  I wanted to just cry and cry- but it did not provide any relief.  I am on course for hitting the low point of the chemo and the Chief Inspector asked if it was worse than other times...it was really more of the same which always seems worse in the moment.  The Chief Researcher suggested getting up and moving a bit to try to get the toxicity out of my body.  I trundled off to work to put things in motion.  The mighty Frank left on Wednesday for Sweden to join Maja and the grandbabies at their hideway on the beach and leaving me with possession of his condo across the street from the office.  Heavenly for sure - and totally saving my bacon.  Genius left for Boston on Wed. as well.  The Chief Researcher and the Fab Four  minus Genius swooped in and finished moving her stuff and cleaned her apartment without a squeak of complaint.  (You can see why they retain the title of fab.)  Perhaps yesterday also had to do with all the packing and cleaning and goings on from Wednesday as well (I say Watson, I believe that is called a CLUE.)  Lisa came up to my office to assist with the rescue in the morning and brought me lunch to boot helping me get through a good portion of the day.  I asked Orion, who is the wild man of the department climbing and ascending every ridiculous point in the state and beyond (and who runs or rides in to work everyday from a monumental distance from work) how do you get through the end of a difficult long race.  He knew the answer right off the bat.  Take small steps and drink lots of water.

Am taking small steps and drinking lots of water today.  But a lot of big steps have been taken and they should be noted:
Chemo DONE
Genius MOVED
and Vonnie has passed through the door.  I feel her right behind my shoulder smiling and nodding.

Allyce wrote me a chemo cheer last week and I liked it alot:

Rrrrrround 8 Cheer
Ready, go.
Give me an M (flexing your bicept Muscles, think of Jill's beauty pose)
give me an A (10 side pullups touching your toes...Ahhhh!)
give me an R(Running in place, higher Mary)
Give me a Y (Mary:Y Allyce, stop whining!)
You can do it Mary!  Yes YOU CAN!!! (arms rolling up above the head and TADA)
She also told me that "sorry your door is closed...and I took the key and threw it away.  Far away in the Pacific Ocean."  Darn straight got that right Allyce.

So back to small steps...Sounds like good advice all around.  Will small step my way through the weekend and look forward to one more chemo week down - and one more week of side effects ahead.  Yep, yep I'll drink to that. Lots and lots of water.  Cheers.

Passing through the Door

It's Saturday, 11:30 am. This is about the time when Aunt Vonnie and I have our weekly cancer club meeting...but this morning (as she referred to it) she passed through the door. In October Uncle Dick, her one year to the day birth twin, passed through the door thanks to colon cancer. She was diagnosed with the same within days of his moving on. We started our Saturday ritual after that, only to find out in January that I would move from club mascot to member. Thanks to Dick and Vonnie I scheduled my colonoscopy, got diagnosed and got treated. When I reminded Vonnie of her role in my adventure and helping save my life she said she liked to tell people that she GAVE me cancer. Oh the stories we would tell each other - including a frequent "F you cancer" as our club motto. It did our hearts good to say it. Vonnie told me months ago that she always had the image of people on the other side of the door wearing shiny fabric clothes and she was not into that at all. She hoped to be wearing her black turtleneck because she looked really good in it - I have no doubt that's what she is sporting. I asked Vonnie to keep talking to me after she went through the door and she said I would have to be VERY QUIET and listen - unless I was on the edge of a precipise (in which case she said she would tell me to JUMP). So while all of us were getting our phone calls and emails that she had graduated from the cancer club those on the other side were getting the word out that "she's HERE" - Grandpa and Grandma, Uncle Dick, Uncle Bob, Uncle Marion, Aunt Elsie, Josie. Party hearty in another land. Last time we spoke - on her birthday almost two weeks ago, she told me the story about the star. She also told me that when her son Christian, the sweetest child (now man) you will ever meet, was little she asked him when she was old and sick if he would take care of her. He waited to answer - too long for Vonnie's taste - and then he told her "I think you will have to talk to Jesus about that." So she said she cut off his rations right there and then. Of course in the end he WAS there, along with Cindy, Ben, Chauntelle, Shannon, Tricia, and Paris. Uncle Gene stayed the course and they celebrated 50 years together on Tuesday. A gentler kinder person you will never meet. The ying to Vonnie's yang in so many ways. On Tuesday I had the clearest image of Vonnie in her healthiest happiest state come to me as bright as the sun. By Wednesday the image was a memory and when I called Gene later that day she had gone in to a comma. The only other time such a thing has happened to me is when my friend John went into a coma just before he passed through the door so I knew what that was about. Vonnie and I ended our last call with me saying I would call next Saturday and she said we'll take it a week at a time. Ironically, Vonnie signed off the morning after my last chemo session. Or maybe not so ironically. Thanks Vu - love you.
Yours Vonnie (as always) until next week,
Mary

Twinkle twinkle...

Aunt Vu told me the greatest story last week.  She said that when my cousin Suzie was little she brought home a a drawing from school with the basic kid stuff on it - house, tree, etc. - with one exception, it had a star in the sky.  When her mom, Aunt Eunie, asked what the star was for she said "that was the star that was in the sky when I was born."  Aunt Vu says all of us Johnsons think that there is a star in the sky when we are born.  I had to agree, I'm absolutely sure there was a star in the sky when I was born.  So, I'm completely with you Suz. That star has seen me through alot of scrapes, including this latest adventure.  I mean if you're going to get cancer then why not get the most treatable one.  Genius's medical school friend reminded me of that last night and she's right on the button.  But listen, it doesn't hurt that I have that star a shining a way...and speaking of stardom...the Chief Inspector brought me a rhubarb pie yesterday that was so divine and I could feel that shine-iness all day.  And Reba, my prof from grad school and lifelong friend, called and left the most ridiculous joke you ever heard that added to the rays already around me ("I don't want to brag or anything but I can still fit in the earrings I wore in High School"). And if that wasn't enough I just had my LAST prednisone prescription filled to launch FOR THE LAST TIME on Thursday.  I woke up with a jolt this morning and wasn't sure what day it was and then realized that I have two more prednisone-free days ahead of me...whew...Must be that star again.  Seriously though, isn't everyone born with a star in the sky for them?  You are - so figure it out.  Why not embellish the story about your star and put it to good use.  Your star might be a late bloomer but it's out there.  Mine's always at work a twinklin away - and they don't call me Mary Sunshine (which would be the BIG sister star to my personal star) for nothin.
Yours in the Light of the Silvery Moon (the one right next to my star),
Mary

The Wonderful Wacky World of Tirednessssssss...

If tired were food I'd be a Chuckorama buffet
If tired were a party I'd be the World's Fair
If tired were a word (hey, what a minute) I'd be supercalafragalisticexpealadosious
If tired were McDonalds I'd be super sized
If tired were a pair of pants I'd be xxxlarge
If tired were people I'd be CHINA (name the movie friends)

Gotta go - can't be late to my afternoon nap...

Books I will NEVER Write

"Chemo-robics: High Stepping Your Way to Cancer Freedom"

"Build Your Memory Through Chemotherapy:  Remember Who You Are"

"Loving Lymphoma: Relationship Tips for Building a Long Term Partnership With a Lunatic Resident"

"Chemo Dinners in 30 minutes:  Recipes that complement Copper, Tin and Metallic Undertones"

"Fatigue Wars: Finding Sleep in a Galaxy Far, Far Away"

"Shake, Rattle and Roll:  Me, Elvis and My Chemo Side Effects"

"Truth in Hair:  Losing it Graciously, Growing it Gradually"

"My Big Fat Swollen Belly:  Raising Baby Lym Phoma in a Turbulent World"

"Solitary Journey to Cancer Free Living:  Walking Upright on Your Own, No Handrails Involved"

"The Complete Dictionary of Chemotherapy:  From Absolutely Green to Zombie Persona"

Plum TARD!

Following the Pink Heals event I followed my traditional chemo routine pattern of being PLUM TARD...it's hard to believe that a person can sleep as much as I did this weekend and still be tired...but I sure am.  Slept for three hours the afternoon of Pink Heals, ate dinner, slept all night, had nap number one by 10 am...and so went the day. Lisa figured it out.  She said it's like Hobbit meals (first breakfast, second breakfast, tea, first lunch, etc.) except for sleeping.  By Saturday dinner time I had napped 7 hours and was ready to go to bed for the night (following a post dinner short snooze.)  My friend John had told me when he was going through chemo that there is no tired like chemo tired.  I murmured words of support and nodded my head even though I was on the phone with him.  I had NO idea what that meant until now.  Reminds me of the Extreme Makeover weight show I just watched where the family members strapped on weights and walked around the track to experience how their daughter/sister felt walking around with the 369 lbs she weighed.  You just don't really know what it's like unless you actually do it yourself.  Sorry John - I totally get it now.  He's in cancer free heaven nodding his head and telling me it's OK, go lay down.  Annie tried to cheer me up and fill with positive thoughts but I would have none of it - too tired to embrace it.  That'll teach her for calling and trying to get me through the worst of it (hey...wait a minute...)  As with all things chemo eventually it will pass. Cherish the waking moments is all I gotta say.  Vonnie and I commiserated about being so tired that we leave trails of stuff in our wake (maybe when I'm less tired I'll pick that up...maybe.)

Yours in the zzzzzzzz....and I ain't talking Zumba,

Mary