Cycle Two - Woo Hoo!

In to see the oncologist and the study team today. They echoed my suspicion that the Capecitabine is largely to blame for my resent discomforts. As a result, the dosage of that drug has been cut back to 80%. I will continue on the full dose of Lapatinib. I had thought that I had a nasty case of thrush (from stem to stern), but it turns out the Capecitabine did a real number on my mucus membranes which translated into multiple canker sores in my mouth, extremely dry nostril/sinus areas, etc. A 'script for a "magic mouthwash" will help get that end of things back on track. All of this made starting the next cycle of the trial a little easier to swallow, so to speak.

The trip into town also afforded the chance to meet up with friends Lynda and Trudy, who hadn't met until we all sat down for lunch (yes, I'm able to enjoy food once more although still limiting choices to keep side effects at bay). Penny and I also spent a bit of time on Granville Island before my appointments and our subsequent rendezvous with the others. Feel like I haven't been there in ages as lots of changes - new front on the Arts Club Theatre, Edible BC moving into the old Wood Co-op space, Halfmoon Yoga shutting down but keeping an online presence ...

Returned home to a very quiet house. Melissa, my cousin Bruce's daughter, had been staying with me while her dad hung out at Momzy's (yes, all four of us got together on a regular basis especially for meals). We had a great time together. Took her to my weaving guild meeting, for a tour of some of the more interesting homes in the area, and a short walk on the beach. We also did some retail therapy. Last night, I gave Melissa quick lesson in felting - both needle felting and the "wet" version. What a blast! Did our creating at Momzy's so she could supervise the progress.

Oh yes, while I was waiting to pick up my meds at the Cancer Agency pharmacy, I hung out in the patient lounge. Shortly after I arrived, one of the orderlies arrived and began playing the electric piano that is kept in the room. I remember listening to Guy play on several occasions when I was regularly at the Agency for chemo and radiation. He and I started talking, and he decided to teach me how to "play" the piano. I found his approach quite interesting. It went something like this: Guy likened the keyboard to the building where he worked, and told me both had seven floors/octaves (actual, the Agency building is six floors high, but I suspect there is a basement, too). Fingers on his left hand were his "bosses", while those on his right represented him and his co-workers. The bosses - which always worked in the background (so never played the melody) determined which floor he would be working on while playing the piece. One boss was in charge, and that told him which rooms (keys) he and his co-workers would be working in. He had to keep moving as his bosses kept moving, because nobody could be idle on the job. I don't remember the rest of the lesson, but it was a most interesting way of viewing a keyboard. I will have to try it out for myself someday.

Guy told me that, in addition to learning how to play the piano (on that very keyboard), his job had taught him a more important lesson - how to live. He then asked me what was the most important moment in my life. I said right now. He responded by saying that was the right answer at the time I said it, but that moment is now in the past so wouldn't be true if he were to ask me the same question a second time. He also told me about a patient he once met who told him that she didn't live in the past because that made her depressed, and she didn't live in the future because that made her anxious. Instead, she resolved to live in the present and enjoy it for what it is. Guy said he tried to live his own life that way, that he tried to savour every moment because he knew all too well that it could be his last. He saw a lot of pleasure in what others call chores - shopping, cooking, paying bills, making repairs around the house, helping his kids with their homework - simply because he was able to do those things, knowing that some day in the future he wouldn't. He said many more things that I don't remember right now, but suffice to say that our brief 10 minute chat left quite an impression. Over the years, no matter what I saw Guy doing, no matter who he was with (patient, doctor, other staff), he was always smiling. While I'm likely to forget the piano lesson, I suspect the rest of his words will stay with me for some time to come.