Wonder-full Week

Perhaps magic-filled week is a more apt description. After having spent a fun weekend with Mom (a very happy Mother's Day celebration overflowing with love and laughter - amazing how each day seems to bring us more of each even in the absence of Hallmark holidays) I thought life was pretty good. And then it got better!

The first magical moment occurred while I was tending the back garden. Two hummingbirds felt compelled to zoom around my head - they are very loud when very close. This flurry of activity caused me to look up and subsequently notice a most unusual sight overhead. Two pairs of herons passed over my house and landed in one of the trees behind my neighbour's lot. Now, herons aren't particularly rare in these parts, but they tend to prefer the areas closer to water than the agricultural belt here on the West Sechelt bluff. When they are spotted in the 'hood, they are simply passing through en route between the Georgia Strait and Porpoise Bay. Not only have I never seen one alight on trees in this area, pairs or groups of pairs are even more rare in my experience. In the past couple of days, several neighbours have also mentioned sightings of the throwbacks to prehistoric winged creatures floating overhead at all hours. Seems the ultimate destination might be on the far side of the back neighbour's land rather than the adjacent neighbour's tree, however, as that is where several folks have seen heron transporting twigs and other nest-building materials. How wonderful that I don't have to travel all the way to Stanley Park to enjoy a rookery! Better still, unlike the close proximity of the massive urban rookery to the former condo of friends Don and Gerald, there is enough distance between my bedroom window and the local rookery for everyone to have a fairly quiet night. Unless the owls get going - in recent nights they have rivaled the coyotes with their after dark songs. One more note re wildlife: the goldfinches have finally returned as has a rather annoying woodpecker (way can't birds wait until a reasonable hour for breakfast?).

The next bit of wonder hit even closer to home. When I went for chemo on Wed, Brenda managed to access Cath without any trouble! No repeated poking, not bruising, no pain, lots of relief all 'round. Seems the nurse who helped me out last week (Cathy) left detailed instructions complete with diagrams so Brenda's job was much easier.

That news was a great relief for everyone. Felt good enough to spend Sat with Penny at the studio on Granville Island. It's been several months since I was there. Really miss the place. The market, the other studios, the shops, the tourists, the seagulls trying to steal my lunch, the buskers, the scenery ... It was nice having so much time with Penny, a rare thing these days. Ran into several friends on the ferry. All in all, a very nice day. And I wasn't overly tired when I got home. In fact, I've gone several days now without the need for a daily nap. When I do nap, it is only for an hour or so rather than the four+ hours of recent weeks.

Regaining my energy helped convince me that I can get on with something closer to a normal life. My medical team agrees, and has given me the thumbs up to travel. Maritime residents be warned, the JC Farewell Tour could be coming to a location near you! (When I say Farewell Tour, I mean it in the Cher-like sense of the phrase - only I haven't had as much surgery nor do I plan to. I do, however, plan to have a minimum six-years of "farewell" followed by a prequel, a sequel, and a trilogy just like Cher. In other words, screw the two-year prognosis - or, if the experts do have it right, who cares? This girl is going to have fun, fun, fun 'til the Grim Reaper takes me away! But I digress.) I'm set to fly out to Halifax on Wed where I'll spend some time with Dan and Pat before heading up to St John to hang out with family. It's a trip that is long overdue. Pity that it took a few dudes with stethoscopes to convince me to buy a plane ticket. That and an excellent seat sale - thanks Westjet.

Speaking of travels, Momzy and I are riding in style these days. The last bit of excitement for the week comes in the form of a purple 2001 PT Cruiser. We've dubbed it The Grape. Unlike the '92 Ciera, we don't have to climb out of the seats to climb out of the car, all seat belts fasten as designed, the power steering and breaks truly are, the sunroof rocks ...  I'll post a photo first chance I have.

Yup, life is good.

Dr Llewellyn's Amazing Ride

Anyone questioning the tenacity of the medical system need only duplicate my chemo experience of last week to be reassured that doctors and nurses go above and beyond to help their patients. Once again, the nurses at St Mary's failed to access my port-a-cath on the first three attempts. As luck would have it, a new (at least new to me) nurse on the Ambulatory Care Unit looked upon my case as something of a challenge. I soon learned that Cathy (a most appropriate name given that my Cath was acting up) had just completed her own regime of chemotherapy and had her port removed the week prior by the same surgeon who inserted my device. Cathy offered to take me downstairs to St Mary's x-ray department to confirm whether or not the inserted needle had entered the port or simply found a place alongside.

Fortunately, Dr Llewellyn (the radiologist) and his team were between patients when Cathy and I arrived on their doorstep. While Cathy suggested a conventional x-ray, Dr Llewellyn convinced us that a fluroscopic procedure would better suit our purpose. Minutes later, I found myself standing on a small raised platform with my back against a high support attached to an x-ray machine. On Dr Llewellyn's command, I rotated my torso and shoulder so he could view the port and access needle from various angles. Sure enough, the needle was inserted adjacent to the device. It was then that the good doctor suggested an x-ray from a horizontal position, with me lying down. Thinking I had to move to another room to accommodate the change in position (as there was only the vertically positioned x-ray machine in the room in which we were working), I stepped off the small platform, ready to go to the location of the other machine. But Dr Llewellyn told me to stay standing on the platform. I soon learned why. Within seconds, my feet we rising while my head was being gently lowered backwards - turned out I was standing on the footboard of an x-ray table all along and said table was being slowly realigned into its typical horizontal configuration. How cool is that!?! I enthusiastically informed Dr Llewellyn that his x-ray machine trumps the PNE any day. He appeared to be mildly amused.

It was then that Cathy realized what was wrong. She saw the position I was lying in atop the x-ray table and noted that it was quite different from the position the surgeon had us in when inserting our respective port-a-caths. During surgery, our heads were tilted rather far back and lay quite far to one side, and our backs were slightly arched. The resulting posture tightened the upper chest, especially in the region where the port was inserted. As a result, when this posture was taken, the port sat up and flat. In any other position, the port tilted. Cathy had me adjust my position, and she was able to access the port without a problem. Dr Llewellyn marked the access point with indelible ink, and Cathy and I headed back to the ACU for the chemo.

The added stress and strain of the x-ray session heightened my fatigue. I slept for the better part of two days. I did manage to stay awake long enough to check out a new-to-me car (Mom's old car is showing its age too much for even my mechanic's liking). Also took time over the weekend to fete Momzy in the style to which she deserves. Am certainly feeling all that activity and fine dining catching up with me now. Oh, to sleep, perchance to dream.

Hair to Stay

Seems my hair is going to hang around for this series of chemo treatments. I greet the realization with mixed feelings. On the up side, the shiny pate I sported during my first bout of cancer highlighted the familial connection between me and dear cousin Phil. On the downside, it was mighty cold when the wind blew and no squirrel perched atop my head. Problem? Opportunity! What better time to see if blondes really do have more fun or if the red hair of my long-ago youth was more flattering than the mousy brown it had become pre grey highlights. And so it was that, when my hair fell out during those first rounds of chemo two years ago, I was determined to forego wigs in favour of a series of hats that resembled various hairstyles and hair colours. The hats, fashioned by yours truly, would set millinery tradition on its ear and spark more than a touch of envy in the heart of anyone catching an eyeful of the tasteful toppers. Or so I thought. As luck would have it, my energy level flagged to the point that this was the best I could come up with. (It would have been so much more romantic to say that exposure/ingestion of large quantities of mercury were to blame for such mad musings of this hapless hat-designer hopeful, but I don't think any of the metallic liquid existed in any of my chemo cocktails. Still, it's hard to explain that "deer in the headlights" gaze.)

Far from the Gidgit-inspired do I envisioned, the project ended up looking more like a mullet with serious comb-over issues. Yet, I was very comfortable wearing the failed effort. In fact, I donned the hat in public on several occasions largely because it was the same colour as a polar fleece vest I often wore at the time and I was under the delusion that the hat would be mistaken for a vest hood by any passerby brave enough to cast an eye in my direction. A young neighbour wasn't so easily taken in, it seems. Two years after my fashion faux pas, Hilary (now 14) is learning to knit and felt compelled to create a more tasteful chapeau in case my hairs fall out as a result of this latest chemo. Her hat is much more flattering, me thinks:

Seems Hilary isn't the only one hoping I have tasteful hats should a need for head cover arise. While attending a knitting conference in California, Penny and Roz purchased a gorgeous skein of yarn for my purpose. The thick-thin nature of the yarn screamed "dreadlocks!!", but the bright accent fibre (which looked like flowers when knitted) had me dreaming of something more exuberant. The resulting hat took every inch of the available yarn. Nothing was cut, nothing was wasted. It fits like a dream, is very cozy, and makes me smile every time I look at it. Too bad we're in for warmer weather as this is really a hat for the winter months. I'm willing to wait. Am anxious to see what the tassel-bits look like when they encounter freezing rain or snow.

Port prepared to party

Okay, so yesterday's visit to VGH re the faulty port-a-cath was something of a bust (if you'll pardon the expression). Apparently there is absolutely nothing wrong with the device. The surgeon prepped me for surgery - to replace it with a new port - but before giving me any anesthetic (other than the pre-op stuff that isn't Valium but that other thing) he thought he'd try the port's function for himself. He had no trouble accessing it, flushing it, nor getting flash-back. In fact, he did it twice without a problem. Conclusion: either the nurses at St Mary's aren't familiar with the newer ports, or there was a block or kink in the line, or the area was still too swollen when it was first tried to get a straight stab at it and multiple stabbing attempts only made matters worse. Soooo, I took up the time of several hospital staff members, de-sterilized dozens of surgical tools, dirtied sheets and gowns, and sported the highly flattering iodine wash about my neck and upper torso for nothing. AND Marjorie Ann and I got up at 5/6am and traveled to Vancouver for a fool's errand. But we did have a lovely visit. And we popped by Donna's en route to the hospital to pick up some tile samples for my bathroom, and Marjorie Ann got some minor shopping in. So it wasn't a total waste of time.


Andy Warhol was right. I did bask in my 15min of fame. Apparently faulty ports (the sort that won't allow access) are such a rare thing, at least with the newer models, that I had all manner of cath lab staff stopping by to chat about my visiting twice in three weeks. I explained that I had enjoyed my time there on April 7 so much, I felt the need to return and catch up with everyone like we were instant BFFs. Given the timing of my appointment (12 noon), they asked if I had thought to bring them lunch. After admitting that I had other things on my mind en route in, one nurse with a twinkle in her eye said she would find a way to get me out of there sooner rather than later - in her pre-lunch break opinion, no cookies or other goodies = no service. She must have worked a minor miracle. Not only did her good vibes get the port working, but I was in and out of the cath lab in record time. Next time I'm in the area, I'll have to drop off a veggie tray and a cookie or two.

Some useful info gathered: In addition to the usual "pink slip", the Cancer Agency is now issuing letters asking BC Ferries to give priority boarding to treatment patients. Yes, you're last off, but you do get a handy spot next to the elevator. This proved to be quite useful as the stress of thinking I would have something ripped from my chest only to have it replaced with another potentially faulty device seemed to manifest in the feeling that my leg was catching whenever I took a step. When I got home I discovered my leg was indeed catching on something. Seems I hadn't removed all the sticky little patches that connect those monitor lines to me bod. One was catching on the inside of my jeans. Apparently I was too numb with delight at not having to go under the knife that I hadn't figured out what was happening until then. Needless to say my face was as red as my neck and chest when I realized what was going on.

Happy Days

Haven't been at the keyboard for a couple of days now, and thought I had best bring the world up to date re my little life. I know you are all eager to know what bit of excitement has landed in my lap.

After a rather listless week, it seems the chemo gods opted to give me a break for a couple of days as I had more energy this past weekend than I've had in a good six weeks. Hence the lack of posts. On Saturday I took Mom to the local farmers' market. We had an especially good time avoiding the light rain cozied up on Jon's truck tailgate while he encouraged passersby to eat more rhubarb. Since the market is on the local band lands, we also took the opportunity to visit the local museum which boasts one of the most extensive Native basket collections in the province. The lady in charge of the museum/gift shop that day was very informative and very entertaining. I must remember to visit the shop next time I'm looking for a special present for someone. Later, Mom and I went to Davis Bay for lunch. I had heard a lot about a purple food van (like the one that used to be in Tofino - perhaps this is the old van in a new location?) that had set up shop beside the beach. A friend had raved about the halibut tacos, but Mom and I both chose the crab/shrimp/avocado bonny. It was something like eggs benedict: two slices of toasted homemade corn bread covered with a generous amount of avocado and a poached egg. The lot was topped with a lovely hollandaise sauce that was hard to find amid the fresh crab and shrimp that was mixed into it. Roasted veggie hash browns and a fresh salad filled out the already overflowing plate. Not bad value at $10.

That wasn't the only gourmet meal I enjoyed over the weekend. On Sunday, while at church, David and Stephanie invited me to Chasters for dinner. I wanted to go ever since the restaurant opened a couple of years back, and more so since Stephanie took up the sous chef's toque. The elegant (but not stuffy) room has a nice view of the Georgia Strait. The meal was one of, if not the, best I've had anywhere on the Coast. Amuse bouche was a savory bit of pork belly, the appetizer arguably the best onion tart (yummy onion relish) I've ever had, and the seafood trio (salmon, halibut, scallops) was cooked to perfection (Hooded Merganser in Penticton, take note). Our server, Ben, recommended the pear martini - swear I was biting into a fresh Bartlett pear! Needless to say, I had no appetite issues that day. Topped off the evening with a brief visit to George and Merrily's to see their newly renovated kitchen. I'm soooo jealous.

There was a price to pay for all this frivolity, however. Spent most of Monday and Tuesday in bed recovering from too much good food and a bit too much exertion. Mom tells me I have to do what my body tells me (guess she gave up thinking I'll listen to her sage advice) so I did just that. Refuse to pass up the opportunity to make the most of what energy/good feelings I have, but am resigned to sleeping to speed the recovery.

Today was "Chemo Day" again. The easiest day thus far, mostly because nobody attempted to access the port-a-cath. Even so, it to a couple of attempts before the nurse could find a willing vein in my forearm. Sigh. I fear I have glimpsed my future. Forget being Aunt Edith's dog, or even her cat. I am destined to be a less than happy pincushion!

It wasn't all bad, however. Clarence Li, my priest and self-appointed "chemo buddy" sat with me for most of the treatment. We had a great talk and a few good laughs. Warning to the world: Clarence may have convinced me to try playing the harmonica! Barb Cotgrave was also there as she was sitting with a relative who was having IV treatment for a nasty infection. With such good company, the morning passed in rather a pleasant fashion. I had hoped to drop by the contemplative service at St Hilda's en route home, but the treatment ran overtime and I was rather tired from all the talk and treatment. (I just woke up from a rather lengthy nap as I type, so please pardon spelling and grammar errors.)

Tomorrow, Marjorie Ann will be driving me into Vancouver to VGH where I'll have this useless port-a-cath replaced by another, fingers crossed, that actually works. Stay tuned, as the stomach turns. Did I mention the bruise from the original port insertion on April 7 is still with me? I've decided to look upon it as inspiration for an art project - the colours are beautiful (at least in this photo taken on April 7), even if the cause was less so.

New Port Calling

Personally, I would prefer to be saying Newport calling - as in the Newport jazz festival - but that will have to wait for another time. Instead, a new port-a-cath will be soon welcomed into the wee fold in my chest. Seems the experts have determined my current one is somehow faulty and they want to try another. And here I thought I was going to get off without surgery this go 'round! Anyhoo, I'm heading into Vancouver (VGH to be precise) next Thurs April 29 to have the port replaced.

I checked out the word "port" online and note that several seaports are home to canneries. Given the location of my port, I have to wonder if canneries is a new euphemism for breasts. Of course, if this nonsense keeps up much longer I may find myself reaching for a gentle glass of port or Vinho do Porto as they say in Portugal. A nice nutty tawny would be nice, but I'll settle for a tipple from the bottle of Graham's Six Grapes that is currently collecting dust in my cellar.

Let's try starboard

Second day of chemo. Second day of nurses trying to get the newly installed port to work. It didn't. At least I had some Emla cream to apply this time - didn't feel the needle insertions until number three. Could only attempt the fourth and final attempt after an application of an ice bag over the port. In the end, we opted for one of the few remaining veins in the arm. Again. Dr. Wadge has notified VGH's cath lab. I should be heading back there in the next couple of days so they can determine what is going on - is the port turning? has it flipped completely around? Have my chest veins also packed it in? At least there will be alternatives should it be decided that I am simply not port material. Suspect they'll try a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) next. If that fails, there is always the oral meds that are the back-up should the current two drugs prove ineffective. Good news: I had the foresight to pack my own lunch today - edamame salad, grapes, sesame wafers, and water. Such looked, and no doubt tasted, better than what the guy across from me was served. Interestingly, of the four of us in the room, he was the only one who accepted the lunch tray. And then he only ate the soup, dessert, and milk. Wonder what was the entree. Who cares, really? I'm back off to bed. Headache and general blah feeling. Makes me wonder all the more what the little people holding hands around my little pincushions (the silk made-in-China one and the "blanket toss" one I picked up in Alaska) have to smile about. Perhaps they are smiling because they aren't the ones being poked! Is that how Pokey got his name, or was Gumby saying he was just slow? Know it had nothing to do with the intelligence of the little red horse as he was the brighter of the two, or at least his head held more plasticine. What drivel! To bed!