Day Seven -- Third Infusion

I had my third infusion today.  They again suggested increasing the speed of delivery to 90 minutes, but I still wasn't comfortable w/ that rate.  It was probably the nurse telling me that a side effect of the Rituximab (Rituxin) is convulsions.  Yep, convulsions.  I do remember reading about that in the materials Dr. Inwards gave me a month ago, but I was trying not to focus on that.  Well, for fear of shaking uncontrollably, I asked if we could arrive at a happy medium.  So after two hours, I left the infusion therapy center tremor free. I have my last infusion next Saturday.  I think I'll feel more comfortable with a 90-minute infusion then.

I was more tired after this infusion and took a three-hour nap after returning to my brother's house.  The Benadryl they give me before the infusion always makes me tired, but this time it didn't really hit me until several hours later.  It could, however, be that this past week was especially busy, and my body just needed to recharge.  My lymph nodes seem to be in less of an uproar these days, but I had more night sweats last night than I've had before.  I'm going to all these as positive ways my body is expelling this illness. 

Day Six -- Footprints

(NOTE:  I'm writing this on the 17th due to traveling on the 16th, but I composed this entry while driving.)

When I was first given the diagnosis of Follicular Lymphoma, one of my first thoughts was to write letters to my daughters for them to open at the important times during their lives when I might not be there.  You know, times like their weddings, birth of their children, etc.  Letters that would offer them advice and encouragement as they face each new chapter in their lives and promise them that even when times are difficult, remember the significance of being alive to endure them.

In the ensuing months after my initial diagnosis, the need to leave this trail has subsided, however, I still think it's a good idea for anyone, whether they've been given a cancer diagnosis or not.  Writing down our impressions, hopes, and dreams for future generations leaves a footprint.  Right now in my time, we're consciously trying not to leave a carbon footprint.  I'm not sure which kind of footprint I'm leaving w/ these blog entries, but maybe I'll write some letters this winter.

Day Five--"I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends"

Went to a concert tonight w/ my friend Lora where we saw other friends. I've come to the conclusion that anything is tolerable and doable and workable when you've got friends.  Lora made the comment tonight that despite my illness, I'm much healthier and happier than I was last school year when going through my divorce.  I had friends help me through that too, but I felt in greater turmoil than I do now.   There's research that supports the importance of interpersonal relationships in combating and controlling cancer, and people who are socially isolated are more likely to suffer from heart problems.  All this gives credence to the song, "I get by w/ a little help from my friends."  For me to fight this cancer, I must remain health physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, and socially.  That's quite a balancing act.......but what a ride.

Earlier today I decided it was time to reconnect w/ some other friends that I hadn't talked to in awhile.  My Aunt Jean told me that a few months before Uncle Jack died he called up some of his old buddies that he hadn't talked to in years.  She's convinced he knew he was dying even then even though others didn't suspect.  I know my death isn't imminent, and I don't think my illness is the motivator behind wanting to rekindle past friendships.  It's not like I'm tracking down every friend I've ever had and lost contact w/.  I'm not sure I'd have enough time to do that if I lived another 50 years.  But I am trying to gather as many friends around me as possible so I guess in a way I am "circling the wagons."  I just don't plan on this being my last stand.

Day Four -- Sitting to the Occasion

No day should be wasted regardless of whether you have a terminal disease or not.  I've always looked back at my days when I get to the end of them and ask, "What did I accomplish?"  Usually it's a lot, sometimes it's a little, and rarely it's nothing at all.  I wasn't brought-up to just sit, but it's ironic that I've created numerous sitting areas inside and outside of my home.  Inside my house I have two family rooms and a living room.  Outside my house I have a deck, a fire-pit area, benches in my rock garden and shade garden, and a canopied swing.  I've created all these places to sit and relax, yet I rarely do either.  Maybe I need to get to a point where my biggest accomplishment is learning how to just sit.

Day Three -- It's Melting

I keep hearing the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz saying, "I'm melting, I'm melting," but it's not her I envision but the tumors within my lymph nodes.  And as they're being eradicated, they're lashing-out for one final flare before they blaze out.  I don't expect them to go meekly or calmly, and that's okay.  I'm stronger than they are.  So melt, you bastards.  This body isn't big enough for all of us, and I was here first.

Day Two--Emotionally & Physically Fit

If I was in an anatomy and physiology class right now, I could definitely pass the test on the lymphatic system.  I could personally identify the location of all lymph nodes throughout the body b/c I'm feeling every single one of them.  It's not really a pain, more like a dull ache; the kind you get when you've got the flu.  But I feel fine....fine enough to teach three classes today and play two hours of tennis tonight.  I'm at a good place emotionally too.  There isn't a day that goes by that I don't remember that I have lymphoma, but I certainly go for hours without thinking about it.  I'm sure once I'm in remission w/o the flu-like symptoms I'll forget for days, maybe even weeks and months.  When reality does hit me know, it's not like the reality I felt after Mom died.  That was like getting hit in the chest w/ a sledge hammer.  This reality-check is a soft-nudge to remind me not to waste time.  I wasn't always at this point emotionally.  Right after my diagnosis I cried......a lot.  All I could think of was only having 10 more years and how that wasn't enough time to see my daughters set in their own lives.  Now I see 10 years as the minimum, not the maximum. 

I stopped my neighbor in the street this morning while walking my dog to ask if he could stop by this week to give me an estimate on replacing my gutters.  I could tell he had been crying and was quite distraught.  When I asked if he was okay, he broke down saying that he was sick and might have colon cancer.  He drove away before I had a chance to offer any words of encouragement.  The response I hate the most when I tell people I have lymphoma is, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mari."  Then come the puppy dog eyes and droopy face.  I tried not to do that w/ Mike, but I too said, "I'm sorry to hear that."  What I would've liked to have said is, "It's going to be okay.  Just take it one step at a time.  Don't let your mind race to every possible negative scenario.  The tears and fear are necessary, but then you have to move past them and use them.  Use the tears to buck-up your emotions b/c it's going to be a roller coaster ride for awhile.  Use the fear to buck-up your physical strength b/c the appointments, tests, surgeries, treatments are going to drain you.  Sitting on the couch solves nothing.  Trust me, I wasted several days on the couch, immobilized w/ tears and fears.  You just have to keep moving b/c if you stop, someone places a mirror under your nose and orders a headstone."  Well, he might not be ready for that last line, but I do hope he stops by this week so I can assure him he's not alone, and this isn't the end.

Day One--Recap of first two infusions

For the year after my mother died, I kept a daily blog about my mourning process (www.mourningglories-mari.blogspot.com).  By doing this, I emerged a stronger person, which is even more necessary now as I deal w/ my recent diagnosis of non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  Therefore, I'm making the same pledge that I made after Mom died.....I'm going to write in this Moment with Mari blog every day for a year to work through the myriad of emotions a cancer diagnosis brings.  I feel it's appropriate that on this, the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I begin a remembrance of my own that hopefully 10 years from now I can look back on as a survivor and not a victim.

On Friday, 02 September, I drove to my sister's in Minneapolis so she could drive me to Rochester for me to begin antibody therapy at Mayo.  Unlike chemotherapy, the Rituxin targets only the B-cells so I won't have all the negative side effects.  That first infusion on the 2nd took about five hours b/c they had to administer it slower since they didn't know how I'd react to it.  I did have a slight allergic reaction about halfway through.  My throat got scratchy and the inside of my ears started to itch so they stopped the infusion and gave me a large dose of Benadryl through my IV.  Once this reaction subsided, they restarted the infusions at a slower rate.  Aside from being tired due to the Benadryl, I felt great. 

On Saturday, 10 September, my friend Lora drove me to my second infusion.  This one only took about four hours, and I had no allergic reaction.  I have been mostly asymptomatic w/ my red and white blood cell counts being fine, no fevers, fatigue, or night sweats.  The only enlarged lymph node that I can actually feel is on the left side of my neck.  This, according to my hematologist Dr. Inwards, will be the most immediate indicator as to the effectiveness of the Rituxin.  I have noticed that this node feels like it's shrinking, but I also seem to have more symptoms like night sweats and fatigue.  I mowed lawn today and had to stop after an hour b/c I was exhausted......this just isn't me.  It felt today like all the lymph nodes in my body were revolting against these treatments.  During the first treatment I envisioned the antibodies shooting the b-cells and eliminating them and then hosing down the inside of my lymph nodes to fully cleanse them.  That's the vision I have to keep.  These treatments will work.  I will stay strong and force this disease into remission.