Wednesday, April 23 (Chemo #6 - Final!)

Final chemo day! I actually dreaded this one more than the others, despite my happiness that it was the last one. The anticipation of the steps I know all too well got to me this morning--the retest for neutrophils (sp) and waiting to see if chemo could move forward; the inevitable struggle to insert an IV; the twitchy awful feeling of the steroids and taxol; the long wait for the CA-125 results; the tiredness and toxicity to follow. 

But! I did it. My assigned chemo nurse asked a different nurse to do the IV, and she got it in with just one try--and I barely felt it. My neutrophil (sp) retest came back with normal results, so chemo could move forward. The steroids and taxol made me extremely restless, twitchy, and anxious--it's a really awful feeling--and I tried to just do some deep, counted breathing and focus on watching Hacks. That feeling lasted for about an hour and then went away. The ice mittens and booties were unbearable as always; no way around that. 

I didn't get my CA-125 results until 11:30--and my number went down another 20 points to 62.5! Not in the "normal" range yet (normal is <35), but getting there. The steady decrease is the important thing. Such a relief.

Beth came at lunchtime and gave Andrew a chance to go get some lunch; he went to Piada and brought me back some penne carbonara since I was starving. Usually I get through without eating since it's very hard to eat with the cold cap strapped tightly under my chin, but I was really hungry today and persevered. 

We watched the second half of season three of Hacks, excellent company as always. We looked at some pricing sent to us by the appliance guy. 

Finally, it was over. Beth came down from work to join us for the bell-ringing: three nice clangs. The nurses, gathered with us in the hall, clapped and cheered. It was a good feeling. 

I did a really hard thing. I did my best to maintain as much normalcy as possible at home around the kids and kept working the whole time. I'm glad I was randomized into this arm of the clinical study so I know I'm throwing everything possible at this cancer. In three weeks, I'll start the maintenance drug, Letrozole, which (with fingers crossed and prayers requested) will keep me stable and cancer-free for many many years.

And now a non-cancer story to finish off today:

Yesterday, our kitchen designer and appliance guy very much wanted us to choose a microwave drawer. I am vehemently opposed. The electronic, wave-at-the-sensor way the drawer slides open--what happens when it inevitably stops working? The reality of oatmeal and butter microwaved without enough oversight--how does one clean the inside top of a DRAWER? How does one clean the drawer's sliders, dripping with hot food? I can't, won't, get a microwave drawer. I even tried to explain to everyone how I regularly cook oatmeal in a four-cup measuring cup, a cup that WILL NOT fit into a microwave drawer. 

We are not getting a microwave drawer. Andrew wasn't married to the drawer, but he wasn't quite at my same level of dislike. Later that day, when Greta came home, Andrew told her we were thinking of getting a microwave drawer, and described it to her. Horrified, her face a rictus of disdain, she said immediately, "HOW WOULD WE COOK OATMEAL????" I howled with laughter. I have succeeded fully in melding my brain with Greta's.