Un Petite Panique

Last week I was supposed to meet my son for lunch, but it was raining and he said he didn't feel well. He'd gone to Campus Health Services where they'd taken a blood sample and he had yet to find out the results. When it comes to kids and blood tests, I have to admit I'm gun-shy. What if he has leukemia?

My rational self ridicules this line of thinking. For a guy who runs 75 miles a week to feel tired and weak, it's quite a stretch to think he might have a horrible disease. But my mind was stretched in March 2006 when I was told by my doctor that my blood work indicated I had acute leukemia. My only symptom had been a swollen finger.

It turns out, my son is anemic. He takes a liquid iron medication and has started training again. He doesn't feel 100% yet but he doesn't have leukemia.

The panic didn't stop there. On Wednesday, I began to feel really tired right after lunch. It was nothing specific, and my first thought was that all my physical symptoms were dragging me down mentally. This is not unreasonable. Then a little voice inside my head said: take your temperature. It was 100.2, a low-grade fever. Three hours later it was 100.4. I didn't feel sick so much as weak. And scared. Why did I have a fever? I didn't have a cold or any other fever-inducing illness, as far as I knew. I was a limp rag (is there any other kind?), and the closest thing to my mind was leukemia.

The next, morning, my temperature was 99.2, and then 99.4. Physically I was better; mentally I was a wreck. Physical exercise improved my mood, but it was two 98.7 readings in a row that made me think, maybe I don't have leukemia.

Maybe. After two cancer-free years, I still feel the occasional dread. Sometimes there's an obvious connection such as a fever or new symptom. Sometimes, it comes out of nowhere and I don't even realize why I'm feeling so blue. Last week, it was my son's blood test. The week before it was the news that a 4-year survivor had relapsed. It's always something.

What a Manicure Will Do

I didn't feel like myself. I felt trapped in the wrong body, malaise wrapping itself around me like an infested blanket. My skin crawled.

A large part of this was mental. Sure my eyes were dry, my skin itched, my kidney stones which seem to have descended into my bladder were awake and kvetching. I was wearing someone else's feet and I walked like a gorilla, arms heavily dangling by my side. I tried to focus on the dinner I was preparing for guests, old friends we've known for over 20 years and are similarly bleeding tuition money. I was making roast chicken, comfort food.

I washed some prep materials and looked at my hands, which were fat and blotchy. Something needed to be done. I dropped the dish towel, walked across the street, and had a manicure. I spent the hour drifting in and out of various consciousnesses. When the petite young woman massaged my hands, I was transported back to the days of Russian manicurists who wrenched and pounded and otherwise inflicted pain. This woman was good, though. She somehow reshaped my hands so they looked normal. Those were my hands, nails dressed in a pale pink.

I floated back to my apartment and resumed my cooking, trying extra-hard not to mess up my nails. I forgot, briefly, that I didn't feel like myself. My focus was drawn elsewhere. The evening was a lot of fun.

A New Drug

My oncologist put me on Cellcept yesterday, an immune suppressant that might have a little more luck fighting the graft versus host disease that keeps me from ever feeling "normal." I'll be taking this in conjunction with Rapamune (sirolimus) for two weeks and then eliminate the latter. This means I will be more susceptible to infection as my fighting whites will be working with fewer bullets, or defective ones. I'll counter that with sanitary vigilance such as fleeing from coughs and compulsive hand-washing. It's amazing how quickly you can return to this obsessive way of thinking.

I've lost my prednisone puffiness as well as some of the water weight that's been making me blimp-like for the past few months. I wouldn't say I feel spry, but I've traded the cement boots for lighter footwear. I still have fat little baby hands, which would be adorable if they weren't covered with red splotches and scales.

I have yoga today, which is always a treat since I stretch my contracted tendons/ligaments and muscles to the point where I feel almost limber. Namaste.

Good, Bad, Ugly

Good: Despite continuing tightness in my ligaments and tendons, I continue to train for the marathon and I'm sure if I start the damn thing, I'll finish it. There's lots of other good stuff in my life, for which I'm thankful for the chance to experience.

Bad: My nurse called me last week and said that when I came in for my treatment the next day, I'd need a transfusion. Once I started breathing again, I asked why. I haven't needed blood in 18 months or so. She said my hematocrit had been trending downward, and this would give me a boost. You know what I was thinking, right? She assured me it was nothing to worry about and that they see this all the time in patients with graft vs. host disease. Plus, prednisone could also be a culprit. I took a deep breath and decided to trust her.

Ugly: My wrists and ankles, which have scaly red splotches that flake off wherever I sit for a moment no matter how much cream I apply. Why can't my liver look like hell and my skin be asymptomatic?

Surviving Irene

The Big Blow arrived and it was more like an asthmatic wheeze. Our only disaster was a candle that overflowed the ceramic pottery in which it was contained. I lit it last night in case the power went out, so that I wouldn't be crashing around the apartment searching for my other hurricane items, basically candles since all our flashlights are safely tucked away in Jeffersonville and there wasn't a flashlight to be had in my neighborhood for love or money.

Yes, there was wind and rain, but no more serious than an ocean storm, of which I have experienced at least 50 or so. I am an East Coast Girl. Speaking of which, how many places get to experience an earthquake and hurricane in one week? Both were pretty lightweight by anyone's standards, but still. We're due for a volcano but I don't think we'll squeeze that in by Tuesday. Volcanoes are a long time in the making.

One way I spent my time was writing emails to people asking them to support my run for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I made $450 today! I'm 95% to my goal.

http://pages.teamintraining.org/nyc/nyc11/pjempty

Virtually nothing is open today, including the subways. Commerce in Manhattan is dead. I took a walk and was amazed that the only stores in business were small grocery stores and newspaper stands. You cannot find milk, bread or water. Speaking of water, I forgot to fill my bathtub with flush water. I did, however, fill it with gin. I'm a poor survivalist.

Actually, I'm quite good at surviving. Marty voluntarily left me here alone (save for Turbo), and drove upstate with Harry yesterday. He kept saying he felt bad leaving me alone during such unpredictable times, but knew I'd call someone if I had an emergency I couldn't handle. I don't know how good I am at emergencies, but I'm extremely adept with handling whatever is blown my way.

Another Day, Another Symptom

In an effort to cross-train, I dusted of my bike and went for a ride. As I was churning up a big hill, heart bursting, I decided to take a granny break. Never heard of granny breaks? Years ago, we went on a 26-mile bike trip in Vermont, and that's what they called it when you got off your bike for a breather. I decided to take one, couldn't lift my leg over the bar and crash-landed on the gravel/grass shoulder, doing one of my notorious rollovers where I live to tell the story.

A scraped palm and some gravel pitted in my knee were all I had to show for my tumble. I wish I could say it was a freak accident, but the truth is, I'm weak and clumsy. The remainder of the ride I managed to do upright and in control.

I must have done some internal damage though, because a day or two later, my side ached and I couldn't take a deep breath. Certain movements were extremely painful, and deep breaths, coughing, sneezing and laughing were out. It's improved significantly; I'll be more cautious in the future.

I'm a normal person with everyday physical complaints. I have kidney stones and I wrenched a muscle in my back. There's nothing like pain to get your mind off dry eyes, leprotic skin, muscle weakness, tendon tightness and mysterious liver issues.

I'm pretty lucky. You're lucky, too, because I was going to bore you about plate tectonics in wake of yesterday's "East Coast" earthquake. In relation to personal quakes past, this was underwhelming.

Stoned

My abdominal ultrasound showed no abnormalities with my liver, etc. but it turns out I have kidney stones. That explains the intense pain I get in my side once or twice a day. My internist diagnosed gastritis a week ago and put me on Prilosec, which naturally had no effect. 1000 mg of Tylenol seems to do the trick, although my liver doc says to limit my intake to 2000 mg/day. If for some reason I go over the limit, I pop an oxycodone and stay out of traffic. I'd rather be a little stoned now and then than in pain. I've had enough pain.

My doctor wants to do a biopsy of the liver to confirm gvh and proceed from there. I may have to increase the dreaded prednisone. Currently at 10 mg, I'm hanging by a thread anyway. My skin has a leprotic look to it, although my face and trunk have been spared.

In the meantime, I'm in the country training for the marathon and wrestling with the gangly shrubbery. I think I'm winning. Today I hope to get out there and weed the perennial beds. I have a foam cushion for my delicate knees. It beats trying to squat or bend over and risk looking unsightly. You never know who's peering out their window at my backside.