Bell's palsy? You kidding me?!

You know that mild fever I was fighting off late last week? Well, it landed me in urgent care Friday night. Blood tests and a chest X-ray revealed nothing alarming, no telltale sign of why my temperature had risen past the get-your-ass-to-urgent-care threshold (100.5). Not knowing what the cause was, they sent me home with some broad-spectrum antibiotics and orders to wait for results of a blood culture to see if I had a blood infection. Nope. I rested up good on Saturday, then on Sunday, right as I was preparing to head to my daughter's ninth birthday party, I noticed my right eye had quit blinking and when I pursed my lips, they were crooked. The surface of my tongue had gone partially numb. And some intermittent throbbing pain in the cartilage of my right ear was starting to get downright searing. I got on the phone with a consulting nurse and (thankfully) answered no to all the uh-oh-are-you-having-a-stroke? questions she asked me. Something was clearly going on with the right side of my face, but it wasn't anything that couldn't wait until Monday morning. Until I spiked another fever, which made the on-call oncologist worried that my white blood cell count might be crashing to dangerously low levels. So back to urgent care we went right as I was hoping I could snuggle in for a good night's sleep. Pretty quickly, a blood test revealed that my neutrophil count had actually gone up quite a bit since Friday. Just a teency bit below normal for a non-cancer-fighting person. Phew! Whether it was all the rest I got or the iron-rich bison burger I had Saturday night, it was super relieving to find out my immune system wasn't plummeting into underdrive. Here's where the focus shifts to WTF is going on with my face. A CT scan revealed no tumors in my head. Double phew! Based on all my symptoms, my urgent care doc felt fairly confident diagnosing me with Bell's palsy, though the right side of my face wasn't drooping all that much. Still, we wondered if Taxol (a neurotoxin and the chemo drug I'm on right now) could have something to do with it. My oncologist hasn't ever had a patient get Bell's palsy-like neuropathy from Taxol. Sean found a couple journal articles about Taxol and facial palsy (one that deals with bilateral facial nerve palsy that resulted from dose-dense Taxol treatment, and another that ... who am I kidding, I'm too wiped out to read closely enough to tell you how it's different; here's the link if you're medically inclined or curious). So far, most of my symptoms haven't gotten noticeably worse. My vision has gotten a bit blurry, which makes reading and writing pretty difficult. Talk about an inconvenient occupational obstacle for a writer. My ear pain comes and goes and may be hurting me more, maybe not. Perhaps it's just knowing that the root of all this is an inflamed hub of facial nerves right underneath the spot that pulsates painfully every now and then that makes it seem worse. Next steps are:

• An MRI (Thursday) to get a more detailed look at what's going on inside my head.

• A one-week break from chemo – at least.

• An appointment (also Thursday) with my oncologist, who's suggested that we might call me good with eight chemo treatments. There are differing medical opinions about how much more effective, if at all, 12 Taxol treatments are vs. 8. There's also the possibility that I could switch drugs to something that isn't such a neurotoxic motherfucker and finish out a few more weeks of chemo.

You may be wondering what you can do for us during this rough patch. You're always generous with offers of help. Right now, truth be told, I'm so exhausted, I need some time to just rest. Sean's exhausted, too, taking care of me, the kids, trying to keep his head above water at work. I may post some requests on CaringBridge in the coming days, once I can wrap my head around what we need vs. what suboptimal situations we can tolerate for the time being. I love your calls and emails and texts and might be slower to respond to them for a while. Cross your fingers and toes with me, or pray if that's your thing, that if this Bell's palsy, that I bounce back in weeks, not months. It goes away for most folks in those time frames; for some, it never fully goes away. However it shakes out, I'll say this incredibly obvious thing: Fighting cancer is hard enough without another giant, steaming heap of health crap on your plate. That's about as funny as I can be about this shit right now.

#CaringBridge #cancer #Bellspalsy #WTF #chemo #MRI

Talk about a marathon ...

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I could barely believe my misty eyes two Sundays ago as Sean crossed the Seattle Marathon finish line WAY faster than he'd ever run 26.2 miles before. Almost half an hour faster than his previous PR (personal record in marathon-ese). His time: 3 hours, 11 minutes and 25 seconds, fourth in his age group, 65th overall, qualifying him for the 2017 Boston Marathon. That's a SUPER big deal in the running world. (Bear with me, Facebook friends, who have already tolerated one round of my bragging already. You'll appreciate the backstory.) You might be wondering what kind of crazy man would dare train for a marathon while working his ass off, being there for his cancer-fighting wife, his kids, and all the other things (there are always other things).

Here's how: He ran to work (seven miles or so) whenever he could, woke up early on weekends to do his long runs (anywhere from 12 to 20 miles), sometimes finishing up at the one of the kids' soccer games, all sweaty, stinky and salty-eyed. Sometimes I got exhausted just thinking about all the energy and discipline and perseverance marathon training required of him while we're slogging through such a stressful time in life. And yet that's precisely why it was so brilliant of Sean to run, run, run. It gave him time to release all that stress — or at least some of it. He's a goal setter, a guy who doesn't let here-and-now obstacles fool him into doubting he can do something ridiculously hard. He makes time for it. And he doesn't fuss about how hard that is to do some days. He just gets it done. Recovers. Then does it again. You see where I'm going here. And you've heard this one before: Cancer is a marathon, not a sprint. "No duh," as I might've said in fifth grade. On those hills during his training runs, or in a race, itself, when the going gets tough, Sean focuses on the pavement beneath his feat. One stride at a time, he affirms that he's going somewhere. That's where I am today: Twelve rounds into a 16-treatment chemo marathon, bracing for six weeks of daily radiation, then years of hormone therapy and reconstructive surgery. I'm on that hill that makes everything seem harder than it is. Some days, when I've battled insomnia all night (common during chemo), I can barely deal. I'm slightly anemic (also common during this stage of chemo), which has started to wipe me out, especially when I exercise. When I don't exercise, I don't get good sleep. When I don't get good sleep, it's a struggle to fake being a nice person. All of these things are little problems compared to the miseries that plague many people battling cancer. I'm lucky. Even today, as I'm slowed down more than I'd like to be and fighting off a mild fever, I'm still fundamentally healthy. I'm eating well, doubling-down on iron-rich foods to fend of anemia, getting back into yoga to calm down my worried mind and start building back some strength, taking meds to help me sleep if/when insomnia strikes. Through it all, I remain amazed by the tremendous support network I have, one that extends far beyond my tight-knit loving family. The Friday after Sean's marathon, my friend Tamara, who edited a book I wrote for Brooks Running Company, spent the afternoon with me during round 11 of chemo then treated me and Sean to a night and morning off mama and papa duty by hosting our kids for a sleepover with her two sweet boys. We relished a reservation-less dinner at one of our favorite restaurants and went out to the movies. You know, those ones they show in a theater with a great big screen? It had been ages. It was awesome. Yesterday, my friend and fundraising colleague Becca kept me company during round 12. Busy lives can make it hard to find time to just visit for a few uninterrupted hours with good friends. So thanks, chemo! You're not much fun, but the company you draw to me sure is! A beautiful thing that Tamara and Becca have in common — aside from being beautiful inside and out — is that I met them both because of big risks I took in my professional life. I met Becca as I took the plunge to start my own communications consulting business (one that led me to my favorite job ever at Moore Ink. PR & Fundraising Communications), and Tamara when Brooks hired me to chronicle the company's first hundred years in business. Every risk I've ever taken — whether I've chosen it or not — has led to something good. Some of the journeys have been hard. But I've always managed to land on my feet somehow. And every now and than, I get this bonus gift of a wonderful new person in my life. It's those risks you take in life, the challenges that dare you to take them on, that shape you into the person who can face the next thing and the next thing with a little more confidence that you can do whatever it is that's in front of you. So here I am, on this confidence-testing hill in my cancer marathon. I may have to shuffle more slowly than I want to, and the finish line may feel far away, but I'm getting there. Step by step. Day by day. Thanks, as always, to each one of you who's cheering me on. Keep ringing those cow bells, will ya? I might need a little more of it every now and then.

#CaringBridge #cancer #marathon #exercise #chemo #insomnia

10 rounds down, 6 to go

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I broke into the chemo double digits yesterday. And I'm feeling fine with round 10 just a day behind me. Aside from some slightly warped, yellowing nails, I don't believe I've yet experienced any full-on neuropathy (numbness and tingling in the fingers and toes, among other symptoms). My energy is good most days. Occasionally, I hit a bit of a wall, like when I went out on my first jog in months a few days ago. Because I'm a brisk walker and have been swimming once a week-ish, I figured I'd truck along at my leisurely 11- or 12-minute mile pace, no problem. Nope. I shuffled slowly for the first mile, mile and a half, waiting for my warmed-up legs to get a boost of strength. When that wasn't happening, I walked-jogged-walked-jogged for a bit. I never felt a surge of "I've got this!" energy, but hey, I got out there, "ran" three miles, and that's something. A starting point. After the "run," I felt so spent I had to lie down and a good, little cry as I vented to Sean how tired I am of cancer taking so much of my time, standing in between me and exercise too often, and/or making it harder for me to focus on work or feel present as a parent. He's such a great listener. He doesn't try to talk me out of feeling blue. He just rubs my back and says I'm doing great, even when I feel like I'm not. So I bucked up, got my tired ass to work and wrote, wrote, wrote. I'd fallen behind on one of several projects I've been juggling because of a few frustrating bouts of insomnia. But I buckled down and finished my work just in time to prep a couple side dishes the day before Thanksgiving, then head to a Thanksgiving Eve gathering of several neighborhood families hosted by our good friends Molly (my chemo company for round 9 — in one of the photos below), David and their boys. The highlight of my Thanksgiving morning (usually a brisk run) was a light jog to/from to a nearby soccer field, where Tyler spent a good half hour blocking some pretty fierce shots on net. I don't mess around when I give that guy goalie practice. It's fun seeing Tim Howard-like reflexes in a 6-year-old. Sean's folks, visiting us from Pennsylvania, very wisely encouraged me not to do much cooking for our Thanksgiving feast. All I made was my standby apple cranberry walnut sauce, my new dish of the year: a SUPER delicious shredded kale, brussels sprout and carrot salad with maple sesame dressing (here's the recipe) and some Tofurkey sausage and field roast for veggie-curious Tyler. We got a pre-cooked turkey from PCC, our neighborhood grocery store. It came beautifully bronzed, all shrink-wrapped and ready for us to reheat for a couple hours. Sean's mom did the stuffing and the green beans (with a few minor assists from micromanage-y me). Sean did the mashed potatoes. Sean's dad and Sylvia did the pumpkin pie. PCC did the apple pie. And boom! That, folks, is how you do a low-stress holiday meal. :-) The day after Thanksgiving, I enjoyed my num-num kale and brussels sprout salad with some turkey on top for lunch as I waited for my oncology nurse to hook me up for round 10 of chemo. Sean kept me company after he picked up his race bib and timing chip for the Seattle Marathon, which he's running tomorrow. I'm excited to cheer him on with the kids, his folks and some friends. He's one amazing dude to have trained for a marathon (his seventh) while being a dad to our sweet yet exhausting kids, being there for me, and preparing and trying the first of two criminal cases that began right after I started chemo. Running does as much to keep Sean (and many people who love it) mentally healthy as physically fit. I'm as proud of him — no even prouder — for embracing that benefit of running as I am each he crosses the finish line. Speaking of finish lines, I "graduated" from physical therapy last week. I've regained most of my range of motion in my left shoulder. It's still a bit stiff, but as long as I continue with my stretching and strengthening exercises, swimming, yoga and maybe some massage (ahhhh ... massage), the healing process will keep on keepin' on. Only six (out of 16) more chemo sessions to go: December 4, 10, 17, 24, 31 and one for good measure on January 7. I have a friend or family member lined up for each session, lucky me. Then comes a monthlong break. Can't wait for that. Then six weeks of radiation. Thanks to all of you who keep sending me good vibes. Your notes and hugs and food and gifts (like the "Save the Racks!" T-shirt my high school friend Erika mailed me the other day, one that her hair salon sold as part of a fundraiser for breast cancer research — in one of the photos below) serve as constant reminders of how fortunate I am to have so much support near and far.

#CaringBridge #cancer #chemo #exercise #Thanksgiving #physicaltherapy