July 6, 2006
This week has been dreary since it has been like many of the weeks earlier in the year. The Neulasta shot, probably combined with the other chemicals within, has been particularly trying with lots of bone pain, nausea, and fatigue. There is the mindset; “I am in remission, I am better, this part is over, etc.,” which has me expecting good days rather than the present state. More patience is required and more time will need to pass, then surely, the gloom will depart. Meanwhile, I sit about thinking that if I had the energy, I should be doing basic laundry, cooking, cleaning, or at the very least, writing uplifting poetry.
The pair of swallows that I convinced Charles should be permitted to nest above the entryway door to the third floor living area have now completed rearing their babies, and we no longer have very anxious birds flying in and out of the porch area. The swallows aren’t too messy until the eggs hatch, then the debris is astonishing; we had heaps of bird droppings there in front of the door, and a total covering of the doorbell. Talk about daunting! I felt that the insects that were devoured made the final cleanups worthwhile, but for just a bit, I was glad that no friends came to visit through that door; there would have been quiet conversations just outside our hearing about Charles and myself “losing it” as we increasingly enjoy our country living.
It is the last day of the sixth round of chemotherapy, and now there will be respite! We found little spaces on the upper arms for the final injections, and the Neulasta shot also had its place; the latter has come charging forth with fatigue and nausea, so the afternoon was spent lounging about contemplating the good tomorrows. I will have the weekly blood draw to monitor the Coumadin needs for the blood clotting potential, as well as to keep track of the blood counts. The visit today to the oncologist’s office was one in which little vignettes of lives played out within earshot. The nurse came to the woman sitting next to me and told her that regrettably her blood counts had gone down again, and blood transfusions would need to begin. The receptionist could be heard asking about how long the bleeding had been going on, and after a pause, saying, “Oh please, don’t be sorry, you mustn’t be sorry. . . you are not a bother. . . you just need to come in as soon as you can.” The elderly man sitting near me in the chemotherapy room sounded sad and defeated and afraid in his conversation with the nurse who was trying very hard to distract him from the present needle and drip. Meanwhile, a little song was running through my head repeating over and over again, “It’s the last day, it’s the last shots, it’s the last day, etc.,” and I was sitting there with a grin that I couldn’t quite erase. 
Alphie decided to remove the large Bird of Paradise plant from its pot yesterday. Charles had it standing on the driveway as one of the lovely growing things he puts out to soften our entryway, and this is the second time that Alphie has done this to the poor plant, not doing it any favors. It is bedraggled and not blooming so this time, after repotting it, Charles put it out of reach. We cannot think why Alphie decides to yank and shake, but we suspect that he does it because it’s there, and for his little doggie brain, that’s reason enough. 
With today’s fourth round of injections, I have now crossed over the half-way mark of the sixth session of chemotherapy. It has been going very well, without any new side effects. The recurring hot flashes, itching sessions, fatigue, aches and pains are familiar responses and have gone away after some days have elapsed, so they are no longer frightening. The overarching emotion is an ongoing delight about the remission; while I thank God each morning for the wonder of the single new day, a molecule of hope is dancing a happy jig in my brain and beginning to whisper about a remission that could go on for years. I got out the Vidaza booklets and read all the tiny, tiny print about the first trials and the ongoing results in hopes of finding some indications of this possibility, but it is all too new, and longterm outcomes are unknown. This last day of June is the 196th day since the appearance of the MDS. 
Today it was very hot at Sanctuary, at 98 degrees with a south wind bearing air it must have summoned up from the Equator. The grass crunched underfoot when we walked and cracks are beginning to appear in the earth. One would think that the mosquitoes would be sitting the day out, panting somewhere in the heat, but alas, they were very interested in the blood bearing flesh moving past. Fortunately, my virtual bath in repellents protects me from their evil intents. 
Today I began the sixth and last of the series round of chemotherapy. Yesterday evening, when I walked in the woods and began to think about the upcoming injections, my arms began to ache in anticipation. It was Pavlovian, I think, with the brain leading all the way. When I arrived at the oncologist’s office at 10:30 AM, there was confusion and delay because two new people were being trained as receptionists, and one had apparently recorded my visit incorrectly, so nothing was in readiness. I ended up having to have two blood draws rather than one but after that, things became routine. When I waited for the Vidaza injections in the chemo room, one of the women suddenly said very loudly, “This chemotherapy is poison! I’m not getting another drop. . . I just read in the paper that some children in a Cleveland hospital were given chemotherapy and it killed them.” There we all were, some with IV’s in place, and some waiting to begin. . . a man across the room said, “Well, I think these medicines come from plants that are poisonous, and if we ate them directly, it probably would kill us, but this way they can help us.” A nurse hurried in and began to visit with the woman, and calmed her down. My blood readings were almost all normal, looking better than ever, so I wasn’t about to raise my voice in complaining. It does seem to be an unusual route to healing, but I am tremendously thankful that someone figured it out. 
Charles has acquired a new telescope that he has been assembling over the last few days. According to the wonderful words that accompany it, we will be able to see fabulous heavenly things including the Rings of Saturn and other uncommon sights. We will do our viewing from the roof, and we will hope for dark nights and clear skies full of planets and stars.