Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips

"You want to make God laugh?  Tell her your plans!"

That's a quote on page 2 of this incredible book titled Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips.  My oldest and childhood best friend Andrea from my elementary school years, who now lives in Colorado (lucky girl) with her husband and two beautiful boys, sent me a care package that I received this afternoon.  Nestled in the USPS shipping box was this book.  The care package also came with a small tin that says, Daily Dose of Inspirations."  Inside are 30 little pill capsules and inside each capsule is a teeny weeny rolled up piece of blue paper that has a quote.  For example, the dose I took today read, "you gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You must do the thing which you think you cannot do."  Wow, how awesome is that?  And how did they get these tiny rolled up papers crammed into an actual pill capsule?

The book kicks ass.  The author was diagnosed with an extremely rare and incurable vascular cancer that can be indolent for much of her life.  It will only be treated when it wakes up and becomes active.  In the meantime it's "watch and wait," which has got to be a hair pulling experience.  The author, Kris Carr, has such an incredibly humorous and positive attitude.  She's my idol.  I highly recommend this book for any woman going through cancer.

Kris offers practical advice on how to manage your cancer, your life and those around you.  In one chapter she writes, "steer clear of the emotional vampires that make your cancer all about themselves."  Words have never more true.  I already have a disease sucking the life out of me, I don't need to be surrounded by human parasites.  I have enough on my mind.  The book even talks about setting boundaries and that the question to ask is, "does it tire me or does it inspire me?"  Kris writes, "If you find yourself comforting others far too often, stop, drop and roll...you just don't have enough energy to tap yourself out."  I was so relieved to read this.  Kris Carr's book reinforces my need to be surrounded by sincere, positive support, not those who will capitalize on being even remotely associated with someone who has cancer just to get attention. 

Today was day 6 of my Neupogen injections.  Every morning for the past 6 days Don wakes me up around 5:30 a.m. to give me my shot in the belly.  And each time he has this, "I'm so sorry to have to do this to you," look because it does sting a little.  But it's nothing like a bone marrow test so I'm happy to take the pokes.  I have only one more injection to take, which is tomorrow, so I'm thrilled.  It's really starting to take affect on the bones big time.  I've had some soreness, but today, as I was leaving Kaiser where I had to have some lab draws, it came on me like a wave.  I went home and lay down, but the minute I relaxed my muscles, the pain overtook my entire body.  My back feels like I fell backwards onto concrete and had the wind knocked out of me.  My hips feel like I've been body slamming in a mosh pit.  My arms feel like I've been doing hundreds of push ups.  Nerve endings are firing off.  This is not fun at all.  So I sit here and type, hoping it makes for a good distraction.  Maybe I shouldn't be typing about the side effects of Neupogen, though.  The distraction is not working.

Well, since I'm already on the topic of side effects, the chemo seems to be eating my skin.  It feels like bad sunburn.  You know, the kind that's really itchy.  The skin is bubbling in areas of my chest so it feels rough.  Or like braille.  Whatever it is, it's annoying.  No lotion seems to help it either.  So I just sit here and scratch.  I imagine that Friends episode where Phoebe and her Navy guy friend (played by Charlie Sheen) both have chicken pox so her friends duct tape oven mitts to their hands.  Something to consider.

My WBC's may be low but my morale isn't.  In fact, I'm starting to wonder if I'm in some sort of major denial.  I seem too accepting of all this.  Besides, it's a disease that's has a high cure rate.  If after 5 years in remission it doesn't return, I'm pretty much cured.  I've only had one mental breakdown and it was some time around my first chemo treatment and I was scared of the unknown.  Now I know what to expect.  I don't really see the need to throw myself a pity party.  It's SO not me.