Just a Spoon Full of Sugar

How do you take your medicine? Do you disguise it in some more enticing way as Mary Poppins suggests with a spoonful of sugar? Do you try alternatives? Do you overindulge? Do you avoid it completely? I am starting chemo. I have to take the medicine. I don't like the alternative of not taking it. I started to think about the ways we take medicine when we really don't want it.

In the shower the morning of my first chemo treatment, I started to cry. I felt like I was starting some dreaded phase of treatment that would make me feel awful for a long time to come. Yes the outcome was supposed to rid me of the life threatening disease, but the thought of feeling nauseous and tired for four months was scary. The thought of losing my hair was both personal and public in the way that I view myself as a confident, healthy individual with a family, friends and a profession. This was fear. This was raw.

Then some words came to mind in the shower "give no quarter", louder "give no quarter", louder again until I said the words out loud "give no quarter". These simple words turned my attitude around in the shower and gave me a chance to smile. My husband is a teacher and track coach. One of his co-coaches gave me (through him) these words of advise. She was an NCAA All American Javelin thrower herself. My image of her is of a strong and competitive woman. And there she was yelling at me in the shower,"give no quarter", "give no quarter".

I came out of the shower and opened the bathroom door, I started shouting "give no quarter" to my husband and daughter. They were not sure what to make of it but soon joined in. My husband looked up the origins of the saying that morning and to paraphrase it means: to show no mercy to your opponent or to give up your own shelter or quarters. It was the perfect motivator for me in this moment. The cancer is not welcome in my home. I'll take the chemo to help get rid of the cancer.

It became our mantra for the morning. I guess the spoonful of sugar image of Mary Poppins works sometimes. Maybe it helps our children get ready for things that may come in adulthood. Or in my case it helped me to make the jump to a stronger image. For me today what worked to help me "make the medicine go down" was something a little more forceful. It was a strong, athletic, competitive woman standing in my shower screaming "give no quarter"!
I laughed and felt ready at the same time.

Can You Say Lasagna?

I have been the very lucky recipient of very generous: family, friends and neighbors bringing amazing food, flowers and gifts. The outpouring of support after surgery lifted our spirits and helped us get back to our routine after some scary cancer news. We could not have gotten along so well without all the support especially the meals. And boy did we get some awesome meals. On last count the Lasagnas had it hands down with seven in the freezer and 2 in the frig. We were both thankful and a bit overwhelmed.

Now not to look a gift horse in the mouth but for our small family of three this is enough Lasagna to last us until the cows come home. Except I think the cows had to keep working to make all of that cheese. Speaking of cheese...It is probably one of my favorite foods, except after abdominal surgery. You see cheese can be binding. Not exactly what the nurses and doctors were looking for at the hospital. For five days the big question was have you passed gas? Fortunately, postoperately, I did just as expected and dutifully passed by share of gas. I even had a lose stool before discharge. Hooray!

After returning home I started eating all that delicious cheese. We did try to intersperse it with a few veggies and other food choices. But we had Lasagna for lunch and dinner for weeks. Talk about gas (and gas pain). My husband assures me though the hearty meals have brought me back to health. Thank you family and friend for all of your wonderful meals!

From a Dog's Point of View

My five year old beagle Nina surely missed me when I was in the hospital for 5 days finding out about ovarian cancer after a hysterectomy. She wiggled inviting play when I came in the door She wagged her tail and sniffed the hospital smells of my clothes. She wasn't sure about the cough pillow or the abdominal binder, but she knew it was me. She came around my side of the bed to see what the commotion was all about at bedtime. She wasn't quite sure why it was taking extra care just to get into bed.

During our weekends as a family she sleeps during the day as part of her normal routine. With me on the couch, she now has a real life napping partner everyday. Now that the visitors have slowed down and school vacation week is over my husband and daughter are back to school. My dog and I can nap in earnest. Just this morning I realized how deeply she does sleep during the week when we are usually not around. We had our napping positions she on her dog bed in front of the hutch. Me on the couch. I was almost off to sleep when I heard a gentle knocking. I thought oh no could I have a visitor? I first thought oh I'm in my PJ's and favorite ripped sweatshirt. I haven't showered. What do I do? It was going to be one of those days when I could rest, not rush to shower or dress. I did not have a doctors appointment or visitors scheduled.

I looked up and realized it was my little beagle so sound asleep she was dreaming and wagging her tail at the same time. Her wagging tail was knocking against the hutch sounding very much like a knock on the door. From her point of view, it was just another day, just another nap. It's a dog life. It's a comfort.

Staple Talk

Staple talk after abdominal surgery for ovarian cancer reached fever pitch one night when the staple count went from 28 to 27. Oh no where did that one staple go? Was it a miscount from the beginning? My husband was focused on the numbers from the start. How many inches long was the scar? How many staples were there in this swollen belly? He originally counted 28. One day my daughter noticed a couple of staples on the coffee table. "Mom, did some of your staples come out"? I told her no, the staples that were on the table were removed from gifts that I had recently received. My husband was convinced one had come out. He looked in my underwear that had gone through the laundry. No evidence there. Do staples dissolve? I don't think so. This would be one unsolved mystery of this illness. Of course the other staple question we bantered around was: how do they get taken out? We all were sure of this answer..... A staple remover.

Two Pairs of Panties

My first gift in the hospital when I found out I had ovarian cancer was two pairs of panties. Now my belly was swollen beyond belief and I had an eight inch incision straight down the middle of my abdomen, which was held together by almost thirty staples. I wasn't exactly thinking about panties at the time. But to put this into context, they were from a dear friend. She is someone I have known for almost half a century. She knew it was just what I needed. This gift would keep me positive about the future, that my belly would heal. And also it was something to giggle about with a small group of friends during the first few days post op. Of course the giggling could be painful, but that one small gift turned my cough pillow into a laugh pillow, so that I could begin to giggle again.

Surgery and the Loading Dock

The night of my surgery, my surgeon and my husband got lost. They found themselves locked outside of the hospital on a loading dock. They were on the way to tell me the results of my surgery. The results of course were that I had cancer. I hope this was not an indication of my surgeon's skill level or some sort of omen.... As my husband relates the story, they were looking for a short cut. No short cuts this time! They were also sharing my husband's story of his one time world cup experience as a bobsledder, it being the opening night of the Olympic Games in Vancouver. There had been a fatal crash on the course earlier in the evening. Another omen?? And really, at a time like this? But being married to an athlete, I have grown accustomed to this continuous undercurrent of conversation and sometimes very welcome distraction in life. In reality I wasn't exactly waiting with baited breath for the results. I was barely conscious, in a very medicated stupor. The results could wait. The loading dock gave my husband a moment to pause. It gave us a funny story. It reminded us that the surgeon is a real person. It gave a balance to the news that night. You can laugh at the same time you can cry.