The Effects of Chemo II: A Tale of Trickery and Timing

I'm sure you've woken up with that feeling. You pry open one mascara-caked eyelid.  Discovering the half-eaten bagel* next to you, the room begins to swirl.

You did it again.

In that moment you realize that you've been tricked. Succumbed to that last cocktail. Confused the lyrics of the "beer before liquor" poem. A wave of nausea and regret instantly rush over you. How could you have been so stupid? Again?!

By you, of course, I mean me: a former frequent victim of the hideous hangover. And as any past roommate will regretfully confirm, the Kasdorf Hangover is mean. It's the kind of wretched event you really don't want to revisit but unfortunately do.

This is much like the effects of chemotherapy. I receive treatment every two weeks, and in that time I feel pretty bad for a few days. But then I feel great. Something about that dramatic contrast seems to erase the awfulness from my mind until it hits me again. Again?! It's the harsh trickery of heavy toxins pumping through my bloodstream (alcoholic or non). Only as my sister, well-versed in the family trait, points out: I didn't do it to myself this time.


*Or Goodfella's or Burrito House nachos (see also: really, really bad hangover)

Check me out. I'm dancing (or pointing)!

http://vidly.com/bJbu

The Effects of Chemo: A Cautionary Tale

Anyone who is aware of my  German-Swedish heritage, my squirmish discomfort in a tanning bed or my blindingly pasty white legs during a wintry rehearsal day knows I'm hopelessly fair skinned.   It came as a surprise when, minutes ago, I discovered a flaming red sunburn spreading across my neck and shoulders. Could it have been the refreshingly sunny 35 degree weather I enjoyed for a good 7 minutes today (clad in 7 layers of clothing)? Or I got too close to the space heater. Sigh. It's probably a lovely combination of chemo treatment and double flu shots yesterday. Be advised: The harmful effects of UV-rays may be causing themselves. Next time I will wear sunscreen.


Best News I got during Chemo cycle 2 Part 1 (with commentary):

*I gained 6 pounds! (So long, knobby knees.)

*My hemoglobin level remains at 11! (Yes, I'm the girl you saw performing "the running man" to the Rocky Theme in the parking garage at Northshore Hospital. And yes, I'm also the girl who consequently fell down.)

*I can (gradually) start teaching again! ($$)

Trampolines and cake

Fourteen days later, and here I am again. Chemo-eve. After six solid days of feeling normal my 3rd cycle begins tomorrow: a 3-hour event of neon-colored chemicals and not much else. My last treatment was (thankfully) very anti-climactic. Although I was honored to be Nurse Cornelia's very first chemo patient while back in the hospital, the experienced nurses at Kellogg made my second time around less, well, adventurous. I'm hoping this time will be the same. But maybe with cake.

And speaking of normalcy, the intermittent return of my muscle strength is a continuous surprise. After some sorry attempts to jump last week in ballet left me with that just-off-the-trampoline feeling of heaviness, I was shocked to find some familiar lift during Wednesday's modern class. And then I had to drag my wobbly body through yoga class on Friday. It's a baffling and constant process that I continue to invoke on my muscle memory.

This perplexing trek marches on...

Proprioceptive Overload

I pride myself in possessing considerable knowledge about my body. While my chosen career may deliver surprising pinches and pains from time to time, I can generally assess the random or chronic issues at hand. However, my recent health diagnosis and subsequent treatment have erased any sense of how everything works. Muscles aches that no golf ball can remedy. An appetite so excessive even Matt has raised an eyebrow. A couch that beckons for far more often than I'd care to sit still. A quickly spreading scalp and forehead. And that bi-monthly adventure my doctor calls chemotherapy has proven that I have zero clue how to treat my body. Luckily I have ten more shots at taming this beast.

I realize that this posting has a more negative, cynical tone. I am extremely positive about my prognosis, relieved to finally know what's wrong and overjoyed to have an enormous support system. But this experience is not without its frustrations. I want to share those realities too.

On a great note, blood tests last Monday confirmed that my hemoglobin (the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen from the lungs to the rest of the body) has nearly doubled since I was in the hospital three weeks ago. This means I have much more energy and a skin tone that resembles that of a human again. Despite the knock down, drag out brawl my body faced against chemo this weekend I feel better than I have in quite awhile.

But I'm a Leo!

...So you can imagine my surprise, bewilderment and confusion when after 26 years of looking to that bold, fierce symbol for any novelty fortune-telling needs my horoscope indicates that my birthday now falls between August 23 and September 22.

Through six months of self-diagnosis, internet "research," useless doctor visits and a skin tone that quickly faded from healthy to ghost-like, cancer never for a second entered my consciousness. Not once. Even as I sat in the hematology lab telling the 85th intern to ask that I DID NOT remember experiencing any fevers recently I was still convinced it was just pneumonia.

The 95% certainty of my doctor that it was Hodgkin's got through to me the next morning. So after a brief three minutes of being scared out of my mind I started fighting cancer.

Because my birthday is July 30.

The idea to post "The Cancer Dancer" came to me not long after receiving that life-altering information. (Catchy title, inspiring story...read: book and movie deals.) I had immediately considered the implications to my dance career: as an artist, an athlete and as an adult who has to make money. My crazy dance life will be back soon, and this will be the chronicle of how it returns.