Dance Power! Yeah!

After a long hiatus from self-centered posting, let's talk about me. Today I began my sixth season at Zephyr Dance. While the beginning of each consecutive year leaves me marveling that I am yet another year out of college, entering number six feels truly commemorative. For several months I've wondered how I would fare through a busy teaching and rehearsal schedule without vicious invaders messing with my energy level. Here's my opportunity to test that theory. In fact, I'm so eager to prove I'm right that I agreed to teach on Friday nights this year. I'll need that reminder as I trudge through inbound traffic this winter...

I can only hope that as I round the corner on season 7 I'll be up for this:

Another great article link

On one of my new go-to blogs (NOT the wedding kind), I discovered a link to an article by Vanity Fair contributor Christopher Hitchens that details his personal travels through cancer treatment. It contains a perfect balance of clarity and flourish that makes me keep going back to read it.

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2010/09/hitchens-201009

Progress!

I just have to make note of my Hair Tracker progress. What a difference a month makes. Although Cody has been retired for quite some time, her work is truly done.

New blogs to check out!

You think I'm funny and insightful. Check out this blog:

http://dicktersbedpan.wordpress.com/

And the one I found it through, also very compelling:

http://katiesblogw.blogspot.com/2010/06/surprises-responsibility-bliss.html#comment-form


Happy reading!!

Aftermath

I couldn't figure out why I was so exhausted on Monday. And Tuesday. And then I remembered an important reminder I received from Northshore Survivorship nurse Carol Martz: Even though the drugs have left my system, the lasting effects of chemo can potentially wreak havoc on my energy level from time to time.

So far, I do pretty well with daily activity: yoga, rehearsal, a 20th anniversary concert. I notice the fatigue at times when my days are spent staring at the computer.

And with that, I'm off to celebrate the good health with a trip to Phoenix and San Diego. Snorkeling, swimming, pool lounging and, regretfully, no computer. So long until next Wednesday....

Strength Training

A question for Customer Service everywhere:

How can it be deemed unusually high call volume if it's constantly the case? When is the off-season?

This is a valid question coming from a patient who has spent countless hours on hold with billing offices and call centers. After receiving my diagnosis and learning that I could not teach dance, I immediately looked into options for financial assistance. Six months of repeatedly providing my account numbers,  I've managed to navigate my way through the system, but there are a few things I've learned:

1. Many hospitals supply patients with personnel to assist with complicated bills and financial aid. Though part of the hospital, my treatment facility employed a separate advocate designated to their patients. If you have access to this resource, use it.

2. Keep a record of phone conversations. Include the date, person you spoke to, the nature of the call and answer you received.

3. While waiting for financial decisions to go through review panels, be persistent. Procuring financial assistance was a constant waiting game. Though my account was on hold (no bills due) during this period, I still received statements in error every month. Calling frequently was a necessary measure to ensure that my account was not placed in collections. Additionally, after receiving a grant award from the Leukemia Lymphoma Society, I acted as a go-between for the hospital billing and the organization. 

What I've REALLY learned:

If I had followed my advice in step #1 I probably wouldn't have advanced to steps #2 and #3. Not that they weren't good habits to build. Oh, the valuable lessons I've acquired...

Cleaning Cancer Out Of My Apartment: An Initiative

In continuing to make this remission thing more official, I recently un-medicalized my apartment. No government leaflets about "Cancer and Me." No excess pill bottles. No patient binder. What we've affectionately dubbed the Apothecary Table has been eradicated.

Part symbolic measure, part need to clean my dusty apartment, the moment I cleared this table I knew it meant something. In fact, I deemed it so meaningful I decided to put everything back on the table to take a picture so I could share the "before" and "after" with you all. 

And since I am a self-proclaimed pack rat, I didn't feel like I could just throw all this stuff away. It's  been banished to a box simply labeled "DO NOT OPEN." Enough said.