The radiation world

When I moan and groan about having to do radiation, I stop and look at my blog. It's been over a week since my last post already! That means only four days of radiation this week and I will have completed two weeks. Halfway through as of this coming Friday! Yippee!!!!!

I have to say that radiation has been kicking my butt. First of all, I drive to Harlem Road from Lancaster every single week day morning by 7:45 a.m. That is draining because I usually get up around 5 a.m. for a bathroom trip and then I'm scared to fall back to sleep for fear I will oversleep. So I lose out on my delicious last hours of dream time those five days each week.

Second, the radiation makes me nauseated. And I hate being nauseated. Tomorrow I intend to tell the doctor in case their are some solutions to that awful feeling. 

The whole business of checking in with the doctor though makes me laugh. Last week, he came into the room, and said, "How are you Mrs. Kisicki?" I answered with, "Well, it's the start of all this radiation. So far I'm okay." Doc came back with, "Great. See you next week," and he left the room. Don't  you wonder how much I will be paying for that 'checking in' time?

Third, radiation technicians and doctors are a whole new kind of animal. They relate to big machines and markers and CT scans and sonograms constantly. They know very little about conversation or giving a human the time of day. It's all about schedule, snapping to it, laying in your given position, and not moving. Then it's, "See you tomorrow," and you're done. 

Meanwhile, I am in awe of the huge machine that rotates around my body. You will see a photo of it here when it is standing still. The techs by the way were very uncomfortable with me using a minute of my  time to snap that photo, but human me did it anyway as I chatted away. I keep trying to let them know that I am caring and kind and interested in this process, and them. No dice.

In defense of one female radiation technician, on my first day, I shared my apprehension about radiation based on past experiences that my grandmother had with cobalt treatments way back in the 1960's. Of course, to me the 1960s feel like yesterday. 

But the tech commented that radiation had come a long way and now it was easier. I said, "Thank you for letting me share," and silly me, I was moved to tears. Very nicely and appropriately, she moved over and hugged me. For that reason, and that reason alone, I relaxed and am accepting the 'joys of radiation' as just another step in my ongoing journey.

I guess I am spoiled from chemotherapy and surgery where the nurses and doctors nurture. They are so positive, encouraging an upbeat attitude in us patients and sharing excitement when healing happens. In many ways, they have raised the bar for caring high. Quite honestly, the folks in radiation could learn a few things, and might even share a summer pleasantry or two. But you know me. I won't give up!!! I've got two more weeks. Hmmm....maybe I will win them over.

Signed, the caring quilting cancer girl

Angels among us

Two really positive things happened this last week, and both on the same day.  I want to tell you about them. Like you are sitting on my deck out at the campground on a beautiful sunny day, and we are talking. All the while, the birds warble in the trees, and the trees are moving to one of those summer breezes that feels so warm and good. 

So last Friday morning I officially began radiation. It kicked into gear a week earlier than planned, beginning on June 23rd. Best of all, it finishes July 22nd, one day before my Block of the Month Quilt Show at the Aurora Sewing Center store in East Aurora on July 23rd. Yup! I just advertised our big block of the month quilt show on July 23rd. LOL Hope you will come!

Today is Monday and I just finished my second radiation session, commuting to Harlem Road from the Attica area where we are camping at Skyline Campground. Its a 45 minute drive from here - which is the pits with gas prices what they are - but I will not give up my summer. It's worth the investment. 

What is radiation like? Well, it's decently indecent, and after that drive, the session lasts 10 minutes. Quick. Easy. Over and done. Then I'm headed back home. Side effects, you ask? I feel a little weird off and on. That's all I can say. There's a 'tired' that comes and goes. 

While there, I lay under a humongous machine that carefully maneuvers itself into place. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't annoy my claustrophobia, and I barely hear the radiation happening. It's hard to tell when the machine is doing its thing. I am happy the whole process is as easy as it is.  

So now the second positive thing that happened on Friday was that I had an opportunity to meet an angel. That is absolutely correct. Last fall, one of my wonderful block of the month ladies introduced me to her best friend from high school, a friend who is also a cancer survivor.  And that best friend mentored me all winter and spring, giving me a listening ear when I needed it most, and supporting me with honest, straight information about the cancer experience. Her name is Myrna.

My Myrna angel is very special. She is so upbeat and nurturing. I have connected with her on some of my darkest days or on days when I needed to know my side effects were normal. She always bounced back to me like an upbeat cheerleader, reassuring me and turning on pure sunshine to guide my path. 

I learned at our in person lunch on Friday that her hug is as marvelous as she is. Her conversation is terrific, especially as she shares her enthusiasm for exploring her family tree on ancestry.com. We also shared how much we appreciate the word 'unremarkable' whenever our medical reports underscore that there is nothing more for concern.

My prayer for you as you possibly make a cancer journey is that God puts angels like Myrna in your life. These gifts from God ground us during the worst of times, helping us to find courage, strength, and peace. Even more, these angels hold our hand through their words and convince us that we are truly a cancer survivor.

With love for Myrna, I am signing off, The quilting cancer girl

Slow recovery

These past few weeks have been interesting. While my energy is returning, I realize how my body is working extremely hard to recover. I write this post so any of my cancer friends understand we do not become what we once were overnight. There are no magic buttons we can push that say, "return to normal." How I wish!

I am noticing gradual transformations. One is that my skin is smoothing out. It is not as dry and chapped as when chemicals were infiltrating my body. The red spots on my arms and legs are thankfully disappearing. They were scary, like I was being taken over by some invisible being. Now I love rubbing my hands together because they are so soft and smooth from the natural oils that are helping my health return.

My complexion has more color again. Friends are commenting on how I am not so white and translucent. It feels good to hear, "You have color in your cheeks again." Makes me smile. Warms my soul. I am again going to be the human I once was. 

Even though I continue to wear my cancer cap, my hair is getting fuzzy on my scalp. I laugh and tell folks that I am currently a cross between a baby and my 98 year old father with hair sticking up in every direction possible. I pet my head! The clinic tells me I won't really like my hair until November. I live in hope. Still, my eyebrows and eyelashes return as does hair on other body parts. Kind of like puberty all over again. Sorry...TMI!

While all this is happening, my insides are straightening themselves out. My kidneys and I handled an extremely uncomfortable UTI a few weeks ago. That levelled me (my first UTI ever) but was handled with the help of a friend, an excellent urgent care center in Batavia, and meds that worked wonders. 

Slowly, my gastrointestinal self is coming around. That process has been slower. There are still things I cannot eat without unpleasant consequences. I miss vegetables. Someday. Someday.

Meanwhile, I have had two appointments with the radiologist. Last time, they fitted me to what they have happily nicknamed a 'bubble wrap silhouette'. It is a form in which I will lay every time I get a radiation treatment. In conjunction with a variety of pre-placed 'tattoos' on my body, it means I am positioned the same way every time and that helps the radiation process. My radiation will happen every Monday through Friday during July at 8:10 a.m. 

Do I wonder about the radiation? You bet. I'm not so worried about side effects as I am about the long lasting affects the radiation will have. The doctor so easily recites his monologue about how the radiation process transpires and how it is the last step in my cancer process. But I wonder, what does it really do to my body? How will I be different afterwards and for years to come?

So, my cancer friends, know that life continues to move us forward. We do chemotherapy. We manage surgery. We struggle with the side effects. We gradually find ourselves coming around to a world with more energy and hair and appetite and returning body functions. We handle radiation. 

The best part is that with God as our guide, we are coming around, and hopefully, prayerfully, we look to the good years ahead, without cancer. We know we fought the good fight; and forever we hold close to us a continuing peace that carries us into whatever the future holds.

Signed, The quilting cancer girl in recovery and radiation

Summer friends

Reconnecting with summer friends is such a pleasant adventure. I miss my summer friends in the winter. You possibly know what I am talking about. Weird but there are certain people who I do not see as often in the winter. So summer is about appreciating those precious souls.

First of all, I've never been a person with a lot of close friends. My role model is to pursue family as my close friends because when life is filled with work, there is not time for close friendships. And besides, work friends are often work friends, not everyday close friends. Yup. That's the way I grew up, pretty much.

I am not a big socializer. People learn that about me. I am one who watches others, amazed at their comfort within the social scene. I'm more withdrawn and take comfort in my own surroundings. That's me. Is that what you call an introvert? Who would think?

With that said, I have a neighbor who is one of the most social, thoughtful people I know. We don't connect much during the winter, just a text here and there or she'll show up at the door with a bag of yummy trail mix. In the summer, we ride bikes together everyday we can. The weather is generally lovely here in Buffalo - unless it's a rainy week - and so we ride evenings, sometimes mornings too. Best part is we talk while we ride, a mile a minute. 

She tells me the ups and downs of her work week. We talk flowers, gardens, bird feeders, family gatherings and grandchildren, her visits with psychics, and pet peeves. I'm thrilled with what a beautiful person she is inside and out. She calls out to folks walking their dogs and stops to help the elderly needing aid with a wheelbarrow. Her positive thinking brings such joy.

I particularly love how she plans thoughtful events for her grandchildren, all the while committed to designing her own legacy. She takes hours to plant flowers and shrubs in the yard, and then teaches her grandkids how her plants are named so one day the grandchildren may attach memories to their time with grandma in the garden. Recently, she purchased 100 tea lights. Next time the kids are over, each will get 20 lights to put around the room. Someday they will remember, she says, that I have been a force in their life.

There are other summer friends who camp with us at the campground near Attica. One family comes up north from Arizona each summer. Two other families are from the Buffalo area; two more are from Florida. 

We talk for hours on our decks about anything and everything from life in the city to recipes and gardening. Some of us sew together, enjoy campfires, Monday night bingo, occasional campground concerts, and 'just being'.  One thing for sure: we help each other with whatever needs doing, and that's special. These folks have given me huge support across this last year. Each individual is a gem. I am so blessed.

As I look at the sunshine outside today, I include a huge thank you in today's prayers for all my  summer friends. You accept me for who I am and enrich my days with your kindness. You will go beyond cancer with me because that is who you are, and cancer for me is something we have tackled together, within the exchange of life stories, bike riding, and recipes. Just another challenge that makes us stronger together.

Staying busy

This has been a good week. I finished one t-shirt quilt for my son, Jr., in Massachusetts. That was picked up and delivered last weekend by another son, Darren. It was fun making the quilt because all the shirts were Harley Davidson shirts, and if you know them, the Harley shirts are beautiful. They are really a joy to quilt. So happy that Jr. is thrilled with the results.

On Wednesday I finished two t-shirt quilts for the grandchildren of a friend. Both were fun to make as the t-shirts I was given told the story of their first ten to twelve years. So the quilts are a hug from their childhood memories that will certainly be treasured for years to come. Their grandmother was thoughtful to have the quilts made. 

Then I continued work on a double quilt for a new graduate. The top has been sewed together and will be quilted when we get home from camp, and after my Tuesday infusion. The quilt should be done and ready to deliver on Wednesday. 

So after last week's moaning and groaning and trip through whining country, I got myself busy and now feel good about my accomplishments. Moral of that story: when feeling down in the dumps, jump into a project or two or three and lift yourself up. No need to wallow. Wallowing doesn't improve anything.

There is so much for which we can feel grateful. And in my prayers, I let go of 'the stuff' that bogs me down and let God get back to guiding my way. Have had spontaneous encouragement from multiple conversations with quilting friends this past week, friends who just happened to call. Then my sisters shared conversations, as well as my sons and hubby. What would I do without them? 

As a special ad-on gift, we connected with a bird, after the sweet thing flew into our front window. Yes, we feed the birds, and the finches have been delightful this spring. They are bright yellow now, but sometimes they do not look where they are flying. Tom rescued this bird from the window sill and for about a half hour we cheered up our little friend. Then he flew away, ready to conquer the day. 

I have learned that if I am in need, I can reach out. Besides, it's the little things...like that bird...that make a difference. I often reach out to my sisters. There's Donna in Indiana. She is so busy and bubbly that when I call, her enthusiasm spills into my life. Before I know it I am excited about what is happening around me. 

Talking to my Chicago sister, Betty, often means texting. She is so caring and kind, and she's a funny speller. We laugh about 'tomatoes' instead of 'tomorrow'. (Inside joke!) I can hear her giggles even through texting.

So guess my post for today is about staying busy, keeping God close in your heart, and reaching out. For me, the responsibility is mine to stay focused on the positive, and to appreciate the God given support that comes when I least expect it. Communicating with the good Lord so often means prayers are answered by you folks 'out there', or a sweet, little bird. I am so grateful to know each one of you, especially as you inspire me to support others who are on a similar journey. 

Signing out and grateful for you all, The quilting cancer girl

The truth

I am going to tell you the truth. That's what this blog is about. The truth. 

I found myself back at the beginning today...back to feeling lost and anxious...only this time in the radiation world. I've found my way successfully through all the cancer protocols, but this radiation business happens in a whole new arena and it makes me apprehensive. 

After my hard time with the radiologist right before the lumpectomy in April, it is difficult to feel at ease with yet another radiologist. My unanswered question is does a radiologist have feelings or are they a group of doctors who are numb to the human experience. I am uncertain about how to respond to that, and hope that this time around the radiology barn I come away with a more positive outlook.

So this morning was not hard. I met at length with a nurse to fill out paperwork and answer lots of questions regarding my history. Then I had the freedom to ask all kinds of questions, after which time I watched a 10 minute educational video. The radiology doctor came in and recited a memorized speech about radiation therapy. The nurse returned and then I was transferred over to a secretary who schedules appointments. It all seemed so mechanical. 

Interestingly enough, as I drove home, I was angry. I am not sure why. I know psychologically that I must have this whole breast radiation to insure that my cancer never comes back. But I don't have my next appointment until June 14th and then it will be two weeks later that I start radiation. That is July and for the entire month I go every weekday for radiation.

That sure does mess with my summer. During the winter when chemotherapy was the pits, I focused on the pleasant joys of summer to keep me optimistic and upbeat. We love to go camping. July is the best month, great for hanging out in the hammock and spending time with good friends.  

And I have to commute back and forth to wherever they send me for twenty treatments. Worst of all is hearing that I will be fatigued and need to sleep. Darn. I slept away the winter and now I'm going to sleep away the summer too? 

I have loved having my energy return. Just today I finished two t-shirt quilts. Woot! Woot! Last week I finished one that was transported to Massachusetts. It's awesome to be my 'self' again. 

So this is one of my rare pity parties? I guess so. I dumped on my husband when I came home from this radiology consultation. Poor man. That wasn't fair to him. His reassuring response was that we will get through this too. My guess is I need to spend some time in prayer, and probably have a good cry. Haven't done that yet. In time. In time. 

What I actually decided to do was see if I there was something funny 'out there' to make me laugh or at least tickle my funny bone. A saying about a scarf came across my screen first. Was just silly but made me giggle. 

Strange how some little thing can get me out of my funk. And then I found this picture of the small elephant, and suddenly, finally I was able to cry. Now I feel so much better. Relief. Sigh. That's the truth and I'm sticking to it. 

Signed in a more positive state of mind, The quilting cancer girl

My camping soul

 No. I haven't stopped writing my blog. I've taken these last weeks to tackle COVID. Yup. My turn around the Covid world, and thanks to medication provided by my oncologist, I am guessing my trip through this illness wasn't as bad as it could have been. Hallelujah!

My husband works at Lowe's. They stopped using masks some weeks ago. And so we both stared at each other and the wall together, wondering if soon we could be well and drive out to camp. That is what we live for every year...camp.

We are fortunate to have a campsite at Skyline Campground near Attica, NY. Wonderful friends there support and love us no matter what challenges we face. Together we tell stories about our relative winter adventures, all while sitting on the deck, around the campfire, or just standing and talking in the sunshine. It's the best.

The winter season - from October to May - drained my psychological and biological battery this last year. Trudging through the chemo journey and then surgery means the worst is behind me. Now I am hoping that camp will give me the boost to muddle through radiation so I can enjoy the rest of the summer. I need that camp recharge. 

Recipes are shared along with delectable creations, aimed at teasing the taste buds and keeping the weight on. Just this morning I had the best French toast casserole from the neighbor next door. It was to die for! I think I need that recipe!

In my book, this is the best time of year. As people open up their campsites and pine sap leaves its mark, anticipation for a pleasant, restful summer floats softly through the air. I breathe it in every May, recharging my 'self', after a long winter. It feels similar to those first days of vacation from elementary school in June. Our steps are a little lighter and summer laughter lifts our souls. 

I have already raked the campsite and swept the deck. A campfire is blazing - and it's only 11:00 a.m. The small shed is open so we can pull chairs out and set them around the fire. The awning is up; the picnic table is in place. And already I've had visits from three or four friends, just to catch up. 

We are tending our plants. I've walked the dog. My senses are enjoying the pine trees and soon the hammock gets hung. Now I'm about to share some molasses cookies with the neighbors, and later this afternoon, more friends check in from Phoenix, Arizona.  This is the life. We are living the dream. I am so blessed.

Signed an enthusiastic camper, The quilting cancer girl