Prior to each chemo infusion, I receive an intravenous aperitif of high-dose steroids, followed by three days of steroid pills. The chemo nutritionist has told me to consume at least 100 grams of protein per day. The question is: Am I missing a major body-building opportunity here? I feel like I should be pumping iron.
Be that as it may, the redhead has – in the kindest way possible and on a mellow Day 6 of the weekly chemo cycle – mentioned that my communication style may be a tad more aggressive than usual during this Day 1-4 steroid time period. I scoffed. He provided examples. I now have a policy on Day 1-4 of declining to respond to any Facebook post, email, or verbal statement that ticks me off. Instead of counting to ten, I count to Day 5.
Speaking of aggression, my medical team has tacked on an additional three weeks of presurgical chemo, and, beginning last week, has upped the intensity of each dose. I deduce from this turn of events that my body is tolerating the chemo well and that the medical team is taking no chances and no prisoners. That makes me very happy. Of course, Paranoid Liza is like ruh-ro . . . does this mean that the little tumor-buggers are not lining up to die as expeditiously as one might have hoped? But it’s still too early for that kind of assessment, so I have gently walked Paranoid Liza back into her she-shed and have given her various other conspiracy theories to play with.
Plus, there is preliminary good news! I have observed some changes – and I refrain from going into detail in case you are in the middle of a meal – that give me a subjective, anecdotal, non-binding but reasonable belief that the abdominal tumors have begun to recede. Also, my vital signs have moved from marginally acceptable to squarely healthy, which carries all kinds of positive cancer-reduction connotations.
I continue to be moved by and profoundly grateful for your prayers, thoughts, support, and friendship. Thank you, thank you, thank you.