She's musing about trees again

I'm so grateful to be going through treatment at this time of year.  The trees and I look the same.  Familiar, but different.  Shedding old seasons, quiet, hibernating, but very, very much surviving.  Except for darling sharkoma, who has been greedily slurping its chemo and then complaining why it feels dead inside.  Bottoms up, y'all!  Happy New Year!

If you were to ask me if I'm superstitious, there would be a long pause before a 50:50 shot at answering yes or no.  (I'm also a libra, so tralala) Sometimes it's just a little thing that can make the difference in happiness, confidence, whatever.  Keeping things the same for the sake of familiarity is sometimes all ya got.  I hesitate sometimes to write an update because things change--and have changed SO many times--that I feel like I'm just telling you about the same rollercoaster ride that I keep taking turns on except maybe its painted a different color.  Alas, that's just the truth of how this goes...

Here's the checkpoint--we're at 5 infusions of chemo.  After the 4th, we did an MRI which I got to squeeze the panic ball for the first time.  Slight tangent/the more you know...when the magnet started whirring its whirring dance, I could feel the catheter in my arm wiggle.  I debated with myself for the better part of what I'm guessing to be 20 minutes, whether I should squeeze the panic ball (though'be more appropriate to squeeze the "mildly concerned" ball, if given the option) to have them check the catheter that they'd already triple checked.  I ultimately didn't decide much of anything, then when the contrast started at the end of the scan, it pretty much ended up every which way except in my vein---panic ball, panic ball, panic ball!

But I digress. What are we actually here for anyway?  All lesions show response--meaning, they're all dying!

We've talked about this before.  Necrosis is a curious thing.  It can be a good sign and can be a bad sign.  I initially thought it could only be good, right?  It means the tumor tissues are dying.  Dying tumors means surviving human.  Sort of.  There is a case (which isn't my case) in which the tumors can grow very quickly--too quickly--and essentially outgrow their infrastructure for favor of being larger.  (resists ALL of the metaphors)  Necrosis following treatment, however, is a good thing--like after the microwave ablation and now after a handful of chemo infusions, ie, the right kind of dying. By overall measurement, we're stable--no significant growth or shrinkage--but the interiors are ALL fizzling.  The expectation for the moment is that we'll see a measurable difference on the next scan, and until then, we continue with chemo.

What's it like?  It's WILD. On one hand, I feel like I've been very lucky, in that I've had pretty tolerable side effects (with a doozy or two) and they weirdly seem to be fewer and fewer each time.  Also, my blood work is looking better, not worse, which can only mean good things.  On the other hand, my most significant/consistent side effect is fatigue, which can be very, very frustrating.  It's like being a lot of hours into an a lot-of-hours long flight, in the middle seat, and no comfortable positions are left to be found.  Except the airplane seat is my body and it doesn't matter what I do or don't do, it's all a little claustrophobic and unsatisfying.  It starts predictably on day 2 after an infusion, then weeble wobbles less and more for the next handful of days, eventually to spit me out feeling generally (and surprisingly) good for the remainder of my 2 week chemo cycle.  The good is good-er every time, which leaves me with something to look forward to, but the patience in waiting for it, I'm not great at...and then getting another infusion happens on the tail end of all of it and we start over.  Lifetime supply of rollercoaster rides!  Wheeeee!  

Also of important sad and happy note: we very unexpectedly lost our dog, Zeus, in October.  Actually, the day before I started chemo.  Thank you, universe.  *sideeye*  Other than being my buddy for the last 8 years, he had a very, very important job that started this year, which was to take me for walks when I didn't want to go for walks.  I always felt better being in the forest, it made him very happy, which then made me happy.  Everyone won.  His absence was rough and startling.  Insert: Felix.  We found him at a GSD rescue, though his story is a very lucky one.  He found the right people to take care of him until we needed him and we found him when we found ourselves with a massive dog-shaped vacancy in our lives.  

2023 was a doozy, but it still gave hope, progress, and a stock pile of love.  To 2024!

Hello, I'm here to walk you.