First week of chemotherapy

I honestly don't know if I'll be able to keep blogging. When things are bad, it's too hard to write about. When they get better, putting them into words seems to minimize what's actually going on.

L* had her first chemotherapy treatment a week ago today (Monday). It's been a week of fevers, nausea, restlessness, exhaustion, deep body aches, and tears. Emotionally L* is very fragile. On Monday, when we got back from her treatment, she was mourning her brother, who otherwise would've been calling to see how she's dealing with the treatment.

It's a hard row to hoe.

Saturday L* got her hair cut very short, and Sunday night we smudged her in the four directions in the names of Guadalupe, Coyolxauhqui, Coatlicue, and Tonantzin.

On a good morning, breakfast is a kiwi fruit and an almond. Poached pears have also been very well-received.

The worst was definitely the trip to the emergency room on Tuesday evening with a temperature of 101 degrees. Yeah, with a compromised immune system an urban ER is definitely a very scary place.

On the bright side and the funny side--and she always seems to be able to find these--L*'s passionate "hobby"** of avian flu preparedness has been a godsend. Who else would have on hand the N65 respiratory masks? Of course, we now know that chemotherapy patients should always wear such masks if they have to go to the ER, but did anyone tell us this beforehand? No. But as I said, my baby's bird flu preparedness is coming in very handy.

** bird flu as a "hobby." I tried explaining this to my friend A Sue* several months back:
A Sue: What do you mean she has a bird flu hobby? You mean, like an obsession?
Ktrion: One could call it an obsession. But I prefer to call it a hobby.

We spent a lot of time last week trying to get a hold of the nurses and nurse practioners at MUMC. Which was a lot more difficult than we'd anticipated (Hey, I thought we were a TEAM!). Our pharmacist is a life saver.

Oh, and a rather trivial thing in comparison to everything else is that my laptop is out of commission. Something to do with the place where the power cord goes it. It's still under warranty, and I should have it back in a week or so. What that means here and now is that I don't have handy those great quotes from Linda Hogan's The Woman Who Watches Over the World, that I wrote in my (computer) journal weeks and weeks ago.

ALTAR: a very warm thanks to la gran Chicana de Chicanas.com, who sent a cazita with polvo de Chimayó, from her altar to ours. L* had dismantled the surgery altar a while back, and last Sunday, she built a new chemo altar. (foto forthcoming).

ORIGAMI: we are making little swans. L* wants to hang them in the bedroom, with light catchers, beads, and prisms, to bring back her protective spirits.

CROCHET: I finished off the batch of yarn that had arrived and the baby blanket still was not finished. Ordered more and worked it in, and am now finishing off the ruffle. The baby is due today. I also started a prayer shawl for L*, which is currently filled with Ave Marias.

TV: We're watching the first season of LOST. L* has the same haircut as Jack, and she keeps tugging on it to see if it's still anchored.

HOUSE: the landlord is himself a cancer survivor. I hope that he's put off making a decision on the house until after L* finishes chemo.

L* and I went to Tai Chi class on Saturday a.m.--her first excursion out of the house. Yesterday her parents drove up from the foggy place, with gentle soups, ginger ale, fruits, and graham crackers.

This morning, since we were up early, before the sun cleared the hills, we took a walk around our neighborhood. She got a lot of ideas from people's gardens, and also scored a cluster of succulents (chicks and hen)