Dexamethasone, also known as Decadron, one of my pre-chemo drugs. Whew.

Well, y'all, thanks to the pre-chemo drugs, a fine infusion nurse and her compadres. plus the Oncology Pharmacy, all located at Kaiser Oncology Center, I made it through Round One of Chemotherapy. Not without a bit of excitement, well, two bits.

About the first bit of excitement. That drug dexamethasone, whew, was I ever flyin' for hours today! I followed the directions to take five 4 mg tablets of it with supper last night and five more this morning with breakfast, two hours prior to my appointment start time, as directed because it was at least two hours prior to the start of the infusion.

Last night once I got still , I fell asleep, several times--thank goodness--no flying at all.

Today, within an hour of swallowing that last five, I was in the car with Lamont, flying at full speed and talking like a real-life-motor-mouth, causing him to say, "Mom, if you don't slow down . . ." So, I'd take a breath and slow down, for a teensy bit of time. This happened off and on all day, except when I listened to my nurses and my pharmacist and answered their questions. At least, I think I managed to be calmer when talking with them. At least Lamont didn't have to say, "Mom, if you don't slow down . . . " 

The other bit of excitement involved the first chemo, a bag filled with paclitaxel. As I said, I took the dexamethasone, plus cetirizine and famotidine, in order to deal with possible side effects from it.

None of those drugs was supposed to help the only side effect I experienced.

You see, they drip paclitaxel into you very slowly for a set number of minutes, take your blood pressure, repeat with an increase in the number of drops, etc. About the time that they decided I could handle maybe the third increase in the number of drops, my blood pressure said, "Nope."

It wasn't dangerous as in the actual blood pressure numbers, it was concerning in that it kept creeping up. So, it was decided to decrease the dosage again and again until my blood pressure went down. That worked very well! Except doing that meant way more time spent with that bag on the pole, trying to empty it contents into me. So, we were at the center for over 8 hours, from the moment we got there early for check in until I was disconnected from my IV and sent on my merry way.

It was on that merry way when one more ditzy dexamethasone episode took place. I wanted to go with Lamont to Cha Cha Cha which I was certain was on Mississippi, but we finally found on N. Williams. I wanted to eat some real food and I realized we were close to the restaurant I had gone to in June with Leland.

I just knew that I remembered where it was and what I had eaten, but was I ever wrong. I couldn't concentrate enough to type words correctly on my phone to help us find the restaurant once we realized that I hadn't remembered the right street. Finally I got enough into the phone to get the correct street, then we found it!

Once inside, I couldn't find the fantastic burrito on the menu that I was certain that I'd eaten there in June with Leland. Well, at least I couldn't concentrate enough on the menu to figure it out.



So, I order what I thought it was, a Big Mama Enchilada--sounded right to me since I love that word Mama and I thought the ingredients sounded right--that's it above. The food there is always tasty, even when you make a mistake like I did. I ate about a third of it, feeling very normal as long as I wasn't talking. The rest of the enchilada is in the fridge.



Once I had placed my order, I remembered where I could find the photos that I had taken back in June--in a Flickr folder I'd named Food, Cha Cha Cha. (Imagine a head slap of proper proportion once I remembered that--drat you, dexamethasone.) I walked up to the counter and showed it to the waitress, asking, "Is this what I just ordered?" Nope, she very nicely explained, this is a burrito, carnitas with black beans on a wheat tortilla. So, I saved that info in a comment with the photo so that this doesn't happen to me again--there are Cha Cha Cha restaurants all over Portland. No telling when or where I might land at one again. 

We'll see if the chemo side effects show up tomorrow as to whether or not I'll be eating another bite of it. I've got take-home-anti-nausea meds and a calendar created by my Oncology Pharmacist to help me keep up with it--hooray! Friday may be worse than Thursday, so I'll be ready for that, too. I am blessed.

The dexamethasone is wearing off now, as long as I don't talk to anyone--it's been more than16 hours since I swallowed that last five tablets. I've even yawned a few times, so I have great hopes of being able to sleep.

Getting ready for chemotherapy side effects.

I decided to go proactive and asked my hairdresser to cut my hair shorter than she's ever cut it so that I won't have clumps of hair coming out later on during the six rounds of chemo, one round every 21 days, as the schedule now stands. The first one is July 29.



Once she finished cutting and styling my hair, Rosa started to sweep up all that she'd cut from where it had fallen on the kitchen floor. I walked into the bathroom and got my first look in the mirror over the sink. Wow! I loved it!



I walked back into the kitchen, and we took this selfie, the first of two. The photo on the wall behind us is one of my favorites--I got it at a junk store in Portland. The caption, handwritten center bottom says: American Culinary Federation Incorporated. Fifth Annual National Convention Grand Ball. Los Angeles, California - 1958. It's a great big crowd of people all dressed up in their suits and ties, the ladies in their cocktail gowns, seated at giant round tables covered with white tablecloths and lots of glassware and plates and silverware and all that stuff waiting for their banquet to begin and then there's a giant dance floor in the background also. They must've had a lot of fun. I just loved the photo when I saw it, and it wasn't too expensive, so I bought it. It goes great in the kitchen.



The second selfie came about because I still had the phone camera on so that I could see myself as I was about to put it down on the desk. I noticed this shot and got Rosa to come stand by me so that we could take it. I like it a whole lot! I like both photos a whole lot! I'm going to get used to this short hair, and if I have to get it shorter because of the chemo, so be it. I'll like however that turns out, too.

Feeling off today, but I'm doing something to deal with it.

I'm not certain why I feel off today, but I do. I realize, what with what I'm facing--the known unknown of chemotherapy and radiation and their side effects--that if I didn't have this sort of feeling now and then, I might ought to have my head examined, to make certain that my grasp on reality hasn't loosened to the point of sure and soon release.

So, I'm looking for inspiration to counter my off-attitude, to put it at bay, for now, until next time 'cause realistically I know that it will return; I shall endeavor to be ready for it.

I found today's inspiration in these photos that I took on July 30, 2012, when I was on vacation. Stay-cation. I got a Zipcar and drove up to Larch Mountain, fully intending to walk by myself out to the lookout point and see what I could see. I had read this online: From the north side of the large summit parking lot, hiking trails lead around the volcano's caldera to Sherrard Point with an outstanding view of nearby Mount Hood, Mount Adams, Mount Jefferson, Mount Rainier near Seattle and Mount St. Helens, an active volcano. I figured why not give it a go--I'd seen a photo online of the handrail around the outlook. There are even backless benches waiting for the shaky-kneed hiker.

I didn't know that I'd soon see sights like you see in the photo above--thin air at my right elbow, paralyzing thin air due to my fear of heights. I had no desire to know how high the path I was on clung to the side of the mountain, nor could I have looked that direction for more than a few seconds, if I'd wanted to see for myself. Truth be told, it wouldn't help me one bit to know.



Not yet ready to give up, speaking to myself out loud but softly because other folks--fearless in their steps, breaths, and balance--walked along now and then, I kept going forward. Then I sighted these railroad-tie steps ahead. Steps of any kind without handrails strike me as dicey at best, flat-out frightening at worst.

I sat on a low wall that supported the packed dirt of a trail going a different direction. I monitored my breathing and my heart rate and my energy level and made my decision. Use what I had left to get back to the car. Come back some day with my sons and make the walk to the lookout point. I haven't done that yet, and I have not given up on making the effort. I won't be off forever.