Coffee Klatch (read: Chemo Klatch) -- Final Chapter

I went for a CT today.

I don't get the iodine injection, since I am now allergic to iodine. And, half-way through the disgusting barium drink, I was told that it wasn't necessary to drink any more. So, the process was much easier than in the past.

My mom kept me company, which was nice.

We finished so early, we decided to go visit our friend, in the oncology ward.

We went up to her room and she wasn't there.

Her bed was empty (without sheets, even) and there did not seem to be any personal effects.

I went to the nurse's desk. "Where's S?" I asked, uncertain if she had changed rooms or if the family had decided to take her home.

"Who are you?" asked the nurse.

"Friends," I answered.

"You'd better speak with her daughters," the nurse answered.

I asked another question, and the nurse repeated: "you should speak with her daughters."

I thought to myself, she must have gotten worse, so they decided to take her home.

On our way out, I met someone else who works there, and knows me as well.

She told me directly.

S passed away this morning, a few hours earlier.

It was so fast. Her diagnosis, her deterioration, her death.

Cancer is really a horrible disease.


I am different.

I have a different type of cancer.

My cancer is responding to treatment.

I am young.

I am strong.

I have a great attitude.

Blah, blah, blah....


Cancer Sucks.


Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Coffee Klatch (read: Chemo Klatch) -- Part II

Again, this story begins innocently enough....

Two weeks ago, at chemo, I met a really nice lady, S, who was there with her friend. When my C & C date left, I started to chat with S and her friend. We were the last people there and we had the place to ourselves, so we chatted for a while (until my mom arrived to take me home).

Then, last week, while I was receiving my massage (see Part I), my mom wandered into the waiting area and met S, who told her "your daughter is a very special person." So my mom, who is, after all, a mom, sat down to hear more. (What mother doesn't like to hear good things about her daughter?)

Well, one conversation led to another, and my mom and S discovered that they had attended the same college, at around the same time (S was a few years younger). So my mom asked what had been S's maiden name. Then my mom thought a moment and asked: "Are you the same SH who lent RZ (my dad) a dress to wear on Purim?" S thought about it a moment and answered "yes."

Now get this:

The first real memory that my mom has of my dad was from a Hillel Purim Party, where he was dressed up as a girl. My dad and S were really good friends in college, and he had borrowed the dress that he wore that Purim from S!

And now, S and I are being treated for cancer in the same hospital in Jerusalem!

How wierd is that!!

Well, that story caused instant bonding!

All of a sudden S, and my mom, and the woman sitting next to me, and her friend, and I, all started talking as if we'd known each other for years. We pulled up extra chairs, so everyone could sit together. Then we spent the next few hours sitting around the table "catching up" and talking about all sorts of things; each woman sharing some of her interesting stories.

It was so much fun. All the women there were so dynamic and had such interesting stories! We were chatting like we would have at a cafe or a party, except for the bizarre twist that three of us were sitting there with IVs!

The hours flew by.

When I finished, and it was time to go, I felt like I was saying goodbye to old friends.

We exchanged phone numbers and emails, and I know that we will meet again, not just in the chemo ward.

Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Coffee Klatch (read: Chemo Klatch) -- Part I

It was such a wonderfully fun morning..... and it took place in the chemo ward.....

The day started out normal enough. Moshe drove me to chemo, and my mom came too (in a seperate car), because I had a doctor's appointment scheduled at noon. Moshe's mom was planning to join us around eleven. Everyone wanted to be there when my oncologist discussed the CT.

Luckily, my oncologist was able to see us as soon as we got there. We quickly called my mother, who was still parking, to tell her to come right away. And we called Moshe's mom to tell her not to bother coming, since she would arrive long after the meeting (which we knew would be quick).

My oncologist showed us my current CT, side by side with my previous CT. He showed us a spot on my lung, which seems to have gotten a bit smaller. Then he showed us spots which had been on my liver and are no longer visible! It's the best we could have hoped for. Not only have the drugs stopped the cancer from spreading, they are shrinking the tumors!

What does that mean? It means we continue treatments. Thank God, we now know they are working!

My poor mom arrived at the doctors office just as we were leaving. Her face fell. (like a kid whose ice cream falls of the cone). She had wanted to see and hear it all. The oncologist was very kind and understanding, but he didn't have time to sit and explain everything again. He encouraged my mom to focus on the fact that the results are very good, then rushed off to his next patient.

Then I got "back to business". The nurses opened my port but couldn't draw blood for tests. (my blood likes to stay in my body). It was getting late and I wanted to finish in time to leave with my mom, to pick up my kids. So I agreed to let the doctor (who deals all day with needles and IVs for patients with no port) poke me with a needle and draw blood the "old fashioned" way. (Before I started treatments, I met another young woman with metastatic cancer who assured me that I would get used to being a pin cushion. I've been scared of needles all my life, and I did not believe her. But here I was, just like she said, agreeing to get stuck with a needle, so that I wouldn't get stuck in the oncology ward...)

Then I went down to the 2nd floor for my second full body x-ray, which I do every three months for the drug trial (that I joined for the bone medication). This time, the technician was a woman. She was much gentler (no painful poking and prodding this time), more friendly, and quicker. Moshe stayed 'till I finished, then left for work. My mom came back up to the chemo ward with me, to keep me company.

Then I had a treat. The blood test results weren't back yet, so I went to get.... a massage! I kid you not. There is a new "Merkaz L'Siyua Holisti" (Center for Holistic Assistance) sponsored by the Yuri Stern Foundation. A few times each week, professionals come to give massages to cancer patients. I received a 20 minute massage, from a sweet young woman, and I felt great.

Between the good news and the massage, I was in a really good mood.

But the day got even better!

I went to sit in the waiting area, in between the nurses station and the day room. In the waiting area are two small round tables, each surrounded by two pairs of chairs. I went to sit at one of the tables, next to a lady who seemed very friendly.

My mom comes over to join us and exclaims "you'll never believe this!"

(find out what happened tomorrow..... "same bat-time, same bat-channel"...)

:-)


Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA