The hits keep coming, but I keep going…

Where do I start? Maybe with the 45 minute ambulance ride, blood dripping from both arms? Or maybe the pre-cancerous skin cancer patch I discovered after another failed biopsy? Or how about the migraine, followed by passing out, following by going into aFib?

Regardless, I’m still here, and as my brother Jeff said as he arrived for a few days ago, “You look fine!”

I feel fine. Sometimes.

So I left you last time on the morning after my first chemo treatment since the cancer returned. On that morning I felt pretty good after getting a fresh dose of poison in my veins. And the good news? The feeling pretty good continued most of the following weeks. I was optimistic. If treatment was truly this mild, I could do this.

The week after chemo I went in for a brain MRI to see if there was anything that could explain the constant morning headaches I’ve been having for five months, but the scan was clear. I mean, yay, it was clear! No new tumors, but no explanation for the headaches. Then I had a biopsy done on one of my new tumors….the doc punctured my lily white butt cheek to get to my hip joint, and despite me carefully telling the doctor that the last time I had a biopsy the blade missed my tumor, the same thing happened again… (come to find out it was the same doctor who failed me last time!! I’ll never go to him again!). No tumor was retrieved in the sample, and I had a hole in my buttock for no reason. I tried to reason with my oncologist that perhaps we could find out if I had a new mutation through a blood biopsy test, but she wants to get a chunk of the physical tumor, so I’ll be going under the knife AGAIN sometime soon.

After the botched biopsy I came home scratching a raised itchy patch on my back. I had Kirk take a photo of it, and was disturbed to see a growth around an existing mole, so sent the photo to a few of my doctors to learn it’s a pre-cancerous growth called an actinic keratosis. Now it’s most likely benign, but left alone for years, it could evolve into skin cancer, and because the itchy patch was in a high rub zone (under my bra strap) the rubbing could accelerate its growth. So now I have an appointment to get it removed and get the rest of my moles mapped and checked to see if anything else is suspect. WTF? Can’t I just manage one kind of cancer threat at a time?

All of that I could deal with, and did. And so when my very dear friends Brooke and Adryon asked me to go on a road trip with them on the third week after chemo (last week), I finally said yes. Yes PLEASE! I relished the chance to get away from the relentless reminder of my chronic illnesses and play tourist for a week.

And it started so good. We dressed up in Halloween costumes and drove up to Leavenworth, Washington, a cute little Bavarian-esk town where whole families dressed up in costumes and went trick-or-treating to all the businesses in the quaint little downtown. The mountains had a fresh dusting of snow and the leaves and larches in the local park were peak gold.

The next day we drove up to the North Cascades where I took a selfie with the PCT where it crosses Rainy Pass, but it was too snowy to take a hike, we hadn’t packed for snow. We oooed and ahhhed on the drive to our rental cabin on Cascade River, and enjoyed getting cozy in the deep woods with glacial waters flowing just outside the cabin door. Hikes were taken. Delicious food was eaten.

The next leg took us up to Orcas Island…but first a ferry ride! We tried to spy the namesake whales, but it was not to be. It was still fun to be on a boat headed for one of the plentiful islands in the San Juan Islands. Once on island we took a rugged hike on Turtleback Mountain Preserve before heading to our CHARMING rental that looked like a ship. Literally!

Being on the island off season meant no crazy crowds, and we took more hikes and drove up to the highest point of all, Mount Constitution.

After a few days we were off to the next stop on the road-trip itinerary: Packwood, a small little town at the base of Mr. Rainer. My good friend Cindy drove up from Portland to meet us there; my plan was to head back to Portland with her on Friday so I could attend the Portland Book Festival that weekend before heading back to Bend and getting ready for my next chemo treatment.

That Thursday night I wasn’t feeling great. We arrived later than we thought to the cabin, and despite an amazing charcuterie spread for dinner, I picked at the food and went to bed early. I woke up in the middle of the night with the worst migraine I had ever had. My morning headaches were nothing compared to what I experienced that night. I took some over the counter meds to try and help combat the pain, but they did nothing. I lay in bed until I heard movement in the cabin, then took some stronger meds to try and combat the incessant pain. It kind of worked, and when my morning med alarm went off, I got up to try and eat something before downing the 9 pills I take each morning. I immediately felt sick, as in puking sick. I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor in front of the toilet. Brooke heard me moaning and came in just in time to see me passing out – she caught me so that I didn’t hit my head and watched as I went unconscious. The gals called 911, and after I came to in a cloud of confusion, I crawled to my bed. It was only a few moments later when the paramedics started arriving. Most of the folks in the small town were volunteers, and they took my vitals until an ambulance showed up. Machines were hooked up to me and they found I was in aFib, my heartbeat was racing and was fluttering in a feeling I had never felt before. I still felt like I was going to throw up while they tried to determine the best next step. Because I was such a complicated case (stage 4 cancer and all) it was decided they would try to fly me to Portland. I was loaded up in the ambulance to take me to an airfield, and IVs were started in both arms…a bumpy ambulance doesn’t make for the best needle-to-vein situation, as a result my blood was dripping and oozing out of the puncture wounds…but they got the needles in and started me on fluids and Zofran for the nausea. Turned out the weather wasn’t conducive for a helicopter ride, so they took me 45 minutes down the road to the slightly larger town of Morton where I was wheeled into the emergency room with everyone waiting for me. Doctors, nurses, aids, everyone rushed to my side, and ultimately it was decided to shock my heart back into rhythm. And when I say shock it was a literal shock. I yelled when the coursing electricity went through my body and I felt like I had literally levitated off the bed with the jolt. But, fortunately, my heart caught the proper rhythm again, and I immediately felt better.

By this time Brooke was in the emergency room with me and was taking notes. I was prescribed a beta blocker, and monitored for a while longer before letting me go. Kirk was on his way up from Bend, he had gotten a call about a life-flight, about aFib, and was expecting the worst. On our way back to the cabin in Packwood I had to ask Cindy to pull over so I could vomit (finally!) and again, felt better.

Back in the cabin I showered, napped, contacted my doctors back in Bend, and hugged Kirk tight when he arrived late that afternoon. I would not be going to the Portland Book Festival, but I was surrounded by some of the best people in the world. The people who saved me, who make me laugh, who have been with me through the past few years, and I felt very loved.

Kirk and I drove back to Bend the next day, and this week I saw a cardiologist, got a heart monitor, scheduled many more appointments, started a blood thinner, and prepped for my next chemo treatment. Oh yeah, and picked up my brother from the airport who had planned a visit a while ago. I still wanted him to come, and funnily enough, I feel pretty good. Good enough that we are going sight seeing on his first visit to Bend.

So I’m not dead yet…it’s going to take more than that to keep me down.