my Breast Cancer blog

2004, age 34 — this is my story
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Anxiety

Posted on 7/23/2005 By

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I am anxious today. I feel unsettled and nervous and far from that peaceful feeling I have been enjoying on most days. I am scattered in my thoughts and emotions and feel like I did months ago, before therapy and anti-depressants. I think this is temporary — an “off” day, a low point.

I am never really sure of the exact cause of my anxiety. But I can guess that this time it comes from the approach of my year-long Herceptin therapy which begins on Wednesday. I am nervous about my first infusion of this new drug. I don’t know how my body will react and I wonder if I will have any side effects. I don’t know if it will damage my heart or if I will function normally for the next year. There are too many unanswered questions in my head and I can’t seem to manage them all. I know one day I will look back at this time as nothing more than a necessary step in my recovery process. That’s how I see all my previous treatments and procedures and worries and anxieties. They are short-lived and my body will find peace again.

So Wednesday will come and go and somehow, I will survive the day.

And probably the whole year too.

Jacki Donaldson

The curse of information

Posted on 6/27/2005 By

4 Comments

Sometimes it’s good to be in the dark — to not know all the facts and to just happily take things as they come. I was somewhat in the dark when I had my lumpectomy. A doctor told me I needed surgery and I had it. I did a bit of research but I mostly placed my trust in the surgeon and didn’t really question the side effects of surgery, the possibility of death that comes with any major operation, the long-term implications like lymphedema. I just had the surgery. But that was seven months ago. Since then, I have been bombarded with options and decisions and I have become a professional information seeker. I want to know the good and the bad, the statistics, and the personal stories of others in similar situations. This helps. But it also scares me.

When my oncologist suggested I consider taking Herceptin as a preventative treatment, he told me there are possible long-term effects on the heart. He said there are not many short-term side effects, other than possible fever and chills at the time of infusion. But like all medications, there are all sorts of possible side effects, many of them rare. My oncologist did not name them all — perhaps they are statistically insignificant. Maybe I should have taken the information he gave me and made my decision — which would be to proceed with a therapy that can give me a 50% better chance of survival. But like I always do, I looked for more information on Herceptin. And I found all the possible side effects.

There are many possible side effects, most of them not likely for me, but what worries me is the fact that 15 women have died from Herceptin. Out of 25,000 women in one study, 62 had an allergic reaction. And 15 of these 62 died. I’m sure just as many people have died from the chemo drugs that have already been pumped into my body. And I’m still alive. People have died while having surgery. I’ve had several surgeries in my life. I survived them all. Women have died in childbirth. I’ve had two big babies and could have had major complications — but I didn’t. I survived and so did my babies. So I know the liklihood of my having serious problems with Herceptin in probably low. But it’s on my mind.

The same oncologist who suggests Herceptin once told me to stop reading. He said that we usually seek information when we are confused or worried. And in these states, we focus on the negative angle of the information. Which is what I do. I bury the fact that thousands of lives will be saved by Herceptin and I obsess about the fact that a few have died from it.

So I am still wondering about this drug. My gut tells me to do it — and I probably will — but first, I must find my way out of this maze of information.

Information is a gift. And it’s a curse too.

Jacki Donaldson

Normalizing

Posted on 6/22/2005 By

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I am returning to my old self. My hair is growing back — and on most days, I actually like my dark, short, wavy hair. My skin is back to normal which means the effects of radiation are gone — no redness or irritation or pain. Just a regular armpit with a few scars. My menstrual cycle has returned — so I will not enter menopause at my young age and I now have back the option of getting pregnant. There are many issues to consider, and it’s recommended that I wait one year before making a decision, but the choice is mine and that is enough to make me happy for now.

My energy is normal again too. Joey and I were on my bed the other afternoon, watching TV. It was the first time in a long time that I let my body rest without fighting sleep. I was wide awake, not tired at all. There were times in the past months when fatigue surrounded me. One day I feel asleep in a living room chair and woke to Joey saying, “mommy, did you have a nice rest?” I am no longer desperate for sleep during the day. I like that.

Today I saw my surgeon again — seven months after he removed my lump and four lymph nodes — and he looked at my breast for a possible infection. He determined it is not infected. He said I am well. He told me I’m good for another 10,000 miles. I hope I exceed 10,000 miles.

Jacki Donaldson

My collection

Posted on 5/29/2005 By

3 Comments

quilt.

I will continue to write in this web journal because although my official treatment is complete, there is still so much to write about — like the pile of medication that sits in my kitchen cabinet and stares back at me each time I open the cabinet door to get a sippy cup or a drinking glass. It all sits in a green plastic bin, with the exception of two medications I am currently taking. They sit on the counter as a reminder that I must take them each day. Sometimes I still forget to take them on time. Sometimes I wake in the night and realize I have forgotten to take something. So I jump up and swallow what is necessary to keep me healthy.

I have been to the Walgreen’s pharmacy drive-thru countless times in the past six months. I always wonder if the pharmacists and technicians have put together the pieces of my puzzle and have determined what my condition is. Zofran and Emend and Phenergan for nausea. Neulasta for blood counts. Antibiotics for infection. Ativan and Xanax for anxiety. Steroids for allergic reactions. Mouthwash for mouth sores. Zoloft for depression. It’s startling for me to look at my collection of medication. Fortunately, much of the medication has never been touched. Some bottles are missing just a few pills. And although some prescriptions have been used and refilled, these are in the minority. There have been times when I have felt heavily medicated and have struggled to function normally. But mostly, I have survived without drugs. And I know there are other people struggling with illness and disease who open their kitchen cabinets and see a whole lot more staring back at them. I am lucky.

Jacki Donaldson

Breathless

Posted on 5/12/2005 By

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I have been having trouble holding my breath during radiation. In order to activate each dose of radiation, I take a deep breath through a tube in my mouth (and with a plugged nose). This breath triggers a “click” sound and then I hear a “beep” that lasts up to 15 seconds. I have about six total doses each day and at least twice I have to hold my breath for 15 seconds. On the other doses, it’s less. It’s gotten harder and harder to last for 15 seconds and it’s not clear why this is happening. I’ve reported it to the doctor but since I am not having a shortness of breath in my everyday life, it doesn’t seem to point to a problem. Yesterday and today, the issue became more complicated. Yesterday I could hardly breath deep enough to trigger the “click.” With extra effort and every ounce of energy in my body, I finally did it. But today I could not do it at all. I thought maybe my lungs were failing me. Fortunately, before concluding that it was me with the problem, my radiation therapists called in their physicists who made some changes on my machine and with my tubing. With a new tube, I could breath! The problem may have been just a leak in the tube where my breath was escaping before I could “click” the machine on. A relief.

So my mind runs wild. I have trouble breathing for radiation and I think it’s a problem with my lungs. Headaches — something serious in my brain. Pressure in my stomach — ovarian cancer. A lump on my leg — a tumor. None of these are likely but it’s the first step in my thought process. I am able to dismiss these worries with time but not without an irrational venture in my mind. Which is one of the reasons I will soon begin therapy.

I met with a psychologist and two psychology student/interns today. Shands is a teaching hospital so there is always a team of doctors who see me. One of the students did an intake session with me. I told her my whole story and answered her questions while the doctor and other student observed from another room. After my intake, the three met and developed recommendations for me. Then the presented them to me. They recommend I take the anti-depressant medication (Zoloft) prescribed by my oncologist and begin therapy to last for 6-10 sessions. The therapy will be structured and will include some relaxation techniques. The doctor believes this will help me greatly — especially since I have a perfectionist personality. It seems perfectionists are prone to anxiety under normal circumstances. With a cancer diagnosis on top of my propensity for anxiety, it’s not a shock that I am anxious, worried, and somewhat depressed.

I will begin therapy in the next week or so and will go once per week until I feel more at ease with life. That’s my goal — to live and breath easily.

Jacki Donaldson

Overcome

Posted on 5/2/2005 By

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I am overcome with emotion and fatigue. Today I had five medical appointments. First, I had my port flushed. This has to be done once every four to six weeks when the port is not used regularly. My port gets accessed with a needle and saline and a blood thinner are flushed through the line to keep it clean and clear.

Second, I met with my oncologist who told me he thinks having my breasts and ovaries removed at this time is a radical approach. He thinks I should give myself some time to think things over and to live life a bit after treatment. Perhaps my worry will subside when life becomes normal again. He also recommended that I take an anti-depressant for a few months to ease my mind. I’m thinking about it. I really don’t like taking drugs. But my doctor says sometimes cancer patients need to clear their minds — and this helps. He says some describe the effect of the drug as bringing them out of a dark room and into the sunlight. I’ve filled the prescription and it sits on my kitchen counter. Another decision.

Third, I went for my 16th radiation treatment and learned that I will have 12 more of what I’ve been receiving and then will get 10 “boost” treatments. After radiation and fourth, I met with a radiation oncologist — this happens once per week to monitor my skin and any other side effects. So far, my skin is not affected. My side effect is fatigue — which today seems to have tripled with my busy schedule.

For a break, I met John, Joey, Danny, my mom, and Jordan for a quick and hectic lunch. Then I dropped off a prescription and went to get my arm fitted for a lymphedema sleeve (to help with swelling due to lymph node removal).

Fifth, I met with my OB/GYN to talk about ovaries. He did an ultrasound and pelvic exam and like popular opinion, told me screening for ovarian cancer is not very effective. But from what he could see, my ovaries look fine. He told me they are not fully functioning due to chemo-induced menopause but he saw signs that they may return to full function. If they do not, he says there is no need to keep them and I could have them removed. But until he knows of my true menopausal state — which could take up to one year — he does not recommend removing them. There is no evidence that I will get ovarian cancer at this time. I will still have the CA 125 test done to see if there is any elevation in levels that detect ovarian cancer — but this too can be deceiving.

For the near future, I will continue my treatment without making any big decisions. For today, I think I will put the topic of cancer to rest.

Jacki Donaldson

Good news

Posted on 4/5/2005 By

6 Comments

My head CT scan is normal. My headache is lingering this morning but I think Ibuprofen helped yesterday. From 5:00 PM until I went to bed, I felt completely normal. That felt good. I hope today follows the same path. Regardless, I know there is no serious cause of my headache and that brings relief.

Jacki Donaldson

More drama

Posted on 4/4/2005 By

3 Comments

Last night I did not feel well due to a horrible headache (I’ve had one on and off for 6 days now) and I thought maybe I was getting a fever again. So I called the on-call oncologist before I went to bed and he told me that the fever alone, without other symptoms, did not indicate a problem. I knew my blood counts were up, and I’d had a shot that very day to boost them further, so it was not that they were dropping. Another mystery — the headache. He said he would try to get me in for a CT scan of my head.

I did not get out of bed today until noon which is when I got a call that a CT scan was scheduled for me. After the scan, I was to go get my blood checked and get another shot for my blood cells. So I got the scan and then went for blood draw — which revealed that my white blood counts are up to 58,000. They were 1,200 when I was admitted to the hospital. So I did not get a shot today and won’t get one tomorrow as planned. The job is done in that area. My other counts looked good too.

So my counts are good and I do not have a fever. But the headache is holding me back now. I have some medications to try — some over-the-counter and one for migranes. I hope it’s just a temporary condition brought on by stress and tension and everything that’s been happening to my body lately. I should hear the CT scan results tonight or tomorrow.

If it weren’t for my headache, I think I would feel good. With counts at 58,000, I better.

Jacki Donaldson

Discharged

Posted on 4/3/2005 By

5 Comments

I am home from the hospital—hopefully for good this time. After my first hospital stay, I had in my head that I couldn’t go through that experience again. And I thought there would be no reason that I’d need to. Until March 30. On that day, I felt once again that my body was struggling in so many ways.

For the past 4 1/2 days, my emotions have been like a yo-yo. At first I was told that it is very odd for blood counts to drop again without another chemo treatment to precipitate a drop. I have been without a chemo treatment for four weeks. And I should have been healthy after my first hospital visit where I got new blood and a clean bill of health. So this second drop was a mystery. My first team of doctors (an attending oncologist and team of residents) were stumped. One doctor even paced my room saying, “You know this is odd, don’t you?” He just couldn’t figure out why this had happened. He told me I might need a bone marrow biopsy to determine what was going on. The worst-case scenario could include a diagnosis of leukemia or lymphoma—both cancers. I lived with that fear for several days. I worried and cried and was completey unsettled. I already knew there is a chance of getting leukemia as a byproduct of chemo. But I was still shocked that this would be considered for me.

I never got the bone marrow biopsy. I was monitored for a few days, received IV antibiotics, and had my temperature taken religiously. Although my fever never dropped and my counts never increased, something good did happen. I got a new team of doctors

On the first of each month, a new team takes over. My new team never even considered a biopsy. The attending doctor believed I had a viral infection (due to my severe sore throat). He did not believe it is odd for counts to drop four weeks out from chemo. And an onset of a virus would bump them down even more. He added an anti-viral drug to my treatment plan. It worked. My sore throat was better the next morning. He also ordered injections of a growth factor to grow my bone marrow, which stimulates the growth of blood cells. This worked too. After two shots (one per day), my counts were even higher than they were when I was discharged from the hospital the first time. These injections do cause aches in my bones but this is manageable for now.

I will go to my oncology clinic on Monday and Tuesday for more shots and to have my blood checked. I’ll take an oral anti-viral medication at home to make sure the virus is gone. And I’ll hope this never happens again. If it does, a bone marrow biopsy may be necessary. Although there still is a chance that they will drop a bit due to radiation which is to begin in a week or so. If only I can breeze through this portion of the treatment.

There is no way to clearly express my feelings in writing about this whole ordeal. I can say that I’ve been up and down and sad and hopeful. I’ve sobbed and smiled and questioned and wondered. I mostly know that I will be okay when this is over. But sometimes I look at Joey and Danny and think about what their lives would be like without me. This is not negative thinking. I really do have a positive outlook, and I know I will fight whatever comes my way. But cancer brings mortality to the forefront. We are all going to die—some at an early age; some at an old age. But the gift for many is not knowing when it will happen. I don’t know when it will happen either, but my illness can be life threatening and the possibility for me seems more apparent now than before my diagnosis. So I am searching for the strength to live each day to the fullest, knowing tomorrow is not a guarantee. When my body is weak and sick, this is harder to do. But I feel so much better today so I think my yo-yo emotions should start to taper off. I’m going to start talking with a psychologist too—she focuses on young women with breast cancer—and I think she will help me put all my thoughts into perspective.

It is so good to be home. I’ve been without my boys for too many days. They sure are a sight for sore eyes—all three of them.

Jacki Donaldson

Update

Posted on 4/2/2005 By

3 Comments

Jacki is on the mend. Her fever appears to be breaking and some cell counts have risen. Others are a bit low, but doctors believe they will recover soon. Her recovery is a result of two different antibiotics and a daily shot of a human growth factor indented to grow bone marrow and stimulate growth of blood cells. There is no plan for a bone marrow biopsy at this point. That’s good news.

Jacki’s current symptoms include periodic headaches and aching in her back and legs. The aching is a side effect of the injections.

There’s a possibility that Jacki will be home in a day or so and will be monitored by outpatient visits to an oncology clinic. We’re hoping for the best, yet are prepared for anything.

John Donaldson

Another hospital stay

Posted on 3/30/2005 By

4 Comments

I took Jacki to the emergency room at 5:00 AM after she woke up with a fever, chills, sore throat, sore gums, and a headache. We already knew her white blood cell counts were low and she’s been told to report any of these symptoms to a doctor immediately. So she called the doctor on-call who told her to report to the emergency room. After 10 hours of receiving care in the ER, she was admitted. She’s now resting in a private room. She’s receiving an IV antibiotic to treat the fever and her blood counts will be monitored with the hope they will all rise. In addition to the white blood counts, other counts have dropped.

The reason for this fever and the drop in blood counts is a mystery. After the first hospital stay and treatment, everything should have been on the upward climb. Doctors will meet at length tomorrow to discuss the situation. It is possible Jacki may receive a bone marrow biopsy to further investigate the problem.

More to come.

John Donaldson

White blood cell count

Posted on 3/29/2005 By

3 Comments

My white blood cell count is down again. I was worried about it so had my blood drawn yesterday after my radiation appointment. I called this morning to get my results and learned that it has dropped since my departure from the hospital — it was 3,400 then and now it’s 1,200. It was 700 when I first was admitted to the hospital so it’s not the worst it’s ever been, but it’s low. All other blood counts are normal (like red blood cells which were replenished with my blood transfusion).

My new oncologist is not worried at this time. He says it’s just a delayed recovery from chemo. If I end up with a fever, I will call and notify him.

I had been worrying about my blood for a few days because I’ve been so tired. By early afternoon, I am fatigued and in the morning, I feel like I could keep sleeping and sleeping — even after 8-10 hours of sleep. So now this makes sense. And hopefully I will be on the mend with each day that I move further away from chemo.

Jacki Donaldson

Radiation

Posted on 3/28/2005 By

3 Comments

I had a consultation today with my radiation oncologist. I will begin radiation soon — maybe next week — and then if my genetic test comes back positive and I opt to have a bilateral mastectomy, I will just stop the radiation (without breasts, there is no need for radiation).

I am not so worried about radiation, although there are still side effects. I may feel tired. And I may experience skin redness, burning, itching, and irritation. Since I tend to burn in the sun, I am likely to burn from the radiation. Long-term side effects include damage to the heart, lungs, and ribs since they all are located near my breast and will be exposed to radiation. So I’m learning over and over again that to survive cancer, I must accept other potential health issues in the future. One author wrote about cancer patients that we should all be so lucky to live 20 years to have a heart condition.

There is a possibility of an arm condition as a result of having lymph nodes removed (I had four removed during my lumpectomy). This condition is called lymphedema — a swelling of the arm that can be permanent. My arm is not swelling, but I am being referred to a physical therapist who will work with me on exercises to help prevent the swelling. Doctors are trying to be more proactive about preventing it and not just addressing it once it occurs.

So radiation and physical therapy are on the horizon. And my blood test results should be back in 2-3 weeks. Then I will know if a genetic mutation is to blame for this journey.

What a crazy journey it is.

Jacki Donaldson

Heat wave

Posted on 3/24/2005 By

4 Comments

I’m having hot flashes. This is one of the many side effects of chemo. I’d been hoping that I’d had my fair share of side effects with nausea, hair loss, dizziness, fatigue, hospitalization, allergic reactions, and a blood transfusion. I thought hot flashes might just pass me by. But they didn’t. So now I feel these brief waves of heat come over me. I can feel completely comfortable and within seconds, I am warm and then hot and then my head starts to sweat, which is a really strange sensation when I’m not wearing any hair. Instead of just dampening my hair, the sweat makes my head drip — instantly. This happens mostly at night when I wake to find I am burning up and my head is wet.

These hot flashes are a symptom of menopause. Usually, the closer a women is to menopausal age, the more likely she is to be pushed through menopause as a result of chemo. Since I am young, I am likely to feel the symptoms but then reverse back to my pre-menopausal state.

The hot flashes are annoying. But they are not horrible. In the past, without having endured chemo, I probably would have whined about them. This is minor compared to how bad I have felt.

Chemo is by far the worst thing that has happened to me. It seemed tolerable for my first three treatments but after my fourth dose of drugs, it challenged every fiber of my being. One of my drugs, Adriamycin, was called “Kool Aid” by my chemo nurses. It is bright red in color. I had heard other patients call it “the Red Devil.” Now I know why. Those who experience it know it’s nothing like “Kool Aid.” It truly is the devil.

On the bright side — I have survived the devil and hopefully will never see it again. I am coming out of my fog and feel generally well. My hair should get longer with each day (I should have about six inches within one year). I am living without the fear of drugs and side effects and sickness. And it’s sunny and 80 degrees in Gainesville.

Today is a good day.

Jacki Donaldson

New blood

Posted on 3/14/2005 By

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I have never been a blood donor — well, once I was. I donated blood once at Kent State University while going to college. But I got dizzy and thought I would faint as the blood was being taken from me. Someone had to ring a bell and someone else came running with a special red chair and wheeled me away. I think I got cookies and juice and was saved. I never gave blood again. But today, because of all my dizziness and low blood counts, I received blood. One bag of blood has gone into my body already and I’m waiting on the next one. It’s been strange, watching someone else’s blood, 0+ like my own, drip into my system. It is definitely a gift. Maybe once I am well, I will try again to donate so someone else can receive such a gift.

I feel pretty well right now. I do have an allergic rash on my chest and back — it was determined that I am probably allergic to the antibiotic that has been dripping into me for the past three days. So the IV antibiotic was stopped and now I’ll take an oral antibiotic for a while. I’m hoping the rash does not get worse — and that I continue to feel well. I really want to go home.

Jacki Donaldson

My hospital stay continues

Posted on 3/14/2005 By

6 Comments

It’s Monday — and I’m still in the hospital. Some of my blood counts are up but others are down. So today I will get a blood transfusion to raise my red blood cells. Maybe I will go home tomorrow if all goes well.

I got to see my boys today — after three long days. John brought them to a family room near my floor and I got to visit while wearing my mask. Joey said I look like an alien. He may be right.

Jacki Donaldson

A getaway

Posted on 3/12/2005 By

7 Comments

Yesterday was the day we planned to go to the beach — me, John, Joey, Danny, and my mom. We planned to relax, play on the beach, and dig in the sand. I didn’t feel well but I thought the break would be good for me. I wanted to clear my mind and return to Gainesville with a positive attitude about my next phase of chemotherapy.

I got my getaway — but I never made it to the beach. Instead I had a one-way trip to the hospital. I don’t know when my return trip will be.

So now I sit at a computer in a little room on the 4th floor of Shands Hospital. I have a mask over my mouth and nose and gloves on my hands. An IV pole sits next to me, with antibiotics and other fluids dripping into my port. I’m staying in a room with special air flow to minimize the chance of infection. I’m restricted from receiving flowers or eating foods grown in the ground. Every time I leave my room, I have to wear a mask and my kids are not permitted on this floor. All this because of low blood counts and a fever.

I never felt well following my last chemo treatment on March 4th. In addition to the crummy way the anti-nausea drugs made me feel, I began feeling generally unwell. I felt lightheaded and dizzy and could hardly stand up after my shower yesterday morning. So when my mom and I went to a genetic counseling meeting yesterday at 9:00 AM (prior to our beach departure), I told her I would have my blood drawn to see if my blood counts were okay. So I had my blood drawn, walked just around the corner for my counseling appointment and sat for an hour learning about a blood test that can determine if I have a breakdown in a gene that may have led to my breast cancer. After the appoinment, I was handed a mask and whisked into an exam room. I was told my white blood cells were low — they were 700 and should be between 4,000 and 10,000. With this and a fever of 100.4, I was considered “neutropenic.” This sometimes happens with chemotherapy. Cells are attacked and immune systems suffer. I never expected this to happen to me — the shots of Neulasta I receive the day after chemo are intended to prevent this — but I hear now that many women are hospitalized at least once during chemo. Antibiotics are the course of treatment, to break the fever, and IV antibiotics are the fastest method for addressing the problem. So I went to my usual infusion room for my first dose and then was transferred to the main hospital for the rest of my treatment and observation.

My fever is gone. And my white blood cells are up to 1,200. But these are still too low to go home. The doctors say I may go home tomorrow (Sunday) or maybe Monday. They are looking for a trend that I am steadily getting better. And while I really would like to be home in my own bed, I am okay here. My mom spends the day with me while John takes care of Joey and Danny. Then my mom gives the boys dinner and a bath while John joins me for dinner. I know I am safe and protected here — and I am going to get well.

This is a getaway, really. And it’s probably just what I needed. When I look back on the past week, I don’t know how I was surviving. I kept going because I thought I had no other choice. I went to playgroups and registered Joey for preschool. I played in the yard and washed and vacuumed my car. But things happen for a reason — and for some reason, I knew on Friday that someone needed to look at my blood. Thank goodness for that genetic counseling session that got me on the oncology floor that day. Had I not been going for the appointment, I may not have thought to stop by for a blood draw. Now I know when to turn myself in for a hospital getaway.

Now I also know that I must continue with my chemotherapy — only eight weeks remain — but I am going to slow down the process a bit. I am going to push my next treatment from this coming to Friday to the following Friday. I think I need an extra week to recover and to feel normal before my body gets blasted again. Hopefully it won’t get so bad this time — and if it does, I will have to conquer it. I now know that my best attack on this disease is the first attack so if I quit now, I can’t ever go back. So I’ll do it now. And somehow I will survive it.

Jacki Donaldson

Ups & downs

Posted on 3/9/2005 By

5 Comments

The drugs I had for this round of chemo kept me from feeling sick this past weekend. But for the past day or so, I have felt foggy, incoherent, sleepless, and like I want to jump out of my own skin. And I now feel a bit nauseated and queasy. I guess there’s a trade-off for everything. I had a good weekend — but all I really did was buy some time and then borrowed some additional side effects. I guess the combination of nausea drugs, anxiety drugs and steroids were bound to catch up with me.

So now I am trying to rid my body of these drugs. And I am faced with the sickening feeling of putting more drugs into my system during my second phase of chemo. I want to stop. Yet I don’t want to worry and second-guess myself in the future. I want to ensure I have the best chances of surviving this disease but I don’t want to feel crummy in the present. And right now, I do.

Time for some soul searching — after I take a nap!

Jacki Donaldson

A better sunday

Posted on 3/6/2005 By

5 Comments

Today was a much better Sunday than last. The combination of drugs must be working. I woke up feeling well, took a walk with my mom and Danny, and spent much of the day outside in the beautiful weather, watching my boys play while John did lawn work. I rested a bit this afternoon but still feel pretty good. I am now waiting for a meal to be delivered — we have received so many meals from kind friends over the past few days — so we will dine in and relax for the evening.

All should be well for this week, if I continue on schedule. I just have to control my hiccups — these are a side effect of one of my new drugs, and they keep coming and going. My hiccups are loud, if you’ve never heard them. My mom and sister have even been known to walk away from me in public when I have them — out of embarrassment! But hiccups are the least of my worries, so I’ll take them!

Jacki Donaldson

Another post-chemo day

Posted on 3/5/2005 By

2 Comments

Last night I felt horrible and went to bed at 8:00 PM. But before I went to sleep I took a handful of pills I am armed with this time. Since the Zofran alone did not work well last time, my oncologist gave me Emend, Decadron, and Ativan — all for nausea and some for anxiety as well. So I took them all, doubled over in bed, and now this morning I feel well. I am about to take them all again this morning, and then tonight, and then in the morning. I hope this will get me through my usual tough weekends.

Time will tell.

Jacki Donaldson

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