Week 60 - pacman treatment #8 of 8

Well. That's done! Another item off my bucket list, check!  I am safely tucked into my hotel room all quiet and dark with my blankie and cuppa tea, my bloodstream coursing with a fresh $30 000 worth of immunotherapy drug.  I made it.  My last treatment of ipilimumab in this 68-week clinical trial.  Four treatments three weeks apart, and then four treatments three months apart; week 1 was in August 2014. 

I hesitate to congratulate myself, or even to be graceful about accepting the congrats of others, especially today.  

It is with mixed emotion that I put one foot in front of the other and made it through the day.  Over the course of the last 60 weeks I "almost bailed" on this treatment several times (4 372 times to be exact), even up until yesterday when I had to wrench myself into the drivers seat of my car and force myself to go through with this.

It may be difficult for some to understand why I would say this, and if you are new to my blog I can point you to some past articles which may help explain my point of view on the matter.  (The Pacman Effect, Chemo Brain, Back into the waiting pool, Alternative Treatments, Re-Calculating...)

For some unknown reason, somewhere deep inside, even after all of this, the surgeries, the treatments, the scars, the pain, anger, fear, the grief and the loss... I still think they got the wrong guy.  

They made a mistake.  

It can't be me.  

I have always had trouble with commitment, and I may be known to rebel against authority on the odd occasion, I'm a free spirit tree-hugger, and a stubborn one I'm told.  So wrap that all up in one package and label it with a life-sentence of MELANOMA and I'm a permanently cranky fusspot ready to throw a hissyfit at any moment.  And I sure as hell don't want to be pumped full of drugs to add to my general confusion and malaise.

I just want to cocoon, to be alone, to take off for some new place where I don't have to talk or think about it.  I can just float along a merry little river, leaving all of this behind me.  Hang out in the sun, paint coconuts on a beach somewhere, or serve cappuccino to tourists in my Tuscan Trattoria.

But then I wake up.  Hhhmm.. it IS me they're talking about.  And I have to step up to the plate and take what is offered to me.  If I ever want to make it to my Tuscan Trattoria then I'd better get my sorry ass in the chemo chair and do as I'm told.  

Part of the complication of having the choice of which method to use to fight cancer in my particular situation, is the option to not do it.  I hear my Oncologist in one ear, saying I don't necessarily HAVE to have all eight treatments, that four is the standard of care for stage IV patients, so may be fine for my stage IIIB.

And then I hear my family and friends and family physician encouraging me to stick with it, how can there be harm in having more of the treatment?  They must have planned this clinical trial with eight treatments for a reason?? Best case scenario is it holds off recurrence that much longer (as opposed to having stopped at the fourth treatment, last Thanksgiving, thereby having the possibility of being back on the hot list by now).  

The statistics from this trial are still rolling in, and I consider myself fortunate to have received this drug and now that I have completed the trial I am part of the research they are doing in order to help melanoma patients.  

I guess I will concede and congratulate myself on that part of this accomplishment.   

Otherwise... I had good discussions today with my oncologist and the research associate in charge of my schedule.  They gave me some details I have been worrying about, and gave me an idea of what my care plan looks like in the near future.  

They said the numbers are similar for non-recurrence and recurrence with ipilimumab and interferon.  Good stories and bad, still weighing out the results to better predict what I commonly refer to as CHANCE.

I was also able to confirm that it is indeed the drug company that has paid for my expensive treatments in this trial.  This little detail has caused me much anxiety: I hate the thought of four possibly unnecessary drug treatments being paid for by Health Canada. Some of my friends have called me weird for this admission, but whatever LOL  That's me, and that's what was bugging me.  

Going forward I have eight weeks left in the trial, at least three months of fresh side-effects, with the possibility of more after that, the new year will bring the first quarter since last August where I won't have had ipilimumab.  

CT scans tomorrow, then every three months still for another year.  I will continue to be monitored at Sunnybrook (Odette Cancer Centre) and I will be sure to report the information I receive from this trial study when it is done.  I am one of the last MEC3 participants to trickle in, as I slid in under the timeline wire last year when I qualified and rushed my paperwork through to get into this trial in the first place.  

Just because I had my last treatment today does not mean this is over.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.  It is the end of this particular drug treatment, but what lies ahead is still very much uncertain.  I do know what to expect symptom-wise for the next few months, and I may even throw a pacman party when I'm feeling better, but who knows?  I can't commit.  I will just continue with this one day at a time stuff until it gets easier, whenever that may be.  

Happy week 60 of 68.  And thank you yet again to my family and friends for your love and support.  The flood of messages you sent yesterday got me to Toronto, literally.  And the texts, emails, messages, and facebook love today got me through my 90-minute IV infusion.  Thank you ever so much.  xoxo

Week 57

The insomnia is bad with this round.  Over two months since my last treatment, number seven was at the end of June, and I am still dealing with three a.m. eyelids open.  Even my pets seem confused, dog is quite perturbed that we have left warm comfy bed to sit on the couch, and cat is like Wheeee! Buddies!! 

I knew to expect a variety of possible reactions from the list provided by my oncologist when considering this clinical trial for treatment of melanoma, but I did not anticipate such a long roller coaster of physical and mental exertion in such unpredictable ways.  

For me, every ipi treatment has caused one or more side-effect to become exaggerated: for a while it was debilitating tummy trouble, another was rashy skin, this round is clearly leaning toward the depressy never let me sleep mental side of it.  I wonder what the next treatment will deliver? 

Cancer treatment brings a wide variety of medical onslaught to a patient, some are terribly painful, some involve inexplicable physical changes, all are different and uncomfortable - and the details vary from one person to the next.  The one thing each treatment has in common is that we have to brace ourselves to face it. 

Every recipient of a possible cure (or delay) for this disease is aware they are facing it, and they have to mentally and physically choose to go through the process.  Whether treatments are daily, or months apart, there is that waiting period, that knowledge that there will be more.  More needles, more chair, more nurses, more help, more fight.  

Yesterday I had another visit with my lovely and ever-vigilant family physician, to check in on the changes in medications we decided upon in July.  There isn't a whole lot we can do prescription-wise at this point, as I am still bound to the stipulations of the clinical trial, but we try.  We discussed the list of ideas I was tasked with trying since we last spoke, and I was pleasantly surprised at the number of things I have actually accomplished in the last couple of months.  

Without being at work, and with the rest of my carpet being generally ripped out from under me in the last year and a half, I struggle to find a sense of purpose.  

Loss of sense of purpose goes with loss of career, true story.  Of course family is purpose number one, and the fight against melanoma takes up the rest of my time, but as I work to try to figure out my "new normal" I am still surprised by how simple some of the "meantime accomplishments" are.  It's not working through a lineup of cranky customers upset about their bank fees, or passing a surprise inspection by the OLG bosses, but it is the fulfillment of tasks at my hand at the moment.  One thing per day. It does add up.  

I am almost finished reading the interesting book my doc recommended, I have actively planted myself back on the therapist's couch (and I am doing the emotional work she is recommending), I helped our girls paint and re-decorate all three of their bedrooms as part of back to school prep, and I joined that new-to-me cancer support group. Not bad for a months' work.  Somehow still falls short of my usual expectations, but whatever, that's the part I am working through.

We also discussed my repeated suggestion to ditch this clinical trial and move on with my life.  Treatment number eight (the last one) is in three weeks.  Yikes, where did that year go?  It is optional for me to NOT take each treatment, but as my physician gently reminded me, what other option do I have at this time?  Nothing.  Watch and wait (Oncological term for "do nothing until it gets worse").  Why start that now when I have the opportunity to delay that by at least another three months.  

There are other treatments for metastatic melanoma, and new ones in the works, but they are not available to me until it spreads to another area or comes back in the leg/lymph nodes.  It is not a matter of IF it returns, it is a matter of WHEN it returns.  The pacmen are at this time holding it off, as evidenced by my good CT scan reports, but after that who knows?

My doctor said "they" set up this clinical trial in this way for a reason, and it will prove to be a pivotal trial in the fight against melanoma, so she encouraged me to stick with it, reminded me that we will tackle the rest as it happens.  The more tools I have in hand to fight this beast, the better.  Unfortunate that the side-effects of the treatment don't allow the normal life we are fighting to keep, but some is better than none I suppose.  

It is difficult to look forward to something when you know it's going to make you feel like shit.  It is a fact that I will still feel like this - or possibly have some other or new physical anomaly - three months from now, because I will have had a fresh ipilimumab treatment.   

Week 68 in November will mark the end of my participation in this clinical trial, and it may give way to the beginning of feeling less at the mercy of immunotherapy.  Super!  But then what?  Recovery... recuperation... wait. "Watch and wait."

Family doc suggested that I have a party after this treatment, but I don't feel like I have anything to celebrate.  This treatment will be over, but then..?  She said that it is a celebration in itself that I will have made it through a complete round of chemical therapy.  Early on I had thought of throwing a pacman-themed party at the end of this, but as I approach that I consider more of taking myself on a quiet vacation - oohh yeah throwing myself a sleep party!  A sleep retreat, now we're talking.  

I know you can't tell by the goofy hours that show on this blog format, but it is now four. a.m.  I have had an hour to digest my thyroid meds, so now I can go have my coffee... thank you.  Have a great day.. my job for today is to book physio for Cassie for her ankle.  And likely have a nap.

  

First Day of School

Here we are, finally on the day for which I have been loudly cheering for at least two weeks: the first day of school.  I have driven the girls crazy singing "It's the MOST Wonderful Time of the Year!" all around the house, especially post-SHOPPING (again!) or when they've asked "What's to Eat" for the 300th time of the day. 

Now here I sit, teary-eyed and reminiscing, bittersweet, dreading the year to come in some ways and happy for the girls in many other ways.  They are in grade eight this year. Grade 8! The fun one, when life really begins: they are at the top of the school, the responsible ones, the oldest ones... and for Claire and Cassie anyway, they are entering this year with less challenges than they were this day last year.  

Last year I was in a three-week rotation of treatments at Sunnybrook, and I was scheduled to have my melanoma treatment on the Tuesday after Labour Day, but I was able to sweet-talk myself a two-day delay so that I could take my girls to school for their first day.  

Grade seven, a new school, new teachers, much larger environment, older kids all over the place, staff all new to us, and me in cancer treatment.  I told them this this year should be a breeze! ;-)  To which they replied in this way as I took their photos before school:

(PS - Cass got out of her cast a bit more than a week ago, so here she is with a gimpy left leg but at least can go to school without crutches. Physio ongoing and day surgery in October to remove the heads of the screws in her ankle)

Which reminds me... I have an entire collection of first day of school photos... and today I feel like posting them here.  Claire and Cass don't read my blog anymore anyway (they say I'm too long-winded - imagine!?!) so they won't find out...right?  haha  Anyway, here they are:

Kindergarten (JK), SVE School:

 (Claire left, Cass purple)

Grade 1:

 Cassie

 Claire

Grade 2:

 (Cass left, Claire right)

Grade 3:

 (Cass purple, Claire right)

Grade 4:

 (Cass pink, Claire right)

(Grade 5 seems to be missing at the moment? 

Stupid cell phone drop in the dishwater!)

Grade 6:

 (Claire left, Cass right)

Grade 7, move on up to MCS, 

(Mom no longer allowed to take a pic in front of the school - 

WAY too uncool!) 

 (Claire left, Cass right)

AND TODAY.... GRADE 8.... waaahhhhhhhh

Article & Photos © Natalie Richardson 2015

Testing Testing 1 - 2 - 3

Last week I shuffled off to my scheduled battery of blood tests to try to get some help with how crappy I have been feeling.  I have now processed and can put into layman's terms the conversations I had with my doctors, and I thought I would share these results here so as to shed some light on the mysterious "blood work" I often mention.  

Commonplace in western medicine is to draw blood and analyze the particles within to learn valuable information about a patient.  Anyone with a disease or health issues being monitored by a medical professional is familiar with The Lab Visit.   Even when doctored by a Naturopath there are quite often blood tests recommended or requested to help determine health dilemmas, and that blood work is done in the mainstream hospital or laboratory as well.   

 

<---  That's me.  When I register for my bloodwork at Odette(Sunnybrook) I get a baggie of vials to hang onto until it's my turn.  Those vials are special for the trial and are in addition to the usual seven more vials chosen in the lab.  My record is 23 vials of blood drawn at one visit!

 

As a stage IIIB cancer patient I have blood taken at MINIMUM every six weeks, to monitor my health but also as stipulated by the clinical trial to treat melanoma in which I am participating.  They check for many different things including general information such as pregnancy, HIV, anemia, high blood sugar, bad cholesterol - all of which I consistently test negative for thank you very much.  They also watch closely many other factors including electrolytes, liver profile, cortisol, hormone stuff, and a bunch of things ending in "-cytes."

For the post-thyroidectomy papillary thyroid cancer side of my journey, I also have blood tests every three months plus at random times if needed, based on my feeling of "general well-being."  They check my TSH, Free T4, and Thyroglobulin, which apparently indicate whether or not I am taking an appropriate dose of that thyroid hormone replacement medication every morning an HOUR BEFORE my morning coffee.  Based on that and my general yuck feeling and weight gain, we decided last week to increase my thyroid hormone replacement pill.  Because I had two of four parathyroid removed they also have to watch my calcium levels so they check calcium and albumin regularly, to check on my calcium supplement intake.  

One nice thing about these tests is that I can see them all and understand where I am with them.  Sunnybrook posts them all on my online chart thingy I can log into, and my family physician explains them to me as well and shows me cool graphs of my results.  These tools help paint more of the picture of where I am at, how my history has been, and how I may expect to feel if any of these things change in the future.  

Who wants to know all of this stuff if they are not a doctor?  Some do, some don't.... I do, when it comes to feeling ill and/or fatigued.  I can watch trends and learn about how my body functions. Or doesn't.  

I want to detail some of my results for those who may experience the same things but without the benefit of the amazing doctors I have the privilege of working with.  In all of my charts of results it shows what my blood value is, and it shows the optimal range of where it should be.  Here are some of my favourites:

• Ca (Calcium)  - mine is at 2.11, optimal range is 2.10 - 2.55 mmol/L

• Albumin - mine is at 43, optimal range is 35 - 50 g/L

If calcium is too low (hypocalcemia) then there is risk of seizures, muscle spasms and paresthaesia.  When I get cramps and tingling pins and needles in my hands then I hurry up and take an extra dose of calcium and the accompanying fancy vitamin D thingy I receive by prescription. 

• Fe (Iron) - mine is at 29, optimal range is 7.5 - 32.2 umol/L  

This one is unrelated to my cancer, but I find it interesting because for years after a period of vegetarianism I struggled with low iron, to the point that I was unable to donate blood. I took iron supplements and BBQ'd lots of steak and I am now happy to report this is one that I don't have to worry about.  

• Platelets - 177, optimal 150 - 400 x10E9/L

• White Blood Count - 4.6, optimal 4.0 - 11.0 x10E9/L

• Auto Lymphocytes Abs 0.9 (LOW), optimal 1.5 - 4.0 x10E9/L

I'm unclear as to the details of these results, they are on the low side, but I am told this is normal for someone receiving the type of immunotherapy treatment that I am. Doesn't directly relate to how I am feeling, just internal mumbo-jumbo.

• Free T4 (Partial) - Thyroxine, Free - mine is at 15.4, optimal range 7.5 - 21.1 pmol/L

• Thyroglobulin, mine is undetectable, which is a good thing.   

Thyroid levels seem to be okay, we have increased my daily dose and will check again in September to see how I am feeling, but otherwise we await the thyroid ultrasound in October to check for recurrence.  Sadly there is not a blood test for that.  Nor for melanoma, check for recurrence is by CT scan.

Well if you're still with me after all that, thank you. LOL  If you found that interesting in any way then thank you also, bravo!  

To me it is strange how it all works - sometimes I feel like a guinea pig, sometimes like a science experiment, and sometimes like a sick person who doesn't care about these details I just want my life back.  Regardless, we press on, doing what we can to figure out whatever we can, and we use tools such as these blood tests to make educated guesses about what decisions to make in my health care.   

Support Group - Coping with Cancer

Again last week I checked myself into the comfortable seat across from my therapist at the RVH Cancer Centre, at the urging of my loved ones: perhaps time for a little check-in with the outside (trained!) party who helped me through some very dark days this past winter.  

I have had therapy/social work off and on since I was eight years old, for an assortment of reasons (primarily for grief of fluctuating degrees, and divorce - my parents', and then many moons later, my own), so I am comfortable with the scenario.  

I appreciate receiving the opinion of someone who does not know me outside of that room.  Someone who can focus on what I am saying or portraying, based on my words, and not on their conceived notions of my whims over the course of knowing me prior.  Prior to cancer?  Prior to being smarter than I was when I was a teenager? 

Anyway... I opened the conversation with a glib "You know how you see your medical people regularly and everything seems great so you reduce your number of appointments and then the wheels fall off the cart? Well - my wheels have fallen off and I need your help."  

Hey, we only have an hour, I need to cut to the chase. 

We had a good discussion about my current state of treatment and health level - physical, mental and emotional - and I left with a couple of new tools in my repertoire to take to my family and discuss with them. (enter yawns here)   Please remind me I need to book another appointment to check in again in the fall as I should not leave it so long until next time.  

The support programs available at cancer centres are wonderful, accessible, life-changing for many.  Even though my employer benefits can augment emotional support with my diagnosis, I have not yet had to tap into that resource as OHIP/the cancer centre has it covered.  I am truly grateful for the support and I am glad I pursued this part of my therapy (couldn't procrastinate like I have with my lymphedema therapy).

I was invited to a relatively new support group they have started at Royal Victoria Hospital in Barrie, "Coping with Cancer."  Again, cutting to the chase, I immediately jumped at the chance, as I truly enjoyed and deeply benefited from the Support Group in which I participated in February, the "Legacy Group."  I got to discuss various highlights of my life span with an amazing group of women, and I feel I gained experience and friendship from them that I will cherish for the remainder of my life.

Today my daughters hung out at Gilda's Club next door to RVH while I met some new people with varying degrees of cancer-coping, and I left with new experience already, and a renewed sense of hope for my future, regardless of how immediate.  I even connected with a fellow melanoma patient, and a couple of people from closer to Meaford than Barrie.  I look forward to the chance that I may see these folks again and have the opportunity to share with them in the coming weeks.  

This small ray of hope may seem silly to people who know me (or do not know me) but have not experienced cancer, but I know you will trust me to say it is helpful. It is helpful.  

Even if it is only one hour every two weeks that I can sit in a room with people who share the same fear, anger, grief, sadness, or pain that I do, then it is one hour in which I can deal with my fear, anger, grief, sadness and pain.  I can just be me.  And who knows, maybe a better me will emerge from all of it.    

Reminds me of a blog post I wrote in April as a guest writer for saveyourskin.ca - Save Your Skin Foundation, a melanoma-awareness group from Vancouver with whom I am happy to have made a connection and hope to further build a relationship with in the near future. 

It was called One Melanoma Patient's Need for Community    At the risk of boring those who have already read it, I am re-posting it here, as it is still valuable to me, four fast months later.    

Today I am reminded of the feeling of relief I experienced this past winter, when I found a safe environment and the common ground I need.  This stupid sunny scorchingly hot summer I feel the same way:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One Melanoma Patient's Need for Community

I find it comforting to meet or speak with others surviving the melanoma maze. Visiting my cancer centre on a regular basis for all of my appointments and treatments, I sit quietly with my peers awaiting theirs, but I almost eagerly strike up conversation if someone even glances my way. I must startle some of these unknown strangers, likely appearing like some overzealous puppy jumping up to make friends, panting all over the place. I have plenty of wonderful friends already, but I seem to crave new friends. I want cancer friends, I need common ground.

Since my diagnosis and countless consultations with medical professionals of all types, I still find the greatest comfort speaking with others in the same boat as I am. We compare facilities and oncologists, pain levels, side effects, and remedies for improvement of our symptoms.

We are all there for the same reason, and we seem keen to exchange stories and curious questions about clinical trials and treatment options and number of surgeries under our belts. It is a strange language, one I have learned a lot about in the past year, but one that I believe I will never fully understand.

I have happened to have met three people with melanoma, but that's it. It is not the most common ailment along my traveled path. All cancer cases are personal of course, but I quickly learned that melanoma is even more a mysterious beast.

Melanoma patients are a unique breed, fighting a unique battle, and we need comrades on our side. Talking it out with someone with the same type of metastatic cells not only eases our psychological burden, but it lends hope to the fight. It reinforces in our minds and bodies that we may have other options to explore or other questions to ask our oncologists. There are other people ALIVE coping with what we are coping with, and they may be able to help.

Life raft thrown out! Even if for just one day, that is one day's worth of hope that I may not have had if I hadn't spoken with my comrade.

Online resources are a huge help also - when first diagnosed I was banned by my doctor from the internet, but now that I have learned more and I am more comfortable with the way things seem to work, I feel less panic about reading things online about my disease. Even the venting of fellow bloggers is comforting, I feel relief when reading their words and knowing that I am not the only one who is afraid or discouraged or angry.

I can sift through the medical terms and look past the statistics, and every now and then I find a nugget of information that sends me in an entirely different direction, usually uncovering another piece of my puzzle. Whether about melanoma or the likes of a new meditation technique, it gives me the feeling that there is something I can do about my situation, and that there are others who are doing the same.

I remember feeling when I was first diagnosed that I was walking around with a giant digital clock above my head, with large green numbers counting down to my expiry date. I felt I stuck out like a sore thumb, wore that clock around like a black cloud, wondering how to get it away from me. I ducked and dodged and denied until I was blue in the face, now I focus my energy on positive action, namely, writing or talking with anyone willing to show their community flag.

The clock seems to have faded this year later, but it is not gone. That is in part due to those that I have connected with, in person or online, that have said the same things I have felt, or that have experienced the situation I am in. Venting, learning, sharing: all coping mechanisms.

I trust my oncologists, but I gain extra strength when I speak to people who have walked the same steps I am being directed to take. I hear it repeated and think it is a good sign that I am not some entirely solitary being receiving a mystical treatment unknown to anyone outside of the chemical laboratory that mixes up my IV bag of potion.

Every day I push on, hanging out with my family and friends, going to my appointments, resting with my cat, and seeking the additional community that I need in order to properly fulfill my ambition to fight melanoma. I have to fight my individual battle my way, but I am also content to share that fight with others, either gaining from their perspective, or being able to help someone else in some small way. We are all neighbours on this ship, and I think we can paddle together to keep it afloat.

Natalie Richardson

www.impatientpatientmomma.blogspot.ca

Week 53

I think I got my grumps out in my last pity-party blog post, perhaps that was a little case of writer's block?  Thinking if I get that out of the way, I can write about the good stuff again.  The fact that I have gotten away from my writing hobby is an example of how disconnected I have been feeling from everything.  

I have mentioned before that I don't feel well, I am not myself.  I am not as quick or as clever as I was before, but, having said that I want to describe what other things I have been up to.  

As a typical Gemini personality I seem to be able to function on both sides of the happiness spectrum?  Comparable to a "functional alcoholic" perhaps, I maintain a "functional cancer patient" lifestyle.  I go out in public and people compliment my "healthy" appearance, but inside I am screaming UGH!!! I feel YUCK.  I cook meals and drive my kids places and do my errands, but I also go to my appointments and consume my prescriptions and bear countless needle pokes.  I should be grateful for all of it, and I know somewhere inside I really am.  

Until I am able to truly embrace that gratitude my plan is to keep busy with the stuff I have always wanted or needed to do.  Plan for the worst, hope for the best.

I have been busy indeed, trying to just live the life I keep complaining that I am missing out on.  Obviously I am not yet back to work, that is still a long way off.  I do not even complete this clinical trial until November, and there will still be plenty of physical and (obviously) mental work for me to do after that.  

I often fantasize about being back at work and happily greeting my old customers and then I turn around, visualizing the complicated weekly cashier schedule it is my responsibility to write, and I cringe... I know my co-workers would have a field day with my dim nature these days and my forgetfulness, and the debilitating fatigue which habitually turns to outrageous irritability.  hhmmm... I don't think I would last long back at the office, not ready yet. LOL They would eat me alive!!  Or I would eat them  Aaarrrghhhhhh!  ;-) 

I have been trying to think of how to explain the type of fatigue I am experiencing... cancer friends please feel free to comment!  It is some unique heavy-in-the-bones feeling that just stops me in my tracks at any moment.  I DO push myself all the time - I am more active now (especially with puppy and kid on crutches!?) than I have been in a year.  But there are days when there is just not a drop of energy left in any single one of my cells. At noon!!

It is physical but also mental, it is what makes me shy away from visiting at this time.  It is not that I don't WANT to visit my friends I haven't seen in forever... it's just that I CAN'T.  Yes, there is such a thing as can't, I know, because I am living it.  
I am easily (unexpectedly!) overwhelmed, especially by noise and commotion.  And usually I hide it, but suffer over it later. 
I DO push myself all the time, and it barely covers the bases.  I have to pace my activities and my timelines. If I had a full staff of housecleaner, cook, gardener, chauffeur, timekeeper, executive assistant, problem-solving Mother bandaid-applying stand-ins then I'd be laughing!  Yes please sign me up for visits in between my naps and lymphedema massages.  hey...this actually doesn't sound like a bad idea........

At the end of June I had my seventh of eight pacmen (ipilimumab) treatments, and at the time I had planned to write a blog post about how quickly time had flown.  I was being hard on myself for all of the things I had not accomplished that I thought I should have in that three month time span.  

Instead I turned my attention to all of the things I HAD accomplished, namely adopting our lovely chocolate lab puppers, getting some work done on my little house, and getting the girls through their very difficult school year of the awful grade seven. 

I had planned to list them but never did write it, somewhere between the insomnia and the broken ankle (Cassie's, not mine!) I have lost track of time and I am now closer to my next treatment than my previous one?  And my NEXT dose of CT scan water stuff.... bleccchhhhhhhh

 





<--- This is them, "encouraging" me to drink my huge bottle of hateful CT stuff while they drink their Pellegrino. *sigh*  ;-)











In any case, I have plenty of photos of what I have been spending my precious time on.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I have:

First off - hummingbirds!  I have never had a hummingbird feeder of my own, and one item on my summer bucket list was to get one, and more importantly, host a birdie at it.  Sure enough.. a few short days after I hung it for the first time, I got one!  We have a little hummingbird that visits every morning and every night (as long as I keep the liquid inside clean and fresh).  I managed to snap a little pic of him the other evening - not great quality but still, my first and happiest bucket list item - check! 

In May I had the electrical work done in my house that I have wanted to do for 12 years.  New electrical panel and all matching outlets all operational, modern, and safety-approved.  Happy camper!  

We did get away for a tiny camping trip, courtesy of Grandma and Grandpa Richardson we loaded up 3 kids, one dog, and all of our gear into 1.5 vehicles and took off to the land of no cell service.  It was great while it lasted...

Sadly this is where Cass had her longboarding accident and broke her leg, ending the trip in an operating room in Owen Sound.  

I have been teaching the girls Ukrainian, reading writing and spoken.  They are taking to it like fish to water.  :-)

I have been planning for a little renovation of our kitchen, including new cabinetry with drawers that will be easier for me to use, and new flooring without the grooves in it that trip up my heavy leg.  That should be happening in early Fall so stay tuned LOL  Here is a teaser of the flooring, cabinetry and countertop:

The girls had a little yard sale and lemonade stand one Saturday morning.  Went well and they did a great job!  Even got up at ssiixxxx  aaaaa mmmmmmmmm to set up.  Needless to say we did all nap in the afternoon that day. 

The other day I had an Arborist/crew in to properly prune the big trees on my property.  Another job that has been waiting for 12 years!  I am so excited to report that the trees are properly trimmed and are forecasted to continued healthy growth into the future.  Take a look at the before and after pics of our back yard-maker:

Oh and another bit of excitement here, Claire went on a trip out west with Scott!  They left last Sunday all loaded for deliveries in Winnipeg, Regina, and Saskatoon, then they loaded cattle in Alberta and they are now on their way home. She seems to be having a great time, Cassie and I have received countless giggly phone calls at all times of the day.  Scott may be ready for a break from pop music by the time they get home tomorrow? ;-)  

<---- I'm told she was allowed to get actually IN the truck LOL

Off they go!  --->

It has been an excellent experience for her, I have dubbed her the world-traveller and told her she now understands Canadian time zone changes better than I do (Saskatchewan is different in summer and winter apparently?). 

I have had a glorious (quiet) few days with Cass all on my own - the longest Claire and Cassie have ever been apart!  Our stress levels have decreased a bit, we have been able to bond with each other and the dog and cat, only having to agree with each other about our dinner menu (no three other bodies to interfere!) 

Just kidding... but we have had fun, and though I wasn't able to slip away on a little holiday this weekend I do not regret it, as I have been able to soak up my Cassandra.  We have had a couple days of movie marathons as well, she is a horror film buff, and TRULY one now that she has seen The Shining and Psycho! We watched those and then cleansed our scared souls with 80's comedies and romantic French films.

   

It will be nice to have everyone back under one roof next week... thankfully I go to Toronto and Barrie!!  ;-)   

The rest of the summer should be quieter..?  But we shall see.  Above all I hope to get to some writing.  And get Cass back on her feet, and keep from going broke with back to school shopping, and get some visiting in...  And and and...