Tracie Fights Back

That’s a painful header, but I’ve got blisters in my mouth and throat that feel worse than the worst strep throat I ever have suffered. I’m loath to write about more pain, but that’s the cycle I’m in. I keep waiting for another adventure, or something funny to happen to me, but when chemo and drugs seemingly blister one’s esophagus and digestive tract it’s hard to find the humor in anything.

So here I sit with a sea salt gargle, unable to eat solid food.

With one chemo left to go, my will to repeat this two weeks from today is running short. Isn’t the cancer gone by now? Does one more really make that big of a difference? But you’ve only got one more, Tracie. Why would you not complete what you started, especially when you’ve come this far and endured so much? Buck up, Buckaroo.

It’s so hard.

Three months ago I could spin at the gym, power walk four miles without breaking a sweat and drink shots of tequila until 3 a.m. Now I sit on the edge of my bed in the mornings wondering if I even can get down the stairs to my spot on the sofa. On some days I just give up and sink back into my pillow.

This is what the verge of death feels like, I imagine, and it’s a scary place. I saw it in my dad, who passed from prostate cancer four years ago. I saw it in my mom, my inspiration, who has survived two rare types of heart attacks to swim and go to the gym again.

So I spend my dark hours making promises to myself: you will be fit again, you will practice moderation, you will stay positive, relaxed, and meditate on a healthy body healing itself forevermore. My friend Tony says I’m Steve Austin and will return – rebuilt and renewed — faster and stronger. I like that thought and pray it’s true. I’m going to add “smarter” and “more mindful” of what goes in and on my body.

There’s a story in the NY Times today about the conflicting studies performed on potential adverse health effects caused by disphenol-A, or BPA, the chemical used to create plastic bottles. It’s an endocrine disruptor that can act as hormones do and, some say, can cause breast and prostate cancers.

Sen. Dianne Feinstein wants it banned, but the chemical lobby is strong. The European Union has banned it as a precaution. Better safe than sorry is their attitude. But there’s a line in the story about the US approach that made the few hairs left on my arms stand on end: “The United States takes the opposite approach: chemicals are not banned unless there is proof of harm.”

We all know that “harm” can take a lifetime of to figure out through exhaustive tests and anecdotal evidence. Meanwhile we are this generation of guinea pigs of the companies who profit by making and unleashing unproven chemicals and other adulterated substances on our planet. (I repeat my plug here to avoid bovine growth hormones if you drink milk. They are linked to breast cancer, yet dairy farmers are allowed to use it to boost production. Read the carton labels to find rbgh-free.)

So today I’m in pain, angry and need a target so I’m going to blame corporate greed for my blistered esophagus. It’s not just meat and plastic. I found known carcinogens among the ingredients listed on an “organic” face cream sold at Macy’s.

My blistered esophagus and I are (so-far) living proof that the price we sometimes pay for beauty and convenience can end up being neither a thing of beauty nor convenient.

I wore my wig (for just the second time) to Michelle's bday dinner pretending to feel better than I did. I had to stop and rest on this bench on the way to the car. M's mom is in the middle.

PS:
I couldn’t take my trial drug pills today. I just couldn’t get he Lapatinib horse-sized tablets down my throat, which seems swollen. I missed them once during the last round too for essentially the same reason. But my goal is to take them tomorrow, or maybe tonight if the pain and swelling subsides.

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