whoa..

I can live with this. Sleep has returned, absent the steroid juicing of last week. Jan and I took a nice walk Sunday on the USU campus. The campus is beautiful this time of year, in full leaf and quiet. The latter, as a former faculty person, is disquieting and makes me think that not enough is probably being demanded of the students. Then I recall that in many ways USU is a commuter campus--the kids are often just a few hours drive from mum and dad, and they also are otherwise occupied on Sundays. So we had the walk to ourselves. Belying the recession, there are several large construction projects underway. Sunday was the first day in which I felt like retiring after breakfast for a nap--which I did--and then felt the same way in the late afternoon after our walk. It hasn't happened again, but I suspect will as the chemo cycles mount up.

Looking for energy I have decided that I will get my hour's practicing done in the mornings now. It is too easy to feel like not picking up the horn in the late afternoon. That has worked well so far, but I note that my facial muscles seem to be fatiguing earlier in the practice session. Well, I guess if fatigue is a hallmark of this process, and the facial muscles will not be excluded. Again I need to dip into the Psych books and recall the value of distributed practice. Given a friend's visit yesterday I did just that and it seemed to work out well: practice 30 minutes, put the horn down for 30 minutes, and then practice 30 more minutes.

A principal reason for writing today is a couple occurrences in the realm of perception--the inexactitude of feeling and reporting what your inner responses are. The first happened on the way to our walk on Sunday. I found looking out the car window almost painfully bright, particularly so when looking at the fluffy white cumuli that were present then, but also houses painted white. One of the little chemo-prep books that has been given to us calls this "photophobia" , a term I take exception with. I am not in any sense afraid of bright light and phobia implies a real fear. Did I avoid it? Yes, I turned my head away because it was painful, so that part fits the definition of any phobia, but not the fear component, which as often as not is thought to be irrational (by those who don't have it). Anyway, that is academic nit-picking. Suffice to say the phenomenon appears real. It is as though the chemo sharpens one's senses. I have noticed this also with respect to food. Perhaps because I am eating relatively smaller portions, mostly veg, and not simultaneously imbibing, foods taste much more intense. Again, though, we have the conflation of the chemo drugs, taste aversion recovery and a host of other possible variables.

Because we have come across some anecdotal evidence that green tea with all its supposedly great cancer-fighting, micro-ingredients may counteract the Velcade, Jan is feeding me herbal teas during chemo-admin weeks. The books say lay off the green tea three days before and three days after chemo = a week. So we've been there and done that, though I am decidedly not a fan of herbal teas!  Well, yesterday was my first cuppa in a couple weeks. I went for some Earl Grey that we got in Canada at a tea merchant that we order from.  In 30 seconds I was flying! I could not believe it. I have never felt that powerful an effect from tea, let alone coffee. Once again, an apparent interaction betwixt my new altered state and other common chemicals. Today, I went for a mild Japanese sencha, and after a couple cups, feel pretty normal. So I don't know whether the effect was specific to the Earl Grey or the first cup back on schedule. Ah, sweet mystery of life.

Things alimentary (or in Dr. Suess's words, Thing 2). I have been debating whether to disclose this, but openness suggests I should and this blog is nothing if not open. Chemo is also associated with bowel upset, either diarrhea or constipation. For me it is the latter. I have never worked this hard in my life, to the point where I am somewhat unnerved by the process. As you know, the strain of evacuation involves the Val  Salva manoeuver--pushing down through one's abdomen--which is a great lowerer of blood pressure. This has never bothered me before. After all, some would suggest that trumpet playing involves some continued degree of val salva. This last few days, I have seen the stars of low blood pressure. Am I worried? Hell, yes. My paternal granddad, James Leonard Osborne, had his second and ultimately fatal heart attack in precisely this activity. He was 76 or so. I love prunes and was off them during the chemo week but am now ingesting 4-5 every morning. But when are they goihg to kick in? If not soon, I will seek help from the OTC pharmacoepeia.

A reminder about where we live and why we live here: What more can I say about the solicitousness of our friends and family that I have not already said? They are everything to us.  But on the environmental side of things: a wonderful fall rain is pattering on the roof and the clouds are thick and low across the valley. Out the window I see a yearling doe and her mother not a hundred feet away examining our tomato patch. They look to be in wonderful shape. We will see more of them as they vacate the high country. These are treasured moments.