Tonight's the first night since my chemo last Friday

that I feel up to writing, and I'm grateful for that. I'm not going to write much about the experience of getting the chemo or my side effects, except to say that the anxiety of not knowing how the chemo would be was much, much worse than how it's been.

If you're one of my girlfriends and we're out for drinks some time, I'll share the subject of "Chemo and Your Period" which has really been its own frightening adventure, but I'll also understand if you need to quickly change subjects.

I guess I will write a little about the week, since I haven't had the energy to pick up the phone or answer calls: I've just had very little energy. Like when you feel a flu coming on, but it's not quite there. Sunday I did feel actual flu-ish for a while, then Monday morning I had acupuncture and it really helped ease the toxicity out of my body. Then Tuesday--today I've had sort of normal mornings of low energy and by afternoon sometime (3-5PM), I just want to lie down and fall asleep watching Oprah.

But now it's almost 7PM and I'm feeling okay, so my sense is that the "bad week" is nearly over and I'll get to have two more normal weeks before the cycle starts again on May 22. I'm 1/4 way through my treatments; 1 down, 3 to go.

And I'm honestly trying not to get down about feeling drained because I'd prefer to focus on what the chemo is doing in my body: its job. Killing any stray cancer cells.

And not to mention the sheer gratitude I feel to the doctors (Western and Traditional Chinese), researchers, scientists, patients, teachers...who have made it possible for me to get a chemo infusion, walk away from it drained but not incapacitated, and rid my body of cancer.
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Gratitude. There have been moments during all this breast cancer mess that I've been overwhelmed by feelings of it.

Like last Thursday night, the eve before my chemo. Fred was upstairs giving the kids a bath around 6:30PM and I went downstairs to wait for my friend Amy who was driving down from the Poconoes to go to chemo with me at 7AM in the morning (oh yeah, we showed up at Fox Chase at 7AM but my chemo didn't actually happen until 1PM...that's another story to share while drinking).

I was in the kitchen and walked into the mudroom to put some groceries in the pantry. Out my back window, I saw my brother-in-law Greg in the back of the yard. I went out to see what he was up to.

He was planting me a garden, with romaine, peppers and tomatoes. My victory garden, he said. There aren't words for how I felt when I saw him doing that. He knew I wanted to put in a garden this summer and his thoughtful surprise delighted me beyond belief. Anytime I've been a little sad this week, I do think about my garden and Greg surprising me and how the kids can watch the vegetables grow and how we'll pick them and chop the tomatoes which George will want to eat as is and how I'll show them how to mix them into a salad, our fresh vegetables with just a little olive oil and maybe lemon and for sure some salt.

I stood chatting with Greg as he turned over the ground for my victory garden and the sun started setting and air was pure perfect springtime, the last April night, and I noticed how the trees outside of my back fence stretch into the night sky, making a sort of canopy.

Amy got lost once she got off 309 so we stood there, waiting for her for a while, and my anxiety about the next day fell off me quite a bit, settling deep into the earth.
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And there are so many more amazing things, small and little, that everyone's done for me since I found the lump, had surgery, waited for chemo and started chemo. I'm going to try and list them now and I am sure I'll forget a lot of things, so if you have done something to help me and I don't acknowledge it, please chalk it up to chemo brain.

Some of you have given us money for babysitters. Some of you have given us money for house cleaners. Some of you have made wonderful meals for us and some of you have given us Whole Foods cards. Some of you have watched the kids for us, some of you have traveled to watch the kids for us. Some of you came to surgery with me. Some of you came to chemo with me. Some of you came to my healing and circle and hundreds of you have prayed for me.

Some of you gave me a red ribbon for my wrist, some of you gave me cards with mishaberach blessings, some of you have made me inspiring slideshows I can watch again and again on my computer. Some of you have burned CDs for me and some of you have bought CDs for me and all of the music has lifted me at moments when I can't connect with language but only want sound.

Some of you have sent me flowers, which I always love, some of you have given me lavendar bath and soap and lotion and salts, which I always love. Some of you have given me pretty clothes and one of you ordered me the Obama Pajamas ("Ojamas") that I had been longing for (and which fit perfectly).

Some of you came out for drinks with me and some of you met me for coffee. Some of you talked to me on the phone any time of day and there were lots of conversations where it was all about me and that's not how I usually roll, so I'd like to acknowledge that.

Some of you sent me jokes, and really, I still need them so keep them coming. Some of you wrote me hilarious memories of us from 20+ years ago (keep them coming too). Some of you sent me uplifting notes on my Facebook wall, some of you caught me online and we chatted a bit.

One of you, my sister Julie is walking in the Susan G Komen walk in my honor, this Sunday.

It is all quite overwhelming to list.

This is the list that has been in my mind this week, all of this giving that is growing deep in my victory garden.
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Okay, one more side effect: I can't really taste anything. It started Sunday, my tongue started getting white and numb. For a gal who like to eat, this sensation has been really strange.

I make my coffee every morning but I don't actually drink it; I take a few sips and throw it down the sink. I make some ginger tea and that goes down better.

I eat fruit to help wash out the toxins and mostly bland,light stuff...clear soup is good.

What I feel eating this way is actually an incredible cleansing. It's a diet that I had always hoped to try for 3-4 days here, 3-4 days there but frankly never had the discipline to pull off. The caffeine withdrawl alone seemed impossible for me (Confession: I am a Yom Kippur coffee drinker. So there).

Without the caffeine and adrenaline that normally runs through my body, I felt a kind of evenness and calm come through me and a mental clarity as well. I haven't been able to push myself to do things, to charge that adrenaline, and so it just staid at rest.

So this is both an unwelcome side effect (every few hours I play an esoteric game with my appetite, like imagine a glass of merlot and a cannoli in front of me and imagine the sensation of drinking/eating them so clearly that I wonder if I could actually taste something but then a ritz cracker still makes me gag...)but also a welcome effect: this steadiness, calm and clarity is something I'm embracing and would like to hold onto, even when I'm tasting food (and drinking coffee)again.
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So love to you, whoever you are and wherever you are, and really, don't worry that you haven't heard from me and know next week may be different but also I am really doing well at taking care of myself and getting through this wonderful chemo.