The Days and Nights of Catherine Evermore

We do this bit by bit. We let others into our lives … our private nooks and crannies and secret places. We trust that they are who they purport to be, just as we are honest about ourselves. Then it begins.

We share our deepest thoughts and feelings. We allow others to see our good and funny and thoughtful and sad and intelligent and grumpy and vulnerable sides. We are multi-faceted, I suppose.

We share phone numbers and addresses and emails and screen names and birthdays. We discuss family and friends, as if we all lived in the same neighborhood. We share photographs and Web cams and voice chats and phone calls … things meant to bring each other into focus … into our real world.

We trust. We love. We give. We take. We get angry. We misunderstand. We get hurt, and then we give it one more try hoping to make things better.

We cry for ourselves because we feel stupid and silly and cheap and used and tossed aside as if we never existed, and we wonder if we will ever trust again.

We do and so it begins as if it never ended. We forgive and move forward; oftentimes, we forget. We are, after all, just human beings.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

My friend asked me how I am doing in my new role as a cancer survivor. Good question. Thankful and grateful certainly comes to mind.

Each day is different. There are days when I feel full of energy that might last through the morning. On these days, I do early morning errands and return home before noon. I rarely go out in the afternoon.

There are days when I have no energy at all, so I stay inside and watch old TV shows, movies, or read a book. Sometimes I take a nap.

Yesterday, I weighted myself and I’ve lost 35 lbs. since March (when I started chemo). Because I don’t exercise on a daily basis, on the days that I make it to Target I do a few laps around the store. It’s been too hot to walk outside as I have to wear something on my head, long sleeves and pants. I refuse to wear socks now that I’m no longer going for chemo.

I’m still using a cane for balance.

Food is of little interest. I’m a terrible cook. Seriously. I am. Some foods still have no taste while other foods are tolerable. For the longest time everything tasted like metal. Now it just tastes blah.

I’m alive. I have the normal fears that the cancer might return. Today, I have a sore throat, so I’m constantly checking for swelling on the side of my neck. That’s how I found out I had cancer. A lump.

My hair is trying to come back but it looks more like baby hair than anything else. I wonder what it will look like when it completely grows out? It doesn’t look like I’m going to be a redhead (not that I ever was).

So, that’s where I am today. Alive. Cancer free. Thankful. Loving and loved.

~Catherine

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

I won’t say that the form of cancer I had will never come back, but after six rounds of a very aggressive form of chemo and four PET scans my prognosis is very good.

In fact, I won’t see the doctor until the end of October, my port will be removed in the next few weeks, and a CT scan will be done in six months.

That’s a whole lot of grateful, thankful, and Praise God from where I’m sitting.

Life is truly good!

Catherine

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

Six months ago, I had long blond hair. Today I am bald.

Just before I started chemo, I had my hair cut short. Less than two weeks later, right after my first chemo treatment, it started to fall out. It started coming out in clumps, so I got a buzz cut that was actually quite cute. Within days what little hair that was left fell out.

That was before I lost my eyebrows and long eyelashes.

When I go outside, I wear a scarf or a cap. When I’m inside, I take it off. Lately, I’ve been removing whatever is covering my bald head while inside a store. Most always while at the cancer center.

I walk with a cane because of poor balance. The state handicapped sticker on my car is temporary, but it is a huge help when I go to the store.

I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize myself. I know. I know. It’s just hair and it will grow back. This is true. I’m not that vain. However, it is difficult to see how I look today compared to six months ago.

We won’t talk about the weight loss. Nearly 30 lbs. to date.

We won’t talk about the numbness in my fingers and toes.

We won’t talk about the eye floaters that popped up on the day of chemo #5.

We won’t talk about the constant lack of energy and inability to sleep more than 2 or 3 hours at a time.

What I want to focus on are the results of my last two PET scans. No visible signs of cancer. My next PET will be week after next. I’m praying for the same results. No visible signs of cancer.

I have completed six rounds of the most intense chemo known to man. It has killed off everything – good and bad. Every 21 days I have spent hours at the cancer center hooked up to all kinds of infusions. The port in my chest has been a lifesaver.

Every Monday, I have shown up for lab work. The week after chemo is the most difficult because the results are very low. I’m sick for at least 10 days and slowly regain some strength. Food tastes like metal so I don’t eat much. I call these days the 10 days from hell. They are.

It is now time to move on to the next phase of this journey. In just a couple of weeks, after my next PET scan, I will meet with my doctor and she will lay out a plan of action for the next several months that will probably then become the next several years.

I know that it will take time for certain side effects to go away and even longer for my hair to grow back. The numbness in my fingers and toes may never go away. There is no guarantee.

As difficult as it has been going through chemo … and there have been times when I wanted to give up … the support that I have received from family, friends, and the cancer center got me to where I am today.

There are no words for the sense of gratitude that I am feeling today.

Catherine

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.