Gratitude, Grit, Chemo, Courage, Wins & Woes

One Week Post-Chemo: The Wins, The Woes, and The Waterworks

But before diving into the usual chaos, I want to take a moment to highlight something incredibly important to me: GREAT medical care should look like this— As I reflect on the care I’ve received throughout this unexpected and challenging chapter the kind of care I’ve received, and continue to receive, from Dr. Levine, Jen, and the team in New York should be the gold standard. They have set the bar impossibly high, proving that not all medical experiences have to feel like an episode of Survivor: Chemotherapy Edition.  Their unwavering commitment to my well-being has been nothing short of extraordinary. Please take a moment to read the letter, sit with it, and truly absorb it. 

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When the System Fails:  Finding Care and Compassion Beyond Massachusetts

Dr. Levine, 

Your kindness, attentiveness, and willingness to personally reach out to me have been a source of immense comfort in a time when compassion has often felt like a rare commodity. Your shock and concern upon learning the details of my diagnosis, and your immediate response, reminded me that I was heard and seen in your care. 

Jen, Kim, and Alex, you have all contributed in meaningful ways, showing professionalism and warmth that go far beyond the standard. Whether it was answering questions, coordinating care, or simply making me feel like a priority, your actions have spoken volumes about the kind of team you are—one that values empathy as much as expertise.

To know that there are medical professionals like you who approach their work with such heart is both humbling and reassuring. I feel nothing but gratitude for your care, which has set a high standard for what every patient should receive. Thank you for everything you’ve done and continue to do. You have my deepest appreciation.

Jennifer

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The Rollercoaster Continues

It’s been one week post-chemo, and let me tell you, this past week has been a ride. Some moments have been manageable, others… not so much (looking at you, chemo, you relentless bastard). 

Now, let’s get into the real talk: the wins and the woes.

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🎉 The Wins

ü The continued support from Dr. Levine, Jen, and the care from New York. Again, folks, this is how it should be done! If I had a gold medal to hand out, they’d be getting one.

ü Anne’s meatballs and dinner on the table. Because nothing says victory like a home-cooked meal that I didn’t have to cook myself. I would write a poem about these meatballs, but I think I’m still too emotional.

ü Zoe, Jake, and I went to the new Mane and Mani at the Northshore Mall. This is now our official Hano go-to spot. They were excellent, and I love a place with no clutter—so clean and new, like a high-end spa run by a Leo with OCD. A solid 12 out of 10! I even had enough energy to enjoy our outing, which is basically like winning an Olympic gold medal at this point.

ü Winston’s flowers from Margie. How can you not love Winston’s? It always brings back such amazing memories of my wedding (yes, mine—Chip was there, but I’m the flower addict). I think I’ve successfully converted both my daughters into flower lovers as well. My work here is done.

ü Citrus is still the MVP. A little citrus, alternating with food, and I’ve got the metal taste under control. It’s a delicate dance, but so far, I haven’t lost to Chemo the Menace.

ü Monday duets and Tuesday reformer classes. Always make me smile. Why in the world would I have empathy for the torture I put them through in Pilates? They pay good money for that, and frankly, watching them suffer brings me joy. And I was able to do one duet Wednesday morning before my body called it quits, and I will now face the woes.

 

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🤬 The Woes

  Ø  Chemo nausea—like a twisted pregnancy déjà vu. This current wave of chemo nausea feels eerily like when I was pregnant with Zoe—constant belly grumbles, that unmistakable mouth-watering pre-puke sensation, and the eternal question: Should I eat or should I not? Spoiler alert: The second I eat, I feel better… for approximately five minutes before I puke, and the cycle starts all over again. The past 48 hours have been nothing but a delightful game of eat, regret, repeat.

Ø  The great liquid exodus. Thanks to Chemo, my backside has apparently decided to turn into a full-time waterpark. A constant flow of liquid with the occasional surprise nugget plopping out for dramatic effect. It’s like my body is confused—am I fighting chemo, or did I accidentally sign up for a juice cleanse from hell?

Ø  And speaking of unfortunate bodily functions... I cannot, under any circumstances, risk passing gas. Why? Because let’s be real—at this point, it’s less "breaking wind" and more "activating the sprinkler system from my back door."

Ø  Chemo—he’s such an asshole. Hair and nails are super brittle. Rash on my forehead. Nausea is more controllable but always lurking, waiting to pounce like Krysti and LC at 6:30 AM Wednesday morning in our game of GOTCHA—because whoever gets there first is definitely lurking in the dark, ready to pounce.  (BTW, I think I am leading this game 6 to 4)

Ø  My tongue and Lips still feels liket they are either on fire or like I’ve licked a freezing pole (insert image of Flick licking flagpole in 1983 film"A Christmas Story") 

Ø  Tried to lay down and do some reformer. That was a hard no. Ended up with my face in the toilet. Shout out to Sherri, who swooped in and covered for me while I had a brief but meaningful moment with the porcelain throne Tuesday morning.

§  ⛔Note to self: Laying on the reformer to exercise is on temporary hold unless I suddenly develop an affinity for barfing mid-movement.

Ø  IBS-C vs. Chemo: Battle Royale. We are going to just let them duke it out for the next year. If there are any major milestones or life-altering changes, I will let you know. Otherwise, we’re tabling that conversation and letting them battle it out in the shadows like an underground fight club.

 

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Challenge Question

Is Anyone Out There: I NEED TO KNOW

What’s Your Go-To Food When Your Stomach is a Disaster?

If there is one food or drink that tends to make you feel better when your stomach is an absolute mess, let me hear it. And no, I don’t want recommendations from Grandma’s Guide to Fixing Your Belly. I want to know what has actually worked for you.

Now, don’t start running to McDonald’s for me, but I just ate a McDonald’s hash brown, and it felt like pure magic in my stomach. It has stayed down and it’s been 3 hours! WIN.  But remember, this will change. My stomach is as fickle as a toddler in a candy store.

So tell me—what’s the most unexpectedly helpful thing you’ve eaten when your stomach was in full rebellion mode? No textbook answers. No ginger, ginger ale, soup, or queasy drops. I want the weird, the funny, the surprising. Not for my chemo survival kit—just to make me laugh.

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💀 Final Thought

Oh, and who are all the sweet, anonymous commenters?  I wanted to make it easier for everyone to comment, however I am going to have to remove the anonymous option from commenting unless you sign your name.

Hey, I’m being completely transparent. I need all of you to do the same. If you’re going to suggest fiber, at least own up to it so I know who to haunt if things go south.