First Dose and Jamsasterous

I am going to attempt to post this while I still have two brain cells to rub together. I beg your patience and understanding if there are errors. Apparently pumping your body full of a powerful chemo drug won't make you feel really great. Who knew?

There is remarkably little to report. I went to Karen for PT this morning and she worked her magic. The hour flew by, as usual.

From there we went to Lesley's house. I got to meet her adorable new dog, Blossom and Serafina came over and brought her new puppy as well. I had some doggy love, friend love, and ate my lunch. I had some lovely bone broth borscht my dear neighbor sent over for me yesterday. A powerful nutritional boost before treatment.

Before I knew it, it was time to go. Into the cancer center and check in-- not one word was said about, "please step into the business office" or "please sign this" so my assumption is that the insurance company came through.

Upstairs I had blood work. I didn't have my favored phlibotimist, instead a woman who neglected to let the alcohol dry before sticking me, but this hardly even registers anymore. Back to the chemo room and in a chair. Here we go.

I had a nurse I've never seen before. She was a cheery lady and quite pleasant. Cleaned off my port, put on the freezy spray and off we went. Because I am already taking the steroids, they don't have to give me that.  Also, there is apparently low risk for allergic reaction, so they don't give the big bag of Benedryl that they usually do. I got a shot of some gold-plaited anti-nausea drug and then straight onto the Gemzar.

It is only a thirty minute infusion. I am apparently fortunate that it can go into my port as it burns when they inject it into a vein. I'm good with that.

I loaded all  my talismans into my pockets this morning. I put Wolfie and and my family picture in my lap, plugged my ears, and spent the infusion time focusing every ounce of my energy on channeling the the chemo to the cancer and total remission. I called on every prayer, positive thought, guide, inner guardian, and anything else I could think of.

Then it was over. I got a flush, some Heprin, and a cheery Taz band-aid and we were on our way.

I feel okay. Fatigued. A little achy. A little weak. I'm going with that that means it is working.

To back track to jam. Over the years, I have made a lot of jam. Some years more jam than good sense would dictate. More jam than the Duggars could use up in a year. After this much jam, I can almost make it on auto pilot. But one thing remains consistent: the first batch is always a big, giant mess.

In a "normal" year, the first batch would have been long ago. June with strawberries, then on to raspberry, blue berry, mixed berry, plum, fig, and others. But as my jam making has been curtailed this year, last night was the first batch. Perhaps doing this right after the housekeeper cleaned the kitchen wasn't the best plan.

Apparently, plums are easier to pit when you've neglected them in a bucket for a few days to slowly start crushing each other under their own weight. When you jump right on them, they are less co-operative. So I stood, shoulder to should with Karina and my sister and we pitted plums. And miraculously, they came out to exactly 12 cups.

It was a nice feeling to work beside them. Despite standing for so long, I felt no fatigue, no need to go and sit. I will admit some sadness, though. As they bantered, I could not join in. I can sign to Karina, but that requires both of us stop working. Hands covered with plum juice are not conducive for note writing. So my witty quips or additions to the stories went unheard. But this is the way of my future. And frustrating or not, it beats the alternative.

After experiencing how challenging they were to pit, I should have run the plums through the food processor, but I did not. We ended up having to crush them while they were boiling using the stick blender. Because nothing says fun like splattering boiling hot plums with a stick blender all over your white-subway tiled kitchen and yourself.

Everything went swimmingly after that, or so I thought. Got the jam into the jars-- exactly 12 half-pints as expected. Lids on, rings on into the canning pot, and set the timer. The hard part is over. This is the easy part, right?

Ding. Ten minutes are up. Pull the lid off the canning pot and... big mess. The lid came off a jar in the pot. It is a swirling boiling pot of murk. Hard to see the jars to fish them out. Sticky, icky mess.  And, as could be predicted by having all the mess in the pot, the seals are fouled. Only four jars made the happy pop noise. Usually if I have jars that don't seal, I just clean the seals and put them back in for another five minutes and that generally does the trick. But the canning pot is full of slop. I would have to clean it out, or use my other one, and bring all that water back up to boiling. At that point you are playing with some food safety issues. No one wants that.

So I have seven half pints of plum jam in the fridge. They will keep about three weeks. If any of my Eugene peeps are interested in some plum jam and can use it up in three weeks, please come take some.

Fortunately, Angie says there are still plums. I can try again. The second time is less messy and I'll double check the lids. And still I got to make jam with my sister and my daughter, which no one can take away from me. That makes me happy.

Keep thinking those anti-cancer thoughts and cheering on the meds. I am going to escape into sleep and do the same. My deepest thanks to all of you for the amazing support. I can feel the love.

Until tomorrow...
Kiara