I had my third infusion of paclitaxel, ending my first round of my third line treatment today. I now have a week off, which will be much appreciated.
This round went quite well; I only took one benadryl and no ativan, so I managed to stay awake long enough for lunch with Diane and my daughter afterwards. Then home to a nap, interrupted a number of times by youngest son who had a flat tire that he was trying to get fixed. Apparently Volkswagen no longer gives out with their VWs, that crank that loosens lug nuts, so he had to go to the VW dealer to get the lug nuts loosened sufficiently to go back to the tire company and get a replacement tire. But, of course, tires should be replaced in twos I am told, so he will have to repeat the process tomorrow for the second tire. So, nap sufficiently disturbed after the 5th phone call, I got up and visited with friends who came to walk the dogs.
I still have my hair, which is cause for amusement and rejoicing but also concern. Does this mean that the chemo is not working in other ways? Or is my hair, sufficiently immune because of the insults endured while I was on Tarceva, the epdermal growth factor inhibitor? Curious minds would like to know this.
My daughter made dinner and we watched episodes of Sex and the City, a tv series I've never seen before today. I showed her the open letter to the law school Dean posted in 1975 that I wrote about in the post before this one, so she could decide if any progress has been made in the relations between the sexes, and it was concluded that yes, there has been. Always room for improvement, however.