Uncategorized

Hardest to admit

We came back from Carei. Now Dan is at the café, reinstalling the coffee machine and cleaning up the place. Although we did not leave any mess when we left, I stayed home with the intention of doing house chores. Instead I slept until 11. First I woke up early, then I realized I didn’t have to pull my leg. I am sick. Whatever I would object to, the reality check says that my body degrades despite my efforts of preserving it presentable. I was hungry and pealed some potatoes to fry with egg. More than that I do not have the strenght to do now. I noticed my slow movements, and I remembered my grandmother’s gestures, who was never afraid of the hot oil from the hot pan. These days I finally learned the difference between: lazy, sick and tired. Only after 54 months of cancer (4.8 years) I learned to accept  that I am sick and that when I do not know whether my armpits and backbone hurt more then my right femur bone, it’s recommended to give myself a brake; I’m not lazy nor tired, I’m just very sick, which is the hardest to...

Read More

How am I feeling?…

How are you? People expect me to answer: never better! And I often say that, but the truth is I never feel good. Since bone metastasis I feel bad or very bad. All the time! Besides the two occasions, in which, lately, I felt good, I don’t remember any other painless moment. Oh yes! I enjoyed those 5 minutes of painless  pleasure, when I felt no pain, just like the days before cancer. Imagine a bottle of water . In it, add 3 tablespoons of sand and 5-6 pebbles of different sizes. Now imagine that you’re moving the glass sideways and the sand shields the water, and the pebbles hit the glass sometimes harder, other times softer. Sometimes you really think the bottle will break and all its contents will be scattered on the floor. Well, that’s how I feel over the course of a day. A sand like feeling tosses and turns up and down inside my body, on my skin, under my skin, in my muscles and in my bones. Just like the stones that hit the body of the glass, I often feel a pain that tightens my body in one way or another. Then I can not even breathe because of the pain. I swallow my spit. I try to breathe. Sometimes I cry. Although I have this pain treatment, Fentanyl  and a number of pink pastilles of morphine, my body suffers. Whatever be the whether hot or cold, I sweat intensely all day, which is why I always have 1-2 shirts in my bag. Then comes the evening when I can finally go to bed. Now imagine how the stones and sand settle on the bottom of the bottle and the water is clear, so my pains seem to find a way to settle down. It is only when I stand lying in the bed, the pains disappear, BUT only if I’m still! Any movement can and will disturbe the peace of my body, so I learned to sleep in a single position: on my back, immovable as the Pharaohs. For fear of causing me pain, Dan barely dares to touch me with his fingertips and kiss me “good night” lightly on my lips. In the morning I wake up from the rigid sleep in which I taught my body to sleep and awake to face the pains that sat quietly...

Read More

I didn’t dare to say, but I was hoping

At the beginning of this year, 2017, my lung tumors measured 4 mm, 5 mm and 12 mm. I didn’t dare to say, but I was hoping that by the end of this year, cancer will exit the stage by Christmas just as, four years ago, it entered my life on December the 24th. All the odds were on my side! In May they noticed a fusion of tumors and a slight milimetrical magnification that got ignored, because in oncology millimeters do not matter, which, by June, grew into 2,3 cm. Then hell broke loose! The patient developed resistance to treatment. Again. The tumor grew at a hallucinatory rate of 2 cm per month. It’s been four months of agonizing rage in which my mind stuck. The progression of my cancer has manifested itself in everyday life. Cough, vomiting and fatigue began to surface again, but most of my days populated by biopsies, punches, medical letters, medical visits, analyzes, and travels for … dull paperwork, created the illusion that I have an active life; Just as active as the life of my tumors whom consciously, enlarged, month after month, by 2 cm per month. I stopped working out at the gym, I didn’t paint or write anymore because my whole being turned its eyes to my inside, where I watched powerlessly how, four months of bureaucracy, deleted two years of my life. At the latest CT on August 24, the results showed that my lung tumors have quadrupled their size and returned to the stage of 2015. One tumors measuring 9×2.8 cm and another measuring 1.2 cm. Oh! … On the other hand, brain tumors have not increased, on the contrary, one almost disappeared! Yey!...

Read More

Four weeks, five pulmonary punctures and a kiss*

Pulmonary puncture does not hurt. The complications hurt as hell’s flames. So after the first attempt, which failed, I confidently proposed to try again at Sanador, as I ment from the very beginning. Although I wanted a certain surgeon, two hours before the scheduled time of my consultation, it was canceled and ended up to consult with a former student of a surgeon who I fear like the mice fear water. I was very nervous after consulting with the young doctor who, for 150 lei, informed me that despite recommendations from my oncologists specialized in my cancer, she would prefer pulmonary resection. I got out of the hospital and on an outdoor in front of me I saw a black cat drawn and figure 13 and I imagined how God bites his lip and laughs in the cluttered clouds above me.  I had a new puncture withe the same surgeon and this time the puncture was excellent and we became friends. Four weeks, five pulmonary punctures and countless emails later, I’m almost ready to start a new treatment. Third line. Brigatinib. I flew to Perugia to meet with the new team of oncologists who wanted to know me before giving me the new treatment. So, Tuesday, I dressed up, I went to the Santa Maria della Misicordia clinic in Perugia at at 10 o’clock meeting with my new doctors. After I got through the labyrinth hall of the hospital, i reached the N building, I registered and waited in the waiting room until 13:40. I was finally received by the oncologist’s assistant who had ordered me in Perugia to meet me. Not the doctor, the nurse, along with which I filled out some forms based on documents already sent to Perugia by my oncologists in Rome and then Arrivederci! They will let me know when to return to Perugia for treatment. I’m a little dazed by all that meeting, which seemed to me to be useless. But all the bad can be good, depending on the angle from which you look at it. After posting this article, I’m going to visit the chocolate factory, the famous Baci Perugini factory! 🙂 *kiss – bacio – Bacio...

Read More

Roman adventure – part 2

One evening in Rome, I heard the music of Lenny Kravitz floating in the orange atmosphere of the sunset. That inspired me to shape that moment as I like it and savor it. I started circling the terrace where I heard the music playing. Lying in a chair, a large, smiling man, the owner, invited me to take a seat.  I thought it was a weird but cute invitation. So I sat in the shade, I pulled out my stamps, postcards and I placed the order. They say that positive thoughts attract positive things  based on the thoughts we think. Maybe that’s true, because just now, when I started to feel good in Rome, the waiter served me an extra croissant, on the house. Later that night, I met Lidia the owner’s fiancee, a Romanian girl from Botosani. We became friends instantly. Her company uplifted my days in Rome, and made the evenings that I spent at that same terrace in her company, with Dorian, her fiancee and Michele, the gardener, very cheerful. Then I heard from the clinic. I was amazed to find out that I have friends in Israel who believe in me more than I could imagine. So that I may live, they have found ways for me to get my medicine. Italian doctors even proposed to follow my case, scheduling a CT scan for September 15, when I have to come back for the next monthly treatment. On the last day in Rome before going to the airport, after I said goodbye to my new friends Dorian and Lidia, Michele accompanied me to the guesthouse. Michele is 70 years old, 150 cm tall and has small  and rough hands, just like those of my grandmother. When we parted, he looked at me lovingly and sadly and said: “Grandfather’s beauty” while caressing my cheeks with his tinny and rough hands. I felt my heart flooded by emotions. I never knew My grandfather, because he died a week before I was born… …but I hope he was kind like...

Read More

Roman adventure – part I

Ever since I became aware that, healthy or sick, time waits for no one, I find myself impatient to wait even for tea to color the water in my cup. Sometimes I panic when I notice someone is wasting my time. At times I even pulled the ” I have cancer” card, just to get things rolling. But really, I still HAVE cancer and time IS the most precious asset I have. I went to Rome to take my medication. Paradoxically, in Rome, as in Romania, oncologists are so immunized by cancer that they fail to understand the value of time for a patient. I arrived at the clinic and what was supposed to last 30 minutes, took a whole a week. Although we planned this trip months in advance with the italians, I met an unprepared team in bureaucratic terms regarding the release of my medicine. While in Germany, Hungary and Israel I only needed my ID, in Italy the day of my arrival I found that if I don’t have an Italian residence or an European Health Card they won’t be able to release my medication. It was about to brake into despair several times before noon, that day. I felt my tears trembling in my heart. Count to three, I thought to myself. Count to 10! Count down to 1000! I left the clinic without my drugs and without knowing whether or not I will receive them before I use up my Ceritinib reserves that I had for another week. I left the clinic and headed to the  Guest house where I rented a room. The next day I was back at the Polyclinic all without success. As bizarre as it sounds, Rome is not the city of my dreams, and now I liked it even less than before. The week I spent in Rome I met dishonest taxi drivers, rude waiters, vain doctors, demoralizing tourist guides. I wanted to come home! Yet time being precious to me, I tried not to waste it by bickering about it so one of those days I decided to do what I like to do: to write postcards while having coffee in a pleasant place. I bought some postcards, some stamps and I let intuition guide me by a not so fussy terrace overlooking the Vatican wall. And I did well...

Read More