Back to School

After an amazing summer and back to school for my daughter, I finally sat down to review my editor’s comments.  With great feedback, I’m ready to get cracking on making my memoir publishable.

Though she loved it, I need to move things around and make corrections.  Beginning with her structural review, I’ve started making changes.  Can’t wait to get through this round and see where it takes me…

Thank you for your continued support.  Let’s stay in touch!

Patricia

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As Summer Passes Too Quickly…

I’m anxious to get started on revisions to my memoir following my editor’s comments and having been away for several weeks on a beautiful European vacation. It’s tough to work during our short summers and a part-time job does limit my availability. Soon though… soon.

Hope you’re caught up on my posts whilst enjoying your summer!

Patricia

My New Journey

So this is where I get off… to embark on a journey that will be difficult yet exhilarating.  I am so excited about sharing my news about having hired an editor to help me with the next chapter – the preparation for publication.  

So although I will be seizing to post every Tuesday (there is much much more you haven’t seen), I will keep you abreast of the developments in the coming months with respect to the editing of my manuscript (like if I start pulling out my hair!)  In order to put all my attention in preparing the final copy, I hope to have your support throughout this important process. 

There are so many aspects to publishing a work.  Setting aside the writing, there is a cover to think about, the right title, where to publish it, how to promote it, etc…

For newcomers and for those who are not up to date, please take this opportunity to head back to December 2015 to begin reading the journey of my cancer diagnosis, treatment, and recovery, and what I have learned about myself and my life.  Feel free to post comments and start conversations, and I will be happy to join in.

Profoundly appreciative of my followers and readers, I promise to provide an inspiring, well-written story of my experience, with the aspiration that it will send chills of hope to each of you. 

Thank you again.

With love,

Patricia

Like Nothing

When the nurse would try to prick my arm, it was usually difficult.  This particular time, when Howard was with me, he and I chatted casually as the nurse attempted six times to find a vein.  She finally connected me to my lifeline, and left me with all those taped cotton balls devouring my forearms.

“What a champ!”

“When you’re doing chemo, it seems your veins don’t want to be found.”  Would you blame them?  Chemotherapy hardens the veins, so they become smaller, and are hard to pinpoint, even with a needle.

Howard smiled at the downplay.

Though I seemed brave, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  There was some pain as the nurse searched for a vein that didn’t give her trouble, so it distracted me from my conversation with Howard.  Even today, when I receive my B12 injections, and the nurse asks me if I’m alright, I let her know, “You never get used to it.”

“It was very nice of you to come today.  I’ll never forget it.”

 

Stay tuned for an important message next week.  Hope you’ve been connecting in some small way with the story of how I got through cancer…

Be well,

Patricia

Poison In My Veins

My brain flourishes with images of my insides dying when receiving chemo.  The cells are attacked and become breathless, like ants in an ant trap.  I am disgusted as I watch the liquid being pushed into my tiny veins.  Treatment after treatment, it was proven that this was too much for my little body.

The nurses would come by to check on me or to change the medication from anti-nausea remedies, including Benadryl, then to another, then to a rinse, then the chemo, and finally another rinse.  The other patients in the long, narrow room all had their own little space;  and, aside from the occasional glance and warm smile, we each kept to ourselves.  It was generally quiet, but you could hear the nurses sharing their personal agendas amongst each other, and asking their patients questions about pain levels and symptoms.  The sounds of the machines ticking as they released medications, the ripping of packages for new needles, or the tearing of tape to cover the injection site made me cringe, because they reminded me of where I was and what was circulating inside me.

Mariano usually helped me to extend the seat before he left, and the nurse eventually brought me the vomit tray without my having to ask.  The popsicles we’d bring in a cooler that were to be sucked on during the actual chemo injection would bring chills to my already shivering body.  The popsicles were supposed to help stop the mouth sores.

When my husband would return, he’d always ask if I had eaten the popsicle.  I’m not sure if the frozen treat ever helped, so sometimes I would leave it for him.  I always got the sores, and they tortured the inside of my mouth for a week.  Even the rinse they prescribed didn’t wash them away until many days later.