Trying to live a normal life, even when I don't

As a cancer patient, my calendar is full. A recent week featured a CT scan and a blood test to monitor the effectiveness of drug therapy and to be on the lookout for any new invaders.

Any of the appointments can bring good news or bad.

Some friends wonder whether the roller coaster of having tests and awaiting results fills my days with anxiety.

For the most part, for me, it doesn't.

As I resume my normal routine, including eating all those longed-for foods -- egg rolls for breakfast, lunch and dinner -- I often forget that I have metastatic breast cancer.

Only when I tried to wear a favorite pair of jeans did I realize I'd lost 15 pounds in a couple of weeks, bringing me back to my high school weight of 105 pounds. Zipped and securely fastened, the jeans promptly fell off. I must admit, I had to laugh.

During the consultation with my oncologist, I did voice concern that I could ill-afford to lose another 15 pounds or go through more of the dehydration brought about by one recent course of medications.

He quickly agreed and re-assured me that this time on the magical meds, we'd lower the dose and adjust the number of days when I'd take the drugs vs. when I'd give it a rest.

A big grin spread across his face as he reported the scan results.

Mentioning my peeling fingertips -- another common side effect -- to illustrate his point, he said, "That's similar to what we're seeing inside your body, too.

"The evidence of tumors is tough to read. They look like they are peeling or fading."

I gathered my purse and "The Saturday Wife," the newest book a friend in Israel wrote. I'd contributed a couple of anecdotes to it and my signed copy arrived just in time for me to bring it along to my appointment -- more proof of how "normal" my life was.

The next day, I still weighed 105, but at least I had a good book to divert my attention from falling jeans.