The Liver Speaks

The chemo Tommy gun of cancer killing love.

She speaks softly, but she speaks. Today, during my second chemo, I asked to look at my liver levels and compare them to the readings prior to chemo number one.  There's been improvement.

Alkaline Phosphate, S has dropped from 286 to 257 (down by 19, normal high is 150), AST (SGOT) has dropped from 150 to 92 (down by 58, normal high is 40), and ALT (SGPT) has dropped from 124 to 85 (down by 39, normal high is 40).

One week of Taxol and Herceptin and my liver readings are improving.  Improving.  That's a bit of hope to grab on to and I'm grabbing it with everything I've got.

When I thought I was having gallbladder problems this summer (turned out that was the breast cancer in the liver), I named my gallbladder so that I could name the thing that was hurting me. My gallbladder is named Hilda and I thought she was giving me such pain. I would say Hilda is giving me hell. Turns out it was the liver giving me such hell.

What shall I name her?  Hilary, Ulla, Margeurite?  I think something soft yet kind is in order.  My liver is my friend. I want her to feel better.  Beatrice. I'll name her Beatrice, Bea for short. This was my great aunt's name on my father's side. She was a woman I greatly admired for her kindness, independence, and chutzpah to live life on her terms and without a husband. Beatrice was strong, kind and giving, qualities I am hoping to which my liver will return.

So Beatrice is feeling better and emotionally so am I.  Thank God.