Scenario: Kristina emerges from a few months of chemo-fog and has a freak-out about the high mortality rate for her type of cancer (40% chance of it returning, 35% mortality in the next 5 years.) Kristina then starts obsessing about bucket list items. Which bucket list item do you think Kristina chose?
Booked a trip to Costa Rica
Enrolled in a holistic wellness retreat in California
Adopted a puppy
Bought a house
If you’re looking for the 5th option, “all of the above”, you could someday be right! I’m not ruling out any of those things. But for starters…what do you think?
I figured out my dream! I had a dream about a wildcat a few nights ago and I’ve been obsessing about it ever since. I wrote about it and shared what I wrote during my cancer support writing group. I talked to various people about it, and I was considering calling my coach about it (I work with a coach occasionally, not regularly).
In the dream a friendly wildcat kept coming to my house. The cat was huge like a lion; low, long and sleek. She was reddish-brown on her back and beige on her belly. She had a friendly lion-like face and a long tail.
The wildcat would show up at my house to visit me, and I would take her back to the preserve where she belonged. She kept showing up at my house. I kept taking her back to the preserve.
Each trip to the preserve got increasingly difficult, snowy and steep. On the last trip, right at the end of the dream, my car slid off an insanely steep snowbank. It looked as if the cat and I would continue off the far side of the road and right off the cliff.
When the car came to a stop at the edge of the cliff, the wildcat stretched herself from the back seat and put her face into mine, and looked at me with intense love. I realized I loved the wildcat because she so obviously loved me. I didn’t want to keep making the increasingly treacherous journey to return her to the preserve. I just wanted to let her stay with me.
What does this dream mean? Presumably the lioness is a part of me that I keep pushing away out of a sense of duty. I kept taking the wildcat back to where I thought she belonged, even though it’s not what either of us want. But what exactly does she represent, and what would it mean to let her stay with me?
Wildcats often represent courage and power, and specifically this was a she-cat, a clearly female power. My cancer support group thought my dream was obvious – that I was repressing (taking to the preserve) my inner feminine courage. Ok, fine, maybe, but why would I be doing that? And in what way was I don’t that? And what, specifically, could I be doing differently instead? The symbolism may have seemed obvious, but the conclusions were not. There were no actionable implications.
Am I lacking in courage? Certainly there are risky things that I am deliberately choosing not to do. Like confronting past injustices. Or buying California real estate in the middle of a pandemic. Or doing much of anything in middle of the pandemic, for that matter.
But I don’t think that carting a wildcat off to a preserve represents some sort of Freudian repression of my female power, as neat and tidy of an answer as that would be (especially to a support group, lol).
The answer came to me as I stepped out of the shower and noticed a few blemishes (hives? mosquito bites?), which made me think of someone I know with cancer worse than mine. Last time I talked with my friend she had hives, and she was uncharacteristically upset about them, afraid they meant she was going to die soon.
I’ve been watching this friend go on and off chemo (like me, her body hasn’t been handling it well, except her chemo rounds are more powerful and more difficult than mine were). I’ve noticed when she’s on the chemo she’s teary and fearful. And when she’s off it she is incredibly outgoing and hilarious. Cutting-edge funny! The chemo changes her personality like night and day. And it was doing the same thing to me. It was the chemo causing the fear.
It’s a great disservice to patients that mental changes are not on the warning labels of a lot of the chemo products. My caring, but young and inexperienced doctor was shocked and baffled that the chemo was causing me significant mental issues. We were completely unprepared for it and had to research it ourselves – with help from a retired psychiatrist (a friend of mine), and another doctor (my sister).
I kept taking the rounds of chemo because it was the right thing to do – like continuing to make the trips delivering the wildcat to the preserve. Two weeks on chemo, one week off, two weeks on, one off. Each trip down chemo road banished my inner courage to a preserve. And the trips were getting more and more dangerous for both me and my wildcat. We were sliding in the snow, and nearly slid off a cliff.
Now my wildcat is back home, and hopefully she can stay with me for a long time. Until we both leave this earth together.
By the way, these pictures are all ours – John took them when he went on an amazing trip to Africa a couple of years ago. If you would like any of these at a better resolution (or any other pictures on my blog), just email me.
We are very grateful to my mother-in-law who stepped up to care for our dogs for over a month when John and I went to Boston for my surgery. We had very little time to plan ahead, and we appreciate she could take them on such short notice.
This time we have more time to plan ahead – although our future is uncertain. My cancer could come back, and if so, I would be a lot sicker than last time. In anticipation of that possibility, we would like to try to do some traveling soon – while I know I still can. Either way – whether it’s cancer reoccurrence or bucket list fun stuff, we could use longish-term help with our dogs.
They are both old and very well-behaved. They just lay around all day. They don’t need walks if they have a yard. They’re friendly, cuddly and tend to do fine with other pets.
We’re looking for some sort of long-term pet-sitting arrangement or even adoption if you’re interested, with the caveat that this offer is only open to people we know or people known to them. We want to stay in contact with our pups; we feel like they are ultimately our responsibility. We are happy to offer a monthly payment as well as supply food and cover the cost of grooming (needed about every 6 weeks).
Here’s Kai in his natural habitat, chilling out on the couch (or your lap if you let him).
Rosie prefers to spend her lazy days sleeping on the floor.
She’s looking at me, like, “What? I was napping.”
If you’ve been feeling a little lonely lately, I have two sweet old pups for loan.
Now I just need to google “cancer and chocolate” until I can find an article that says chocolate reduces cancer also! (It sounds like it probably does slightly, but you’re better off eating your vegetables).
The tendency of humans to seek information that confirms their existing perspectives or desires is one of many interesting psychology quirks explored in a book I’m reading called, “The AI Does Not Hate You.”
The whole quote is, “The AI does not hate you, nor does it love you, but you are made of atoms which it can use for something else.”
The book is about whether there is an actual risk (no matter how slight) that an artificial intelligence system could wipe out human existence. Except there’s not very much in the book about AI systems at all. Mostly it draws heavily from philosophy (esp. rationalists), as well as psychology, sociology, probability, religion, etc. There’s a lot of decision theory. There’s discussion of autism, altruism, and even cults. The book is all over the place, but overall, it’s quite interesting.
I like the author’s approach, because he’s not clearly convinced one way or another and therefore it doesn’t feel like he’s forcefully attempting to convince the reader of anything (I dislike preachy books). He basically just says, “Here’s what some people say, and here’s why, and here’s the science behind it; here’s what other people say, and why, and the science behind that…so, what do you think?”
This blog post is going to be more on the serious side. It’s difficult to write (and may be hard to read), but I decided I really do want to write about this.
I finished my cancer treatment. Now what? During treatment, I was pretty much just focused on getting through the treatment. We had to figure out where to have the surgery, we had to get out there (Boston), we had to get into the system, get set up at Emily’s house, get records sent, get seen by doctors, get more tests, get the surgery scheduled and get it done before the hospitals were overrun by COVID patients and quit doing elective surgery (anything that is scheduled, including cancer surgery, is considered elective).
After the surgery I was basically incapable doing anything, or even thinking very hard about anything for awhile. The chemo treatments were rough. All through that struggle, I hadn’t really thought a lot about my long-term future.
I am relieved to be through the treatment stage. Now that it’s behind me, I’m starting to look forward. But I’m not fully and unconditionally celebrating. That’s because the likelihood that the cancer would come back is actually fairly high.
I haven’t mentioned the statistics before, although some of you may have googled it because I have given you specifics about my diagnosis before; Stage 3 colorectal cancer, T3N1. It appears that I’ve got about 60% chance that I’m completely cured of this cancer. And about 40% chance that it will come back within the next few years.
Average statistics are strange when applied to an individual. For me, it’s not 60/40. For me, it’s either going to come back or it isn’t. If it does come back, the average survival rate is very low. Maybe like 5%. All together, my current chances of dying within the next few years of cancer is about 35%. So dying soon is not the most likely outcome, but it’s actually reasonably likely. One in three.
Generally, I think it’s healthiest to assume the best. Most of us live most of our lives as if we will live forever. But I also think that it would be smart of me to put some thought into the question of – what if I only have one or two good years left? What if I won’t be here in 5 years? What would I do differently? Should I actually start doing those things now, while I can? Something that’s 35% likely to happen – seems like it might be wise to do a little planning for the possibility.
I don’t have a bucket list. I enjoy doing fun things in life, but I’ve never felt like I had to see Paris or the Galapagos Islands, or had to try sky diving. I also don’t have a big career goal or other life endeavor to finish. My children are grown and doing well.
I coach a few clients, and they are important to me, and I feel like what I do is meaningful. But the clients come and go. They work with me for several weeks or months or a year or two, they make progress (almost always they do make progress), and then they go on and do other things. There’s no endpoint or big project completion for me; the clients just cycle through.
I like camping and hiking, sailing and kayaking. I like meeting friends for lunch at cute little cafés. Outdoor patios have been my favorite for decades, long before COVID changed our opinion about eating indoors with strangers. I like music concerts and botanical gardens and walking on the beach. I like sitting in my own backyard with friends and family.
Prior to cancer I had planned to meet a Bay Area friend in Palm Springs and then we were going to go to the Bay Area together. I had planned to spend some time with Laura, getting rained on and looking at early spring flowers, just like we did the previous year. I had been thinking about visiting northern relatives in the summer. I also had wanted to make it out to the Pacific ocean, which is at its best in late summer. Late summer is also when Laura’s huge, old fig tree goes bonkers and I had wanted to make it out to Laura’s house to help her dry and preserve her yummy figs.
I don’t have ambitious goals. I’m not even sure how to write a bucket list. Before I die, I want to…what? Stay at a bed and breakfast in Taos? Hike in the Gila mountains? That doesn’t sound bucket-list-worthy.
I’m thinking maybe:
Make cookies more often.
Throw out that dish soap that I hate the smell of, rather than continue slowly trying to use it up.
Buy that ridiculously brightly-colored braid rug that will look good absolutely nowhere.
Order East Indian take-out more often.
What kind of bucket list is that? Maybe I should just pick something that sounds bucket-list-ish. A trip to Barcelona sounds good. Or Phuket? I don’t know. I made a joke about the Seychelles recently. Would it be worth two days of travel each way? Probably not. Plus, COVID. Can’t travel. Nobody’s even letting Americans into their country, for good reason, because we’re too dumb and stubborn to wear our masks and social distance and quit going to parties and shit. So whatever.
I sort of want a puppy. But what if I’m not going to be around for very many more years? I’d be saddling John with a dog for the next 15 or more years, and he’s going to want to retire and travel.
I’d like to spend time with my young nieces and nephews. But what if I’m not going to be around very long? Spending time with nieces and nephews is an investment in the long-term future – which I may not have. Plus, COVID. Can’t travel. Although I did promise Emily’s kids I’d be back soon. I certainly expected to be. But what if? Oh god, what a thought.
Should we go ahead and move closer to family now, even though it’s really not a good time buy a house right now? (And where is “closer to family” anyway?) The Bay Area? Should we buy the “dream house” now, at what is probably the peak of the market, and leave John in debt to a house he wouldn’t even want in a few years? In theory we could rent, but try to rent a house in the Bay Area with two dogs right now. It would take divine intervention. Plus, if I’m going to die, I want a private pool first, damn it!
One of my favorite authors is Jhumpa Lahiri. She writes mostly about what it’s like to be from India, living in the US. There’s a short story I read a long time ago, that’s come back to me recently. I don’t remember the title at the moment. But it’s about a man’s adult children struggling to accept his second wife.
When the man’s first wife died, he went to India to find another wife, and brought her back to the US. His new wife was of a lower education level and class, and his adult children treated her badly. They remembered their own mother; educated, beautiful, graceful – everything this lumpy country woman wasn’t.
The new wife missed India. Her friends back in India thought she was amazingly lucky to have married a rich man and moved to the US. But she was very lonely in her big, beautiful house in the American suburbs, which had been built for the first wife. When the first wife had been diagnosed with cancer, her husband built her the beautiful house with a pool, and she enjoyed it for a year or two before she died, swimming every day for as long as she could.
That story really stayed with me all these years, not because of the first wife’s cancer and her desire to have a beautiful house with a pool before she died, but because of the second wife’s loneliness in the wealthy US suburbs, far away from her friends and family and communal lifestyle in India.
At night, in my dreams, there’s almost always a lot of people around, friends and family gathered for some sort of vacation or event. There’s kids, and there’s dogs, and there’s chaos. There’s people needing to borrow cars to run errands, or borrow forgotten clothing items. There’s things that need fixed, like broken floorboards or fences to the keep the dogs in, and people like John trying to fix them. And neighbors stopping by with food or gifts, or maybe having found a lost dog or wandering toddler.
And almost always in my dreams, I have a baby. If I don’t have a baby myself, I’m taking care of someone else’s baby. Although most recently, it’s been my baby, not anyone else’s. The last couple of nights the little guy, a two-year-old toddler, has been a challenge. Last night he was eating carpet fuzz. And pleased with himself. Stop it! Geez. I cleaned the carpet fuzz out of his mouth but there was more, and next thing I knew, I was pulling cotton batting out of his mouth, in a long rope, as if I were pulling it out of his intestines. (Hmmm…that sounds a bit like a reference to the cancer.)
They say that dreaming about babies means there will be a new endeavor, big project, or new phase in one’s life. That sort of sounds hopeful, but no matter what happens, I’ve got a new phase in life coming. It may be a wonderful new phase, or it may be a short and very difficult new phase. All I know so far about my new phase is – he’s busy eating carpet fuzz?
Just a quick note to let you all know that I am feeling better! Some days I seem to lose all the progress I’ve made, but slowly I AM making progress. I think it’s just going to take a long time. But it’s a relief to feel some improvement.
We’re going to be without cell reception or internet again this weekend; have a great weekend and I’ll write more next week!
My sister, who is the doctor I trust the most over all the other doctors in all the world, read my last post and texted me that chemo does cause fever. And she has a good description of why.
She says “It happens all the time from the body’s inflammatory response to cell death.” Yikes. Cell death. That is what chemo does. My sister is very down-to-earth and straightforward and tells it how it is.
She also said that it’s less likely to get a fever at the third month instead of the first month, but still quite possible. The other likely possibility is that this isn’t the first time I’ve had a fever. I hadn’t regularly been taking my temperature.
The reason I took my temp a couple of weeks ago was my appetite abruptly disappeared, which has NEVER happened in my entire life (except when acutely nauseous of course). It’s the bizarrest thing, to feel so negative about food for days on end, for no apparent reason. John would fix various nice things trying to get me to eat, and it was like he was handing me a piece of paper and expecting me to eat it.
When my appetite completely disappeared like that I was astounded, and my shock prompted me to take my temperature. Because like, what in the world was going on, right? I no longer want food. Was the world coming to an end? But I could have had a fever for the entire last three months, for all I know. I never thought to check.
We talked with both doctors, my regular doctor yesterday and a specialist from Seattle today, and they are in agreement; I’ve done enough chemo.
Their reasoning is similar. I was presumably cancer-free as soon as I had the surgery at the end of February; the chemo was just to reduce the chances of a reoccurrence. The first three months are the crucial months, it matters less after that. There’s only 1%-2% difference in long term outcome for 3 months vs 6 months treatment. I’m having a lot of problems with side effects and the risk of permanent damage from the chemo outweighs the slight increased risk of reoccurrence.
The only thing the specialist said that was different than our regular doctor, is the specialist wondered why the heck my cancer center didn’t have me test for COVID when we called to tell them I had a fever. She said, “Chemo doesn’t by itself cause a fever.” Something was causing the fever and she would have wanted to have figured out what it was. It’s true that the chemo was probably hindering my body’s attempt to deal with whatever was causing the fever – but that’s all the more reason to figure out what was causing the fever!
My cancer center did check for a urinary tract infection (which I didn’t have), and they did the standard bloodwork to checks for signs that I wasn’t handling the chemo well (for example, my white blood cell count was low but not hospitalization-level low). But other than screening for a UTI, they didn’t really look for infections and they didn’t have me test for COVID.
The other thing they didn’t do was take any precautions in case I had COVID. They routinely check everyone’s temperature on their way into the center, but since we had called and said I had a temperature, they put me on a special list to admit me with a temperature. Huh. And then they treated me the same as everyone else. Masks are required, 6-feet distancing requested but not enforced in any way, busy waiting room, etc.
I don’t have a temperature anymore so I’m not going to bother getting tested for COVID now. But in hindsight I should have done so two weeks ago. In hindsight it seems crazy not to have gotten tested. But we reported my fever immediately to my doctor and followed their instructions. I thought the chemo was causing the fever along with everything else. I’ve been quite sick and chemo has been the reason. The fever was just one of so many symptoms I’ve been dealing with since starting the chemo.
I know the rest of the world is understandably hyper-focused on COVID, but my life has been revolving around cancer. Cancer is the problem, cancer is the reason, cancer is the fight I’m fighting. For me, everything is colored not by COVID but by cancer and the effects of the chemo.
I’m just going to continue to lay low for awhile and hope to feel better soon. I already feel somewhat better. No more fever, no more headaches. I still have a messed up GI system, no appetite, no energy, tingly hands and feet. And chemo-brain.
My brain is chugging along slowly, the same as the rest of me. I feel stupid, listless, apathetic, timid, confused, anxious. I’ve lost my spark; I don’t tell funny stories anymore, I don’t crack jokes, I’m not creative or playful or proactive. I’m no longer trying to constantly improve everything around me. I just wander around trying to remember to do basic things like move the laundry from the washer to the dryer. Chemo brain is the hardest symptom of all of them for me, and I hope I improve soon.
One thing I have noticed, is that I don’t feel celebratory. Whoo-hoo, I’m cured of cancer, no more chemo! Right? Except not. I feel unsure and vaguely uneasy. I feel a little bit like I failed chemo. And I have more things yet to do – CAT scans and bloodwork every 3 months, and yearly colonoscopies.
There’s no real end point, like a graduation, or getting the job or buying the house. We’re just in the next phase – waiting. Waiting for the chemo side effects to slowly diminish, waiting to do the next set of screenings, waiting for it to not come back. I don’t feel done. I won’t really ever be done. After awhile the frequency of the screenings decrease. By roughly around 7 years from now my risk of cancer reoccurrence will be down to the same as everyone else’s risk of cancer. Is that when I celebrate?
Certainly I should be grateful, grateful that I have no known cancer at this time. But that’s been true since the last day of February and it’s been a hard several months since then.
I’m cautiously happy about the idea of things getting easier over the next few months. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be quite the same again. I’m sobered by the whole experience. I can’t say I ever really trusted the future and I certainly don’t anymore.
I should be grateful for being alive, but I don’t want to just be alive. I want to be lively. I want to be funny, flippant and clever. I want to be confident and benignly capricious. I want to be sexy and snarky. I don’t want to be the old woman peeking out her window at a big scary world. I want to be the teenager who thinks she’s going to save the world.
But first I’m going to go dump some crushed pineapple and spices into a vanilla cake mix and hope for a better outcome than the last time I tried to make cake. And maybe I’ll even eat some of it. Or not. Or maybe I’ll just continue to sit in my hammock under the pine trees and remind myself how lucky I actually am.
That’s what I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now. I’ll feel better tomorrow. Or the next day. Any day now I’ll rebound from the effects of the chemo – which I last took back on June 10. But instead of getting better during this break, I’ve mostly gotten worse.
My GI system’s been a mess – undoing progress I’d made since surgery. I’ve had migraines day after day. I’ve had a fever for a week and a half. I haven’t had an appetite in a week and a half either. I sleep a lot. I have nightmares.
At one point they had me go in to the cancer center to get bloodwork done to make sure I didn’t have neutropenia, which is low white blood cells. If I had neutropenia, I would have been admitted to the hospital, given antibiotics and something to boost bone marrow production. My counts were low, but not too low. So they cleared me to start the next round of chemo.
And I was like, what? No, seriously? My options are either being admitted to the hospital or cleared for more chemo? That seems to be the protocol – no balance. No adjustment, no modulation. They just drive it as hard as possible until you’re in failure mode, then go to heroic great lengths to make sure the patient doesn’t die of the cure.
I was still so obviously sick – I figured I’d wait a day or two until I was at least a little recovered first before starting the next round of chemo. That day or two turned to three or four days and then a week. My “recovery week” has stretched to two and a half weeks now, and I’m still not significantly better.
Am I done with chemo?
It’s been 3 months, and there seems to be a difference of opinion about whether I need 3 or 6 months. We would love to get a second opinion because we don’t have a lot of faith in our doctor in Albuquerque. She’s not very experienced and isn’t even a specialist in colon cancer. She seems to be just following the protocol. I’d like to be able to consult with someone who knows enough and is experienced enough to make some judgment calls, and do some troubleshooting and customizing.
Another doctor, a colon cancer specialist at a prestigious center in Seattle, is the cousin of a coworker of John’s, and she has emailed us this:
“…most folks have moved to 3 mo of chemotherapy for low-risk (T3N1) stage 3 colon cancer. The difference in DFS is only 1-2% for staying 6 mo and may be less for an individual patient. On the limited info that you have given me, I don’t see the rationale to necessitate 6 mo (though that was the standard up until ~2 years ago).“
This specialist was initially willing to give us an appointment and a second opinion, but it her department has a policy limiting her ability to offer telemedicine to states that aren’t adjacent to Washington State. It’s not about insurance – our insurance already said they’d pay (and we’d it pay ourselves if we needed to). It’s an internal policy. So she can’t do a records review or provide an official second opinion, but she has very kindly offered to call us for an informal chat. We are looking forward to that on Tuesday. We also speak again to my current doctor tomorrow.
Meanwhile, here is a very good and very relevant article, in case any of you like to read some more technical information. (For reference, my diagnosis was stage 3, T3N1.)
If you don’t feel like reading that article, I don’t blame you. Here’s a picture of my orchids in the kitchen window at night. These are all second or third blooms, from orchids I bought for my office last year and the year before, when I was working in Santa Fe. There was a Trader Joe’s across from where I worked, so I would walk across the street and buy an orchid when I was having a bad day. The orchids are doing very well this year.
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Choose any currency."},"invalid_curency":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Please choose a valid currency."}},"recurring":{"placeholder_text":"Recurring","initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"How often would you like to give this?"},"success":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"How often would you like to give this?"},"empty":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"How often would you like to give this?"}},"name":{"placeholder_text":"Name on Credit Card","initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Enter the name on your card."},"success":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"Enter the name on your card."},"empty":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Please enter the name on your card."}},"privacy_policy":{"terms_title":"Terms and conditions","terms_body":null,"terms_show_text":"View Terms","terms_hide_text":"Hide Terms","initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"I agree to the terms."},"unchecked":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Please agree to the terms."},"checked":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"I agree to the terms."}},"email":{"placeholder_text":"Your email address","initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Enter your email address"},"success":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"Enter your email address"},"blank":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Enter your email address"},"not_an_email_address":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Make sure you have entered a valid email address"}},"note_with_tip":{"placeholder_text":"Your note here...","initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Attach a note to your tip (optional)"},"empty":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Attach a note to your tip (optional)"},"not_empty_initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Attach a note to your tip (optional)"},"saving":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Saving note..."},"success":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"Note successfully saved!"},"error":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Unable to save note note at this time. Please try again."}},"email_for_login_code":{"placeholder_text":"Your email address","initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Enter your email to log in."},"success":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"Enter your email to log in."},"blank":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Enter your email to log in."},"empty":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Enter your email to log in."}},"login_code":{"initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Check your email and enter the login code."},"success":{"instruction_type":"success","instruction_message":"Check your email and enter the login code."},"blank":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Check your email and enter the login code."},"empty":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Check your email and enter the login code."}},"stripe_all_in_one":{"initial":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Enter your credit card details here."},"empty":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Enter your credit card details here."},"success":{"instruction_type":"normal","instruction_message":"Enter your credit card details here."},"invalid_number":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card number is not a valid credit card number."},"invalid_expiry_month":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's expiration month is invalid."},"invalid_expiry_year":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's expiration year is invalid."},"invalid_cvc":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's security code is invalid."},"incorrect_number":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card number is incorrect."},"incomplete_number":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card number is incomplete."},"incomplete_cvc":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's security code is incomplete."},"incomplete_expiry":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's expiration date is incomplete."},"incomplete_zip":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's zip code is incomplete."},"expired_card":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card has expired."},"incorrect_cvc":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's security code is incorrect."},"incorrect_zip":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's zip code failed validation."},"invalid_expiry_year_past":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card's expiration year is in the past"},"card_declined":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The card was declined."},"missing":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"There is no card on a customer that is being charged."},"processing_error":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"An error occurred while processing the card."},"invalid_request_error":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"Unable to process this payment, please try again or use alternative method."},"invalid_sofort_country":{"instruction_type":"error","instruction_message":"The billing country is not accepted by SOFORT. Please try another country."}}}},"fetched_oembed_html":false}
