Insurance

Insurance is defined as (simply):  protection against something going wrong.

Last week when I saw my Rad. Onc, when she told me I did not have cancer, that my cancer was removed from my body on May 31, 2012 when I had surgery, she also told me to look at chemo and rads as “insurance”.

Protection against something going wrong. Like, say, my cancer coming back (either local or metastatic).

So now this word “insurance” is stuck in my head.

Many years ago I was involved in a car accident (not my fault). My car was totaled. My insurance company paid off my loan, paid for my ER visit and subsequent physical therapy. There was even a few bucks left over for money towards a new vehicle. I paid my insurance and my insurance took care of me the way it was suppose to.

Alan and I have medical insurance, we pay into it monthly and as a result they help us with medical bills. They help us cover the cost of all these medical bills. (I don’t want to get into the money part of cancer but let me just say this: that shot I got the day after each chemo? $15,000. Each. 6 chemo’s, 6 shots. You do the math).

So you see, having insurance is a good thing. It helps. Without it we would sink into a deep whole of debt that we could never recover from.

But my point is, we pay for insurance and when something goes wrong we use that insurance to help us out.

So…chemo and rads. My insurance. I have paid for this with money. With sweat. With tears. With fatigue. With nausea. With every ounce of energy I had. Worst payments ever.

I have paid my dues (18 more rads to go).

So who pays if something goes wrong?

Me.

Happy News.

Wow! All I can is “wow”! I have had a fantabulous Birthday weekend and I just want to share it with all of you…I have given you all a lot of sad news/bad news/angry news over these last 8 months, so here is something to make you smile.

Starting with last Thursday, Dec 13, my official birthday. I had a lovely lunch with a dear friend I don’t see enough of. Luckily we chose a place to eat that will bring you a free “birthday” dessert but doesn’t sing and dance and make you feel like an idiot. It was good to spend time with her, just to sit and chat and be able to taste a yummy meal. There was one moment during lunch where all hell could have broken loose…but didn’t. It was a very funny moment for Lynn and me but for you…well, if I explained it, you would just be left scratching your heads. Lynn has been a strong voice of reason for me these last months, our friendship is precious.

Alan and Michelle presented me with cards and new charms for my bracelet and we had a lazy night eating breakfast for dinner and just chilling out at home.  Peaceful, calm. Family.

On Friday I went in for my radiation (9 now done, out of 34) as usual and then saw Dr. M. for a bit. Every Friday I see her after radiation. I worked up the nerve to ask her if I “had” cancer or “have” cancer. As far as I can recall, here is how the conversation went:

Dr. M: Oh no, you don’t have cancer anymore. There is every indication that all the cancer was removed from your body on May 31, 2012 when you had your surgery.

Me: But there was cancer found in that one lymph node…

Dr. M: Yes, but only in one lymph node…

Me: (interrupting) But they only removed one lymph node…

Dr. M: Yes, and the cancer found in that one lymph node was so microscopic that it is highly unlikely it had time to spread to another lymph node. And as you finish up treatments you will be scanned again…

Me: (interrupting) But I have never been scanned. Except for my brain and that was because my vision became blurry…

Dr. M: I scanned you. When you had your mapping done you had a CT Scan done of your torso. I can see all your lymph nodes and upper internal organs. There is no indication of cancer anywhere in that scan. If there were a few loose microscopic cells floating around in your body the chemo would have taken care of them, and if not the chemo then the radiation will finish the job.

Me: So all this treatment is for “just in case”?

Dr. M: Yes. When radiation is over I will give you a certificate that says NED on it. No evidence of disease.

Me: So I don’t have cancer.

Dr. M: No Leah, you don’t have cancer.

I don’t have cancer. Happy Birthday to me! Merry Christmas to me!! I will take her statement on faith and believe it is true. What other choice do I have??

And then there was Saturday. Best. Party. Ever. It is hard to surprise sneaky, micromanaging, nosey me. But there were definitely a few surprises. 40 pink balloons? Surprise! The hugest “40” cake in the world? Surprise! Pink luminaries lining the street in front of my house, my driveway and my front walk? Surprise! My brother and sister in law ringing the bell? Huge Surprise! There had to have been 40+ people in my house that night. Multiple bottles of wine finished, laughter, food, happy children. I couldn’t have asked for a more special night. And micromanaging me didn’t have to do anything. Even on the day after when I was reminded how horrible feeling hung-over was, Alan shooed me off to bed while he cleaned up.

I really thought this Holiday Season (including my birthday) was going to be a bust, but I was so wrong. I couldn’t be happier. I have everything I need, everything I want.

Including evidence of eye-lash regrowth.

Happy Birthday To Me

So…I turned 40. Yep. The big 4-0. In the past I have been one of those people who would say “sure feels good to be 28” when I was really 38.

But not this year. I am 40! Thank God, I have lived to see this birthday.

Reality check people: having a birthday is a good thing. A really good thing. And I won’t ever take another birthday for granted, or lament the fact that I am getting older. The alternative to getting older is not an option.

Turning 40 actually makes me laugh a bit. This is the age when most women get their first mammogram, and here I am, with no more mammo’s to gram.

Once again, I find myself thanking my troublesome boobs, so problematic that I had my first mammo at 25, and my last at 39. All those benign lumps and bumps helped to save my life. By the time I had my last mammo, getting a mammo (or ultrasound) had become routine.

Knowing myself as well as I do…I would most likely have been on the phone today with my Gyn saying “I’m 40 now, schedule my mammo!”

It has been 8 months since my diagnosis; imagine what havoc these aggressive HER2+++ cancer cells would have done to my body if say…I found out now that I have breast cancer. What a mess that could have been.

What a freaking mess.

I am done with messes, thank you very much. I am done being a mess. I am happy, I am in a good place, I love and I am loved.

40 is the new 20. It is time to celebrate folks!

Have Beer...Will Ramble.

I suppose now would be a good time to ask one of my oncologists if I have cancer. Or have I had cancer? I am never quite sure which it is. Have or had? I don’t know what cancer feels like; I only know what the treatments for cancer can feel like.

It’s an odd question, I know. My mom would say “Leah, you are cancer free”, and she is probably right. So while still undergoing treatments for cancer can I honestly say that I don’t have cancer?

If I honestly believe that the surgery took all the cancer out of me, then is everything else prophylactic? Is it?? Huh??

It sure as hell better be.

Because, while feeling really good mentally and physically right now, I am so over it.

Mostly I am over looking like a cancer patient. I am tired of the head scarves; I am tired of the missing eyelashes and eyebrows (and the eyelashes...they are still falling out). I am tired of looking in the mirror, although I am an expert at not seeing certain things when I look in there. Seriously.

And, after 6 radiation treatments, I am over radiation. According to my rad onc, I am an “early reactor”. Which is big time medical jargon for…my skin is already pink. And I’m sore. Don’t bump me.

But I will keep going, for now, because I haven’t received permission from anyone (Alan, Mom, Mike) that I can stop…

On a good note…I’m still in chemopause!

Oh, haven’t I talked about that before?

I am cracking myself up…

Smile ya’ll…life could be worse.

 

Radiation...NOT...

Today was my first scheduled radiation treatment. And guess what??

It didn’t happen…

…and no, not because I decided at the last minute that I wasn’t going to do it…although I was (am) still tempted by that thought.

It didn’t happen because the X-rays taken today did not match the CT scan taken the other week when I was “mapped”.

It is such a long story, and yes, I will bore you with all the humiliating details.

Once again, I found myself topless lying on a cold metal table with my arms above my head and my head turned “just so” while 4 (yes, 4) women I don’t know huddled around staring at my chest, drawing on me with sharpies, measuring this and that, adjusting my position down to the millimeter while mumbling to each other.

And once again, silent tears streamed down my face. Humiliated, cold and now in pain.

Pain? Yes, pain. Because somehow or other my left breast (can I call this expanded area a breast? For lack of a better word?) is now in the radiation field and the techs decided to “move” it and then “secure” it by using tape…

…sounds like a good plan to the uninitiated but uh…these breasts? Well, they don’t move. At all. And if you pull my breast to the side and secure its position with tape, well then, it is going to cause me pain. And it’s not going to result in the desired effect because no matter how hard they tried, the breast won’t move enough to be “out of the way”.

So…maybe, just maybe, I will need to go back to the Plastic Surgeon and have him remove some of the saline from the left breast. Not the right breast mind you…oh no…just the left. Some of the saline? Or all? Well, no one was really sure.

I knew these expanders would cause trouble for me during radiation, but before radiation? This was unexpected.

So…yeah…I suppose I could walk around for the next six months (at least) lopsided in the chest area. That sounds like fun…and oh so good for my peace of mind…(please read this in a voice that drips with sarcasm to get the desired effect of my words)

Or maybe, just maybe, the radiation team can come up with a new plan of care, a new map per se, so that I can be radiated without deflating a breast and without causing damage to any important and hard working muscles on the LEFT side of my chest. This will require the radiation team to start again at square one, to re-map me, to maybe, just maybe, add more tattoos to my skin. Yeah…whatever…I like this idea better then the whole deflate a breast and walk around lopsided idea…

So that is the idea that they went with…all dependent on Dr. M’s approval. I was there an hour and a half and when I left all I knew was that Dr. M would call me with her final decision.

Which she did. She believes that the re-mapping will work fine, she apologized for the troubles (an apology wasn’t necessary, I want things done correctly if they are going to be done), she asked if I was OK (I am sure the techs told her I was crying. Poor Dr. M, every time she sees me, I am crying), she assured me that from this point on there won’t be troubles like I had today, she assured me the areas that “need” to be radiated will be radiated and that no other area will get caught in the crossfire and she assured me that I could leave my expanded breasts just the way they are. Both of them.

And I will go back in on Wed., I will once again be X-rayed and hopefully this next X-ray will match today’s X-ray and then I will be radiated for the first time. Then I will be one down, 33 to go.

And in case you were wondering, I did not wait in the communal waiting room. I waited in an exam room, in private, where I didn’t have to make conversation about the weather with any other person wearing a hospital gown. And while glad to avoid the “elephant” sitting in a room full of cancer patients, the desired privacy issue wasn’t met as I still have to walk thru the halls wearing the gown.

I am gonna have to get over this issue of mine. Maybe. But I doubt it.

Post Chemo, Post Port, Pre-Rads.

So here I am, 5 weeks post chemo and doing well. Amazing really. I suppose I have felt this good before, I am sure pre-chemo I have felt better actually, but still…I feel amazing. I feel like “me”, only better.

There are some lingering side effects still going on; I am more tired at the end of the day then I used to be, my muscles still ache a bit (but that could be the Herceptin, more on that later), my mouth still has a weird taste in it, but only after I eat or drink something sweet, I am still waiting for my hair to grow and what the hell is up with my fingernails?? Seriously, these suckers are gonna fall off. I just know it.

But I feel good, damn good. Relaxed even. More energized. Happy. Who’d a thunk it??

On Nov. 19 my port was removed my Dr. C., the surgeon who placed it, and performed my b/l mastectomy. Originally I was told that the port would stay in for the duration of my Herceptin infusions and for “just in case you need more chemo”.

Just. In. Case. I. Need. More. Chemo.

Those words have haunted me for months. Like a neon bubble over my head. The port was a constant reminder of my illness, as if I don’t have enough reminders of it. So imagine my surprise when Dr. Sh. had told me it could come out. He was the one who uttered the above mentioned scary words. Guess he doesn’t think I will need chemo again in the foreseeable future. Who am I to argue with him? He is the MD after all.

Altho, Dr. C seemed surprised when she took it out, as she held it above my head, all 12+ inches of that strangely blue port and its’ catheter, that Dr. Sh. said it could come out.  “Don’t you need this for the Herceptin?” she said as it dangled over me. Nope. They can start an IV every three weeks for that, thank you very much.

By the way, I had my first of my every three week Herceptins the other day. Feel fine. Nose is runny (normal) and muscles ache a bit but otherwise, I feel fine. Thank God. I really do enjoy feeling in fine.

Really. You have no idea.

And my hair…a great topic of discussion these days, is growing in. Some places are longer than others; I think the longest is at least an inch, the shortest maybe ¼ inch. Whatever. It’s growing. There aren’t any bald spots anymore. And as soon as I no longer see scalp I am getting it colored. What is up with all the gray?? And…as it turns out…my hair isn’t as dark brown as I thought it was (as I colored it??). It’s growing in light brown, and, as of now, straight. I’m sure it will curl eventually.

So I have a few more days to enjoy until radiation starts, and enjoy them I will.

Happy THANKSgiving.

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, I tried to count up all the things I was thankful for. The list was endless. I think it is human nature to just take for granted what we have when we really don’t want for anything. I have a loving family, a network of friends that I adore, a comfortable home, a vehicle and a job when I am ready to go back to it. Which, by the way, I am sort of ready to do.

There are things I want, but nothing that I need. It has been a hard lesson to learn. But it was clear last night as Alan and I discussed whether or not he should stand in line at Walmart to get that TV that was on sale for our bedroom. We have a TV up there, an old one that sits precariously atop of a dresser. It works fine. But it’s old and clunky and can’t be attached to the wall. I have wanted to replace it for a long time. But I don’t need to.

Really, I have taken so much for granted in my life. I am ashamed of myself when I think of it.

My eyes have been opened. I have stood face to face with my mortality and decided living was better than dying and so I chose to fight. I have no idea if I will truly win this fight or not. I believe I will, but I don’t know. It isn’t up to me. Cancer cells want to live too, and fight desperately to do so. What they are too stupid to know is that while fighting to live they kill their host. And then they die. If I were a deeply religious person I would say it is in God’s hands. But I’m not deeply religious.

Even so, I will say it anyway. It is in God’s hands. I will fight it because God has given me the ability and resources I need to fight it, but ultimately my life is in God’s hands.

Did you see what I just said there? Need?? Yes, I need to fight, to live. Not because I want to, which I do, but because I need to.

Because I think God has bigger plans for me and he doesn’t want me to continue to live as I have been living. He wants me to live better, stronger.

I didn’t think cancer would change me, I figured I would do what I need to do and then just go back to being me. I see now that I was wrong about that. I see a new and improved me coming out. I see a better person emerging. One who doesn’t sweat the small stuff, one who plays more, laughs more, and (if possible) is more sarcastic. I see a more loving me, a more tolerant me, a calmer me, a less judgmental me, a me who more quickly sees your point of view.

Yesterday I jokingly made fun of someone who wasn’t here, and then felt bad about it. What I said was in humor but if overheard would have hurt that persons feelings. The old me wouldn’t worry about that, the new me feels bad.

I hope you can see this new me when you are with me. I hope my struggles have opened your eyes too. I hope you see now what is truly important and what is not. I hope you remind me of who I am now when I falter.

I am thankful to you, my reader; you have helped me thru cancerland in some way or another. Your support means the world to me, I could never repay you, but the kindness you have shown me will help me to “pay it forward”. And when I do so, I will do it in your honor, for all you have done for me.

Radiation "Mapping"

I can explain being “mapped” for radiation therapy in two words: Total Humiliation.

Please, join me in this little journey into hell…

First thing you do is go into a unisex changing room to change out of your clothes and into a gown. In my case you only have to change from the waist up. Also, in my case, I cannot take off my shirt without first taking off my head scarf. Which is a pain. It would be more of a pain to take it off, put it back on while wearing the gown then take it off and put it back on after I put my clothes back on. So I brought a hat.

Then you go into a unisex waiting room and wait till it’s your turn to go back into another room.

It will be like this when I go in for radiation too…not just for the “mapping”.

A unisex changing room and a unisex waiting room. I have issues with this. I am not a “flaunt what you got” kind of person. And right now what I “got” is a bald(ish) head and square expanded boobs, that don’t move. It’s embarrassing. And I refused to go into the unisex waiting room. And I will continue to refuse to do so. They will just have to find somewhere else for me to wait. And, while I was in the mood to refuse things, I refused to have a male technician. It’s not just “luck” that my radiation therapist is a female.

But I haven’t even gotten “mapped” yet and already I am humiliated?? Can it get worse?

Yes.

Because then I take off my gown and lay down on a cold metal slab with my arms raised over my head, a big rubber band over my feet (to remind me not to move them) and get drawn on with a sharpie while they position my head “just so” and tell me not to move as I enter some weird round machine that whirrs and does whatever it does. Then, I get three little tattoos, and was told I will get one more on my first rads appt. And was that position ok for me because that is the position I will be in each time I go in for rads?

I just lay there, silent tears coming down my face. I tried really hard not to chew open my lower lip but failed miserably at that. So now my mouth hurts. Again.

The technician told me to find my “happy place” but I couldn’t. All I could think was “Thank God I am not a man with prostate cancer”. Imagine the position he would be in. Oh the humiliation.

Anyways, I will get radiated daily (well, Monday thru Friday, not including Christmas Day and New Years Day) starting on Dec. 3.

Oh yeah…I am sooo looking forward to this.

Looking Backward And Forward.

Recently I met a local woman, my age, who was diagnosed with HER2+ breast cancer. A woman who is at the beginning of her journey. A woman who said to me “isn’t it funny when someone tells you that you are brave? It’s not like I asked to have breast cancer.”

Oh how that brought back memories. I remember thinking the same thing. I think I even blogged about it.

I never felt brave. Or strong. I felt scared, still do…but in the beginning, when you are newly diagnosed and you really don’t know what is coming next there is nothing but fear. Fear of the unknown is something everyone can relate to, but when it’s your life on the line the fear outweighs all other feelings. And feeling strong or brave doesn’t come in to play.

If you talked to me during the time period between Ap. 20 and Oct. 23 then you know I was scared. Yes, I bravely endured a bilateral mastectomy, and I bravely endured chemo. But the significant word here is “endured”. And sometimes I didn’t endure it bravely, sometimes I just endured it. And the thought of ever having to go thru it again brings me to my knees.

I hope I displayed some grace, some dignity, throughout these trials. But I know at times I did not.

But now, now…looking back I can say “yes, I was brave and I was strong”. I did it, and I plan to continue to “do it”. I plan to continue to follow the protocols and standards that have saved many lives before mine.

Don’t for one minute think that my journey thru cancerland is over. I have much more to do before I can close this book, many more chapters to go thru. All I can really hope for at this point is a happy ending.

I have been lucky to have made many sisters in pink while in cancerland. Some ahead of me in their journey, and some who walked right alongside me, going thru everything I was going thru at the same time. These women have been angels to me, life lines at times. The only people I could talk to that really understood me. And now it’s my turn to pay it forward. To help those sisters in pink who are walking behind me.

I pray I give as well as I received. To my new local HER2+ sister, my triple neg. sister and my HER2+ sister in CA…I lift you up in prayer and surround you in light and love.

20 Weeks.

20 weeks have now passed since I first walked into the infusion center at LVH and had my first chemo (Taxotere and Carboplatin) and Herceptin infusion. 20 Tuesdays. Every third Tues I received TCH but every single Tuesday I received H. Every. Single. Tuesday. For 20 Tuesdays.

For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, Herceptin is not a chemo drug. It is a medicine that specifically targets the type of breast cancer I have. HER2+++ breast cancer. Until a few years ago, HER2+++ breast cancer was basically a death sentence.

Now I will go to the infusion center once every three weeks for an infusion of Herceptin until next July. While I am glad to not have to go there every week anymore, my happiness is overshadowed by the fact that radiation is daily for like 7 weeks.

But I do have some time to rest between now and radiation. And during that time period I do not plan on resting. There is so much I want to do. So much I feel I need to do. I feel like I missed so much over these past 20 weeks that I just need to catch up. First on my list of things to do….GET MY PORT OUT!!

That’s right folks. Dr. Sh says it can come out so out it will come. I hate this stupid thing. It has made getting infused easy, of course, but I look like I am perpetually angry, what with this huge jugular vein thing I’ve got going on…which is really just the catheter making my vein look so big. It’s just nasty. And it’s a constant reminder of my “sickness”. As if I don’t have enough reminders of cancer when I look in the mirror…

The infusion nurses will just have to start an IV in my hand every three weeks from now on. That isn’t very pleasant either but such is life. Life ain’t always pleasant.

Mentally my friends, I am in a better place. I can’t believe I can say that 2 weeks after a chemo treatment, but it is 2 weeks after my LAST chemo treatment and knowing that has done my soul good. So even tho chemo sucked this last time, even tho I still have a stupid cold, even tho a big storm came thru and knocked our power out and even tho my Nana died, I am mentally feeling good. 20 weeks ago you could have told me this, and probably did, but I wouldn’t have believed you.

Next Chapter: Radiation.

You have all heard me complaining about radiation. You know I don’t want to do it. You know I am fearful of what it will do to my skin. You know I am fearful that it will damage my expanders. You know I don’t want to put off getting rid of my expanders and getting my implants implanted any longer then I have too. You know I am torn between getting it started ASAP and waiting till the new year to get it started.

So I am not going to get into any of that again.

Last night Alan and I met once again with the radiation oncologist Dr. M. Again it was discussed the idea that rads is recommended based on my young (?) age, my HER2+ status and because only one node was removed and found to have a small (0.35mm) micromets of cancer. I still wish a few more nodes had been removed…but I again stated that I was more against a total node dissection then I was against rads.

So rads it is.

It’s a big time commitment. It will be daily (ideally once every 24 hrs, but there is some wiggle room in there) for 34 zaps. Not counting weekends and holidays (because obviously cancer doesn’t spread on weekends and holidays) this will take the better part of 7 weeks. Fun times.

I can expect to experience fatigue (but nothing like chemo), redness (like a sunburn) and that is about it.

So now that I have agreed to do it, the only question left is when to start.

Dr. M. was ok with starting ASAP. She was less then ok with starting in Jan. Usually rads starts 4 weeks after chemo…so that would put me at Tues. Nov. 20.

We found a happy medium and my rads will start the first week of Dec. Before then I need to be “mapped”. Mapping is when they tattoo little blue dots on my skin to mark the areas being radiated (think Phoebe from the show “Friends” when she tattooed the whole world on her shoulder).

Alrighty. Now…lets say this cancer comes back somewhere else in my body. It was the chemo’s job to stop that from happening. I did chemo. I did it for the recommended 6 infusions. So if the cancer comes back elsewhere in my body, well…not my fault. I did chemo. I did what I was told. If the cancer comes back locally, meaning it comes back right where it started, well…not my fault. I did (will do) rads. I did what I was told.

My conscience is clear. I have and will continue to, follow directions. I have put my trust in the medical professionals tasked with saving my life. But I once again reserve the right to quit rads at any time. With your permission, of course.

On a funny note…when Dr. M walked in the room she said “aren’t you the pink flag woman?” Nice, huh?

In Michelle's Words

Two summers ago Michelle and I joined some friends for a kayaking trip down the Susquehanna River. About halfway thru the trip was a rope swing hanging over the river where a few teenagers were hanging out and having some fun. We figured this was a good place to stop and eat and maybe try out the rope swing ourselves.

Little Miss 5 Year Old Michelle really wanted to try out that rope swing and after I let her hang on it a few times but only swing out over the water and back to land I asked one of the teenagers to hang out in the water after he jumped off and I would allow her to “let go” if he would stay there and make sure she didn’t float away. He said “yes” so I handed my phone to a friend to record the moment and after making sure her life jacket was secured I gave her a big push on the rope and when she got to the right spot we all screamed “LET GO!” And let go she did.

I have it on tape. Her ponytail went straight up off her head and she splashed into the Susquehanna like a champ. The teenager made sure she got back to land safely and as she ran towards me she was saying “I did it. I can’t believe I did that!”

I did it. I can’t believe I did that.

I did it. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe all I have been thru lately. All I have subjected my body too in the name of good health.

I have had both my breasts removed and dealt with a long and at times complicated post surgical recovery. I did it. I can’t believe I did that.

As soon as I was over the worst of that I started having chemo pumped into my body. For a total of six times, over the course of 18 weeks, I willingly allowed poison to be infused into my body. I did it. I can’t believe I did that.

Words cannot describe how I feel about closing this chapter of my treatment. I have a lot more to do before I am done, a lot. But chemo is over. Dare I say the “worst” of it is over?

It will take a long time for my body to heal, to get back to “normal”.

But,

I did it.

I can’t believe I did that.

CHEMO CHAPTER CLOSED

And that is all I am going to say about that.

For now anyway.

Tomorrow

Oh My God. Can it be tomorrow already? Can I just get this done? OVER OVER OVER!! LETS GET IT OVER!

Lately people have been asking me if I am excited that tomorrow is my last chemo, or telling me how excited they are for me. I find that word “excited” to be an odd choice, but I get it…I get why it’s used and I don’t begrudge anyone for using it. But I don’t think “excited” is a word I would use to describe how I feel. I am “happy” that after tomorrow I can close the chemo chapter of my treatment, really, truly glad to be done with it. You have no idea.

But I have absolutely no “happiness” or “excitement” of sitting in that chair again. I am not “excited” to get pumped full of chemo again, I am not “excited” to fall into another chemo coma. I am not “excited” to feel thisclose to death again.

Don’t get me wrong here, mentally I am in a better place than usual for the day before chemo. Because I know this is the last time. I won’t be sitting in that chair thinking “I can’t believe I have to do this 5 (4, 3, 2, 1) more times. Tomorrow I will sit there and think “I’m done, please God let me be done forever”.

But a part of me is scared to stop chemo too. The poison is suppose to save my life, right? How can I be sure I got enough? Or the correct kinds? Because it’s a “standard of care”? Standard of care. As in…this works for most people, let’s see if it works for Leah too? It’s a crying shame that the chemo standards are base on the cancer and what has worked in the past and not the person.

But…on the other hand…this course of chemo I am on has statistically worked. And the Herceptin which I have received weekly since July 10 and will continue to get weekly for two weeks from tomorrow and then every third week until next July also “statistically” works. As a matter of fact, it is considered a “miracle” drug for early HER2+++ breast cancer. I sure hope it works a miracle on me.

Of course, according to my mom the miracle has already occurred. I have more faith in my mom then in any MD or chemo anyway…so “Yay Mom!”

I just want to get it over with.

Field Of Pink (take 3)

Here is what I wanted to say today at The Field Of Pink when Cathy asked me if I had anything to say:

I am grateful for every day that I wake up, open my eyes, and take my first conscious breath of the day.

I am thankful for my family, friends and sisters in pink who gently hold my hand and walk with me as I travel thru cancerland.

I am hopeful that my daughter will live to see a world free of breast cancer.

I am humbled by the outpouring of love and generosity my community has shown its neighbors.

Here is what I said:

Blah blah sniff, cry, blah blah blah. Thank you.

Today was truly wonderful, I am truly happy. I will let the pictures tell the story.

Field Of Pink (take 2)

Recently a friend of mine put on Facebook a picture taken in his hometown of a Field Of Pink. In short this was a picture of a field full of little pink flags. Statistically 1 in every 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer so these flags represented 1 out of every 8 women in his town. After seeing this picture I wondered, could something like this be done here in my town.

Turns out that yes, it can. I brought the picture to my local community center and showed it to Cathy who is in charge of these kinds of things, and who is a breast cancer survivor herself. My thought was that even tho this is Breast Cancer Awareness month we could maybe throw this together and plant our field in the spring, when everything is starting to bloom. Cathy had another idea tho and within 8 hours she had put it together so that it could be done this month. As a matter of fact, she put it together so the field could be planted on Oct 21, so that I could participate in the planting and not be in a chemo coma as my LAST chemo is scheduled for Oct 23. To make things even more exciting for me the field in which all the little pink flags will be planted is a field I can see from my back windows.

625 flags will be planted. That number came based on the number of women in my township. So…if 1 in 8 women in my township were diagnosed with breast cancer, 625 women would have breast cancer. Scary number.

Cathy and I have shamelessly been promoting this fundraiser for the last few days and already we have raised over $300. All money will go to my new BFF Jane’s (remember Jane? I love Jane) pet charity The Pink Ribbon Fund. This fund thru LVH helps women AND men being treated for breast cancer pay household bills. All money in this fund goes directly to families in need, and all money that Cathy and I raise will go to this fund. No gimmicks. We are giving. We don’t need 50,000 “likes” to donate this money, we aren’t giving a “portion of the proceeds”, we are giving it all. All you have to do is donate $1 to sponsor a flag.

This feels good. This is doing my soul good. This has given me something to think about other then my own damn self.

Which surprises me because I have been telling myself since April 20 “Leah, just get thru this. Do what you gotta do and then get on with your life. Without looking back. You don’t need to be any different then you were.”

How could I not be different? How could I move on and forget this time period of my life? For the rest of my life every ache I have is going to cause me to think “is it back?” This is HER2+ breast cancer, it is scary and it is ugly and chances are if I were to be diagnosed with cancer anywhere else in my body at any time in my life it will be HER2+. And then I will be stage 4. And my back aches…

I won’t be “cured” until I die of something else.

So how can I just “move on” and give no thought to research? No thought to other (wo)men who are diagnosed? No thought to raising awareness? No thought to raising money? No thought to anything but me? I have been only thinking about myself for long enough now.

Field Of Pink

Chatting With The Nurse.

Today when I went to the infusion center for my weekly dose of Vit. H (that’s code for Herceptin for those of you unfamiliar with cancerland lingo) the first thing that happened was Dr. Sh.’s CRNP came over to talk to me. This is unusual. Usually I just go in, get my port accessed, get my Vit. H and go home. I am not seen by anyone other than the infusion nurses. But in walks (let’s call her) Mona.

I was very happy to see her, and even happier to talk about how miserable I have been feeling. I don’t think it’s too much nitty gritty to mention that I am so fatigued I can barely do more than shower and brush my teeth. Honestly, with these last two infusions I have become overwhelmed with fatigue almost immediately and it doesn’t even begin to abate until a week later. So that is Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. 8 days. 8 days of feeling like I could drop off to sleep at any moment. 8 days of having very little tolerance for…well…anything. I don’t want to talk. Or read. Or move. Thank God for all those Real Housewives of Everywhere…I can watch mindless TV and they are less annoying then SpongeBob.

But…back to what I wanted to bog about. In walks Mona and after listening to me gripe and moan and complain she says “You know, we can reduce your chemo dose for your next (and FINAL) treatment”, “I know”, I said “Dr. Sh. told me that too but will it reduce my side effects? Dr. Sh says it really won’t so what’s the point?” “The point”, says Mona “is that there is no good reason for you to feel this bad for this long. It is not conducive to healing. You have done well, you have mass quantities of chemo running thru you at all times killing off any lingering cancer cells. The side effects are cumulative, meaning each time they last longer. This has been long enough. I strongly suggest you reduce your last dose, I will tell this to Dr. Sh. too, you need to get back to living.”

I love Mona.

Her visit to me was unexpected. I don’t know if Dr. Sh. had sent her over to see how I was based on how I was last time a week after chemo or what. I didn’t ask. I didn’t care. I was glad to see her, glad she gave me a good 30 minutes of her time before my port was accessed and my Vit. H and liter of hydration was hanging (yeah, I needed that hydration again, you try to swallow with chemo mouth). Glad that she makes me feel cared for, important. Glad that she listens to me and speaks from her heart. She made me feel better by just her words and her eyes.

I really have nothing bad to say about any one of the medical professionals whose task it is to get me back to me. I have been blessed with a medical team of responsible, caring, professionals. There is nothing worse than a medical professional who makes you feel like a patient instead of a human. I think, as a patient with cancer, it is sometimes hard for me to even see myself as a human and not a patient, so it sure is nice when those tasked with caring for me can unintentionally remind me of my humanity.

On a completely different topic, can I just say how unfair it is that at least 50% my eyebrows have chosen to fall out while my armpit hair is growing in? Seriously. Just this morning. I saw it on the towel.

Stupid cancer. Stupid chemo.

Lana!

 A personal letter made public.

Dear Lana,

It took me a long time to read your words as it was hard to see thru the tears streaming down my face. I am truly touched that you decided to contact me and share yours and J's (thus far) journey. And I am amazed and warmed to find out that my journey has helped to guide you along the way.

I would so like to "talk" more with you. So I am going to publicly put my email address here for you.
(she got it so I deleted the email). This is my "give the saleslady an email" email address. Please contact me privately and I will respond to you and give you my "real" email address.

Sending love and (gentle) hugs to J and you
Leah

A Conversation With Dr. Sh.

It seems to me more attention should focus on the emotional aspects of chemo. All my sisters in pink know what I am talking about. I know it seems unreasonable that even tho I know it’s the chemo playing with my emotions I can’t control it. I want to say to myself “hey idiot! It’s just the chemo making you feel this way, snap yourself out of it and for Gods sake…be nice!”

Much easier said than done.

But this time around I am doing ok. Thanks to the ass kickings I got from many well intentioned friends. And thanks to the fact that I know I only have to do this ONE MORE TIME! Please God, let one more time be the end. I am not even going to go in to the “what if’s” of that…

I need to work on myself now. Maybe yoga? Meditation? I need to regain the strength I have lost. Here’s a little of a recent conversation between me and Dr. Sh.

Me: My muscle ache, all the time. I can’t even ride my bike around the block without my arm and leg muscles screaming at me.

Dr. Sh.: That’s the Taxotere. It will stop once you are off it.

Me: Even with eye drops my vision is still blurry.

Dr. Sh.: That’s the Taxotere. It will stop once you are off it.

Me: My mouth is so gross and I really can’t taste anything but the yuk in my throat.

Dr. Sh.: That’s the Taxotere. It will stop once you are off it.

Me: My hair is growing back. Like, everywhere.

Dr. Sh.: That’s the Taxotere. Sometimes after the 3^rd or 4^th infusion hair does grow back.

Me: Look at me nails! What’s going on with them?

Dr. Sh.: That’s the Taxotere. Your nails are getting brittle. They will probably peel off a bit. Maybe break off.

Me: Ok, what can we blame on the Carboplatin?

Dr. Sh: The fatigue.

Me: And the Herceptin?

Dr. Sh.: The runny nose.

Me: Are you sure I have to do this again?

Dr. Sh.: Research shows that yes, you do. But I could decrease the dose for the last one if you want.

Me: Would it change/diminish my side effects?

Dr. Sh.: No. But I must say, physically you have handled this extremely well. I know you have troubles emotionally, but physically you are doing good. You look good. You have really done well. I am impressed with how well you have done.

Me: Thanks

Dr. Sh.: Now, can we talk about your lab work? Your liver enzymes are a bit high. Have you had some alcohol?

SERIOUSLY??? Wow. Those of you who know me…I ask you this…if my liver enzymes were high after a small, pitiful amount of beer in 3 months time….could you imagine what they were in say…June???

Turns out, they were elevated a bit, but he was just joking when he asked about the booze. I confessed to consuming a minimal amount of beer. I told him it was good for my soul. And he was OK with it. I knew he would be.

Ready For The Second To Last One

Trying to regain the warrior spirit is, at times, hard. But today when I went to my onc’s office to get my pre-chemo bloodwork done I scheduled my last (yes, last) chemo for Oct 23. And I found myself smiling as I did so. Barring any unforeseen circumstances I will get my last chemo infusion on Oct. 23. Hopefully forever, please God, forever.

The glass is half full today. Baby steps…

Honestly, the Monday before chemo is kind of fun…I get my lab work in the AM and spend the remainder of the morning with my mom. And I eat…horrible, crappy, oh so bad for me food. And I love every bite of it. Plus..I am “high” on steroids so I have energy to burn. Anyone need me to vacuum their house? Say around 2AM?

Decadron…oh so good to keep side effects at bay…oh so bad for my nerves, and stomach. I’m jumpy, shakey and hungry. But…on a good note…it has not caused me to gain any weight. I was real worried about that. As a matter of fact, I really haven’t lost any weight. From diagnosis to now I have lost just enough weight to be my “wedding day” weight. Which is a perfectly acceptable weight for me. And not one of my medical professionals seems at all concerned about my weight.

As a matter of fact, last time I saw Dr. Sh he commented on how well I was handling chemo and its side effects. See? I put on a happy face for him.

As for the 4 I have had, the last one was the worst. Resulting in a mouth sore (like I don’t have enough problems there! Have I mentioned how gross chemo mouth is? Seriously, I except flames to come shooting out every time I open my mouth) and a need for some rehydration a week later. But other than that…(oohh...you just got some nitty gritty!)

…just the emotional part was bad…

So I guess I am ready for #5. I guess I have no choice. Other than stopping now, and I have been told, multiple times, by multiple people that stopping now is NOT an option…well, it is really…you aren’t going to tie me up and drag me in there, then strap me down, are you? Are you?

So here is what you can do to help me get thru this next week or more. Email me, leave me voicemails, remind me that I am a warrior and that you love me. Raise my name up in prayer. Send me good vibes and cyber hugs. Tell me what we are going to do together in a few months that will be oh so fun. Just add a comment here if you will. Help me to remember what I so easily forget lately, that I can, and am, doing this.

Oh…and don’t forget to tell me I am pretty…

I Have No Idea How To Title This. Random?

So I am thinking about indulging myself with another glass of beer. Mmmm…sounds so good, so normal. But I am resisting, for now, and drinking peppermint tea…not quite the same.

I am slowly finding my way back to being a warrior. It helped today that I felt good. Again, I am not going to get into the nitty gritty of the side effects, it’s enough for you to know that my “good” days are less and less each time…

Not that I’m making excuses, but you try a 21 day cycle in which you only feel real good on only 6 of those days.

I remember a while back I met with a therapist…as part of my cancer treatments LVH provided me with a therapist. I met with her a few times but that last time I saw her I left feeling pissed off. I met with her at some point between my surgery and the start of chemo…back when I was still in shock over my diagnosis, still scared of what came “next” and still so afraid I would die. I remember just sitting there crying and saying “I don’t know what to do”. And she suggested that maybe I needed to swallow an anti-depressant daily. That’s when I got pissed off and left.

An anti-depressant? Me? No thanks. Yet I have no shame in admitting I need an anti-anxiety to help me shut off my mind at night so I can sleep, coupled with 2 Tyl PM. I have no shame in admitting that I sometimes take that anti-anxiety during the day too…mostly so I can again shut off my mind so I can nap. I have no shame in admitting that sometimes I take a less than conventional approach to keeping my nausea at bay…none. No shame. Whatever works.

And two days ago I probably could have benefited from an anti-depressant. Today? Not so much. So I can’t help but wonder…no, that’s wrong, I can’t help but be sure that a lot of my emotional instability is directly related to my chemo. A little talked about side effect. This is not an excuse, it is a fact. At least, for me it is a fact.

But in less than one month I will be done chemo. Done. Hopefully forever. Did you know 30% of women with breast cancer have a reoccurrence? Just something for you to sleep on…

Trust me, I don’t want to be the self pitying person that I sometimes am. I want to go back to the Leah that laughed a lot, that smiled a lot. The Leah that lived life on the edge of a mountain without fear of falling off. I want to be the Leah that got a rush of adrenaline from pushing herself to the limits. I want to live that life again.

Huh….

Well…I suppose I could do that right now. Seriously. What a thought this is that just came to me. I could strap on my harness, hang off the side of cancerland and have NO fear; because when I look down what I see below me is you. My support team. My cheerleaders. You won’t let me fall. You won’t let me get hurt. You checked my knots, my harness and the ropes. You’ve got my back. And if I get scared, well then, I just blow my whistle and you will come help me.

I have you. Thank God I have you. I need you. I love you. I thank you. I promise you this: I will make every effort to bring myself back to the Leah you know and love. With your help and guidance and tough love I can do it.

Pity party over. Warrior Princess on.

Getting Over Myself

I can’t stop thinking about that email I got. The one that told me to get over myself, get a grip and do as told. It’s hard to do this. I know I have been feeling down lately, and I do have good reason for it. I don’t share all my thoughts in this blog, there are some things I keep to myself, but trust me when I say what I am going thru is harder than I thought it would be. It’s harder then you can even imagine.

That said, I do need to get over myself. I am going to try to regain the warrior spirit that I once had. Baby steps.

I started today by going out in public wearing a bball hat that says “Fight Like A Girl”. That doesn’t sound like much but for me it was huge. I don’t go out wearing bball hats. I wear scarves. Or (rarely) a wig. What I said before is true; I avoid eye contact with strangers. I do. I don’t want to see their expression when they look at me. I walk with my head down. So today, instead of just walking around “looking” like a cancer patient with the scarf on my head, I advertised it. My hat said “here I am, battling cancer!” And I looked everyone in the eye. I smiled at them even.

Like I said…baby steps. That was my step for the day.

And it wasn’t easy.

But I did it.

And it lifted my spirits a little. Made me feel a bit more human.

But not as human as the 8oz of beer I just treated myself to!

A Kick In The Ass

I guess everyone needs a good kick in the ass once in a while. Here was the one I needed, copied from an email I recently recieved:

 

"I know you were just "rambling", but how about you get this taken care of the way the professionals tell you to so that you can enjoy MANY more Thanksgivings, birthdays and Christmases instead of just focusing on the ones this year? I know you're sick and tired of being sick and tired. I do. But you can't win by fighting half a battle. How do you say it? Put on your Big Girl pants (or bra) and just get it done. This may not be worth anything other than my 2 cents."

Doesn't matter who sent it, what matters is I needed to hear it. Thank you.

Radiation Ramblings

I am in such a state of anxiety regarding radiation that it kept me up late last night as I tried to work thru my thoughts. There are many reasons why I don’t want to do it and I think the main one is that I just want to be done. Done done done done done. No more. No thanks. Move along…

There is the issue of having to put off my exchange over surgery. That’s a big issue to me. The expanders are not comfy. They are like Tupperware sticking out of my chest. Sometimes it’s hard to get comfortable in bed. Sometimes they make it hard to hug someone tightly. They don’t hurt anymore per se, but I am definitely aware that they are there. And I hate them and would like to get rid of them. Sooner rather than later.

A woman I met online sent me some photos of her radiated skin. Ouch. Oh. My. God. Ouch. Now I know her experience could be different from mine but seriously, ouch. So this has now become an issue. And I know she didn’t send me the pics to scare me, she sent them because I asked her to tell me the truth. I am thankful she did. I keep saying (because I keep being told) that rads will be a walk in the park after all I have already been thru. I beg to differ…and I haven’t even started rads yet.

When I spoke to the other rad onc he assured me that waiting a bit less than a month from the end of chemo to start rads would be ok, so that I could be done by Christmas, per my request. But I can’t get out of my head something else he said “by Christmas you will be in pain. And your skin will be burnt.”

But in hindsight…

I now have an appt with the original rad onc, Dr. M, on Nov. 2. Seems so far away. And here is what I am going to ask her…instead of being done by Christmas, can I wait till after Christmas to start? Is there a huge problem by waiting 60 days instead of 30?

I need time to heal. My body needs time to heal. Mentally and emotionally I need time to heal. My soul needs time to heal. I am exhausted, in every sense of the word.

Since April 20 I have been living on a rollercoaster of emotional and physical pain. I have needed drugs to quiet my thoughts so I can sleep. I have needed drugs to ease the physical pain I have experienced. I have needed drugs just to get thru the day without killing someone. I cry when I think about having to go back in for two more rounds of chemo.

I just need a break. And I think a good time to do that is Oct 23 to Dec 26, 2012. Allow me to enjoy Thanksgiving, my birthday, Michelle’s birthday, Christmas and the 3 other family members birthdays while feeling good…at least physically feeling good..my emotions and my soul will need more than 60 days to heal.

Allow me to rest. To put my energy into the holiday and birthday season without the added stress of daily radiation treatments, fatigue and skin issues. Allow me to host a holiday dinner for 15+ people. Allow me to celebrate the birthdays of those I love.

I need a break.

But I believe that my request for a 60 day break will be denied. I am hoping at the least that it can wait until after my birthday.

 

NED!

No Evidence of Disease. This little jargon is one all cancer patients aspire to. NED.

Last Saturday morning I woke up, opened my eyes, put on my glasses and looked around. And the room looked funny….blurry…so I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and try again. Still blurry. I close my left eye and everything looks fine. I close my right eye and…blurry. Hmmm….

I was prepared for eye problems, vision changes even before I began chemo. Remember? I even went out and bought new glasses in case my eyes became too dry to wear my contacts. So I took out the info I received regarding TCH to find which of the three were to blame. It’s the T. And the C. By the end of the day the blurriness caused a throbbing headache.

But, like a good cancer patient when I went to the infusion center on Tuesday morning I informed my nurse of my blurry vision. And she called Dr. Sh who sent over his nurse. I passed her eye exam (it was kinda like the one you get at a DUI checkpoint) and she informed me that Dr. Sh was ordering a CAT Scan of my brain. Just to be sure no nasty little HER2+++ cell had wormed its way up there. He also wanted me to go to my eye doctor and have him take a look.

But first things first…why go to the eye doctor if I have cancer in my brain? So on Thursday I went in for the brain scan. Easy procedure compared to everything else I have done lately. And guess what friends? NED IN THE BRAIN! NED NED NED NED NED!!!!!!!!

NED. Since being told this wonderful news I keep thinking NED. It’s safe to say I am NED in the breasts. There was no cancer in the left breast, a small tumor and some DCIS in the right breast….and since  I no longer have breasts I think it’s safe to assume that I am NED in the breasts. Only one lymph node was removed and that lymph node had a 0.35mm micromets of cancer in it…so while I can’t say with 100% assurance, I think it’s safe to say I am NED in the lymph nodes too.

NED. If I were to have another child and that child was a boy I would name him Ned. What a beautiful sound.

However, if I am NED everywhere why am I still undergoing treatments? Why am I planning on putting myself thru 2 more rounds of chemo and why am I agreeable to radiation?

Because I don’t want to someday say “Oh shit…I should have…”

But (again in a whiney voice) I don’t want to do it.

 

You Almost Got The Dirty Truth

You almost got the dirty truth. You almost got the “bad” and the very very “ugly”. I almost clicked on “publish”, and then at the last moment I changed my mind. I didn’t even save it as a reminder to myself, or as something to publish another time.

I had an “oh woe is me” week. The chemo hit me hard physically and emotionally. I was beaten and drained and decided to share with you all the ugly side effects. And then didn’t. I wrote it on Sun and Mon but kept waiting to publish it, and then ultimately chose to delete it.

And today I feel better. Well, chemo mouth still sucks and boy oh boy do I love to complain about that. But other than that I am feeling quite human. As a friend of mine said: you start your first chemo feeling 100% but each time you sit in that chair the percentage decreases….so I would guess this last chair time I was at about 65% when I sat down. I long for the days of 100% but am getting used to functioning at less.

Yet my inner toddler still cries, wants to cuddle up on the couch between my parents and let them rub my sweaty forehead.  My inner toddler still wipes her snotty nose on the back of her hand…actually….my adult me does that too as the Herceptin makes my nose run and run and run and I am too damn young to stick a tissue up my sleeve….My inner child needs to be parented. And that is something another friend just told me: it’s time to parent myself. I’m not too good at that.

I just read a small article about Breast Cancer and it said in it that living with BC is like having a big white elephant trailing along behind you…no matter where you go or what you do that stupid elephant is there and sometimes you need to just say to it “hey elephant….I’m gonna go hang out with my husband now and you just can’t come with me. Stay here and I will see you later.”

It’s true ya know. Think I will name that beast Ellie. She is distracting and sometimes I can’t meet the eyes of strangers because I know if I do I will see their thoughts floating above them like a cartoon bubble…”oh, look at that poor lady in the head scarf walking around with that elephant..Better her then me; I’ll give her a nice sympathetic smile…”

So today I will run some errands and leave Elllie behind, she can keep an eye on the cats. I will look all strangers in the eye without fear of what they are thinking. I will wipe my snotty nose on a tissue. I will put on my big girl bra and get over myself for the day. Just today. I will look no further than today. Tomorrow could be completely different, but I doubt it. I need to stop my incessant worrying and just live in this moment. Enjoy the cool weather, enjoy my family, enjoy myself without the added weight of Ellie. Ellie is a bitch and I am going to do my best to leave her behind at every moment that I can.

4 Down, 2 To Go.

Is it over yet? Oh no. I have two more to go. I know that sounds good, only 2 more, that means four have been done, but still…..two more. Ugh…I need to do this two more times. Two more. Yuk.

I wish that at the very least I could know what to expect each time, but I don’t. It’s different. So it’s always a mystery. Remember I mentioned before that the effects are cumulative…not as in worse each time, just longer each time. Well….that’s true. At least, for me it is. Usually after an infusion I am feeling good till Wed. PM, maybe Thurs. AM. But not so this time…this time by Tues night the fatigue had set in….

….and that wouldn’t have been so bad except that Michelle was home. And I hate to appear sick when Michelle is around. Or tired. Or anything less then 100%. So perhaps when this is all over I can start a new career as an actress as I feel like I did a pretty good job of hiding just how tired I was from her. At least, on Tues I did. But I had to drag my ass out of bed on Wed Thurs and Fri morning just to appear “normal” to her. And I know I could have stayed in bed, Alan could have taken control. But I just can’t help it. I want her to see me feeling good, not feeling bad. But who am I kidding?? She isn’t stupid. She knows I feel horrid. And she says to me “mommy, I hate this cancer crap. It is hell.” And I am too tired to reprimand her about her language so instead I just say “me too.”

I was very afraid of how these past few days would go with me feeling like a dead person and Michelle being home (over the summer she stayed with my folks during the “bad” days) but it went ok. Thanks of course to my husband and my mom who just step up and take over. And I can make it thru if all I have to do is sit on the couch and watch SpongeBob. And I only have to do this twice more, right?

But lately my mind has been on an old friend. We met when I was about 25 and even tho she was a good 20 years older than me we were friends. We had books and movies in common. We enjoyed dinner, drinks and dancing. We could spend hours together doing nothing and just having fun. But I cut her out of my life after Michelle was born. I didn’t regret it then, and I don’t regret it now. The circumstances aren’t important now. It was what it was and cutting her out of my life back then was what I needed to do for me. For my sanity. There are people in this world who I believe aren’t meant to be there with you forever. You serve your purpose to each other and then move on. Which is what she and I did.

I found out recently that she died. In hospice. Of breast cancer. Do I wish I could have been there for her? Yes. Do I think she might just be up in heaven cheering me on? Yes. I don’t know the circumstances of her cancer, of her death. We didn’t have friends in common that I can ask. All I know is she died. Of breast cancer. Like millions of other people. And knowing that fills me with sadness. I hope she fought bravely. I hope she was surrounded by love and light. I hope she knows that I always loved her and never thought badly of her.

Now I know someone who died of breast cancer. And that sucks. I hope all of you who read this never think of me that way. The friend who died of breast cancer.

 

 

The Second Opinion.

The other day I got a second opinion regarding radiation therapy. I spoke with another radiation oncologist who agrees with the first radiation oncologist, Dr. M. I wasn’t happy with what he said. And I suppose I could go off and find a third, fourth, fifth opinion until I find a radiation onc who would agree with me.

And to agree with me the rad onc would have to say that I don’t need rads.

But nope, he agrees that I need rads to the remaining lymph nodes under my right arm, the lymph nodes above my clavicle on the right side and my entire right chest wall. Again I was told that if I had a total node dissection of my remaining axilla nodes and none of them show cancer then perhaps they would change their minds about rads. But again, I am not willing to do that.

And again I was told that because of my young age and the aggressiveness of HER2+++ breast cancer having radiation would help increase my overall chances of a progression free life. And that is a good thing, of course. I sure would like to leave cancerland behind me with no regrets and live a progression free life, who wouldn’t?

But (and I say this in a whiney voice) I don’t want to do it. I really don’t. Please don’t make me. I have had enough. Mentally I am broken, physically I am broken. Don’t break me anymore. I’m begging.

I realize the side effects of rads will be nothing in comparison to recovering from surgery, will be nothing compared to the side effects of chemo. But still, they will be something. And I don’t want them. I don’t want to burn, I don’t want my throat to hurt. I don’t want to take the risk that my expander could fail. I don’t want to be lopsided once my exchange surgery is done because the skin on my right side has been compromised.

I don’t want to do it. I really don’t.

And then I am told that there is usually a month wait between the last chemo and the first rads. A month.  Chemo is set to end on Oct 23, so a month later will be Nov 23. So Happy Thanksgiving and Merry F@#$%*& Christmas. Oh yeah…and don’t forget Happy 40^th Birthday. Damn.

You see, rads is daily. Mon thru Fri for like 28 to 33 “zaps”. Except weekend and holidays, because apparently cancer doesn’t spread on weekends and holidays. So even if I started on Nov 23 I would not be done by Christmas because of those dumb weekends and holidays.

So I begged for an earlier start date. Wouldn’t 2 weeks wait be enough? Can I please oh please be done by Christmas. He said Ok…maybe 2.5 weeks would be ok. So of course I pushed it a bit and asked if I could be done by my 40^th Brithday. Nope.

So now I need to go back to see Dr. M and get this shit scheduled. And I hope to God that I can deal with it.

But right now I need to put it out of my mind. I need to turn my energy towards positive thoughts to get me thru chemo tomorrow. I am feeling weak today. I need your prayers.