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.