The Last One

The last one. When I started treatment in August 2011 I was at once a bundle of nerves and in a zen like state of calm. After all my research and preparation I didn't know how the chemotherapy and Herceptin would effect me but I knew I was in good hands and could get through most anything as long it didn't last forever. Now that I've had my final Herceptin infusion (today!) I am experiencing many of the same feelings: thrilled at the idea of being done and a bit nervous about what being done really means. 

A week or two after my last expander fill in early March I was sure there was something wrong. My left breast (the cancerous radiated side) felt exceedingly tight and seemed to sit about an inch higher than the other. A painful burning sensation radiating from the middle of my chest to the the middle of my back only exacerbated my angst. Dr. Movassaghi gave me a thorough exam, making sure my skin was healing (it was) and compared my current appearance to pictures taken earlier. I was tight and lopsided as a result of the radiation and the burning was (and continues to be) the sensation of healing. Once he was assured nothing was wrong he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Unless something comes up I'll see you in six months. Enjoy your life!"

It seems pretty simple but I can't tell you how much those words resonated over the days and weeks that followed. It was like I was waiting for permission and getting it felt like a gift. Now it's my my mantra. I wake up in the morning wondering how I will enjoy the day. The pleasures may be simple but they are substantial nonetheless.

It can be easy, almost intoxicating to get lost in the cancer vortex, held hostage by every pain or twinge. I'm better now. I'll have to ask my oncologist if I'm cancer free or in remission...do those terms mean the same thing? I try to be mindful every day about putting my physical aches and pains in perspective and concentrating on what it means to enjoy my life. For the time being, I'm focusing on being present. Saying yes to the things that matter. When I walk through our neighborhood, spend time with family and friends, tend to our garden, I'm often filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the gift of the moment...every one of them. And I don't want to waste a single second.

Over the last month or two I've been dipping my toe into the water preparing for my jump into the deep end. It began with a quick getaway to Bend  to visit Grandma Dot followed by our trip to New York. Getting out of town was liberating. We got to see Grandma Dot before she passed away...a real gift...and we ate and walked our way through the streets of New York. The Book of Mormon on Broadway was a hoot and a visit and tour of the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side was fascinating. Soldiers and Sailors on leave were everywhere as it was Fleet Week and a trip to the Ground Zero Memorial in the shadow of the looming Freedom Tower on Memorial Day was particularly moving. I enjoyed every moment.

Grandma Dot...Love you and miss you dearly.

9-11 Memorial outside the Midtown Fire Station. 

Marines in Times Square. 

Washington Park. In the background the park is full of families taking prom pictures. Sweet.

Fleet Week. Looked for Sargent Gibbs but these guys were nice enough to stand in :)

The Reflecting Pool at the site of the North Tower. With the names lining the side it's a powerful monument to those who lost their lives. 

Protect and Serve

At the Memorial. 

At the Memorial - they were kind enough to (sort of) stand at attention :)

The Freedom Tower is spectacular...the shortish building  in the foreground  will be the museum. 

A perfect view from the Staten Island Ferry. 

On the ferry with the skyline in the fog.

The hustle and bustle. 

Celebrating with the girls. The Last One!

The last one. Ending treatment feels a bit like stepping off a cliff but I'm quite happy to jump into the abyss and reclaim my life. Bruce has a bottle of Dom chilling for tonight. L'Chaim!

Hair Diaries

When I was diagnosed last July, the experience was so surreal. After spending a weekend in Bend celebrating my 30th high school reunion, Bruce and I were planning out the rest of our summer. The coast, Mexico, maybe a trip up North to visit my sister. Suddenly everything was put on hold and a jumble of images crowded my thoughts. Various scenes from so many movies and television shows were playing out in my mind...the most notable being Shirley Maclaine's Academy Award winning moment where she pleads for her daughter's comfort. Would that be me in the bed, my mom yelling at some tired nurse? In the course of a couple days I was brought to my knees and my life would never be the same. In short order I discovered there were many side effects to treatment but no way to know which ones I might experience.The only thing I knew for sure was that I would lose my hair and it would break my heart. It felt silly and superficial to be so concerned about my hair at a time when I should have been concerned about my health. But looking back it was a godsend to be worried about something so trivial because the other was too overwhelming. Now that I've tackled chemotherapy and radiation, I'm in a funny place where the trivial and the serious converge. My hair is growing and I'm as happy to have it back as I am to have my cancer gone. Can I say that? It feels vain but after months of looking and  feeling like a sick person it's nice to care about how I look. After chemo, my hair slowly began to grow back. The downy fur on my head went from Nixon's 5 o'clock shadow to Chia Pet in a few weeks time. And as my hair grew, I became more comfortable appearing au natural, leaving my scarves and hats at home. The days and weeks went by and my hair filled in, keeping my head warm and offering an outward sign that the chemo was leaving my body and my healthy self was returning. But the more it grew, the duller and grayer it got. I'm feeling better and I want my hair to reflect my inner glow. I appreciated all the compliments ("your gray looks great!") but when I looked in the mirror I felt old. If asked to describe my virgin locks, Judy Dench (love her but I don't want to look like her, not yet), Paulie Walnuts from Soprano's, and Mitt Romney came to mind and I decided I was in need of a change. We're heading to New York next week and since I can't rely on getting a Today Show makeover I settled for a day at the salon. I got my hair cut. It's short, sassy and styled. And it's blond - reminiscent of Mia Farrow and Twiggy. I'm giving myself permission to indulge in the trivial on occasion as that will allow me to focus on, and overcome, the challenges that lay ahead. I'm in the home stretch and I've got hair! Time to celebrate!  

And speaking of celebrating...we're heading to New York tomorrow. It's a trip we had planned to take last October before life got a little crazy. We'll be seeing a few plays, eating some good grub and taking in the sights. Happy Memorial Day to everyone.It's Fleet Week in New York -- feels fitting to be surrounded by those who serve on a day when we remember those who died doing just that.

At my reunion...fancy free without a clue. What a difference a couple weeks would make.

  

Three days post diagnosis...thank heavens for dear friends!

 

Sister love. Smooth as a cue ball.

Showing off my 5 o'clock shadow two months post chemo and three days post surgery. Looking like GI Jane but the one-handed push-ups will have to wait a bit.

Chia Pet! 3 1/2 months post chemo...my hair ranges from 1/4 to 1/2 inch long. It's oddly black and gray but it's keeping my head warm!

 With Ducks defensive wizard Nick Aliotti at the Women's Football Clinic. Hard to tell from the pic but the sides are almost white while the top is a nice salt & pepper.

Love my pink wig...feeling very Sasha Fierce!

Wig shopping with Wendy and my mom the day before starting chemo. All those heads of hair...a strange out of body experience.

The light is a little odd but you get the idea. We're off to New York tomorrow and I'm feeling stylish for the first time in a long time....I'm back!

Happy Birthday Mom!

Today is my mom's birthday...Happy Birthday Moosh!!...and I got my Herceptin to celebrate. And Taylor is in town for the week so I got to show him the ropes at the Cancer Center and introduce him to all my wonderful nurses. There were so many young people getting treatment in the infusion room. Taylor and I talked and joked and enjoyed the gorgeous sunshine outside but the sight of the kids getting one bag of chemo after another was very sobering. This has been quite the journey...along the way I've become a different person in many ways but I have also been introduced to a world I only knew from afar. And I haven't taken this trip alone. My family and friends have been my stalwart companions...keeping me company, making me laugh and never letting me forget that the world is full of love, compassion and much to be grateful for.

My family is coming to town this weekend for my cousin Ross's wedding...can't wait to see everyone!

Good night all...and in honor of one of my favorites...Let the wild rumpus start!

Happy Birthday Taylor...Love Mom

April 29...Taylor's birthday. Today my boy turns 24. I was 24 when I had him so for half my life I've been his mom. I've been reflecting on the things I knew before he gave me the name "mom" and the things I've learned in the years since. I guess the first 24 were preparation for the wonder, the love, the heartache, the loss and the tremendous gift that is parenthood. Taylor was a remarkable kid and music was in his bones. As a toddler he'd sit in the shopping cart, arrange the groceries and proceed to drum on them. The checkers all knew him by name and his big blue eyes and blond curls drew many an "Awwwwe" from the ladies. His dad had a drum set and as soon as he was sitting up and could hold the sticks he was playing. And he was good. His hands never stopped tapping and his love of music never stopped growing. He had so many wonderful impromptu moments where he would burst into song, the most memorable being at the mall during Christmas 1991. He started singing Jingle Bells near a holiday display and eventually had a sizable audience. I ran into a woman about six months later who recognized Taylor and remembered his earnest yet exuberant performance. If he were a kid today I'm sure he would be a YouTube hit :-) As he got older his knowledge of music trivia became legendary. The odd and obscure his domain. He's also funny, kind, generous, polite and a bit of a procrastinator. With every step, every lesson learned, every success, he was one step closer to walking out the door and claiming his independence. Taylor is 24. In the parlance of the day, he is more or less launched. He graduated from college; he's living in San Francisco; he has a few internships lined up and is looking forward...moving on. But there are so many things left for him to experience. I hope every day I get the privilege to brag about the next 24. Happy Birthday Taylor. I love you.

One and Done...

Yesterday was my last radiation treatment. Yay!! Liz drove me and it was rather festive in spite of all the, well, radiation. I brought cookies for everyone as it's a high energy job and they need every chocolate chip they can get their hands on. And in turn I got a diploma! Had I known I would have fashioned a mortarboard out of a cereal box and brought my tassel. Now that would have been a hoot to be sure. I got a clean bill send-off from Dr. Gemmell and will see her again in four months so she can check on the nature of my skin and how it's healing.


Then it was off to Daisy Ducks, a quick errand and the other Cancer Center for a dose of Herceptin.

Still celebrating, Heidi joined us for cookies and sparkling cider. A couple hours later I was done for another three weeks. In the meantime I will be going back to Dr. Movassaghi (plastics...the surgical variety, not like The Graduate) to get re-expanded. I get to revisit my Pamela Anderson days. Yay! When I see him in two weeks I'll have to wear the shirt my sister gave me. It says "Girl Power" with a picture of Wonder Woman on the front. Woo, it's perfect as Wonder Woman and I will share the same bullet bra physique! There is nothing reminiscent of the soft female form when it comes to the expanders. They are hard as a rock, or bullets as the case may be. When the time comes I'll be in the frame of mind to embrace my rock-hard chest as it's one step closer to the end of the race. A while back I likened this journey toward health as a marathon and I'm guessing I'm at about mile 18. I've done most of the hard stuff, climbed the hills and achieved my endorphin high. Now it's time to just keep on keeping on until I sail through the end...with all of you at the finish line cheering me on. Thank you! I couldn't do it without you!

Music: The Gift That Carries On

We all have a soundtrack that marks the significant events and passages in our lives. Music and memory are intertwined strands of experience knotted to place and time. If I hear a Creedence Clearwater Revival song I am once again my six-year-old self, riding in our wood-paneled red Ford station wagon. My legs are sticking to the vinyl seats, my sister is in tow, and we're heading to tap lessons. In the early Seventies during football season Jonathon Edwards played on the turntable on Sunday mornings at Auntie Karen and Uncle Dave's. The smell of hot coffee and frying bacon punctuated the post game analysis. Fleetwood Mac is the summer of 1977. The songs of Christine McVie, Stevie Nicks & co. will always represent my transition from Cascade Junior High to Bend High School...from adolescence to adulthood.

Music has played a particularly meaningful role in my journey through cancer. Vinyl records, cassette tapes and CD's have taken their rightful place in my past and now I am obsessed with my iPod and creating the perfect mix. The collection of songs I've listened to over the past eight months provide an interesting lens through which to view my progression. When I was diagnosed in July, a mix featuring the songs of Amos Lee offered solace and comfort in a Country/Alt/Folky vibe. When I got further into chemo, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, I created a mix called Cancer Sucks full of sad, mournful, feeling sorry for myself kind of songs. The opening track is If I Die Young by The Band Perry. Music became the way I would deal with the scary feelings that cancer elicit without falling apart. I'd grab my iPod while walking so despite listening to sad songs I'd have Rosie alongside and get a boost of endorphins to boot.

As Spring lightened our yard, our garden and my mood, my music seemed to follow suit. I no longer feel the need to languish in the tunes of the misbegotten. In an odd way beginning radiation has helped. There is music piped into the radiation room and it comes from a local oldies station. Depending on when I get in and how long my treatment is I have time to listen to one or two songs. For the past five-and-a-half weeks I lay down, close my eyes and I'm a teenager again slow dancing in the school gym; it's summer and I'm riding around Bend with my friends in that same station wagon from my youth: our family is gathered in the Warlick's living room and I'm looking through lp's with Tim until we find the perfect song -- then we all jump up and dance; and I'm jumping into the water off the house boat at Lake Trinity, music blaring and kids cheering. Looking back has helped me move forward. My mix de jour is titled Songs I Love and the first track is Carries On from Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes. These days I'm doing just that...Rosie beckons and it's time to head out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Px1Aw8C3irs

More Radiation Pics...

My view from the table. I love this dog...trying to decide what to name him. Send me any ideas.





Jeff, Renee and Richie have gotten to know my camera. I'm getting some great shots as I go through treatment...some are fun and some just are. When I started treatment it seemed a tad scary and now it's just part of my daily routine...largely due to the fabulous care I get from my techs and doctors. They do a great job making my moments on the table go by quickly with lots of care and humor. And I don't know how they do it but they answer all my questions thoroughly in a snap. The patients are like planes in a holding pattern, each one ready to take off after the other and the techs are both pilot and air traffic controller. Things move fast so they have to be on their toes. But as you can see from the pictures we do laugh and have some fun while seeing to the very serious business of curing cancer. Day 23 down...time for chocolate.

Love My Ducks...

I Love My Ducks...


Tuesday is Daisy Ducks and the last few weeks have been a lot of fun. We've heard from Women's Tennis, Miss Oregon (she's a member of the Women's Volleyball team), and Men's and Women's Golf. Here are a few pictures of yours truly with our guests....

Lunch with a Princess! Alaina Bergsma is a member of the

Women's Volleyball team and will represent Oregon at the
Miss Universe Pageant. She'll get to meet The Donald...and
I'm not talking about the Duck :-)

Above: Jr.Patricia Skowronski with Women's Tennis Coach Paul Reber.

At left: With Freshman Phenom Cali Hipp and Assistant Coach Justin Fetcher. Cali's been playing for years and has a hole in one under her belt!

With Casey Martin...Former Professional Golfer, Men's Golf Coach and all around nice guy. And for you locals...he's also a graduate of South Eugene High School.

In Search of Peace...

Today was Bolus Day. Every other day my radiation techs put a large square of fake skin on my chest to assure that my last three doses are delivered at a different depth than the day before. First Renee and Jeff scootch my torso so that my tattoos line up with the lasers coming out of the ceiling, then the machine whirrs overhead and I get my first dose of radiation. Some days I count and it usually lasts about 30 to 35 seconds. This treats my chest wall and the nodes above my clavicle. Then they place a 1cm thick piece of malleable plastic over the radiation field and use tape to adhere it to me and to the table. The machine moves about 90* to my right side for my first angled dose. For about 15 seconds the radiation travels over my right breast and into my left, exiting through my side, skimming the lymph nodes under my arm. Then the machine moves 180* over me until it settles on the opposite side. I get two doses from the left. The first lasts about ten seconds and the second is about 30. In addition to the bolus, my techs insert an angled metal plate into the machine for the last dose that accounts for the curvature of my body.
Dr. Gemmel used the initial CT scan to determine the curvature to exacting standards. Bolus Day is a little tougher on my skin as the radiation hits closer to my epidermis, but that is to ensure that some radical cancer cell doesn't present itself as a skin lesion in the future.

Today was my 22nd treatment, six more to go. As I near the end of this last big hurdle I am starting to address some of the emotional issues that arise with a cancer diagnosis and treatment. I've joined a support group for young women and will attend for the first time tomorrow evening. It was started by a young woman named Katie Burke who was diagnosed with breast cancer at 23. Unable to find a group that addressed the needs of younger women she started one herself with the help of the wife of a local oncologist. While I'm not in my twenties, I'm still considered young by my doctor's standards...by a few years anyway. Ha! I guess I'll take that. I look forward to meeting women who are traveling this road and finding their way towards some sense of peace. At least that's how I envision this process...I've had to make peace with the fact that my body betrayed me and, despite everything I'm doing, could do so again. But part of making peace is letting go and finding happiness and joy in the small, everyday moments that make up our lives. Granted doing the laundry and cleaning the toilets are not the high point of my day, but they are no longer the low point either. Perspective is a gift and I hope I have it for a while yet...it's raining like a son of a gun but I'm happy as can be! Good night all...day 23 tomorrow and counting!

Happy to be...

A bit of a wrench thrown in my week -- the radiation machine is down so I got yesterday and today off. It's a welcome break as I'm beginning to feel the effects of those healing beams. Fatigue is setting in and my skin is a nice shade of red...think beet, radish, cayenne pepper. And as red wouldn't be enough, it's begun to itch. Because the integrity of my skin is so important for my final surgery I can't touch it and it's driving me nuts! My doctor prescribed some steroid cream and it's beginning to feel better. And while I'm kvetching I'll throw in the fact that my joints are killing me...a likely side effect of the tamoxifen. Stretching and regular exercise seem to be the key to feeling better, all the more reason to drag out my yoga mat and get to work.

All that stuff aside, I'm feeling great. This disease has robbed me of my energy, my appetite, my hair and my last vestige of womanhood but I still have my sense of well being and my optimism intact. I went to get my Herceptin infusion yesterday; there I was, lined up with all the other cancer patients, each of us getting our own particular drug cocktail to ward off our bodies' interloping, unwanted cells. There were a few kids in their early twenties, some elderly patients and a number of folks in their 4o's, 50's and 60's. Cancer is the great equalizer...it knows no bounds. Regardless of your age, your socioeconomic background, your personal belief system, it can strike. There is no privacy in the infusion room and I've found it's both humbling and an honor to share space with someone's suffering. Tears are shed; phone calls are made to plan hospice; a nurse, a social worker or another patient holds a wavering hand in hopes that with community comes hope and courage. There are a few patients I've met along the way who have died and others who are not doing so great. And there are others still, who like me, are just plugging away, getting to a place of inner peace and new found health. I always appreciated my health but I'm sure I took it for granted, not realizing how fragile it is. Years from now, when this experience is a memory, I know that I won't be living with the same raw intensity I feel every day. But I do hope that I maintain my sense of wonder and that I wake up every morning happy...happy to be.

I'm getting ready for radiation tomorrow, slathering my skin with my creams and potions. And I'm getting in the right frame of mind to find my center and stretch. I think I need some chocolate first...mmm. Happy.

Looking Forward...

Spring has arrived. There's something glorious about springtime in the Willamette Valley. The smell of the daphne and wet grass; the deep blue sky punctuated by large white gray clouds and vibrant rainbows; the budding trees and plants that offer a promise of something grand. Usually Spring and rain go hand in hand but we were thrown a curve ball this year. We welcomed the season of birth and beginnings with a fresh coat of wintery white. Ten inches of snow...I guess if our kids get a snow day they might as well get their money's worth.

It's hard to imagine that another season has come and gone and I'm still plugging away. It was seven months ago today that I called my mom and gave her the news that shook her to the core. I went from being a normal healthy girl one day to being the healthiest sick person I knew the next. It's stunning how quickly things can change. From the moment I received my diagnosis I felt like I was in a tunnel. I could only move forward, contemplating one moment, one day, one treatment at a time. I was in fighter mode and my attention was focused and undeterred . I quickly learned what I could about chemotherapy then stopped reading and got on with the business of getting better. Similarly, before my surgery I researched the procedure, looked at pictures on the internet, freaked out a bit then swallowed hard and inched forward through the tunnel. I'm eleven days into my radiation regimen and while I still feel like I'm in the tunnel, the lanes are wider and there are some windows letting the outside world in. I'm beginning to plan for the future, to think ahead and imagine my life after my treatments.

When I met with my radiation oncologist yesterday I confessed that in looking forward I have become obsessed with reading clinical trials, journal articles and studies to glean any likelihood that I may relapse. Her response was both brilliant and comforting. She said that my chance of relapse is either 100% or 0% and the rest is like predicting the weather. Between my treatments, my vitamins and all the broccoli I eat I'm doing everything I can and trying to figure out which column of patients I fit in will only make me crazy. So I surrender to living my life, enjoying every moment and looking forward...

Never a Dull Moment

After a bit of a lull this wild roller coaster ride I'm on is picking up some steam. Last Friday I had my radiation simulation where they did a Cat Scan to make sure my vital organs are in the right place. I passed with flying colors...nice to know my heart is where it's supposed to be :-) They also made a mold that I will lay in for each treatment. It was like a bean bag chair that, once filled with air, melts and molds to my body. Very cool. With that done I started radiation on Wednesday and that first appointment is such an exacting process. For all you math geeks this process is all calculus and physics. My fabulous techs (Jeff, Rick and Renee) painstakingly set up the machine that rotates around my body to deliver the exact dose of radiation at the exact angle or curve. There are four sections they're blasting: my lymph nodes above my clavicle; my chest wall and breast, curving over from the right side; my chest wall and breast from two different angles on the left. That first day they had to take x-rays before each dose to make sure their coordinates were correct, so it was about 45 minutes of laying in the same position with my arms above my head. Ouch! When they finished it was time for the tattoos. Double Ouch! And yes they are permanent. I have four...one on each side and two on my breast. They look like small black freckles and they allow the technicians to line up the machine perfectly each time I go in. My friend Kirin was kind enough to drive me, allowing me to take an Ativan before hand, making the process a little less uncomfortable. On day 2 Liz joined me and Renee let her come back and see the set-up, explaining the process, what they were doing and why. They let her stay in with me until they were ready to start up the radiation. Their willingness to thoroughly answer all my questions is both informative and comforting. I feel like I'm in very capable hands with some of the smartest people in town! So mom, next time you're in town you can come for show and tell!

In addition to my radiation treatments I'm still getting my Herceptin infusions every three weeks. I'm reading a book about how this drug, a monoclonal antibody, was developed and it's fascinating. My dad was asking some questions about Herceptin, how it's different from chemo and what it does....I got an e-mail today from the American Cancer Society and with an attachment about Dennis Slamon MD, the oncologist/researcher who was instrumental in getting Herceptin through the drug trial phases and onto the market. I've attached it for anyone who is interested. And the name of the book is Her-2: The Making of Herceptin, a Revolutionary Treatment for Breast Cancer by Robert Bazell MD. He's the Chief Science and Health Correspondent for NBC News so he is accustomed to deconstructing complex medical information for the general public. And no, I don't expect you all to start reading about drug trials, biotech companies and breast cancer...but if it floats your boat it's quite fascinating :-)

I get the weekend off and I am looking forward to some down time with Bruce, Rosie and a ball of yarn (I've got a few projects in the hopper). And Nathan and Stephanie will be coming to town this weekend so I'm looking forward to visiting with them. Hope you all enjoy a wonderful weekend...I know I will!

http://img.delivery.net/cm50content/19439/51420/msabcMar2012/finding_Cures.html?acx_mid=145394&acx_rid=1141023486

A Moment in Time

Before I had my surgery I had some photographs taken to commemorate, to record, to celebrate what was. I worked with Peggy Iileen Johnson (http://eugenephotographer.com/), a wonderful photographer who Liz recommended when it was time for Taylor's senior pictures. We looked at different websites and blogs and decided to do a combination of documentary-style photographs that I can compile in some fashion and pictures just for me. I didn't know how important they would be, or if I would have the courage to look at them after my surgery but I finally opened the disc last week. As I look at them (all 250+!) I'm taken aback. I thought that the photos of my body would be most important but in fact it's what she captured in my expression that touches me most. Peggy was able to elicit all the feelings and emotions that have marked my journey thus far. She captured a significant moment in time and I am so grateful for the images of a warrior.

Looking for the Good Stuff

They call this a journey for a reason. The road to health and that pink survivor shirt is not for the faint of heart. Some days I feel like I'm starring in my own Lifetime movie. There are the overwrought moments where emotions run deep. Matters of life and death can hurl you into some pretty dark places. And then there are hysterically funny moments where I can't stop laughing about the absurdities that a breast cancer diagnosis brings. Being the subject of the Tumor Board, having people I don't really know ask me what cup size I'm going to choose or looking at a picture of myself and realizing that my eyebrows and eyelashes were gone...you know the drill. If you don't laugh you'll cry and some of this stuff is really funny! And finally, the intimate moments shared with my family, friends, physicians and caregivers. That's where I find the emotional meat of this experience. There are instances of such tender honesty, pathos, joy and vulnerability, but always the opportunity to say the things that matter.

This weekend Bruce and I took a walk through the neighborhood between rain and snow showers. The bright vibrant rainbows that appeared on the horizon offered the perfect metaphor to this experience. The storms of treatment can seem overwhelming but there is tremendous beauty to be found. The overwrought, funny and emotionally raw moments...that's where the good stuff is. My mom and dad, with me every step of the way, never letting me forget that I'll always be their little girl. My brother shaving his head in solidarity; and my sister moving heaven and earth to make sure she would be by my side during chemo and again after my surgery. Despite being queasy, she watched as they inserted the needle in my port for chemo and helped me with my post surgical drains. A testament to the bond sister's share. And my dear husband, holding me, letting me fall apart, and helping me figure out how to be whole again. Our kids and our friends, present with gestures large and small, their love as healing as any drug. And my Dream Team of doctors, nurses, aides and my physical therapist Andréa. When I told her I felt like my seroma was like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors and was going to devour me we started laughing and decided to name it. I chose Matilda in honor of Taylor's big adventure in Australia. And my oncologist Peter Kovach, bless his heart, offers comfort and information in equal measure. I wouldn't have been so prepared for chemotherapy were it not for his calm and reassuring demeanor. Not to mention his accommodating nature. On more than one occasion there was barely room for everyone in the exam room as I brought along an entourage of support, but be didn't skip a beat and always answered everyone's questions.

A few more storms are on the horizon...radiation starts next week and my final surgery will likely be sometime next fall. But I'm looking for the good stuff. Thanks to all of you I know where to find it.

A Leap of Faith

It's been an interesting week. I am finding that as time goes on, my strong courageous exterior is giving way to the fears and frustrations that go with the long slog that is breast cancer treatment. It's mostly due to the latest unknown - radiation - and the fact that after six months I'm tired. I want my hair back. I want my life back. After my diagnosis I flung myself into chemo with a fighting spirit and a sense of invincibility. After my surgery I was one step closer to being done, but it brought me closer to reality as invincibility is tough to pull off day in and day out. The third head of this monster, radiation, is all about hedging your bets for the future. It feels like a leap of faith that this particular treatment will be my ticket into old age. That some radioactive rays directed toward my chest wall and lymph system will keep the cancer out of my bones and allow me to not only check off the items on my bucket list but continue to add to it.

In preparation for radiation, tentatively scheduled for March 5, they'll do a simulation that involves a CAT scan so they can determine where my heart is. I laughed at this..."Isn't it here?" I asked my Dr., pointing to my chest. But they need to know where it is within a mm so they avoid cooking it with radiation. Good thinking.

I have a wonderful physical therapist, Andréa, who is helping me prepare for the simulation and subsequent radiation treatments. It's going to be a bitch. I can barely lift my left arm over my head for a few moments and I am going to have to hold it overhead and be still for at least 15 minutes. The thought is giving me cold sweats but I'm dutifully stretching and maneuvering everyday so that I'll be ready. Andréa put me through my paces on Monday but I'm confident I'll be ready to go. I'll get some saline removed from my expanders (whew!) then sail through my simulation (fingers crossed) and be ready for the daily grind that is radiation. Fortunately it doesn't take long...it's just every day for six weeks.

I've decided that recognizing and facing my fears about cancer and mortality are a good thing. It's scary but it's part of the process. It's like I'm spending a year down the rabbit hole, trying to figure out the secrets to getting out healthy and intact. In six months we'll know if I found the key. Like I said, it's a leap of faith, and I'm ready to jump.

Hearts and kisses

It's Valentine's Day which always brings back memories of heavy construction paper, doilies and paste. And those sugary hearts...who can resist a heart shaped hunk of sugar with Cutie Pie written in red dye? In addition to Hearts and Kisses day, it's Tuesday which means fishing day in our household. Bruce opted to forgo his standing date with Chris and some native steelhead to come with me to the plastic surgeon's office (got what may be my last fill) and to the Cancer Center where I got my Herceptin. What a sweet Valentine he is :-) And I'm glad that this filling the expanders business may be coming to an end as I am feeling like a blow-up doll ready to explode. It's pretty sore and hard to breathe but I keep reminding myself that each stage passes into the next and the pain is a distant memory.

I'm meeting with my radiation oncologist tomorrow and it sounds like she may want to get started soon. More later...

Happy Valentine's Day to you all.
xoxo

Feeling Springy

Standing here with Rosie looking out the window at the birds flitting about. The cold gray skies are punctuated by the first harbingers of Spring...in our yard that would be our camellia, a few rhododendrons and our daffodils. There is something so hopeful about the changing of seasons. In the Valley that hope is demonstrated in the various nurseries around town where folks are buying up flowers and vegetables and fruit trees to take root in their cold wintered yards. A hard frost or a bit of snow is not uncommon in February but we can't help it. Spring, and all its inherent beauty and possibility, is there for the taking and it's just too damn tempting to pass up. And as February makes it's slow trek into March, I'm beginning to feel like my own body got the memo. Things are changing and it's all for the better. My hair is growing, I'm getting my eyelashes and eyebrows back and my strength and flexibility are returning with each day. I'm feeling good, or maybe even a qualified great, and although I'm still spending much of my energy taking each day as it comes, I am looking forward to what's ahead. Recovery is all about today but hope is about tomorrows. I think it's the perfect time to plant some pansies...they'll look gorgeous this summer.

To Laugh or Cry...

Remember that scene in The Wizard of Oz where the Wicked Witch of the West gets doused with water and exclaims "I'm melting!" I'm feeling a bit like the green dame only instead of melting, I'm expanding. Liquid is the fearsome substance for us both, only mine is saline and comes in a syringe inserted in my breast, through a metal port, into the expander. They are made of heavy silicone and as the expanders become fuller, these balloon-like place keepers are getting hard. Really hard. After inserting them during my mastectomy, my plastic surgeon filled them with 150 cc's of saline. After three fills I have 300 cc's and will likely get another 150 or so. And every time I get an injection my skin and muscles stretch and are pulled taut. Dr. Movassaghi is determined to have plenty of skin to work with for my final surgery so I'm afraid I may be sporting a Pamela Anderson physique before this part of the process is over. Oh my! This too shall pass but in the meantime my expanding chest may provide some comic relief.

And comic relief was just what I needed this week. Our dear Rosie gave us a scare as 14-year-old labs are wont to do. She had blood, and lots of it, in her urine after a night of acting out of sorts and uncomfortable. My first thoughts went to cancer. Of course it did. The vet was worried about her too, but after some blood work and a few x-rays the best guess was an infection. Four amoxicillin a day, coated in peanut butter, and she's feeling much better. We got a sense of what's to come and we're just appreciating her quirky, amusing personality. She grabbed our hearts the first moment we met her. We love you Sweet Rosie Girl...

Fill 'er up!

Liz is picking me up today and taking me in for my third fill. Feels a little like bellying up to the bar or perhaps the gas station. And my expanders, that will pass for breasts for the time being, are feeling more and more foreign the more expanded they get. Last night I felt like I had a top or bra on that was about four sizes too small but there was nothing to take off. Sometimes I just want to rip 'em off but fortunately the inclination doesn't last long. And just a few more "fills" and I'll be done with this part of the fun!

Yesterday, Liz and I went to Daisy Ducks and the featured speaker was Ashton Eagon, former Duck track athlete who will be competing in the Olympics in the Decathlon. He was so well spoken and incredibly humble in the midst of the fame he is beginning to experience. Speaking of which...check out the June issue of Vogue and you'll see his pic among other Olympic contenders. And he's a Bend native...got to love that!

On an interesting note...after our meeting with my surgeon last week we learned I would be the subject of this week's Tumor Board. All my docs (in addition to their colleagues) will be discussing my amazing (and oh so fortunate) response to the chemotherapy. Hoping to have a sense of what to expect in the coming months concerning radiation and future surgery. But in the meantime I'm hanging in there and enjoying the day :-)

Paying it Forward...

You know that phrase "in your head?" One thing I've discovered about breast cancer and the ensuing treatments is that you have lots of time to think. Over the past six months I've pondered, reminisced, considered, reckoned, deliberated, and delighted about my life, my experiences, and most of all my relationships. I think of my friends who have delivered meals, taken me to appointments, picked up groceries, come by for a visit, sent cards and e-mails...made me feel more like myself at a time when I can't remember what that is anymore. And I think of my family. they have shared in this experience in such an intimate, and sometimes humorous way. They've allowed me to find my way through this sometimes harrowing experience, all the while being there with a knowing hug and a willing ear.

The other day I was thinking about my first year teaching. It was a small high school for at-risk kids which allowed us to do some interesting things to connect with students. That year we started a program to get kids plugged into their community in new and interesting ways. We started by having all students read the book Pay it Forward. While it's not the most well written novel, the idea behind it is quite intriguing. If I do something for you, don't pay me back...do something meaningful for someone else. It made quite an impact on the lives of many of the kids, if only for a short time.

We can't know how little (and big) gestures can make a significant impact on the lives of people we encounter or learn about. Jim Bruce, a friend and client of my dad's, recently sent my Bruce a book called Breast Cancer Husband. He received the book when his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. Upon learning of my diagnosis and subsequent treatment, he felt compelled to send it to Bruce. Thank You. I love the fact that Bruce can understand so many of the complicated and intricate medical issues that arise and that he can navigate what he lovingly refers to as the Medical Meat Grinder. But sometimes I just need my husband and this book articulated much of what I felt but didn't know how to say. Thank You. Men like to fix things. They like to know that they can take care of their families. When your wife is diagnosed with breast cancer there is nothing to fix. Sometimes just being there is the most difficult thing of all but its the best thing of all. Bruce is there for me. Not with treatment plans and platitudes but with love and concern and the knowledge that it's okay if he can't fix it. Thank You.

We will hang on to this book until the time comes to pay if forward. Thank you Jim. Thank you.