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.