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.