Prayers for the Sick

Week 21: I completed my first "cycle" of chemo, which is 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Only five more cycles to go. My week "off" was great. I had more energy, didn't feel nauseous, and the metallic taste in my mouth disappeared. So to me, feeling normal is now my equivalent of feeling fab! Still, it was a rough week in other respects. I've been crying a lot lately. I try hard to fend off gloomy thoughts, but sometimes I just can't help it. I don't want to die young, but the possibility is never far-off. That possibility hit home when a friend forwarded me an email about funeral arrangements for another friend of hers who lost her battle to a recurrence of cancer. I felt an immense sense of loss for her loved ones who were left behind and for some reason it really struck a nerve. I bawled over what such a ghostly email might say about me when my time comes because it will mean I'm not here to love and take care of Stephanie. A few days later, my sister-in-law told me that one of her fellow home-school teachers went to the doctor for a fever... and discovered it was from cancer that had spread all over her body. The woman is 38 years old and has eight children at home. I had to keep myself from breaking down and sobbing over such heart-wrenching news. I don't presume to know the emotional turmoil that she and her family might be going through, but for me, living with cancer runs the gamut of distress, confusion, fear, sadness, and a profound loss of direction. I don't expect anyone to understand but, ironically, it's these feelings that have gradually led and continue to lead me closer to experiencing "truth." I hope she finds the same gift. When Stephanie was little, probably around 3 years old, she and I made up our own little secret prayer to say every time we hear a siren. "God bless that family in their time of need. Keep them safe, and give them strength." It's so imprinted in my mind now that my response is automatic: it's the first thing I think of when people are in trouble. We're all connected, strangers or not, and I can't help but believe that somehow, somewhere, off in the distant cosmos, my little prayer will be delivered when it's needed most. It helps me forget my own tribulations and reminds me instead that life is good. Even when we have to lose. I trust that God will take care of the families I mentioned. I know He will bless them; He will keep them safe, and He will give them inner strength.

I've Still Got It!

Week 20: I've still got it, in case you're wondering. My hair, that is. On the one hand, I couldn't be more pleased. On the other hand, it looks terrible because I've put-off getting it cut [for what's turned into months now] since I thought it would be a waste of money. It's getting pretty long, so at this rate I could find myself in a position to donate my own hair to "Locks of Love" and have them make a wig for me! Naah, never mind. That'd be too weird. Besides, I'm kind of looking forward to playing a blonde one day and a redhead the next. This time, however, I promise to get a NEW red wig. I saw myself in a picture from our Grinch Party the year I went through this the first time (Christmas 2003). Only one word comes to mind: frightening! I looked like that clown from "The Simpsons." That's what I get for trusting my sister, Jennifer, with styling advice. My mother-in-law, Val, will be thrilled to hear that I'm ditching Old Red. She cringed every time she saw me wearing it, bless it her heart. Maybe I'll take her out and get her drunk. Then when she least expects it, I'll pull the wig right off my bad-ass bald head, in public, of course, right in the middle of the restaurant/bar. Next, I'll throw it on the floor and stomp all over it. Let's face it, the same look of shock and horror that came across her face the first time she saw me wearing Old Red should also be worn the last time she sees it.

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Week 19: Not so lucky getting by without side-effects from chemo this week... but still, very mild comparatively speaking. By the end of the second day I felt like crap. I took some anti-nausea drugs, which in turn, knocked me out again. On Saturday, Mike and Stephanie decided to take one final ski trip to Snowshoe, WV. Depart at 5:30am? I think not. I drove up on my own later that afternoon. It was 70-plus degrees outside! I had the moon roof open, sunglasses on, and I hit the turns and curves like a magnet was holding me down. Not that my 540i is anything to complain about, but too bad I'm "not allowed" to drive the vette. It was the perfect day for it. Despite the constant feeling of illness in the background, it was a nice drive, full of those wonderful Spring sights and sounds I love so much: rushing mountain streams, deep green forests, rock cliffs, people out fishing, hiking, and folks on motorcycles waving at one another like they're exclusive members of a really cool club. And they are. Motorcycles are cool. They're fun and I wish I had one. Sunday we skied in 65-plus degree weather. Plenty of good base left on the mountain. I was tired, but the air and exercise did me good. Driving back wasn't nearly as much fun because the nausea was increasing and I couldn't take anything for it. The meds would've made me too tired to drive and it was a struggle as it was. We returned safely and by late Monday/Tuesday morning, I started feeling really good again.

What Week Are We On? Oh Yes, My Inaugural Chemo Treatment

Week 18: Sorry, folks. I have some catching-up to do. Let me start with last week, my first official chemo session. I can't believe it, but I may be shrinking! Upon my arrival for chemo (and only after I forked-over my $30 co-pay of course), I was sent off to a "special" waiting room. But for the brief time I sat in the "gen pop" area, I noticed it was crowded and there wasn't much in the way of reading material. Being the Samaritan-type that I am, I grabbed a bunch of magazines from my special waiting room and walked back up to the front to hand them out. I thought it was the least I could do for people who might have bad news pending. I didn't see any baldies among them, so there was probably a good chance many were new to the oncology world. My world; again. Anyway, I was promptly hauled off to be given blood tests, measurements and questionnaires. It was at that time I was told that I was 5' 6-1/2" tall. To the best of my knowledge, I've been 5' 7-1/2" all of my adult life. I wondered, "what the...," but I wasn't there to debate. I had other things to worry about. What's an inch of shrink? I suppose it might matter to guys, especially in cold water, but I didn't care. I was set-up in a private room about the size of a one-bed area in a two-bed hospital room. I had windows, a barcalounger, a small flat-screen TV, guest chair, and pillow. What more could a gal ask for? They stuck a needle connector thing into my medi-port, which I can only describe as a disk beneath my skin that feels like a pencil eraser. I assume whatever it's made out of closes back up when the needle is removed. Anyway, they drew blood, tested it, gave me the green light, and then started my first fix. The initial IV was an anti-nauseous drip. Then came the platinum stuff, the Carboplatin, followed by a bag of the Taxotere. The whole thing took about 3-1/2 hours. Time that will be sucked out of my life for months to come. But the way I look at it, I'm willing to give up 3-1/2 hours for a potential 3-1/2 years return-on-investment. Or so one can hope. At the end of the day, there was no anaphylactic shock, no cardiac arrest or paramedic care. Thus I earned the respect and admiration of all the staff, and the right to drive myself to and from future treatments. Meanwhile, I was returned safely to my husband who had come to pick me up and take me back home to rest...and to see what happened next. Nothing all evening. Fabulous! T he following day? ...I wasn't conscious. I was feeling tired, so I laid down to take a little, mid-morning cat nap. I woke up five hours later. I couldn't believe I slept that long, especially when I noticed 4 phone messages and a fax. 'Hadn't heard a thing. I was utterly zonked. Over the weekend I started feeling nauseous, but fortunately, it was easily remedied with one of the prescriptions I was given. And that was it. Not too bad! If those side effects are any indication of how my body will respond to future treatments, I'll be loving life!

The Chemo Cometh

Week 17: Wanted to let you know that my chemo is set to start next Wednesday, February 25th. It so happens that it's also Ash Wednesday, but I won't get into any of the religious significance for me at the moment. Rather, in the spirit of taking things "one day at a time," I need to focus on Fat Tuesday first. Cocktails and beads, anyone?

I'm So Done With This Already

Week 16: I went to see my cancer surgeon. We went over my pathology report. They removed a piece of skin and underlying tissue that measured approximately 2-2/3" long x 1-1/2" wide x 1/2" deep. The tumor itself was about 2/3" x 1/2" x 1/4" in size. I don't recall the details, but I think the smallest dimension was about 3" with my original cancer, so this one was relatively small by comparison. That's the good news. The bad news is that my "Nottingham Score" is 9: Architecture 3 (out 3), Nuclei 3 (out of 3), and Mitoses 3 (out of 3). When the numbers are added up, a sum of 3 to 5 is Grade 1, 6 to 7 is Grade 2, and 8 to 9 is Grade 3. The higher the number, the more aggressive the cancer. That being said, because the Nottingham system is subject to a given pathologist's opinion, it's an imprecise method of categorizing the cancer. A high score doesn't mean I'm doomed, nor would a low score mean I'm off the hook. The grading is simply a tool to try to quantify tumor characteristics. After we talked about the report, my surgeon asked me, "so what does Dr. Felice (my oncologist) have planned?" I told her the names of the drugs I'm going to have and she shook her head in agreement. I asked her point blank what she thought of it. She stroked my arm and said, "it's really what you need at this point. It's the best thing for you." Reassuring while at the same time, ominous. Week 17: My central-line surgery went fine, except that, "IT HURTS LIKE HELL!" As soon as I'm done taking a little more pain medication, I'll tell you more about it. Four hours later... ...okay, where was I? Oh yeah, "IT HURTS LIKE HELL."

Twilight Ain't My Time of Day

Week 16:   Nothing new to report other than I'll be visiting my cancer surgeon tomorrow for a follow-up and review of the patholgy report, and I'm scheduled to go under the knife again on Monday, Feb 16th.   As with the cancer surgery, I have to be at the hospital for check-in at 7:30am. These early morning procedures are getting annoying. They'll be putting my central line in using local anethesia and some other drug to render me semi-conscious rather than putting me totally out with general anethesia. Should take about three hours. I'll let you know how everything goes.

On-Deck

Week 15: This week I went to see my oncologist for the "what's next" report. I was reminded that before I begin the chemo, I have to go back to the hospital sometime next week for another minor surgery. They need to put a medi-port/central line into my chest. Then we have to allow time for it to heal, so we're looking at the end of the month before toxins start filling my bloodstream. The infusions will be once a week, for 3 weeks, followed by 1 week off. I'll have to repeat this 4-week cycle six times. For you non-mathematicians out there, that's about a six month therapy period, provided there are no delays along the way - which would be a miracle. I'll be given only two chemo drugs this time. The first is Taxotere, which attacks cells while they're dividing. The other drug is Carboplatin, which attacks cells while they're at rest. By teaming-up the two, there should be an assortment of cells being killed at all times.   Lucky me.

Looking Good My Friend

Week 14 -   Took a quick trip over to my plastic surgeon's office for a follow-up. I can't see the actual incision through the bandage, but from what I can feel and see elsewhere, my new boob looks pretty good! The doc put in a silicone implant after the cancer was resected, and I have to say, I'm pleased with the result. They only only had to cut me open about 3-inches this time. It was more than twice that length with my original mastectomy and lymph node dissection.   The silicone implant is smaller but it feels SO much softer and natural than the saline one I had before. I had some swelling and tenderness, but no bruising and no dibilitating pain.   I went with Tylenol, so i still have several Percocet tabs leftover from my prescription.  Alas...I have no desire to abuse them.   Gone are the days when I probably would've taken them just for fun.

It's All Good

Week 14: I'm still not in the mood to write, but suffice it to say I'm feeling good, I've rested-up, and I'm ready to tackle the next thing on my treatment list ...although I don't know what that will be precisely. In the meantime, I want to give a shout-out to some special people who've gone out of their way for me (in no particular order). I'd be remiss if I didn't extend my sincerest appreciation for your support, gifts, cards and prayers:

My Husband and Daughter My Siblings (David, Joan, Dan, Paul, Joe, Beth and Jen) My Mom Mrs. [Helen] Brewer Michael Blevins Val Dollard My Uncle George Lisa Maloney Deidre Howard Kelly Wyche Alyssa Alban Mary Savia Cheryl Judd and Doug Rinker Araceli Baker Mrs. [Maria] Bua Mrs. [Cindy] Revaz Mr. and Mrs. Beahm (Joan's in-laws) Troy Sloper, Kara & Jenna Sweeney

Many thanks also to those who continue to keep me and my family in your thoughts and prayers. So far, it's working!