From Oct to Dec in 5,000 Words or Less (Give or Take a Few Thousand Words)

By now most of you know that my breast cancer has staked a claim to my body for the THIRD time, this time with a vengeance.


It all started months ago, in late October after celebrating my mother's 75th birthday. My sisters planned a huge surprise party for her. Dozens of local friends and family were invited to the festivities. My mom's twin sisters, Irlene and Arlene, whom we haven't seen in far too many years, along with our cousin Barbara and her daughter, flew in from St Louis. Needless to say, my mother was shocked by the surprise and floating on Cloud Nine.

The party was Saturday night.  To continue the celebration on Sunday, I had everyone over for brunch, or so I attempted. Those who know my culinary skills would argue that it wasn't brunch at all, but rather a sort of "complete failure." Besides hosting brunch, I also had a number of other out-of-town family members overflowing my house for the party weekend. So with several continuous days full of planning, prepping, shopping, decorating, cooking, laundering, serving and cleaning-up, I was exhausted by the time everyone left that afternoon. (Not complaining, just stating the reality.)


I laid down on the couch for a break to watch some television when my chest started hurting. Sharp pain. Every time I breathed. It was coming from the upper part of my left breast (my "GOOD" one), about two inches below my collar bone. The pain wouldn't go away for the rest of the evening.


Not knowing the source of the pain but given my history and the fact that it was in my breast area, I decided to go see my oncologist (a decision that would become a godsend). I called for an appointment on Monday and I arrived in his office on Tuesday. Having thought more about my condition, and about how acute the pain became whenever I took too deep a breath, I informed my doctor that I had diagnosed myself. "I must have broken a rib without realizing how I did it."

Initially I thought of "ribs" as the bones that stick out above your stomach and wrap around your lungs and your back. I didn't really consider anything as high as one's cleavage. But then I realized, yep, rib bones are there, too -- so that must be my problem.  I must've fractured a rib from all of the strenuous hosting activity I'd been doing.  Or maybe it was from one of my dog-clients jumping up and injuring me without my originally feeling it. Or maybe it was a combination of both; one weakened me and the other finally did me in. In any event, I couldn't remember any direct trauma to the area. Still, I told myself, "that must be it, I must have cracked a rib."

Fortunately, I'm not in charge of the self-diagnosis department. Without being injured from something specific, my oncologist was suspicious.  No apparent cause for pain isn't normal. So he referred me for a full-body bone scan and a CT scan.

Kaiser is our new insurance carrier. For the CT scan, they wouldn't let me go to the facility I'd been using since I was first diagnosed with cancer in 2003 because they had one of their own (bye-bye continuity of care). So on Wednesday afternoon, Oct 27 (my mother's real 75th birthday), I went to Kaiser to pick-up two quarts of the nasty, horrible barium that I had to drink an hour before the scan. I forced it down during Stephanie's Brownie troop meeting and after dropping her off at home, I went for the scan. It was cold, but uneventful. I was in-and-out within 40 minutes and back at the house in time to tuck Stephanie into bed.

No immediate release of any results of course. I was told that the pathology report and a CD would be prepared by the imaging center and then sent over to Kaiser's main office. Then I'd have to make a trip to Kaiser's office to fill-out a records request form; then I'd have to wait until they contacted me to say I could come pick-up the file. Then I'd have to make another trip back to the office to get them; and then I'd have to hand-deliver the records to my oncologist. I got the sense my health care management was going to be a challenge.

In the meantime, although Kaiser does their own CT scans, they don’t do bone scans at any of their centers. I spent several frustrating days on the phone being passed around and put on hold, repeating my plight to each new representative. I must have provided my account number three hundred times. Those efforts were followed by waiting for what seemed like an eternity for Kaiser’s medical review process. I was finally given authorization to see the same radiologist I had gone to for a similar scan in a previous cancer life.

So I reported to the bone people that Friday morning, Oct 29th.  Following my fabulous 30-minute scan, I was asked to join the nurse in the x-ray room down the hall. My doctor hadn't ordered an x-ray, but apparently whatever the tech saw in the scan required a second look, so off I went.  It wasn't a big deal to me because I thought I had a broken rib (in my humble opinion) and I assumed they just wanted a different picture.  I left the hospital not thinking twice about it.

That weekend was Halloween. Stephanie was a kitten and collected an obscene amount of candy.

On Monday, Nov 1, the results of my bone scan from the NON-Kaiser facility were efficiently routed back to my doctor, who not liking the results, ordered an MRI. The bone scan showed some "uptake" in the proximity of my pain, but there was no evidence of a fracture.   "Translation please."   It turns out they sent me for that x-ray because SOMETHING was triggering a reaction to whatever potion they used for the scan, but they couldn't see anything on the scan that told them why. They thought an x-ray would clarify things.  Not so.  They still couldn't see any evidence of any injury to the bone - past or present.  Hence, they had no diagnosis or explanation for why the uptake was occurring.  Since the scan and x-rays didn't solve the mystery of my pain, my oncologist decided an MRI might show us what's happening.


By the time we got the insurance issues worked-out for the MRI, another week had gone by. Kaiser REALLY doesn't like to use outsiders and they obviously scrutinized my doctor's orders. The MRI people, knowing how inefficiently Kaiser operates, refused to pencil me in on the schedule. They wouldn't even consider making an appointment for me until they had a referral signed in blood.  Once that was in hand, it was yet another week before I could actually be seen. If you're paying attention, that's two weeks wasted.


While all of that was happening, the good old CT report from Kaiser's imaging center finally came in. I picked it up and brought it to my oncologist. Oddly enough, there was nothing suspicious on my left side where I first felt the chest pain. There was, however, something showing up in my chest on the right side (my former cancer site).  Huh?  Say that again?

Soon thereafter, I felt a lump under my skin on my lower back.


In case I'm losing you, here's a summary. It’s early November and we have conflicting reports. First, there IS something happening on my LEFT side per the bone scan - but no sign of a bone fracture or other injury. Secondly, there ISN'T anything happening on my LEFT side per the CT scan - but there's something showing-up on the right. ... And oh, did I mention, there’s a lump in my back? Good Lord, I'm confused.


My MRI was Friday, Nov 12. Unfortunately, that appointment didn't pan out very well. Confusion ensued in the examining room while I sat there in the dim with ear plugs pressed in   (MRI machines are loud)   and a cool draft up my gown.  There was some discussion over what Kaiser did and didn't approve versus what my oncologist had ordered. Was the MRI specific to my breast area only or was it for my whole chest? Different protocols, one of which they were NOT set-up for. Guess which one I needed?

The radiologist or technician or whatever person she was eventually summoned me to lay face down on the table and advised me to remain still. I was sent in and out of the machine as she made countless attempts to maneuver and reposition me into place to get exactly the right angle, array, amount, vector, longitude, latitude, dose, beam strength, wave length, color, brightness, contrast, rotation, WHATEVER.  Whatever it was, it didn't work. They couldn't get a good image, so I was told I needed to be rescheduled for a different machine. Nice try, thanks for playing.

On Monday, Nov 15, I went to see my oncologist. I let him know what happened at the MRI appointment, and I mentioned the lump I felt.



EERRRrrr-r-rrckkchk

(...that was a record scratch)



Hold on a minute. What lump? "Okay, forget about the second MRI," he told me, "you need to go see your surgeon about the lump first." He continued, “why have another MRI when a biopsy might tell us what we need to know.”  Wha-a-a??   Okay let's get to the point. The million dollar question we all wanted answered is, are your symptoms and the "clues" from your scans stemming from your cancer?  If it turns out the lump is malignant, then we know you have it. Pinpointing whether or not you have a fracture or whether the CT scan shows a new "spot" inside your chest won't really matter. If you have a malignant tumor, the next step would be a PET scan. A PET scan will show us everything that's going on everywhere.


By the time I saw the surgeon that Thursday, Nov 18, I had developed a second lump on the opposite side of my back. On the examining table, the doctor numbed me with a needle, cut me open and removed the tissue. At this point, the intern suddenly felt hot and left the room. We forged on without her. The doctor felt compelled to show the tissue to me (which I thought was gross), placed it in a little lab container, and then sewed me up. She repeated the process on the other lump. Afterwards she said, "I'm sure it's nothing. People get these things all of the time. It would be highly unusual for cancer to occur there." Famous last words. Stitches in BOTH sides of my back made it rather painful to lean on anything for several days afterwards, regardless of whether I was sitting up or laying down.   In other words, I couldn't relax unless I was standing up, and standing wasn't relaxing.


Okay so let's see. How can I rationalize all of this?

    • Bone scan: no fracture? Then it must NOT be a bone injury. It must be muscle.

    • CT scan: something on the right and NOT the left?  Must be scar tissue from prior surgeries and radiation. (Kaiser didn't have my prior CT scans to compare so they wouldn't know what it is, right?)

    • Lumps: nodules in my back?  Must be fatty tissue gone-a-mutating.

I spent the weekend dispelling to myself any myths that I had cancer again. These were all just strange coincidences.


On Monday, Nov 22, the pathology report for the tumors came back and I got a call from the surgeon. She is "shocked by the results" and "very sorry." I have cancer. If she'd been giving out cancer monopoly cards, mine would read "GO TO PET. Go directly to PET. ...Do not pass MRI. Do not collect $200." Collect your wits instead. My oncologist made the right call about a second MRI.  I now needed a PET scan to see where else in my body I was in trouble.


On Wednesday the 24th, the day before Thanksgiving, I was back at the hospital for my career 5th PET scan. I was injected with the nuclear tracer and then allowed to sleep for 45 minutes while it worked its way through my systems: skeletal, respiratory, lymphatic, digestive, you name it. I was awash with radioactivity. They had problems with the machine, so I ended-up sleeping for about twice the allotted time. I'm not a morning person so it worked out great for me. When they eventually woke me up, I was laid out on the machine and sent through the doughnut. By the time the scan was completed, it was nearing the end of the day and people were already leaving for the holiday. It was Thanksgiving weekend and the offices were closed, so test results weren’t going to be forthcoming. I had a long wait ahead of me. I went home and tried not to think about it any more. Not knowing was THE worst part.


Because I didn't know the extent of my cancer - only that the tissue from my back tested positive - I didn't want to say anything to anyone, especially not at Thanksgiving. The information I had was incomplete. Why cause my family to worry?  But Mike spilled the beans to my sisters. They confronted me and I couldn't lie. I’m not that quick on my feet. But I still didn't tell my mom or other relatives and friends and I made my sisters swear not to say anything.

In the back of my mind, somewhere in my conscious, I was still holding-out for some news that would make everything all right again.  Maybe the tumors were just some very strange fluke. Just as my surgeon didn't expect them to be cancerous in the first place, maybe the inverse was that those lumps were the entire extent of it.  If all of the cancerous tissue had been successfully removed, then I was in the clear.
It just wasn't to be. 

That was late-November.  I'm telling you this in January.  There's still December to write about.

The Long Forgotten Hole

'Never did follow-up here on the old blog about the whole radiation-recall thing from my JUNE 2010 post. But here's how the doctor appointments played out:   Nothing. Nadda. No staph or other infection shown by the biopsy.   No reason why the symptoms appeared in the first place, and no explantion why they went away.  But I guess that was good news.

As a reward for having no infection or disease or other condition, I now have a hole in my skin. Yes, a permanant hole in my skin from where the dermatologist scraped the tissue at my masectomy scar for the biopsy. For weeks I thought it was trying to heal. I thought the "dark" spot I could see was a scab trying to form. Then one afternoon I nearly fainted when I discovered it wasn't a scab at all, it was the lining of my implant!

I heard a gurgling as I was drying-off from a shower. Huh? What the..?
I realized as I moved my arm, I could hear a squishing sound.

Remember how the boys (at least the ones in our neighborhood) used to try to make fart sounds by holding one of their hands under an armpit and then squeezing that shoulder? Well, that's kind of what my squish sounded like, except more muffled.

I moved my arm again. I heard another gurgle. To my horror, I looked down at my scar and, literally, I saw water bubbling-up through my skin from my own body cavity !! The "dark" spot I had been unconcerned about for so long wasn't even a scab, it was a hole to the internal darkness of my chest wall!

Now for the gross part. Stop here if you're squeamish and/or if you know that I don't filter my experiences.

So of course the next thing I did was lift my breast/implant to see if any more fluid drained out. And it did. I almost threw-up it was so unsettling. The "pocket" of skin that holds my implant is stretched bigger than the implant itself. As water from showering seaped-in through the hole, it accumulated in the crease at the bottom of the pocket. Holy moly.

I'm always tempted to take a flashlight and hold it up to the hole to see if I can actually look THROUGH the implant and check-out the inside of my chest cavity. That'd be cool.

To this day in January 2011, my skin isn't healed. The only "fix" for the hole will be to have it stitched up. But at this point in time, I've learned that I have bigger fish fry.  Stand by for details my dear readers.

A Day at the Beach No Longer a Day at the Beach

Did I mention I went to the beach recently and that I came back with an unusual reddening of my skin along the scar of my mastectomy, along with a raging outbreak of what I presumed was the onset of adult acne on my face? Because they occurred at the exact same time, I put the two symptoms together and thought they might be related. The only thing that came to mind was that they were reactions to something internal - like a leak in my implant? So off I went for yet another round of medical appointments.

First stop, my plastics doc. She determined the implant was intact and there were no issues with it. She suggested the redness might be "radiation recall," but because the skin had actually turned into very thin scabs in some places, she said it could be a staph infection, especially considering the rash on my face, too. Thus, I was sent on my way for a consult with a dermatologist.

By the time I was able to get an appointment with the skin doc, much of the rash and redness/scabbing was clearing up already. Nonetheless the dermatologist took a small chunk of skin off my breast for a biopsy and then scraped a few skin cells off my face for testing, too. And that was that. Should have results soon.

What is it This Time?

Went for my mammo as prescribed. When I finished checking-in, I was led to a dimly lit room where the machine was waiting for me. After the first couple of pictures were taken, I took a seat, covered myself with the hospital gown... and waited. I passed the time by mentally chanting to myself, "it's going to be fine. It's going to be fine. It's just the implant valve. I'll be fine."

Then the devil on my shoulder would ask, "but what if it's not okay? What are you gonna to do then? How are you going to handle it?" ...And then I'd think back about all the crap I've been through. So I answered myself firmly, "well, I'll just have to soldier on and live through it again. What else would I do?"

And then I'd start thinking, "it's going to be fine. It's going to be fine. I'll be alright..." And the conversation in my head would repeat like a broken record. (For you kids out there who may be reading this and don't know what a record is, it's the device used by your parents' generation to listen to music. We didn't have CDs and iPods and streaming webcasts "in the old days.")

As if I wasn't nervous enough already, the nurse came back to the room and announced, "the doctor wants a few more images." Bummer. I went along with the plan and as I ignored the compression of the machine plates bearing down on me, the voice in my head grew more determined. "I'll be okay. I'll be okay." I was intent on being okay.

You can imagine how alarming it was when the nurse returned a second time and told me the doctor wanted me to have an ultrasound. I thought, "damn, why does he need to see an ultrasound?"

"An ultrasound? You mean right now?", I said. "Yes," she said, "but don't worry, we can do it here. We have a room right down the hall." She pressed her back against the door to hold it open for me as she gestured for me to walk out in the direction of the appropriate hallway.

In a somewhat detached and bewildered state of mind, I was led to an examination room a few doors down. Before I could get my head around what was going on, I said hello to the sonogram lady and crinkled the paper covering the exam table as I took my place on top of it.

She began, "this is just a gel I'm going to put on you. It might be a little cold..." Her voice fell away while I listened to my own thoughts pinging around my brain, trying to reassure myself: "yadda yadda...whatever" "...been there done that." [pause] I looked over to the screen. I thought to myself, "What the heck are we looking at? I don't see anything. I squinted and looked closer. I continued my inner conversation, "What angle are we looking at? I don't see anything but squiggles of black, white and gray." I suddenly snapped-back to the outside world when the lady put down the wand or mouse or whatever that thing is and stood up from her chair. "Okay I'll be right back with the doctor so he can take a look for himself." Huh? Take a look at what?

So in comes the doc, shakes my hand and takes a seat at the helm. He rolls the wand back and forth a few times and stops. Oh... finally I can make out an image on the screen, and it sure looks like the valve to me. "Well we don't see anything suspicious," the doc said. "But obviously with your history we wanted to be thorough." Thank goodness. I'm grateful for the extra care. I was relieved, but I was also a little mad. Mad because I was scared for nothing and because I know it won't be the last time I question my health. I'm annoyed by this whole cancer thing. It's a royal pain and it will always be hanging over me until we find a cure. Remission is great, but a cure would be awesome. Thank you to everyone out there trying to make it happen.

Mammogram Time

It’s been months since I’ve updated this blog with all of the fascinating goings-on in my life. Why haven't I written you ask? Well, don’t get me wrong - I don’t mean to sound unappreciative - but it's because I really didn’t think people actually “followed” my blog, or even if they did, I thought certainly they wouldn’t care much about it after my treatment was done. Boy was I wrong. I can’t believe how many times I’ve been asked about it, or how recently I’ve been told by someone that they had been to my site only to be disappointed that I hadn’t written anything lately.   I'm flattered. Thank you. It just so happens that the time is right to insert a couple of new comments for your reading pleasure. I had an appointment with my oncologist this week. And I cried. I cried because not more than a day before my appointment, I learned that an acquaintance’s mother died from breast cancer. News like that brings it home and all of the emotion comes crashing down again. I get distressed about the very thought of dying, despite my aspirations to be an old woman when I grow up (citation needed). The outcome of my doc’s appointment was a recommendation for genetic testing and an order for a new mammogram. There’s a palpable spot on my "good" boob. I think it’s just the valve from my implant. . . maybe the implant shifted. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I thought about the lump I felt on my other originally-cancerous-boob, which as we all know, turned out NOT to be the valve, but rather the recurrence of breast cancer that led to this blog. Surely lightning won’t strike three times, but better to be safe than sorry. So I’m trying to get myself scheduled for new pictures. Apparently there’s a catch to it now. I was told today that the Women’s Imaging Center that I’ve been going to for the last six or seven years isn’t part of my insurance network. Here's the twist: it’s the same insurance I’ve had for the last four or five years that used to cover my screenings! I have to scramble now to obtain pre-authorization before the procedure will be covered. Is this an ominous sign of things to come in our health care system?

Let it Flow

Any gentlemen reading my blog might want to skip this post -- especially if you're my brother-in-law, Andrew, who rolls his eyes whenever the conversation turns to female issues. Of all the things in the world one can dream of real or imaginary, I had a dream about menstruating. Yes, menstruating. Most women I know dread getting their period each month, but in my dream, I was excited - make that downright overjoyed - to finally have mine back!! I can think of plenty of women who'd consider me crazy to wish I had a period. But I do. I feel like I was robbed. If I hadn't had cancer the first time, maybe Stephanie would have a brother or sister. And now having cancer a second time, I'm pretty sure our family size is sealed. But clearly if I'm dreaming about dispensing eggs and having a womb that prepares for it, maybe it will come true.

Happy Birthday, Happy Lifeday

Today is my sister Jennifer's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEN! Tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of being told I have breast cancer again. As promised when I started writing this blog, I'm still here to tell you about it. It's a good thing Doreen Gentzler isn't coming over for a before-and-after segment (you might recall she was on my doorstep when the "you have cancer" phone call came last year) because I don't look anything like that young, hip, sexy mama of yester-year that you see in her newscast video of me. Nothing can erase the wear-and-tear that the chemo put on my body over the past year, but like it or not, it's what God gave me, or should I say, saved of me, and that's what matters. So I raise another glass, baby. Life rolls on.

The New Dollard Manor

It's been a month since we moved to our new digs in Clifton, VA, and I'm just now past the middle of a mess. We've been living with boxes strewn about, tons of laundry to wash and glassware and china to dust off (I wanted to make sure everything was clean before putting it away). There are continuous piles of trash, donations, and recyclables to be disposed of properly. Our pictures and mirrors are currently hung wherever a nail already existed (and believe me, the locations make no sense, so when you visit, keep in mind it's not my decorating strategy). The bathrooms all needed sanitizing, and the carpets are more stained than anything I've ever seen in my 20 years as a Realtor. We steam-cleaned them for now, but they need to be replaced. And did I mention the paint colors? You have to see it to believe it. Again, we're living with it for the time being, but repainting is at the top of the list of things to do alongside replacing the carpeting.

We haven't even begun to tackle the outside of the house. I'm amazed by the amount of debris and abandoned garden "chachka" (or tchotchke?) we keep finding all over the place. But a comprehensive walk through and clean-up of the property will have to wait until Spring now that the leaves are down.

Don't get me wrong! I'm not complaining...really. I'm just re-living out loud how enormous the task of moving turned out to be. It's been worth it. I love my new house. We feel right at home here with 6 bedrooms and 6 acres for a family of three. What in the world possessed us to buy such a property, you ask? Well, because (a) we have a large extended family that we want to accommodate; (b) we like to party (as everyone knows) and the house lends itself to that; (c) after two episodes of cancer, I deserve it; (d) it was a good deal; (e) I wanted room for my dog boarding and training business; and (f) Mike needed to experience what a commute is like so that he can relate to 90% of the people who live in Northern VA. Okay, granted we didn't move for the latter reason, but nonetheless, Mike has to drive a little further these days in order to enjoy the peacefulness and outdoor space that he wanted, which we now have. So far everything seems to be working out.

Stay tuned for our open house details. You may actually be invited.

Saddle Up for Breast Cancer

I've lost track of the weeks. It's easy to do when you have the rest of your life ahead of you, and thankfully, I do.

I recently attended the horseback "Ride for the Cure," a breast cancer fundraising event, in Middleburg, VA. Middleburg is located in one of the prettiest areas of Virginia. The beautiful Piedmont. Rolling hills, meadows, vineyards, and expensive horse farms. The town of Middleburg is a quaint, historic, pedestrian-friendly enclave of antique shops, galleries, pubs and fine dining establishments. It was a beautiful day, and to add to the scenery, the leaves were starting to glow in shades of yellow, orange and red.

The Middleburg Ride for the Cure was the first equestrian event of its kind, at least in these parts. There were a reported two hundred horses and riders, including my good friend Deidre and her horse Pippin. Our day started off when Deidre ceremoniously pinned a ribbon on me and we (me, Stephanie, Deidre and Pippin) shared a "survivors walk" tribute around one of the sand riding rings. I was wearing sandals so I took them off to walk barefoot. Apparently that was a first, too - which the announcer pointed out over the loudspeaker, trying to be funny. We also had our picture taken by local reporters. Oh well. So what if I wasn't dressed appropriately? It didn't bother me. It's not like I walked in horse manure or anything.

The horses were decked-out in pink ribbons, braided manes and tails, flowers, pink polo wraps and saddle blankets, and the riders sported pink baseball caps, hats, pins and ribbons, pink hairdo's and t-shirts printed with the names and pictures of women they were honoring. It was really something special to behold.

Stephanie and I went into town for a little lunch and window shopping while the actual ride took place. We (people without horses) weren't allowed to walk. Afterwards, we stood at the start/finish line of the route thanking and welcoming back the riders as they returned from the ride. We were a two-person cheering section. It was fun. Goofy, but fun.

Although Stephanie and I didn't stay, the event continued into the evening with a silent auction, dinner and entertainment. Next year we'll make sure we sign-up for the whole thing. I enjoyed myself so much that I think this will be my top choice when it comes to attendiing an annual "breast cancer" event. Who knows...maybe I'll have a horse to ride in the future. I'm pretty sure I could get used to an equestrian lifestyle. With or without my sandals.

A Pink Surprise!

Whew! The last few weeks have passed with blistering speed! There's so much to tell you about. But first, I want to thank all of you who helped with and attended the "surprise!" party that was thrown for me in my sister Jennifer's backyard. (And yes, for those of you who are wondering, Jen is indeed the same sister who swore Old Red looked good on me during my first battle with breast cancer. So this ploy is just another example not to trust her.)

On the evening in question, Jennifer invited me over for dinner (or maybe I invited myself, I'm not sure). She said they were having happy hour at her house, which is nothing unusual. Her house is located in a good spot for the locals to descend on for such soirees.

To play-up her ruse, she called me wanting to know when I was going to show up. I was running late as is customary. She sounded annoyed, as is customary, and claimed she was going to start dinner without me because they were starving. Okay, no problem. Not wanting to arrive empty handed, I decided to make a quick stop at a nearby 7-11, which turned out to be a NOT-so-quick stop because a street that used to be 2-way was turned into a 1-way and I was detoured through a maze of other streets to get back to my original heading. So I finally arrived, unsuspectingly but even more late, to my destination and the waiting guests.

Jennifer was outside sitting on the front stoop. I assumed the kids were out back and she was sneaking a smoke. She watched me pull up and made fun of my parallel parking. Nothing unusual there. I was completely unaware of any mischief going on. I followed Jen in through the front door where I was greeted by my sister Joan, who was her perky self and all dolled-up in pink. Still nothing out of the ordinary to me. I thought it was a pleasant surprise to see her in town. I figured she had a day off from work and decided to visit. So I remained clueless about the monkey business taking place. I came into the kitchen and saw my friends Deidre and Kelly through the window. They aren't from around town. In a bewildered state I thought, "what are they doing here?" My brain couldn't process it so I walked out the back door in a zombie-like state. And "wow," there it was - a gathering of people boozing it up and hooting "surprise" and "congratulations!" I was stunned. The party-goers were all dressed in pink, there were pink ribbons everywhere, bouquets of pink flowers, and champagne. Lots of champagne! And I made it my mission to circulate among the guests and raise glass-after-glass until it was all gone. Needless to say, I had a fabulous time.

So "THANK YOU," thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who made it to the party and for all of your gifts and well wishes, and especially to my sisters who put it all together. It was such a wonderful "welcome back" to my layperson's life.