Sunday, July 29, 2007 Letting go

What a day, weekend, month, and year it’s been. Tomorrow is a major milestone, when I have the biggest surgery of my life, and I leave my care to two female surgeons, Linda Smith and Gladys Tsao-Wu. I will remember July 30 for the rest of my life.

Sometimes (OK, a lot of time) I stumble through life, being a mom, going to work, sitting through soccer or football games, making dinner, reading, watching movies, making appointments, traveling here and there, and generally doing the things that fill up my weeks and years without putting much thought into it. This surgery has required me to put a lot of thought into it and make a lot of choices. I am pretty calm considering what a big deal it is. I think that’s because many of these decisions have been made and I’ve come to understand what’s within my control and what’s not within my control.

First of all, the cancer and the way it behaves are not within my control. I had no idea I had cancer a year ago, and now it’s taken up residence in body. I have put my body through the paces (chemo, surgery, and radiation to come) trying to get rid of it, shrink it, and control it. It’s still not under control. The surgeon will remove it, and it will not be completely gone. Cells will remain and will be poised for a big comeback. So all I can do is work hard to eradicate it now, hope, and wait.

Secondly, the advancements in cancer treatment are not within my control. I get what I get There are no miracle cures out there, but there may be some on the horizon. I can’t get wistful and think, “If only I had cancer ten years from now.” There will NEVER be a good time to get cancer. As I’ve said before, I feel fortunate to have it now, when I am young (ha!) and strong enough to fight it and my attitude is in the right place. Ten years from now I might not be this strong. Today we are seeing major improvements in what docs know about surgical techniques, managing side effects of chemo, targeting radiation to the correct spot without a lot of collateral damage, and many others. I am glad I didn’t get cancer ten years ago . . . again, out of my control.

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO CONTINUE TO DONATE TO CANCER RESEARCH. YOU ARE MAKING A DIFFERENCE.

There are other things that are out of my control, but frankly if I think about them it makes me pretty sad. I can’t control the fact that my children’s father and grandmother died of cancer. If anything happens to me, my children will be orphans. I just hope that it’s later rather than sooner. I can’t control the fact that my children may get cancer at some point in their lives. We are mortal and imperfect. That is life.

What’s within my control? My choice of doctors – and I think I have good ones. My choice of treatments, to some extent. I chose to have my chemo before surgery, and that was a good choice. My surgeon says it shrinks the blood vessels as well as the tumors, and so the surgery isn’t such a bloody mess. (aaaaaackkk). I may have some choices about radiation treatment, depending on what the tumors look like after surgery and biopsy. I also have a few choices about reconstruction, none of them really good, but it sure beats having cancer boobs!

I can’t express enough gratitude for all the friendship and support I’ve received, and I’d like to think my choice of friends was also within my control. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you all are just gifts from God and I had no choice in the matter. Thanks for sticking around. I’m going to lean on you more and more after tomorrow.

I have choices about how I live my life from now on. I have put a lot of thought into that. Of course I will always be cautious when it comes to my health, and I know I’ll take better care of myself now. I already do, and it’s been rewarding. I’ve tried to keep a positive outlook, and I’ve begun to plan activities and trips for the fall and winter. That definitely helps my attitude. I have some other things cookin’. You’ll have to read about them in future blogs.

My friend Sandra called today. She listened to me whine and moan for a while. In her strongest voice, she said, “You have no choice. You HAVE to do this.” We cried, and she got me through the darkest moment of my day. And then we laughed so hard until I almost cried again.

Here’s something funny – another thing I have no control over. My eyebrows fell out during chemo, and now they’re growing back. I have eyebrow stubble! I look so goofy! But eyebrows are not important.

It’s late, and I should be getting to bed. I had to do some really important things tonight. You know what I mean, right? I had to give myself a pedicure! My toes look gorgeous. (toes aren't important, either)

Thanks to everyone who called and stopped by. I didn’t get nearly enough done today but it was worth it. My brother-in-law, Ted, came over with his family, and the high point of my day was watching my nephew Brandon walk across the floor. He’s just one year old. Isn't he darling? He's got attitude!

Attitude and gratitude are important things. Here's a little bit of mine. This prayer was given to me by a preacher's son and it just makes me feel good to hear it (especially in his voice, which I am imagining right now):

"Dear Heavenly Father, Maker of all things and Mother of all Nature, praise be to Thee!!

We thank You for the very gift of life itself and the added blessings of family, friends and our health; may others be so blessed.

Now we ask that You guide us and protect us and keep us safe always and forever. Dear Lord; this we beg of You, this we pray, have mercy on us and may there be Peace on Earth. Amen."

Surgery is tomorrow at 7:30 am. I will be in the hospital only two days, and then I will be home. I will be up and around soon. You can count on it.

LOVE YOU ALL . . . . . .Grace

July 7, 2007 I'm a lucky girl

What can I say, I'm a lucky girl. Here are the Top Ten Reasons I feel lucky:
10. I'm lucky I have a very treatable form of cancer. I'm estrogen receptor positive, progesterone receptor postive. Her2 negative. Very treatable.
9. I'm lucky I was diagnosed with cancer in my 40s, after having my children. I'm glad so many new treatments and medicines are now available, after years of clinical trials.
8. I'm lucky to have friends and acquaintances who've gone through this before me and have taken the time to explain to me what to expect and to share with me their experiences so I'm not as afraid.
7. I'm lucky I was diagnosed with cancer when I was OLD (mature?) enough to know how to deal with doctors, insurance, appointments, schedules, prescriptions, and all of that. At my age, and having had 2 kids, I am pretty bold when I talk to medical professionals. I do a lot of research and I ask a lot of questions.
6. I'm lucky I have a great job with good insurance benefits, a generous leave policy, and kind bosses.
5. I'm lucky I have the best (in my opinion) OBGYN, radiologist, oncologist, breast surgeon, plastic surgeon, and radiation oncologist that I could ever hope to find. I have no worries.
4. I'm lucky I have my mom, also a breast cancer survivor, in my life. She helps me so much and keeps me sane.
3. I'm lucky that my two children are being so great through all of this. If you know them, you know they've been through a lot of bad stuff. They remain mentally and physically tough and very positive. And they make me laugh so much! Craaazy!
2. I'm lucky I have my faith, and it has not been shaken by this minor bump in the road.
1. And the #1 reason I'm lucky: I have the kindest, smartest, loveliest, most generous and loving friends in the whole wide world! Yay for friendship. I owe you all a big one. I will never, ever forget your kindness.

I have had the good fortune to be able to spend a lot of time with old friends lately. It has been a laugh riot (remember my earlier pledge to have a belly laugh once a day? This has not been hard to achieve!) Catherine W., who lives in Alexandria, Virginia now, is such a great friend to me. She has flown out to NM a few times since my diagnosis, and even sat with me through one of my longer chemo appointments. She's been so strong for me when I was at my weakest, and always tried to make me laugh. I thought I'd include a photo of her (and she's wearing my shoes, thank you very much). Gawd. Look at us. I'm going to start bawling again. (no, not about the shoes!)

One of my work friends, Phil F., wrote me an email, saying, "Grace, thanks for inviting me to your last chemo treatment. I couldn't attend, but wanted to extend an invitation to my next colonoscopy." I love his dry sense of humor. That's most people's reaction: Why would I ever want to go to a chemo treatment? Well, I totally understand. I don't even want to go!

And yet, lots of people came and sat with me through the last 4 months of treatments. So much gratitude and love go out to those brave souls (you know who you are) who sat with me when I freaked out, when I fell asleep, when I wanted to pull the tubes out, when I started to cry. I really couldn't have done it without you. I'm lucky to have you in my life.

My last chemo treatment was Tuesday, June 26th. My latest MRI was nearly clean, meaning the tumors have disappeared completely on the right and 75 percent on the left. My oncologist HIGH FIVED me when she read the report. Have you ever been high fived by one of your doctors? Seriously, have you? I feel like a champ and very, very lucky.

I still will undergo surgery at the end of the month, but the prognosis looks very good. I will need a sentinel node biopsy to determine the extent to which my surgeon will dissect the lymph nodes on the left. I'm getting ready by having some diagnostic tests (chest x ray, EKG, MRI) and blood work done prior to surgery. I also will need radiation, but don't know all the treatment details yet. I'll post again soon when I know more.

This much is true: Even if you wouldn't trade places with me, I still know I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

June 22, 2007 Summer is here!

A moment in the sun. . . .

So here we are, the little family, on the beach in Orange County. We had so much fun! This day we met with my friend Melinda and her family and all went to this place, just north of Laguna Beach, called Crystal Cove. You couldn't have picked a more beautiful place for us to spend the afternoon.

I had a great time in California. We played hard from morning until night. My friend Karen was a huge help to me, making sure I knew what rollercoasters were the "good" ones and keeping us all laughing with Roger the Cockroach and "crazzzzzyyy" driving. I honestly had some bad days out there, lots of aches and pains and fatigue. Karen even rubbed my neck with Biofreeze to keep me going. I was so tired by the end of each day.

Did my wig fall off? Almost. On one ride at Magic Mountain, I realized it was probably going to come off, so I grabbed it at the last minute and held on to it. I got some stares as we pulled into the unload station! I guess I scared some people. After that I put a scarf on and stopped worrying.


We shopped at all the cool stores in Santa Monica, including Fred Segal's (that's Rachel and me vogueing). We played at Six Flags Magic Mountain and Knott's Berry Farm (that's not me on the roller coaster). We met with Greg and Renee Bujewski and their adorable little kids. We ate at great restaurants. We drank a little beer (Karen had a big beer!) and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

We're back home now, and Kurt is gone back to West Point. I had an MRI today, and I'll get the results on Tuesday. We are checking to see how much the tumors have shrunk. I'll meet with my oncologist, Natalie Marshall MD, on Tuesday and get my final chemo treatment. In early July I'll meet again with my surgeon, Linda Smith MD, and we'll discuss the surgical procedure. We have tentatively set the week of July 23 for surgery. I'm so freaked out by that . . . .but anxious to get the cancer out of my body and live a long, happy life!

Things I've learned over the past month:
1) Help and support can come from surprising places.
2) I love my kids so much! Where would I be without them?
3) The only person who can take care of your health is YOU. Other people can help, but the responsibility rests with YOU. Can't blame anyone else for being out of shape or missing doctor's appointments.
4) Asking and asking and asking still works. Whenever I have doubts, I ask.
5) I've started to expect that I will forget things, i.e., assume I have chemo brain fog! I almost give up sometimes when I can't think of something in the first five seconds. Actually, my brain seems to be working OK. I'm just really tired all the time, and my brain is clogged with dates, numbers, appointments, work stuff, family stuff, and other things I have to remember to do. Walk the dog! Fix the roof! Sell Kurt's car! Buy airline tickets! This is how it is. Just like any other day. Except all the appointments and medical stuff are now at the top of my list, and I can't keep track of the little stuff anymore.
6) My friends are awesome!!

Thanks to everyone who has listened to me, done me a favor, made me laugh, sent me gorgeous flowers, travelled across the country to visit me, or said a kind word lately. I'd like to think I'm getting tougher every day, but I feel kind of weak and pathetic some days. Your kindness really helps me.

I get by with a little help from my friends!

May 30, 2007 Rollercoasters and roses

Yesterday was my 6th chemo treament of 8, so let's do the math: 75% done! The last two treatments (5 & 6) were taxol instead of adriamycin and cytoxin. Taxol works a little bit differently and doesn't cause the nausea of adriamycin and cytoxin. It has its own peculiar side effects, such as numbing and tingling of the toes and fingers, muscle pain, bone pain, anemia, and fatigue. There are other symptoms but these are my main ones. The bone pain is incredible. I can only describe it as the feeling that you got hit by a truck and every bone in your body aches. The doctor says the tumors continue to shrink. The palpable ones are measured with a micrometer. After the first Taxol treatment, one particularly resistant tumor shrunk 0.5 cm! I was more than pleased. This is the advantage of doing chemo before surgery. You can see that the chemo mixture is working.

Surgery is planned for the week of July 23. I have a few more tests to do before surgery. I hope I get an A! Unfortunately, the chemo brain fog continues. I am getting pretty spacey these days. It helps to have a sense of humor. I laugh at the silliest things and daydream a lot. I have amazing dreams at night. I sleep about 4 or 5 hours a night, but I sometimes nap during the day. I occasionally get irritable and frustrated, but mostly I'm optimistic and hopeful. I find myself being introspective a lot. For example, I was pruning rose bushes the other day. They are my neighbor's bushes and they are close to our property line. We have been pruning, watering, and feeding these bushes for years. He has thanked us many times. They are the only healthy plants on his property, and I really enjoy them, so we keep doing the work and sometimes we even cut some roses for the house! I was deadheading the rose bushes the other day. Most of you know you have to carefully snip off the dead rose blooms, along with a good bit of stem, so that others may grow. I throw the dead roses away and don't hang on to them for any sentimental reasons; I don't know anyone who keeps them or composts them! But a lot of people don't have time to do the deadheading. I like to do it. On this day it reminded me of getting rid of old baggage in my life. If I want to get some beauty in my life again, I am going to have to carefully remove the old, dead blooms along with a good bit of stem and get rid of them permanently. Close the bag and put it out on the street for the garbageman. Water the bush and feed it and, with luck, more beautiful blooms will arrive soon. This could apply to generic, old baggage in my life and also to the cancer that I'm hosting in my body. . . . .I can't look forward to new beauty and joy in my life until I get rid of all the cancer. Next to the old dead blooms on the neighbor's bushes are some new, delicate buds. I recognize that I have lots of beauty and joy in my life right now if I could only see it! Sometimes it's hard to see the beauty and joy when there's junk in the way. I have had other mini-epiphanes lately, some way too personal to share in this public blog. Even with the chemo brain fog, I have had some clarity about some things that have been bugging me for a long time. I suppose it's about being fully present in the moment, and aware of all the signs that are out there. Reminds me of one of my favorite movies from the 1990s, L.A. Story. Do you remember Steve Martin (Harris) and Victoria Tenant (Sara) looking at the signboard on the freeway? The signboard says (quoting Hamlet): "There are more things in heaven and earth, Harry, than were dreamt of N your philosophy." The signboard is saying that if we open our minds, we can envision a better world than the one we think we live in. Now that's optimism.

Speaking of LA, I'm off to LA with my kids next weekend. That should be interesting! They want to ride rollercoasters. I think I'll be the bag lady, sitting on the bench holding the cameras, bags, etc. I hope to ride many rollercoaster in the future, but not this month. I'm afraid my wig might fall off! California, here we come!

May 2, 2007 Halfway there, livin' on a prayer!

Been feelin' pretty crappy since my last treatment. I had a little breakdown during the chemo drip and felt a little claustrophobic. I just wanted to get out of the place. The nurse gave me a prescription for some anti-anxiety meds because I was FREAKING OUT. I haven't taken one yet, but my stomach is in knots. I have a bunch of anti-nausea meds that I'm taking, so I should be OK until about 4 pm on Wednesday. I'm lucky two friends, Trixie and Barb, stopped by in the middle of my treatment, so I was immediately distracted. The nice man in the chair next to me described his treatment and that made me feel better. I was overreacting, I know.

So here's something funny: I had been reading about this chemo brain fog, a condition that includes forgetfulness, spaciness, etc. For a while I was spared but this last week was a doozy. For example, I just wandered around my house for about 45 minutes after getting ready in the morning before work, wondering what I needed to do. Total fog! I told my doctor and she laughed (apparently she thinks I'm funny). She said only professional women & men with tight schedules notice that fog. She said I will be fine after it's all over, but here's my thinking . . . . I want to have this excuse for a long time!

May 6, 2007, finishing this post. It's the weekend and I haven't felt right since my treatment. I am drowsy and fatigued all the time. I can't even think of the word "chemo" without my stomach turning. I really don't know how I'll get through the next four treatments, even though they are supposed to be easier. I don't know how I'll get through working next week! Eating has been weird. Sleeping has been weird. I'm just not myself anymore.

The fog continues. Plus, my allergy to mulberry tree pollen is in full swing, so that adds to the misery. I have had the most amazing nightmares. The last one involved work and it was so real that I woke up thinking it had actually happened. I almost called my boss!

So you want some good news? I had a great time on the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk last Saturday. The weather was gorgeous and I walked with Team Green Alene, with Alene Hardin as the chief survivor (I am just the junior survivor). Team Green Alene does it up right. We had a tailgate party at 7 am with breakfast burritos, fresh, giant, nuclear strawberries, and juice. We started at 8 and were finished before many had even started. It was so fun to get out there, even though I felt like a freak in a way. But I didn't care! Here we are at Mile 2.

In the photo are the Hardins (Alene took the photo) along with the biggest flirt in Albuquerque, Karen Hoffert. Beside me is Callie Bryan, my daughter's friend, who ran the 5K. Rachel was hiding. She probably was embarrassed because I wore the Breast Cancer Survivor Sash they gave me as a necktie. I mean, honestly, who wears a sash? Besides the homecoming queen, I mean.

I sure feel better when I get outside and exercise. So that's good news. And some of my tumors continue to shrink, so that's good. The others aren't growing, but they don't seem to be shrinking as much as the other ones are. Surgery is still scheduled at the end of July.

Take care everybody!

PS the title is for all the Bon Jovi fans out there!

April 20, 2007 Just gotta ask . . .

I have learned a lot about myself lately and a lot about the world around me (my ecosystem, I like to call it). I am aware that I have fears about this cancer and about the effect it's having on me, my family, my friendships, and even my adorable little puppy, Rex. Poor thing hasn't been walked in forever. He's definitely suffering along with me as I moan on the sofa.

I saw my oncologist on Tuesday before chemo and she didn't have enough samples for me of the "good + expensive" antinausea meds. She cheerfully wrote me a script, telling me that my co-pay would only be $50 or so. What???!! Later I had it filled at my local Walgreen's, and she was right. I asked the pharmacy clerk, "What is the regular price for this pill?" He said, "About a hundred bucks." I was stunned and said, "Last time you told me it was a THOUSAND bucks a pill." He politely said, "Nope, three pills, $320, without insurance." And I had been fretting about this for weeks, wondering where I was going to find some more free samples. Boy, am I glad I asked, and asked, and asked, instead of giving up. I just couldn't believe the pharmacy company would gouge cancer patients for $1000 a pill.

Another fear, another moment of Zen: I'm lying on the exam table, arms above head, as my oncologist examines me and measures my shrinking (yes!) tumors, and I say, "So . . . I have this fantasy. " She and I both laughed (I'm glad she didn't run from the room). I went on to say that my fantasy is that the chemo will shrink all the tumors so much that I don't have to have the axillary lymph node dissection. We had a long discussion about what would happen in surgery, my prognosis, and other things I had been wanting to discuss for a long time but was afraid to. While the news wasn't all good, it was heartening to know that the surgeon I had been referred to (Linda Smith) was highly skilled and I could expect an excellent result. Another fear -- zapped!

Thursday was rough. Two days post chemo #3 and I hadn't eaten much, had more nausea than I could stand, headaches, and body aches from the Neulasta shot. By 10 pm I felt a little bit better. I had a half a banana and a little rice for dinner!

Here's good news: I have discovered the worst weight loss diet ever: chemotherapy! Darn it, it works. I'm down ten pounds. I wouldn't recommend it.

During my chemo #3 I asked the nurse, Kellee, what she wanted other women to know, something I could share in my blog. We talked about the latest research, about uses of new drugs for different cancers, and other newsworthy items. But the most startling thing she said to me was that of all the breast cancer patients she sees, the overwhelming majority of women find their cancers themselves through self-checks. Well, that's how I found mine, but I thought I was in the minority. Kellee reminded me that we can do self checks anytime, and once a month is recommended, so it's more likely that you'll find a lump than with a once-yearly mammogram.

Aren't you glad I asked?

Thanks to all the fabulous females and sweet-as-candy men (you know who you are) who helped me this week. Sorry I've been incommunicado lately but it's hard to talk when I feel so horrible. Today I feel much better, and I think I'd better go walk my dog and get some sunshine before he revolts! and bolts!

WHAT I KNOW FOR SURE: Living with fear is a lot worse than living with cancer.

April 11, 2007 Struggles and laughter

I have had an interesting week, to say the least. First, let me introduce you to my lovely Bunco nursing team who has reached out and helped me every step of the way. From top left, it's Barb J., Di T., Trixie, Jayne, Barb W., Colleen, (bottom row, left) Debi, Karen, me (in black), Dee-Dee, and Di C.

They are an illustrious bunch of women, and I thank them all for the wonderful gifts of emails, food, laughter, and time they have shared with me over the past couple of weeks. When this picture was taken in February, we had gathered together for a cancer exorcism. I can say with a measure of certainty that the tumors shrunk after this! The pomegranate martinis helped!

This group is just a part of my ever-widening circle of support from friends and family. Without you all, I can't imagine how depressed I'd be right now.

I often neglect to mention the male friends in my life that have offered me support. I am impressed by the knowledge they have about breast cancer, my diagnosis, my treatment, and what the emotional rollercoaster is like. It's because they've all experienced it with someone else in their families. Thanks for all the support and laughter, guys! Today I went to a baseball game with a couple of male friends from work. We laughed, booed, cheered, swapped stories, and had a blast. Just like regular people. It made me feel great to be alive.

I have decided that I need at least one belly laugh per day in order to beat this thing. I know it's a stretch goal, but it works. You should try it.

About my struggles, I wasn't as strong this week as I had hoped to be. I found out that my white blood counts were drastically low. My throat felt sore, I had a headache, and ached all over. I decided to take it easy and rest and recover. It was probably the smartest thing I could have done.

All I need now is fresh air and sunshine. Bring it on!