Scantastic Results and Surgery

I am done with chemo.

Six months, six cycles, side-effects.

It was a bit anti-climatic, especially since I still have to go every three weeks for the "maintenance" drugs, but I am happy to not have to deal with the exhaustion, the sleeplessness, the steroids.

I feel better.

My hair is growing back pretty quickly. I am going to have to actually go to a salon soon for some styling advice since it has transitioned to something that resembles a nun's haircut and is starting to grow in over my ears.

I started running again (I am slow).

I am taking Bikram yoga (it is hot).

I am making summer plans (please invite us over, especially if you have a pool).

I was rescanned in May. My third time. I now consider myself a bit of an expert on the art of the PET scan, I arrived with loose clothing, no metal, I removed my earrings, and my wedding rings. The technician couldn't find a vein, he asked me the awkwardly uncomfortable question of what I was doing there, my shoulders cramped in the long narrow tube. I wanted so badly for these results to reflect what I have hoped so much for since that cold October day. That the treatment worked. That the cancer is gone.

And the news is good. There is nothing left in the hip. They see nothing anywhere else but there is still something left in the breast.

I got another mammo, another ultrasound. I got a call from the doctor and we are going to do surgery.

He said the best way to totally remove the remaining cancer from my body is to cut it out. So that is what I am going to do.

I had to wrap my head around it. In the beginning before we knew anything, before things were so aggressive, so advanced, surgery was an option, then it wasn't. I have to admit I was a little jealous of those other women in the treatment room, women who had options, who for them surgery would be just the fix they needed to put this all behind them and move on.Women who would worry if and not when.

I also have to admit that I never really entertained the idea of a mastectomy. When we first talked surgery it was going to be a lumpectomy, remove what was left, throw in an implant and move on.

Let me assure you that there is nothing that I won't do to ensure my chances of a longer survival. Breasts are great, my breasts are great, but they aren't working for me the way they should. So we are removing one, putting in an implant, and much to my delight giving me a bit of a lift on the other side.

I am lucky that both the surgeon and the plastic surgeon can do the procedures at the same time. One surgery is better than two. The reconstruction will happen right after the removal and that makes things easier for me in terms of recovery.

The plastic surgeon kept on telling me that we were going to have to make the boobs smaller. I kept on assuring him that this wasn't an issue. I mean I breastfed three kids, gravity isn't kind.

So that is where we are. I will go in for surgery in a few weeks, continue to go for monthly treatments, readjust to life post-chemo, and hope days turn into weeks and then years and years and years.

Updates

I realized that I never really update this blog with actual information about my treatment.

Today I have an off day. That means no chair, no meds, no time off from work. But it is also a nice little break. My body doesn't get beat up, I have a bit of time to recover and not feel so run down.

I will pretty much be getting weekly treatment until June. Sometimes it is one drug, sometimes it is two, every three weeks or so I usually get all three.

The chemo drug, Taxol, is the one that I feel the most side-effects from. It keeps me up at night, it makes my face flushed the next day,and it needs to be coupled with a steroid that makes me hungry. One girl (and I say girl because she is about 10 years younger than me) who is going through treatment told me that the Dr. said you can gain up to 25lbs. on Taxol. I am thinking about wiring shut my jaw. I am all for getting proper nutrition but I do not want to show up in swimsuit season with a crewcut and an extra 25 lbs. attached. The kids are really into getting in the water now and my husband refuses to step foot in the LI Sound, so it is pretty much me in there. Ugh.

The other two drugs that I am on are targeted for the HER2+ breast cancer. I will continue getting them both every three weeks after June for who knows how long. But I will continue to take them because they are part of the long-term treatment of this disease and because they seem to be working and I am all about things working.

I will say that there appears to be a bit of a silver lining on the hair front. I haven't actually gone full-on Daddy Warbucks bald. In fact, my hair seems to be growing back.

I went from the GI Jane phase and am transitioning from the butch lesbian/English soccer hooligan phase into the 13-year-old Asian boy stage right now. I asked the nurse if this was OK. I mean, one of the big side-effects of Taxol is hair loss and even though my hair was coming out in clumps maybe I was premature to shave it all down. Maybe I could have gone with a pixie cut? I am pretty sure I will never be described as "gamine" like the Hollywood starlets who have embraced the pixie hairdo but it would have been a little less dramatic than taking it all off.

I was worried that because the hair was growing back that it meant the drug wasn't working. The nurse assured me that it was just because of the way my body metabolizes the drug. I will take that as a bit of good news. Hopefully, once June hits I won't have to wear the wig anymore.

I know a lot of people want to know how I feel, and in all honesty, I feel OK. I do get tired. I hit a wall every day where I just feel like I have had enough and need my bed, but I am not knocked out completely. I still get up with the kids. I still occasionally vacuum. I still go to work every day and still make it to the grocery store. I am lacking in energy and it isn't always easy, but I see how far I have come already and I know that if I keep going I am going to make it through.

So for now I just move forward. I will go to treatment and keep hoping the drugs continue to work and I will try my hardest to keep you all updated.

On Healing Masses and Radioactivity

I made an early decision to try and keep myself open to any form of support be it meals, prayers, alternative medicines, talisman, voodoo charms or hand holding.

In my pocket I carry an angel of healing medal, I wear a cross with healing stones, I have three bottles of Lady of Lourdes water and a necklace, with what has become my mantra on it, which someone sent me with no card and a Canadian return address (it looks like it came from Etsy--if you sent it please let me know so I can thank you properly!).

So when my friend Andy called me and asked me if I wanted to go to a healing mass I said sure. I thought why not? I didn't know what to expect or what I would have to do but I thought I have faith, and there is something very powerful about saying I believe.

Andy drove up from Baltimore. He picked up my friend Dave in Hoboken and my girlfriend Lauren drove in from Brooklyn. We met for tapas and a nice glass of wine. We talked, we laughed, we got caught up.

If any of you knew the four of us in college you would know that we would be the last four people out of our group of friends who would be heading towards a church. There might have been a few times the four of us were in a van heading somewhere, but I guarantee you there were probably some unholy acts occurring as well.

But there we were navigating the Merritt Parkway on a cold New England night looking for a little hope, a little more faith and some healing.

Would it surprise any of you to know that when we got to the church it was pretty dark? There were only a couple of cars in the parking lot and about three other people inside. We sat, we waited, we giggled a little at the fact that we had come all this way and there was no priest to lead us. (Although in a totally unrelated aside, I guess no priest is better than the priest that married my brother and sister-in-law, who recently got arrested for selling meth to support not only his drug habit but his adult sex shop.) And finally we decided to go.

Priest or not priest though, there was some healing that night for me. There was the familiarity of being around old friends, of being able to be myself, of not having to focus so much on the cancer. I even stepped out with no wig. I thought I pulled it off okay.

I am grateful to my friends for making the effort, for being willing to explore every avenue out there, to give me the opportunity to find a way to help heal.

Radioactive

I am radioactive.

I am.

I have a note with my name on it that explains why a Geiger counter might go off in my presence.

I spent my morning in a mobile unit attached to the outside of a hospital getting injected with a radioactive dye and stuffed in a tube for twenty minutes.

The only thing I can say about it is please.

Please. Please.

Please show some shrinkage. Please show that this cancer hasn't spread that the meds are doing their job.

Please make the awkward chatting with the kind-of-off PET scan guy worth it.

Please give me something concrete and positive to hold on to, proof that all the days in the chemo chair are making a difference and that not being able to hug or hold my kids tonight is just a small price that I will have to pay, a few short hours in one short day in a long line of days to come.

In Treatment

They finally just hooked up the last drug in my "cocktail." I have been here since 11:15, it is now almost 4.

Today is a long day.

I get all three drugs that make up my treatment, plus an anti-nausea drug, a steroid that is wholly responsible for the fact that I have not lost one single pound since this diagnosis. That is right, I am blaming the steroid, not the oreos, not the copious amounts of pretzel thins and never my good friend peanut M&Ms.

As much as I would rather be anywhere else than sitting in this chair, I have to admit there is a community here. I am getting to know the nurses, I am loving my social worker and fellow working mom, I am recognizing more patients, becoming comfortable in an environment I never wanted to be welcomed in.

I still sit in the second room, the smaller room, with less people and a bit more privacy. I am not interested in watching News 12 or Family Feud on the shared TV. But there is another thing, something that I never expected. I look forward to coming here.

At first I thought maybe it was because I didn't have to go to work. I will admit that might be part of it, but then it became more. An uninterrupted 2-4 hours where I can concentrate on myself, actually rest, read. Oh my god, I am reading again. Real books with chapters. Not one princess or Strawberry Shortcake in the mix.

I am spending actual quality time with my best friend. The only way we have to sit and chat without worrying about six kids is in the chemo chair.

I also come because it is the one thing that I can really do to make me better. I look forward to the needle in the port, the metallic taste of the meds in the back of my throat, the cocktail dripping in my veins. It is me being active even though I am just sitting here, draped in the fleece blanket made by a friend, wearing a knit hat sent by another. Waiting for it to work.

Gettin' Wiggy Wit It

Obviously the hair came off. I will not say that having a cancer conversation with a 5 and 3-year-old was easy. Both of the girls processed the news in their own way. The hair thing to them, like me, was the pressing issue.

I will say we talked, we read, we cried, we hugged, we shaved. All of us.

I sat in the bathroom on a stool and the girls each took a turn taking some off. I would like to thank my husband for his attention to detail and his steady hand. In hindsight we probably should have done a Mohawk for a little bit, but since I am hoping to never, ever have to shave my head again, I will not consider it a regret.

I will also say that I didn't look in the mirror. Not at first. I showered and saw the outline of my head reflected back in a steam-covered mirror. I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflection off of the window, but I didn't own up to it, confront it or embrace it until hours later when I finally looked.

And then I thought. . . It's been seven hours and fifteen days. . . Look, I am not going to rip up any pictures of the pope, but it is very Sinead circa 1990, and until the rest of the hair falls out I am going to try and own it.

The wig is itchy, but I told the girls that I would wear it when we are out in public. I also said that when I was home that it would probably come off. There is a time in every day when my rings come off, my bra comes off, and that my friends, is when the wig comes off.

I did wear the wig to my sister's that same day. All of a sudden you realize that it isn't just your own kids who have to be prepared. It is nieces and nephews, cousins and friends. I could tell that my sister had prepped the Wild Woman for my arrival. When we walked in the door I could see her looking at me and trying to process it. She then said, "I like, I like, I like you."

I like you too Wild Woman.

Here is a picture of me in the salon when I picked up the wig. Note how perfectly it is parted. Let me just say that I have never been able to recreate the top part and that just like when I had real hair, I am barely even brushing this thing. I feel very suburban mom in this thing. Not that I am not a suburban mom, but it seems very styled to me. Although, I do love the color. This photo doesn't do the nice warm highlights justice.

For those of you who thought we should go hot pink. Here is a pic of me and the Lady in our hot pink wigs sent to us with special care from my cousin in Chicago. Val, the Ladies couldn't have been happier! Will post a family pic of all of us in the wigs, please note that my husband's noggin is too large but I am sure we will figure something out.

Here is a pic of QT in my wig. We shaved my head when he was napping and when he woke up to my bald head he didn't even bat an eye.

On Shrinking and Shedding

On Shrinking

As my friend Mike told me yesterday in response to a text, shrinking and boob should never be used in the same sentence, unless of course it is to say that the tumor inside my boob seems to be shrinking, which I am happy to report seems to be the case.

Since I started treatment five weeks ago, I have been able to tell a difference in the size of the tumor in my breast. I pretty much feel myself up like a 100 times a day to try and determine if there has been any change. What used to hurt, doesn't so much anymore. What used to be very visible has receded. However, this is just me going on what I feel and what I see.

When I met with the doctor on Wednesday he too was able to feel a difference. I felt pretty good about the fact that he took out his little measuring tape and didn't even end up using it. He did frequently apologize to me about "mashing" my boob, but I assured him that he could continue to mash away if it meant that he was going to tell me that the tumor was shrinking.

As an aside, I totally went topless in front of this guy with no worries. Usually, they throw a blue paper robe at you and leave the room. I have zero modesty left when it comes to the boobs. I have whipped them out in various places over the last five years including, but not limited to, a confessional in church, the beach, planes, and a carnival. I was like, "dude you are going to see them in 30 seconds, totally exposed anyway, why don't you just stand there and pretend you are 'covering me up' with the paper blue robe, while I take my top off for you."

Anyway, hopefully the shrinkage has made its way to my hip, which I am also happy to report doesn't ache with the same consistency that it has in the past few weeks. We will follow up with a PET scan in the next month or so to see. Oh chemo and your toxic blend of chemicals coursing through my body, please work, please work, please work.

On Shedding

My hair is falling out. It is everywhere. One of the first things I did was go out and get a wig. Even though I paid extra for two day shipping over a month ago because I wanted to be prepared for the inevitable, my hair really just started falling out last week. First it was just a few strands, now it is pretty much clumps of hair every time I touch it.

Good thing I have a lot of hair. I can tell that it is thinning but there aren't large bald areas yet that are noticeable. I stopped shaving my legs a few weeks ago because I thought that the hair would just all come out. After a few days I realized that it wasn't happening and that I really should probably still try to maintain some sort of hair removal on my body.

The hair on my head however, has started to get everywhere in the house. I find it on the kids, in my bed, it is all over the floor and I am not sure the vacuum can handle it anymore. It is time to come off. All of it.

What that means though, is that we have to tell the Ladies. Up until now there has been no real physical signs of this cancer. We have tried to keep everything as consistent and structured for them as we can. I just don't want to introduce this into their lives. There is no avoiding a shaved head, there will be no avoiding a bald one. There is no avoiding the reality of this situation.

We have resources, books, places to turn if they have questions and concerns. But we are going to be honest. We will use the word. Cancer, like Voldemort will be spoken in our house if only to take a bit of the power and the fear away from it. We will not whisper it or call it the c-word (I usually refer to another word by that title, if you are unsure of what it is just check out my first post on this blog). We will be honest, as direct as possible and probably sobbing messes by the end.

I just hope the Ladies like my wig and that my husband has a steady hand with the trimmers.