Twins

Twins

One thing I’ve enjoyed over the years about my job as a Physical Therapist has been getting to hear stories about people’s lives. This story recently really touched me.   The patient that I was working with was an 80 year old woman.  She was telling me about her life and that she had had 6 children.  She mentioned that she had only been pregnant 5 times, though, because the first pregnancy was twins, a boy and a girl.  She went on to say that the twins were dead now.  I did ask what had happened.  (Being that they were twins, one almost automatically begins to expect that they died from the same thing.)   My patient began with her daughter’s death.  She said…”My daughter had the breast cancer.  She had the mastectomy and the treatments, and she was doing very well for 2 or 3 years, but then it came back and got her.”  This story, as you can imagine, hit very close to home and really had me a bit freaked out for some time.  I did go on to inquire about her son.  She said…”He was killed in a car accident”.    I found myself putting myself in the shoes of each of these twins.  I felt what i thought would be their fear.  It was similar, yet different.  I found myself trying to figure out which twin I would have rather been.  Which death I would have chosen for myself?   I’ve since, come to no answer.  Honestly, neither is a pleasant thought.  The best I could do was come up with some pros and cons to each.  The major pro for the female twin was that she had had some warning of her potential fatality.  She possibly had a few years of knowing that life is short, and she may have taken that opportunity to live her life to the fullest. She also, later, had some time to say her goodbyes to family and friends and to let them know how much she loved them.  Potential cons being that she likely lived with some serious sadness and fear, as she knew that it would all eventually be coming to an end.  The male twin, on the contrary, may not have had the knowledge of his own mortality. He did not have the chance to say his goodbyes, yet was spared the sadness of seeing his own life fade.  He very possibly, however, had learned important lessons of living life through his twin’s experience.

I don’t really know why I spent so much time trying to decide which would be better or worse.   I do not usually sit around thinking about how I'd like to go.  I’m fighting to live, here.  I guess that my final thought is that any of us could find ourselves in the exact same shoes as either twin.  I even know of one person who recently had shoes of each.  A sister-in-law of one of my good friends had recently won her battle against breast cancer, and then was killed in an automobile accident.  

“The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases.”           Carl Jung

“The fear of death follows from the fear of life.  A man (woman) who lives fully is prepared to die any time.”    Mark Twain.

Here’s to living life to each life’s fullest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DD1O2K6B30U

Nueces: I'm very excited.

"You Have Cancer"versary

In the middle of the night between Wednesday, August 16 and August 17^th of 2010 I had a dream that I needed to express breast milk, as I had done when I was nursing my children.  That Friday evening, August 19^th, Richie and I were packing to head out for a well needed Adult weekend trip to the coast, when I noticed a lump in the right breast. I’ve often thought, had we not been going on that little trip, it is very likely that I would not have noticed that lump until the next time we were scheduled to relax, which could have been months.  That trip, being the first planned relaxation in months.   On the drive to the coast, we actually had time to discuss the thing,  and we both thought it was likely hormonal.  On the following Tuesday 8/24 I ran 9 miles in the morning and I felt good.  Wednesday night, however, I woke up at night with pain in my right breast.  This, I knew was not good.  I remembered learning in Physical Therapy school that pain that wakes you up at night, can be Cancer pain.  This, pain and this knowledge spurred me hard to call my Gynecologist first thing on Thursday morning to try to get in to see her that day.  This is the woman whom I had trusted to assist us in delivering a healthy baby boy, after our traumatic experience with Adaline’s birth.  My doctor was off that day, however, because she dares to have balance between her career and life.  (Actually one of the reasons I like her. I’ve even seen her out on the trail, believe it or not), so I went in to see a resident who was covering for her that day.  The resident said something about a 3 centimeter mass, ordered a mammogram and an ultrasound and assured me that usually these things are not cancer. 

The next morning, on Friday August 27, 2010, I got up, and went to have the Mammogram and ultrasound, which were to be my first, because I had turned 40 just 4 months prior.   I had gone to the appointment alone, and I was, of course, scheduled to go to work after the appointment, because I was not expecting to hear any results from the test on that day.  I mean, you never get results on the same day for anything…right? So…needless to say,  I was pretty much beside myself…. Literally….my body was  on the table and my mind was somewhere off to the side looking down on the whole situation….. when, at the end of the mammogram, I found myself asking the Radiologist to repeat what she had just said because I had not understood a word, and she said…  “We think….. You Have Cancer”.  Somewhere, sometime after that, she went on to say that I would need 3 biopsies to confirm.  We would need to biopsy the tumor itself, the Lymph nodes, and the Calcium deposits.  Next thing I remember, I’m sitting in my MiniVan calling my Mom to tell her what I had just heard, and then calling my boss to fill him in.  Not really the second person I would have chosen to call, but I just wasn’t sure how long it was going to take me to drive the 4 miles back to work in my state.

A MERE 7, anxiety ridden days later, on Friday September 3^rd 2010 I found myself stuck in traffic on my way to the scheduled Core Needle Biopsy ,   http://www.imaginis.com/breast-health-biopsy/core-needle-biopsy  or......Living Hell.  It was very cool that my friend Lisa had offered to meet me there at the waiting room (very insightful of her) because she had made it on time, so I was able to call her and they were able to let the desk know I was on my way.  That helped calm me.  During the Biopsies and ultrasound, they would not allow anyone into the room, which, in retrospect was pretty mean, but probably a good thing that no one who knows me was there to witness this torture.   Lisa ended up leaving, going for a run, and making it back to meet me for a really nice lunch at the Outdoor French Café’ across the street.   Fortunately, it took her a few minutes to park and this had given me a chance to call my close friend Cindy to tell her what had been going on, and had given my tears some time to dry up before going into the nice restaurant (with my ice pack on my chest).  To this day, I believe this to be the most painful procedure I’ve had done yet for this cancer treatment.

Within 2 weeks, on 9/15/2010 I was lying on a surgical table (with my supine resting heart rate, 37….which was normal for me at the time…running 40 to 50 miles a week), prepping to have the port-a-cath for the chemotherapy, surgically implanted. This time, my friend Cindy was by my side, and they let her sit there for everything that I was awake for.  Compared to the biopsies, I remember thinking this was like a day at the spa with a friend.   We had some really good laughs, and got to catch up.   I’m pretty sure I started blogging around this time, so most of the rest has been documented.  24 weeks of chemo, baldness, neuropathies, menopause, fatigue, mastectomy, drain tubes, radiation, etc.  

One thing that I did not blog about at the time, (because I didn’t yet have my blog…I was only doing emails) was my haircut prior to my hair falling out.  I’m gonna do that now, because today I had my first haircut (not counting the Shaving) since that day September 29, 2010.  Really this is more of a photo op, but, since I’m currently going through some self-confidence issues in the looks department, and since I found myself showing these photos to the girl who just cut my hair to prove that I used to have pretty hair and look like a girl, that I would go ahead and show the rest of the world.

This is what my hair looked like on the day after first chemo.

I had it cut shorter because they told me it was going to fall out in 2 weeks. 

They were right, so i had it shaved once it started to fall out.

My hair before the haircut when it was still looking cute. Trust me it was getting funky.

Next Weekend, Saturday August 27 is my “You Have Cancerversary”.  In typical Emily fashion, I did not realize this until it was much too late to schedule anything fun for myself.  While my best friend will be lounging by an infinity pool only miles away, and my husband will be recording some badass song in the recording studio, I will be caring for my children and assisting Adaline in pony riding at an outdoor birthday party for 6 year olds between 3-5 pm.  I’m pretty sure the forecast is over 105 degrees.  While intitially this sounds uncomfortable, things are relative.  It sure beats what I did last year on August 27.  It will be a good day, and i will celebrate inside :) Other sweaty parents at the party may even wonder why i have a smile on my face.   And, at least this haircut will come in handy there.

Words With Friends

Phase II: Words With Friends: Phase III

It seems that my life has become (become?) somewhat of a roller coaster.  I have recently thought how my close friends must think, “what could happen next”, or even be tiring of the drama.  Others who know me a bit less intimately might even think that some of the things that have happened/or are happening in my life are fictitious, or possibly real only in my mind.    I suppose, even I, believe the latter to be true to some extent. 

With that said, I will recount this very odd week.

The last big news was the outstanding MRI results that I posted from my phone last Friday (3/4/11).  There is no sign of cancer at this time in either breast per MRI.  I thought it very interesting that all the men that I told these results to had the initial thought…”You’re done then….don’t go back to that place.”  I truly enjoyed indulging in that thought.  I can see it.  The surgeon and all the nurses scrubbed up wondering where the patient was. The oncologist’s office calling me months down the line to see what had happened to me, and me finally responding simply… WHuT?  What Cancer?  (Wha ha happen wuz……that chemo….it took that canca…) Despite this intrigueing idea, that 30% recurrence rate without radiation, with my particular aggressive type of cancer, kept creeping back into my mind.  Like Cancer can do.  So, I did go ahead and go back to my appointment this week.  I did, however, get out of doing the 30 minute dose of Herceptin this week merely by enduring 30 hours of puking and diarrhea between Sunday and Monday. The doctor simply didn’t want me in the infusion room with the other folks with low blood counts.   Funny how 23 weeks of Chemotherapy and months of stressful situations could not make me lose my appetite, or bring me to the porcelain God, but a classroom full of puking toddlers with a rampant virus could.

Fortunately for me, between my extremely stressful Tuesday and “Retching” Sunday Night, lied the interesting, and fun at times Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.  Wednesday, I did have to leave work early to pick up my puking toddler (hence the horrible Sunday Night) out of a roomful of other puking toddlers, and then go spend an hour and a half with the Radiation oncologist, but Mom made a rush trip down to help us out on Wednesday night so we wouldn’t have to take off Thursday.  Wednesday also happened to be our 12^th Wedding Anniversary.  We almost blew off dinner due to overwhelming situations, but I was glad we didn’t. Richie surprised me with a gift of his Grandmother’s Wedding Ring.  It is very beautiful, and I’ve never had anything like it.  I don’t really need anything like that, but it’s true that “Sparkle” is my favorite color.  And that, it does.  It did brighten my day and my week.   I do want to note also that I do like the radiation oncologist.  When I mentioned the DIEP reconstruction surgery to him, he did say ..”are you sure you have enough there? ( on the downtube?) “you look pretty thin to me”…Some of these doctors know the right thing to say.  Anyway, after long discussion with my new friend, he said that we COULD do the reconstruction at the time of surgery then radiation but that he thinks the outcome would be best if we waited.   The next day I called my buddy Ned (Plastics) and he too said that we COULD do it, but he thought that I would be happiest with the outcome in the LONG RUN if we waited.  The fact that this guy, who I believe to be on my side, said this, along with encouragement that I received from a woman who I had the opportunity to meet this week, who is my age who and who is currently 5 years out with similar cancer and same post op reconsruction, that I should be starting to prepare for the fact that I WILL LIKELY be ALIVE in 5 years.  The ODDS ARE that I will be alive in 5 years, and she recommended I get the best reconstruction I can get, which would mean waiting.  So with all the information I felt I needed on board, I decided to again stick with the method…or, the way of the oncologist, and keep the scheduled, surgery only, on the 21^st of March.

Thursday, I got to go see Downtube Shifter play at a Parking Lot Party, but the cool part of that was watching my son eat cake and slide down a huge bouncy slide.

Friday I felt pretty good.  In the morning, I jogged for 30 minutes and had my first of what I might call a RBC (red blood cell) spurt. Only lasted About 10 minutes, but I liked it. 

 In the afternoon I got the great MRI news, then in the evening got to go out to dinner with my friends from work, eat guacamole, then go see Richie’s  Band. 

 I had a great time until about 11:00 pm when I realized I had overdone it and hurt pretty bad that evening and most of the next day. 

Sunday morning started out great again.  75 minute trail run! and tacos! with my good friend Cindy R. who is the one who introduced me to the “Words with Friends” and Scrabble on my IPhone. 

Wait, that's Ace, and that was in the afternoon. Kinda looks like Cindy from begind though.

Watch out for that Crevice son!

Anyway, I mentioned in a previous entry how my grandparents loved crossword puzzles, but I was no good at them, so I did, can’t remember what I said, but… something else.  Anyway, now I can say Words with Friends, or Scrabble.  I do suck at this too, but it is much easier than crosswords and you can still be an idiot about current events and be entertained.  And you can pretty much make stuff up, which I like doing. My whole week has pretty much been “Sprinkled”  (Think… sugar cookie candy balls, or sparkly colorful sugar…) with this new found addiction.  My favorite is to have a little time with the words with my morning coffee.  (Oh my god, I AM my grandparents). Anyway, the gift of this simple time passer, or mind blocker has been more helpful for me in the past 2 weeks than Cindy, or anyone might be able to know.  So, in memory of this special gift from my friend (and some of you think I am being fecicious sP?   But my friend Cindy knows I’m being serious)…I’m going to refer to this extremely difficult period between phase II and Phase III (Surgery) as “Words With Friends”.  Due to this, I’ve made it a point, also, to share a few extra words, or moments with some of my friends, prior to phase III.   Wanna Play?

Just ask for a game with Powerhowell.

Phase II: Round 11 "I'll take the Zero, Miss"

Phase II: Round 11  (Taxol Done-Herceptin only)  “I’ll take the Zero, Miss”

Tuesday 3/1/11. 

Today was indeed a test.   In school, I used to like tests…I was pretty good at them and it was often like a game for me.   97 average in high school, Magna Cum Something, in PT school.   Most who know me also know that I DO enjoy a challenge and often set myself up that way.   Today, however, I think maybe it’s enough that I made it to class, and stayed to listen to what had to be said.  

Monday afternoon I found out over the phone that my last Taxol treatment was likely done last week. Number 10 of the original 12 planned.  The doctor decided to discontinue based on the neurotoxicity that I was experiencing.  Stopping made me happy and scared.  I was determined to make the point that it was their decision.  I don’t want my own blood on my hands.  

I was instructed to schedule an MRI as soon as able, and then go ahead and come in to my Tuesday doctor’s appointment to hear the plan for further treatment. This plan was to be based on meetings between the Oncologist, the Radiation oncologist, the Breast Cancer Specialist, and the General surgeon.  (They left my buddy plastic surgeon, who is, I believe, on “my side”, out of the loop, which I thought was rude.)

I scheduled the MRI for Wednesday morning at 6:30 a.m. and I showed up on Tuesday as instructed (after my glorious weekly 6 mile Tuesday group run and breakfast.)

Cindy S. and Chuck....who are WAY faster than me,but still run with me :).   AND the ones who got me into YOGA.

The nurse who accesses the port came in, stabbed me as usual, took my blood, and taped on the syringe where the chemo goes.  The Nurse Practioner Sara, who I like, came in to prep me with the bad news.  They had decided that I would definitely have Radiation Treatment due to the original size of the tumor (which was between 5-7 cm) and the aggressive nature of the type of cancer.  I would have bilateral mastectomy within the next 3 weeks, then radiation daily (5 days a week) for 4-6 weeks. I would then wait 6-9 months for the surgery to heel and to see if the cancer seems gone, and THEN plan the re-construction. This all would basically mean extending the course of treatment/surgical plan by about 9 months to a year.  I was very disappointed, because I had had in my mind that we would be able to do most of the reconstruction at the time of the surgery, thereby saving myself a surgery, minimizing a delay in return to life as I’d prefer it, and protecting my vanity.

After this punch in the stomach, as I was sitting in the infusion room for over an hour, crying non-stop, waiting for my 30 minute dose of Herceptin, I began thinking horrible thoughts.  What crazy thing should I do to cause harm to myself, sabatoge my existence, and make myself hurt with physical pain.  I felt I could handle that.  This pain was not physical and it was too difficult to bear.  Everything I thought of though, would only hurt someone else.   Then, I thought of how much this has already hurt my poor husband, who is the last person that I want to hurt ANY MORE.  While I’m sitting there crying and devising schemes for increased personal physical suffering, I also begin thinking……this is a critical moment.  These are the moments that make us what we are.  O.K.  I am pathetic….  I’m sitting here crying while this cute little bald girl is across from me smiling, hooked up to that godawful shit and having a normal conversation with a nurse.  Am I?  I can decide now.  This IS the only thing that I do have control over today.  How I decide to deal with this information.   So, I decided to just let this one go.

“l’ll take the Zero, Miss”.  I’ve always had fond memories of that statement that I heard more than a few times in French class in high school. I never did take the zero in that class, but always got a kick out of it when other people did.  There’s just something so liberating about that.  I’ll take the Zero.. I choose to take the zero, and I’ll be OK.  I could yell out any number and you’d write it down….but, I’ll take the zero. I'll let it go.

Thursday 3/3/11

So now, after the MRI, another appointment/consult with the Radiation Oncologist, a phone conversation with MY PLASTICS guy J,  and days of waffling back and forth, the plan sticks.  The Bilateral Mastectomy is scheduled for Monday March 21^st at 2:00 with no immediate reconstruction.  3-4 weeks of recovery, then 6.5 weeks of 5 days a week radiation.  Then, a 2-6 month “cooling off” period, per the plastic surgeon….i’ll just go ahead and call him Ned... and then the DIEP reconstruction.

One Point for “the Method”.  Zero to the home team “Control Issues.”

Did I say Liberating?

Phase II Round 10 Jackpot

I’ve been thinking recently how the concept of “diminishing returns” describes how I’ve been feeling about this chemotherapy treatment.  I feel that I am holding strong on the course of treatment, yet keep having to put forth more effort to maintain a basic level of function, and a positive to midland attitude.  At the same time, I’m receiving little proof of progress, and more feedback (from my body and my husband) that my ability to maintain these goals is diminishing.  

While recently crying in the CT Scan tube with visions of “Yer All Fluff” dancing in my head, does initially seem like solid proof that I am no longer tough, and therefore, likely cured of cancer, I've again begun to desire more medical proof.  I have begged for a mammogram or something beyond manual palpation to provide proof of a shrinking tumor, with no avail.  The oncologist and even the plastic surgeon now, say that a mammogram does not provide a good look, or any information that would we could base any decisions on, and that we will need an MRI.  Because I believe that the MRI is the most clear diagnostic tool, I will accept that.   Today they clarified that we would get an MRI one week after last Taxol treatment, which at this point is still up in the air, due to the neuropathies that I am developing.  The current plan is to simply check on me next week, with the possibility of this week, or each of the next two weeks being the last week.  During this week, however, the Oncologist plans to speak with the General Surgeon and the Radiation Oncologist in order to begin the ball rolling in case we discontinue this treatment early.  The Radiation Oncologist will look at the mammogram and then the MRI and assist the oncologist in deciding whether we should begin to plan for radiation, which would be after the surgery.  They will begin to plan the surgery date 3-4 weeks from the last Taxol treatment.  Also, any information that they find during the surgery and biopsies/ pathology tests that will be run during the surgery, will provide helpful information in decisions regarding radiation.

While this week started out a bit more difficult, as I mentioned in my previous post, there have been some great things too.  My son, casted, hooked and reeled in his first fish ALL on his own!  Port O’Connor here we come!

Adaline and I got to take a long 4 wheeler ride together in perfect weather at the Rayanch. 

We saw a Mexican Bald Eagle, and a black tailed deer bounded alongside us on the creek’s edge for 100 yards or more.  That was very exciting. 

We had a visit this week from Richie’s Mom, Grammy Ju Ju that went well, and I got to eat some great food, including steak, Shrimp Ceviche and Cake! 

 The weather was beautiful this weekend and Richie and I got to go out on a date and hang out with my friend Chuck, and his wife Kristin and his brother and hear entertaining tales of the Austin Marathon and Half Marathon that they participated in that day. The weather at both this Marathon and the recent 3M half marathon (either of which I could have potentially participated) was horrible.  The temperature was around 65 degrees, and the humidity was very high at both with an added headwind at the end.  This is my personal racing nightmare.  So, while I did feel a bit sorry for those who had trained for months specifically for each, it did make it a bit easier for me to miss out on those. 

I took a bit of a down week this week with exercise due to the strength required to carry the informational and mental/ emotional load that I received on Wednesday, in addition to just not feeling as well in general, until Saturday and Sunday.  I was able to jog 3 times (one nice trail run at Hill of Life, of course), and do yoga twice.  I haven’t missed a Tuesday morning run this Phase and, while difficult at times, I can still jog for 60 minutes, when rested and feeling well.

Today, Richie passed the last of what seemed like hundreds of exams to become certified in production and inventory management!  And still has a job!  Way to go, Richie!   

I am hoping that at some point near the end of this long arduous course, I will receive the ultimate return:  Some proof of a cancer free body and the ability to return to physical and possibly even mental well-being. J However, after my most recent Yoga session, in which I set my intention on relaxation and happiness, I’ve been reminded that my pot of gold is not only to be found at the end of the rainbow.  It is also within the rainbow itself.   

If you didn't already agree, take a look at this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fte3ph-PjaE&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Emily

2/23/11

I am not tough. I am all fluff.

Early on in my diagnosis of Breast Cancer, someone said to me…”Do you know why this happened to you?”....I’m thinking.... “No…It’s Bullshit, isn’t it…”, but no, that was not what they were getting at...It was…”It’s because you are tough and you can handle this.” 

It is true that I was awarded the first place women’s finisher plaque for the “Toughest Race In Texas”  a severely hilly 20 mile trail race, and, that I did believe that this was the confirmation that I needed to prove that I was indeed tough.  In some ways I believed it proof also that my husband and my old friend John Stark were wrong. (They have both mentioned at one time or another that I am not that tough).   I used to think that John wrote the BDS song “Yer All Fluff” partly with me in mind, and even if he didn’t, I thought about that when I heard it.

Now, I began to believe that if what this person was saying is true, I needed to make sure that I was no longer tough.  I, for once, needed to allow John and Richie to be right, and at the same time find a way to have things that require “toughness” stop happening to me.   

I initially made a joke of it, and figured I’d just proclaim myself as no longer tough, and begin doing everything the opposite of how I normally do things, like for example, I’d start watching more football and go to church.  Those were the main things that I could think of, that I was obviously doing wrong.  I just couldn’t initially accept running less, or drinking more, as things that would help this situation.  However, in retrospect, now that I am running less, and doing chemo, which is kinda like drinking more ‘cause it is killing my kidneys and liver like alcohol would, I do believe it may be helping. I did also watch a lot more football and started going to YOGA, best I could do under the circumstances.

While yesterday was difficult for me, it has become for me, the proof that i needed to declare that I am officially no longer tough.

This is really not entertaining.  Please do not get your hopes up, or prepare yourself to be jealous of my Wednesday.  On the surface, possibly not even that significant.  Just a day.

The day started out very nicely:  Double shot iced latte’, 2%, paper cup, more ice, less milk, from my favorite Irie Bean coffee bar, followed by taco breakfast with my boy at “our place” Casita Taco.

Then the toughness challenge begins:

9:30 a.m. 1st appointment: Oncologist.

Weight.. Up one pound.  Student nurse + real nurse =  Blood pressure 2x.  Doctor dictates that I'm in stage 2 neurotoxicity which is causing the neuropathies: Numbness and incoordination in my hands and arms, as well as severely painful toes and toenails.  We may discontinue the Taxol next week if necessary to avoid permanent damage.

We will soon have MRI of breast.  If MRI shows cancer still present and active, we will definitely do 4-6 weeks of radiation, likely prior to Surgery.  If MRI looks good, then I’ll have a 4 week break then surgery with reconstruction.  If during surgery, active disease is found, then I will have radiation after. 

10:45 a.m. 2nd Appointment:  Visit with OBGYN at Menopause Clinic. 

2nd weight taken:  up 3 more pounds!!!  What!! No.  Shoes need to come off .  Third blood pressure taken.  Full disrobe.  Speculum - need I say more?  Definitely in Menopause.  No one knows if that will reverse.  The atrophic vaginitis can be improved with small dose estrogen cream.  The vaginal wall can be stretched with olive oil and a candle???  Wow.

Not so pleasant blood draw through arm, to test to see if my thyroid is being affected.  Hmm, with that rapid weight gain from this morning…I almost hope so.

1:45 P.M. 3rd appointment:  CT scan

Scan of abdomen for pre-op (breast reconstruction) identification of abdominal artery location in preparation for the downtube upshift. 

2nd full disrobe.  “Oh, no one told you this required an IV.?”  No, actually, they hadn't.

Tears start.  “Yer All Fluff” begins playing in my head.

IV placed.  Me in CT tube...  “Oh, when did you have Chemo last?” Yesterday. “We’ll we just need to ask the doctor…. due to our policy... No iodine injection until after 48- 72 hours from last chemo”.   More tears…”Are you O.K.”  Head nod, yes, eyes closed. (Richie would be upset if I don’t at least attempt to respond to this woman).  Just lie still and wait in tube.  More… Yer All Fluff.  “The Doctor said your kidney function is good and we can go ahead if you want.  What do you want to do?”  More tears.  Unable to make sound medical decision. “Go ahead, I guess”.

Iodine injected... “It will feel like a hot flash”... Well, at least I know what they are saying... Actually, much hotter than a hot flash, but, over fairly quickly..  IV out... Several more tears throughout the dressing and back to the car.

I am not tough.  I am all fluff  J

Click link below.  Judgemental Radio.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxg5nA3KTBc&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Afer only a mere 7 days of perseverating on attempts to get this video to play UPRIGHT!! I've done it!!

 Music Courtesy of John Stark and Blue Diamond Shine.

PortaCath and Pre Chemo

PortaCath and Pre Chemo

PortaCath and Pre Chemo Treatment 9/13/10 ish


Hello all,
Saw Surgeon, Dr. Lamar Jones, this Tuesday am to discuss placement of PortaCath. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port_(medical) It is basically a disc that is placed under the skin that replaces having to have an IV inserted for chemo and blood draws.  Yesterday had the thing put in.  It turns out it was a small day surgery.  More than I had expected, but still like day spa treatment compared to the Biopsy.  I was put under sedation for the procedure, got a good nap, then got pretty buzzed on Percocet afterwards and had P.Terry’s because it is hormone free beef, and therefore good for you.  Then some pain later, but tolerable, once I laid down again.  Thanks to Cindy being there it was mostly enjoyable chatting and catching up, and keeping my mind off of things. 
Today, met with the Oncologist, Dr. Sandbach, with Richie there to take notes and help me ask questions.
So what I know (take that l word with a grain of salt please) so far is:
Ductal Carcinoma.  Invasive.  He did not stage it.  It’s at least Stage II because it’s about 5 cm and in the lymph node.  Most likely stage IIIA.It’s ER+.  It will be chemo first, then Bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction.  Radiation is undecided at this point, but Oncologist and Surgeon lean away from it if all is going well with the chemo and surgery.
On Monday 9/20/11  I’m scheduled for CT scan of abdomen and MRI of brain to see if we can see anything anywhere else.  On Thursday 9/23/10 we go to Chemo instructional class for more detailed info on chemo.

9/27/10  will be the 1st  Chemo treatment:
There will be four rounds of a drug called AC in 3 week cycles to = 12 weeks.Then another 12 weeks of another drug which I cannot think of the name right now, starts with a T.
24 weeks of Chemo total, then 2 weeks recovery, then Surgery.
Then apparently 5 more years of an oral drug that the oncologist says is no problem.
If the Genetic BRCA test comes back (+) for genetic mutation, there will be more drugs for up to 10 years, maybe, and the ovaries will need to come out at some point.
I guess that’s all I can think of right now.Emily