Sweet and Sassy

  

As my cancer excursion continues I have heard numerous kind and encouraging words from so many people.  I take these sentiments to heart…most of the time.  But cancer can make a person cynical.  So sometimes the little angel on my shoulder who always attempts to look on the bright side and trust that things will be alright gets overpowered by that skeptical little devil on my other shoulder who whispers sassy comments in my ear.  That pessimistic little devil can turn even the nicest comments into something different.  Here are some examples 

“It’s good you caught it early”

Sweet Me thinks - “absolutely, thank God it didn’t spread any further.  Hopefully finding it early will save my life.”

Sassy Me thinks – “Really?  Is it good?  Was it early?  It wasn’t caught early enough for me to avoid surgery, chemo, and radiation.  So I guess it really wasn’t really that good or that early.”

“Everything happens for a reason”

Sweet Me thinks – “I agree.  God has something planned for me and I just have to pray for the best.”

Sassy Me thinks – “I disagree.  Maybe not everything does happen for a reason.  Maybe some things just suck. End of story.”   

“You’re so lucky the doctors found it when they did”

Sweet Me thinks – “yes, I am very lucky.  I hate to think about what would have happened if we didn’t find it when we did.”

Sassy Me thinks – “Lucky?  Winning the lottery is lucky.  Getting cancer is not.”

“Only 6 weeks left of chemo, that’s great!”

Sweet Me thinks – “yes, it’s finally nearing the end.  14 weeks done.  It finally seems manageable.  It will all be over soon.”

Sassy Me thinks – “do you even know how long 6 weeks is? I don’t think you do.”

So you see sometimes even the nicest comments can be taken the wrong way on any given day.  I don’t want anyone to worry about having said those things to me or anyone else.  I know for a fact that each of those statements got me through a tough day.  I took those words to heart and they helped me to be optimistic, confident, strong, supported, and encouraged.  Those are all good things to say to someone…on the right day.  The problem is you never know.  If you’re wondering if you ever said something that bothered me, please ask and I will check my list.  Just kidding, I know who said what without checking my list.  I kid, I kid.  I know that intentions are good.  So if you have ever made the above comments to someone else with cancer and they seemed upset, just know that they are going through a lot of emotions and that little devil might just be hanging around trying to bring them down.  If you had said the same thing on a different day or a different time, it could have been exactly what they needed to hear.  So when I am talking with someone who has cancer, I hope that whatever I say is the “right” thing.  But if not, I hope they don’t keep a list.

Looking on the Bright Side…No one has yet to say anything to really upset me, that I can remember (chemo brain may be useful after all). 

Their Strange Addiction

Their Strange Addiction

Sometimes I feel bitter when I see certain people who live a much less healthy lifestyle than mine be healthier than me.  I’m not about to preach or anything but it just doesn’t make any sense that someone who smokes a pack a day or still uses tanning beds would not have cancer, but I do.  Not that I wish cancer upon anyone but I’m just pointing out the obvious unfairness of life.  I was out to dinner with some girlfriends and we started talking about the show on TLC - My Strange Addiction.  Now, I have never actually seen the show but I have seen previews for it.  It got me thinking.  How is someone who is addicted to drinking gasoline in better health than me?  When I see the story about a woman who is addicted to licking her cats, it makes me mad (and way grossed out).  My body is working against me creating cancer cells to kill me but the lady who eats playground sand is doing alright.  How does that work?   What made my body turn against me?  I have never eaten vapor rub, nail files, facial masks, or glue.  In fact, I really only eat food.  Real human food.  Healthy human food at that.  It’s such a mystery to me.  How does eating a steady diet of couch cushions not equate to getting cancer?  There is still so much we don’t know about cancer, sometimes I wonder if it really matters what we eat or do.  Regardless, I’ll stick to eating actual food and trying to maintain a “healthy” lifestyle to keep cancer from killing me while these people go on living their life.  Now I am unaware of any scientific studies specifically linking the consumption of things like scotch tape to cancer, but I’m willing to bet there will be some type of medical assistance needed for all these strange addictions eventually.  Licking your cat has to catch up with you eventually, right?   

I want to add that I am not trying to undermine these super strange addictions in any way.  These people obviously have some issues, but I am referring exclusively to their physical health and specifically their current lack of cancer. 

Looking on the Bright Side…comparing myself to a doll sniffing addict and someone who makes out with his car, I feel pretty normal.  There is no silver lining to my cancer situation, but feeling normal is nice.

Chemo - Check, Done, Over, So Long

Chemo – check, done, over, so long

I did it.  I finished chemo.  I was able to get in and complete my mission.  It feels so good to have that over with.  I love to check things off of my cancer to do list.  Here is what I have so far

ü  Boobs removed

ü  Boobs “filled”

ü  Shave head and lose all my hair

ü  Grow some hair back

ü  Schedule and attend office visits with a breast surgeon, plastic surgeon, oncologist, radiation oncologist, radiologist, researchers, genetic counselor, lymphedema specialist, occupational therapist, cardiologist, social worker, breast navigator, pathologist, nuclear medicine physician, anesthesiologist, and pharmacist.

ü  Begin menopause

ü  FINISH CHEMO!!!

ü  Do the “all done with chemo” happy dance and celebrate

Wow, that looks really good on my check list.  Here are the remaining items that still need to be checked off

o   Surgery to get new boobs/implants - May

o   Begin radiation - May

o   Get tattoos (probably 5-6 for radiation) - May

o   Surgery to remove my port – Summer 2012

o   Surgery to remove my ovaries – Summer 2013

o   Get nipples, maybe

o   Enjoy Thursdays and Saturdays again without chemo and feeling sick

o   Possible reversal of menopause

o   Begin menopause for a second time

o   Begin hormonal therapy – June 2012 to June 2022

o   Grow more hair

Okay I’m going to be honest, that list is a little bit more overwhelming than I was expecting.  But whatever, chemo is done.  I was able to celebrate with family and friends and it felt so good.  The big check off was a bit vulnerable for a time.  My white blood count was so low that they were initially unsure if I would be able to get the last two treatments on time, I had an infection (bladder) and low grade fever, a broken car, and weather that threatened to mess up my checklist.  But did I let all those things get me down?  Actually, yes I did.  I was pretty upset.  Oh well, I can only be so optimistic.  Now on to the remaining checklist. 

Looking on the Bright Side…I’m done with chemo!!!!! 

 

A Sign?

A Sign? – April 18^th, 2013

I have been eagerly anticipating this day.  It’s the last day of chemo.  When I started back in December it felt as though this day would never come.  We have plans to go celebrate as a family afterwards and we are leaving early tomorrow morning to head to my parents’ house; my whole family will be back!  The end of chemo signifies so much and I have been looking forward to the day that I am done with it.  A joyous day.  Or at least it was supposed to be!  This week has been an interesting one for sure.  My car broke down, my kids have been super wild and hyper and crazy.  In addition to that Brinley has been so crabby, like really crabby.  Remember that post from a week or two ago about how amazingly well my children have adjusted.  It’s like they are challenging me.  I have a lot of patience, but not this week!  Then last night we had crazy storms and the kids woke up scared so I didn’t get much sleep.  I haven’t been sleeping well anyway.  It’s like my brain won’t shut down.  I am excited to be done, giddy with the thought of finishing chemo, and exhausted from lack of sleep (even with sleep meds).  But I wasn’t expecting this…I’m scared too.  Last night Jeff asked me if I was nervous.  I’m thinking to myself nervous? Whhaaat?  Why would I be nervous?  I’m thrilled.  I’m going to be done!!!  I was trying to convince myself of this and not let on about how confused I really am.  So I respond “no I’m not really nervous.  Are you?”  He responds that yeah he is kind of nervous and I sigh and confess that I am too. 

I was very prepared to celebrate this day but I was not prepared to be nervous.  I realize that being done with chemo means that I am no longer getting treatment to actively fight this, at least systemically.  As much as I hate chemo, it is reassuring to know that something is being done.  Now I have to just trust that it’s all going to work.  I have to trust that it has killed all the cancer cells.  I begin to wonder if it’s going to be enough.  Maybe I shouldn’t be so excited to be done.  Maybe I should ask for a couple more rounds just to be safe.  I think I can feel another cancer cell somewhere.  Okay, maybe not.  I have to trust.  It feels good to admit all this to Jeff and although he too is nervous, he reminds me that we should still celebrate.  We can’t let ourselves get caught up in the “what ifs.” 

Anyway after a crazy night of storms and absence of good night’s sleep, we get up to learn about all the flooding.  Even school has been cancelled.  This is a first.  Jeff is about to head off to work for a half day (he is spending the second half with me at the hospital) but I worry that he won’t make it there safely due to the weather (he ends up having to turn around and come back home).  I find myself suddenly crying.  I find myself wondering if these are all signs.  I cry and try to explain to Jeff that I am sure these are signs that I shouldn’t get too excited about the end of chemo…because this may not be the end.  The cancer might come back.  This is God’s way of warning me!  I just know it.  Now, I realize that it is a bit self-absorbed to think that all this is happening just as a sign for me but that doesn’t stop me from thinking it.  Jeff tries to reassure me that these are not signs and it’s nothing to worry about.  I’m going to have my last chemo treatment and we will celebrate as planned!  Okay, I’m smiling again.  I still think it’s a sign, but I’m smiling. 

The phone rings.  You have got to be kidding me?  The cancer center is being evacuated!  No chemo today!  OMG!!!  Now try to convince me it’s not a sign, I dare you.  You can’t can you?  So now what?  I am supposed to be leaving at 7am tomorrow morning to go to my parent’s house and finally get to see my brother, sister-in-law, and sister.  I am hoping that they are able to get me in anyway because if I can’t get in until next week my surgery will have to be pushed back and then radiation will have to be pushed back and then my summer will be ruined.  Okay, I am being slightly dramatic but you get it.  The phone rings again, they can get me in at 10:15am.  So instead of getting to Iowa at noon, we won’t be in until about 6pm.  I guess it could be worse. 

Looking on the Bright Side…my “sweet” children made a card for the nurses and staff to say thank you and I’m so proud of them for being so considerate.  See pics!

 

Dinner Conversations

Dinner Conversations

Sometimes I wonder about the conversations I have with my kids.  I wonder if these conversations would have ever existed had cancer not come into our lives.  Let me give you an example.  The other day the kids and I are sitting at the table eating breakfast together and somehow the conversation veers towards nipples.  Again, I’m not sure if this discussion begins because they are just regular curious 5 and 6 year olds or if it’s the result of all our lives having been changed because of my breasts, but either way they are asking me if I have nipples too.  Hmm.  It’s a good question, I’m just not sure how I want to answer.  So I decide to do what every good mother would do in the same situation…I lie.  Just kidding, but I did consider it.  Instead I tell them the truth, “no I do not have nipples.  I used to, but when I had surgery to take out the cancer they had to remove my nipples too.”  Weird, I know.  Cancer is weird enough to have to talk about, but because it involves my breasts it can get kind of awkward.

Anyway, after our nipple conversation the kids seem content with my answer and so we move on to other kid topics like how long does it take for astronauts to get to the moon, who is better at hopping on one foot, and why fruit snacks have a healthy name but aren’t really healthy.  We continue our day.

Many hours later as we sit down for dinner we begin as usual; talking about our day.  Coen tells us about what book they read in kindergarten and what game they played in P.E. and Brinley tells us about her preschool day.  Suddenly she shouts out in an unexpectedly loud voice as if she has breaking news “hey Dad, you know Mommy doesn’t have any nipples!” and Coen chimes in all excitedly that this is indeed true and adds to that by saying “and her nipples are gone forever!”  Wait.  How did our lovely dinner conversation so suddenly shift to my nipples again?  Now Jeff, of course, was already aware of my missing nipples but because of how eagerly the kids shared this information with him and how caught off guard he was of the timing, he seemed stunned.  As if he were just being made aware of this!  It was so funny.  I smiled and reminded the kids that this information is private.  It’s okay to tell Daddy about it, but it should not be discussed at say, school or anything.  Obviously.  The kids nod their head.  I can’t tell if it’s a “well duh mom, clearly we wouldn’t talk about your nipples at school” nod or an “oh man, I guess I will have to find something different to write in my journal and share with my friends” kind of nod.  Or maybe it was one of each.  In any case, we will just keep that private.  You know, other than me putting it out there for anyone to read on this blog! 

Looking on the Bright Side…we do try to eat dinner together as a family every night.  I feel it’s very important and so many great conversations happen at the table.  Regardless of how bizarre the conversations get, at least we are having them together!  One big happy awkward family dinner.

Odds Are

Odds Are

Today I retrieved a piece a paper that I received months ago from my oncologist.  I remember the day well.  Jeff and I were both at the cancer center.  I had my double mastectomy and now I was visiting the doctor to go over additional treatments.  The doctor brought a piece of paper with him.  This piece of paper looks ordinary enough but the information it contains is heartbreakingly real.  This piece of paper contains the realities of my survival.  The odds of my getting breast cancer at 32 years old was less than 1%, less than .5% even.  I do not seem to have luck on my side right now.  Now he wants to talk about survival rates!  At that exact moment I was still a bit in shock over what was happening and I was not really worried about death.  I remember the doctor talking to us about my specific situation and using the term “mortality rates”.  He is showing me this piece of paper with graphs and statistics.  This was especially tough for Jeff.  He has been concerned about death since my diagnosis.  I wasn’t there yet.  Now I am forced to consider it.  I still had all my hair.  I didn’t feel sick.  I didn’t look sick.  I heard what he was saying and I saw the facts right there on paper but when I got home I intentionally placed this piece of paper away in my binder.  Out of sight.  I knew where it was, it was nicely organized where I didn’t have to look at again until I was ready.

I guess I’m ready.  I’m ready to look at it again.  I think.  I pull it out and look at the numbers again and wonder how this could possibly be correct.  The statistics are specific to me and my situation.  It takes into account my age, my general health, my estrogen receptor status, the histological grade of the tumors, the tumor size, the nodes involved and my recent surgery to remove both breasts.  It goes through the various treatment options to consider with the statistics to match.  Basically if I do no other additional treatment (no chemo, no hormonal therapy, no radiation) chances are pretty great that I will not be alive in 10 years and if I am alive the cancer would be back.  That is pretty sobering to see.  

Then it covers the odds of mortality with just chemo and no hormonal therapy (hormonal therapy = ten years of taking the drug Tamoxifen), with hormonal therapy and no chemo, and combined therapy.  Of course I am going to choose the combined therapy.  I want whatever I can get to be healthy again.  I remember now why I put the paper away when I did.  Looking at this paper again reminds me of the seriousness of cancer.  This is difficult to accept.  Combined therapy gives me a 70% survival rate in 10 years!!! I know that radiation and the removal of my ovaries will increase this number some but I do not know exactly what it is.  I know it’s just a number but it’s there and it’s specific to me.  Part of me wants to throw it away and pretend that it never existed.  I want to believe that survival is the only option.  Then part of me wonders if that is irresponsible and naïve.  I think I will put this paper away again.  I hope the odds will be on my side.

Looking on the Bright Side…I still have my fingernails.  Chemo can actually cause fingernails to fall off.  I have some discoloration and sensitivity but they are all still there!