I’M DONE!!! I’M DONE!!! I’M DONE!!!

I’M DONE!!! I’M DONE!!! I’M DONE!!!

I’M DONE!!! I’M DONE!!!


I’M DONE!!!
One for each month I have fought, struggled, cried, prayed and cursed with cancer. I can not even describe to you how I am feeling. I am sitting here boohoo bawling right now. I really wasn’t sure this day would ever come.

For the last 9 months, every day I have woken up terrified. What new torture or side effect was in store for me today. Please God, just make it go away. I got so very tired of being strong. I have so appreciated whenever anyone has said, Oh Cyndy you are so strong, you can do this. Inside I was saying, ha I guess I have you fooled. I was scared I wouldn’t live to see fall...

My sister said now I can start getting back to who I was. I am not sure I remember her and I am sure I will never be her again. For better or worse, cancer has changed me and not just physically.

My prayer for all of you is that you never have to walk this path. It is harder than I can tell you. I started out so stupid about it all. No one is there holding your hand and guiding you on the right path. If you are lucky enough to ask the right questions, know the right people and just plain stumble in the right direction, you can get there, but there are many potholes along the way.

Thank you God for my family, friends, neighbors and even strangers who have dragged, carried and supported me along the way! Next to my wedding day and the birth of my boys, this is the best day of my life. AMEN!

Mojo must be the sweetest dog in the whole world. With this flu, I have felt really cruddy all week. When I am lying on the bed, Mojo will jump up and put his paws on my chest, then his head on his paws. He looks up at me with his dark eyes wondering what is wrong. Why aren’t you throwing the frisbee for me? Why aren’t we running the weave poles. Little baby, I’m sorry I will make it up to you.

The new plan was to change the way the radiation is delivered so it will not be so close to the skin. Thank goodness. The doctor said it would probably not change the number of treatments needed, but she would evaluate it when we were near the end.

So there I was, slogging through last week. Not feeling great and really unhappy because my Dad had some significant health issues and was in the hospital. I was upset that I couldn’t be there to help my mother and sisters. As it turns out it probably was just as well I didn’t go there because on Friday I got the flu.

Ok, no just the flu, I got the FLU!! I had a fever of 103 and couldn’t get out of bed. Unfortunately, Scott was out of town on a boys weekend, but I was not on my own. I had Lauri and Sharon bringing me food and others calling to help. I didn’t want anyone to come over because I sure would not want anyone to get this. I still have a fever, but fortunately it is lower.

Monday, I went into the doctor’s office knowing she might order more treatments. Also knowing that because I had a fever of 101 at that point, she might not let me have my any treatments until I was better. While I do not enjoy the internal burning, by any means, there was no way she would have been able to keep me from finishing this week. Thank God she does not think I will need more treatments and I could continue that day.

I wore a mask and they threw me into that tunnel. Talk about your claustrophobia! Yikes, I don’t know how doctors can wear those things. But here I am about to write something that I never thought I would. In the words of Jean Valjean from Les Miserables:

ONE DAY MORE!!!!!

I know I haven’t blogged in a while, but I have been a little overwhelmed with this radiation. It has been more than I thought it was going to be. Everyone had told me it wasn’t going to be too bad. Well they were wrong.

It took a while for my skin to degrade, but when it did, it went like crazy. The area right under my neck was open, weeping, red, basically disgusting. I couldn’t believe how much it hurt every time I moved. Finally, the doctor gave me a day off from the radiation to let my skin heal. Then she decided to move the radiation to just the surgical site.

The radiation seems to continue to perk even after the treatment ends. The site was hot and blistered and getting worse. I went through 4 different creams, 2 of which are prescription.

Finally the area near my neck started to heal, but the surgical site area has gotten worse. I am treating it with hydrogen peroxide and silver sulfadine cream. I was hoping this would help dry and heal.

Anyway, I was still going to radiation every day and slowly but surely counting down the days to only 8 left. Last Tuesday I went at the regular time, but the technician wanted the doctor to see me, because of the condition of my skin. My regular doctor was on vacation so I saw a replacement. He was very concerned and stopped treatment for the rest of the week. I can’t tell you how relieved I was by that. It was really hurting and uncomfortable, not to mention how tired I was. The only down side was this keeps putting the end further and further away.

So last week I had a chance to heal and rest. This was particularly nice because I had a big weekend planned and wanted to be ready to play. I was rested but still have open raw degraded skin, that now is starting to itch.

After a great weekend, I was ready, if not excited, to go back to radiation and start the count down again. Then I got the call. The doctor, back from vacation, was looking at my chart and decided to change my treatment plan. What does that mean? I just don’t know. I guess I will find out today.

The pain is not bad at all unless I pull on the stupid drain, then I yell. It seems to be healing up well and isn’t really draining much, so hopefully when I go to the doctor this Friday they will pull the drain out.

Meanwhile, I have started radiation. It isn’t too bad. I go every day at 3:00. Once there, I take off my clothes from the waist up and put on a gown. I lay down on a metal table with my arms over my head, while the tech lines me up with the target marks they put on me, then slide into a large, round MRI looking machine for 2 minutes for a scan. I come out, have to lay there for about 6 minutes and the tech checks something and sends me back in for 7 1/2 minutes. I have to remain perfectly still throughout this entire process and that is very hard. As soon as she says hold still, my nose itches or my leg twitches or something. It is good for me to have my arms over my head for that long as it stretches all of the tight muscles across my chest. I am not allowed to have deodorant on during the procedure and there I am with my arms over my head and my nose right there at the arm pits. Smelly! Just kidding.

The machine has a constant noise like someone vacuuming and then when I roll into the machine it sounds like a train on a track going around my body. but I close my eyes and try to meditate. I read in the new Dan Brown book that it has been determined that yogis produce a healing substance when they meditate. I am no yogi, but I try to think happy thoughts. Anyway, the whole thing takes about 30 minutes or so.

On the way home, I start to feel, well not nauseous exactly, just really, really not hungry. Then a half hour or so later, I am very tired. Compared to chemo though, this is absolutely nothing. I don’t have any burns yet, but that might be coming. Apparently all of the side effects are cumulative, so I expect to become more tired and have effects on my skin. No worries though, I have fragrance free aloe lotion.

The next day, I do it all again. I have 33 treatments, so that puts me at the beginning of November to be done. I am counting down the days!

This has been quite a few weeks. I don’t know what I expected coming home from the hospital. But certainly the pain I have has surpassed anything I have known. I think I was expecting what I went through with the c-sections I had with the boys. I guess I was younger, healthier and more distracted by the baby, with that pain, and it wasn’t too bad. This time I didn’t have a sweet little thing to take my mind off things - unless you count Mojo (and I do).

Imagine every time you reach for something, with either hand but mostly with the right, gasping with pain. The pain also goes down my right arm as well because of the removal of the lymph nodes. The only time I wasn’t in pain during the first 2 weeks was when I was sitting absolutely still with my arms propped up. What is strange is the numbness under my arm. I wash or put on deodorant I can’t feel a thing, very weird. The nurse practitioner pulled my drains and that really helped. But it still was uncomfortable.

It reached a pinacle last Thursday. It hurt to move. Friday afternoon, (WARNING, this is where it gets gross) my right breast exploded with oozy stuff. It was dripping, no not dripping, flowing everywhere. Scott took me to the nurse and she took over a cup of fluid out of my breast, dressed it and gave me a high dose of antibiotics. She debated as to whether she should send me to the hospital for iv antibiotics but decided to try this first. So now I am changing the dressing at least twice a day and milking the icky out of it.

Now I know you are thinking this is just one of those things I should get used to it and get over it. The problem is how hard it is for me to look at the scars. I am such a wuss looking at it makes it more real.

I read a lot about the whole procedure beforehand. On line, books, brochures, you name it. None of them had any real pictures of what my breasts were going to look like after the surgery. It isn’t pretty. I don’t want to look at it and I sure don’t want Scott to see it, so this whole infection thing has been a nightmare. In a way, maybe it was good because it is forcing me to get used to the way I look now.

I finally did have a pity party for myself on Sunday. Saturday we were in the RV in Gainesville which was a lot of fun. There were a passel of people there, but Scott and our friends did all the work so it was easy enough on me. I don’t know, I guess it was the bouncing around in the RV on the way down and back or just the picking up after, or maybe because Nick came home and then had to leave right away and I was in a lot of pain and sort of had a melt down. Crying and carrying on, but at least I got it out of my system for a while.

The pain is finally getting better. I am trying to stretch my arm out so it doesn’t get too stiff and I lose any range of motion. Also, I am trying to avoid lymphedema, where my arm swells. The radiation oncologist referred me to a specialist, but I haven’t heard back from them yet. The trick is balancing exercising with overdoing. I am not to lift heavy things but light exercise is good for me. My question is what is heavy and what is light? Hopefully I will get in there next week. Meanwhile, I can go to the grocery store, I just can’t carry anything in.

So that is the update for now. I am supposed to go in for my radiation set up next Monday. Hopefully I have healed enough on the cancer side to allow that to get started.

Back home from the hospital. wow, what an ordeal!

I checked in and they started trying to put an iv in me. That is never fun, but apparently chemo degrades the ability of your veins to take an iv. They tried in 5 different places. Yes 5 times before they decided they would check with my surgeon if they could use my port. Thank goodness he agreed and finally they inserted an iv and I was able to get some drugs for the anxiety.

Next, my plastic surgeon came in. He marked on my breasts where he wanted the surgeon to make the incisions to minimize scarring for his reconstruction. I had called his office to let them know when the surgery was, but I found out later that he did not get that message and called my cell phone asking if I wanted to come in to the office prior to the surgery and get marked. When he didn’t get a response, he checked the surgery schedule and came to me at the hospital. He’s a nice guy.

Off to surgery I go. Three hours later, the surgeon comes out to talk to Scott, my mom and my sister. This surgeon is a riot, he has a very heavy accent - Iraqi- and a very high opinion of himself. I guess if you are having surgery, you want it done by someone who thinks he is the best at what he does. So out comes Dr. A telling them that all went well, that no does this surgery like he does and he is the best at it, blah blah blah. Then he announces to my family and of course all the wonderful friends who were there to support us that he saved my left nipple! Oh thank goodness, that was what I was worried about. And I am sure the rest of the neighborhood was vastly relieved as well.

I am in recovery at this time and not really coming around as expected. Scott believes I am doing ok and goes home. About that time I start to come around a little. I start projectile vomiting across the room. I see a bunch of people running around me in and out of the room and don’t remember anything else until later that night when I am moved into another room. It seems that my oxygen saturation rate dropped below 70% and the nurses called the rapid response team. They said I “coded”, whatever that means to them, and I was just a few minutes away from being intubated to restore my breathing. They were able to revive me and avoid all of that.

The next day, we find out the details from the night before. I am still on oxygen because I am not taking in room air well. We also find out I have fluid in my lungs and one is partially collapsed and has probably been that way for a while. I am not taking in food yet, so they try me on a liquid diet at lunch. (St. Luke’s has a neat system for food. They call it room service. There is a menu in your room and you call them, they check your file, to see what type of food you can have and then you choose from the menu.) i have some chicken broth which goes down and back up again immediately. So I’m off food again. It doesn’t seem to help much as I am still throwing up and not absorbing oxygen well. The new diagnosis is I am having a reaction to the pain medication. They stop the old and bring in new. This seems to help the nausea and the next day I am started back on food.

My oncology doctor has been checking on me everyday and he comes in on Wednesday, crying. Scott and I look at each other scared to death: What now? He was just overcome with happiness for me because (and this deserves bold print and exclamation points) THE PATHOLOGY REPORT CAME BACK IN WITH NO CANCER. ALL THE LYMPH NODES THEY TOOK WERE CLEAR AND THE TISSUE SAMPLES SHOWED NO ACTIVE CANCER LEFT ONLY DEAD TISSUE FROM WHERE THE TUMOR WAS!!!!
All the hell that was chemo for so many months was worthwhile. It worked! It worked! It worked! Oh thank God!

But the fun wasn’t over for me. My white cell count went up and my red count was down. The doctors weren’t letting me go anywhere until those things were rectified. They even were talking about making me have oxygen in the house when I did go home. Fortunately the white cell count rectified itself but I had to have 2 units of blood to get my count up to an almost normal level.

What is it about hospitals? What do they have against sleeping people? They come in all night to take vitals, blood and just to check on you. Then there is the non-stop beeping from my oxygen machine, and the alarm that goes off when I go under 85%. I have to unplug from everything every time I go to the bathroom and because of where they put the tissue dispenser and my surgery incisions, I can’t reach the tissue once I sit down, so I have to remember to get it before. Minor details that are a real problem when it affects you.

On Saturday, as a doctor would come in for rounds I would ask him what I needed to do to get out. Each said they were done with me, so I asked them to put it on the computer. This finally sprung me and I was on my way home! Without boobs, with drains and a lot of pain but at least this part is over.

This is it. Tomorrow is BBB day - Bye Bye Boobs day. I am relieved to be rid of the cancer in me but also scared at the same time. I am not afraid of the operation, it is the after effects that have me worried. Don't any of you let me be a different person after this. Please remind me that I am more than just the physical.

You know I don't think I would have been one of those brave martyrs who would willing walk to their death with their heads held high and be very dignified. No, I would be kicking and screaming all the way. That's how I feel about the operation. Granted it is not my death, but I feel like screaming all the way to the operating room, holding on to the "girls" for dear life. When you pray for me, pray for me to have courage.

See you all on the other side.

Well it has now been more than 3 weeks since my last chemo treatment. This is the longest I have been without poison in my system for almost 5 months. Thank goodness is all I can say. I still feel tired though, I guess it may take a while longer to get it all out.

I am counting down the days now until the surgery. And not in a good way. I know I just need to get over it, accept the facts and move on, but I just don’t seem to be able to right now. The whole thing has me pretty upset. Theoretically, I know it is just fat and tissue. Hey, it will be the easiest 10 pounds I have ever lost, right.

I know as the day gets closer I will be distracted by taking Nick to college. But when we get back I will be pretty scared, sad and upset. I probably won’t blog again until after the operation. I don’t want to whine and sound like I feel sorry for myself (which of course I do). Thousands of people have this diagnosis and operation every month and even worse. Intellectually I know this, emotionally - not so much.

Thank you all for the support and I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Ok, another trip to the plastic surgeon and another disappointment. I sort of new what to expect after I spoke with my radiation oncologist and went on line. Apparently I am not having just run of the mill, pin-point radiation. Because of the positive lymph nodes, my radiation will extend beyond just the breast, under the arm, into the chest wall and lungs. I can’t do anything halfway - give me the biggest, baddest, best. Anyway, this will cause some extensive tissue scarring. Anything implanted would be subject to rejection from my body.

So, I am hearing all of this. My doctor goes on about how he could not do reconstruction at the time of the surgery. Of course I am crying. I know it isn’t the fault of the doctor. He is just telling me the results, he didn’t create the facts. Thank goodness Scott was with me. He could listen more dispassionately and try to reason with me. Was I listening? No, probably not, it was all about how I felt.

Breast cancer surgery is really the only surgery that leaves a result that you can see. All other cancers (other than bone) require internal surgery, not this. Breast cancer takes the most visible form there is for a woman. And I don’t even really care how it looks to other people. But every minute of every day after my surgery, I will be reminded that I have no breasts and have cancer. With reconstruction, even though they are fake, at least I could forget for a while. Now, it will take months before I can start that mental healing.

So the new plan is to wait until after radiation and then attempt reconstruction. Radiation starts after the wounds have healed, so maybe 3-4 weeks after surgery and lasts 6-7 weeks, 5 days a week. Fortunately, the treatment itself doesn’t last very long and it is close to the house.

We know I am a planner. Once this all hit me and I realized that I wasn’t going to have re-made boobs, I needed information. Where do I get fake boobs? What do I wear after surgery? How long will it be before I start to look normal? Surprisingly to me, the doctor did not know where I could find fake ones. I told him he, or his people, should know who to call. He did suggest I needed a support group though. I guess I really came off as a crazy. Seriously, after thinking about it, I do think it is a good idea.

So my next step was finding a good prosthetic and a support group. I looked in the Yellow Pages, but those were all orthopedic. On-line I went, because my lovely friend Sue had told me about the wonderful things the American Cancer Society can do, I figured they would be the answer and sure enough, Sue was right. The web site referred me to the Jacksonville Women’s Center for a support group and I figured if they have a support group they would know who to call for the prosthetics. Brilliant, eh? Again, success. A lovely woman answered the phone and was very helpful.

Never one to let grass grow under my feet, I called the pharmacy recommended by the Women’s Center. I figured my luck would be they would have to order whatever I needed and it would take 3 months or something. This little place is over by Memorial Hospital and carries a variety of hospital needs. Back in a private room, a great woman helped me with everything I will need after surgery and through radiation. She did order them, so we will see how long it takes.

I know I am making light of these things, but it really was not easy. I just know it is something I have to do. I have no choice. But for the first time, I am questioning why is all of this happening to me. I haven’t really done that before. Why not me? You hear so many tragic stories. It seems so unfair when cancer hits a child or a single mother. But I am not special, I can get cancer just like the next person, I know that. But lately, with so many negative turns in my fight, I did start to throw the why me question up to the Big Man. I am pretty much over that kind of self-pity. I still wish he could take this away from me and I could have my life back. That will happen, just not the way I wanted it too.

Amidst this, the surgeon’s office called to give me the surgery date. Last week, I begged them to set the date even without the input of the plastic surgeon, but they wouldn’t. It will be no problem they said. We are only booking August 1 right now. August 17 or 18 will be just fine, don’t worry about it. They call and have set the surgery for August 21. Well, they messed with the wrong person on the wrong day. I strongly reminded them of the promise for the beginning of that week, that it was already 2 weeks after when my oncologist and the surgeon wanted to take me. They were somewhat taken aback that I would question the scheduling and tried to make excuses about other cases blah, blah, blah. I told them they were now putting my health at risk (certainly an exaggeration, but I was tired of people screwing around with me). The scheduler said she would see what she could do. An hour later, she called back with a new date. Surgery is August 17 at 10:00 a.m. Ah the sweet smell of success. A little control back in my life.

Well I made it through the last chemo treatment. Or at least I am trying to break through now. I’ve told you how it is, up and down, feel good and then feel crappy. I can do a small amount of things and then my head starts to swim and I have to sit down. This is so not like me. I am go full speed, get it all done and then sit down, so it takes some getting used to.

This afternoon I see the plastic surgeon again. My radiation oncologist spoke to him and now he is not sure about the reconstruction. It may interfere with radiation so I have a feeling he doesn’t want to do it until after the radiation is over. After all of this, it seems silly that such a thing would bother me, but it really does. I want to have something there when I wake up from surgery, not just pain and scars. The psychological aspect of healing from this may be as important to me as the physical and it will take a lot more if reconstruction doesn’t start right away.

I’ll let you know what he says.

Ok People! I went to the oncologist and told him how horrible the chemo treatment was last time, that if I had any more it would kill me. He was extremely sympathetic and made a deal with me. He would reduce the dose but I needed one more treatment. Well I figured anybody can do anything 1 more time.

So here I go tomorrow... after 4 months and 6 doses of poison, ONE MORE TREATMENT!!!! After that 10 days of feeling like crap and I will be through with chemotherapy. Thank God! I feel like I should wear a crown and skip out of there. Although I am sure you know I don’t really feel like skipping when I leave, maybe tomorrow I will though.

From here I go on to surgery. The surgeon was going to take me right away, but I told him I have to wait until after we take Andrew to law school and NIck to college. I didn’t want to be in pain (physically anyway) as our baby leaves the nest. You know I will cry all the way back to Jax after we drop him off. But he is more than ready to get out of here.

The surgery will not be easy. They scrape the tissue away from the skin and the plastic surgeon inserts the spacers to keep the tissue expanded for reconstruction. I spend 2 - 3 days in the hospital and come home with drains still in place. The plastic surgeon then decides when to take those out - when the fluid stops draining from them. I could bounce back in a week or two or it could take longer. We’ll see.

Meanwhile the surgeon has to consult with the plastic surgeon to coordinate their schedules to get me in. Probably the week of Aug. 17. So I have that to look forward to :(

I do have to say once again how thankful I am to have the most wonderful support group in the entire world. You all have gotten me through this and I couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you. THANK YOU!!!!!

Talk to you on the other side of chemo.

HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!

The bone scan is clear! I can not tell you how thankful I am for that news.

The radiology technician knew I was nervous about the outcome of this test. He was kind enough to tell me he did not see any spots of concern. Cautiously optimistic is what he said. That was such a reassurance to me because I am sure he sees many, many scans with cancer every week, so for him to be positive sent me out with a much happier heart.

Then my radiation oncologist looked at the disk as well. She said that although she stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, she was not a radiologist, but the scan looked clear to her. So although I do not have the official radiology report, I am feeling unbelievably upbeat for the first time in a very long time!!

Thank you God for not putting this burden on me!!

I am back from the dead. This course of the chemo was just debilitating. I had thought this type was supposed to be not as bad. I guess they meant the nausea isn’t as bad, which is true. But the fatigue and pain was unbelievable. I still have the fatigue, which comes and goes. Yesterday, I didn’t feel that bad. Today, while not in the pain I was, I am more tired. Weird, huh?

I have a new hill to wait out until Wednesday.

Yesterday, I was at the doctor of the week, this week being the radiation oncologist. She was wonderful, she comes in and gives me a huge hug, none of this hand shaking for her. We begin discussing treatment, she is the localized treatment person as opposed to the medical oncologist who treats the entire body. She wanted to look at the pet scan that I had before I started chemo. After reading the original report from the original radiologist, she said there were some discrepancies.

Discrepancies? What does that mean? I have started becoming more fluent in “doctorese” and discrepancy probably is not a good thing.

The report says there is “some uptake in the bones” but no metastasis. Again, need definition. What does that mean? Well, the 2 statements are contradictory. There can not be uptake in the bones and not have metastasis. It there is something in the bones, then there is metastasis. We looked at the pet scan together and she showed me the places that were of concern to her. She says they could be arthritis and not be cancer at all, but she wants to make sure. So off to a bone scan on Tuesday.

The problem with this is how it changes my long term prognosis. I go to stage 4 and that 5 year survival rate is not as good. So, I am hanging on to the fact that the doctor is more than 80% sure that it is all ok.

So next week looks like this:
Monday - meeting with my medical oncologist to discuss how much more chemo I need. It will take quite a bit of persuasion to hook me up again.

Tuesday - go to St. Lukes at 8 am to be injected with some kind of dye in the nuclear medicine department. I go away for 2 hours and come back for the scan. I take away the disc and take it to my radiation oncologist.

Wednesday - Off to the surgeon to discuss when I chop these puppies off and get the results from the bone scan. (The office of the radiation oncologist is in with the surgeon.)

So big week planned.

You know I think this part is harder on Scott. His mother had breast cancer and it came back in her back. She eventually died from bone cancer. I know this was difficult for him to hear and I think it freaked him out just a little bit. But, we are trying to stay positive, because there is nothing I can do about it now.

I’ll let you know.

Sunday now. I’m trying to feel better but when I am sitting or standing for very long, I get very light headed, the flashing lights in front of my eyes come back and I feel like I am going to pass out. Wondering if that was because I had been laying down for a long period of time, I called my sister to get confirmation. She agreed that I should try to sit up for a while and even walk around a little if I can. I’m trying Nan, but my head is really heavy. Did someone stuff it with concrete when I wasn’t looking?

She also thought I should call the doctor, but unfortunately for me (fortunately for him) he is in Puerto Rico. Why is it when we are feeling bad we don’t want to go to the hospital or call a doctor? Is it the long wait times in a hospital? We don’t want to disturb the doctor? For me it is both I guess. I feel like I should just be able to soldier on through and not bother him with this. I knew there would be side effects to chemo and cancer and so just deal with it. So many other people seem so much worse when I see them in the chemo room. I should feel lucky and I don’t want to seem like a little wussy girl.

If I am not better tomorrow though, I think I will call. Sorry, Dr. C, I guess I am kind of wussy. Scott would probably agree with that. I have been making him jump all weekend.

By the way, I know I have been delinquent in getting back to many of you who have called, written, sent food, flowers or just good wishes. Please forgive me. I couldn't hang in there without all of you.

Ok, I haven’t fallen off the face of a cliff. Although today I feel like that.

Chemo was on Tuesday, and although I didn’t feel great, it wasn’t too horrible. Really tired, kind of nauseous, you know I have recited them all before. Thursday night I had Scott drive me to Borders because I was down to my last book in my queue and that makes me nervous. (Also I had a coupon that was about to expire.) While I was there, I got a terrible pain just above my stomach, just below my ribs. We left with me just buying 1 book!! Any of you that know me will know that would be a miracle.

On Friday, Nick drove me to Chamblin Book Mine. Most unbelievable used book store on the face of the planet, well at least the face of Jacksonville, if you haven’t been go. You truly have to know what you are looking for, otherwise you will be lost, but it is great for research books for kids projects; older, classic books; required reading for school, or if you just want to wander around in a bunch of books. Anyway, back to my story. Andrew received a list of “suggested reading” for law school and as many of the books were older we thought we would take some of my books to sell and buy some of his for school. That part was pretty successful.

Chamblin is housed in an old store, house and warehouse, all linked together with shelf upon shelf of books. It is much like a rabbit warren and if you don’t know where you are going, you get unbelievably lost and claustrophobic. Down the aisle we go, looking for the law section, finally at the end of one part and around the corner of another we start looking through books.

I am suddenly hit hard. I had flashing lights in front of my eyes and chest pain. I really felt like I was going to pass out. I tried to muster through and help Nick look through the mountains of legal titles, but I had to leave. Leaving Nick to carry on, I made it back to the car and lay down in the seat. It was the strangest feeling then, I was having pains everywhere in my body. My legs, arms, chest, back, everything hurt. Not shooting pains, more like aching. It really scared me, because it was different from what I have felt before. I still had the flashing lights and didn’t want to pass out in the car, so I had to call Nick to come take me home.

Poor guy, I told him I felt like I might pass out, and that wouldn’t be a good thing for him, so he babbled at me all the way home to keep me awake. I really don’t remember getting from the car to the bed, I just know I did. I was in bed the rest of the day and night. Probably, I should have gone to the hospital, but I think I was pretty much out of it and couldn’t express that to anyone. Once I got in bed, I was so weak, there would have been no way I could have gotten back in the car. Did I have a heart attack? I don’t think so, but I don’t know. I was very scared though.

Today, feeling a little better I guess. Still unbelievably weak though. I can barely hold my head up. So I am in bed today. Hopefully I will be feeling better tomorrow. Sometimes it seems like there is no light at the end of this tunnel, just more tunnels, or I guess I should say, another hill.

The plastic surgeon. Why does he scare me more than any of the others? He should be the one I most want to see. As he said to me, he is the one who puts me back together.

The appointment did not start well as the doctor was an hour and a half late!! The nurse said he had an emergency that he had to check on at the hospital. The mind sort of boggles at what kind of horror is a plastic surgery emergency. Fallen boobs, botox od, nose out of joint. Anyway, at least when he came in, he apologized. That’s all I care about in that situation, acknowledge that my time is also worth something.

He was terrific. He sits down and before we start with his portion he looks me in the eyes and asks how I am doing. Chemo wise, I asked? No, about everything. Well, that would have made him another hour and a half late if I went over everything, but I certainly appreciated his caring. Most other doctors really only care about their part in the process. He made me feel like he wanted to know about my entire process.

We started talking about the reconstruction process and of course I got emotional. I thought I would be a candidate for the “tram flap” procedure that reconstructs the breast at the same time as the mastectomy. It uses a flap of skin and fat and muscle from the stomach area to sculpt a new breast. The entire procedure is done in one operation.

A few negatives are associated with this type of surgery, including the possibility of the skin flap dying, later stomach hernias and difficulty in sitting up from a lying position. I thought the positive of waking up from the mastectomy with new breasts and not just a giant hole would be worth the risks.

Unfortunately, my further course of treatment, as well as my weight do not make me a candidate for this procedure. The combination of radiation and weight makes it more likely the flap would not be successful. So back to the long established method of inserting spacers.

I was pretty upset at first. But the doctor took his time to explain what happens during the procedure and it reassured me some. After the surgeon removes the right breast and the tissue from the left, the plastic surgeon inserts a small bag that has saline in it behind the chest wall. He inflates this with as much saline as he can given the amount of skin that is left. This is closed up and I proceed with radiation. Every few weeks, I return to the plastic surgeon’s office and he inserts a needle into a port in the bag and pumps more saline in it. My body then stretches to accept the larger bag, this process repeats to make the new breasts. Eventually, those will be replaced by implants. It could take almost a year for the entire process to be completed. While I wasn’t happy about this news, I had no choice and the doctor made me feel better about the entire procedure.

Here was the not fun part. (Nick, Andrew and Dad you may not want to read this part.) The plastic surgeon had to see my body to assess what procedure would be appropriate. So there I was naked from the waist up and dropping my shorts so he could pinch and assess. Yikes. He creates the pretty people and then there’s me. Not exactly one of the Orange County Housewives. He was very appropriate and never indicated that I didn’t measure up (so to speak) to the standards of his other patients. Then, I had the before pictures. Up against the wall, boobs out, all angles. Not exactly what I will use for my Christmas pictures. Who knows, maybe the after pictures though. Ho, ho, ho.

I know I have said this, but cancer sucks! I am so very tired of, well, being tired. Yesterday I slept 20 out of 24 hours. That must be a lot of fun for Scott and Nick. I guess the only thing more fun than that is when I am awake and complaining about how bad I feel.

Headaches, dizzy, constipation, diarrhea, upset stomach, body aches, ear aches, sore throats. The list goes on and on. Each day brings some new malady or the a repeat of an oldie but a goody. I bend over and I am dizzy, I do too much and I get dizzy I stand up too fast and I get dizzy.

Another problem is how addle brained I am during the beginning of the cycle. I don’t even recognize myself and that is very scary. I forget things, I don’t remember where I put things, I can’t remember names. Even this writing seems different from when I first started. I can’t concentrate as long on it and I feel like I am repeating myself. (I will say it again, cancer sucks!) Will I ever be me again? I don’t want to lose myself, I liked who I was. I sure hope this is temporary.

How much of this is just my overactive imagination and when should I mention it to my doctor? I just don’t know. It sounds sort of funny to say, hey doc I think my memory is going.

My doctor of the week visit this week is the plastic surgeon. This will be an important one. Do I qualify for the reconstruction during the original surgery? What kind of side effects does it have? It takes muscle from my stomach wall, and let’s face it, I don’t really have muscles in my stomach, so will that be a problem. Lot’s more questions. I have learned that I have to write it down or my stupid chemo head may not remember what was said. I will have plenty of paper with me for this one.

The first day of Taxotere. I just don’t know if I can do 4 more rounds of this. I am trying but this is a down day.

It probably started over the weekend, taking Nick to orientation at Georgia Southern. I was pretty good during graduation, lost it a little during the toast I wrote for him an much more during the toast Scott wrote for him. (More on that in a later blog.) I was ok getting ready to go. Then the orientation session started. They played a video of all the reasons different students like Georgia Southern. At the end of that, one young man talked about his class ring and what that symbolized for him over the 4 years of his college life. It made me think of Andrew and giving him his ring and all Nick has to look forward to both good and bad away from us. In that split second, I realized how much I will miss, because he and Andrew are not the kind to call and spill their guts about what is going on in their lives. It is like pulling teeth. “What happened today” - “nothing.” “Any plans for tomorrow” - “no ma’am”. “So that big red smear all over your clothes isn’t blood? “Oh that’s nothing.” I have to watch the nightly news to make sure it isn’t anything serious. Well maybe it isn’t quite that bad, but close. Big hint Andrew and NIck. I also learned a policy from my sister-in-law Shelagh, don’t call the first week of school, let them call you. Well unless we don’t deposit money in Nick’s account, I am not sure he’ll be making any calls.

Back to Georgia Southern. They asked all the members of the class of 2013 to stand to a round of applause. Then they gave all of them key rings with miniature class rings on them. Ok, I sort of lost it.

What does this have to do with chemo. Nothing but maybe that is why I am so emotional today. Or maybe it is because I am going back into the office and hooking in to make myself sick or not. I just don’t know. I did find out the last kind of chemo I was taking is called the “red devil”. Great, glad I didn’t know that before I started taking it. But that name is sure appropriate. Well we will see what this type of chemo will bring.

Really weird. Turning your nails dark is one of the side effects of this type of chemo. To help prevent that, I had to come home and put Sally Hansen Hard As Nails on right away. Just what you want to do when you get home from chemo, give yourself a mani and pedi. But I don’t think they would appreciate it at Nail Gallery if I brought in my own polish. I already bring in my own fragrance free soaps and scrubs. So I am now Sally Hansened up. Don’t look at it if it smudged - give me a break.

What a lovely relaxing weekend! Sea Island has changed quite a bit, but it is still one of the most elegant and restful resorts I have ever known. I was so unwound that I even forgot what day it was. We had wonderful food, fabulous wine and probably the biggest room I have ever had. Scott played golf twice and I got my massage. All in all a simply wonderful time.

Then this week it was back to the doctors offices. First, the oncologist. I had been a bit concerned because I didn’t think the tumor was shrinking the way it should. It went down quite a bit at first, but just didn’t seem that different to me lately. After asking me if I examined it everyday (which I do, or nearly so), he thought I was perhaps being over analytical - imagine me, over analyzing something - and he was pleased with the progression of the tumor. Always upbeat and encouraging, he was very reassuring. He is going to continue to watch the progression, or lack thereof, and reassess after my second round of the next type of chemo.

On to the surgeon’s office today. This is the guy who wanted Scott to go with me so we could make a family decision regarding the type of surgery. I did make it clear that with all due respect to Scott, it was my decision. Of course, of course he says, what ever you want we do. Different song this time. Anyway, we all agreed that I should see the plastic surgeon and hear what he recommends, but preliminarily the plan is a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction done at the same time. It will probably take place the first week of September. This gives my body time to recover from the chemo and time to get the boys to their respective new schools.

I have already made an appointment with a plastic surgeon. That was difficult, as if anything in this process has been easy. I didn’t really know who to call, the surgeon recommended 2 different guys and I didn’t really like the qualifications of one of them. I’ll see if I like this other guy when I see him in a couple of weeks. We’ll see.

I just found out that Amy Mikelson, Phil's wife has breast cancer. He is leaving the tour as she is having surgery in the next few weeks. Poor thing. I remember those first days so very well. While it still seems insurmountable, back then it was incomprehensible. I hope she has even half the wonderful support I have from my friends. That's the only way she will get through.

All I can say about the last three weeks is PHEW!! What a whirlwind and yet what a wonderful time. We have had my dad’s 80th birthday, which I could not attend; (Sorry Dad, wish I could have been there.) my 50th birthday; Andrew’s graduation; another chemo treatment, which put me in bed for three days, family in town, and Nick’s graduation.

I made all the events except for Nick’s baccalaureate service on Friday night and lovely Jessica’s party on Sunday. I just couldn’t do them. I know Nick didn’t mind, but I did. I cried for a while and then had to put the wig on and go out to dinner with the family. What a great get together! Scott and I couldn’t be prouder of our 2 boys.

Sunday though, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I stayed in bed all day. I guess the events of the last weeks finally all caught up with me. Pow. Even now, I am still trying to recover. If I am busy in the morning, I am in bed in the afternoon, don’t even ask me about evening.

Scott and I are going to Sea Island this weekend. We made the plans for my birthday way in advance of the diagnosis. In spite of the wet weather, it will be wonderfully relaxing and a welcome respite as well as the only vacation we will get this summer.

I was making a reservation at the spa. They were making conversation, I was making conversation and the subject of my chemo came up. A couple of days later, they called me back asking for a release from my doctor before I have a massage. I never would have thought of that. Did they just have some stupid lawyers trying to make money by covering all the bases? Lawyers know how to do that, trust me. Or is there really an issue about having a massage when you have breast cancer? Apparently there is. The doctor said ok but not near the tumor site. Huh, who knew. I don’t care, I’ll take whatever I can get. So off we go, thanks for dog sitting Nick.

Well, here I am in chemo. I thought maybe it might be interesting to know what goes on in here. When I first heard I needed chemo, I had no idea what to expect. In my head it was a big dark room where mysterious chemicals were poured into the bodies of terribly sick people making them even sicker. That is not at all what is going on in here.

Leather recliners are placed around the outside of the room. Each chair has an iv setup beside it and a set of drawers between each 2 chairs. These drawers contain all the stuff required for hooking us into the iv’s. When I walk into the chemo area, I scan for my favorite chair, I like one toward the end where I can look out the window. I look around at the other patients but most don’t make eye contact. Today is not very busy, there are only 5 of us in here, although more come in as the morning goes along. Some I recognize from being in here before, and some I don’t. No one talks to anyone else. It is an unwritten rule that you don’t ask anyone “what are you in for”.

After sitting down and settling in, the nurse comes over to take your vital signs and get you set up. She then sterilizes the area and freeze sprays it before accessing the port and plugging me into the iv. I then sit for the next 2 1/2 hours letting the toxins drip into me. Most other people seem to sleep during their drip, others watch tv, as I have already said, I like to watch videos. The nurses are extremely busy, hustling around changing iv bags, drawing blood, answering questions, settling people in, unhooking them to let them go to the bathroom, charting patients, answering the phone, even getting juice, coffee or snacks. I have been in here when the 2 nurses were nearly running from patient to patient, giving each one individual attention yet answering the beeping from the next iv unit.

Apparently, they used to allow visitors into the room with patients but some of them got out of control. I can see where it could be annoying to have a bunch of people talking when all you want to do is sit quietly and relax. Plus privacy rules now come into play, and patients are sensitive to the interference of others.

Well, now I am two hours into it and I am getting sleepier. Funny how that works. Headache sets in and the upset stomach also starts up. My nurse has always been so very nice to me. She gave me samples this time for the nausea that are one a day. I am hoping with all of the medications I can control the nausea to feel better by the end of the week for Nick’s graduation.

Sorry, signing off now. Getting that funky chemo head and there is no telling what I’ll say.

I was in my surgeon’s office last week talking about how the surgery was going to go. I wanted to discuss the possibility of taking both breasts. First, let me tell you about my surgeon. Very nice guy originally from Iraq. Without making any stereotypical generalizations about him or Iraqis in general, I am going to say he is a bit of a chauvinist. Let me tell you why...

We were talking about surgery to remove both breasts and what the procedure would be. If he only takes one, he removes the tissue and all the lymph nodes and does reconstruction at the same time. If I do both, he does the same on the right side and on the unaffected left side he removes the tissue, saving the skin and then a plastic surgeon comes in to do the reconstruction. He made a referral to a plastic surgeon for me, to speak with prior to the next appointment.

Then he asks why I would want to take both breasts. My response is I would do just about anything to not have to go through this again. But why did God make breasts on women, he asks rather nonchalantly. Hey, I am done with the baby making thing, I am not in need of the real ones anymore. They are not just for babies, he responds. The real ones are, I say.

We discussed the need for the gene test to determine if I have the genetic predisposition for breast cancer. If so, then for sure I will have them both removed, if not well we can discuss.

Then he made this wild comment: next appointment, bring your husband with you. We want the whole family to understand and agree with this decision.

Oops, he doesn’t really know me very well. Uh, I will be happy to bring Scott with me to the next appointment, but the decision will be mine, I tell him. Oh, of course, of course, he hurries to reassure me.

Here’s the best part. I start to tell Scott about this and I get to the part about wanting him at the next appointment and he laughs and says why? Like I could make you change your mind about this. That’s why we’ve been married so long. He knows me so well.

Next appointment, Scott can come, he can hear what the doctor has to say and is welcome to make any comments to the doctor or me that he wants to make. But the decision, that will be mine.

Fatigue is a funny thing. You are going along feeling fairly normal and then, to borrow a phrase from NFL commentator John Madden, BOOM! It hits you. You feel like lead weights are attached to every part of your body.

Wednesday, I woke up feeling okay, so off I went. First, I had the doctor appointment of the week, then a bunch of errands. I came home for lunch and was on the computer when my friend, Valerie invited me over to meet with the inspirational J.T. Townsend. I could not turn that down.

For those of you who do not know, when J. T. was a senior in high school at Episcopal, 4 years ago, he was paralyzed from the neck down in a football accident. Since that time he has persevered through many different problems all with a smile on his face. His most recent accomplishment was standing up with the help of braces. It is a remarkable video and you can see it on the web. I had a wonderful time talking with him, his nurse, sister and cousin. He and I did commiserate about being tired of being called a “strong person”. I may be strong, but I don’t always want to be. Sometimes, I would just like to be a weak person. Maybe in my next life.

Anyway, after that lovely visit, I came back to the house and absolutely hit the wall. I was in bed at 6:30, feeling like I couldn’t even raise my arms. Twelve hours of sleep and I was still tired the next morning. I was taking a morning nap to try and revive. Pasta for dinner tonight, hopefully that will help with more energy - or is that just an old wives tale. Since I am an old wife, maybe it will work on me. Let’s hope.

Hurray, today I struck a blow for patients everywhere! Listen, I have wonderful friends in or associated with the medical profession. Thank goodness for my friends and their spouses who have advised me in this process. But we have all been jerked around by doctors who we feel don’t care about us and today I told that doctor all about it. I think it was a revelation to him.

I went in to see my gynecologist today for my annual exam. If you have been following my saga, you know this is the guy who had his office manager call me with the results of my biopsy. I never heard from him again. So, I wanted to ask him about this. No that’s not right, I wanted to tell him I believe this was incredibly disrespectful.

He came in to the exam and asked what I wanted to talk about. Well there I was sitting in a paper gown, not exactly my power suit. I told him I would rather talk after the exam, as I was in a less than comfortable position at that point. So, after the exam, I dressed and he came back in.

I started by asking him why he was not the one to tell me what some would consider to be the worse medical news a woman can get. His response was that he referred me to a radiologist who was to give me that news and answer questions. He did not want to confuse the issue. I had a hard time convincing him that just calling and telling me that yes, I have cancer but that is not a death sentence and I will be ok would not be interfering with another doctor’s care. I was not looking for all the answers as to what my care would be, just some reassurance and compassion from my referring doctor.

We went back and forth for quite a while about this. It is the standard protocol in his practice to act as he did and I was not questioning that he acted according to what his standards dictated, instead I asked him to think about whether that was the best way to treat the majority of people. Would it not be better to err on the side of compassion and caring. What patient is going to object to a doctor calling to make sure they did not have any questions or concerns.

Miracles of miracles! I got an apology out of him and the admission that he would at least think about changing his approach. I don’t really think he will, but maybe for 5 minutes he understood that a patient needs to hear reassurance at that dark hour of bad news.

As I left, he said he would call me if the pap smear came back with any irregularities. Apparently not, I responded.

Well, who said this would get easier? It isn’t. It is still all about the nausea and aches, mostly the nausea. Nothing tastes good and nothing smells good. Yes the phantom smells are back. Better with time I hope.

I have so many wonderful people doing wonderful things for me from bringing me food, walking the dog, sending emails and cards and even just thinking about me. I realize how very lucky I am. My friend in Massachusetts, Kathy Beard, has committed to walking in the Susan Komen 3 day walk in my honor!! Having done the Avon 2 day, I know what a commitment this is and I am very grateful that she wants to do this.

How can you help? If you feel you can, go to her web page and make a small contribution:

www.the3day.org/goto/Kathy.Beard

every little bit helps in this fight. Thank you all of you out there rooting me on!

Monday is chemo day again. :( It will be extremely hard for me to get out of the car and go in there. I know I seem upbeat on this blog, but I have to say I am really dreading this.

I don't have much energy during chemo week so my next blog entry probably won't be until the end of the week. Keep thinking about me. Thank you to everyone for all you do.

Well I got some good news this week. The tumor seems to be responding to the chemo and it is shrinking!! Yeah!! This is the point of going through all of this. Theoretically, it will shrink down to a very small mass that is removed in surgery. Though, they will still take a large mass of tissue and lymph nodes as well.

The new wrinkle in this whole thing is the doctor thinks it would be a good idea to take the other breast at the same time to reduce the risk of developing it there. My sister, Judie, found a funny saying on a t-shirt that I will have to get when this is over:

“Yes they are fake, the real ones tried to kill me.” That just cracks me up.

Now, I have to talk with the doctor about how the surgery works. What exactly will they do and will I need a plastic surgeon as well. If so, who? It does seem like there is always something new to figure out with this thing.

This has been a good week, because it is my third week in the cycle. Monday, starts chemo again. Yuk!! It will be really hard going into that office this time. I know I have to but it is hard to willingly put yourself in that chair and make yourself sick. Wish me luck!

Hair. You would not believe how important it is until you don’t have any. Before chemo I resented how fast my hair would grow because that just meant spending buckets of money to cover up my roots. (Not really girls, my hair is naturally that tortoise shell color.) Hair showed up parts of my body that I had no idea could sprout hair, at least not on a woman. And don’t get me started on shaving, ack!

But when you don’t have any hair, life is different. Your face looks different, deciding what to wear is different and I know people look at you differently. They can’t help it. You just don’t see many women without hair walking around. We are a rare breed.

In general, bald is not a good look. Until recently, I haven’t even been able to walk around the house bald, certainly not in front of Scott and Nick. Now, maybe because it is hotter out, I have been able to be in the house without a do rag, however I have one near by in case someone comes to the door.

Hats. In public, my head covering of choice has been a hat. This is easy but not perfect. You can easily see if you look closely that I have no hair around the edges. And hats have their down side as well. I was having lunch with Scott at Cheesecake Factory last week, had my halo hair on with a cute hat. Beautiful day, sunny, warm but not hot, kind of breezy, we ate out on the patio and it was just lovely. After lunch, I thought I would run over to Sephora, I crossed the street and all of a sudden, I wasn’t protected from the wind by the buildings. Whoosh, there goes the hat and I am on the sidewalk with the halo hair and a bald head. I moved pretty fast for an old woman with cancer. But what are you going to do. It probably looked pretty funny. You know how you laugh when you see someone fall on the ice. You can’t help it. I even laughed. So wind is a definite problem with hats.

Scarves. I just don’t have any that seem to be the right size and shape. They are hard to find without fringe, and even if I could tie it to have the fringe act like bangs, they just seem like they would get in the way. I twist them and tie them, but then the knot comes loose. I think the silky fabric I have just isn’t the right thing. I categorize my do rags in with the scarves. These are easy and cool, but make me look like Aunt Jemima.

Wigs. I am glad you all seem to like my wig. I do. But it still seems unnatural. It is hot, heavy, uncomfortable and always seems like it is slipping. It probably isn’t really slipping, I just have to pat it down to make sure. You will probably see me tugging on it at some point. I figure that is better than having a reenactment of the Sephora incident.

So there just seems to be no easy answer. I will mix and match and just see what comes up. But next time you see a woman with no hair, try not to stare. Just take notes on what kind of hat, scarf, do rag or wig she is wearing and call me!

Happy Good Friday and Happy Easter.

I know I should be writing about re-birth and new life. Don’t hate me, but that’s hard this year. My life right now is all about killing new cells. My chemo is attacking everything new in my system. It is even tearing down existing tissue. Mouth sores and bruises on my feet, all side effects of the treatment, not fun but not abnormal.

Funny thing is, I am happy about this attack. Along with all this tearing down is the tearing down of my cancer. The chemo is supposed to be breaking the mass up and reducing it in size. It doesn’t feel any different in size to me yet though. Supposedly, that is normal at this stage. The tumor is in the process of breaking apart, so hopefully by the next treatment it will be smaller.

I even have a couple of visuals of this. I could do the Star Trek analogy with the chemo space ships killing the alien invader. Or I have the knights on white horses fighting off the Vikings (ok, sorry history majors if I got this wrong, but I like the though of fighting back those crazy Viking guys from the credit card commercial). I could think of a million of them, but the important part is just picturing that lump getting smaller and smaller and keeping the lymph cells from leaking out somewhere else.

So this year at Easter I am all about the tearing down, not new life. Hopefully however this will lead to new life for me.

While cancer has been no picnic for me, I can honestly think of how it could be worse. It would be ever so much worse if one of my children had cancer. That’s why I feel sorry for my mother.

Mom lives near Atlanta with my dad, who is unable to get around. She was anxious to come down in March when this all started, however she had recently been diagnosed with shingles. Not only did she have shingles, but it was in her eye! Ouch! It took a while for that to clear up and she was again making plans to come down. But, shingles reared its ugly head again and showed up in her finger. She asked her doctor about the risk of passing it on to me and was advised against coming. Poor thing she calls me crying to tell me and I try to comfort her, but I don’t know what to say.

I’m sure she feels imprisoned up there and not able to get to her child. I know that is how I would feel. Hopefully she can relax a little and concentrate on getting rid of the shingles, so she can come to Nick’s graduation. Hey, Mom remember stress and shingles are correlated. Relax!

I am feeling better this week. A week out and I don’t think I am as tired this time as last cycle at this time. I am very tired by the end of the day, but during the day I’m not nearly as debilitated as before. I still am only able to handle one major activity a day though. So, when my sister, Judie was here, going out for lunch, an architectural review committee meeting and that was about enough for me for that day. I was a real laugh riot for her, not to mention my 10 year old nephew. Thank goodness he was able to go in the swimming pool or the poor little guy probably would have been the first person ever to die from boredom.

I have decided Cancer Sucks!! Profound huh? This round of chemo has been very tough. The nausea has been worse and the medicine to counteract it makes me sleepy. I have more aches and pains from the neulasta shot. I have more peaks and valleys of tiredness, “chemo head”, and just general malaise.

Weirdly, I can smell the chemo everywhere. Even though I am popping Altoid’s continuously, I still have a nasty taste in my mouth. The taste seems to permeate into my nose and I can smell it in every nook and cranny. I keep spraying all different kinds of air freshener, but they don’t seem to work. So, warning, when you come to my house, it smells like a combination of Chamomile and Lily, Azur Blue Rain and Clean Linen, in an attempt to eradicate this phantom smell. Candles burning everywhere, and I have cornered the market on Febreeze.

They say that homicide detectives carry Vick’s Vaporub with them to counteract the smells from their job. Maybe that’s what I need to do. I will have to fish out my hankie, spray it with perfume and just carry it around.

This one has hit me pretty hard. My arms are heavy and numb (common side effect), my head hurts, I have nausea and no energy at all. Can barely lift my head up. But 1/4th done.

Thank you everybody out there taking care of me, Scott, Nick and Mojo. It is taking a village to get me through this.

More later.

Love,
c

Having my hair falling out has really been no fun. In the shower, it comes out by the handful. I thought it was short enough that I would not be able to tell it was falling out more. I was wrong. Clumps of hair in my hand. Hair shedding all over my shirt and in my hats. It’s itchy and impossible to shake out. Because of my allergy to fragrance, I can’t use talcum powder, so I bought corn starch and put that in a shaker bottle. That helps a little, but any ideas are welcome.

Do you remember that crazy, creepy looking doll from the original Toy Story? Well that’s what I look like. Clumps of hair sticking out all over my bald head. By the way, your scalp is really, really white. I am very self conscious about it, I don’t even take my hat off in front of Scott. I wait until I am actually in bed. So don’t ask me to see it, can’t do it yet. The hats stay on my head.

Chemo starts again tomorrow. I am certainly not looking forward to it, but I have to look at it like, this is what is making me better. So here we go again bring it on.

Okay, well I had my pity party day. Now I am following the advice of my cocktail napkins (always wise, don’t you think?):

Oh boo frickin hoo, have a drink and get over it already!

So I went out to lunch with the girls and had a lemon drop martini. Then put on my wig and went out to dinner too. I slept past 9:00 this morning, so that tells you it was fun. Ask Scott about the belly dancer at the restaurant.

Anyway, I am lining up my hats and hair and mixing them up. The wig is very strange feeling. I have a little liner that goes over my scalp and then this big hunk of hair. It is hot and itchy and kind of tight. I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror, which is totally unnatural. So long as I don’t scare myself, I guess I’ll be doing ok.

Chemo starts again on Tuesday so I am trying to enjoy my last couple days of feeling semi-normal. Someone asked me if I feel different even this week. I do. I still have headaches and just not as much energy as I used to have. I guess I will get used to it. I just don't know. Stay tuned.

OH CRAP IT’S BALD DAY!!!!

Yep, yesterday evening it started falling out in clumps. For some reason, this has been the day I dread the most. It’s a real manifestation that I have something seriously wrong.

My head hurts to touch it, like when you hit your head against something and it is really sore. But mine is like that all over. When I run my fingers through my scalp, hair comes out in big bunches. I am shedding worse than one of my dogs, so I had to make the big decision.

This morning I went to a salon and had them shave it very short. I was bawling the whole time. I am sure the other people in the salon think I must be having a really, really bad hair day. It still comes out all over, but now it is in much shorter pieces. We won’t be able to tell which is mine and which is Scott’s.

I can’t really talk any more about it right now. I need to have a pity party by myself for a few minutes and then move on to the next hill.

Hey, great news, yesterday was finally a normal day! I went to a doctor’s appointment, out to lunch with a friend and made dinner - all without having to lie down for the afternoon. More fun today - laundry. I know that sounds ridiculous, to be excited to do laundry, but right after chemo I would look at my laundry basket and not even be able to imagine hauling that to the washer. Now I’m sorting, washing and drying with the best of them. I still draw the line at ironing though.

Now for the hard topic ... I went shopping for wigs. Why is this so hard for me? I have cute hats and scarves, and yet I am dreading this more than the first chemo treatment. Each morning, I am running my hands through my hair. Is it still there, how am I going to feel when it isn’t? Even writing about it is hard for me. I wasn’t even sure at first that I wanted a wig. I didn’t want to look like Zza Zza Gabor or Doris Day. You know, big poofy hair that sits way back on your head. They look hot (I don't mean Paris Hilton hot) and very fake. But, let’s face it, I am not an attractive woman with hair, bald will be a disaster. The boys won’t want to see me sitting around with a fat bald head. Plus, I don’t want to embarrass them at their graduations. So, I thought I would see what was out there.

My sister, Nan, was here and I thought it was time to go and be prepared for the inevitable, bald day. A sister has seen you at your very worse, she was there on those early Christmas mornings when you had no makeup and your hair looked like something from Rocky Horror Picture Show. She saw you in those ever so funky outfits from the seventies. She has seen you through long hair, short hair and all those perms in between and has always felt free to tell you exactly how she felt about every style. So Nan was the perfect person to bring. I couldn't ask my beautiful friends (not that you aren't beautiful too Nan) to come see what I will look like bald.

Of no big surprise, I have never bought a wig before. Where does one buy a wig? No idea. Fortunately, my new friend, Elizabeth, (herself a breast cancer survivor), gave me a brochure for a wig place on 103rd St. My sister is not pretentious in the least. She is very down to earth. But she lives in Naples, she moved there from Lake Forest, IL. Really pretty places. Now I was taking her to the armpit of Jacksonville - deep Westside. Really Nan, 103rd Street is not what I want you to think of when you think of Jax.

Inside the bright pink building, is more hair than you could find in Cher’s dressing room. I am afraid I wasn’t very excited. Nan was doing everything she could to keep me upbeat. Ooh look how cute, and this would look great on you! All I could do was stare at all of the wig stands and their bald heads, and imagine that was me.

I started trying on, and I was able to see what I will look like with no hair as the clerk (who could not have been nicer) has you put on a little footie for your head, a mesh skull cap. We started with the Dolly Parton long, curly blonde wig, just for fun. God knew what he was doing when he didn’t make me a blonde. Not a good look. On to the others. Too short, too long, weird color. I was unbelievably picky. Nan kept going around trying to bring me something I would like. We tried something close to the short cut I have now, but it just looked too short. Finally, I settled on something a little different. I’m not telling, but it is fun.

So then the sales lady told me I needed halo hair. You won’t believe this, but they sell a little circle of hair that goes underneath hats. Crazy you think. But really not a bad idea. Scarves, hats, tams, caps with hair, they have it all.

Now I have a wig, halo hair and a variety of hats and scarves. You never know what you will see me in. I am still worried about it and will probably be crying that day, but now (as Nan says) I have options.

So three days later when I woke up, the questions started. Have I lost my hair yet, will I be throwing up for the next 2 weeks, mouth sores, diarrhea, constipation? What is next? Having read about this and anticipated it for many weeks, I was aware of everything that could be happening to me, or not. I hate that phrase “chemo affects everyone differently.” Meaning, I could have any, all or none of those symptoms. Thinking how this has gone to date, I am anticipating all of them.

The first week, I had nausea pretty much all day, every day. Not throwing up, but just that awful, nothing sounds good, not hungry, kind of feeling, like after a hangover. Soup and fresh fruit basically got me through that time period.

The worse symptom though was a woozy head feeling. From my eyes up, my head sort of hurt. It felt stuffed with cotton wool. Advil didn’t help. The only thing I could do was lie down. The lack of motion really helps. Again, was this normal? I didn’t know and don’t know. For a while, every little hang nail will make me wonder if is part of the new normal that is me.

I got through that first week, without too much trouble, thanks to my friends. Without their dinners, poor Scott and Nick would have been starving. I made it to the grocery store with Andrew. Half way through the produce section, I hit the wall. The rest of the way was speed shopping. I was like something from a game show. Cyndy Glazier, Come on down! You’re the next contestant on Cruise Through the Grocery Store In 5 Minutes!

Second week. Every day seems a little better. I am getting stronger, less nauseous, and less woozy headed. I still seem to need a rest in the afternoon, so I try to listen to my body. Rest when needed and go out when I can. But so far, I have still not felt like I did prior to the chemo. Hopefully that is still to come.

Chemo day. I have been trying to look forward to this day because this is the stuff that is going to kill what is trying to kill me. These are the little soldiers I need. But now that the day is here, well maybe I am not so excited.

Andrew drove me. Boy did that make me feel guilty. I can just see when he gets back to school. So, dude, what did you do for spring break, beach every day, golf, basketball tourney, what? Uh, took my mom to her chemo treatment. Yeah lots of fun. I am so sorry Andrew, but so grateful too.

Anyway, I walk in to the chemo room and take a chair. This is a fairly small room with large comfortable recliners around the perimeter. Behind each chair is an IV setup and between each is a plastic rolling cart with medical supplies. This way the nurses have what they need right next to each patient. I like to look out the window, so I took a chair as close to the window as I could, next to a man in his late 20’s, early 30’s who was already plugged in.

The etiquette of the chemo room is tricky. Most of you know me as a nosy person. I like to talk to people and hear their story. No one does that in the chemo room. I guess what would you say? So what are you in for? Doesn’t sound quite right.

A older man across the room said he needed to go to the bathroom. It was obvious he would require help, so the nurse called in a male aide. All of a sudden the old man fell asleep. The aide was trying to wake him but couldn’t. I was thinking this is not a good sign. One of the nurses came over to help and she couldn’t rouse him at first either. She got a blood pressure cuff on him and unhooked the IV, told the aide to get the doctor and call 911. The poor man had gone into some sort of shock. Finally, he came around, and poor thing still had to pee. The paramedics come and roll him away. What a great first chemo day.

Ok, my turn. Uh, I will pass on the drugs that put me into a coma ok? They didn’t seem to think that was very funny.

My chemo port is supposed to make iv access easy. It was supposed to go: spray my skin with a cooling agent to numb it, feel for the port access, deep breath and pop in the needle. Relatively easy and pain free. Of course, I can’t be so lucky. The nurse sprays and is feeling for the port, but can’t seem to find it very easily. She sticks the needle in but it won’t go in the port. Again, she tries, no luck. This time she calls over the more experienced nurse. She tries, nope. They decide one should hold it in place and the other stick the needle in. No luck. Again and again - 7 times! By this time, I am trying not to scream. The area where they put the port in is still very tender and they keep digging around with an iv needle to find the opening for this stupid port. I don’t want to disturb everyone else in the room by crying out, so I am digging holes in the arms of the chair and tears are flowing down my face. Finally, they decide the port has flipped around and isn’t going to work, so they stop. Thank God! The poor young man next to me was so very nice. Oh hunny, he said, just cry out, you aren’t disturbing me. His mother was in and out bringing him things and she wrote her name and number for me telling me she was available if I ever just needed someone to cry to.

Chemo is going to happen that day though. They start an iv drip in my arm. Compared to what they were doing, it is nothing! They start with an anti-anxiety and anti-nausea drip first. The ativan is to relax you and allow the chemo to spread through your body. To be honest, it didn’t seem to do much for me. Maybe I was too worried about the next step. Was it going to burn or make me sick right away? I had no idea what to expect. They tell you lots on the internet, but not the day to day details and of course they always say “It’s different for everyone.” Well then what good are they for me?

Anyway, back to chemo. It doesn’t burn, hurt or tickle. Just a regular iv. I did get a little woozy and was glad I had brought a movie to watch through earphones. The chemo room has a tv in it that blares rather loudly, people are coming and going, the nurses talking etc. so escaping into a movie was the best option for me. I can also see how nice music and just closing your eyes also might be a way to get through.

The whole process takes about 2 1/2 hours and so finally I was through. Again, I didn’t know what to expect when I was done. Would I be puking on the ride home? No, it doesn’t kick in that fast.

The medical and the surgical oncologists conferred and decided they needed to go back in and check out what is wrong with the port. Another surgery, another hill. Over to the surgeon’s office from chemo. Great. Surgery the next day to check out the port, maybe move it up a little, or flip it over. No big deal.

You know, I don’t remember much about getting home and that night in general. I think I ate dinner and watched tv. Was Idol on? I really don’t remember. Isn’t that weird?

Back to the hospital the next morning. Andrew again. But first I had to stop in to the oncologist and get my Neulasta shot. This stuff stimulates white blood cell regeneration by promoting bone marrow output. This means your bones ache, especially your lower back. Well especially, my lower back. But thankfully only for a few days.

The surgery went fine. The only problem being finding a vein for my iv. Fortunately, one of the nurses from my prior visit was there that day and remembered my name. (I am so unforgettable. Actually, I was giving her advice for her boyfriend on his custody case. There is no escape.) She came over as a nurse was trying to insert the iv in my hand, this after I wouldn’t let her do it in my wrist. She took over and easily accessed my arm. (For the next 5 years, I can not have blood taken or my blood pressure taken on my right side as it could damage the lymph node system.)

My surgeon said the port was bad. I think that might be surgeon speak for he screwed up and needs to blame it on someone else. But anyway, they put in a new one, stitched me up and sent me home, where I slept for the next 3 days.

So catheter port in, the surgeon comes out to talk to Scott. Oh yes by the way, the sentinel node was positive for cancer! This was a very big shock to us as the sonogram had seemed to show clear lymph nodes. The sentinel node is the first one the breast drains into. They injected my breast with dye (I can’t tell you how bad that hurt!! If any of you have to do it, I’ll come hold your hand.) then it drains into the lymph system. The surgeon removes the one that shows up with dye, that being the first or sentinel node. That this is positive for cancer is the most scary news to date. Had it spread? What next.

I thought the next step was getting in for chemo. No wait, now they want a pet scan because of the positive lymph node involvement. Of all the tests this is the scariest. Basically a MRI of your entire body, it is supposed to show any other suspicious areas of cancer. This test was a Thursday morning and they called me with the news by afternoon. NEGATIVE FOR CANCER OUTSIDE OF THE BREAST!!! I think this was the first good news I had in 3 weeks. I think this was the first good deep breath I had been able to take for quite a while.

So chemo next. Carlos decided he wanted me in a research study. What does this mean? I’m in big trouble and I need research to cure it? Another question, another step.

My file goes off to another office and I was to hear from the next nurse by Thursday or Friday. One thing I have discovered about doctors offices, is that they seem to close early. So after hearing nothing on Thursday, I waited until late Friday morning and called the new nurse. Sorry she says you don’t fit the research protocols. Okaaaay, so now what? Oh you need to call back at the other office and schedule your chemo there. I know I was worried when I was going into the research, now I am worried because I am not in the research. Am I so bad they won’t take me. Whatever, I wanted that chemo because I didn’t want (logically or not) the cancer to have a chance to leak out somewhere else. All it takes is for 1 microscopic cell to escape and ...

Another 3 calls to the oncologist’s office and I am told, call back on Monday. I feel like I am having to beg these people to fill me full of poison. What is up with that. Another weekend of not knowing what is going on. Meanwhile, I am on the internet filling my head full of chemo and its side effects. The internet is a wonderful place, but sometimes there is such a thing as too much information. No hair, mouth sores, diarrhea, constipation, sensitive scalp, nausea, dehydration. The list goes on. Not everyone gets everything, but you could. So, I wait out another weekend.

Finally, it’s Monday and the new plan is see the doctor and have chemo training on Tuesday and then chemo on Friday. So what do you do when you know the next day you will voluntarily be making yourself sick for the next 6 months. What every red blooded American girl would do. Shoe Shopping!! A little retail therapy did help for a while (and I got some cute shoes). Finally, it’s Wednesday and chemo is to start.

So catheter port in, the surgeon comes out to talk to Scott. Oh yes by the way, the sentinel node was positive for cancer! This was a very big shock to us as the sonogram had seemed to show clear lymph nodes. The sentinel node is the first one the breast drains into. They injected my breast with dye (I can’t tell you how bad that hurt!! If any of you have to do it, I’ll come hold your hand.) then it drains into the lymph system. The surgeon removes the one that shows up with dye, that being the first or sentinel node. That this is positive for cancer is the most scary news to date. Had it spread? What next.

I thought the next step was getting in for chemo. No wait, now they want a pet scan because of the positive lymph node involvement. Of all the tests this is the scariest. Basically a MRI of your entire body, it is supposed to show any other suspicious areas of cancer. This test was a Thursday morning and they called me with the news by afternoon. NEGATIVE FOR CANCER OUTSIDE OF THE BREAST!!! I think this was the first good news I had in 3 weeks. I think this was the first good deep breath I had been able to take for quite a while.

So chemo next. Carlos decided he wanted me in a research study. What does this mean? I’m in big trouble and I need research to cure it? Another question, another step.

My file goes off to another office and I was to hear from the next nurse by Thursday or Friday. One thing I have discovered about doctors offices, is that they seem to close early. So after hearing nothing on Thursday, I waited until late Friday morning and called the new nurse. Sorry she says you don’t fit the research protocols. Okaaaay, so now what? Oh you need to call back at the other office and schedule your chemo there. I know I was worried when I was going into the research, now I am worried because I am not in the research. Am I so bad they won’t take me. Whatever, I wanted that chemo because I didn’t want (logically or not) the cancer to have a chance to leak out somewhere else. All it takes is for 1 microscopic cell to escape and ...

Another 3 calls to the oncologist’s office and I am told, call back on Monday. I feel like I am having to beg these people to fill me full of poison. What is up with that. Another weekend of not knowing what is going on. Meanwhile, I am on the internet filling my head full of chemo and its side effects. The internet is a wonderful place, but sometimes there is such a thing as too much information. No hair, mouth sores, diarrhea, constipation, sensitive scalp, nausea, dehydration. The list goes on. Not everyone gets everything, but you could. So, I wait out another weekend.

Finally, it’s Monday and the new plan is see the doctor and have chemo training on Tuesday and then chemo on Friday. So what do you do when you know the next day you will voluntarily be making yourself sick for the next 6 months. What every red blooded American girl would do. Shoe Shopping!! A little retail therapy did help for a while (and I got some cute shoes). Finally, it’s Wednesday and chemo is to start.

I’m starting this 4 weeks into the fog that is cancer. I don’t know why I didn't’ want to write about it before. Maybe putting it into words makes it too real. I don’t mind talking about it, I just didn’t want to write it down.

I felt a lump. How did you know people ask. How did they find it. All of a sudden I felt a really big hard lump. None of this pea size stuff for me. Noooooooo. It felt like a hard super ball. I was having bleeding issues anyway so I called the gyno. I hadn’t been in a while and had an appointment scheduled in a couple of months anyway, but I thought I would go ahead and go early with these problems. I really thought the bleeding would be worse news than the lump. I had a lump removed from the other side years ago and it was just a cyst that had grown some. I thought this would be the same. Sure I would have to have the mammogram and probably a sonogram too because of the density of my breast tissue, but no big deal. I am one of the lucky ones, mammograms hurt, but they are not the excruciating procedures some people experience. Hurt, pinch, pressure but not bring you to your knees kind of thing.

The gyno was able to get me into the Breast Center quickly. Monday was the gyno appt. and by Friday I was in the center. The breast center is a warm reassuring place, up to a point. You change into gowns, that for most of us sitting there were too small. Why wouldn’t they make really large gowns. You can always drape it around you if it is too big, but too small is a definite problem. From the first waiting room you move into the second waiting room. A tv is blaring and the lights are glaring, however for a lucky few of us able to sit in the smaller quieter room, it isn’t too bad. The lights are dimmer and it is a quieter calmer place to be. I could sit and read without much problem.

Everyone has the same look on their faces going into the mammo. Kind of a don’t want to be here going through this but if I have to I have to. Sort of embarrassed sitting around naked from the waist up except for a skimpy robe. and mostly, sort of scared. I have to say, I wasn’t really scared. I was sitting next to an African American woman who must have just found out she was having a biopsy, because the poor woman was terrified. She kept calling on her faith and was reassured. I had been through the lumpectomy before so even if they found a lump, I didn’t think it would be anything other than a cyst. I knew I would have the mammo and then would have to have the sonogram, for definition. After that, they would tell me it is probably a cyst and it should be removed soon, but don’t worry not cancerous.

So here I go into the mammo. Trying to play it cool while this woman slings my breasts around into different places to squeeze. Not too bad. Then she comes out with the compression plates. These are smaller to give more compression and definition to the area they are trying to look at. Oh mama! Not fun, but ok for 5 seconds I can hold it and survive.

Back to the holding pen for more waiting while those pix are developed and read by the radiologist. No surprise, have to go for a sona. I know that drill too. It seems like these women have gotten nicer. They try to tell jokes and lead you into a small dark room. Did I mention it is cold. I am never cold and it was really cold in the whole center. God only knows why it has to be quite that cold. They cover you up and the sona tech comes in to work new magic on you.

Who ever thought up the idea that they could see inside someone using sound waves. That is really unbelievable. For many of us, sonograms are associated with being pregnant and seeing our babies. Not with cysts and lumps and tumors and cancer.


So I know what to do. Lie on the table and put your arm over your head. Putting some gel on you. Wand lets me pass sound waves through you to get a pix. The radiologist will then look at it and let you know. OK. No problem. This girl must be really thorough. She is doing a sona of my armpit, glad I shaved. Maybe that’s the new protocol. It has been a couple of years since I had one. Maybe this is what you do now. First tinge of fear, or maybe everything isn’t ok.

Another tech comes in and she does the sona again. Then the radiologist comes in and looks again at the screen. I can see it and it does look like a big bad blob. On the screen, it is giant. No one is saying anything to me and I keep waiting to hear that it is only a cyst and don’t worry. Now the radiologist is saying it looks suspicious and they need to biopsy it. Wait back up, suspicious. It’s just a cyst. Stop. Here is where the fog set in. Here is where people kept looking at me to lose it and I just sort of looked at them like a robot. I turned my head when someone talked to me, but I didn’t really absorb what they were saying. The radiologist said they would get a room ready for a biopsy today. it wasn’t sinking in. What does this mean and where does this lead. I sort of remembered having a biopsy of my other lump, but it was no big deal. I think it was just a needle biopsy. I had read about this, they stick a needle in the lump to aspirate it. Most of the time, the stuff comes out and it goes away - like a zit. So in the hall to wait now. Thank goodness I had my book. What was I reading - have no idea.

Finally into the room for the biopsy. The nurse is setting up all these needles and finally begins to explain to me what the procedure is all about. This is a core biopsy, not needle. OK this is a little more than what I thought it was going to be. Maybe something is really going on. Needles full of lidocaine to reduce the pain, however it still hurt. It was like a hole puncher, grabbing bits of tissue from the lump. Enough now. Doctor you have seen a lot of these. What is this? Well I wasn’t going to say if you didn’t ask, however, it is positive.

positive... positive...positive? positive!! positive! What the hell! This is a cyst, now it is positive for cancer. CRAP!! CRAP!!!!CRAP!!! Now the tears. I always cry. I cry at happy things. I just heard I have cancer and now of course I cry. This isn't[t fair. i am only 50. I have no history, no family history, no warning. I can’t have cancer. The radiologist is talking, what is she saying. The pathology report will be ready on Monday. OK maybe it isn’t true. no. the likelihood of it not being positive is very small.

Here is the name of a book to read Dr. Love’s Breast Book (don’t do it, more later) . Here is my card, she is president of the local Susan G Komen Foundation. Here is the phone number for the nurse manager to help facilitate appointments if you need it. Try not to worry. It will be ok.

Try not to worry. Isn’t that the stupidest phrase in the world. Of course I am worried. I HAVE EFFFING CANCER!!!! The first thing to do is get home. I am downtown on Friday afternoon. Just get out of the parking deck. No you have been around this level already, look for the word exit. one thing at a time. OK you are out. Now concentrate, get on the expressway. I just had to think of one small task at a time. Fulfill that and then move to the next one. Call Scott.

I have cancer. What did they say exactly. Can I remember. Scott asks. I try to remember exactly what the radiologist said. I think I was able to repeat it almost word for word. Just get home.

Stupidly, I called other people on the way home. Don’t ever do that. I was in a state of shock, but fortunately I made it home. Once there I was just overwhelmed. I didn’t yet know the extent of the bad news, but just the words “breast cancer” were enough to send me into a cold sweat.

I guess that night I was in a lot of denial. I was able to tell people without dissolving into pieces and the best thing was Gavan and Orla advising me to talk to Carlos Castillo, a medical oncologist who lives in the neighborhood. I really don’t remember what happened the rest of the weekend, except for a lovely dinner on Sunday night at Mary’s to keep Scott and I distracted. Mary’s babysitting of me continued the next morning going with me to the dog park and then for coffee.

That afternoon, I had a meeting of the architectural review committee and realized Carlos’ wife sat on the committee with me. Ever so gracious, Eunice had me talk with Carlos on his cell phone. He was one of the most reassuring doctors with whom I have ever spoken. I felt so much better hearing from him. Like I didn’t have to be in charge of this, he had it under control.

I didn’t get the results from pathology until the next day. The gyno’s office called. Not the doctor or even a nurse, but some sort of office manager called and said it was positive. I had spent the weekend reading the terrifying book recommended by the radiologist. Full of morbid charts and statistics, it was really only beneficial to understand terminology. Thus I was able to understand what invasive ductal carcinoma meant and it wasn’t good. The office manager was not helpful in the least. I told her I had talked to an oncologist and she was rather put out that I wasn’t going through her. To this day, I have yet to hear from my primary gyno to see if I have any questions about my treatment options. I have an annual in April, he will be hearing from me at that time - insensitive sob.

Anyway,I was on the phone with Carlos in a flash and he had me in his office that afternoon. Scott and I were told the different options and at that time we thought I would have surgery, then chemo, then radiation. It was harsh, but we were trying to deal with it.

The next day we were in with the surgeon. Carlos works as a team with the oncology surgeon and an oncology radiologist. It is a great idea and makes it easier to get in with any of them because of the closeness. Carlos had spoken with the surgeon and there was a new plan of action. Now they wanted to insert a catheter port and take the sentinel node first. Then do a round of chemo, then surgery to remove the lump and then radiation. Theoretically, this reduces the size of the tumor to make less invasive surgery and also stops any spread if it has gone to the nodes. Ok, another new plan. Well we can do that. This was late afternoon Wednesday and I was to call the next morning to get the hospital time for the catheter port. I called and called and called. Trying to get through to them was impossible. Finally, they told me to call the next day and they would be able to set it then. Meanwhile, I had a heart echo. Basically a sonogram of the heart. It was pretty cool to watch. They do this as a baseline to make sure the chemo does not hurt the heart. On Friday, I had to go to the cardiologist for an ekg and clearance for surgery.

Friday, I finally pinned down the surgeon’s office and they told me it would be another week before they could get into the surgery. Not acceptable I said. They tried again and I got in for Tuesday.