Archive for April, 2006

Why I do this

Wednesday, April 26th, 2006

Danny was 18 months old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. He was oblivious about what was happening to my world and therefore it did not affect his world. He has been virtually unphased by what has dominated my days for almost 18 months. I think he processed every happening as normal. He must have thought that all mommies take off their hair at night and put it on in the morning; that all mommies have a port, or a “stone” as Joey calls it, sticking up from under their skin; that all mommies disappear quite regularly — for endless medical appointments, yet Danny has never known the purpose of my disappearances. Until now.

Danny is almost three years old. He is catching on and noticing and trying to figure out what has just dawned on him — that mommy keeps seeing the doctor. As I was about to depart for my Herceptin treatment today, Danny asked me, “Where are you going?” I told him, “to see the doctor.” He replied, “Why do you keep doing that?” “Doing what?” I asked. “Going to the doctor,” he said. I told him I do this so I can stay healthy. So I can keep sickness away. He was happy with my response and continued eating the scrambled eggs he had helped make.

Danny is growing up — and I know that is partly why he is analyzing my whereabouts. But he also was my companion Monday for a visit with my oncologist which may have opened his eyes to this medical world. While in the exam room, Danny watched me remove my shirt and bra and put on a gown. He said, “Is the doctor going to check your boobies?” He was stunned when I told him “yes” — completely unaware of the history I have with these boobies. And yesterday he knew I had yet another appointment — counseling this time — and he was left at home with the other guys in his life. Which is what happens often.

This thing I do — this continual doctoring — is about to end. I have just four more Herceptin treatments and then my 52-week regimen will cease. Other than check-ups every few months, I will be free of constant treatment and monitoring. Just as Danny is catching on, the process that he is trying to understand will end.

What a blessing for him.

Jacki Donaldson

Posted in Kids, My story | 4 Comments »

Training

Sunday, April 16th, 2006

I’m in training. Not for a marathon or anything. Just for strength and better health and a toned body. This decision comes after repeated frustrations about when and where to best reach my exercise goals. I have always been driven to achieve these goals — mostly through walking a few miles as many times per week as possible — but there have been too many instances of canceled plans. My kids may have been too demanding. Dinner may have gotten in the way. I may have been too tired. It’s easy to give up when I am the only one in charge. But there’s something about committing to someone else. About being watched and evaluated. About not appearing weak to the one who is observing. About being taught and instructed and motivated.

I started working out with a personal trainer who lives in my neighborhood and has transformed her garage into a gym. Yesterday was my fourth workout and while my trainer thinks I will be an easy client and will soon see results, I find that I am a bit of a whiny client and I only hope I will be able rework my shape into a hard body. I am struggling right now — I feel weak and sometimes dizzy while working out and I lack a certain bounce in my step. So when I had to do this jumping resistance thing yesterday, my body felt heavy and my head felt light. And when I did an inner thigh exercise, I considered that childbirth may not really be all that painful after all. This stuff is hard. But I guess it’s meant to be. And if hard work and struggle is what builds muscle, maybe I will see results soon.

This much is true: I like how I feel after I accomplish my workout. I like the soreness I feel the next day — even if it prevents me from easily sitting down and standing up. I know this new routine is working because I physically feel it. It feels good.

Another truth: I have a definite workout schedule now. I have to show up. I have to work. I won’t give up.

I wanted my own exercise time. Now I have it. Ouch.

Jacki Donaldson

Posted in Exercise, My story | 7 Comments »

Reality

Thursday, April 6th, 2006

When my friend Amy called me recently, I knew instantly that she was crying and in true distress. Her first words to me were, “Do you ever have really bad days?” My first word back to her was, “Yes.”

Amy was diagnosed with breast cancer after me and has survived a mastectomy, reconstruction, and six rounds of chemo. She is now living in the post-treatment world with that nagging fear that cancer may come back. That fear alone can make for a bad day but Amy had just learned of a neighbor who had died of breast cancer and she, as a nurse, had just witnessed the cancer death of a patient. It’s a reality. People die from cancer. Every day. What makes Amy — or me — immune to this reality? Both of us had cancers that did not spread to our lymph nodes. Maybe this is an indicator that we will be okay. Maybe our attitudes will help us survive. Maybe the power of prayer kicks in. Maybe luck plays a part. Maybe we will defy the statistics that say we may have a recurrence sometime in our lifetime. There’s no way to predict our futures. We can only live each day like it’s our last and fight for our lives at the same time. This is what I told Amy, anyway. It was easy advice, really — I was feeling good and positive and hopeful at the moment.

Then I learned about my mother-in-law’s neighbor — a young woman in her 30s with three small boys and a husband — who died last week from breast cancer that had spread throughout her body. I do have really bad days. And this was one of them.

This woman, Beth, was diagnosed 18 months before I was diagnosed. I knew of her breast cancer before I knew of mine. I knew that she had chemo. I knew that her hair was growing back when mine was gone. I knew that she was strong and courageous and was bouncing back to life. Until she was told that her cancer had spread. The doctors were not hopeful but she tried chemo again and at some point realized that the treatment was just buying moments of time — that she would not survive long. So she prepared to die. She accepted hospice into her home. She planned her service — with a slide show and music — and she peacefully left this world and was truly OK with her departure.

I feel crushed by sadness when I think of this tragedy. I am so sad that a young woman is gone forever. I am sad that three little boys are left without a mom and that a husband watched his wife die and is instantly trying to raise his motherless children alone. And I am sad that deaths like this are a reality.

I don’t think I will die from this disease. I know it’s possible but the only way I can really enjoy my life — now — is to believe that I am fine. So I am sad about Beth. And I am also humbled by the knowledge that young women do die from this disease. It keeps me on my toes. It reminds me to live fully, to enjoy the moment, to take advantage of opportunities before they are gone. To appreciate the world around me.

Unlike Amy, I am not yet living in a post-treatment world. I still have the safety of Herceptin treatment. And after yesterday’s dose, I have five more infusions before I am set free from the constant care of doctors and nurses and pharmacists. Set free to live on my own, without the crutch of medicine. I think I will be okay then. And I think I am lucky to have received Herceptin. Not all women are candidates for this revolutionary treatment. And it just may be the thing that makes me immune to the reality that people die from cancer.

I can only believe this is true.

Jacki Donaldson

Posted in Death & dying, Diagnosis, My story, Survivors | 7 Comments »