Archive for the ‘Survivors’ Category
Monday, April 5th, 2010
Easter 2010
All I have to do to chart my progress post-cancer is to look at these kiddos. The one on the far left is Danny. He was 18 months old when I was diagnosed. He’ll be 7 in May. Next to him is cousin Jordan, a brand new baby at the time (and now 5), she sat with my mom at all of my chemo infusions. Jordan’s sister Tori, almost 3, was not even a thought when breast cancer consumed our lives. And Joey, almost 4 all those years ago, is now a big ‘ol 9-year-old.
What did I count this Easter, besides the 125 eggs I hid in our yard? My blessings. Here are four of them!
Tags: blessings, Easter, Kids, survival
Posted in Inspiration, My story, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Thursday, April 1st, 2010
Lynea was diagnosed at age 39 with breast cancer following a “baseline” MRI. She’d had a mammogram 8 weeks prior, and her OB/GYN’s office pushed for a MRI due to family history, just so she’d have records to look at years from now. Forget years from now — the cancer was already there! Lynea is stage I, triple negative, and her treatment plan includes 4 dose-dense AC and 4 T. No need for radiation. Here is a snippet of her story:
First day of chemo, 2/2/10
I came up with the idea of taking pictures at the beginning of my treatment, at mid-point and at the end. I joked that presidents have their pictures taken to show how old they got, so why shouldn’t I have pictures to prove how bad it has made me look — or how well I did!
Halfway done with chemo, 3/30/10
I think so far, I don’t feel like I look much different, although, unfortunately, I have found some weight due to the lovely steriods they give me, but I figure there is always time to worry about my weight later.
Just think, Lynea: one day, that tree will be covered with leaves, and your head will be covered with beautiful hair!
Tags: Chemotherapy, Lynea, mastectomy
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Surgery, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Tuesday, March 30th, 2010
Tags: cancer, Chemotherapy, colon cancer, NewSpring Church, Surgery, Zac Smith
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, Inspiration, Prognosis, Surgery, Survivors | No Comments »
Monday, March 22nd, 2010
Oncology: a branch of medicine that deals with tumors (cancer).
I went for another cancer check-up this morning, the first since my 5-year cancerversary. Mostly, everything is A-OK — so well, in fact, that I now get to see my favorite doctor once a year instead of every six months.
But with the happy hooplah of surviving cancer for a good amount of time comes the fact that I need to start thinking about surviving the side effects of cancer for a good amount of time. There are certain issues that come with life after cancer. For me, it’s mostly heart stuff.
Three things that might affect my heart: the chemo drug Adriamycin (I had four doses), radiation (it was delivered right on top of my heart) and Herceptin (the wonder drug I received for one year). All three of these life-savers can compromise heart function over time. “You should be so lucky to get heart disease in 20 years,” someone once told me, “because it means you will have survived cancer for 20 years.” Yea, that doesn’t make me feel so relieved. In fact, it’s apparently cause for a consultation.
Someone is going to contact me soon to discuss survivorship issues, says my doc, and this person will notify my primary physician of potential concerns, too, so he can monitor me appropriately. I’m not overly concerned about this, really. I’m basically just thankful to be alive, with a heart that today is very strong. For now, that’s just enough.
Tags: adriamycin, cancer check-up, heart, Herceptin, Radiation, survivorship
Posted in Chemotherapy, Herceptin, My story, Radiation, Side effects, Survivors | 5 Comments »
Friday, March 19th, 2010
Photo: cjc4454, Flickr
My darkest hour arrived while I was cooped up in a hospital room with chemo-induced fever and other mystery symptoms. I was bald and bloated and beyond hope when a well-respected attending oncologist swung by my room with a crowd of med students and announced it could be another cancer causing my illness. Probably leukemia or lymphoma. A bone marrow biopsy would determine my fate, this doc told me, just before he casually strolled away from my despair and moved onto his next patient.
It wasn’t a biopsy that greeted me a few days later. It was a new doc, starting a new rotation. A second cancer wasn’t even on his radar. Rather, he was convinced my dose-dense chemo (given every two weeks instead of three) was to blame. Nothing some heavy-duty meds couldn’t fix.
A few days later, I was home, healthy, and once again, hopeful.
That was five years ago, and it was not the first time I was misguided by a well-meaning doctor, which brings me to this very important medical conclusion:
Second opinions matter.
I’m living proof.
Tags: bone marrow biopsy, Chemotherapy, fever, hospital, leukemia, lymphoma, Second opinions
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Hospitalization, My story, Prognosis, Second opinions, Side effects, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Wednesday, March 17th, 2010
Photo: Robert Brook, Flickr
I’ve been dreaming about my oncologist. Just knight-in-shining-armour kinds of dreams — you know, where someone sweeps in and saves the day, or in my case, a life.
Note: In stories about medieval times, knights were soldiers who rode on horses and helped women in difficult or dangerous situations.
Anyway, my mind has been a bit wonky ever since my body was blasted by chemo five years ago. The whole head thing is sort of cool, really. Sometimes I think something is going to happen, and then it does. Or I wonder why I haven’t heard from someone in a long time, and then that person magically calls or sends me an e-mail. Or, I dream about something that is so telling. I’m dreaming about my doctor, you see, because I have a check-up with him on Monday, and he’s going to take my blood, check for lumps and bumps and determine if I’m still cancer-free. Big stuff. No wonder he’s hijacking my dreams.
Now maybe this pseudo-psychic stuff is not chemo-connected at all, but I don’t recall things like this happening before poisonous potions spilled through my veins, so I tend to merge the two. Either that, or I can’t remember my mindful skills because chemo is wiping out my memory, one cell at a time.
Whatever the case, I’m having doctor dreams, and while I can’t remember them clearly (aha, the memory theory is looking pretty strong), they are generally positive and happy dreams, and I’m taking that as an indication that so will be his news to me on Monday. He is my knight after all, and I’m counting on him to keep saving me.
Speaking of doctors, mark your calendars, because March 30 is National Doctor’s Day. The red carnation is commonly used as the symbolic flower for this special day, so maybe you should deliver one to your own knight at the end of the month.
Tags: chemo, doctor, dreams, oncologist
Posted in Chemotherapy, My story, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010
Ladies and Gentlemen? Take Your Mark? Go!
I would so totally do this if it weren’t for the buckets of water that flood my nose every time I swim, or my hate-relationship with swimsuits, or the fact that sucking air at the end of each lap makes me kind of cranky. Swimming is just not my thing. Running, yes. Biking, sure. Just not swimming. It’s the one thing that will forever keep me from competing in triathlons. Wait, that’s a lie. I just don’t want to compete in triathlons. The swimming thing is just a convenient excuse.
You, on the other hand, might love swimming. Or maybe you don’t, but you’re willing to take a stab at a great challenge. If that sounds like you, then I want you to try this out, and let me know how it goes. Why? Because it helps us cancer girls and guys, and because if you do it, then I won’t feel so guilty for not taking the plunge myself.
Here’s the deal, all wrapped up in a pretty press release:
swimchallenge.org
IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES – WHO WILL GO THE LONGEST?
Aqua Sphere Challenges Men and Women to Swim for a Cause
VISTA, Calif. – March, 2010 – Aqua Sphere, the leader in high-end, innovative swim products, dares to see who will go the distance—men or women?
As the sponsors of the Swim Challenge, Aqua Sphere, the company that promotes comfort and long-lasting performance in the water has thrown down the gauntlet in an effort to raise funds and awareness for breast and prostate cancer and in the process, determine who rules th e pool.
Beginning April 1 through November 30, swimmers of all abilities can sign-up and sign on to www.swimchallenge.org each day to log their hours (not their laps) in the water. Whether they like it smooth or rough, on their backs or their stomachs – it’s not the stroke that matters but who will outlast their competition.
The Swim Challenge website will track the total time, men vs. women, via a “leader meter” posted on the website and created as a widget so that competitors can keep tabs on their counterparts. The site will also allow swimmers to individually track their personal progress in the pool, encouraging them to swim longer each day.
“Regardless who wins, they both win,” says Olivier Laguette, Director of Marketing for Aqua Sphere. “We’ve all been personally affected by cancer in some way or another but instead of simply writing a check, we wanted to do something fun that would promote a healthy lifestyle as well as some healthy competition – and a little bit of gender wars seemed appropriate.”
Aqua Sphere, the originator of the “swim mask,” is widely known for their line of comfortable aquatic eyewear includin g the popular Seal and Vista masks and the Kaiman and Kayenne goggles. Designed for form and function, swimmers can simply fit the frames to their face and forget about them while they enjoy swimming for time, distance, exercise or just fun.
About Aqua Sphere
Aqua Sph ere is the worldwide brand of choice for swimming gear, based on the highest industry standards of design and innovation. Launched in the mid-90s as a division of the diving industry leader Aqua Lung, Aqua Sphere is committed to supplying eye protection for dedicated or casual swimmers, enabling them to feel safe, comfortable and at home in the water. The company’s numerous innovations include the Seal, the first swim mask featuring 180° vision and Kaiman, the first panoramic goggle. For more information, call (800) 775-3483, or log on to www.aquasphereswim.com.
The Breast Cancer Research Foundation® (BCRF) was founded in 1993 by Evelyn H. Lauder as an independent, not-for-profit organization dedicated to funding innovative clinical and translational research. In October 2009, BCRF awarded nearly $28.5 million to 173 scientists across the United States, Canada, Latin America, Europe, the Middle East, and Australia. BCRF perseveres in directing at least 85 cents of every dollar raised directly to research. And for the eighth consecutive year, BCRF received Charity Navigator’s highest rating, four stars, thus outperforming over 99.8% of the 5,400 evaluated charities, while the American Institute of Philanthropy has awarded BCRF its highest possible rating of A+. BCRF is the only breast cancer organization in the U.S. to receive these accolades. For more information about BCRF, visit www.bcrfcure.org.
The Prostate Cancer Foundation (PCF) was founded in 1993 to find better treatments and a cure for prostate cancer. Through its unique model for soliciting and selecting promising research programs and rapid deployment of resources, the PCF has funded more than 1,500 programs at nearly 200 research centers in 20 countries around the world. The PCF is a force of HOPE for more than 16 million men and their families around the world who are currently facing the disease. For more information, visit www.prostatecancerfoundation.org
Tags: Aqua Sphere, BCRF, breast, cancer, PCF, prostate cancer, Prostate Cancer Foundation, swim, swim challenge, The Breast Cancer Research Foundation
Posted in Awareness, Exercise, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Friday, February 26th, 2010
Dry erase board John spotted (and captured) at a doc visit
Losing track of the hurt of cancer is kind of like forgetting how painful childbirth is — yes, it’s kind of a blur, even though I remember clearly barking at my husband while in labor with my first child, “Why would anyone do this twice?” Then I did it again, 2 years and 5 months later.
I know, if you are fighting cancer at this very moment, you might think I’m crazy, suggesting you will block out of your mind how horrible it can be. But I did, and I know this because yesterday, I sat in a dentist chair (after three months of complete and utter avoidance), and while getting my first-ever crown, I cried.
A crown. Not surgery to remove a deadly tumor, or poisonous chemo or skin-scorching radiation. I cried because of the pain caused by the needle used to numb my mouth. Five years after the horrors of cancer, and a shot in the mouth brings me to tears. Clearly, I’ve forgotten.
See, life does get better.
Then you cry.
Tags: childbirth, crown, cry, dentist, pain
Posted in My story, Survivors | 9 Comments »
Thursday, February 18th, 2010
I love my hair!
I’ve long had a love affair with hair. My mom suspected it the moment I got my first Barbie doll and started cutting away, and she was convinced by the time I owned a whole score of dolls, all with the same short styles. My intention was always to make Barbie more beautiful and stylish than ever. How she ended up looking more like Ken, I’m not sure.
I got better at my art as time went on. I mean, I knew a good pony-tail when I saw one, and that’s because I rarely saw one on my own head. My mom just never could get the hair smooth enough and perfect enough, and forget about two matching ponies — the part was forever zig-zaggy, and I always felt lop-sided, with more hair on one side than the other. This motivated me to master my craft, and I practiced on any head of hair I could get my hands on — sister, friends, sister’s friends, friends’ kids — and whenever I got to see my grandma, we practiced the French braid. It became my signature thing, and my best friend Kim always had a beautiful braid or two when she ran up and down the basketball court in high school.
When I was old enough, I enrolled in a high school Cosmetology program, and I spent my junior and senior years prepping to pass the Ohio State Board exam. And I did, which means I got my very own license to do hair. I still have it. It’s not valid in the state of Florida, and I never did keep up with continuing education or anything, and I don’t really broadcast that I have it, because I don’t want to do anyone’s hair anymore (well, except for family, and, of course, French braids for little girls). I just keep it in a drawer by my bedside — right next to my one remaining Barbie doll, whose hair I never did cut. It’s long, blond, curly and just as it should be.
My point in telling you this story: I love hair, especially my own. It’s because I spent a fair amount of time without hair that I adore it so. And on days when I sit in hair salons, looking at every strand that pours from my scalp, I realize just how important hair really is. Look at the industry built around it and the time we spend washing, conditioning, curling, straightening and coloring what we’ve got. Consider the moods that are born of bad-hair days, the celebrities whose hair we copy and the styles that will go down in history (’80s hair, the Mullet, the Mohawk my 9-year-old wants so badly).
OK, so hair is not everything, and if I had to go bald for the rest of my life to ensure I’d never, ever get cancer again, I’m pretty sure I’d do it. Still, I think you know what I mean, and that’s why I share with you my hair (above). I just got it cut today, and, well, I love it.
Tags: bald, Cosmetology, hair
Posted in Hair loss, My story, Survivors | 7 Comments »
Sunday, February 14th, 2010
Official results are in, and I lied about my 1/2 marathon time. It’s better than 2 hours, 13 minutes and 53 seconds. It’s 2 hours, 12 minutes and 33 seconds. I came in 34th out of 49 in my age group (35-39) and 185th out of all women overall — not sure how many there were total.
Tags: 1/2 marathon, numbers
Posted in Exercise, Inspiration, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Sunday, February 14th, 2010
Me, to the left of the guy in orange / minutes from the finish line
I’m not very good at math. In fact, my third-grader has pretty much out-paced me now that he’s mastering the metric system — yikes! But that doesn’t mean I don’t like numbers. I actually really like them when they have some significance in my life.
Not as unhappy as I look, just tired.
I like to say I’m 39 years old (age is kind of like a badge of honor after cancer), that I’ve been married for 14 years, that I have 2 boys (born weighing 10 pounds, 9 ounces and 10 pounds, 2 ounces), that I went to college for 6.5 years, that I’ve survived breast cancer for 5 years, and, now, today, I get to add some new numbers to my bag of tricks. Here goes:
Today, I ran 13.1 miles in 2 hours, 13 minutes and 53 seconds, and it was 29 degrees when I started. I scored 1 pretty medal, 2 hand-made little-boy signs (”Mom, you are a star” on Joey’s sign and “You are good moon mom” on Danny’s sign) and 2 free bagels and some water after the race.
With my mom cooking 1 glorious pasta meal for dinner and John promising me 1 massage later for Valentine’s Day, I’m counting this as a pretty good numbers day — although tomorrow might be a good time to start counting carbs (bagels, pasta!).
Tags: 1/2 marathon, numbers
Posted in Exercise, Inspiration, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Saturday, February 6th, 2010
Ribbon Ready!
The 1/2 marathon I’m going to run next Sunday is kind of like me making a statement. And what I’m saying is that I’m really not that wimpy, after all. Yea, I cried whined the other day when a basketball smacked me in the face during a family game of P-I-G, and I always wimper about doing oh, five regular push-ups, but when it comes to the big stuff (like birthing big babies, beating breast cancer and running long distances), I’m kind of tough.
I’m also saying that the body is a miraculous thing. It can get sick, withstand tortuous treatments and somehow rebound into a healthy, fighting machine. I’ll prove it by crossing the finish line after 13.1 miles with the same legs that five years ago were so weak they could barely support me.
These statements aren’t really visible to anyone else, though — just the stuff that motivates me personally.
I will be running with some tangible statements on race day, though, when I sport one blue ribbon, one orange ribbon and one pink ribbon. Here’s what they’ll say: My orange ribbon will say that I’ve donated blood, my blue ribbon will say that I’ve received blood and my pink ribbon, well, who doesn’t know what that says. Pink is not really part of the event, I’m just adding it, but blue and orange are, because the Five Points of Life race I’m doing raises awareness for the five ways to share life with others through the donation of blood, apheresis, marrow, cord blood, organ and tissue.
Just one week until I make all my 1/2 marathon statements. Then I’ll have to decide on something else to shoot for: an injury-free game of hoops, maybe, or a personal push-up challenge.
Nah.
Push-ups make me crabby.
Tags: 1/2 marathon, ribbons
Posted in Exercise, Inspiration, My story, Survivors | 6 Comments »
Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010
I don’t worry only about breast cancer. I’m a little freaked about skin cancer, too. It’s because I spent far to many hours seeking sun in my younger years, and I am painfully aware of the side effects of such behavior. I’ve had several pre-cancerous lesions cut and frozen off my fair skin, I have a one-and-a-half-inch scar where a basal cell cancer was removed a year ago, and just today, my dermatologist shaved off a bit of a mole she didn’t like — it was an odd color, different from the others on my body, she said.
A piece of my mole is on its way to a lab somewhere, and in about a week, I’ll know if it’s cancer or not. If it is, it’s likely one that is common and can be cut out without any serious health consequences. But in the back of my mind, there’s this little twinge of fear that melanoma is in my future. Melanoma is the deadly kind of skin cancer, and it’s real, folks. Just ask Miss Melanoma — she lost a toe, part of her foot, and all 16 lymph nodes from her groin to the disease. And if you don’t think it’s serious stuff, listen to Claire Oliver in the video below.
See why I’m scared? If you are, too, the best thing you can do is cease all tanning, and get yourself to a dermatologist every year for a thorough once-over. That’s how my funky mole was discovered. It wasn’t even on my radar. Ah, and don’t forget your sunscreen.
For more skin cancer facts and figures, head over to The Skin Cancer Foundation and the American Cancer Society. To check out The Skin Cancer Council Australia (referenced in the video), visit here.
Tags: basal cell cancer, Claire Oliver, dermatologist, melanoma, Miss Melanoma, skin cancer
Posted in Awareness, My story, Prevention, Survivors | 4 Comments »
Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010
Nancy
I happen to think bald girls in hats are really very cute, and yet, I never thought of myself that way when I had my very own shiny scalp. I covered that thing with a wig the minute my hair was gone, and I only took it off once my locks were back. I’m sure most chemo-stricken gals would agree: it’s really hard to look at just a face.
I mean, hair is important, just look at the whole industry built around it. We shampoo, condition, straighten, curl, color, fluff, puff and otherwise primp most days of our lives. It’s quite shocking when the hair is gone, which is why I admire those — like Nancy — who can just slap on a cap and proceed with grace.
Nancy has been a breast cancer survivor since June 1, 2009, when she was diagnosed with invasive lobular carcinoma. She’s been documenting her journey on her blog, Milk Dud Warrior, which you really should visit, but in a nutshell, she’s had surgery, chemotherapy and she’s now in the throes of radiation. Her story is inspiring, and I promise you’ll like it. Bonus: you’ll get to see her in the loveliest of hats!
Tags: Milk Dud Warrior, Nancy
Posted in Inspiration, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Monday, February 1st, 2010
Photo: istock.com
Breast cancer made me fat. Well, not fat like being pregnant made me fat (yikes!), but it definitely left me puffy, bloated, soft and about 10 pounds heavier than I like. It’s why I took full advantage of a trip to Canyon Ranch a few years ago — I soaked up a bunch of tips and tricks for eating clean and exercising enough, made lots of lifestyle changes when I got home, and by golly, it worked. I dropped 15 pounds and found a number on the scale that made me happy.
And now, in an ironic turn of events, the very fitness that I’ve worked so hard for is making me fat. Well, not fat, but this 1/2 marathon training is making me thicker, bulkier and about 4 or 5 pounds heavier than I like. I know, I know, it might be muscle, but still, I don’t like it. I mean, I’m burning something like a thousand calories on my long runs, and, well, isn’t that supposed to help me maintain my weight? I know, I know, it might be muscle.
I think the point here is that I’m never entirely content with my body. Why is that? Well, I know partly why — OMG, all those impossible-to-attain media images. All skinny models and actresses aside, though, I’ve got to start loving what I’ve got. Like Danny loves what he’s got.
Six-year-old Danny is a lollygagger. He takes his own sweet time to accomplish anything. It seems like a pretty nice existence (low stress!), but when matters are urgent, his approach is a problem. Take school mornings: rolling around on the floor before he gets dressed and savoring each bit of breakfast just doesn’t work when we’re racing against the clock to get out the door. And today, the guy was in no hurry to brush his teeth and hair. He just stood, staring in the bathroom mirror, completely still.
“Danny, come on!” I urged him. “We need to get in the car!” And then he shared what I’ve been thinking about all day:
“Mom, I’m just checking out my beauty.”
Sigh.
“You are a beauty,” I told Danny, and I let him admire his image for a minute longer (but just a minute, the clock was ticking).
Sometimes wisdom comes wrapped in first-grade packages. Danny looks in the mirror and sees nothing but beauty. He doesn’t see his big tooth growing in all crooked, his messy hair or his clothing that rarely matches. He just sees good. When I look in the mirror, I see gray hair, wrinkles starting to crawl across my face, and the dreaded thigh-ulite. When I really dig deep, I do love my body — gosh, it birthed two humongous babies and beat cancer — but I need to do better at appreciating the goodness on a daily basis. That’s why, starting today, I’m going to take a little more time to look for the beauty.
I think you should, too.
Tags: 1/2 marathon, body, body image, fat, scale, training, weight
Posted in Awareness, Diet, Exercise, Survivors | 4 Comments »
Tuesday, January 26th, 2010
Photo: joey.parsons, Flickr
So, I’ve been training for a marathon (training: I love that word — sounds so athletic, which I am totally not), and it’s been going really well. Oh, except that I’m hungry all. the. time. which means I’m eating all. the. time. which means my number on the scale is not exactly what I want it to be. But hey, it’s temporary. Once I cross the finish line, I can back off on the hard-core stuff and get back to modest exercise and moderate eating.
Anyway, the actual running has been great, and I know I can conquer all 13.1 miles on February 14, because this past Sunday, I ran 12. And that leaves just 1.1 to accomplish, and I’m pretty sure I can drag my tired old body that distance to finish the race — well, barring any injuries, that is, which is why I’m writing this update.
Today, 4 miles was my goal. But not long after I started pounding the pavement, something like an ache or a pain twinged in my foot, and it wouldn’t go away. I mean, it did go away for a minute or two, but then it resurfaced, and there was just no way I could put running pressure on it. So I walked, and even that wasn’t pretty — it was all limpy and wimpy, and boy am I bummed. This is the first time I have not complied with the training schedule. Just a blip on the screen, I suppose, so I will take it easy today, and I’ll get back out there tomorrow, because I’ve got 5 miles of ground to cover, and I really, really want to run the whole distance.
I really, really want to stop inhaling food, too, so let’s just hope all my dreams come true, OK?
Tags: 1/2 marathon, training
Posted in Diet, Exercise, My story, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Sunday, January 17th, 2010
2005, post-chemo
Five years ago, I was in a hospital bed, too weak from chemo to stand up.
2010, post-run
Today, I ran 11 miles.
See, there is always hope.
Tags: chemo, run
Posted in Chemotherapy, Exercise, Hospitalization, Inspiration, My story, Survivors | 5 Comments »
Sunday, January 3rd, 2010
Joey, almost 4 / Joey, now 9
I like to chart my progress after cancer by my kids’ birthdays. Take Joey, for example. Today, he turns 9. Significant for him, because he gets a party (it was yesterday, check it out) and presents, plus he’s one year closer to scoring that F350 he wants so badly. A big deal for me, too, because the guy was not even 4 years old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and his turning 9 is proof that I am still kickin’ — and thank goodness for that, because there were some pretty dark days way back then, and I was not always convinced I’d see my babies grow up.
Yep, January 3 is a big day. So is May 30 — that’s when Danny turns 7, and he was only 18 months old when I found that dreaded lump in my left breast in the shower in 2004. But there are reasons other than cancer that this special day is worthy of mention. Here’s my favorite:
Big baby boy
Joey made a grand entrance into the world on this very day, weighing 10 pounds, 9 ounces and filling his nursery bassinet like a champ. His pediatrician, upon meeting him for the first time, said to me, “Congrats, you just gave birth to a 2-month-old.” If I had to rank all of my life accomplishments, pushing a monster child out of my body comes pretty close to the top. And to now witness the wonder of my 4-foot, 8-inch, 90-pound son is a true pleasure. (Incidentally, Danny was no small potatoes when he arrived either — 10 pounds, 2 ounces — but I’ll talk more about him in May.)
So, here’s to being alive to enjoy another one of Joey’s birthdays. And here’s to Joey, who keeps growing and growing and is becoming one heck of a great guy.
Happy Birthday, Joey.
I love you!
Tags: birthday
Posted in Kids, My story, Survivors | 6 Comments »
Friday, December 25th, 2009
Thanks, Mom!
I asked my mom for note paper this Christmas. Just something simple for jotting down all the stuff I’m always scribbling (lists are my life, they’re the only way I stay sane). And like always, my sweet momma delivered. She didn’t just grab a few boring pads of paper, though. Nope. She found the inspirational stuff that makes me motivated to live like it matters — you know, to be a good mom and wife, help others, run a half marathon, eat healthy (after the holidays, I promise!), take risks, kick cancer’s butt, that kind of stuff.
And here sits my stack of stationery, right next to me on my desk, reminding me to hope, dare and dream. Oh, and she threw in a cute pad with apples on it (another reminder I need to get a grip on my nutritious ways, maybe?), and two pretty personalized pads, too.
I got a lot of great gear for Christmas this year — a hot pink sports bra and running shorts for those 13.1 miles, yummy body lotions, delicious candles, a trendy little vest for chilly Florida days, a mom-made scarf and more. The paper: A definite favorite.
Thanks, mom, for everything — you know me so well.
Tags: Christmas, dare, dream, hope, note pads, paper
Posted in Diet, Exercise, Gifts, Inspiration, My story, Survivors | 5 Comments »
Thursday, December 24th, 2009
Side effect of cancer treatment: limited range of motion in my left arm
I do have my breast. And I have a fairly good prognosis. My lump was removed and measured 1.1 cm, which is small. My lymph nodes were negative for cancer, although four were removed for biopsy purposes. My margins were clear, and there was no apparent spread of cancer. My cancer is considered stage 1. And that is good. I have two incisions, one in my armpit where lymph nodes were taken and one underneath it, on the side of my breast. They are both about 3.5 inches long. Besides a bad skin reaction to the tape I was bandaged with, everything went well. There are minor inconveniences right now. As my incisions heal and my skin tightens, it’s harder to lift my arm. So I have exercises I must do each day. Because of the missing lymph nodes, I may have trouble with swelling in my arm so I have to watch for that. I have not been able to shave my armpit since my surgery on December 3.
And now I await the next step in this battle. I will begin receiving chemotherapy in mid-January. This will last for three months. I will go for treatment four times, once every three weeks and will have a combination of drugs sent through my body via IV. The purpose of chemo is to kill rapidly growing cells, and cancer cells are rapidly growing. Unfortunately, all rapidly growing cells are killed, like hair cells and bone marrow cells. The chemo should kill any cancer cells that floated away from my breast, if any did. I don’t know how I will react to this process, as each person responds differently. At the very least, I hear I will be tired at times during each three-week time frame. I may also be tired from the radiation. This will begin three weeks after chemo ends.
NOTE: It didn’t happen exactly like that: Instead of receiving chemo every three weeks, I had it every two weeks — it’s called dose-dense chemo, and if the patient can tolerate it, it’s thought to be more effective. Did I tolerate it? Well, I survived, but I was hospitalized twice because it was so hard on my body.
I will receive radiation every day for 6 weeks. The purpose of radiation is to zap the actual area where the cancer was found to prevent it from recurring. Many women take a drug after chemo and radiation to prevent recurrences. The drug (usually tamoxifen) is taken for five years. My body will not respond to this type of drug due to negative estrogen receptors (if they are positive, the drug can be taken) so chemo and radiation will be my only two real treatments.
NOTE: Radiation went just fine. It was a breeze compared to chemo, and my skin didn’t burn too badly. The biggest hassle was the drive to and from the appointments. And while it’s not such a big deal, my left arm has limited range of motion due to the combo of surgery, scar tissue and radiation. See photo above — my right arm touches the ground, but my left arm won’t.
For now, I am trying to keep life simple. Joey and Danny help me do that. Joey knows I am frequently going to the doctor for a “boo-boo” I had in my “booby” and he has been very attentive. One day after a doctor appointment, he said, “Mommy, you need to go home and rest. I’ll bring you a banana.” He is almost four years old. Danny, at 19 months, does not seem to know anything is going on and it’s my hope that he never has any recollection of this path our lives are taking. I will never forget it, though, and that’s OK. I will take this experience and make it matter. A friend sent me a breast cancer bracelet inscribed with trust your journey. I do. I trust that I will be fine in the end. And I trust that I was given this fight so I can help others. That is why I have written this. I hope everyone who reads about my journey is affected in some way. Perhaps it will increase the amount of women who do self-exams. Maybe it will arm others with information to help loved ones who are affected by this common disease (about 1 in 8 women will get breast cancer at some time in their lives). Maybe it will spread hope. At the very least, writing helps me. And for now, that is enough.
NOTE: Writing still helps, five years later.
Tags: Chemotherapy, Radiation, Surgery
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, My story, Radiation, Surgery, Survivors | 9 Comments »
