The Glad Game Sucks

If you have never met my mother, you are missing out on one of the most awesome individuals you can imagine. If you have met her, then you have been infuriated by her endless creativity and positiveness at one point or another. I can only imagine how many of you are laughing hysterically because you know how many times you have wanted to say, "________ (she wears a lot of hats, so put your title for her here) get a grip," only to decide that she was the one who had one and you were in need of perspective or growth. Growing up with this woman, who seems to glide miraculously through things that tear other people to shreds, has made me the person I am today. 

BUT (there is always a BUT) Mom, you forgot to remind me that Pollyanna had to endure a whole lot of crap before she learned that the Glad Game was worth it. Any game that starts with getting crutches instead of a doll, includes losing your dad, being moved into a hostile environment, and requires you to fall out of a tree (or get hit by a car, depending on if you are reading or watching), break your legs, and learn to walk again in order for everything to work out...why the hell is this your favorite?!?!?! :)

Oh, it is because when those test results come back and the doctor says it's cancer again. You can truly see the positive in his words. It isn't a recurrence, it is a new cancer (this one I am still working for the silver lining so don't ask me). It is Stage 0, very early=very good. It is "in situ", inside the ducts, not in the regular breast tissue=good. I think that non-invasive is tied to in situ, but I like non-invasive enough that it gets its own sentence. All of those mean that I will have another lumpectomy and more radiation, but no systemic treatment=no chemo.

It took a few days to get my mind to accept this new turn and to understand that my path just wasn't complete yet. But at least I didn't need to whole town to come calling to make me play the Glad Game. 

Thanks Mom!!! (Freaking Pollyanna wins again.....)

Has it really been a year...

I feel like I should apologize for my lack of writing, but that would be like apologizing for celebrating for the last 12 months... For those who have been reading that long, can you hardly believe that a year has gone by since I was declared a "pathological responder"??? (still my favorite way to say NO MORE CANCER IN MY BODY)

And yet as I type that sentence, I have to admit that this milestone isn't without its own touché moment. As in, haha caught ya thinking life was headed back to normal. Or, haha you thought you could start planning in to the future. Or, HAHAHA you thought this adventure was coming to an end.... Think again lady.

My team of doctors have been watching the cyst in my liver and the cysts on my ovaries pretty carefully the last few months. (Since it is late, I have to tell you that my brain wants to include a "don't drink the CT scan Kool-Aid" joke, but I am pretty sure that it is waaaaaay funnier in my head than as part of this post.) To add to the lurking cysts, at my last oncology appointment my doctor felt a new lump, this time in my left breast. I have gone for an MRI and an ultrasound, and that was followed by an MRI guided biopsy to confirm that it is just a lumpy boob. (still awaiting results)

I don't know how to describe my mood right now. Nervous, yes. Terrified, hell yes. Yet calm, I have a team of doctors whom Sean and I both trust. (a team of doctors I was looking forward to not seeing as much of....) I also have this sense of confidence that things will work out, but I don't have a gut feeling about what the path will look like. I don't know whether to expect a long battle, or if this is just a flash in the pan of nothingness. I mean really how much of a tool will I look like when I come to say, "oh it was nothing." And am I destined to have these thoughts every time my boobs feel a little lumpy??? And how often are my boobs going to feel lumpy???? Holy crap, am I going to have to go through this every time I go for a follow up appointment??? And how am I supposed to tell what is normal every day wear and tear on my body and what is something I need to think of as a potential symptom? How do you answer "how are you feeling today?" when asked by a doctor?

But I am letting go of those worries today. Today is a day for celebration. Today they take out my chemo-port!!!!! This is the milestone that feels like true completion, an end to a path. So the next time you see me it will be with one more scar and one less bump. Can't wait!!!

Take that Breast Cancer and other motherly musings

A year ago this weekend I found the lump and started on my fantastically miserable awesome scary intense journey. I know it sounds crazy, but I really am starting to believe that there is a silverlining here...

I will start with a cancer update. I had my first follow-up mammogram (the big squish) and all is clear! I  have to finish up my herceptin infusions and then will get to have my port removed. I'm thinking that will be the next medical mile marker I am shooting for. All is good in the cancer world.

Back to the fun stuff--the silver lining. I am writing this post from my seat on AirTran flight 18 to Orlando!!! Have you ever watched the SuperBowl? When they win the big game they always get to say, "I'm going to Disney World!!" I think that I have just won the biggest game ever, and I'm tired of waiting for the right moment, enough money, the time off, what ever excuse it is that all parents make for not doing the fun things in life. So, yep, this superstar cancer fighter and the love of her life are taking their kids to Disney for a week.

AND just to be sure that cancer really understands that we are thumbing our noses at it and sticking up our middle fingers (on both hands) and shouting f*&^ you at the top of our lungs, I am really running the Princess Half Marathon. 13.1 miles of cancer ass kicking.

I know that there are a great number of runners who are a part of my support system, and their words of encouragement are in my heart. With a RockMyRun (www.RockMyRun.com) mix ready on my phone, a pink tutu (which may or may not get worn), and my cousin on the course, I will finish this race just so that cancer knows who is the winning player.

(Pilot just said to shut 'em down, so this post is going up before I have proofread..... hope it makes sense and promise to post pictures ASAP)

Good bye 2012, Hello 2013!

Well that is a year that I am quite glad to see end.... and yet, I can't help but look back on it and be grateful for all that I have learned.

I have experienced loss. I have faced cancer.

But bigger than that is all the awesomeness that comes with those two things.
I learned who I can count on when I can barely keep my wits about me.
I learned that life has to be lived every moment, even the craptastic ones.
I learned how to reach out for help (okay not as much as I probably should have reached for it, but I took a lot more help than I ever thought I would).
I learned to listen to my body and to my doctors.
I learned to love my husband on a whole new plane. (I love you.... I can't say it enough.)
I learned that there are good people everywhere in this world and sometimes they pop up in the most unlikely of places.
I learned that sometimes you just have to be a mom and nothing else.
I also learned that being a grown-up doesn't mean you don't need your parents.
I learned that sometimes a simple note/text/message/postcard/conversation is really enough to brighten a dark day or a scary moment.
I also learned that being a grown-up doesn't mean you don't need your parents.
I learned exactly how strong I am.
I learned to trust God.

I have met some amazing men and women this year. I have been inspired by them and challenged by them to be a better person.

To those who know me in the real world, I hope you know where you fit in my lessons because you are all there!!!!

So, here is to 2013. The best year yet.

Work (it all feels like work)

Wow. September is over.... Where the hell did it go?!?!?!? I have so much that I meant to get done and so much that I did that I didn't want to do and so much that I enjoyed doing.  Oh crap..... October is over too???????

Cancer update: I am officially done with radiation. I had to do 33 treatments, and they went better than I expected. (I was trying to mentally prepare myself for the horror stories of charring skin and whateverthehell a "wet peel" might mean.) Once again, the people at Oakwood Hospital made the entire experience freakishly enjoyable with their friendly ways and smiling faces. AND it probably helps that have great senses of humor.

So I wish that meant that I am free to enjoy my cancer-free status, but I am a long way to being done with my preventative care.

Ok, I have to give a warning that the next paragraph may be TooMuchInformation for some. Read the purple paragraph only if you have a sense of humor and can appreciate the silver lining in bad situations.

There are some perks to being in the midst of cancer treatments. While being bald is not my idea of fun, I have to admit that being hairless had its ups. I really hate shaving my legs, and having had the perk of not having to do it for 6 months..... well that I might actually say I will miss, a lot. AND being put into medical menopause (and potentially permanently) was supposed to mean no periods, not random insane ones. The kind that remind me that I have to be more understanding of teenage girls and the unpredictability of starting irregularly (which I have never before had a true appreciation for the fear of "everyone can tell").

I will still get my herceptin (estrogen blocker chemo) for the next year. Hopefully, this week I will get approved to go to the every 3 weeks dose instead of the every week dose I am currently on. Tomorrow, I start on my other hormone therapy called tamoxifen, it is an oral med. I will have to take it for 5 years. Slowly the hard stuff is being checked off the list, but with each check mark comes another bit of freedom from this trial.

Thank you for all of your support through this process.

Step 4: Radiation (and go back to work)

Burned boobies ahead....

I have been told A LOT that radiation is the easiest of of all the cancer crap that I have to face. But that sure didn't stop me from being completely freaked out by not just the process, but the aftermath too. Its like this dirty little secret of cancer survivors and doctors alike. Its easy, and then they use the phrases "dry peel" and "wet peel". Who thinks either of these things sound as though they will be easy?!?!?! And if you are going to pretend that "wet peel" doesn't sound scary, now imagine that whatever the hell that is is going to happen to your boob and armpit......

While I am not quite sure I agree with it, I am going to trust in my doctors, friends, and family that this is a necessary step in staying CANCER FREE. For the record, getting radiation is freaky from start to finish. The whole process starts with a simulation and getting marked (medical term for getting new dot tattoos). I have never wanted any sort of tattoo anywhere near the girls, but a dot smack dap in the middle of my chest was seriously the most painful poke I have had yet.

Every day (5 days a week) I have to go to the hospital. I take the elevator to the basement of the cancer building and scan my ID card to tell them I am there. The techs go get my body holder while I go to the locker room and put on my hospital gown. By the time you get this far in the game of being sick you don't even have to ask what to do anymore, waist up nudie butt. Then I have a seat in the gowned waiting room. (There are separate locker rooms for men and women, but once gowned you all sit uncomfortably in the same waiting area. Most of the time it is me in my gown feeling naked and like I am surrounded by old men who apparently don't have to put on gowns to be in the gowned waiting area.... there has to be some sort of injustice in this. It's gowned waiting, shouldn't everyone have to be in a stinky gown???? And today mine was clean and stinky--the kind of stink that makes you sniff your armpits to be sure it isn't you. I would have grabbed another, but that would have meant opening the door to the gowned waiting room full of old men with no shirt on at all.....)

Once they feel you have suffered just enough humiliation in gowned waiting the techs come get you and lead you back to the treatment room. I have a really hard time accepting the word treatment when I walk through the 12 foot wide 2 foot thick "door" with a handle that looks like a bank vault and a radioactive hazard sign on it. That is where my heart starts to race a little. Gratefully, all of the people in this department move really fast. Can't say that I blame them, if the door to my classroom looked like that I would spend as little time in there as I possibly could. They put you on a tiny table, put a rubberband around your feet, and uncover all of your dot tattoos and of course one boob. Using laser beams that shoot out from the wall they line you all up so that the poison treatment always goes to the same spot. They flick the lights off and leave the room (it is at this point that the telephone always seems to ring and I wonder who would call this room and what would be so important that the techs would stand still long enough to answer it). Then the machine turns on and start making its cross between a click and a beep and a hum sound while it slowly rotates around the table. After the longest 5 minutes ever they come back in and send me on my way. It is very surreal....

I have 7 out of the 33 treatments done, so by the end of October I will have another item checked off the cancer treatment list!!

And like most days, I'm tired out from radiation and being a mom so I will have to save the back to work stories for another post!

Step 3: Surgery

I have been so busy celebrating that I have forgotten to update my blog.... Actually, I've started to write this piece several different times, but have been dissatisfied with the plainness and just haven't had the heart to click submit on something not worth reading past the first paragraph. I mean after you read that my surgeon performed a lumpectomy and removed 9 more lymph-nodes and at my first follow up she declared that my pathology report came back as a complete responder, what else is there for you to read?

The fact that I was able to attend Burke Week 2012 in Lackawaxen, PA with my family before surgery becomes kind of second rate when compared to I'M CANCER FREE!!! Even if I try to one up it with the fact that my brother was able to come home from Japan for three weeks or the fact that we were able to take a photo of all of the first cousins for the first time in years. I'M CANCER FREE still wins.

I could attempt to tell you about surgery day. That Sean and I arrived late at the surgery center (and for this I am sure I am going to suffer the wrath of Karma in the near future). After being checked in at the counter, they handed Sean his visitor's badge and he politely asked for extras for the rest of our family who were on their way. We picked a seating area and sat in uncomfortable silence waiting for them to call me back. How my mom, dad, brother, and hubby were just this side of crazy (you decide which side of crazy this is) when they called me back, alone. Their my family's concern caused the nurses to push my wheelchair through the waiting room on the way to have the ________ stuck in my boob so that I could get/give one more kiss (I have no idea what the giant needle/probe that they stuck in me, wiggled around until it was in the tumor tissue, mammogrammed, then left dangling was actually called). The fact that I didn't pass out from pride or embarrassment or hunger doesn't even compare to the fact that I'M CANCER FREE.

An adventure in having a bridal shower to honor one of the sweetest young women I get to call family for 50+of her closest friends and family at my house, no in my house because the weather didn't cooperate, a week after surgery would seem humdrum and rather boring. Especially in comparison to I'M CANCER FREE. (Don't worry, I didn't do much of the preparations. I have been getting pretty good at following orders.)

Even if I tried to fake a lamentation about having to go back to work and the end of summer blues. It really wouldn't make the post any better since you have already read that I'M CANCER FREE.

Three weeks ago, I had a lumpectomy to remove what was left of my tumor. I am pleased to report that at my follow-up appointment the surgeon informed me that I am a complete pathological responder.   It's a good thing that she was as excited to report this as I was to get it because if she weren't smiling I think I might have cried. Complete and pathological are not easy words to hear together... So it should come as no surprise that my first question was, "What does that mean?" Thankfully, it means (in my words) that the tumor was shrunk enough that she was able to take out all the bad cells, there was enough space for her to take a little extra tissue (clear margins), and in the nine lymph nodes that were removed there was no cancer left.

So we know that the chemo drugs are effective and the surgery got it all out. At this point I AM CANCER FREE!!!!! I still have to go through radiation and finish the hormone drugs, but those are to maintain my cancer free status. It is going to be a busy fall, filled with appointments and work and getting involved in my new community.

In case you didn't quite get the picture, I want to tell you that I'M CANCER FREE!!!!!!!!

Let the celebrations continue!!!!!!!! Tutus, tiaras, and running shoes are ready to be put on!!!!!!!!!!