One year anniversary

This day last year, I was told I had cancer. It's my one year anniversary today--Remembrance Day has a whole other meaning for me now. I'm trying not to be negative about it, that it was the first day of getting better, but all I can think about is how it's the day my life changed forever. When I read books about people's experiences and they would talk about the one year diagnosis anniversary, I would think how great it would be, it being just a memory, all in past tense. But it isn't. It's so much closer to me than I thought it would be at this point. I still feel shell shocked. What the hell happened? Yes, I'm better --my hair is growing back, my energy levels are just starting to get better and my depression starting to calm itself down. But I'm still flat chested and will be for awhile and I have oncology follow up appointments and blood tests every 3 months. It's still so fresh and I hope it's will fade with time. I don't want to forget, just move on.

I feel it's time to retire this blog, which helped me get through one of the most difficult years on my life. I'll still write the MoreofLess blog though. Thank you for reading.

Breast cancer awareness

It's breast cancer awareness month and so far, I'm getting through it. I went to my annual doctor's appointment last week and I was reminded that this hell started exactly a year ago. I remember the panic I felt at the idea of a simple mammogram. I think I knew something was wrong, even if there were no symptoms. It's a year later and I'm a bit afraid to take stock, but here goes:

I'm alive and well as far as I know, but I look and feel different. I'm tired and no longer fit. I'm sad most of the time right now and apprehensive about the future. My hair is slowly growing back to something I don't recognize, and I'm waiting patiently for a new chest I won't recognize. I might look similar to what I used to be in a year from now, but I know I will never be the same again. It don't wanna dwell on it, but it's like something was broken and glued back together but the chip will remain. Now that's awareness.

Yes, I'm deflated

It's never simple, I should know that by now. I should be the queen of Neversimpleland. I feel sore from getting hit my the reality bus once again. And deflated, pun intended.

I met my plastic surgeon this morning. She seems like a no nonsense kind of person just like my surgical oncologist. That's good considering the crap I was given, by no fault of hers. I need two surgeries, one to expand the muscle and one to position the permanent implants (then there's all the nipple procedures). The fact that I had a skin saving mastectomy makes no difference, so I've been living this wrinkly for nothing. My skin is very thin, and even though part of my breast area will be covered my muscles, only silicone implants could make them feel as close to real as I'm going to get. That's fine, since I have no extra fat to donate (and I didn't want the extra scar), and I had read that saline implants don't feel as real (but I might be wrong). The big hit, however, is that the waiting list for the first surgery is 6 to 8 months. Then it's another 6 months of expanding muscles. So I still have years of surgery and recovery ahead of me, and another half year of living in my temporary flat chested state. Needless to say I'm disappointed and feeling sorry for myself.

Will it never end? I'm strong and I'll cope, but I just want things to be back to normal, if that's possible. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll call me in a few months with a cancellation. Let's hope.

Work, hair and lots of doctors

My family doctor called yesterday before she signed my work plan to make sure I was feeling good and not pressured into going back to work. I'm not and I'll be going back on the 19th. Now, how much I can do is a mystery. When I started paying attention to my days at home, I realized that they are short. I get up with C. de Lune and D to send them off --getting her ready and fed, making her lunch and making sure he gets up, then I chill until 10:00, I get dressed at that point and go do something. Usually, I go out to lunch or I bring Oli to the park or paint, or research and write my other blog... then by 2:00 I'm ready for a bath and a nap. After that, I'm ready for the evening, then I'm dead at 8:00. I wonder how that's going to work with work. Good thing I have 2 weeks of part time half days to get used to it.

My hair is growing in finally. It had to come in where I didn't want it first, of course. Now I'm just waiting for it to show up on the top of my head so I can stop wearing scarves --in time to wear them around my neck. I'm also feeling fine a week after starting my pills. I get hot flashes, and I can feel them coming on, but only at night. I'm still eating just real food, and I think that's helping. But, it's only been a week so I'll let you know in about a month.

October is doctor's appointment month --surgeon, family doctor, oncologist and dentist. This Friday is my first plastic surgery appointment since it was brought forward by almost a month. I'm excited to see how that works. It's already been 8 months since my surgery. Funny how I've had them since I was 13, yet I don't remember how they felt. I'm starting to get feeling back just in time for them to be cut open again. Oh well, I have good skin, it'll heal.

Paris therapy

I'm back from Paris today. I'm tired and sore, but happy we went. I think it's fantastic what C. de Lune got to experience at such a young age. By yesterday she was a genuine city dweller, navigating the metro and the crowds like a pro, eating baguette with pâté de campagne and cheese most kids wouldn't touch. It was a good idea to rent an apartment for the week, since I got tired and achy quickly. Getting up in the mornings was a challenge too--my body gets stiff from staying still and I feel like I'm a 100 years old. I tend to forget the severity of what I've been through in the last year and wonder why I can't keep up. I read an article in a French magazine on the plane back that reminded me. The author talked about her model mother dying from cancer. She thought cancer was the result of sadness and loneliness (cancer is still very taboo in France I was told), and she compared chemo to an atomic bomb. She said that if you're not an amazingly strong person, it kills you. I don't remember it being THAT bad, but I get the idea. Actually, the magazine had a full spread on breast cancer for October, with 10 celebrities showing their breasts to promote early detection. I felt I was shopping for new breasts --small ones, big ones, pink ones, brown ones, etc. There was a lot of great information about "supporting" treatments like stress management, diet, exercise etc, and making them an official part of treatment like chemo is. It's been proven that they reduce the chance of recurrence by a landslide. The article also confirmed a lot of my thoughts and conclusions about our environment and it's effect on cancer cells --see my new blog MoreofLess for more info.

Now that I'm back, "real" life will start again very soon and breast cancer month is just around the corner. I'm not sure how well I'll do around all that awareness --I'll have to wait and see. Tomorrow I start my Tamoxifen. The pills look normal but I know they pack a hard punch. Hopefully, they punch cancer out, not me. Seeing the beautiful, impressive French National Archives building made me depressed about going back to work. I don't know how tired I'll get, but that's why I'm going back slowly and pacing myself. Not going back is not an option though, because my brain is now at the melting point. I'll let you know how it all goes down.

The road to sanity

There are 3 reasons I feel better today.

1) My ultrasound was clear. It's a palpable normal-looking lymph node or a fat deposit on my ribs. Even so, I lied there looking at the screen, worried. Then I waited to find out if they needed to biopsy. They don't make you wait for test results when you've had cancer. But that's not much of a silver lining. I got rid of my breast to avoid biopsies. Reminded me just how much this will never be over. Still, no real lump. That's good.

2) I found out today that going back to work full time next month is crazy talk. The reasonable thing to do is go back in stages, working up to full time. And I have to see my family doctor first. Odd that it never occurred to me that I might not have the energy to do my job like I did before --yet. As if cancer is not a big enough deal. But if I think about it, I'm exhausted 1 day out of 2. Luckily, I have disability insurance, hurray for the public service. I can do what's right for me.

3) Talked to my oncologist friend tonight. I had a tone of questions because in the oncology office, my brain goes blank. I learned a lot and now I wonder why I wasn't told all this before. I guess cancer is so complicated and different from one person to another, that if you don't ask the right questions, you don't get the right answers. Or maybe I'm just thick. Either way, found out just how Tamoxifen works. I wanted to know if it was going to shut down my ovaries and stop them from secreting other hormones or block all estrogen from my body, even the one secreted my other glands. The answer is neither. Tamoxifen will not put me in menopause, chemo did --most likely temporarily in my case. My age and the fact that it took lots of chemo to shock my ovaries means they are healthy and hardy and should keep working again in a few years regardless of taking this medication. For many women, they never start again and therefore, they are in menopause. How this medication really works is it competes with the estrogen in my body to fit in receptors. In other words, they are fake keys that fit in receptor locks. What these keys do is tell cells what to do. In the cancer cells' case, die. I think I might get symptoms of low estrogen if the fakes fit in other normal receptors, but I can accept that, especially if my periods come back. Woohoo! That's definitely good news --Not the period coming back part per say, just that it's the normal functions of my body.

Avoidance, maybe?

I forgot my ultrasound appointment yesterday for the lump under my arm. I thought it would go away on it's own --**never do that when you find a lump**-- but for me, it wasn't there before chemo and it feels like a regular period lump (I'm just not getting my period). I would have never found that one. Who looks in an arm pit? I'm still having trouble feeling it since I confuse it with a rib. The point is they could send me for another biopsy and I really don't want to go through that again. The point of getting a double mastectomy was to avoid these tests. We'll see, no use worrying about it now, or so I tell myself. My new appointment in on Thursday.

On another note, I think I'm going to start the Tamoxifen medication shortly. Good thing I have insurance because I'm sure it's expensive. I still want to talk to my friend oncologist first, I just have to find a good time. In the mean time, I think I'm in a chemo induced temporary menopause in it's not so bad. I seem to be controlling side effects with my diet.

And where is my hair? It's growing in patches. I hope I don't end up with a bald spot on the top of my head, which is what it looks like right now. That thought is just plain nerve wracking.

My new blog is up. It's called More of Less and it's about all I'm learning from my research on health, food, toxins, consumption and sustainability. Check it out: http://moreoflessblog.blogspot.com/.

I hate BPA

Has anyone seen the eco scandal of the weekend? SIGG metal bottles made before August 2008 have Bisphenol A in their epoxy. Find out here on Treehugger and RealGreenGirl.

C. de Lune and I have been using SIGG bottles since last summer when the Bisphenol A in plastic info came out. I threw out all plastic #7 kitchen pots, utensils, sippy cup and water bottles, and we haven't bought bottled water in just as long. Now I don't remember SIGG saying their bottles were made out of stainless steel or were PBA free --I just assumed they were, since they were the first available alternative to plastic. I was wrong. And once again, my dad was right: "ASSUME makes and ASS of U and ME." And if you think you never heat up those bottles, well leave a metal bottle in the car in the sun and you will see that it heats up quickly. To think Claire was drinking milk from her bottle today.

If you don't know what this chemical is, you need to. It's a synthetic estrogen like phthalates that has the power to act as estrogen in your body. It's recently been linked, even in small doses, to breast cancer (well look at that!) and other hormone receptive cancers, infertility, growth issues, brain development issues and many other health concerns mostly in babies and children. No amount is safe --think about it. If your water bottle has a so-called "safe" amount, and all your canned foods have "safe" amounts, and your eye glasses have "safe" amounts, then your food has phthalates in "safe" amounts, and your shampoos, and your cleaning products... That's a lot of estrogen you're absorbing every day. In fact, since hormones act as cell regulators, having your hormones out of wack is bad news for you, good news for cancer cells. I'm living proof --no pun intended.

Well I'm pissed. I feel like one of those victims in Erin Brockevich (with less money that is). Who do I sue over this is what I wanna know. I feel I could have prevented my cancer, so I'm going to do everything I can to protect myself and my loved ones from it. But it's hard. The world is poisoning us. I go to the supermarket and all I see are health hazards. I replace something bad with something I think is better, and then I find out it was just as bad. But I'm not going to give up.

I'm starting a new blog about all I'm learning in my mission to save my ass. I've been finding out so much I want to share with you. I don't have a name for it yet. I'll still contribute to this one as my cancer chronicles, no worries. But hopefully, soon there will be no cancer to, um, chronicle...

La vie en rose

I might as well have a little fun. The absence of eyebrows is quite shocking, don't you think? I'd never wear it to go out -- not because I don't have the nerve, but because the thing is itchy as hell. Besides, Run-Lola-Run fire engine red or Alias blue suit me better. LOL.

Not sure about Fifth-Element orange though (Thanks Jedidja).

One more time around the cancer merry-go-round

It appears that post cancer/chemo depression is common. My oncologist said that some women even need anti-depressants to help them through this phase. Every breast cancer book has a chapter on it. In my case, I can't say that I'm depressed and no, I'm not in denial. I know depression from observation and having lived through situational depression myself in the past, and that's not what I'm feeling now. I would describe it more as being in turmoil. Confusion, sadness, exhaustion, fearfulness are all feelings that come and go on a regular basis lately. But in general, I'm in a good mood and I still feel like my positive self. It's strange actually, everyone around me including myself, expected me to be over the moon with relief and joy once chemo was all done, but I'm not. "Just one more!" you would tell me "You're almost done!" That's what kept me going, even what I was chanting to myself. But, like my doctor said, women go through all this horrible mess that is breast cancer, and take up all their strength, energy and courage to keep their head above water and still care for their family that when the it's all done, they crash. I described it like this to D in the car last night: When you're in shit over your head, you get used to the smell. But back up a few feet and boy does it ever reek. I guess that's it, isn't it? What I've been through stinks so much, that I'm now terrified I'll have to go through it again. Like a little black cloud that follows me around threatening to explode on me again. 18% probability of precipitation fowever. At least, I'm not alone, I'm normal. And alive. I will get through this phase like all the other ones before it and I will not let that cloud mess with my head, or my life. It will just have to become part of the scenary.

On another note, yesterday, at my 6 month-follow-up-of-surgery appointment, I got my referral for plastic surgery. That's exciting. Next year will be a strapless summer. The bad news is my surgeon found another lump, this one under my left arm (my tumor was on the right). I'm going for another ultrasound. No one panic, I'm not. It feels smooth and it's sore, which is very different from my turmor and typical of my PMS. And lets not forget I've just had 6 rounds to nasty chemo, but that's no garantie. On the flip side, it confirms my decision to have both breast removed. Lumpy as they were, can you imagine having to go for tests and biopsies for every lump they find? I had dozens on any given month! At least that's one thing menopause would fix --period induced lumps.

Speaking of which, once again this doctor and nurse were shocked that I had had my period during chemo. Apparently, It's very rare. I shared my fears on Tamoxifen with my nurse and found out she had breast cancer 8 years ago (this is not my home nurse, which also has it 7 years ago). She shared with me that she was fairly young when she had a mastectomy on one side because the tumor was big, and she took the drug for 5 years, as prescribed. She said there were changes for sure, but in general the advantages outweighed the rest. AND, I thought she looked her age, not older, which was very comforting to me. I might be vain yes, but not so vain that loosing my hair and removing my breast was not something I was willing to go through to save myself. I'm coming around to the menopause idea. I'm starting to see it as a challenge --refusing to let it affect me.

Same old, same old

There is no closure. I was dead wrong. I went to my oncology appointment and was hit hard with reality. My head is still spinning and I expect it will for days. I can't take anymore bad news for awhile. My quota has popped. This is today's bad news.

That hormone blocking pill that induces menopause I didn't want to take? I'm pretty much forced to take it if I don't want more cancer. All those pathology percentages they gave me, 25%, 10%, 15%, 30%, etc, etc, etc --they were all wrong. Either I misunderstood or they weren't explained clearly. I presume it's a bit of both. Here is my reality:

-Before my double mastectomy, there was a 60%-65% chance I would get cancer again in my breasts.
-After the mastectomy, there is a 10%-15% chance I will get breast cancer again in the remaining breast tissue (skin, muscle).

In addition, and here is where it gets complicated:
-Before chemo, there was a 60% change I could get cancer again. Anywhere. Think about it. 60% is a passing grade in school.
-After chemo, i.e. right now, there is a 20-25% change I will get cancer again. Anywhere. Especially in the next 10 years. This means either breast cancer in my remaining breast tissue, or a new type of cancer, or breast cancer that has metastasized (moved to another organ). If it's breast cancer in my breast again, they'll find it quickly because it will be easy to feel. If it's a new form or cancer, well, you can imagine all the scary things it could mean. But here is the scariest of all: If it's a metastasized breast cancer, that's a stage 4 --terminal. If I get cancer again in the next few years, that's what it is.

If I take this Tamoxifen drug, my chances of recurrence would be cut down another third, to around 15%. What this drug does is acts as fake estrogen, taking the place of real estrogen in receptive cancer cells and therefore killing them. As a result, it shuts down my ovaries and induces menopause. And why do I need this?

Under the microscope, I didn't have the most aggressive breast cancer they have ever seen, not buy a long shot. But they are still worried for two reasons (and worried oncologists are never a good thing). The first is my age. I'm too young and there are a lot of years of life to save, and a lot of reproductive years ahead of me. Which brings me to the second reason: I am too fertile. I have too much estrogen in me on any average day. So much in fact, that my period didn't even stop or hardly get affected by chemo. I thought that was a good thing, but in fact, it's very bad. My ability to have babies is threatening my life. The answer is to stop it from working.

So this is it my options: menopause and all it's side effects and I might still get cancer again, or live with the 25% recurrence rate I have now. The thing is, I'm a good candidate for cancer recurrence based on estrogen. Which also mean I'm also a good candidate for estrogen blocking therapy. My cancer was fed. They can starve it.

You might wonder why this is a problem for me. The problem is I'm terrified of early menopause. More than I was terrified of chemo. Natural occurring menopause at 5o when it's supposed to happen? Fine. But not at 35. Think of someone who's been through menopause and ask yourself -- Would you want it early? Forced on you? I feel I'm f*cked if I do, f*cked if I don't. Same old, same old. I'm going to go throw up now.

Closure week?

I know I've been writing less, but less is happening on the cancer front which is a good thing. We're back from PEI, where I got to relax in the countryside and at the beach. I was quickly reminded though, of just how weak I still am. I must pace myself or I just zonk out.

This week is all about medical closure of some sort it seems. Wednesday is my last regular blood test and oncology appointment --I think. Will let you know. My doc will push me to take anti-hormonal drugs that will induce menopause. I'm already having hot flashes just from the hormonal effect of chemo, and they are no fun. Like burning up from the inside. It's not something I'm willing to do, and since my doctor's job is to push me to do all I can to survive, I feel a struggle coming on. Don't get me wrong, I want to live, but there are others things I can do for myself to help me stay alive, without the early menopause.

Thursday is my 6-month-follow-up-to-surgery appointment where I will probably get my plastic surgery referral. And I also have an MRI, the last step of the Chemo fog cognitive study I was part of --until next year, that is. The only things that are left, as far as I know, are a nuclear heart test, other odds and ends tests, and the big one, reconstruction surgery. Not looking forward to that, but looking forward to the result.

Blue is the only colour

3 weeks since my last chemo --I would be getting another round tomorrow if I wasn't done. I'm feeling more exhausted than ever before and a complete emotional basket case. I can't seem to keep it together. I'm blue, bored, unstable and panicky. I'm even, dare I say it, depressed. What the hell is that a side effect of? I took my last antibiotic yesterday and there are no more pills to take, so that can't be it. I don't get it. I thought I'd be happier once chemo was over with. But it's the opposite. I seem to be less happy. I've been working so hard at protecting myself and keeping my head above water while the cell killing juice works it's magic and saves my ass... Maybe it's just all catching up to me now that my guard is down. In other words, I'm crashing. Hard.

I have also lost my entire muscle mass. I guess it took 6 rounds to kill off all my muscle cells. They hurt for no reason and are very weak --almost fell getting off the bus the other day. Wanted to start running again next week, but that just might kill me. At least my appetite has returned to normal after the steroids almost made me open my own restaurant. Sigh, my arms are the size of huge sausages, and I feel like one big blob of fat. I think I look like one too. Actually, it's more Dopey or Buddha I see when I look in the mirror. Not a good thing. Where did I go?

Have I wallowed enough? I hope that soon I won't feel the need to. I've gotta be in here somewhere...

Mean beached whale

So my heart hurts and keeps racing. For the last few days, I've been having what feels like heart muscle cramps, or lung cramps or something else located in my chest. Whatever it actually is, it's nothing if not disconcerting. It's worrying me quite a bit because I saw my nuclear cardiac test results in my chart and it said "abnormal" on it. Also, last time I was in the hospital, the emergency doctor asked me if anyone had ever mention to me a heart murmur. GREAT. What now? I see my oncologist next month for my follow up, so I'll ask to have those results explained to me --will also be getting another cardiac test. That's routine after chemo.

Add this heart stuff to me looking like a beached whale with all this steroid swelling, and the overall aggressiveness, mood swings, crying fits and irritability I've been experiencing (another steroid side effect), you get one messed up girl. Thank god D and C de Lune know me enough to know that I'm acting out of character. Not sick per say, just drugged out of my mind. I don't remember it being this bad the last couple of rounds, so I guess it's the accumulation in my system. Once I'm done the antibiotics, I think I'm going to fast for a day or two, drink lots of lemon water and detox the crap out of myself (no pun intended). But for now, I'm terrified this is not temporary. I don't want to stay swollen and mean for the rest of my life. An unreasonable fear, maybe. But still a very real one.

Tunnel, light...

So that's it. I'm starting to feel better after my last ever chemo. And I mean EVER --will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. But as I say that, if it ever was to happen again, I know I would get through it. I took my last anti-nausea pill a few days ago and my last steroid last night. I still have to get through day 5 to 10 of the round, which is when I have no immune system. Today is day 7. Got a whole bottle of antibiotics to get through before I'm clear of infections. Next week the picc line comes out before the beach trip. Looking forward to that, although it is a great invention I have very much appreciated. Lets just say I avoided about 15 blood tests and 10 IV's by having it - and that's lots and lots of painful, yucky needles.

Once this cancer experience is over, I want to use my blog to talk about what I'm learning in my research to be healthy, and make sure me and my loved ones live in a healthy environment. I don't wanna preach or become a nut case about it -- just share what I know. All those chemical, toxins, hormones and processed crap out there seems so overwhelming and unavoidable, but if you think of a few years ago, no one wanted to hear or to talk green. And look what's happening now...

Chemo round #last-and-never-again

Tomorrow is my last chemo round and my friend L is coming with me. Not sure how I feel about it--the chemo, not the friend coming with :). It's somehow a bitter sweet experience and I'm not sure why. Will try to talk it out and see.

The biggest part of me, the self preservation part of me is beyond-words-happy about it. The roller coaster of illness ends, the threat of infection and possible death goes away (that's a big one), the picc line gets removed (hurray for real bath and swimming), my hair, eye brows and eye lashes starts growing back, and I recuperate for 3 months. Work starts again in early October and life goes on. However, it's not over yet: major surgery is yet to come and the oncology team will try to get me to go on the anti-hormone therapy.

The other part of me if worried. Chemo and being sick has been part of my life for the last 4 months. Cancer has had been part of my life since October. I know it sounds odd and possibly wrong, but I got used to it and it's part of my life now. How will I adapt to normal life again? How will I feel about not being followed closely by my doctors and nurses? How will it be to be like everyone else again? I'm not stupid --I know this is all good and I never want to be on chemo again. I'm just feeling odd.

Need to do something

I found out today that 7 women in my neighbourhood between the ages of 20 and 35 have breast cancer. My first thought was is there something in the air? But no. It's sort of typical --scary, by typical. Early detection, more survivors mean more patients. I'll still ask my doctor's opinion on it though. What worries me more is that I never see these women around, even though I walk Oli all the time. This is because apparently, they never leave their house. Some are depressed, feel alone and are not coping well, while others probably deal with it in the safety and privacy of their own home. My nurse and doctor keep telling me I'm doing very well but I never realized I was at the top of the coping spectrum. Geez. I have to do something. I need to help. I wanna turn my cancer experience into something productive, positive. I have something to offer, to share.

I'm going to try to get in contact with these women and see if they would come over for tea or rum :), either on their own or all together. I don't want to intrude, but for those who feel alone and wish they were feeling differently, maybe knowing me could help. I'm sure going to try --pushy thing that I am. People keep telling me I have positive energy that's contagious. Let's see if cancer patients can catch it too.

10 laps for life

Friday night was the Relay for Life to end cancer at Millenium Park in Orleans. Both my neighbour T and my neighbours C and F's daughter and her spouse were walking all night to raise money to fight my disease. Just to prove how everyone you know has been affected by it in some way or another. D, C. de Lune and I went out to show support for our friends and stayed for 2 hours. It was an experience I'll never forget. All those people camped out, walking and running lap after lap to help me. I know, they weren't there helping me directly, and yet, they were --I have directly benefited from that support. If there's one thing I can say about cancer treatments is that it's obvious just how far raised money goes. This new chemo I'm on, the more effective yet less side-effecting one, was still in clinical trials in 2003! Think about it: when we were kids cancer was a death sentence. Now it's like a bad dream, a sickness that can practically be cured if caught early enough. I will not die from this, I'm certain of it. C de Lune was amazing. I told her in the car what this event was for and when I used the C word for the first time she said "I know cancer mummy". No kidding. Then when I told her the point of the Relay was to help heal people like me, she told her dad to drive faster! My kid. Gotta love her. But the best of it all was how she ran 10 laps for me, on her own, faster than most adults, not showing any signs of stopping. People were watching her, shock on their face. And she would have kept going. Words cannot express just how proud I was. Next year, she says, we are running all night.

Doing alright

This round, so far, has been much easier on me. I'm doing very well --maybe the summer weather is helping. I'm on preventative antibiotics right now but my tongue is still very white --it's thrush, a bacteria that can overgrow when your immune system is down. No fever so far, no pain and lots of appetite. But I'm off the steroids now so the bone pain might still come. I hate waiting for something like that. Cancer and chemo in particular are teaching me a lot about living in the moment. I have no real choice, really, because when I'm sick, it's hard to believe it will go away, and when I'm feeling good, I don't wanna think of the next round of getting sick. It's a good lesson I hope will stay with me. I just hope I can out of the hospital from now until Sunday, because a house full of pirates without me could be disastrous.

One to go

Chemo round #5 is done people! Only one to go. I see light at the end of the cancer tunnel, and the music is loud and the booze flowing. Yes, I'm having a party to celebrate my return to normal life -- a luxury I'm sure many of you take for granted. I will be able to take a normal bath, saran wrap optional. I'll be able to feel good for more than 2 weeks at a time. I'll be able to let my kid kiss me on the lips again. I'll be able to run and get my nice muscles back. I might even go back to work one day :).

I think this time I should feel a bit better. Chemo is very much a trial and error experience. Since everyone has different side effects, it take 1 or 2 nasty experiences to get the meds right. This time I'm getting weened off the steroids in order to prevent the blood pressure drop and bone pain. I have a bigger dose of morphine that I should be taking regularly, in order to not end up needed more when the pain gets too bad. And I'll be on preventative antibiotics starting on day 5 of the cycle, to prevent infections, of course. Sounds good to me because I canat be in the hospital this time, because C. de Lune is having a pirate summer party next Saturday. I'll let you know how it goes.

Cash to end cancer

Went out with my playgroup girlfriends on Wednesday night. C. de Lune's baby playgroup, not mine. :) I met most of them when she was only 4 months old. I don't get to see them very often, but at least I see them regularly enough. And time flies at an insane rate when we start talking. And eating. And drinking. No drinking for me though. Not yet. Soon. Oh so soon.

Of course, the conversation hovered around cancer quite a bit, among other subjects like upcoming babies and new boobs and such. One of my friend's mom is fighting a tough battle, and another friend has a girlfriend who is going through the same chemo regime as me, just two rounds ahead of me. Unfortunately, she had a worse case. That's when I realize that it all could be so much worse.

Someone called cancer devastating. It's moments like those that I get an electric shock of reality. I'm living something most people call devastating. I agree, cancer is devastating, but when you land in the middle of it, it's not so dark. Daily life goes on because it must, and there's no time to think of what it is you're really struggling through.

While I was in the hospital this weekend, my neighbours were selling stuff, donating all proceeds from their garage sale to Relay for Life, a charity event to end cancer. I was very disappointed to miss out on all the buying and selling goodness, but can you believe they made over 800$! That's awesome.

Bubble girl

This last week since my last chemo round has been a spectacle and achy grossness, as you know. And on Friday night, it got interesting. After feeling better on Thursday, the bone aching got much worse by dinner time on Friday. I called D, crying from pain, while he was on his way to pick up C de Lune. I went back in the tub, the only place that seemed to give me relief and cooked myself in hot water. I also took a morphine pill. This seemed to manage the pain, but D got worried about me sleeping so much so he asked me to get up around 7:30. By that point, I already had a fever that was climbing at an alarming rate. Since we didn't know if this was simply a result of my lobster-type cooking, I called my home nurse. She told me what to do to bring down my body temperature for a half hour. It did come down to 99, then hovered around 100 for awhile (100.2 is a fever), before suddently spiking to 102.7. That's when we went to the Civic. I guess in hindsight we should have gone to the General, but I figured the Civic would be less busy. Anyways, by midnight I was in observation, having blood tests. My white blood cell count came back desastrous --D made a joke of my only white cell trying to be intimidating, screaming "stay away! stay away!" to the bacteria. So they gave me intraveanous antibiotics and transfered me to the General at 3 am. Saw the oncologist on call around 4 am, and was sent up to a room, where lots and lots of blood was taken again. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. On Saturday, they gave me my own room since I had to be in isolation. My immune system was at 0.9 and the bacteria fighting cells were at 0.3 -- think about it: zero is, well, none and normal is between 4 and 12. My normal is 8. This morning, it was at 2.5, enough to be back at home and out into the world. That's something good.

Two more good things:
1) While I was in the hospital, this cute 2o year old admissions clerk came to ask me questions. I don't know how we got to that, but I told him about my previously long wavy blond hair. To which he replied, with shyness and respect, to not worry, that I was still very pretty. Now that I think of it, he said it again before he left. That was sweet of him and when he was gone, I smiled a lot.

2) We went to Cora's for lunch after 2 days of hospital food. D used a butter knife to cut my hospital bracelets off --that was entertaining! There were two women having lunch beside us. They didn't talk to us but after they left, the waitress told us they paid our bill and she wasn't aloud to tell me until they left. That made my day.

Nightmare #4

This chemo round has floored me. Different from the others, but flooring none the less. It's Wednesday and I don't think I'm anywhere near better. The absence of nausea is nice, but my body hurts is so many different ways I feel I'll never be better. My bones ache, my joints ache, my chest hurts, my head pounds, my jaw is very sore, my intestines are doing stuff I've never experienced, my nose is so dry it's full of sores and I'm weak. Yes, I'm one pile of grossness at the moment and I'm near melting down. The only place I feel relatively fine is in the tub. I'm tired of telling my child her mummy is sick and to be careful. No child should have to be careful to not hurt their parent. I want out of this nightmare. Now please.

Head down

Well, it was too good to be true. I woke up lightheaded this morning and fought with my dropping blood pressure all day. Head down! Head down! I looked odd sitting on my front porch with my head between my knees. At least I'm not nauseous, but the rest of my stomach isn't so happy. My immune system is definitely taking a hit from this chemo cocktail. I can feel it. My child has pointed out the odd colour and size of my tongue. Nice. But she doesn't seemed bothered by it. None of this seems to bother her too much. The phrase "going with the flow" must be her motto. As for me, I really hope I can fight off infection --I have an 80% chance of not ending up in the hospital in the next 12 weeks. Good odds, but i also had an 80% of not having a positive cancer biopsy back in November. I guess we'll see.

Good day

I'm actually doing well today. No nausea at all. I'm not stupid though, I'm taking the meds. I feel tired but I can't sleep becase of the steroids. No worries, there's only one dose left and apparently I'll crash tomorrow. We're keeping an eye on allergic reactions, and around my eyes seem darker than usual, but I haven't even felt the aches and pains. Yet. The thing is, I can't help but wait for it all to hit. Something, anything. I did just have a dose of detergent chemo injected in my veins. For now though, I feel greateful for the break. And maybe, just maybe, I won't get an infection and the last 2 chemo rounds will be as smooth as today. I hope I haven't spoken too soon...

Dirty veins

Saw my oncologist today for my follow-up appointment. I actually got to see Dr Stan the Man, a rare occasion. I like him, he's easy going. Apparently, I'm doing well and he's happy with my progress. I guess by body is responding to the treatment, chemo wise, that is.

Tomorrow is a new type of chemo. This one shouldn't make me as nauseous, maybe not at all. And it has a different smell. Halleluya! Although just going to the cancer centre makes me nauseous now. Anyways, that's all good news. The bad news is it'll give me aches and pains. I wonder which is worse. But if baths and Tylenol can control the aches and anti-nausea pills (including synthetic m-j pills, heehee) control the nausea, I should be all set. They gave me steroids to take for 3 days to prevent an allergic reaction to the new chemo because of it's composition. The chemo itself is an insoluble plant dirivetive, so to make it injectable, they mix it with...wait for it...detergent. Yes, that's right. I guess my veins are dirty. I said to my doc "that's insane!" for which he answered "not insane, cool!" Yeeeaaahhh.... Doctors have an odd sense of what's cool. Gotta love 'em. I might have trouble sleeping high on stereoids, so I got the ok to take a sleeping pill. All these pills to counter the other pills' side effects. It would be "funny" if I could make a full circle where the last pill's side effect is fixed by chemo. Would that be like taking none of them?

Sick of it

I haven't posted much lately. I guess it can be explained by the fact that I'm so sick of cancer, no pun intended. I don't wanna dwell on it anymore. I'm so incredibly tired of it and I want to be over it. I just want to move on. Which makes me think:

I'm not sure if I told you this yet, but I found out the nurse that comes to my house every week to tend to my picc line and my general well being had breast cancer 7 years ago. She's fine now and looks healthy. I also found out she grew up on the same street in Gatineau as I did, and she was a teen when I was a young child. I remember her house as being the scary Halloween house. It's a very small world. Anyways, I'm writing about this because I was wondering how she could possibly have put cancer behind her when she has to work around it everyday. She's a home care nurse so she tends to cancer patients' needs all the time --like me. I know that when I'm done with this god forsaken chemo, I want to eradicate all evidence of it and rid my life of all that reminds me of it. Don't misunderstand me, I'm grateful there's a medicine out there that is reducing my recurrence chances by 60%, but I'm not going to pretend it's nice. I'm convinced in 50 years, we'll call chemo barbaric. A miracle pill might exist. This doesn't mean I wish to forget I had cancer --I don't. It's part of who I am now. I don't wanna forget what I'm learning, what my awesome friends are doing to help, or how my family is showing me how they can cope with this. But for the sake of my stomach's stability, I have to forget about chemo.

Curious Experiment

Lots on my mind lately. I'm over hump #3 --a doozy. There's always a particular bad day. Unfortunately, it's never the same day, so I can't predict it. Also, nausea seems to come and go, surprising me, and getting very, very bad in as little as 5 minutes. I ate a lot this time and got my meds right, so that worked. But the smell of chemo turned my stomach ever more than usual. It's absolutely horrible what it does to me, I can't really describe it. It makes me understand the power of my mind though. How can a smell which is fine on it's own, make me have such a strong physical reaction? Makes me wonder what else my mind can do. I will find out and use my powers for good, not evil...

I'm having a difficult time staying strong. I'm worried chemo has tainted my life forever, that I'll have to get rid of everything that reminds me of it in the future in order to be happy. A friend of mine reminded me that I'm not as strong as I am resiliant. I bounce back easily, and I'll bounce back from this like I have after every other bad experience I've ever faced. I know that's true. One day can make a huge difference in the way I see things. Was I born with this ability or is it a result of my difficult childhood?

I still get the "Why me?" feeling. The disbelief. Cancer? Hun? Say again? I'm cancer free now, so why am I still reacting this way? Chemo is the hardest thing I have even gone through, a little glimpe of hell and I think it's screwing with my head in more than one way. I catch a glimpse of myself in the shower door reflexion and can't believe that's me. That bald, breastless 35 year old woman. It's funny, because it's the 35 that surprises me the most! Seriously, I know, you all say I'm beautiful regardless, that my skin shines and my eye colour pops out. You also remind me that my spirit is what makes me attractive and that hasn't gone anywhere, and I believe you.

But think about it, really. Close your eyes for a few seconds and think of a you without your hair and/or your breasts. How does it feel? Terrifying? Absolutely. I would love to do a little experiment --tell random women their hair will be chopped off and they'll loose one bra size over night, and see their reaction. Of course, some women are laid-back-whatever-bring-it-on kind of women, but most would freak out at only one of these scenarios, never mind both. We put a lot of feminine importance on our hair and our breasts. Like a chesty Samson, the power "appears" to be there. That's what I live with right now. I'm not unhappy and I'm not wollowing. But temporary or not, it's taking everything I have to get through it.

I hate chemo

Back from third and final FEC. Next time, they change my chemo cocktail, one where they stick my hands in ice during the treatment to protect my fingernails. The things I have to look forward to. My friend J came along today and managed to make the experience a pleasant one. What won't trashy magazines and good conversation do? Now the nausea, the headache and the all around yucky feelings are coming. I hate chemo. I know, who doesn't? I still wanna say it out loud. I can still smell the rubbing alcohol on me and it's making my stomach complain, just like I am now. I hate that smell now. I'm grouchy. And now I'm reacting to the picc in my arm and it was itchy as hell--seems their cleanser is bad on my skin, and the thing is slowly coming out. Grrr. I want all this over with. Come on July! At least my blood test was normal. Just in time for the Swin flu. But now, I have antibodies to fight it off.

Some nothings

I got nothing. Really, lately, I don't have much to say. Same old, same old. I'm feeling good but tired. It takes more mental energy to motivate myself to do anything. But once I get started, I can usually do whatever it is I'm doing.

The picc line in my arm is starting to bother me. My skin is getting itchy and rashy. Great. Got 2 more months of it to tolerate. Looking forward to the real bath I can take when it's removed --a bath without my left arm poking awkwardly out of the water...

Next Thursday is Black Thursday #3, the half way mark. The smell of those instant hand disinfectants and rubbing alcohol turns my stomach now, since chemo smells of that. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it. My oncologist told me that some women get nauseous just by seeing the highway exit to the cancer centre. Yeah, I understand that.

I'm worried about this new killer flu from Mexico. The last thing I need is a supervirus I can't fight off. Really, it would kill me if I caught it. So if you've been to Mexico lately, don't come near me please. It's really hard to be extra careful to not get sick. I hope the probiotics and the vitamins can continue to give me a hand with that. Although, I'm feeling a cold coming on.

Inside and out

Back in November, when I had just been diagnosed, I read in a book how cancer can make friends disappear and I couldn't believe how that could be. But I've witnessed it. Close friends have stayed, but some people I've known for a long time, people who were part of my daily life have gone away. And I don't mean not calling as often --many of my friends don't want to overload me right now and I get that. What I'm talking about here is those who have disappeared for good.

At first I took it personally, but now I think I get it. Cancer brings out various reactions and emotions in people --so many of us have been touched by it, have lost loved ones to it. And although I can't be blamed for having cancer, how I deal with it might not be acceptable to everyone. For example, my close friend V told me she has a friend who dealt with breast cancer by disappearing for 6 months. In my case, I'm dealing with it like I deal with everything else, by sharing it with my world. So a private person who has lost a loved one to this disease might not approve of how I'm coping, would probably not want to hear about my experience. It could bring out feelings they have dealt with in the past that they don't want to revisit. This is just a theory, but it seems right to me. I get it. The other thing I can think of that might make someone go away is fear. Anyone who cares for me has no choice but to live with this part of me right now --the fact that this could kill me, that they could loose me. Unlikely at the moment, but the odds that my life has been shorten is very real. I guess I also freak people out, reminding them of their own mortality. Oblivion is a safe place to live. And really, cancer is no fun. Why would anyone want it in their life if they could avoid it.

In exchange, people who have traditionally been at the periphery of my life have been taken more space. A few old friends who I had lost touch with awhile ago have also shown up again. For that, I am grateful. Disease is an odd thing, so much harder on the inside of people than the outside. I learn about it every day.

Sunshine outing

Went out today, first time alone since the last round. Odd that I got better on Sunday and worse the 2 following days. I think it's probably due to having some leftover medication in me, enough to keep the nausea at bay, not enough to make crazy. I wonder if in the next --and LAST 4 chemo rounds if I can figure out the perfect medication mix. Maybe I can just suck it up.

The outing left me very tired. I walked a lot in the sunshine which felt great, but I took the bus too so I hope no bus people gave me something nasty. Good thing I didn't kiss any of them. What I like the least about this bald head is it announces my disease to the world. When I still had my hear, I looked normal, healthy. Now everyone can guess my fate. My friends and family knowing is one thing, it's support and love. Having strangers know is intrusive and annoying. But whatever, I only have 4 more nonconsecutive weeks of hell, a month in total. I can cope. Then I wonder if they'll do my reconstruction this fall instead of waiting a year. Maybe if I ask nicely. There are so many nice tops and dresses I want to buy for my new-no-bra-forever body. It will please me.

Nasty nausea

Today, 5 days after the last chemo round, has been one of the worst nauseated days of my life. Ugh. It sucks doubly since some of my girlfriends are going out for desert and drinks tonight. I don't see them often and I wish I was well enough to go. And now my nose is overly sensitive, something that happens to me about once a month. It doesn't help the nausea to have everything smell so yuck. It really is like when I was pregnant --nausea, nose sensitivity, tiredness, grouchyness, the works. And to top it off, I will end up with a life at the end of this 9 month period. I thought I would be better after a few days, but apparently it takes the full week. The only time I was ok was for the Metric concert, thank god! Eating seems to help, but I can't go on eating all night. I'm not taking the medication because one or more of them make me hyper and the others make me sleepy. Very, very bad combination. I took Gravol, but I'm not sure if it's helping. It's hard to keep my spirits up when I feel this way --seems I'll never get better. I guess I need to focus on July 2nd, the date of my last round. When I get better the week after that, i will stay better. At least, that's the plan. I'll never take my health or the health of my love ones for granted again.

My last blood test showed that my white blood cell count is low: it's 3.5 and normal it between 4 and 12. I dropped from 7.5. It seems to be enough for me so far, touch wood, since I'm doing ok on the cold, flu and infection side of things. I wonder if the probiotics I'm taking are helping with that. That said, I wouldn't be surprised if I got sick. I'm just hoping to stay infection free and out of the hospital. My platelets count is very good, which explains why i wasn't feeling too tired the last weeks.

Last night, C de Lune was upset. She told me at bedtime that she doesn't want to go to school anymore because she thinks of me and misses me while she's there. I promised her I would always be there for her and I plan to keep that promise. She asked me to stay in bed with her all night and she gave me massages, cuddled me and fell asleep holding my hand. She told me she wants to live with me forever even when she has children. I'm sure she'll change her mind, but it sounds nice to me right now! That was a night I tried to memorise as much as I could because I want to keep it with me forever.

Round 2

This chemo round didn't leave me as sick as the last one, although I didn't come out of it scott free. Easter diner last night ended up a semi-bust, with me pukey and not being able to eat, C. de Lune sick and crying from an almost black eye my right heel gave her, D sick and my sister-in-law trying to not get sick. Oh well, I'm better today, but I woke up this morning feeling like I was on a hangover --must be all the medication. Trying to not take any today, since we're going to see Metric at Live Lounge tonight even if it kills me (D won tickets, hurray!)

Blog writing

I never thought this blog would mean anything to anyone but me. Don't get me wrong, it doesn't exist just for my sake. I started writing it to give the people in my life updates when they didn't have the nerve or the time to ask me how I am. But I never thought I could do something with it --make people aware, help people cope, make people appreciate what they have. But many of you have told me, have thanked me for writing. I guess for me, putting my mental ducks in a row and sharing my feelings with you is a big part of how I cope. Cancer didn't change me. I deal with it the way I deal with everything else --by talking about it and letting people in. It helps. I don't have infinite strenght, but I'm stubborn as hell and I can't stop smiling. I just don't know how to do that.

Adaptagirl

I must have an adaptation superpower. Really. Adaptagirl, that's me. Give me a few days and I can get used to pretty much anything. What's the saying? When you live in poop long enough it stops stinking? In my case it seems my nose can ignore the smell pretty much right away. I knew that, but I guess I'm surprising even myself right now. I'm feeling ok about my looks, even, gasp!, good... that doesn't mean I'm happy this is happening. It's quite the opposite, actually.

But lets look at this objectively. Since Christmas, my physical appearance has changed drastically --I've lost 10 pounds, I no longer have breasts and now, I am bald. This is big, there's no disputing it. I cried tears of desperation on Wednesday night as I tanked down the boozy drink D gave me while he choped all my hair off. I wasn't ready. I don't have a problem with short hair, I like it a lot on myself, but short is not what I wanted. And I didn't have a choice, that's the worse part.

At first, I felt I looked like I had just escaped from the Twelve Monkeys movie set. I felt exposed and raw, older looking and serious... like my "childlikeness" had been yanked out of me. I tried wearing scarves just like I had tried wearing prostetics, but it's a hassle. I'm lazy and I don't have much patience for it. Besides, there's only so many people you love who can tell you you're beautiful the way you are before you start believing it. I think that's what's happening --I'm letting go of her, that person I was, that person I liked, and accepting this new person who stares back at me in the mirror. She doesn't look half bad if I don't compare her to the person I was. And no, she doesn't look childlike, but that's been replaced with something. I can't put my finger on what that is...but I like it.

It's time

Saw my oncologist today. Well, not him, one of the doctors that works with him. I imagine him in a big chair in the back room, answering all the questions the minions --i.e. other doctors and the nurses-- throw at him. That's probably exactly how it is.

It appears my allergic reaction was triggered by one of the anti-nausea medications, not chemo. If it had been from chemo, it would have been instantaneous. Apparently, reactions to this drug are quite common, 1 out of 5 people have it, just in different forms. My reaction was extreme to say the least. This is fine, since there are plenty of anti-nausea meds out there. Nevertheless, I'm sure they'll keep a close eye on me next Black Thursday, April 9th. And it seems I was also very sick, comparatively speaking. Next time I have to be ok by Sunday night, since we are off to the Metric concert, which I refuse to miss.

Now about my hair. It's coming out a lot. Not in big chunk, but lots of it at a time. Very messy. I think I left my DNA in every trash can I saw today. My scalp is also very sensitive, like I've been wearing a ponytail for months. I think it's decided that it's coming off tonight. I washed it for the last time and waited for it to dry. It's dry now. I guess it's time. I don't wanna.

My hair

It's definite, my hair has started to fall out. Not in big chunk like I imagined, but in the normal hair falling way, just much more at a time. If I pull a bit, I can hear it break at the root. Nothing gross, just very real. The big chunks might happen on my pillow tomorrow morning, though. Probably. Most likely. I keep hoping for a miracle, hoping I'm different somehow, hoping I have so much hair on my head that it can't all fall out, but who am I kidding. I wish I looked like Natalie Portman for the next little while. She did the bald head so well. Sigh. I'm scared.

My own scar

I'm thinking of getting a tattoo when this is all over. I see it as a scar I decide to have, a scar I have control over. This is an idea I've been playing with on and off for years now. Last year, I finally decided where it would go if I was to get one: outer upper arm, almost at the shoulder --that never really wrinkles, does it? It would have to be the left arm now since I can't get anything done to my right, thanks to lymph node removal. I keep toggling on the whole thing though. But lately a friend told me the legend of Amazon women cutting off their right breasts to shoot their arrows with more precision and it got me thinking. I made the decision to remove my breasts to kill something bad. Maybe a bow and arrow would be appropriate. No? I'm still thinking. And I'm afraid of the needle. Yeah, yeah, I know, I've got a tube up my arm now, so what's the big deal? Still. I HATE NEEDLES.

TV thinking

I'm watching a lot of tv lately (mostly HGTV) since I feel I'm suffering from a permanent flu. When I look at all the people in the shows, my first though is how the're not sick and I am. All these healthy people and I'm sick. It's very hard for me to see myself in my post cancer life --this feels like it'll last forever. Then I think "what if Sarah Richardson suddently had cancer?" I would be thinking "my god, poor her, that's horrible!" Then of course, I think "oh wait, that's me!" What can I do but get through it as best i can, but it's geting harder to stay positive. I'm just sad, I guess.

The plan

I've been nursing a bad cold the last few days --I hope it's bad just because it is, not because of chemo. But today I had to get out of the house, especially that D is back at work and I'm so very bored. So I went to lunch with my friend L, then to the mall. I bought nice scarves and a bit of makeup. I haven't worn makeup in years, but I feel if I don't while I'm bald and white, I will just disappear. Anyways, bought good no Paraben stuff because I'm on a military mission to save my ass. Since I know that stupid tumor was hormonal receptive and therefore fed by something specific they know of, and that the mutation gene is NEGATIVE (woot!), I feel I can do something to prevent this hell from ever hitting me again. This is the plan:

1. I'm not sure about the whole hormone blocking therapy that will put me into early menopause. I rather wait until it starts naturally, then go on the drugs. But my oncologist has other plans and I might have to convince him. Either way, I'm undecided.

2. No more puberty. That should be easy.

3. No more taking the pill. In hindsight, taking the pill was better than having a baby when I wasn't ready, but I took it for 9 years and back then, it was high in hormones. That said, I would take it again if I was 17.

4. No more plastic #7. It's full of Benophenol A (in other words, estrogen). This year the government warned us about this. It's in baby bottles (that was me in the 70's), spring water bottles in dispensers at work (been drinking that for 10 years), and other containers we drink and eat from. It's even having effect on mens' reproductive system.

5. No more meat injected with hormones, which red meat is, unless you buy the "free from" kind.

6. The sad one. No more babies for me. This is a decision I/we made before cancer, and they are not protecting my reproductive system during chemo because of this decision, but since pregnancy spikes hormones, I don't think it would be a good idea.

That's my plan.

What if?

What if tomorrow, someone told you you have cancer? How would you feel? Incredulous? I still feel that way. Having cancer never becomes part of life. It's not that I don't believe it or refuse to accept it, but I feel I'm standing at the window of my life, looking in. I am undergoing cancer treatments. I have chemo drugs is my body. I'm counting the days until I loose my hair. And there's nothing I can do about it all. You're afraid of heights? To bad, cause you have to jump... It's all too twilight zone. It's impossible. This can't be my life.

Choke on this

The day after chemo, i.e. yesterday, was a bit of a never ending living nightmare. I was sick. So very sick. Nauseous and vomiting, and icky all over. I slept most of the day since I couldn't really stay upright. Then it got much worse at 7 pm. My tongue started doing odd things, falling back in my throat without me being able to control it. Then it swelled up and it was apparent that I was close to choking. Claire went to the neighbours --love you T-- and D drove me to the ER. I swear, the amount of traffic laws he broke was preposterous, but necessary. I ran in with my hands full of meds, saying "Help, I've had chemo and I'm having an allergic reaction!". Well let me tell you those are the magic ER words. Then injected me with all 4 anti histamines within minutes of arriving (thank god for the picc line) and I was fine within 5 minutes. Had to stay under observation until 2 am, and I now have an epipen. It seems I'm allergic to FEC, my type off chemo. HA! So very ironic. The oncologist will have to reassess it all. Not to worry, I will still get chemo, just another cocktail. I'm fine though. Just high on steroids and low or Benadril. Bad mixture, let me tell you.

Side effect territory

In case you're not Twittering or Facebooking, this is for you: I'm feeling sick to my stomach despite the 18$ a pills anti-nausea drug. Apparently though, vomiting is not acceptable so if I do, I'm to call my nurse to get a juicy shot. Bleh, feel nauseous and my mouth is pasty (fast multiplying cells that they are). As for the experience itself, it was fine, even pleasant. Nurses are nice and sympathetic and there are lots of windows and stuff. I cried of course, seeing the first drug go into my arm since it was bright red and well, what's to expect? But I didn't feel anything. I got to suck on a freezy during the second drug to protect my mouth cells, and had sinus issues with the third drug. All totaled, including blood test, we were there for 5 hours. The chemo drugs on their own took no more than 1:30. Now I'm in side effect territory and I feel sick. Need more drugs or my lunch will come out. Sooon.

Chemo's eve

Here we are, or I guess I should say here I am, on the eve of chemo. If you ask me, chemo is as near hell as I ever want to be. I know there are worse things to live through, and at least I know what it is and I'm confident I can cope with it. Actually, I can think of much, much worse things that are way closer to hell, so forget I said anything. It's still chemo though. Sigh. I'm in the dark feeling my way around something I think I might recognise. I feel like I'm waiting for a sentence to start. I've spent my whole life avoiding putting crap into myself and now I'm voluntarily letting them slow drip not one, but 3 different poisons in me, plus anti-nausea drugs. Yes people, I'm getting the "nasty" dose. I know it's "for my own good", but that fact doesn't make it any easier. After tomorrow, the me I know at this moment will no longer exist. "I" most likely will come back, but I doubt I'll hear or feel like me for awhile. With the nausea and vomitting, and the hair loss, and the mouth sores and the temporary menopausal side effects, I'll be so much fun. Sink or swim, sink or swim... I'll go to bed now, before I sink. I'll keep you posted as best I can. Promise.

Sci-fi like

My week is going to be different from what I had expected. Good thing I like surprises, because there are plenty going around right now. Got the flu on the weekend (a cruel joke, if you ask me since I got a glimpse of nasty nausea). Consequently, my chemo info session and the start of chemo was pushed back a week. The radiation consultation is still on for tomorrow though. I found out my hair could fall out as fast as 10 days after my first round, and I got my prosthetics. That was an odd, yet normal feeling experience, and they look surprisingly real. That should make me feel better this summer, with the tubes coming out of my arm and my bald head and all. I was thinking, I get myself an orange wig and I can be Leyloo from the Fifth Element --flat chested and sci-fi like. Maybe it's more realistic to raid my friend's closet for all her nice scarves. I'll ask...I have the cancer card, after all.

Crazy busy

This next week is going to be crazy busy. See a friend today and go to physiotherapy, therapy tomorrow and see family, brain tests on Thursday (for clinical trials) and see another friend, Friday I leave for the weekend to go see an old friend, Monday I get prosthetics measured and see more friends, Tuesday is dentist and the chemo-for-dummies session, Wednesday is eye doctor and the oncology-radiation appointment, and Thurday the 12th is the first round of chemo. That's what I said: CRAZY BUSY. At least I won't have much time to think about it all, I'll just be on automatic pilot. Amen for loved one.

F-ted if I do, F-ted if I don't

Yesterday was a long, busy, tough day with some distractions dispersed in it. For example, I went to yoga practice in the morning, I went to the pub in the evening and saw more friends afterwords. But, C de Lune had an ear doctor appointment, I had a bank appointment and the big one, a medical oncologist appointment. That wasn't fun. So much information to take about my life and my health at once, it's overwhelming. So this is what I know now. The tumor, crappy tumor, was 1.2 cm X 2cm. That was what that 1cm -2cm was all about. Still in stage 1 though. Now my odds? Not as good as 5 to 10% for my lifetime (that's on my chest area). Realistically, it's a 20 to 25% chance that cancer will come back anywhere in me in the next 10 years. Since I'm so young, that's a lot of 10 year periods in front of me. So they say that those odds are unacceptable and ever though I'm probably already cured, they need to make it better. That means 6 rounds of nasty, nasty chemo every 3 weeks and total of 4 different kinds of poison drugs. Yes, they will stick a porta-cath in me --a tube that goes from my arm to my heart artery and that stays there, to prevent poking me every time (otherwise it's 6 IV's and 12 blood tests at least). Yes, I will lose my hair, I will be tired for 6 months, my brain will get foggy, I might be naughteous -although they were quite confidend that they could stop that, and yes, I will be menoposal for up to 2 years --chemo side effect. That means if it's anything like PMS, I'll end up not being able to cope and screaming at my poor child all the time. So, my "prognosis": I'm screwed if I do, I'm screwed it I don't.

My cancer was hormonal receptive for both estrogen and progestorone, which I feared, but I was told that that's a good thing. I thought if is wasn't, it just didn't grow, but that's not accurate. It means that my tumour needed spikes of hormones to grow, and without those, it didn't. What causes spikes is puberty and pregnancy. I knew there was a reason I only has one child... Anyways, cancers that are not hormonal receptive grow out of control, without any natural regulators. I still don't know about the HER2 gene mutation, but if I have that, I'm looking at one full year of drugs.

The good news in all of this is I might be cured already, I'm healthy and strong, I have an awesome heart --I'm not kidding, the average heart performs at a 5o to 55% and mine is at 65%, I might still look good without hair, and I'm getting fresh new breasts in a year. But even so, I'm having trouble accepting my fate. It will take me awhile I think.

Let the next step begin

Tomorrow at lunch time is my first Chemo appointment --not the first treatment, but the first meeting with the medical oncologist who will tell me what's next. I have to go to the Cancer Centre at the General; it's the first time I actually have to go to a cancer specific place, and it's somewhat freaking me out. I might also get results for the hormone receptors and the gene mutation. That's stressful because I don't want to do hormone-blocking therapy. I don't want to be menopausal at 35. Because I decided on the double mastectomy, there's only a 5 to 10% chance the cancer will come back. Chemo must happen because the cancer was a grade 3 and because I'm so young --they want to flush my system of any potential cancerous cells, since I theoretically have a long life ahead of me. And if it ever does come back, god forbid, I will feel it right away, and so will doctors. The thing is, it's not something I'm worried about. I've read many women's experience with breast cancer, and so many of them were paralysed by the idea of it coming back. I'm not. I was healthy before and I plan to be even more healthy now: I'll never skip breakfast again, I'll go back to yoga, I'll run every week, I'll drink lots of water, I'll keep sleeping good nights, I'll keep smiling, I'll take vitamins and replace much of my coffee consumption with green tea. But hormone-blocking therapy, that's another thing. Loosing my breast was tolerable for me, it was a decision I don't regret. But menopause now, nuh hun. But I might not have a choice.

22 days later

3 weeks after surgery and I'm feeling fairly normal. I still feel lots of tension in my chest, tightness and pulling when I move my arms, but it's tolerable. My skin, however, hurts. Skin that used to be protected behind bra wires is now exposed to chaffing cotton. Ouch! I hope that goes away soon. And the itching! I want to scratch, please let me scratch. The problem is, I can't feel that skin, so scratching does nothing. Well, there are worse things to go through...like chemo. Yes, I'm scared, what gave it away? I can only hope it wont be as bad as I'm fearing. I found the surgery to be doable, maybe chemo won't kick my arse so much.

Pathology, pathology...

You are looking at a cancer free me! Yes, you read correctly. My pathology report from this morning indicates that the cancer is gone. It's out and it hadn't spread at all, anywhere. It was a well contained tumor, and my decision to get my breast removed means the margins are all clean, and there's only a 5 to 10% chance it will come back. But if it does, I'll feel it right away under my skin, no need for regular imaging. Even better, I went down a stage since the tumor was 1.2 cm as previously thought from the ultrasound, not 2.1 cm as the MRI had indicated I'm therefore officially a stage 1 --a good, early catch. Unfortunately though, my cancer was a grade 3, the most aggressive kind, not a grade 2. That's not a surprise, since breast cancer in younger women tends to me more aggressive. But it's gone, so whatever. However, I haven't found out if the cancer had hormonal receptors and/or had the whole aggressive HER2 gene mutation. If so, it most likely means more yucky, expensive treatments. The results of those tests will take about 2 more weeks.

This doesn't mark the end of my Cancer Chronicles though since, in my surgeon's words this morning, they will give me a "nasty dose of chemo" to make sure it doesn't come back. First appointment with the oncologist is in two weeks and first chemo treatment will be two weeks after that. That'll be fun...

Work day

Went to work today. Why? Because I get to see people I like, because it makes me feel normal, because I have no real stressful responsibilities and because I was going stir crazy at home. At least this way, I can help out at work where I'm needed without burning myself out. I'll take it easy and stay home if I don't feel up to it, but I'm fine. Really. If was funny to see colleagues do a double take today after seeing how healthy I look --I guess I don't look like I just had surgery. Good, because I doubt chemo will be this easy. Well, maybe this is not easy, but it's not impossible.

Thursday morning is my my post-op appointment. That's the dreaded pathology report day. I'll find out if I need more surgery for cancerous lymph nodes, and if my cancer was hormone receptive and fun stuff like that. I'm scared, but my gut tells me I'm fine. I hope my gut is right. Will keep you posted.

Coping, not courage

Many people in my life have been expressing their awe at my courage and strength. I often hear the words "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do what you're doing". My first thought in response to that is always "what other choice do I have? If I don't, I'm going to die". It's not courage or strength, it's more a form of surrender. I have given in to my reality and instead of fighting it, I'm living with it. Death still doesn't seem real though until 14 days ago, it was just a few years away. Maybe the fact that I'm healthy and physically fit helps keep my demons at bay long enough for me to care for my child, who doesn't care about a disease --she needs a school lunch, and bedtime stories and all the rest. Life actually does go on. I'm just good at coping, I guess. It's something I've perfected over my life, and it's serving me well. Besides, when you're smack in the middle of a situation, your brain does something to help you get through it. I'm sure my memories of it all will be much worse than reality is, so far.

Whole

Today was difficult. D had a dentist appointment, so off to the Glebe we went. As I waited for him, I ended up in a trendy baby store and I wasn't prepared to see all those nursing bras and supplies. I seriously doubt I'll have more children, a fact I knew going in to this, but it still hit me --I'm not normal anymore. I live with cancer and I no longer have my breasts. The other thing that was getting to me is the huge public awareness campain for breast cancer that's happening. I'm reminded everywhere of my state. Just today, I saw the ads on a passing truck, in the coffee shop and at the card store. After the appointment, I sat with D at the pub where we met to have lunch and I fought back tears while he said silly words like "chicken but" to stop me. I told him it wasn't the concept or even the reality of not having breasts that hurts. It's the fact that a part of myself is gone, a part that had a job, once. They took it away after I asked them to.

Phew, glad that's over!

A week later and I'm doing well. Less pain, less meds, less naps, but still as flat chested as ever. Really flat. Sigh, I keep forgetting and surprising myself in the mirror, although I know I'll get used to it quickly. I forget because I don't feel any different. Only, when I hug people, I still expect my chest to touch them before the rest of me. I should be able get prosthetics this week or next but I'm not sure I'll wear them much --I like this no bra thing I have going on. It feels like I've never worn bras in my life. Maybe I should get double D's just to see the look on people's face. Ha! Good fun. The steri-strips come off tomorrow, which means I can take a real bath and or shower (another good step) and soon I'll be able to sleep on my side... god I can't wait! Like in every good zombie movie, with every hurdle I cross I think "Phew, glad that's over!" I might even go to work next week...

Messed with the wrong chick

I hate drains. I think I'm healing because I now feel those suckers (literally) in my chest and they feel gross. The problem is the removal tomorrow is causing me serious anxiety. I'm afraid I might even throw up. I physically react to potential pain, like shivering, nausea and not feeling my legs. The bright side will be no more drains! Apparently I'll feel much better once they're gone, both physically and emotionally. The first thing I'm doing after is taking a bath, but my chest will have to stay dry --a challenge, but possible. Then a nap since I suspect the drain removal will have drained me. Ha! Other than that, I think I'm going great, considering. Went shopping and to a friend's house for dinner yesterday and walked Oli in the woods today. My body is still not working as it should, but I'm doing what I can to fix that. I even think I might go to the Dale Smith gallery tomorrow night if I feel up to it. Could use a nice artsy distraction with lots of people I like. I need to get D out of this house too --the stress is making him tired and he needs to get away from me a bit... really, who wouldn't at this point. He's being great though. I think I scare him right now, but he doesn't tell me. His usual not saying much and avoiding reality is quite useful at the moment.

Everywhere I go I see this ad for the breast cancer walk weekend in June. I think I'll sign up for it. Anyone interested? We could walk first, then drink copious amounts of booze (to steal words from a friend). Well not me since I'll be in chemo, but you could! :) Cancer f***ed with the wrong chick and I plan to bring it to its knees --if cancer had knees. No wait, I will sit back while cancer grows knees (it grew balls at some point, didn't it?), watch them get solid and healthy (yes, still talking about knees here), then I'll break them slowly! Ha! goooooood. When I'm done, cancer will be begging me to stop torturing it and I won't listen. I can be nasty when I'm mad and in this case, I'm livid.

Conquerer on the job

This is the 4th day of life without my beloved breasts (she says in Stewey's voice from the Family guy). The house is a mess and I cannot get the house boy to clean --he cooks and provides plenty of medication, which gives him a passing grade. However, how am I supposed to conquer the planet with the house is this state of disarray? I have just given the finger to Giada De Laurentis, the chesty chef on television, not only because she cooks food I cannot eat from my living room, but because she shamelessly flaunts her bouncy assets. We'll see who's flaunting in 25 years, sweatheart. My bandages have been changes to my disliking, and the scars are as nice as they could be --I will most likely be able to deceive the world's population by wearing a bikini in 2010. In the mean time, I'm plotting my revenge against the rogue cells that used my body as a party vessel for a year...amputation just doesn't seem adequate enough.

Pretty goofs

Here are piccs of me and C de Lune being goofs, making me pretty two days after surgery. I'm ok.

Surgeon of my dreams

I'm here. Alive. Not that I had a real doubt, but it's nice to put it out there. Didn't all go as planned, but nothing ever really does for me. Something about me being a child that almost wasn't, I guess. My surgeon bent lots of rules and got the whole team in for my urgent Saturday morning surgery. Suddenly I was in the OR, getting and IV and crying my eyes out from nerves and fear --and that was it, I was asleep. I also think I told my surgeon I love her. That's a good feeling to have for the person who, in many ways, holds your life in their hands. I don't remember much about waking up except I was sleepy and cried, and could hardly speak. My mom and dad were there, and the nurses were talking about calling D. He arrived shortly with C de Lune. Funny, she didn't think they had done anything to me yet and simply wondered why I was whispering.

I also remember my surgeon telling me that the surgery went well, that the cancer wasn't attached to anything --no chest wall, no muscle, nothing. But that the lymph nodes hadn't been biopsied yet, since no pathologists were working that day. She did take some out though, and from what they looked like, she doubts they are anything but clear --but I'll know that for sure a bit later. I might be cancer free right now, I don't know.

So, I'm achy but not in serious pain, I can walk around and use my arms a bit and type, obviously. I feel like I played pitcher in a major league baseball game without ever have practiced. The morphine side effects freak me out so I'm trying tylenol. Not to worry though, I'm not alone and there's plenty of meds to help.

Radioactive girl

My breasts get to live another day. We were at the hospital at 6:20 this morning and I went through all the motions until I got to the radioactive injection (which helps the surgeon locate my lymph nodes to be biopsied). In passing, I told the technician that I had a nuclear test yesterday, info he didn't like hearing. He tested me and of course, I'm still radioactive which means the dye he would inject in my breast would get lost in my radioactiveness. So, no surgery for me today. Will be tomorrow night, most likely, but not guarantied. My surgeon, who I LOVE, is doing everything she can to make this happen, since she knows all that's gone wrong for me so far. But it isn't bothering me. I feel it's the bad side of the coin, the ying to the yang that's coming after surgery. Bad luck with bureaucracy and procedures one thing, bad luck with health is another. I'll take the former any day. In the mean time, I'm surprisingly calm --something has happened to me. I guess I'm just ready. And although this heart test wasn't necessary for surgery, it helped me manage my fears. The technician who did the IV took time to show me what it looks like, how it works, and didn't hurt me at all. She even offered to take the suttle to the other hospital to put the IV in me before my surgery. Now that's service!

Now I have these criptic drawings on my chest that I'm not aloud to wash off. I thought sharing a photo would be inapropriate, so I made a drawing. The blue is what's drawn on my skin. My surgeon, who I LOVE (have I said that?), is very conciensious of esthetics and is going to make me a type of scar that will be pratically hidden by the new nipples. I'm very excited. I even got myself a braless dress at American Apparel. Good times ahead and I'm still smiling.

Ready

Oddly enough, I'm on this high of energy tonight. Feels like the pre-baby nesting syndrome. I want to clean my car in the snow, in my bathing suit --that's how much energy I have. Maybe just a run on the treadmill will do. I'm debating between Abba and NIN as running music --angry or happy. Happy or angry. ANGRY! Yes. Will make me run faster. Good. Will run myself silly, then eat chocolate cake, then take my last bath in 10 days (yeah, yeah, stinky girl), then write a list for D and stick it on the fridge, then take that magic pill my doctor prescribed. One pill in a pill container. That should be interesting.

C de Lune said goodbye to my breasts earlier. She has more of a relationship with them than I ever had. She was fed, comforted and made strong by them for a full baby year. She loves them and has never hid it (which can be inconvenient at best). As I was sitting at dinner, she gave me hugs, then she cupped my breast, gave little kisses on my shirt and said "bye bye sein à maman!" Awesome. They can go now. I don't need them anymore. Neither does she.

2 dodos to go

2 dodos (sleeps) to go before D day. It appears the nuclear cardiac test is routine. Phew! I wish they said that on the phone when they leave messages for these tests. I'm finding out that now that I'm "sick", every medical procedure I'm asked to take freaks me out, I guess because it might mean I'm sicker than I thought. Anyways, that's tomorrow afternoon and it's eating up half my last day of work, as if I had nothing else to do!

This weekend was lots of fun. On Saturday night, I went out with my friend L to a pub that reminds me of London pubs. I talked and she drank while this guy at the bar checked me out, and not in a subtle way. I'll take it while it lasts since I know this summer, boys will be looking at my bauld head. Then on Sunday, I went to Barrymore's 80s night with work friends. Blew off plenty of steam and maybe even confused the cancer cells a bit --"what's this? I thought we were in 2009! We're in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Sigh, that would be a nice 80s induced miracle.

I asked people at work to give me a book they've loved. Not one they want me to read, but one they really loved. Books will keep me busy for awhile. Someone suggested I post reviews of them on my blog...possible. Depends how much energy it takes.

Cancer Toggle

I'm toggling between hard core denial and pee myself fear these days. I'm still having trouble accepting that this is me I'm talking about and that I'm actually going to have to go through with this in 4 sleeps. No trap door escape possible for me, unless the treatments ARE the trap door to the rest of my life. It's just insane. Still very Twilight Zone since I often don't really see what the big deal is --it's what I'm faced with and life goes on (I guess that's the denial par of it). Then at night I lie in bed thinking of all the different procedures I'm to face and the fear I'll feel and I loose it. Although, I do like the idea that I could wake up practically cancer free in 4 days. There's no turning back now. I do, or I die. Sigh.

Enough testing already

Tonight, I'm on edge. Had a great day but when I got home, there was another medical message waiting for me on the machine. It appears that a cardiologist wants me to go for a two hour nuclear cardiac test next week, before my surgery. That's all I really know, but I assume my EKG (or whatever) from last Wednesday wasn't normal --the booking nurse referred to that pre-op appointment. Sigh. I'm at the point where I'm expecting someone to tell me I'm dying. I mean really, if you undergo enough tests, they will find something wrong with you. For me, this means I must do follow up tests for my skull and my hip bones, and now my heart. Come on! My pulse is at 64. My oxigen at 100%. My blood pressure at 110/60 --actually, after rushing Wednesday morning it was at 117/65 --AFTER RUSHING! It's stupid and unfair...I can run circles around most people I know, but that's nothing apparently, since I'm still to wait in fear. F*&! Enough already.

All the gory details

So I have gory details, anyone interested? No? Too bad! As my colleague D said at work "I'm just that kind of girl". So if you have a weak stomack, look away --you know who you are.

After I arrive for surgery on Thursday, I will be prepped, sedated (thank god), injected with die, frozen from the neck to the waist (awesome) then put to sleep. I will wake up 2 hours later all morphined up. The nurses will talk to me to make sure I'm still alive (that will be annoying) and ask me to take deep breaths (um, won't my chest hurt... a lot?). Oh well, whatever. I should sleep most of the afternoon and evening, and I go home the next day --with drains for blood and fluid. What kind of fluid you ask? Beats me. All I know is the tubes will be sewed to my skin (gag!) and I will have to empty them and keep track of the amounts. This sounds vaguely familiar, like breastfeeding, just gross and not satisfying. They will be coming out in about 5 days --that should be interesting. I can't lift anything for awhile but I'm sure I'll be able to type! The home nurses will be coming to see me and inject me with good stuff if I need it. You should see my prescription --full of insane stuff.

Ripple effect

I was so mad yesterday when I wrote a post, that a friend suggested I not post it. Now that I've calmed down, I still feel the need to talk about it, so here is it--just a bit modified.

Cancer is turning out to have rippling effects I never, ever expected. This last weekend was particularly difficult, with D handing me lorazopam to calm me down when needed. I mean, what can he say to help control my fears? No much. Well yesterday, I got into the worst even fight with a member of my family, on the phone, from work nonetheless --very professional. Sigh. They let me have it when they didn't hear what they wanted to hear about my plans. I don't think I have ever talked to them like that, like all censoring is gone, like I don't have time to be polite. Not something I ever want to have to go through again, but it was raw and honest --still, I don't think they see it that way. I know they feel powerless like a lot of people in my life, and they're not coping well. But I didn't do cancer to them, I didn't do cancer to anyone. Cancer just happened...to me. I think they're trying to do anything and everything to predict what could hurt me and try to prevent it, like telling me to give up my dog in case he jumps up at me after surgery. But instead of helping, it just added to my already overwhelming stuff. And like my friend J said, now that I'm in crisis, some people are having trouble accepting that I'm not who they want me to be in these moments.

Pre-op goodness

Tomorrow is my 4 hour long pre-op appointment at the Queensway Carleton Hospital, at 8:40. I will be seeing a nurse (for my medical history), a physiotherapist (for post surgery fun), home services (to plan for anything that will need to be replaced or drained --I know, gross), get a blood test and an EKG? --anyway, a heart test. Good holesome goodness. I'm bringing my ipod, my book and some magazines...oh and my patience.

Monday morning is an ultrasound and two x-rays, and on Thursday I have to be at the hospital at 6:30 for my surgery --are they kidding? That's the middle of the night for me! I need to get injected with dye again and prepped, then first one in. I should be out of surgery by mid-afternoon. Apparently, the pain killers are awesome...better be or I will be letting them know...loudly. Next day I go home with parents and my friend L will keep me company if she can. We put Oli in a kennel for the weekend, lucky dog won't want to come home! D should be home with me starting on that Monday, for awhile.