tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71118972453881060532023-11-16T08:23:18.542-05:00My C WordHow the hell does breast cancer happen? Since I'm surrounded by people I love, I thought I would regularly tell you how I am in one easy blog swoop instead of repeating the same story over, and over, and over...I'm doing this a bit for you, a bit for C. de Lune, and a lot for me. It's already helping. Thanks for reading.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-63055495447639358052009-11-11T08:24:00.005-05:002009-11-11T10:03:13.743-05:00One year anniversaryThis 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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://moreoflessblog.blogspot.com/">MoreofLess blog</a> though. Thank you for reading.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-60368903037341294292009-10-10T10:28:00.004-04:002009-10-14T20:37:48.575-04:00Breast cancer awarenessIt'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: <br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-21877919242445070702009-10-02T13:20:00.003-04:002009-10-02T13:56:14.619-04:00Yes, I'm deflatedIt'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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-15447759258540181342009-09-28T09:54:00.005-04:002009-09-28T10:35:55.136-04:00Work, hair and lots of doctorsMy 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. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3YZXOp2q3zkpBozthjIrpivJuc6dOcW6ng1Qy9H9FpBZXFFeDPaDpRt3Y54VuuN8sot4n7ZA7dSwmDtxIYxPk7DrTi-XaxOQE9QacseG69z6uHUZhpLupriQEIK81ejIvZ5XMBULwU5G/s1600-h/DSCN0995.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3YZXOp2q3zkpBozthjIrpivJuc6dOcW6ng1Qy9H9FpBZXFFeDPaDpRt3Y54VuuN8sot4n7ZA7dSwmDtxIYxPk7DrTi-XaxOQE9QacseG69z6uHUZhpLupriQEIK81ejIvZ5XMBULwU5G/s200/DSCN0995.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386525201502962706" /></a>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. <br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-25348071013195801632009-09-20T15:00:00.005-04:002009-09-20T16:50:32.563-04:00Paris therapy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubYt6ew0xCUH_-mhXsUEfwVazKq0jvvoEodTNbJZUKlitQYx9iI0aXBpytIUSlXrg-2lPHXIxq7o9_cNayFKfHbY8opemUvKMZhW2XGjvkmEqbEREitCt6HWUVK0O_KVNZMKdnI0vEuS_/s1600-h/DSCN0895.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubYt6ew0xCUH_-mhXsUEfwVazKq0jvvoEodTNbJZUKlitQYx9iI0aXBpytIUSlXrg-2lPHXIxq7o9_cNayFKfHbY8opemUvKMZhW2XGjvkmEqbEREitCt6HWUVK0O_KVNZMKdnI0vEuS_/s200/DSCN0895.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383643989063801298" /></a> 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 <a href="http://moreoflessblog.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html">MoreofLess</a> for more info. <br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-1735868088508153052009-09-03T21:34:00.011-04:002009-09-04T13:13:49.161-04:00The road to sanityThere are 3 reasons I feel better today.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-53412590602519071352009-09-01T08:17:00.000-04:002009-09-01T09:31:37.325-04:00Avoidance, 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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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/.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-29488354877502894522009-08-26T21:15:00.000-04:002009-08-27T15:33:43.572-04:00I hate BPAHas 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 <a href="http://www.treehugger.com/files/2009/08/find-a-bpa-free-bottle.php">Treehugger</a> and <a href="http://realgreengirl.blogspot.com/">RealGreenGirl</a>.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-74454461553660578832009-08-22T17:22:00.000-04:002009-08-27T15:37:12.913-04:00La vie en rose<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCn_R_8lFuQ3HtnddpuRmgfPLs-SwMeYipdK7ekX-BGmqu01_CiCFWt2wvwlBtRh09bWkPlyy9H-wtXA84NExz3edPV_rwgK2e7ZeBqVOqzwPygUt_8ygOzdB1pXzTJjtspkSfy-sqX8Oh/s1600-h/pink3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCn_R_8lFuQ3HtnddpuRmgfPLs-SwMeYipdK7ekX-BGmqu01_CiCFWt2wvwlBtRh09bWkPlyy9H-wtXA84NExz3edPV_rwgK2e7ZeBqVOqzwPygUt_8ygOzdB1pXzTJjtspkSfy-sqX8Oh/s200/pink3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372904181903617602" border="0" /></a>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.<br /><br />Not sure about Fifth-Element orange though (Thanks Jedidja).Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-28505967756760310072009-08-14T10:24:00.001-04:002009-08-14T11:26:26.210-04:00One more time around the cancer merry-go-roundIt 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-76910140961610743982009-08-12T17:34:00.000-04:002009-08-12T19:50:37.439-04:00Same old, same oldThere 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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br />-Before my double mastectomy, there was a 60%-65% chance I would get cancer again in my breasts.<br />-After the mastectomy, there is a 10%-15% chance I will get breast cancer again in the remaining breast tissue (skin, muscle).<br /><br />In addition, and here is where it gets complicated:<br />-Before chemo, there was a 60% change I could get cancer again. Anywhere. Think about it. 60% is a passing grade in school.<br />-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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-6891210422656729052009-08-10T20:29:00.001-04:002009-08-10T21:15:26.002-04:00Closure 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-68072828694138012822009-07-23T21:22:00.000-04:002009-07-23T21:24:30.538-04:00Blue is the only colour3 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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />Have I wallowed enough? I hope that soon I won't feel the need to. I've gotta be in here somewhere...Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-71484062919786184822009-07-11T21:23:00.000-04:002009-07-11T21:59:40.090-04:00Mean beached whaleSo 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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-28430681148814949442009-07-09T16:08:00.000-04:002009-07-09T16:23:40.432-04:00Tunnel, 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. <br /><br />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...Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-19299671356851798772009-07-02T21:09:00.000-04:002009-07-02T21:37:21.803-04:00Chemo round #last-and-never-againTomorrow 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-1123534914544971672009-06-26T13:16:00.000-04:002009-06-26T13:32:21.308-04:00Need to do somethingI 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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-33090647958746968912009-06-22T20:01:00.001-04:002009-06-23T10:46:54.682-04:0010 laps for lifeFriday 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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-60570896896751156852009-06-17T09:22:00.000-04:002009-06-17T09:47:00.113-04:00Doing alrightThis 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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-12489681701109764162009-06-11T21:03:00.000-04:002009-06-11T21:15:24.510-04:00One to goChemo 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 :). <br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-51916498840986132092009-06-04T10:33:00.000-04:002009-06-05T17:02:17.795-04:00Cash to end cancerWent 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-78370772225678620282009-06-01T14:44:00.000-04:002009-06-01T21:48:58.083-04:00Bubble girlThis 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.<br /><br />Two more good things:<br />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.<br /><br />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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-11951848505783638602009-05-27T20:34:00.000-04:002009-05-27T20:54:08.615-04:00Nightmare #4This 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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-10347661755831625062009-05-24T20:55:00.000-04:002009-05-24T21:09:32.655-04:00Head downWell, 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.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7111897245388106053.post-22332851300241164142009-05-22T16:50:00.001-04:002009-05-22T16:56:35.606-04:00Good dayI'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...Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02402553128039747659noreply@blogger.com0