Waiting For My Return

There are things I shouldn't say out loud.  I'm not superstitious but I've lived long enough to know that sometimes our thoughts are just a GPS for the next disaster in our lives.   Chaos follows like a heat seeking missile.
So.  As you know, I have breast cancer.  Or I had breast cancer.  I'm not sure yet as I am still under the care of three doctors: my oncologist who handled the chemical annihilation of my tumor, or at least made it retreat, my surgeon who physically evicted the shrunken remains, and then again a week later scooped out more questionable tissue.  And then again, a third time had to do some major housekeeping when a stubborn staph infection not only made me sick enough for a five day hospital stay, it dug in, multiplied and a month later I presented with an inflamed and oozy boob.  The last surgery reduced the volume of tissue in my breast by at least half and has taken more than two months to heal.  But I'm glad for the procedure which eliminated my infection.
And then there is my radiologist whose silent, invisible beams fried any microscopic cells of tumor and gave my left boob a nice Tahiti-like tan.  All my doctors are women.  Elegant, super-smart, beautiful women.  They leave me in awe.  I'm almost grateful for the whole cancer experience just so I can say that I know them.  Almost.
So I can't be sure if I can be considered a survivor yet or not.  It might be too early to claim such a victory though I have never thought this cancer would kill me.  I thought that chemo might .. 
Anyway, now the chemo is behind me, the surgeries are done, the radiation complete and as soon as my incision from my last surgery completely healed, I guess that it's a logical assumption that I am done.  Cancer free.  A survivor.
My hair has grown back in as curly as a toddler's.  The hair on the rest of me has returned as well, in some places (like my chin) with a vengeance.  Perhaps it's been encouraged by my estrogen blockers which I started taking as an extra step in preventing my cancer's recurrence.  The toxic effect of chemo still shows in my sickly, gray and peeling toe nails.  But the tiniest half moon of healthy pink tissue promises new nails will be normal and should arrive just in time for barefoot weather.
I still feel fatigue and wonder if it is a permanent part of my world.  I still feel confused at times and unable to focus on tasks.  The first time I tried (unsuccessfully) to drive I was overcome with how much of my brain was required to just steer and push the gas pedal.
I used to be creative and loved to paint, thinking someday (like about now), I'd be making paintings that others would love and buy and I could continue my quiet little life and finance my poultry obsession here on the dirt road. 
I used to wake at dawn, anxious to get outside to see what the night visitors had left me:  little shorthand notes in raccoon  paw and rabbit feet and punctuated with exclamation points drug by the armadillo's tail.
I used to love watching the sun come up at watermelon hill.  But that's closed to me now as poacher's repeated intrusion made the owner string up a wire gap with a "no trespassing" sign.  It doesn't matter.  I no longer have the inclination to go there, at dawn or any other time of day.
It's as though a part of me (and a large part at that) has just had the pilot light go out.   I've tried not to think of it too much but considering where I am calendar-wise in my treatment, it's starting to concern me.  Those closest to me say I am expecting too much.   Am I?  Or have those parts of me who loved the morning sun and walks in the woods and seeing where a smear of paint would eventually carry me died ... like my toenails?  
I get urges to paint but then I talk myself out of it.  Can I tell you a secret?  What if ... what if I start to paint and actually show some promise .. and start to do well and then my cancer comes back?   What if my cancer comes back and takes it all away.   Or what if whatever talent I used to have fell away with my hair .. and my eyebrows .. and my eyelashes?  Maybe it's just easier and safer and wiser to keep that box closed. 
But if I do not create or do not find joy in found feathers ... if I am not in awe of every change of every season or aware, at a cellular level, of the beauty just outside my door .. who am I?
I no longer look like myself.  Yes, I have hair and eyelashes and eyebrows.  But this involuntary makeover has left me older, worn and weary.   Being ungrateful makes me feel guilty so I play up my pride in my new curly locks and I'm learning to use eyeliner to plump up my thin eyelashes.  
I tell everyone how much better I feel ... and I do.  Chemo makes you sick as a dog, so yes, I do feel better.  But ... not like me.  I refuse to be depressed about it.  Most days.  
I don't know what is more frightening:  having my cancer recur with increased vim and vigor or being "cured" and still never feeling like myself.  In my 54 years, I've adapted so many times to so many new situations and circumstances.  I've picked myself up and brushed myself off more times than I care to count. 
Would it be so wrong then to just lie here, in the dirt, for a little while?
I wonder if the raccoons and rabbits will mind or if the armadillo will drag his tail across my face as I lie here ... and wait for my return.

"Are you still sick?"

That's what my sweet Hannah asked as she crawled up in my lap yesterday.  She's only six but she's been so compassionate and sweet this past year while I've struggled with all the effects of cancer treatment.  When I lost my hair she didn't bat an eye -- she completely accepted and loved the pale, weak version of her Mammadee.  She understood that I couldn't pick her up and, after surgery, that she had to be very careful how she hugged me.  She's never questioned my appearance or how dramatically different our times together have been the past year.

But yesterday, she posed the question, "Are you still sick?"  I told her that I was getting better every day.  I said, "Haven't you noticed how my hair has grown?"  She smiled and ran her fingers through my curls, then she hugged me tight and said, "I love you!"

Ahhh, Hannah.  If you only knew what good medicine that is. 

My dearly loved home care nurses all say that I probably have at least two more weeks with "Hoover" the wound vac.  If so, that will be nine weeks instead of the initially prescribed five.  I see my surgeon on Wednesday, so we'll find out then.  I'm grateful for the healing intervention of the vacuum but so ready to be free of "Hoover's" presence.  

I'll see my radiologist in December and my oncologist in February.  The doctor appointments are winding down.  I am, apparently, cancer free but my stamina and strength are far from where they were even a year ago.  Intellectually, I know full recovery will take time.  More time.  More patience.  But I guess if a six year old can handle the snail's pace of my recovery ... I should be able to deal with it as well!

What do VACUUMS and HONEYBEES have in common?

ME!

Well, thank God for honey bees. Specifically bees from New Zealand and Australia who feed on Manuka and Jellybush. It seems their honey has special properties that aid in healing stubborn or deep wounds.


You'll remember that I originally had surgery to remove Herschel (the rat bastard) on 6/28.  A week later, I had another surgery to remove more tissue to ensure that we had "clean margins".  And then on 9/9 a massive infection sent me to the hospital for five days.  That infection wasn't cleared and resurfaced on 10/9.  The surgeon said the best method of cleaning it up was aggressive.  And I went back into surgery on 10/14 to reopen and flush the wound.  I was sent home with a wound vac and home care nursing three times a week.

Yesterday was my surgical followup visit and a dressing change from an MDA wound care nurse. The day of surgery, the surgeon said she removed a lot of damaged tissue and scar tissue but we really didn't talk about the dimensions of my wound or go into great length on the process of the wound vac. It didn't matter .. it had to be done. Now I know it was wise not to disclose all the gory details as I might just run for the hills!

My home care nurses measure my wound each visit but every Monday, Wednesday and Friday it seemed things were enlarging, not shrinking, as is the plan. But yesterday I found out that my surgeon had created the "tunnel" to remove scar tissue to the depth of 11 centimeters. (That's nearly 4.5 inches for those of us stuck with the ruler we grew up with.)  Yesterday, the nurse measured this tunnel at 8.2 centimeters so are ARE making progress.

My wound measurements yesterday were 2.5" long x 1' wide x 1.75" deep. This is the wound that runs from 1 o'clock to 4 o'clock on the outer perimeter and, within this, the "tunnel" runs behind the nipple for 3.25 inches. All of these openings are stuffed with sponges and dressed with a clear bandage that is perforated and then attached to a vacuum (small ouch) which not only pulls the tissues together and increases circulation, it removes excess fluids that might inhibit clean healing. Been THERE, done THAT .. don't want to go there again.

Three times a week a nurse comes to remove the dressing, detaches the vacuum and goes in after the sponges. I won't lie to you, it is the most painful thing I have ever experienced. Even pre-medicating with pain meds doesn't do much. But yesterday, the wound nurse put lidocaine on a swab and inserted it in the deepest part of the wound for 30 minutes before attempting to re-dress. And she used a different packing material - softer, more pliable and moist. And (and this is the really cool part), she added "Medihoney" to the sponges. I remember reading about the healing properties of honey but the idea of bees in New Zealand and Australia aiding in MY healing process really turns me on. 

Not much else does these days, I admit. I'm so tired of being tired and the idea of going through all this pain with no real evidence of healing was extremely discouraging. Finding out yesterday that the "tunnel" had actually been deeper only two weeks ago changed my attitude significantly. I can do this .. I CAN do this.

Would I be going through all this if there hadn't been a MRSA infection? No. Should I have been more forceful in discussing the initial swelling and inflammation with my surgeon? Possibly. Does everything happen for a reason. Yep. 

I am as sick of talking about this as you are of hearing about it. I'm supposed to be WELL by now (my time frame - no one elses!) I completed all my cancer treatments and followed every doctor's order. But it is what it is and if this little blog helps someone else here on Planet Earth, then I have accomplished my goal in sharing my experience. I guess it's not over till the fat lady sings. Stay tuned ..

An Anniversary Of Sorts ...

A year ago today my life took a bit of a left turn here on The Dirt Road. I found the lump in my breast that would later be named "Herschel". All very timely considering it was "Breast Cancer Awareness month".  And only a couple of days after my beloved country doc adamantly suggested I get my first mammogram behind me. After all, I was 53 and overdue for a baseline.

All that and some angelic voices in my ear told me to check myself in the shower that day. And when there was no denying the presence of some unwelcome "thing" in my breast, I took the first step on this journey. Clearly, I was anxious as indicated by my blog posts  "Waxing Gibbous" and "Behind every cloud". I knew I had a hard year ahead of me but it hasn't been all bad.

But, here, on January 7th, just two days after my first chemo treatment, you can see all the fear in my eyes. I need not have worried. God took care of me all along the way. He opened doors and created blessings I could never have imagined on my own. I found out a lot things about myself, my marriage, my precious family, my community, my faith.

Some of life's experiences had taught me to be mistrustful.  I had to learn to let go and depend on others.  There was no way I could shoulder this all on my own and I was humbled by the number of people willing to help me share this experience.  Never, ever doubt the power of these five words:  "I am praying for you."  Whatever your beliefs are, to know that someone has petitioned God's ear on your behalf is so comforting, so encouraging and so very necessary when you realize you can't fix what is wrong.  But He can.


Sixteen chemo treatments, three surgeries, 30 radiation treatments and one unexpected hospital stay are now behind me.  As I write this, I am wearing a "wound vac" to hopefully rid my body of any and all infection that  has been my nemesis for the last month.  I am so grateful that I live in an age of antibiotics and the technology that has created a cure for me.  I'm grateful for all the years my doctors and nurses and technicians spent studying for their professions.   I'm grateful for the funding that provided my care - every penny of it.  All this and a thousand other things, I am grateful for.


Cancer is not a death sentence.  For me it has been a strange, unexpected, difficult, often nerve wracking, disturbing gift.   Now that I am on this side of it, I can appreciate how it has fine tuned my life, deepened my love, increased my faith and sharpened my vision.  I might be a little worse for the wear, but I wouldn't change places with anybody!

Even if my hair is trying to be curly!

Drum Roll .......

Last Radiation Treatment

Greetings from this side of cancer treatment! It's been a while, I know, but for the longest time there just wasn't much to tell. Still, I felt I should post something just to let you know that I haven't run off to join the circus. Not that it hasn't crossed my mind.

To recap, I had surgery to remove my much-reduced tumor on June 28th and then a second surgery to acquire a proper cancer-free margin on July 8th. Surgery was not bad and the most discomfort I felt was from my lymph node dissection incision that took up most of my arm pit. My surgeon was pleased with the results and set me up to start radiation on August 8th. After the "marking" session (my last post), I started treatment on the 9th and was scheduled for thirty daily radiation treatments over six weeks.

The radiation itself was painless. The only discomfort I felt was stretching those tender tissues under my arm to get into the required "Hollywood" pose which exposed both incisions (lymph node and breast) to the probing eye of the radiation machine. Everything was rocking along nicely for a couple of weeks when I realized I felt something new in my left breast. Not pain. There was some swelling which I attributed to surgery and healing and some feeling of fullness, but no pain. Still, on August 15th I mentioned it to Dr. S. during our weekly Monday visits.

Darlene & Dr. S.

She immediately pulled up an image that showed a large volume of fluid that had accumulated in my left breast. She told me I had a seroma and that I should see my surgeon to have it drained. So, obedient soul that I am ... I made an appointment to see Dr B. on August 24th.

Dr. B's assistant told me via telephone that the doctor's philosophy on seromas was to let nature take its course. Removing a tumor created a void that the body wanted to fill, and in this case, with fluid. Removing the fluid not only risked introducing an infection, it also set the body up to refill the void. She said this was a normal reaction to surgery and that unless I started having pain, a fever or if the seroma interfered with radiation, she would just let things be. And, August 24th, those were all the things that Dr. B. stated. It was no big deal unless there was pain or fever. Okey dokey then.

For the next two weeks I watched my breast grow larger wondering if there was a maximum capacity before the body would finally relent and suck all this fluid back up. We made jokes at radiation about "Mt. Biggietata" and while I was uncomfortable .. I still couldn't say I was in pain. Not really.

But that all changed on Sept. 9th. I woke up feeling like I had the flu. Weak, feverish and just plain yucky. I had an appointment before radiation with the physical therapist but she realized I wasn't feeling well, and cut her evaluation short. I asked the nurse to check my temp and, sure enough, I had a fever of 101 degrees. After radiation, Ashley came to pick me up as I had driven myself and neither of us felt I was well enough to drive back to her house. I went to bed immediately and slept all afternoon. Dave arrived (presumably to take me home for the weekend) and I barely noticed. Ashley (God love her!) was in contact with my radiologist's office all afternoon and when my temperature spiked at almost 104 degrees, Dr. S. told her she should take me to M. D. Anderson's ER immediately.

I was so sick I didn't care what they did to me. I had 97 blood draws (give or take), a very painful ultrasound and a chest x-ray. Twelve hours after arriving, I was admitted. Ash never left my side. I was told my surgeon was out of town but that my infected seroma would be drained by MDA staff in her absence. But, upon landing back in Houston, my surgeon checked her emails, saw that I was admitted and called to halt the drain. She stopped by to see me before even going home from the airport. Despite my fever and symptoms, she still wasn't convinced I had a breast infection and wanted to continue the IV antibiotics while she searched for the true culprit.

Sunday, she came back to see me and again on Monday morning when I finally told her I had reached my tolerance level. My breast was huge, red, hot to the touch and clearly infected. She agreed to drain it that afternoon and, as promised arrived with a resident to do just that at 4:30 pm.

I spare you the details, but I will tell you this: the catheter they inserted (ouch!) was a quarter or less in diameter of a soda straw. In less than a minute, I drained over 13 ounces of disgusting fluid. Within 24 hours .. I had drained over 20 ounces. The relief I felt was immediate and I knew I was on my way to recovery.

I was hospitalized for five days and the culture of my infection confirmed that it was MRSA - a staph infection that used to be highly resistant to the usual antibiotics but that now, thankfully, is treated easily with oral antibiotics. Still, it's a highly contagious infection and required stringent gowning and gloving and isolation procedures. I completed my antibiotics and will get a nasal swab at my next appointment to be sure that I am MRSA free so that it can been expunged (truly!) from my medical record. I swear - I feel like a biological felon!

So, as soon as I was released from the hospital, I had to go right back to radiation and, of course, they had to take extra precautions due to my infected, nasty state. It was all very humiliating but we all laughed through it. My radiation fairies, Karrie and Sajan, were just awesome. So was my nurse, Laura. She went above and beyond the call of duty.

Karrie, Darlene, Sajan & Laura

Ringing the bell!

Ringing the bell with Molly & Trey

Despite the set back from the infection, I completed radiation (and rang the bell!) on September 23rd. I still have the drain but hope to have it removed this week as I am now draining less than an ounce per day. Of course, the week after I finished radiation treatment I hoped to get my life back. On Monday. Morning. When my feet hit the floor ... Instead, I was weak and sleepy and useless the whole week.

The last five radiation treatments are called "The Boost". They are super-charged, highly focused intense beams that, apparently, pull the plug on whatever energy you have managed to hold on to. Getting my life back, regaining any stamina and feeling "normal" was clearly going to take some time.

More time.

And so, here we are ... chemo, surgery and radiation are all behind me. All that is left now are the routine visits for blood work, CT scans, x-rays, ultra sounds and mammograms that will confirm I am cancer free and, ultimately, alert my docs to any recurrance. I'll have to take an estrogen blocker for five years as my tumor was estrogen responsive. I will likely start that in mid-October when have my next appointments for bloodwork, CT scan and x-ray and then, the following day, see my oncologist for the "all clear" report that I am so sure will come.

So, I guess that just about wraps this up!

I'll check in from time to time when there is something to tell .. or to record some major epiphany I've had regarding my cancer experience. I know you won't want to miss that!

Till then, I will close with this:

I can't imagine having this experience without the loving support of my husband, Dave. He has been on guard, side-by-side, and holding my hand through almost every single experience. He brought cold rags, chicken noodle soup, laughter and those premium, grade A hugs that only he can give. When he couldn't be there Ashley, my beautiful girl, took up all the slack and then some. During radiation, she provided a beautiful, comfortable room for me in her home, the boundless entertainment of Trey and Molly, the awesome breakfast creations (and jalapeno tuna!) made by Chef Hooch, "ice cones", encouragement, transporation, love and ICE CREAM SANDWICHES. Dave's aunt and uncle generously provided many overnights at their home for us (and Maggie!) during my chemo phase.  Dave and I will always be grateful for our family and friends who have been a constant, abiding source of encouragement, love, prayers, giggles and kicks in the pants when I needed them. I know I will be grateful until the day I die ... like, in forty years or so. (Smile.)

Herschel, who?

Molly & Papa Dave
The End

Going where no man has gone before. Kinda.

It felt like I was on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. I'm fascinated by the science of all this medicine! My Number One is named Thomas and for the next six weeks we will be best friends. After all .. he's seen my girls in all their damaged glory. I don't start radiation until Monday but before you can wear the prom dress you have to be fitted, right? Thursday all the measurements were taken and when I left I looked like a kindergarten art project.

This is not me doing my "Hollywood" pose ... this is me trying not to think about how stretched my poor arm pit (lymph node dissection ya'll!) is while Thomas takes lots and lots of measurements to assure that the radiation beam will be focused only on my tumor site (1 o'clock on my left boobie) and my arm pit (where two of the twenty six lymph nodes were cancerous).

Besides the paint pen (pink and blue!) scribbled all over my torso and left breast, I also was the lucky recipient of four tiny black dot tattoos which will also aid in placement of the radiation beam. Because my heart is close to my chest wall my radiation treatment becomes slightly more complicated. Special pains must be taken to be sure that the radiation beam doesn't damage my heart so later in the treatment plan, they will turm me up on my right side so that the beam penetrates my breast, but misses my ticker. I'll have to be "re-marked" for those sessions (probably weeks 4, 5 & 6).

At first the radiation beam will be "broad spectrum" and as time goes by will become more concentrated. And it's during this time that I am likely to experience some burning. It's been described to me as being similar to a bad sunburn but I've also been warned that blistering can occur. Here's hoping my superwoman powers haven't left me just yet ... we must perservere!

And for my next trick ....

Progress

Never in my life did I think that being able to put my hand on my head would fill me with such a sense of accomplishment ... or relief.

Tomorrow we head to The Woodlands and the MDA satellite center for radiation. It's just a CT scan, measuring and tattooing session (three little dots for alignment), and I will be asked to raise my wanky arm over my head. Three weeks ago getting my arm to shoulder level was excruciating. But I've been doing my exercises and stretching muscles and tendons and, though it has been unpleasant, at least it's been productive.

I am so proud of me! :o)

RELEASED! SPRUNG! OUTTAH HERE!

On July 20th, I saw Dr. B, my surgical oncologist, for post op checkup. She came into my exam room beaming with a copy of my final pathology report indicating an "all clear". This means that, barring any problems with my still healing incisions, I am now released from her care. And my incisions are healing beautifully.

Her nurse removed the drain from my side and I was surprised to learn there was about 12" of tubing inside me! Once it was out (and it didn't hurt a bit), I felt so much more comfortable. The stitches holding the tubing in place were the reason for much of my discomfort .. and the fact that I had pulled on it pretty hard (by accident, trust me!) sure didn't help matters. Sleeping with four feet of tube is not easy. I was so afraid I was going to get all tangled up in it despite my rather limited ability to move around much after surgery. Anyway, getting rid of the drain was cause for celebration! I expressed my heartfelt gratitude for her wonderful care and said my goodbyes to Dr. B. I feel very fortunate that she was my surgeon.

We stayed overnight in The Woodlands as I had an appointment with my new radiologist the folowing day. Luckily, M. D. Anderson has a satellite center at St. Luke's hospital so I will be able to stay with Ashley and take all my radiation treatments without having to go downtown. Since I have six weeks of daily treatments .. that is a HUGE blessing.

So on the 21st we met Dr. S and her staff. I feel very comfortable being in her care for the next couple of months. Since I was less than two weeks out of my second surgery, radiation won't start for a few weeks. And, due to my reduced mobility because of recent surgery, I wasn't able to complete the simulation where they mark me (a tattoo!!) or fit me to my "cradle" which will assure that I am laying in the same position for every treatment. Between now and August 4th, I will exercise my left arm to assure more range of motion and flexibility allowing me to lay still, with my left arm extended over my head and my head turned over my right shoulder.

Once that appointment is behind me, I will begin radiation on August 8th and continue, Monday through Friday until September 16th. I'll stay in Willis Monday - Thursday and come home on Friday after my treatment. Dave and I have never been apart more than a couple of days but if anyone deserves a break from me ... it's got to be Saint Dave! He was an amazing nurse during my surgical phase. I couldn't have asked for him to be kinder or more patient with me.

The effects of chemo are lifting quicker than I expected. My only real complaint these days is ridiculously dry skin all over my body. It's almost like a healing sunburn and I can only attribute it to chemo. My hair is growing in, my eyebrows are visible though kind of funky and my eyelashes are slowly, slowly, S L O W L Y making a comeback. I am eating everything in sight because it all tastes SO good and there's not a smidgen of nausea. I had lost twenty lbs. at the end of chemo and have managed to restore twelve of them so far. (Dang it.)

So that's the latest from the former home of Herschel (d. 6.28.11), the next installment will be after my "tattoo" session (three pin-point dots, nothing artistic, sadly) on the 4th. Thanks so much for your love and concern. There's no doubt I am on my way back! :)

Blah, blah, blah.

So .... it's been a little over two weeks since my first surgery and tomorrow it will be a week since the second. I guess I am doing okay but the healing up and getting unsore process seems to be draggin' its ass a little. One thing is for sure, I will shout from the rooftops the glorifications (is that a word?) of Vicodin. In Tarzan-speak: "Pain, bad, Vicodin, Good."

The incision in my breast has been relatively painless. Surprisingly so. In fact, the only time I was aware of that surgical site was immediately after the second surgery when, in recovery, it felt like a herd of feral guinea pigs had been rooting around in there. When nurse Valerie asked how I was I let her know about the herd of feral guinea pigs and she immediately gave me a shot of something wonderful in my IV.

No, the real sore spot is my arm pit where the lymph node dissection is. That and the opening in my side where the drain is. Dave keeps telling me how great my incisions look (Saint Dave), but they sure as heck feel like they were done with a dull spoon and pointed stick!

My appreciation for high powered drugs is only superceded by my restored passion for FOOD! I've always liked food .. but Dave says I am eating like a refugee victim. I can't help it. These new taste buds require constant entertainment. Everything tasts so good! Those twenty lbs. I lost? Hmmmphf. They'll be fully restored soon. Dang it.

My hair is coming back. I actually have a hairline. Not a bikini line (TMI?) but a hair line. Dave loves running his fingers thru it. All 3/4" of it. So do I. Mom says we're going to wear it out and to leave it alone.

My skin is falling off. I guess it's chemo (everything awful IS, you know), but no amount of lotion or baby oil seems to quench my skin. As soon as I loose my drain (next week?), I will get in the tub and scrub myself from head to toe with sea salt and maybe I'll stop shedding.

My primary complaint is this weird, constant vague pain and numbness (yeah, I know, seems contradictory!) that runs from my shoulder to my elbow along the back of my left arm. Feels so sore it should be black and blue. I made the mistake of googling "arm pain after lymph node dissection" and all this STUFF came up that matched my symptoms perfectly. Some say that even 5 years after surgery, they still have the pain and numbness but that you learn to live with it. Apparently, the lymph node surgery causes the nerves to go postal and they never recover!

Consider the alternative.

My largest fear at this point is doing this again in five or ten or fifteen years. It's shoved down deep, not something I will dwell on (after all, I'm still pretty excited about hair and taste buds!) but it is something I think every cancer patient must think of. Ignorance is bliss and I am no longer ignorant.

Cancer Curmudgeon, Marjorie Walker

During my chemo I followed this blog. I liked this lady, Marjorie Walker. She was spunky and honest and didn't feel sorry for herself. Her journey with breast cancer started fifteen years ago with a lumpectomy. It ended last Friday. Even though I knew she was terminal, it made me really sad today when I read that she had died. And though we had never met, I was grateful for her story, her strength, her feisty attitude.

This song was one of her selections for her funeral ... I thought that was very cool.

I'm looking forward to seeing my surgeon, Doctor B, next week. It should be time for my drain to come out (yay!) and hopefully she'll release me to the care of the radiologist whom I will see the following day. It's too soon after surgery to start radiation but hopefully my appointments will be scheduled within a couple of weeks. Soon this will all just be a dusty spot in my rearview mirror. Herschel who?

Looking up ...

Looking up from my perch on the deck.

So ... Dave and I got up on Friday at 2:45 am and made the drive to Houston for my second surgery and further Herschel excavation. We saw about 35 deer along the roads in Houston and Walker counties but, thankfully, only one VERY large doe decided to saunter in front of our car. Dave braked slowly, so as not to jar me and all my boo boos ... and we were all fine. Silly deer.

We arrived three minutes early for our appointed 5:45 am date. Within ten minutes I, along with four other patients, was called back for wardrobe change and pre-op interrogation. (Is it REALLY necessary that they ask you the same questions four times? Hm.) Anyway, as usual, I got really great nurses who, despite the ungodly hour, were in cheerful spirits, warm and friendly. I really love all the MDA folks.

My anesthesiologist was terrific. She was blonde, Russian and adorable. She listened to my concerns about the last trip under. I woke up with a terrible sore throat that lasted almost a week. She said she would use a smaller tube and, since my surgery would be much shorter, I shouldn't have any problems. I didn't realize my last surgery was over three hours.

The last thing I remember is something cool going in my IV .. and Dave said I was out. I didn't even kiss him goodbye! I do remember waking (slightly) in the OR and scooting myself from one gurney to the other. I hope I did it with some modesty but I rather doubt it. Oh well .. it was an all girl party anyway.

So I woke up in recovery to nurse Valerie washing my face. Dave showed up sometime later and, once I had some saltines and apple juice (though I asked for bacon, eggs and coffee), I started to feel awake. Though I don't remember it, Valerie told Dave that when they reopened my Herschel incision a lot of fluid came out and apparently my drain had become clogged. Additionally, I had pulled a stitch loose and the Doc not only re-routed my drain tubing, she re-stitched my tear. So, I guess it was a good thing all around that she went back in.

The second surgery will delay my radiation treatments about a week or so. I see Doctor B in two weeks for a post-op check and (hopefully!) the drain removal. And I see the radiologist the following day for a consult on my radiation treatments. We're entering the final phase of treatment and I couldn't be happier about that.

Yesterday morning I felt so good that I went outside, walked down the steps and down the driveway through the meadow. It was the first time I'd been for a walk (even a short one!), in months. It felt so good to be outside, pain free, and to have the energy to make the 200 yard walk by myself. I'm coming back .. slowly but surely and everything is sweeter. My taste buds are back, my appetite is HUGE, my hair is coming back and I no longer have the lead raincoat or concrete shoes to slow me down. I won't ever be the same .. I'm gonna be BETTER!

Love to all of you who have cheered me on and inspired me!!

It's a "do over" .....

Yesterday I watched my surgeon's hands remove the tape from two of my three incisions. I wanted to ask her if, as a little girl, all she ever wanted to be was a surgeon. She does nice work. Not that it's an issue (no beauty pageants or wet t-shirt contests in my future!), but her cuts look like they will leave minimal scars.

Surgery for Herschel's removal was Tuesday, June 28th. We arrived very early and were sent to a "holding area" with other surgical patients. Prior to surgery though, I had to have a mammogram with needle placement so that Dr. B could find my (now) tiny tumor. It was interesting having my boob smashed between plates of plexiglass while having rather large needles inserted north and south of Herschel's hiding place. The radiologist, another beautiful, intelligent woman doc, numbed me with lidocaine so apart from the sting of that, all I felt was pressure when the needles (like acupuncture only bigger!) were placed. Still, the best feeling of all is when they release pressure and the booby smushing is O.V.E.R. Aaaaah. That's better.

Once the needles were placed they inserted wires (about six inches long) through the opening in the middle of the needle to anchor them in place. So now I have two long needles and two long wires hanging from my breast. My next question was, "How on earth are you going to transport me?" There were lots of giggles from us all, me, the radiologist and my mammo tech. The mammo tech assured me it was all very high tech. Wait till you see ....

Yep. That's a styrofoam coffee cup taped over the protruding hardware! I thought it was hilarious but told the doc I was going to complain if I was charged for a mocha-latte-anything on my bill.

So me and my Lady Gaga outfit are shuffled back to the surgery ward where I am further equipped with compression hosiery and a hair net (Haha .. what a waste!) Dave and I give kisses and off I go. The last thing I remember are the big lights on the OR ceiling. Nite, nite ya'll.

I wish somebody would record me in recovery. I must be a scream. I do remember saying, "Maaaaaaan, I missed the whole party .. I wanted to WATCH!" Dave says I repeated every question four times BUT I was the only one who could get my hearing aids in right! I'm not sure how long we were in recovery before they moved me to a room kind of like an ICU suite. Thankfully, there was a recliner for Dave. I slept off and on but got up to walk the halls several times before bedtime. My precious nurses, Mary, Jingle and Tierney were WONDERFUL. Yes, I said JINGLE!

Even the food was not bad. And there was so much of it that it fed both Dave and I. My surgeon's assistant came in bright and early the next morning to confirm that I was doing awesome and by 8:30 am we were released and on the road to home. Vicodin made it painless but I was surprised to find my left arm didn't work so well any more. Doctor B removed my port, so I had one incision on the right of my chest. The lymph node dissection incision was the largest and most painful running about four inches in the fold where my arm meets my torso, the Herschel excavation incision about two and a half inches the left side of my breast and the drain for all the fluid on my side, over my ribs. I had no idea how juicy I was! Saint Dave would be responsible for the care and maintenance of this little plumbing addition for about three weeks. God love Dave!

So, despite the fact that I have been abundantly sore this past week, (the lymph node dissection is the worst!) surgery was not an unpleasant experience, just another chapter. I am so blessed to be surrounded by such loving family and friends, I won't ever take you for granted!

Yesterday, I saw Dr. B for post op followup. I was a little concerned since she told me she would see me in two weeks and they reappointed me in only one. Turns out my pathology report was good news/bad news. The good news is that of the 26 lymph nodes taken (all of them on the left side), only two tested positive for cancer. The bad news was not too bad, but Doctor B. is going back in on Friday to retrieve the last bits of tumor that remain. A clean margin (healthy tissue around the tumor site) is considered. .2 mm. Mine is only .15 mm, so a bit more surgery is in order. I really don't mind ... I'd much rather do this NOW than later. And I am grateful for the thoroughness of my doctors.

So, it's off we go again to MDA bright and early tomorrow. I won't know when my surgery is until I call in after 3 PM today but there will be no overnight stay this time and Dave and I will be home tomorrow evening. Me in the recliner ... and my sweet Dave snoring on the sofa beside me.

I see the radiation doc on July 21st and we'll find out from there what my schedule of treatment will be. Thanks, as always for you continued prayers. Don't know what I'd do without 'cha!

Now you see him .. NOW YOU DON'T!

I'm a fish whisperer ...
These are my friends on the fifth floor.

The date of Herschel's eviction is set: Tuesday, June 28, 2011.

He's a tiny little thing now, having been reduced to the size of pinto bean by the months of chemical bombardment and the sheer power of prayer. At diagnosis, he was somewhere between the size of a golf ball and a ping pong ball .. but not nearly so neat or compact. So the news that he's now shrunken to only 23% of his original size is fabulous, miraculous, wonderful news. I couldn't wipe the grin off my face yesterday and nearly hugged the tall, beautiful, wonderful radiologist who happily shared the news with me. Dave, bless his heart, missed the moment, having been relegated to keeping a chair warm in the waiting room. I couldn't wait to show him the report!

And with that report we then traveled to the appointment with the surgical oncologist, Dr. B. She is the elegant, attractive, eloquent lady who is going to extract the screaming Herschel from the inner sanctum of my left boobie and send him to the fiery depths of hell and cremation in some biological dump station in the bowels of MDA. I can't think of a more deserving fate. In some respects I have to express some gratitude to the little bastard. He, at least, had the decency to position himself where I would eventually find him last October 16th. And he graciously responded to the many, many bags of chemo that have been flushed through my body since January 5th. If I had to have a tumor in my breast, at least I got one that was well behaved.

The last FAC chemo session was not remotely pleasant. At the end I was dreading each one knowing what misery I had ahead of me for the next two weeks. If it hadn't been for Dave's cheerleading, love and tough love, I might have quit after two. It was that bad. But I am grateful for the medicine and the wisdom, education and years of study it took to create it and dispense it in a manner that has given me such a positive outcome. Even more, I am grateful to all of you who have walked with me on this road to health and prayed me through the hard times.

Darlene - unplugged.
At the tail end of the last of the bad chemo.

There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have gone to the mailbox without a full face of makeup and freshly washed hair. Ironically, it was a time in my life when I least needed makeup but youthful beauty seems to be completely wasted on the young and dumb!

Now, I can post pictures of myself with no hair, no eyelashes and just the most juvenile of eyebrow hairs. Now I know that it doesn't matter. What matters is on the inside, the hardy core of your middle, the foundation of faith, the appreciation of love, family and friends. What matters is the sparkle in your eye, the laughter in your soul and the ability to ride out the tough times knowing better times are just around the corner.

It's true what they say .. that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I'm still on the mend and will be for months to come but the worst of this part of my life is over and I am a better person for having experienced it. I can't thank you enough for holding my hand.

And We're DONE. (With chemo that is.)

Chemo and Cold Pizza. YUM.

It's only been a few days since my last (LAST!!) chemo sesson on Wednesday. I'm feeling weak and yucky and nothing tastes good, so I am right on target with the usual after effects. Noticed a new one though, on Friday, when I took off my nail polish and saw that my toe nails are markedly dark and unhealthy. Not huge in the scheme of things, granted .. and it's only temporary .. but still. This is something that some chemo patients experience only weeks into their treatment and some even lose their nails. Once again, I applaud my body's strength in holding off these side effects until the bitter end. I guess I am stronger than I think, but put much of my "success" with chemo to the never ending prayers from lots and lots of folks I have in my corner. (And you KNOW who YOU are!)

No More Red Devil For Me!

So this is the last of the chemo cocktails (God willing!) for me. I had my usual three doses of steriods to prevent nausea, then my usual three doses of chemo, including the dreaded "red devil" as it apparently is the one that packs the powerful yucky punch.

And the last of this thing ..

I'll be eternally grateful for all the chemo nurses that plumbed me up perfectly and kept it all straight. They were amazing, warm, friendly and kind (with the exception of that one ...) and all so very compassionate. I tried to express my gratitude for their presence each and every time. (At least the times I stayed awake!)

AND .. We're DONE! Outtah HERE!
Goodbye BLUE CHEMO WARD!

And when we were done, I rang the bell! I didn't even know the bell existed though it had been there, every time I was checked in, weighed and had my vitals checked before each chemo session. So much for my powers of observation! I wanted to ring it for about five minutes but since there were still chemo patients in the house (at 7:30 pm!), I practiced a mild level of restraint. It feels so good to have this part behind me!

And even though I know have have the usual two weeks of side effects, I felt a shift in my soul when I knew the last of the chemo had gone into my body. For months I've been so consumed with this chapter and now, even with surgery and radiation to come, I feel like I am on the downhill slope and can start really thinking about my recovery.

Dave and I had to wait two hours for my oncology visit, which was really unusual, so I made every attempt not to get pissy. While we waited, a volunteer named Rosemary approached us. I'd seen her around .. she's hard to miss! She probably weights 100 lbs. dripping wet and 130 with her volunteer jacket on. It has at least a HUNDRED breast cancer pins, symbols, buttons and charms. She's adorable. And she told me about a few programs aimed at helping cancer survivors in their recovery. One of them was Casting for Recovery.

Casting For Recovery Video from Susan Gaetz on Vimeo.

I'm so excited about this possibility .. and plan to investigate how soon I can participate. It might be next spring but you can bet I will do my best to be one of the lucky ladies to participate in this awesome program.

And a friend and fellow cancer survivor had mentioned "dragon boating" to me and when Rosemary gave me some literature, I got very excited about this program as well.

www.pinkphurree.org

Both these programs serve to restore health and vitality to those women who have been thru breast cancer and the repetitive motions of casting and paddling may serve to eliminate or reduce the problems of lymphedema, a common problem after breast cancer surgery. I think it's all VERY cool.

Dave has promised, too, that when I am strong enough we'll start paddling on some area lakes. Being outside, quietly paddling in the shade of an east Texas lake can ONLY be a good thing. I can't wait to get better.

Not much else to tell except that I got in a bit of trouble for NOT going to the hospital when I had fever. Seems I shouldn't have taken the acetaminophen .. as it only masked my "issue". Had I not had the antibiotics to take I could have been in serious trouble. I think the words the doc used where, "You could have died!". Okay .. that got my attention. I will not skip the ER in the future.

My next appointments are on June 22 when I have an ultrasound to see how tiny and insignificant Herschel is now. Since he shrunk 60% with Taxol, I have great faith he's about the size of a lima bean after four nasty sessions of FAC. After that I'll see my breast surgeon and set up a date for Herschel's excavation. I can't wait to boot what's left of his sorry ass to the curb! :)

Hannah's love

So, Hannah and her peeps came to visit this weekend. Sunday morning I was trying to catch a little nap when I kept feeling soft, fuzzy things being placed on me. Wordlessly, Hannah surrounded me with just a few of her friends, making sure my nap was not lonely. Other little girls travel with a bevy of baby dolls. Hannah travels with enough stuffed animals to fill an ark. You gotta love Hannah.

Early Wednesday morning Dave and I will head for Houston, MDA and the last FAC treatment. I am so very excited to say "the last" .. after Wednesday, no more chemo, no more nausea, no more chemo tummy, no more fried taste buds, no more sore head, sore mouth, sore nose, sore NUTHIN! And in case you hadn't heard the news ... my EYEBROWS are making a comeback! And I'm starting to get some HAIR! Baby steps .. but little victories, nonetheless!

If I said the last six months passed by in a flash, I'd by LYING .. it's been a long, hard road but I appreciate all the support along the way, AND Hannah's love.

I Was A Hot Mess ...

Yesterday I felt tired. But I always feel tired. I was cold. But I am often cold when no one else is. Mom said I looked pale .. but I haven't been outside for more than a few minutes in months.

Then, around 9 pm, it was clear I was sick. Dave took my temperature and it was 101.5. Chemo patients are not allowed to have fever. It's totally against all the cancer rules. At 100.5 I'm supposed to run, not walk, to my nearest emergency room. But you know me, right?

Instead I called a dear friend who is an RN. She said I obviously had an infection and needed antibiotics. No problem .. I had some. My last visit to the oncologist, I complained of this constant, dry, annoying cough. It's often associated with Taxol but I stopped Taxol in late March. She thought maybe it was a bug and gave me a prescription. We had it filled but then the cough stopped so I hadn't taken the prescription. And then the cough resumed. So, last night, I started the antibiotics and took two Tylenol.

My friend said if my temperature didn't subside with Tylenol, I should go to the ER. I promised I would. Doctor Dave took my temperature every fifteen minutes for more than an hour when it dropped to below 100.5. We went to sleep but woke at 2 AM to re-check it and take more Tylenol and it was normal. And this morning when I woke up it was normal.

Whew.

So, apart from that little bit of excitement, not much else is going on. My fingernails are funky, some are trying to lift from the nail bed. My feet are numb and that's kind of annoying. My taste buds are getting better and food is starting to taste a little better but I am probably not eating 800 calories a day. I just don't have an appetite. My hair is staring to grow back on my head but I can only feel it -- not see it yet. The eyebrow count is still in single digits. The eyelashes have all flown away ...

One week from today I will have my final FAC chemo.

Last week I watched a news story about a local anchor woman who was diagnosed with BC about the same time I was. There have been several segments on the news since last fall. She's young, adorable and brave. She was having her last chemo treatment and when the final drops of poison dripped thru her IV .. she cried. And I cried. And I know that next Wednesday I will cry again.

Even for me, putting these emotions into words is hard. I feel a sense of accomplishment. I feel profound gratitude that it's almost over. And still I wonder, nervously, if I will regain all I have lost in the process. I know I will never be the same and that's okay -- but I do hope for strength, vitality, stamina ... HAIR!

But we're not done here! The hard part will soon be over but I hope you'll keep me in your prayers as I face surgery, healing and the weeks of daily radiation.

Someday soon we're all going to toast Herschel's vaporization. Meanwhile, there's a bald lady in East Texas who is still kinda gimpy .. so hang in there with me, okay?

As of 05.11.11 We are 3/4 -- DONE with chemo!

Talking to my
peeps on FB from the chemo ward!


Smilin' for Davey ..
because he won't take "NO" for an answer!

I can't lie to you. I hate these pictures. I've struggled the last couple of weeks with the further degradation of my appearance. After all .. a year ago this was ME:

35th High School Reunion
May 2010

But, even then, I knew something was wrong. I hadn't felt good, energetic or like myself in almost a year. The symptoms were so subtle .. I couldn't even verbalize it. Fatigue, but I was reminded that I WAS 53. And overweight. Still, I wasn't buying it. It would be a short five months till I "felt" literally, what WAS wrong. Herschel made himself known.

So last Wednesday was my third of four FAC treatments after a visit with my oncologist. Have I mentioned how much I adore my MDA team? My nurse, Grace is awesome. My doc, fabulous. I couldn't be happier with my treatment. My port nurses and chemo nurses (all except that ONE) have been attentive and supportive and amazing. I'm so very grateful.

Doc says my blood work indicates I am tolerating the FAC beautifully. She says my tears and emotions are perfectly normal for someone whose body has been bombarded with poisons for five months. She knows I am tired .. but march on we must. My next and FINAL FAC is June 1. Then, I'll get a little bit of a reprieve since my next appointment won't be until June 22. I'll have a final pre-surgical ultrasound (can't wait to see how tiny Herschel is NOW!) and a consult with my breast surgeon. Hopefully, Herschel's eviction will come before the end of June. Can you say PARTAY?

Continued bottomless gratitude for all the love, support, dollars, gifts, CHOCOLATE, cookies, flowers, cards and did I say LOVE? You will never know how much easier this road has been because of all of YOU.

Darlene: UNCENSORED

Buckle up. It won't be pretty.

Yesterday I threw my mother's wheelie walker out the front door. It was to prove a point and yes, I did bring it back in.

Dave and I planned to go out for a Mother's day meal on Sunday but I just wasn't up to it, so we postponed for Monday thinking the crowds would be thinner. With my stamina in such short supply, I can't stand in lines or wait for a table. And yesterday I got up, bathed, got my clothes ready and sat down on the bathroom floor to put my make up on. Since I avoid mirrors, I was a little shocked to see my reflection. There's been quite a change in the last couple of weeks. I have four eyebrow hairs on one eye, six on the other. I can no longer connect the dots" to give myself drawn-on ones.

I tried. And then I cried.

Though I didn't count them, I think my eyelashes number about the same. There's just not enough of me to restore my face to any reasonable, recognizable form. So I just laid on the bathroom floor and cried .. which is how Dave found me.

He scooped me up and told me that I didn't have to go anywhere I didn't want to. That if I chose to only go to MDA and back for the next six weeks that was perfectly fine. He gave me permission to hide out .. he understands how devastating this loss of identity is.

So I washed my face and switched out my clothes for pajamas. I came into the kitchen where my mother was to explain that we weren't going out. She immediately launched into a tough love sermon, talking to me like I was a five year old with the IQ of a walnut. Excuse me if I didn't respond positively to that. I told her to "go bite yourself". Yes, I think that might be a combo of "go ___ yourself" and "bite me" but it's the best I could come up with in my depleted state. I removed myself from her presence.

Or so I thought. Here came that damn wheelie walker which parked itself and its driver beside me on the sofa (blocking my view of the TV, I might add.) Her tirade continued with "I didn't raise you to be vain. You get up off that sofa and go fix your face .. blah, blah, blah." I told her she didn't know what she was talking about and eventually she left.

For about ten minutes.

Then she was back, in the recliner, sitting across the room from me, trying to make nice with idle chit chat. I looked her square in the eye and told her that she couldn't talk to me the way she just had and then expect to make nice. That she owed me an apology .. and she disagreed. I won't bore you with the complete dialogue. Suffice it to say that my dear Maggie girl (who can't stand raised voices or conflict) left the room. Dave hid behind his laptop.

The whole exchange aired more than a few of my pent up resentments. My mother, at almost 86, is the last of her siblings and the matriarch of our family. She is much loved. But only Jim and I know what it's like to have her for a mother and it ain't easy.

In my defense, I pointed out that I have been taking chemo since January 5th. That I am tired and sick and sick of being tired. That I am dreading my third FAC, knowing that it's like facing a firing squad of blind men wearing mittens. They won't kill me -- they will just make me wish I was dead.

That even after all the toxins injected into my body in the last five months, I am still cooking meals and doing the laundry and pushing myself when I don't feel good. That I have tried to remain positive for most of this crap and that I have tried to be cheerful for my children. That I have put on my face and my cap and gone out to be in public, ignoring the stares and pretending that I am okay with being bald and painted. That I have tried with all my heart to be graceful, but that I am out of grace. That I can't fake it any more.

That the next six weeks will likely be the worst six weeks and that I am just going to do my best to endure it. Here. At home. On the sofa. And that she has no right to judge or criticize me or shame me.

It was bad. For most of my life I have accepted her opinions, her will, her dominion over me. Those days are long gone. And she doesn't quite know what to do with me. There is a reason 54 year old women don't live with their mothers.

I'm not proud of what happened but I feel justified in everything I said to her. My delivery might have been a little harsh but lack of sleep and five months of debiliating fatigue will make you cranky. At some point mothers need to recognize that the relationship with your children should change from one of disciplinarian to one of friendship and companionship. That, as a grandmother myself, I don't need her permission to do anything.

She finally asked me what she should have said to me instead of what she did say. I told her that, right now, her understanding of my experience would be a whole lot more loving that her condemnation. That, without having walked in my shoes, she has no right to judge me.

I'm not trying to garner sympathy. I've shared this whole experience for two reasons only. That in writing about having breast cancer, I am better able to accept this as my new reality and so that I could, perhaps, provide information for others facing this as their new reality.

Cancer doesn't affect just the patient. It affects the family. And the family needs to understand that the loss of eyebrows and eyelashes is just symbolic of the loss of so much more.

Yes, it's temporary.

Yes, it means the medicine is working.

But, day to day, the battle is a long and uphill struggle. The last thing anyone needs is to be reprimanded. Understanding and acceptance might be a more loving choice given the opportunity.

Two down, Two to go ...

The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. But it was touch and go there for a while. The second FAC treatment was supposed to have been "easier" than the first but that was hardly my experience. Now I am dreading the third and fourth but take pleasure in the fact that I am halfway through the process of this more toxic chemo.

There are no photos of this chemo session since I slept through most of it. Besides .. how many pictures of me lying in bed hooked up to bags and bags of Herschel-reducing chemicals do you really need to see? I just thought I'd spare you.

Instead, I am posting a video of photos Dave and I took one day last week when I thought I was strong enough to get outside and enjoy the wild roses, yucca and cactus flowers. Dave saved me from falling into the roses when I lost my balance and almost went face first into the brambles. It hurt my pride to think I was so weak I couldn't even bend over to enjoy a rose but I was grateful for Dave's attention.

Moments later, back on our property, I squatted down in the meadow to take some close ups of the beautiful, waxy cactus blooms that were just glowing in the sunshine! My joy and wonder over the flowers soon turned to tears and frustration when I realized I couldn't get up. There was just no strength in my legs and Dave, yet again, had to come to my wobbly rescue. It just broke my heart and I cried for awhile grieving for the loss of all the things chemo has taken from me.

In fact, the tears have flown pretty freely the past couple of weeks. What little hair I had (ugly, granted!) flew away within a week after the second treatment. My eyebrows consist of a few hairs now and look more like two scraggly spiders there above my hollow eyes.

I no longer recognize anything about the person who looks back from my mirror. She looks like those sick ladies at MDA. There's no sparkle, no life in those eyes. They aren't mine. I've tried to tell Dave that it's not just a matter of vanity. I've accepted, grudgingly, that I am vain. But this is a disconnect between who I think I am and the identity of that sick person staring back at me from the mirror. And the fear that that sick person in the mirror might be the one I am stuck with .. and the strong, brown, healthy, happy girl I used to be lost forever.

I know that everything happens for a reason. That God is in charge and that there is a plan. I've walked through fire before and come out tempered and strong on the other side. If this is just another test to show me what I am made of then so be it. On this day, I know that I can make it to the end of my chemo sessions. And after that, surgery and radiation will seem like a walk in the park.

Cancer has not been at all like I thought it might be. It's shown me a lot of things about myself that aren't all that appealing. It's made me realize that I am mortal and sometimes fragile. It's humbled me. It's broken my heart and withered my spunk but's not gotten the best of me. And it won't. I know that this time next year I will be cancer free with renewed strength and hair and eyelashes and eyebrows and the face I see in the mirror will again be mine. All the things that cancer has taken will be replaced with healthy new vigor and all the things that cancer gave me, the boundless love of family and friends, the knowledge that my God watches over me and cared for me, will remain.

In the end, cancer will have given me far more than it has taken. And I
can live with that.

I Will Survive!

So ... last week on March 30 I had a visit with Dr. M, my oncologist, and my first FAC chemo treatment. The doc visit went swimmingly .. I found out that the spots on my lungs, the cysts in my liver, kidneys and thyroid were all the same. No response to chemo is good news because it confirms they were benign to begin with. My previously enlarged central lymph nodes are now normal. All very good news. The best news, in fact. I adore my oncology doc and her staff. I couldn't ask for better treatment.

But there was still the issue of FAC chemo to deal with. I've known from the beginning that I would have four of these combo cocktails spaced tri-weekly over twelve weeks. FAC is the "nasty" chemo. I wasn't looking forward to it but I had tolerated Taxol so well, I was hoping my superwoman constitution would continue to serve me well.

Now for a little video. Be sure to turn up your volume.

Yep. That's exactly what happened to me.

Three days after, when my anti-nausea steroids wore off .. I was hit by a large and heavy FAC disco ball. It sat there, getting heavier and heavier for a week. And then, as promised, I was able to roll it off, get up, shake myself off and make my own breakfast which, miraculously didn't taste like gasoline. I have survived!

Three doses of steriods for nausea
and three bags of chemo.

And here are a few things I have learned from taking FAC cancer chemo the last week and a half:

1) You should never take eyelashes or eyebrows for granted.
2) Ditto for taste buds.
3) Walking to the bathroom can be exhausting.
4) There are times in life when red jello is a high culinary experience.
5) Nausea is nausea whether your head is in the toilet or not.
6) Sleeping can be a form of exercise. Hot. Cold. Covers on, covers off.
7) Fried potatoes taste like gasoline.
8) So does most everything else.
9) They should put ALL red popsicles in the box. Nobody likes orange or lime.
10) Having really good toilet paper is not a luxury.
11) Chemo b.o. is way worse than regular b.o. (TMI I know but I had to share.)
12) Salty stuff doesn't taste that way. Non-salty stuff does. It's all very confusing.
13) Lots and lots of people love me.
14) People are unbelievable kind and thoughtful.
15) I have the best husband and family in the galaxy.

and lastly,

16) God is in control. Always.

Dave was making faces at me .. as usual.


And Dave's faces always make me laugh.


My new hat & my treasured Saul bear.
B E L I E V E

This weekend, on April 17th,is Ashley's Let's Save Mama D's Double D's 5K Fun Run/Walk. It's in Willis (just north of Conroe) and sounds like it will be a blast. I hope to see a lot of you out there. I'll be the bald girl with the big smile.

Next FAC is on April 20th. Please keep me in your prayers .. they keep me going! Much love ..