The Community

"The only good thing about having this disease is that it links us all together. Complete strangers will weep while reading your words (I know, because I did) and then pray for someone they have never met. It doesn’t matter that we don't know each other. I know the fear, the frustration and weariness you both feel.
My husband so surpassed my expectations, wishes and hopes in supporting me during my treatment. It made me sad to think that he had watched his own mother survive breast cancer for twenty years before she lost HER battle, and now he was having to watch me endure its costs. I imagine some of your wife's anger is because YOU are collateral damage in her fight with this demon. It’s bad enough to watch someone you love have cancer. It’s a whole other ballgame to have cancer and watch the person you love watch back. We can’t live without your love and support and we’d give anything – ANYTHING - to make it all go away.
Keep the faith. And above all else, for what it’s worth, ... you’re not alone."

These were the words I left as a comment on the blog of husband who is watching his wife battle with stage four breast cancer.  Blog For A Cure  is a forum of cancer patients and cancer survivors.  I've been lurking in the wings on this one since I found it almost a year ago.  The level of emotional support offered between strangers who have been diagnosed with the plethora of cancers is miraculous.  

In real life, not many can hear the dirty details of what cancer does to a body, or often what can be worse, what cancer TREATMENT does to a body.  But in this forum virtually anything goes.  No one judges, everyone understands, encourages and prays.  

I confessed to Dave that I had been going there frequently in the past few weeks to look up my two potential cancer addendums.  I wanted to see what experiences others had with diagnosis, treatment and recovery.  Thankfully, now my role can be that of support, prayer and encouragement because yesterday nearly all of my fears were dispelled.

My skin biopsy came back as a benign wart.  As gross as having a wart (or two) is .. it's a far more attractive diagnosis that I imagined I might get!  I'll have a date with the dermatologist soon to have them frozen off.   Mmmm. That might be a strange sensation, given their location!

  

The endometrial biopsy was postponed by my nurse practitioner, A, due to the two days of fever I had last week.  She didn't want to risk my having an infection of some kind or a possible kidney stone, so she postponed the procedure for later this month.  She was also able to alleviate most of my concern about the reason she feels it is necessary.  Though some of my test results are cause for concern, the ultrasound I had last week did not reveal any masses so the chances of uterine cancer, right now, are much lower.  But it's necessary to rule it out, given the abnormal cells seen by the pathologist.

I'm being treated with the utmost care.  And I am in awe of my good fortune every time I go to M. D. Anderson that I have been blessed with a really amazing team of medical professionals who continue to flush all possible demons from every corner. 

So, I came home and opened my own account at Blog For A Cure.  It's time to start giving back and the least I can do with my growing strength and increased stamina is encourage others.  It only takes a few minutes on the site to realize how many people are having a really, really hard time.   Reading the words of stage four cancer warriors is the quickest way I know to be humbled. 

I've learned that it's almost a given to be afraid every time a CT scan is scheduled or any new diagnostic test is suggested.  Like me, my new friends at BFAC realize the possibility for recurrence is a reality but, also like me, they don't want to give the "C" word any more power over our lives than it's already managed to scarf up.

Like I told Dave on the way home, "I'm WELL, so tell the voices in my head to SHUT UP!"  Then it occurred to me that it's MY hand on the volume control. I think I'll drown them out with some ZZ Top.  [SMILE]  Thanks for listening.  Talk amongst yourselves ...  

Random craziness.

I watched a movie the other night when I couldn't sleep. I couldn't tell you the name of the movie or who was in it or what it was about. (So, then, why did I bring it up, you might ask.) There was one line in this movie that whopped me up beside the head: "There's no time to be chicken." (Celestial choir.) It was as if God Himself had spoken to me. THERE'S NO TIME TO BE CHICKEN.

There is .. NO TIME .. to be CHICKEN.

Man, I needed that. I have been spending way too much time lately being chicken. Here's the thing .. between the time you find there is something to be concerned about and the actual time you are told that a) there is a bonafide problem or b) everything is a-okay, there is this land of limbo. Your choices are to either rise above the fear, continue living as though as all is well OR allowing yourself to be swallowed up by the "what ifs" and becoming paralyzed by fear. I have been somewhere in between, dipping my big toe in the deep end of the "paralyzed with fear pool" from time to time.

The internet is a wonderful place. Many of my friends live inside my computer, I can "big brother" my kids on facebook and be sure they are happy, well and safe at home. I can follow my treatment at MDA by reading all my reports filed by my various docs, pathologists, radiologists and all the "ologists" who have their finger in the Darlene Pie. It's pretty amazing. Then, I can take that information and google anything I don't understand and feel almost like third year medical student. Almost.

The downside of researching all that stuff on the internet is that you can often scare the living crap out of yourself.  And armed with only the vaguest of pathology reports .. one has to question the wisdom of late night googling sessions.  In the dark.  With only you, your flimsy pretend medical degree and the  world-wide-worry-web. 

A week from today I will be at MDA enjoying the attention of a variety of skilled professionals  working with amazing technology to be sure that I am cancer free EVERYWHERE even in places I wish they wouldn't really look!  I'm sure everything will be fine.  There is no cause for alarm .. and there sure as heck isn't any TIME TO BE CHICKEN! 

Because .. it's time to go FISHIN'!

On a lighter, happier, less psychotic note I found out yesterday that I have been one of the lucky ladies selected to attend this spring's "Casting For Recovery" at Joshua Creek Ranch in Boerne.  I was an alternate and now I am GOING!  Since I have never fly fished and it's something I've always wanted to try, I am so excited.  I'll be learning to tie flies and practice casting with 13 other breast cancer survivors before we spend a day with guides learning the "Tao" of fly fishing and practicing catch & release.  It's such a great opportunity and I'm so grateful to all the sponsors that make this retreat possible! It's scheduled for April 13 - 15, right before my birthday! WOOHOO!

(I like fish way better than chicken, any way!)

Meanwhile, while waiting for the other shoe to drop

Breast Cancer Cell

Well I guess I've put this off as long as I can. I've had no interest in posting to the Herschel blog lately because I am just too danged busy being well. I went from December 27 to February 1 without any doctor or nurses appointments and the freedom of no impending doc visits made the idea of blood tests, miscellaneous scans and other diagnostic tools in the cancer doctor's magic bag of tricks just something I would rather not think about. For as long as it lasted, anyway.

I started walking again, first outside but then inside on the treadmill as the weather got more unpredictable and winter-like. At first I could walk only five or ten minutes at a pretty good clip. I have worked myself up to two or three fifteen minute sessions at least five days a week. More proof that I am well. (Yes, I'm still trying to convince myself. If I say it enough it's bound to be true, right?)

The truth is the pyschology of having had cancer has messed with my equilibrium lately more than the toxic cocktail of chemo meds ever did. Only now I wobble on the inside of my head going back and forth between the happy thoughts of being cancer free and the darker abyss of all the dreaded "what if's". What they say about ignorance being bliss is true. Now that I know what having cancer treatment feels like, and for the all the gratitude I feel to my family, legions of prayer warriors and medical team at MDA, I have NO desire to ever, ever go there again.

Still, I refuse to live in fear. I try not to let those ugly little scary thoughts take up too much of my time. But, at the same time, I want to be prepared ... just in case I ever have to hear those words again. "Honey, you have a cancer .."

But there is some valid cause for concern. In the forties, and up until the seventies in some countries, doctors were giving pregnant women who were at risk for miscarriage a drug called Diethylstilbestrol. My mother took this drug while pregnant with me. In the early seventies it was discovered that adolescent and young adult DES daughters were at risk for a specific and unusual type of vaginal and cervical cancer. Now they're learning that older DES daughters host a variety of reproductive issues and elevated cancer risks than in the general population. So on my first visit to the Cancer Prevention Building when I saw my new NP (nurse practitioner who has both a MS in nursing and a specialty) on 2/1, she was very thorough in her exam once she learned I was a DES daughter.

The good news is that two screening tests they performed came back normal. The probably-still-good-but-nerve-wracking news is that they want to perform a biopsy on my uterine tissue on 2/20 3/5*. I have an appointment three hours later to get the results so, at least, Hopefully, the worrisome, waiting part will be over quick. I'm forcing myself to be pleased that my medical team is being so thorough instead of allowing myself go into total freak out mode. (Well, at least I am trying ...)

*MDA changed my appointment for the uterine biopsy from 2/20 to 3/5 but there is no "after party" review scheduled so I guess I have to wait for results. No bueno.

Additionally, on 2/29 I am scheduled to have an ultrasound specific to my "girl parts" and another biopsy on some questionable tissue that has made itself evident in the last few months, also in the "girl" neighborhood. Look, I'm not embarrassed about this (okay, that's a lie, it is humiliating) but since I've drug you all on this cancer journey so far, you're not gonna abandon me NOW, just when it gets interesting, ARE YOU?

It's okay .. all you guys I used to drag around the playground (I'm so sorry for that!), rode bikes and played baseball with are excused. You don't have to go there. But for those of you who read this, whatEVER it is, to educate yourself and to keep up with my me, me, ME obsession, you'll be the almost-first-to-know if my girl parts continue to pass inspection.

God grant me the courage
to continue to flash my aging, naked bits and pieces
to complete strangers in white lab coats
all while hiding my big-assed fear behind
whatever funny remark I can rake up.
Please, God.

I'm da BOMB!

Dave has been telling me for months that I'm da bomb but I haven't really put too much stock in his assessment of my "bombhood" because he is really, prejudiced!  But lately so many awesome things that have happened to me that I have decided that I am, INDEED, da bomb!

First of all my surgeon, Doctor B, decided we had gotten maximum benefit from the wound vac and on December 21, just in time for Christmas, she took me off.  What a relief!  I had been on the wound vac since my final surgery of October 14 - ten weeks - of constant negative pressure (aka "sucking").  I did the math and it was 3.5 psi on my poor, wounded boobie, 24/7 for two and a half months.  While the positives of the wound vac were reduced chance for infection, increased circulation and faster healing, the downside was the inconvenience (sleeping with it, taking it to the bathroom with me in the middle of the night, carrying it with me on my shoulder or in my hands EVERYWHERE I went), the constant muscle fatigue, pressure and weight of the thing.  But Hoover is history and I couldn't be happier.

My incision on December 21 was still over 1" deep and wide but Doc B and my wound nurse, Evelyn, were confident that Dave could clean and dress it until it completely healed.  And so was I.  I thoroughly enjoyed all my nurses from Home Healthcare and I know that I will miss them, but I can't deny that I am happy to be making progress!

A week after I saw Doctor B, I was scheduled to see my radiologist, Doctor S.  She hadn't seen me since my last radiation treatment due to the October surgery and she wanted to see how my skin had healed since my last radiation treatment.  There wasn't much to see as I didn't really suffer any burns or blisters.  I got a nice "Tahiti tan" and only one 1/2" break in the skin but apart from that, it was easy peasy.  She was very pleased with my skin condition but urged me to moisturize my breast and left arm daily.  I'm also not to take long, hot showers or be out in the sun unprotected for any length of time.   I finally remembered to ask if I was "cancer free" and she said that, yes, according to the findings of my last CT scan on November 30, I am CANCER FREE.  I have "watch spots" on my liver, lungs and thyroid but none of these areas changed with chemo or have changed since then, so they'll just be watched for the next two years.  CANCER FREE!  I can't tell you how much weight lifted off me.  I didn't even realize I was carrying that burden.  Doctor S released me to the care of my oncologist, Doctor M and my surgeon, who will continue to appoint me every three months for probably a year, slacking off from there.  

I had NO doctor appointments scheduled for January.  NONE!

Now.  About my hair.  It's about three inches long and CRAZY curly!  I can't tell you how many dollars I have spent in my lifetime on perms to have curly hair.  My hair was always board straight.  Apparently it's not all that unusual to have curls after chemo.  I googled "Chemo curls" and lots of ladies have posted photos of their newly sprouted curls.  I don't know if it will stay curly or straighten out as it grows but I plan to trim it regularly just to keep it healthy.  Styling it consists of letting it air dry with some gel on .. slicking back the sides and scrunching up everything else.  I don't even use a comb.  Talk about no muss, no fuss!  :)

And lastly, since being off the wound vac I have noticed that every day I am a little stronger than the day before.  Last week I was able to walk all the way through the grocery store and stand in the check out line with Dave!  That's a first.  Usually I poop out somewhere in the middle to the end or couldn't handle standing in line and would go out to the car.   Then, when I got home, I was able to put away all the groceries and cook supper without taking a break.  THIS IS HUGE!!!!!

I've caught up on the laundry and started cleaning closets and I'm trying to regain some sense of organization after a year on the sofa!  And I've started walking a half mile every morning to the gate and back!  It wasn't long ago that I could only do a few laps on level ground in the meadow.  Now we're talking GOING UP HILL!  Tiny victories .. but victories that make me very happy with myself!

I'm different.  I've lost a lot of muscle mass, and I look vastly different than I did this time a year ago.  I'm not nearly as strong as I was but I know that will eventually come back.  I am more enthusiastic than I've been in months about what goes on outside my windows.  I'm enjoying my woods and critters again.  I'm COMING BACK.

The doctors say that with my regime of therapies, chemo, surgery and radiation, plus my tamoxifen (an estrogen blocker), my predicted rate of cancer recurrence is about 3 percent.  I don't think I will completely trust that until I've been cancer free for a couple of years, but worrying about having cancer again is not anything I want to waste too much time on.  

The knowledge that I've beaten it THIS time, plus all the boundless love and support from family and friends makes me sure that, come what may, I CAN handle it.   I hope that my experiences journaled here will encourage anyone who stumbles onto "Adventures with Herschel" in a quest to learn more about their own recent cancer diagnosis.  

And one last thing.  The last surgery was far more extensive than the first two and I'm going to have quite a "dimple" from the loss of tissue.  So, being ME, I decided to name it.  Shirley.  Shirley Dimple.  If there is one thing I've learned above all else it's that YOU HAVE TO LAUGH.

Life goes on.  Ain't it grand?

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! :)