Kind and Generous

Thanksgiving weekend is coming to a close, and I am blessed with feeling good, feeling full, and feeling ready to take on treatment #2 on Thursday. I had my family over, even did the cooking (well, except for the mashed potatoes, that's my brother Bruce's job), and we all watched the hapless Detroit Lions lose yet another football game. And although Emily and Ian were missing from our table (visiting with their mom and brother), it was a loving and wonderful gathering, making me thankful for all I have.

Update on THE HAIR: I really underestimated the creepiness of losing my long hair. Last time around, it was already very short because of the cranial biopsy, and so it was almost unnoticeable when it started falling out. Saturday it started coming out in handfuls, and although my hair is very thick and the loss wasn't obvious, it freaked me out nonetheless. I was definitely going to need a bigger garbage pail in the bathroom! It so happened that this same day I had an appointment to pick up my wig from the wig salon (it needed just a little TLC to bring it back to its former glory), and to choose a new wig - Taryn does NOT like the old wig and was intent on getting me into a style and color more pleasing to her. Stay tuned - I'm going to look quite different in a few days!

Truth be told...I already look quite different. After dropping Taryn off at home so she could get ready for work, I got in the car and headed over to the salon where I get my nails and hair done. I burst into tears and told Maz (the owner, who also does my nails) that I couldn't handle the way my hair was coming out and could they make time for me to at least get it cut and possibly buzzed. An hour and a half later I was in the chair, Lorraine (my stylist) struggling mightily to fashion a reasonable cut from hair that refused to stay attached, that changed from straight to curly the shorter it got, that went left when she cut it to go right. She worked so hard, and with such compassion, on a client that can't help but be disappointed no matter what the result and who is not going to be using her services for many, many months. I can't say that I am happy with how I look (I believe it's impossible to achieve an attractive outcome under these circumstances), but my heart is once again touched by this immediate responsiveness and amazing generosity of spirit. And as if Maz and Lorraine weren't already my heroes - they wouldn't even let me pay.

I am not looking forward to losing my hair - but I am thankful that I have choices that many women do not have with respect to managing my appearance. I am not looking forward to my next chemo - but I am thankful that treatments exist to manage my disease. I am not happy that I have cancer - but I am thankful that it is me and not my daughter, my husband, my family, my friends.

Shout outs this week: The Stein family (thanks for the yummy meal!); Maz and Lorraine (you guys rock); Julie Sempey; and Taryn (Black Friday shopping, Taco Bell and sharing a prayer for Grandma Ann. This is what I'm fighting for princess).

Sister Golden Hair

So, I'm in Ulta Saturday, picking up hair spray for Taryn because she keeps going in and stealing mine. And I figure - well, she's been using it every day, I really should get another can because I don't want to run out. I pick up the large can of Shaper ("30% More Free!"), turn to leave - and start laughing because...it's the exact same thing I did 4 years ago, a week before I lost all my hair. This time, luckily, I caught myself before I spent the money!

The hair, it's a funny thing. It's "THE HAIR." So much time and energy is spent dealing with something that has little to no bearing on your physical healing, yet everything to do with emotional healing. Will I lose my hair? When will I lose my hair? When will it grow back? Should I get a wig? And even though I've been through this before, and know some of the answers already, it is no less an issue because it's "THE HAIR." See, I had just gotten to a point where my hair was the length and cut that I wanted in order to grow it out a little more - could this cruel twist of fate be any funnier? Now instead of debating whether to go back to my original golden blond color, I'm left with thinking, "Will it grow back curly again?" "Will it come in even darker...or (gasp) gray?" and "Am I still a cute bald chick?!"

THE HAIR is still hanging in there for now, but it doesn't have long. I've got the tingly, "hair feels as though it's floating on top of my scalp instead of being attached to it" feeling. And while I look forward to all the money to be saved on hair care and styling products (savings best used for shoes I would argue!); while I confess that yes, there is something quite nice about running my hands over a smooth pate; and while 15 minutes of extra sleep because I don't have to blow dry and not having to shave my legs are bonuses worth bragging about, I must admit - I am sad to lose it, sad to be confronted with stark evidence of my illness, sad to have to think about starting all over again with growing it out. Not crazy sad (after all, I already know I AM damn good-looking bald), just (sigh) sad.

Start dusting off your bald jokes and nicknames - I'm counting on all of you to keep me laughing once THE HAIR makes its escape!

Sad Sad Sad/Happy

Monday: Feeling crappy during the day, singing in my car at night
Tuesday: Enjoying a "Girls Night Out", completely shot by the time I drive home
Wednesday: Most miserable day ever - after leaving a meeting at the LaGuardia Marriott drove home crying hysterically all the way (thanks for listening, Chris, sorry for melting down on you), in pain physically and emotionally, so exhausted that Warren has to iron my shirts for the next day (yes, he did a great job)
Thursday: Woke up feeling so good I was afraid to even acknowledge it, like "announcer jinx" - you know, when the sports announcer says right before the snap "This quarterback hasn't thrown an interception in the last 15 games", you KNOW what happens next, AND the other team runs it back for a touchdown! And yet, the good feeling has lasted all day long, in fact it has probably been the best day since chemo started.

They warned me there might be "mood changes." I know from experience that I do get the occasional "mood swings." But this is positively bi-polar!

Shout outs this week: my mother-in-law, Carole (everybody pick up stock in Hallmark, she is single-handedly making them profitable this quarter); my yoga instructors Leslie and Sumati (those breathing exercises really work!); Kevin ("you can pick up a Sarah Palin wig cheap"); Patti, Patty and Jackie (Mmmm soy chicken!); Dan the Man (you're a keeper!); and MJ and Lysa (you guys HAD to have been cheerleaders in high school!)

Blessings and Love!

Steal My Sunshine

Well, at least I still have my hair...for now.

This was a rougher weekend than I anticipated. After treatment on Thursday, I was feeling pretty good. Even went to work on Friday. But after going to get my Neulasta shot Friday night, things went slowly downhill. For the uninitiated, Neulasta is a supplemental chemotherapy that boosts my production of white blood cells in the bone marrow. Unfortunately, that beneficial result comes at the expense of some VERY severe bone pain (think growing pains times 100) throughout Saturday and Saturday night. I woke up about every 20 minutes during the night (those of you have had children know what that's like, and how absolutely draining it is the next day). Wait...there's more. Our Emily had come home to work in her law office Saturday, ended up twisting her ankle and having to be taken to the emergency room by Warren. So Warren, Ian and Taryn had to deal with tears and pain multiplied by 2. Needless to say, there were more meltdowns Saturday night than at a Carvel without electricity.

Sunday started in promising fashion - Taryn and I went to church to teach our regular Sunday school class (The lesson: Elisha Heals Naaman. How's that for coincidence? We spent the class talking about hospitals, doctors, and medicine!). It did me good to see the kids, but I confess to being exhausted afterwards. The bone pain finally got bad enough that Warren went to our local pharmacy and secured some Tylenol PM for me, which did, in fact work wonders (I personally would have called my niece, Dr. Laura 24, for advice since she is the BEST PHARMACIST ON THE PLANET, but I guess Warren was at the end of his rope by then and forgot). Yes...I missed the end of the final NASCAR race of the season (my #20 came in 9th), but the blissful, comatose sleep I enjoyed was well worth it.

And today was...OK. Really. I went into work (yay - Thea is back!) despite various and sundry continuing side effects, some I expected (having been through this before) and some I am still getting used to. My dreams are vivid (last night's: Barack and Michelle Obama participating in "The Amazing Race." I knew I shouldn't have watched 60 minutes right before!); my appetite is strong but some things just...taste...funny; and the tingling below my knees and down to my feet is downright disconcerting (and new to me as a side effect) - although it did NOT stop me from wearing high heels today!

The worst side effect though, is how treatment steals my optimism. How it turns my sunny outlook into a tsunami of despair and robs me of the memory of all the positive things my doctors have said. How it negates the tremendous outpouring of love and support I have already experienced in the short time since I was diagnosed. It is the meanest of all the side effects, the one that makes me think it would be better to stop treatment and try to enjoy what little time I might have left.

And then...blessedly...that side effect diminishes too, and I read your amazing e-mails and comments, and I see my daughter's beautiful face, and my husband brings me a perfect ham and swiss sandwich, and I find myself singing out loud to "Devil With A Blue Dress" in my driveway tonight. So "steal my sunshine" if you will, but I will wrestle it right back from you (um, as soon as the Tylenol PM wears off that is!)

As always, thanks for listening. Your love, your prayers, your good wishes - I can FEEL them, wonderful friends. I CAN FEEL THEM.

Sky High

On November 13, 1994 I felt a lump in my breast. On November 13, 2008 I started chemotherapy for the third time. And 13 is my lucky number??!!

Right now, I am hooked up to allow poisonous chemicals to enter my body. These chemicals (Taxol and carboplatin to be exact) "injure cancer cells causing their death" (got that straight from the fact sheet folks). The journey to health has begun.

A few more doctor visits and I now have a treatment plan. The purpose of the chemotherapy right now is to attempt to shrink the tumor as much as possible before surgery. The surgery (a very involved procedure that will include reconstruction and rehabilitation) will most likely take place sometime in January or early February. Then more chemo after that to grab the "leftover" cells. Hey, this is no walk in the park!

Before they administer the chemo, they pre-treat with anti-nausea and anti-allergy medication. They shot me up with (among a few other things) some really amazing Benadryl - these nurses deal nothing but the best, let me tell you. I was flying higher than the space shuttle for awhile. Coming back down a bit now, but not too much that I can't still say "I Love You Man."

Told the kids about the situation. Needless to say, they took it hard, but did seem to understand that as difficult as the process might be, the outcome will be worth it. Taryn even (after crying just a bit), God bless her, made a couple of jokes. She was planning a night out with a girlfriend and 2 guy friends that night. I said to her, "Now don't you go letting this boy get to first base tonight...or any other base for that matter." She replied (with a smile and a mug face), "Don't worry, you killed it with the cancer news." Emily we unfortunately had to tell over the phone since she's away at college, so that was difficult for her to absorb. Warren (who spoke with her) said she was hyperventilating a bit, but when we spoke the next day she understood a little better that this was going to be OK. Ian held it together, but I can tell he was hurting. We focused on the positive - it's a curable event; we are in our own home instead of the hotel (like last time!), they are older now and can understand the circumstances better; and they can drive (away from the situation if needed).

There has been an outpouring of support from everyone and as always I am grateful to be so blessed. Yes, there were a lot of audible gasps, sad puppy dog faces (in words), and (some) teary-sounding replies but for the most part you all seemed to share the same optimism that I feel. Which makes me feel like I was in fact able to convey the positive outcome I believe is headed my way. But heck, just in case you weren't sure, here's a picture of me on my way to chemo this morning. Gotta keep up on those work e-mails!

So far, I feel very good (well, I guess, VERY GOOD until the Benadryl wears off). There are moments I am overwhelmed ("So how many time CAN someone go through chemo before the body can't take it anymore?") and moments when I feel terribly, unbelievably lucky ("Today I woke up breathing, I live in the greatest country in the world, and I have a compassionate and loving group of family, friends and colleagues.") The moods will change, the reality will not, and life will go on.

Thanks for listening. You are all my heroes! Now let me get back to my Benadryl high.

Devil Inside

I call it "The Sad News, The Bad News, and The Good News." The sad news - I have another (2nd) recurrence of my cancer. The bad news - it will involve a more difficult treatment process than last time around. The good news - like the last recurrence, this one too is curable (even though the disease itself is not).

It's in my jaw. Left mandible to be exact. I am in the process of figuring out a treatment process with my doctors, but so far it will involve chemotherapy and surgery at the least. We're talking 3 or so cycles of chemo, surgery, recovery, and then another 3 cycles or so of chemo. The "bad" part is the surgery - it is potentially quite extensive, and I won't really know for sure until Monday, when I see the surgeon again. So...stay tuned. Further updates to come.

I have shared the news with a few people (could your faces be any sadder?), but not with Taryn or Emily or Ian yet. One thing I learned from the last go-round is not to tell them until there is a specific treatment plan. Otherwise, there are too many questions, too many fears. Of course, I could just be engaging in my usual avoidance behavior when it comes to confronting this issue. I can't imagine anything worse than springing this on them again, and it breaks my heart to think that Taryn especially has to hear this news about her mother one more time (and, unfortunately, probably not for the last time either). Not to mention how bad the timing is - she and Ian are both seniors, enjoying their last year of high school, writing their college essays, filling out applications, planning interviews and visits. I wanted so much for all of us (Warren and I included) to enjoy the process as they narrow down their hundreds of choices to a few select universities, and next spring, finally choosing one to attend. How am I going to be able to convince them that this won't effect their lives...when I know it inevitably will? This fact makes me sadder than just about anything else about this whole crazy deal.

There are times in the last couple of weeks when fear has overwhelmed me. There have been equally as many times when I've been calm and at peace with what lies ahead (both short term and long term). I don't want to do this again, but as you all know, I have "Four Reasons" why I must.

Well, I think we can all agree that... this really sucks! I've quite the journey ahead and I appreciate everyone taking the time to follow my story as it develops. I'll try not to be too boring or too graphic (at least not without a disclaimer first!) or too insensitive to the fact that this is hurting all of you as well, my dear friends and family.