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.