Ash Thursday

Back in 2001, my friend, Bess Jenkins, moved back to this part of Arkansas after living most of her adult life in Lake Village.  While she had been raised a Baptist, she married a Catholic, and over the years, she became a very devout Catholic.  When she moved to Marion, she was already at retirement age, but she’s one of those folks who think they need to keep on working so they won’t be a burden to their children.  So she came to work at the same law firm where I worked, and we became good friends.  I loved it that we could be close friends even with more than 20 years of difference in our ages.

We’ve remained close over the years, and I know she holds no hard feelings for the prank that Barry played on her early in our friendship that I call “Ash Thursday”.  The day before my breast cancer surgery, she brought over a big pot of delicious, chicken noodle soup and one of the best German Chocolate Cakes I’ve had in years, so I think we’re okay.

Here’s what happened on Ash Thursday:

Bess must have been pretty busy on Ash Wednesday of 2002, because she totally forgot about it until Thursday morning.  Feeling pretty remorseful, she told me about it at work that morning, and then I shared it with Barry when I went home for lunch.  Being the prankster that he can be, he called Bess immediately  and pretended to be “Father O’Malley” from the Catholic Church in West Memphis.  There is no Father O’Malley at the church.

He told Bess that he hadn’t noticed her name on the list of folks which he said they often pass down the pew for parishioners to sign when they attend Mass, and he was just calling to check on her since he knew she missed Ash Wednesday.  I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff, but Bess bought it, hook, line and sinker.  She began to confess right there over the phone, and I could hear her saying, “Father, I got so busy yesterday that I totally forgot about it” and “I’m so sorry Father.”  Then Barry offered to do a makeup Ash Wednesday session or an “Ash Thursday” if you will.  I was laughing, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hurt Bess’s feelings, and I was sitting across from him telling him to let her off the hook.  I had to work with her after all, and I wasn’t sure how she’d take this.

After trying to interrupt her several times, Bess finally stopped apologizing for missing Ash Wednesday.  When the realization of the prank set in, I heard her say, “Barry Bates, you just wait!”   We all laughed about it, and it’s been a story worth re-telling over the year.  I’m just glad she was so good-natured and we were able to remain friends.

(And not to make light of this observance, but if anyone missed Ash Wednesday, please know that my husband will gladly perform make up services if needed--just might put you a little behind on Lent.)

Two out of Three Ain't Bad

I still miss All My Children, and out of sheer force of a 30-year habit, I come in each day during my lunch hour and turn the television to ABC.  The Chew is what greets me now.  And it's not that I dislike The Chew, but it just seems wrong that it took the place of my soap opera.  This past Friday as I watched  Michael Symon  cooking, I thought it might be good to try the dish he prepared called "Orecchiette with Sausage and Swiss Chard".

Barry and I bought groceries on Friday night, and nowhere at Kroger could we find Orecchiette.  By the way, Orecchiette is shaped like a tiny ear, and it gets its name from the Italian word "orecchio" meaning ear.  I knew I needed a pasta similar to the orecchiette to hold the light sauce in the recipe, so I studied all of the pastas on the aisle.  The one I came up with was "Campanelle" pasta, and each piece of pasta was shaped like a little bouquet of flowers.  It wasn't even close to the orecchiette, but it was cute pasta.  That counts, right?

And I blame this on living in a small town, but we often can't find ingredients that stores in larger cities might carry.  I guess I could have driven to Memphis for the Swiss Chard, but it wasn't worth it to me for this one ingredient.  I stood in front of the various greens in the produce section, and they offered mustard, turnip and collard, but no chard.  I finally decided that fresh spinach would substitute nicely for the chard, and the flavor would be fairly mild with its addition to the dish.

So last night, I put all of the ingredients together, and it made a lovely, lemony pasta dish with Italian sausage and spinach.  Barry and I liked it well enough to make it again, but Traci didn't care for it much.  Although I really enjoy trying new dishes, it's great when I hit a homerun with one.  This one wasn't quite a homer since Traci didn't like it, but I'll try again.  Two liking it out of three ain't bad!

December 7, 2011

I continue to be amazed at how many lives are touched by cancer. There is hardly a day goes by that I don’t learn of someone new who is going through this battle. Pretty scary when you think about it. I count myself as one of the lucky ones since I’m doing well. My mammogram was good in September, and my tumor markers were below "normal" in November. Barring any unforeseen complications or issues, I don’t see the doctor again until March. I didn’t even have any cavities at my last dental visit! This all makes me happy for the here and now of my life.

I have recently begun praying for a young woman who was just diagnosed with breast cancer that has metasticized to a couple of places in her body. She has an eight-month old baby, and she tells in her story on CaringBridge of how she has plans of being around to raise her baby, so she’s fighting ultra hard to beat this thing. Although my babies are nearly 22 and 25, I know how she feels about wanting to be there for your children. I remember when my girls were very young, and I would pray that God would protect me and keep me safe and well so that I could raise them and so that they would know me. That may seem a bit selfish on my part, but I really do enjoy my girls. I love them more than life itself, and I am so proud of the wonderful, talented young women they have become. But regardless of how grown up or independent they may be now, I still think they need their mama around for a while.

Cancer doesn’t care who it touches, and I learned last night of a toddler from Wynne who was just diagnosed with leukemia on Monday and began chemotherapy on Tuesday. I have never dealt with this disease from a parent’s standpoint, but I can’t imagine watching my child go through treatment. It ought not be that way.

My heart is also hurting right now for a fellow breast cancer patient who was diagnosed just ahead of me last year. She also has esophageal cancer. We compared notes at first, and both of us did pretty well with treatment. But as I finished my treatments, new spots were discovered in her body of where the esophageal cancer had spread. She’s been such a fighter, but the doctor told her just this week that she probably has only 6-8 months to live. What do you say to someone in that situation? I’ve tried to think about it, and I honestly don’t know what I would want people to say to me.

Another friend who lives in South Arkansas just learned that her husband has cancer, pretty much all over his body. The news wasn’t good, and he’s in quite a bit of pain right now. I think all of those who know this family are hurting for them, too.

In spite of all of this "bad" happening all around me, it snowed about three inches of lovely, pristine whiteness on everything this morning. It was so exciting to see the beauty of the snow and enjoy how clean it made things appear. It’s funny how there can be dirty, nastiness in life, and yet something like snow can make it appear a bit better. The pain and despair of cancer is still there, and little can change that. But there CAN be hope for each one of us, particularly during this season of hope.

I want to be and long to be around for my girls and for Barry for a long time to come. And I must qualify what I have written today with the fact that my news has been good recently, so I am upbeat in how I feel about life. I don’t know what I would be writing if my news had been bad. It’s easy for circumstances to color our attitudes and outlooks.

In the here and now, and in spite of frequent hot flashes from my Tamoxifen, I am keeping myself busy most evenings making Christmas goodies, decorating and enjoying the Christmas tree. I am taking it one day at a time, and I’m enjoying feeling good. It’s a far cry from where I was this time last year.

September 20, 2011 - A Year Later

I got my first mammogram last week--post-surgery, post-chemo and post-radiation, and it was good!  I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been good, but it was good nonetheless.   I feel very healthy right now, and my hair has grown back enough that I've actually had two haircuts!  The hair right around my face is grayer than it was before, and I don't know if it will remain that way or if it will eventually darken a bit.  Even it stays gray, I like to consider it as if those are my new highlights.  My profile picture was taken about four weeks ago just after my second haircut.

I had a visit with my surgeon yesterday for him to look at the mammogram and examine me almost a year to the date from when my biopsy came back as breast cancer.  Dr. Whitt said everything looked good, and that's the kind of report you want to hear from the doctor.  I asked him if I could resume what I consider normal activities with my right arm, and he said I could lift things that were 15-20 pounds with no problem.  I told him I had been doing that for nearly a year now, but that I would try not to lift any sofas or pianos.  He says I'm okay to do yard work and just about anything I need to do in the house.  Woo hoo!  He even said I could go back to an underwire bra when the tenderness is gone, and although the surgery site is no longer tender, there is a bit of lingering tenderness from where I had radiation.  Still, it's all good news.

I remember this time last year when I learned of my breast cancer, it seemed so surreal that life could just go on for everyone else when I was suffering from an indescribable pain.   Although none of us know what the future holds, having cancer gives a definite reality check with so much unknown of how the body will respond to chemo or radiation or if the cancer will be eradicated.  I tried not to compare my breast cancer to that of other people, but it was hard.  Someone would have a better prognosis and others would have worse.  I learned it was best just to think about my own situation and continue to pray for everyone else who had cancer since no two people are alike.  Life does go on in spite of cancer.

I sit here today, thankful that my treatment is over and thankful that I'm not faced with months of not feeling well. It sounds crazy, but I can hear about a friend going through chemo and experiencing difficulty, and I get queasy.  Seriously.  I wonder if it will always be that way?  Even though I know chemo can kill cancer cells, I feel in my heart that someday there will be a better way.  People shouldn't have to get so sick in a fight to get well.

As to my immediate future, I see my oncologists every three months to check tumor markers, etc., get a mammogram (right side) every six months, and then a full mammogram once a year.  All of this goes on for two years, then the time between doctor visits gets longer.  I am taking Tamoxifen twice a day to keep estrogen levels down since my breast cancer was estrogen positive, and the main side effect I am having from the drug is hot flashes.   Lucky me.

I am just happy to be here, and I hope to be around for a long time to come.

August 1, 2011

I know the theme song from Cheers says, "Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name," but after ten months of surgery, chemo and radiation, everybody knows my name at Bethesda Cancer Center.  It's not a bad thing, but I don't think it's quite the same experience as sitting around in a bar atmosphere sharing a drink or two with good friends.  At the cancer center, we swapped all kinds of stories and suggestions, but the only liquids we shared were in bags attached to IV poles.  Pity.

I didn't miss going to the cancer center the first week following the end of my treatment, because we headed to the beach.  And let me clarify that Barry and the girls spent time on the beach and at the pool while I was in the condo most of the time due to sensitivity to sun.  Like a vampire, I would emerge from the building each night about 7:00 and enjoy the ocean for about an hour and a half.  It wasn't too bad, but I did miss being with my family having fun during the day.  A pod of dolphins swam by each day, and I LOVED watching them through the binoculars.  What a blessing!

After we returned home and I would drive to work, I thought about my radiation buddies who were still in treatment just down the road, and part of me wanted to go by and see them.  But part of me was
glad to stay away.

I had my two week post-radiation visit last Thursday, and the doctor said everything looked good.  Other than the burns to my collarbone area, my skin held up pretty well, and even the burns have healed to a lovely suntan color.  I am still very tender in the radiation entry point areas, but I've been able to wear a bra just about every single day for the past week, and that's progress.

My next doctor's visit will be a mammogram in September (both breasts and then one every six months on the right breast).  After this next mammogram, I'll have a visit with my surgeon to check on post-surgical changes, post-chemo and radiation changes, and then I'll have a visit with my radiation oncologist for him to look at the mammogram, too. 

My chemo oncologist examined me Thursday, and they drew blood for a complete metabolic panel as well as to check tumor markers.  My next visit with him is in November, and then every three months after that for two years.  My liver enzymes are slightly elevated, but that's to be expected.  I'm also overweight, and I plan on doing something about that as soon as the temperature outside is comfortable enough to do anything more energetic than just breathing!

My tumor markers didn't come back until today, and I was a bit anxious waiting on them since they were one point over normal last time.  They are at 35.4 right now, and for that I am grateful.  I don't know why the markers are lower than last time other than chemo is a four-months-ago bad memory at this point, and I began taking Tamoxifen just over a week ago.  Maybe the drug lowered my estrogen significantly in just a few days.  Who knows?  Dr. Obaji asked me if I had experienced any hot flashes yet, and asked him how soon that would happen.  His response was, "Immediately."  I thought I was having a hot flash on Sunday morning at church, and I fanned myself with my bulletin, but then I noticed Barry fanning himself, too.  Are hot flashes catching?

I've joked about Barry being my "pool boy" over the past couple of months because he is out in our pool just about every day, and he's done an amazing job keeping it pristine.  We were out in the pool over the weekend (yes, after 7:00 when the sun was setting), and I looked over at him and thanked him very sincerely for sticking with me and taking care of me over the past ten months of pretty much uncertain times.  He looked at me and saw the tears glistening, and he said he loved me.  I don't know what I would have done without him and his steadfastness.

Just so you'll know, I may not update on here as often as I have in the past.  I am doing well, and if there is anything you can pray for as far as I'm concerned it's for my right arm.  I haven't experienced lymphedema, but doing very much at all gives my arm a feeling of fullness in my underarm and forearm, and I'm constantly aware of the changes in my arm over the past year.  I am hoping some of this will get better as the nerves have time to heal from all that's happened to them.

I WILL update after doctor's visits and if anything significant happens.  For now, I am thankful not to have as much to write about.

July 10, 2011 - Nearing the End

Tomorrow marks the end of ten months of cancer treatment, and although I haven't enjoyed the time in treatment, I am a little frightened of being finished.  With the pain and discomfort I've experienced, I've known the cancer was being battered and torn apart with each chemical or shot from the laser beam.  My consolation of being finished with treatments at the doctor's office is that I will be taking Tamoxifen for at least five years to keep down estrogen levels, and I'm told my breast cancer was estrogen fed.  Take that, cancer!

Someone told me the other day that they hadn't called me or written to me since my diagnosis because they didn't know what to say.  I told them that I was pretty much the same way toward others before I was diagnosed myself.  But oh my goodness what a tiny tumor can make in my attitude toward this dreaded disease.

I have learned that people with cancer do not need to be left alone to heal on their own.  They NEED cards, letters, notes of encouragement, occasional meals, a little happy every now and then, a cup of Sonic ice, gift cards, money for doctor's bills or "to go" food.  A diagnosis and the treatment of cancer can literally consume a person, making it difficult for them to function anywhere near normal, and just getting through the day can be a major accomplishment.

I have been so fortunate to be blessed with friends and family who have been attentive to me during this great unpleasantness.  I know that Barry and the girls are so glad for me getting closer to being "back to normal", and I love them for their patience.  I don't think they always understood, but they were always good to help me in any way they could.  What more could I ask?

And I can't even begin to tell people how fortunate I have been with my job and the people I work with.  Seeing me on a daily basis, my good friend, Tracy, would know when I was having a particularly difficult time, and I don't know how many times she had a little suss in my chair just to brighten my day or try to help me to feel better.  Each time I had chemo, Mike and Cathy Mayton would send a gift to me to give me courage--that first gift included the pink boxing gloves and the sign they painted that said, "Fight Like a "Girl"!  And that's been just what I've tried to do, fight as hard as I could along the way.  On Friday, Cathy Edwards had a bouquet of flowers on my desk just to help me feel better--she knew how much the burn on my neck was hurting me.  Other co-workers have given me gifts of money and gift certificates for food and sent flowers along the way.  I think I'm one of the most fortunate people in the world to be blessed with this type of work family.

So many friends have been there to stand in the gap for us--Janie for taking me to and from treatment many times or being with me at the hospital for different procedures.  Bless her heart for having to watch me "lose my cookies" more than once!

My EEE friends have sent notes of encouragement, flowers and food, and it's been 28 years since we were classmates.  Lots of loyalteee!  I just love my gal pals!

My small group circle of friends have been wonderful prayer warriors, and they've also brought food and sent cards and letters to help me heal.  Three of ten in the group have dealt with cancer issues, and more than that have had close relatives who fought cancer. 

Faith Baptist Church of Cabot sent the wonderful lap blanket early on, and I have continued to get cards each month from them to lift me up.

Hillside Baptist Church in Camden has sent me prayer cards every single week, and I just love those folks!  Our girls were born when we lived in Camden, and that place holds a special place in my heart.  What a wonderful ministry, and I always think of the postage expense they have shouldered over the years to continue sending out prayers cards--what a blessing!

There have been so many who have just dropped by to bring something or who have helped us in some way, and for each of you, I am so grateful. I still get a card every single Monday from a lady in Enid, Oklahoma who prays for me daily.  Amazing.

I pray first each morning for my friends who have been affected by cancer whether they are survivors, family members or individuals in the throes of treatment.  I want to lift them to God first because I know some of the issues they're facing.

As to my continuing journey, my last radiation is tomorrow, and then I won't see the radiation oncologist for two weeks.  The skin on my neck was at its worst this past Thursday, and it was a very uncomfortable day.  I had to wear a bandage over the burn on my collarbone (3 1/2" X 2" area) when we went to Memphis that day, and when I took off the bandage, nearly all the skin came off with it.  Yes, it hurt like the dickens, but once all the skin came off, it's been better and better ever since.  I still have a nasty-looking place on my neck and collarbone, but it's not so gruesome that I can't go out and about with that area exposed.

I'm also still not wearing a bra because of the discomfort, but I am hopeful that I can wear one in the next couple of weeks.  The skin is just too warm and fragile to wear anything that fits snugly in the treated area.

I see the chemo oncologist in just over two weeks, and he will draw blood and check tumor markers once again.  I'm hopeful all future visits will be uneventful, but I'm told by other cancer survivors that every test or scan brings many days of anxiety and fear of what could be.  I've now graduated to this group of "waiters".  Once again, the joys of dealing with cancer never truly go away.  When people say, "The scan was clear--no cancer!", it is a reason for celebration.  Unfortunately, it doesn't mean there will be no more treatments or issues related to cancer.

I'm told I will get a baseline mammogram in September which the doctor has warned me will be "abnormal" based on all of the changes from surgery and treatment this year.  I will see the chemo oncologist every three months for a while to check tumor markers, and we are counting on them being normal or below normal.  That's the hope of all cancer survivors.

I would ask that you please keep praying for me and all of the cancer-treatment-related issues I'm still having.  I feel like damaged goods at this point in my life, but I am so very thankful for those of you who love me anyway, warts and all.

July 2, 2011 - Scary Monkey

The view above my radiation table has a textured ceiling, and when the beam hasn't been directly bove me, I've picked out several different designs in the texture.  I've found a pumpkin with a nice pointy stem.  I've found the face of comedy, but thankfully, I've never found tragedy.  I've found the profile of the Grinch, and among other designs, I've found an angry, scary monkey up there.  I can still pick out all of these things in the tiles above me, but over the past week or so, I've lost the monkey.  He's just disappeared.  I'm kind of glad I lost him, because he was a bit scary to me, and monkeys aren't supposed to be scary. Ok, maybe if they're the flying monkeys on The Wizard of Oz.

As I looked for the monkey the other day, I thought of how he symbolized the scariness of radiation when I first started six weeks ago.  I was angry at having to even do something like this to my body, knowing that the effects aren't just what I'm feeling now, but effects that I will be subject to for the rest of my life.  I've had ten months of treatments, long, scared waits for test results, nausea, changes in physical appearance and in habits--changes for a lifetime.

My surgery in September changed me forever, and having my lymph nodes removed is something I wish had not happened, but it did, and now I get to deal with a host of potential issues in my right arm. I'm constantly aware of my arm and the tightness and discomfort that will never go away.  Radiation has made it worse, and it's made me be extra cautious with my arm.

And rightly so, my family is being very protective of me and of what I do with my right arm.  In spite of their arguments, I waited tonight until the sun was starting to set, and I went out with my hand clippers and trimmed some small limbs that were hanging down from the trees in the yard.  I can't stand being inside and not doing anything at all outside.  Having my right arm up over my head is a good thing, and as long as I don't overuse it or injure it, activity is good for my arm.  Besides, I only used my right arm and hand to hold limbs.  I used the "good" hand so much that I now have a lovely blister at the base of my thumb!  Serves me right.

Honestly, if I quit doing, what quality of life will I have?  I am the first to admit that I'm very stubborn, and after I recover from this stint with radiation, I'm not sure how much of my "used to" activity I'll be giving up for good.  It's hard not to do when it's what I've done forever.

I posted some pictures of what my neck looks like right now.  I didn't really understand what the doctor meant about skin breakdown until one day last week when one of the little moles on my neck turned black from being fried with radiation, and when I scratched at it, my skin peeled off like a peach.  As the week progressed, Kelsey said my neck looked burgundy rather than just pink or red, and in the evening it IS a purplish burgundy.  I can't put cortisone on it now since the skin is broken, so I'm just using Aquafor to keep it from burning and itching.

The rest of my skin is holding up very well right now, but it's still too tender to wear a bra.  My last five treatments (yes, I only have five more!) are directly to the tumor bed straight into my breast.  The doctor drew a kidney-shaped mark on part of my breast (an area smaller than a chlid's fist), and the treatments that start Tuesday will be shot from three inches away straight into that area.  I'm told I shouldn't be able to tell a difference from the other treatments I've been getting, and I hope I can't tell a difference.  One of my biggest issues all along with cancer treatment has been that I want to know what will happen, what to expect, what I need to do, what they are going to do--all before it happens.  I don't do as well with the unexpected.

I didn't expect cancer to strike when I found the tumor last September, and there have been many times when I've had to fight the urge to pull out chemo tubes or jump off the radiation table and just run away.  But I'm still working to finish up what has been started to cure me, and I'm hoping to be cured.  I know there will be more blood tests, more PET scans, more of all of it which will mean more tense waiting in my future.  Bring it on.  We are never promised life without issues.

And I'm glad the angry/scary monkey has made himself scarce these days, because I don't need that in my life right now. Maybe he's moved on because he knows I'm about finished with radiation.  Maybe he's only there when people ARE angry or scared.

June 24, 2011

Today marked treatment #23 for me, and I'm not very comfortable right now.  My right underarm and the bottom side of my right upper arm are tight and a bit swollen--probably a bit of fluid and for sure some affected muscles.  Having two days of freedom ahead of me from the laser beam is a wonderful prospect.

I noticed at the end of last week and over the weekend that the right side of my neck was becoming very red, and since I've been one to break out in hives occasionally, I didn't think that much of it.  When I noticed a definite line just to the right of center on my body where the redness started, I felt as if it had to do with the radiation treatments.  On Monday, I asked the radiation tech why my neck was so red, and she explained to me that my treatment field went all the way up over the lymph glands in my neck.  I knew the lymph glands at the top of my breast were being radiated, but I didn't know about the ones in my upper clavicular and neck areas.  I asked the tech if my lymph glands would be damaged from the radiation, and of course she said I would need to speak to the doctor about it.

Learning of this radiated area threw me considerably, and I got very quiet.  She half-jokingly asked if I was upset with her, and I told her, no, and that it wasn't her fault I was having to get treatment such as this.  She then explained the protocols that they were following to give me a longer life and to hopefully keep down any recurrence of my breast cancer.

The next day when I saw the doctor, I asked him about the treatment field all the way up my neck and shoulder, and he said, "We talked about this."
No, we did not.

You can ask just about anyone who knows me well, and there are certain things (unfortunately both good and bad) that I do not forget--Barry calls me an elephant.  As a singer, I believe I would have remembered that the edge of my voice box and vocal cords were being radiated.  I would have come home and talked about it, and I would have written about it here.  I believe I would have remembered being told that the corner of my thyroid was being radiated as well.  So it must have been someone else in that discussion with the doctor.

I asked if my lymph nodes would be damaged and if they would be able to drain infection from my body, and the doctor said they would be damaged temporarily but they should recover eventually.  How fun is that?  Eventually.  He said I might be a little hoarse for a while, but my vocal cords would also recover.  He also said that the amount of radiation hitting my thyroid was "therapeutic" and that it shouldn't cause thyroid cancer that comes from radiation exposure.  Hmmm.  This was a lot for me to contemplate, and it made me overwhelmed to think of the whole process.  The doctor explained to me, again, as the tech had, that the treatment they were giving me was protocol to add to my life expectancy.

Maybe so, but how do they come up with the magic number of 33 treatments?  Did people have a greater recurrence with only 25 treatments?  I want to understand more of why this has had to be done to my body.  I've never been one to buy into the old saying that something is done because that's the way it's always been done or because that's what everyone is doing now.  And yes, I'm hardheaded and difficult at times, but I'm doing everything they are asking me to do.  I had all eight chemos with the three drugs they said I needed.  I've endured 23 days of radiation and will have ten more radiation treatments with the amounts they say I need--for protocol sake and hopefully and ultimately for my sake.

Don't get me wrong, I am very thankful that I have health insurance and a cancer policy and that there is a treatment center nearby with nice people who will listen to my concerns and answer my questions.  I don't have to like any of it, though.  I think I would rather be told about "protocol" from someone who has been through treatment because they honestly know what it's like.  I asked the oncologist one day if he had ever had chemo before, and I think it startled him.  He said, "No."  And I told him that he could visually see what happens with a patient getting Adriamycin, but he would never know what it felt like unless he ever had to take the drug.

As I read back over my words, I know I sound harsh, but I want to be honest here.  Once again, cancer absolutely sucks.  Treatment has placed on hold much of my life for the past ten months, and I am thankful there is light at the end of the tunnel for me.  That being said, the trade off for good health and being alive is the ultimate goal, and I am truly thankful that I am cancer-free.

As to where I find myself right now, I haven't worn a bra for more than two weeks because the elastic is just too much for my tender underarm.  I bought a radiation camisole from the American Cancer Society website, and although the shoulder straps show under my clothing, it has definitely helped me as I go to work or if I want to be out and around people.  It DOES insulate the heat, however, and by the end of the day, my breast and underarm are very red.  My skin is still in decent condition, so I'm hopeful there will be no blisters or breakdown of the tissue.

I have a good rapport now with my radiation buddy who has throat cancer, and when I came out of treatment on Thursday, I didn't realize he was seated right beside the door where I stopped for a moment to speak to my chemo buddy, Robbie.  He nudged me and sort of grinned, and asked me how I was.  I told him I was good, and I asked how his throat was, and he said it was better.  I cocked my head to the side and asked if he was telling the truth about his throat, and the whole room laughed.  One lady said, "Honey, that's what we tell people when they ask how we are."  And she's right.

I looked around the room at the group of unlikely friends, and I realized we all had a commonality.  Cancer.  Some of us are going to win the battle, but others are not, unfortunately.  Every single one of us, though, are fighting like hell to make it to next week, next month and next year.

June 19, 2011 - Father's Day

We've had a great Father's Day today with lunch at a Carrabba's in Memphis, then a little bit of shopping. I actually wore a bra today knowing that being out in the heat like that would cause chafing issues for my arm and breast, but the four hours I had it on were more than enough to remind me of how tender my radiated skin is.

The skin actually looks pretty good, but the tenderness is there nonetheless. Having the weekend free from radiation is nice, and I can't tell you how much I'm dreading tomorrow and this week of treatments. I told Barry yesterday that I can see why depression is one of the side effects of radiation treatments--a person's life is disrupted to the point that regular activity or habits are not comfortable. When you can't do what is routine without it potentially bothering your skin, it's not fun. I'm not too tired or anything like that, but I have had to watch how much I do. I did take the time to read a book, so I AM sitting down some.

18 treatments down--15 to go.

Although my cancer was Stage IIIa which is not the worst but certainly not the best, I am continually reminded of how fortunate I am. Each morning when I go for my radiation treatments, there is an older, black gentleman in the waiting room with me, and he gets his treatments just after me. He has throat cancer.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've learned he's had surgery already, he's had all of his teeth pulled to get him ready for mouth and throat radiation, he has a feeding tube in his stomach and he also has a port installed, ready for chemotherapy. The radiation is beginning to affect his throat and make it scratchy and sore, and he still has a ways to go. He doesn't want to have to use the feeding tube, but he may eventually be forced to if his throat gets too raw. He's concerned about chemotherapy, and I've told him a little of my experience and how each person reacts differently to treatment. I told him of the importance of eating right whether he felt like it or not, and I told him that Sonic ice was my best friend during chemo. He lifts his head now and smiles when I come into the waiting area, and I smile back. I'm embarrassed that I haven't asked his name yet, but I'll find that out soon. God knows who he is.

Life is tough, but there is always someone else around who has it just a little tougher.  I'm not saying I won't whine and grumble about the discomfort I'm in, because I'm human.  But I really DO know how fortunate I am.

June 12, 2011

Friday marked treatment #13 out of 33, so that means I have 20 more to go.  That's 40% finished with radiation, and I am literally counting the days until it's completed.

I've said before that I don't feel anything when I'm getting radiation, but the discomfort comes later in the day or several days later, and by the end of this past week, I was ready for a break.  By Thursday, I could see a pink rectangle shape from the middle of my chest to just past my right underarm and about an inch onto my back.  The skin is still in good condition, and I am applying aloe gel, lanolin and Aquafor on it as often as I can to keep it soft and well-hydrated.  Under my skin is a different story.

I told Barry that it feels as if someone has given me an Indian burn under the surface of my skin and up into the back side of my right arm.    The problem is, that feeling doesn't really go away.  I am doing activities around the house and will continue to do certain things, but being still with my arm elevated feels the best.  For those of you who know me well, this has slowed me down considerably.  The more I do with my arm that involves much lifting, being out in the heat, having my arm hanging down too much--all of this adds to my discomfort.  I'm a bit better each morning after resting through the night, and then I get hit with another dose of radiation which gives my underarm a full, heavy feeling.  I can't see that I have edema in my arm, but I know there is SOME fluid because of what I'm feeling on the inside.

Wearing a bra has become uncomfortable, and I have gone pretty much all weekend without one.  Not a pretty sight--and after wearing a bra for 40 years or so, it's not in my comfort zone to go without one.  I have friends who tell me one of the first things they do when they get home each day is to set those puppies free, but not me!  Even though I don't like going without it, I'm having to adjust my clothing to accomodate this omitted undergarment, because even the slightest constriction is causing me tenderness and discomfort.  And I've never been one to like "skin on skin" contact, so corn starch is my new best friend.

Based on where I am today with tenderness and redness, I shudder to think of what I will be like by the end of the week.  The doctor told me the worst would be between treatments 20-25, and that's nearly two weeks from now, so a lot of radiation to go before then.

I've gone without my wig for a week now, and it feels SO good not to have a "hat" on all the time.  I do get a lot of stares, but I've kind of felt like my short hair is a badge of honor right now after having survived eight rounds of chemo and 13 rounds of radiation.  There are lots of us out there if you pay close attention.

I took my radiation team some fresh strawberry preserves this week, but I don't think it will mean they will turn down the beam any--they've gotta do what they've gotta do.  In spite of radiation, I'm doing okay emotionally, and I haven't been too fatigued, but not being able to move much without discomfort is not fun.  And please continue to pray that I don't develop lymphedema.  That's a bigger concern for me than getting blisters in the radiated areas.

Thank you for thinking about me!

June 4, 2011 - Relay for Life

Last night was the Crittenden County Relay for Life at Tilden Rogers Park in West Memphis, and I was proud to be the honoree for Crittenden Regional Hospital and Bethesda Cancer Center.  Cyndi James from CRH contacted me a couple of months ago to ask if I would consider being the honoree, and I told her I wouldn't mind at all.  I didn't know what all it would entail, but I was honored just to be asked.

Another CRH employee, Rebecca Winter (friend from First Presbytrian), worked with Cyndi to make the booth a great representation for both the hospital and the cancer center.  The backdrop was a sign that said, "Cancer Never Sleeps", and they brought in a twin bed with a handmade quilt, and there was a rocking chair to the side of the bed with a pink sash across it, and the sash had my name on it.  Rebecca's daughter, Gabby, who just finished 6th grade, took information from my CaringBridge posts and wrote a fairy tale/bedtime story about me, and the story and great illustrations was presented in a nice scrapbook and laid across the pillow on the bed.  I was amazed at the wonderful, creative job Gabby did to turn a considerable amount of grown up and "not so easy to understand" information into a story suitable for a bedtime story.  Thank you again, Gabby!

The Survivor Walk was at 7:00, and I have to admit as the survivors emerged from the crowd to make the walk, I was a bit ver klempt as we began the trek led by the Relay for Life folks.  At the end of the lap, we were met by other Relay for Lifers who hugged us and placed medals around our necks.  Very moving.

Then came the Care Giver Walk.  Barry, Traci and Kelsey were toward the front of the group, and I could see their faces as the person in charge had them first look at their hands.  She said, "These are the hands that have cared for the one with cancer, the ones who have helped bathe them and feed them."  Then she had them cross their arms across their chests, and she said, "These are the arms that have comforted and held the one with cancer."  And finally, she had them place their hands over their hearts, and she said, "These are the hearts who have loved the one with cancer."  I saw tears falling from Traci's eyes after the first few words, and by the end of the exercise, she was pretty broken up.

Kelsey has done what she could when she's been home, but when you are away at college, you don't see as much of the daily-ness of how cancer affects a household.  Traci and Barry have seen how sick I've been.  They've waited on me hand and foot, they've brought me medicine and prepared food or made a run to get something at the store that I thought I might be able to eat.  They've all hugged me when I've cried through this ordeal.  So honestly, the Care Giver Walk was more touching to me than anything. They made their lap just as I did, and they were greeted with hugs and handshakes by the Relay for Life volunteers at the end of the walk. And as Barry and Traci approached me, I saw tears flowing from both of them.  Such a sweet moment and affirmation of a job well done.

Whew!  And then at 9:15 or so, the names of survivors or of those who had passed were read, and luminarias were lit along the pathways at the park.  Although we were exhausted from the near 100 degee heat and being out all evening, we made the walk around the park to see the beautiful lumarias lit to honor so many. It was a very nice evening in spite of the heat, and it was good to see so many people working to raise money to find a cure.  I can't wait for that day when a cure is found either!

As to how I'm doing right now, I have had eight treatments and have 25 more to go.  I will have 17 more just like I'm getting now, and the last eight will be a "boost" to the tumor area.  I have a nice pink booby now, and even though I don't have treatments on Saturdays, the pinkness is still there, and I'm trying to be as careful as I can to keep the area moisturized so that I won't get blisters.  I'm afraid I may not succeed, but it won't be from lack of trying.  I haven't noticed swelling in my arm, but I do have a "full" feeling in my underarm area, and I walked around quite a bit last night with my arm up over my head just to try to relieve pressure from the underarm area.  It's almost like I have something under my arm, but when I feel of it, there's nothing there.

As I said before, radiation doesn't hurt when I get the treatments, but the effects occur sometime later, and the effects will gradually worsen with more and more radiation.  I went to the local health food store today in search of Emu Oil, which I have read is good for burns and inflammation.  The only thing I could find showed alcohol as the third ingredient, so I didn't buy it.  I DID buy Calendula ointment (Marigold derivitive) which is also supposedly good for burns and inflammation of the skin, and I used it earlier in hopes that it might be of help to me.  I also got Calendula soap, which I will try out tonight, and it actually has bits of Marigolds in the soap!

Thank you all for your cards, notes and comments of encouragement.  I still need them!

(I'll post a few pictures from Relay for Life in a bit.)

May 30, 2011

After four radiation treatments, I am not feeling any significant side effects.  Of course, this is just the beginning of my radiation therapy, and I have 29 more to go, but I am hoping I have very mild, if any, reaction to radiation.  The radiation tech said I probably wouldn't notice much until about two weeks of treatments, but I figure there is nothing wrong with hoping I fare very well.

When I am lying down on the therapy table, I can see my reflection in the glass of the machine where the radiation beam shoots out.  That sounds a bit dramatic that it shoots out when I can't feel it doing anything at the time, but that's what I imagine it doing-shooting any rogue, but lonely cancer cells that might have the nerve to still be hanging around.  I'm on the table for about twenty minutes, and honestly, I feel like a Salvado Dali clock poured out on the table the way gravity has its way with my body.  All I can say is that it's not a pretty sight, and I'm glad it's just me and the radiation tech.

I get four shots from the radiation beam with one lasting about 45 seconds, two lasting about 25 seconds and one lasting about 5 seconds.  One shoots through my back to the lymph nodes above my right breast (this is a drainage area for the breast and a potential area where cancer cells could be); another shoots from the front of my chest to the same area; another shoots into the tumor site in my breast; and the other shoots from the side of my body to hit the axillary lymph node area.  I try not to think about how much radiation I'm getting from treatment and how it can cause cancer down the road, because my main goal is to just make it down the road right now!

One thing I have noticed so far as to side effects is that when I push or pull things or lift heavier things since radiation, my right arm feels tighter and more affected than it has before.  I don't have any swelling, but there is some tightness in the upper, back side of my arm.  I've had some tightness ever since surgery in September, but I can tell a bit of a difference.  Everything I read says to keep on doing, but to pace yourself and not do too much.  I've done a lot this weekend, but it's been good, and I don't feel too tired or that my arm is bothered too much.

Today we had a great lunch with our friends, Mark and Janie, and later, other heart friends, Steve & Gaylee Overstreet, stopped by on their way home to Arkadelphia after visiting their boys in Memphis, and we had dessert together and just fellowshipped.  Nothing like picking up where you've left off with good friends.  We all worshipped together years ago at Richwoods Church, and I feel so blessed by the friendships we made and have carried on over the years.  These folks are prayer warriors, too, and I'm so thankful for them and the prayers I know they have prayed for me.

Well, tomorrow is more radiation, and I will try to give an update about once a week unless something happens to where I need specific prayer.  Please continue to pray that I don't suffer from lymphedema and that I don't suffer from too much fatigue due to radiation.  My hair is growing back nicely, and it may actually be as long or even longer than what Jamie Lee Curtis wears.  I'm just not comfortable wearing it that short.  She's skinny, too, and skinny people get away with a whole lot more fashion freedom than "healthy" people do, darn it!  But wigs and hats are hot, and I am getting a little impatient.  I may have to go to my hair stylist and have her do some kind of short, punky hairstyle. We'll see.

May 24, 2011

Well, I'm all painted up like a hussy, but the paint's not on my face, it's on my right breast and chest.  I'm not kidding---lovely blue Sharpie markings now adorn my body, and the hash marks have little sticky tape on them to keep them from washing off for the next six weeks.  My simulation was yesterday so that the technician could do a run through on my treatment to make sure things were lined up appropriately for the radiation beam, and the doctor had to look at all of it one more time before radiaiton got started.

When I left the office yesterday, the tech told me they might do my first treatment today if the doctor gave the go ahead, and he did, so I had radiation this afternoon at 1:00.  I keep thinking I feel something where I was radiated, but I think it's all in my head at this point.    They say fair-skinned, blue-eyed individuals tend to burn more readily, so I may see some "sunburn" sooner than others.  We'll see.

From now on, I will have my radiation therapy at 8:30 each morning, and it should last about 20 minutes (30 if you count clothing removal and drive time).  I will have 25 days of the radiation such as I got today with doses from four different angles, and then I will get eight (8) doses of a "boost" as the tech called it directed straight to the tumor area.

I lay there on the treatment table this afternoon with my chin turned to the left trying to keep my chin out of the field of radiation, and I focused on the ceiling as best I could.  It was a pretty boring area of the room, but I did notice there was a metal mesh covering over the light fixture.  I'm going to have to ask why that's there because I don't imagine there's much that ever gets close to those lights.  The mesh covering kept my mind occupied for a good part of treatment, but I'm easiy amused.

I asked the tech if I had more questions than any of her other patients, and she said rather diplomatically, "You don't know unless you ask".  Hmmm.  I have seen waaayyyyy too many people come in and just go through whatever treatment they are given without asking anything, and many of them do whatever just because the doctor told them to do it.  I hope the doctors, nurses and technicians aren't too tired of me, but maybe I'm helping them to stay on top of their game by asking questions since they are educating me, too.

Traci, Kelsey and Barry are all pitching in to help me more now that radiation has started.  I came home to a wonderful dinner of Greek Lasagna (Pastitsio) prepared by Kelsey yesterday.  She also planted flowers all over the yard and in several flower pots on the patio.  Traci has been helping with dishes, and she has made major progress on Spring cleaning and redecorating of her room.  And Barry does whatever I ask him to do.  He'll say, "What do you have planned for me today?"  I think that's pretty considerate. =)

Oh, I meant to mention that I have a "seroma" that showed up in my PET scan.  I didn't even know I had it since it's not causing me any discomfort.  A seroma is a fluid-filled area that commonly develops after surgery, and mine probably occurred sometime after my first PET scan in October since it didn't show up in the scan.  It's been there ever since, and it's not harmful to me, and my body will probably re-absorb the fluid at some point.  Dr. Obaji said that I could have it drained, but I told him it was like having a free mini breast implant, and I thought I'd keep it for a while since it wasn't bothering me.

Well, I'm doing well so far from my first radiation treatment.  Life is full and good.  We're getting a new fence and a new roof soon as a result of the storms.  Kelsey's taking a summer school class and collecting things for her school apartment in the fall.  Traci's substitute teaching and looking for a permanent teaching job.  Barry's finishing out the school year at MIS and looking to teach a summer school class in June for ASU.  I'm just busy with work.  Oh yeah, and radiation.

May 18, 2011

My PET scan was free of any cancer!  I can't tell you how excited I have felt ever since Barry and I got this news today--it's like I have a new lease on life, an extension on an assignment.

On Monday morning, I realized about 10:15 that it was the same morning that President Obama was flying in to Memphis to speak at the graduation ceremony for Booker T. Washington High School.  The ceremony was in the Cook Convention Center in downtown Memphis, and I had to drive right past there to get to my PET scan.  I ran out of the office wondering if I would make it on time, and I wondered even more when I was sitting in traffic in the middle of the bridge while the Secret Service had traffic at a standstill while the President entered the convention center.  Traffic eventually began to move, and I made it to the imaging center with 10 minutes to spare!

Back in October, I detailed what happens with a PET scan, so I won't tell as much about it now, but I tried to relax as best I could during the hour that the radioactive isotopes coursed through my body.  I wondered what I would do if they lit up during the test showing any cancer and if eight rounds of chemo had been for naught.

During the actual scan, which last about 30 minutes, I closed my eyes and envisioned President Obama speaking to hundreds of graduates just a few miles away. I knew he was challenging them to grow, to learn and to go out and do good things, and to live their lives to the fullest.  I wondered if I would be able to continue with my hopes and dreams in tact or if they would be crushed because of stupid cancer.   I finally decided as I lay there on the table, that none of us know where the crooks and turns of our lives will take us.  We can make a plan, but things don't always turn out the way we want.  It's just the same for the BTW graduates as it is for me.  We all have hills and valleys along the way.

I have been so blessed by so many people along this journey.  My mother has driven me crazy with the love she has for me, but she has called me at least once a day, sometimes two times--just to see how I'm doing.  Barry's mom came and stayed with us right after my surgery, and she helped Barry and Traci to "understand" how they could help me over the toughest months.  My friend, Tracy, has ministered to me with cards, gifts and little notes each week, and I thank God for her.  My friends, the Baber's have fed us manya meal and been there when we needed them.  My boss and his wife have been amazing with patience for time spent away from the office.  They challenged me frequently to "Fight Like a Girl!" and I've tried to do that.  One lady in Oklahoma whom I don't know has sent me a card of encouragement and promise of prayers every single week for the past nine months, and it makes me feel so good when she writes, "Dear Child," at the top of each card--I feel like a small child in God's hands when I get one of her sweet notes.  Faith Baptist Church in Cabot has continued to send cards and letters and e-mails of encouragement, and these folks don't know me either, other than my name being given to them.  They are fulfilling their ministry to cancer patients in a bold and wonderful way.  Hillside Baptist Church in Camden has sent me prayer cards from their wonderful Wednesday Night Prayer Ministry, and those cards have meant so much.  Judy Cockrill from FPC has cooked for us several times, and she has called and sent sweet notes to lift us up.  My EEE gal-pals from college have covered me with prayer and e-mails and notes of hope along the way.  Many, many people have prepared food, done little tasks for us (Will!), sent notes of encouragement or just been there, ready with a hug, and I can't list them all by name.

Last Friday when the PET scan appointment was set up after learning of the tumor markers, I was pretty down wondering how it would turn out.  Friends Becky and Will Walker called and wanted to eat dinner with us just to be there--ministry of presence.  Nothing changed about the appointment during dinner, but we laughed and talked and basically fellowshipped.  God sends us what we need if we just watch for it.

Now that this "little" scare is behind me, ya'll please pray as I really DO begin radiation therapy next Wednesday.  I think I can do anything with your prayers and with God's help.  Radiation may not be a piece of cake, but I will walk through it as part of this continuing journey.  You praying people rock!

May 13, 2011 - Elevated Tumor Markers

My oncology office called today to let me know they wanted to schedule a PET scan for me soon, and this concerned me since at my last visit, Dr. Obaji said we wouldn't do the next PET scan until October.  They put Dr. Obaji on the phone, and he said that at my last chemo, my tumor markers were at 36.2.  When I saw him on April 28th, the tumor markers were at 39.6, and normal is 38.6.  With the slight elevation, he wants to do a PET scan to make sure nothing is going on.   He said he has people with a tumor marker of 100 and them not have any additional cancer.  And he tried to assure me that this could very well be hormones and not to be too concerned.  Of course, I'm concerned.

I have the PET scan on Monday at 11:00, and then I see Dr. Obaji on Wednesday at noon for the results.  My radiation has been put off for another week until the results come in because the outcome could change the course of my treatment.

Once again, I am reminded of how life can change with each breath that we take.  I don't want to worry about this, but it is a cloud over me as only someone who has waited and hoped for good news can only imagine.  My good friend, Teresa, whose precious husband died recently of esophageal cancer told me today that waiting had become such a part of their lives, and they learned not to worry during those times.  I commented to her that they had gone through their journey with such grace and determination, and I did not see how they had done it.  She wrote me back that it was only with God's help.

I guess my new "normal" will involved test after test and visit after visit, at least for a while.  Not that I'm faint of heart right now, but I am a bit down about all of this.  I am so over cancer, but it may not be finished with me.  Please continue to lift me up in your prayers--I don't even have a good head of hair yet!

May 12, 2011

I thought I would start radiation this week since I had my CT-RTP on Monday, but it won't start now until next Wednesday afternoon. I'm not sure if it's because I ask so many questions, but that may have added to the reason it will be delayed. I had so many questions that the technician couldn't answer or diplomatically didn't answer, so I came back in on Tuesday and met with Dr. Peacock. He's really pleasant, and I appreciate the fact that he doesn't talk down to me. I felt better in some ways after visiting with him, but in other ways, it caused me to think about my mortality once again.

I really haven't thought about the seriousness of my diagnosis since last fall, and I have had two people mention that they were "re-staged" after surgery, treatment, etc. I asked Dr. Peacock if I would ever be re-staged, and he said that I would always be whatever my initial diagnosis was, Stage IIIa, but that some folks do a re-staging and it would be prefaced with a little "r" in front of it which would denote after treatment staging or re-staging. I think I have that right. Anyway, when I got back to the office on Tuesday and began explaining to Tracy and Cathy what the doctor had said, I began to cry just thinking about how serious this all still is. The doctors are doing their best to cure me of cancer, and I am hoping that is the case. The surgery removed the tumor and the four lymph nodes and the 16 other lymph nodes under my right arm that "might" be affected by some rogue cancer cell floating out there. The PET scan in October showed no aggregates of cancer cells, but just in case there was one single cell floating around, we commenced chemo for eight treatments. And now to hit it once again, we are about to radiate my right breast and "now empty" lymph gland area. Once that's completed, I will start Tamoxifen to bring down my high estrogen levels, and who knows how long I'll be on that drug--at least five years.

Thinking about cancer is really scary, and people don't even like to hear the word or even talk about it unless they have it, and then they talk out of the sheer need for someone to understand what they're going through. Talking to fellow cancer patients has been comforting to me over the past eight months. For folks without cancer, it's uncomfortable talking about something that can kill you. I know before I was diagnosed, I would think of people, "Bless their heart" and think that their time was significantly limited. I often wonder if people now think the same of me? All I know is, I have more cancer survivors on my prayer list than any other category of concerns or illnesses, and that speaks volumes about how this disease is hurting people. These are people who are fighting like hell to survive for themselves and for their families. They want people to believe that they are going to make it. They NEED people to believe that they are going to make it. Cancer is too hard on the person who has it, and the people who surround them need to be strong and full of belief, regardless of how tough it gets.

So, enough of my soapbox. On Monday, I will have a SIM or simulated treatment with electronic radiation that they can see on the computer to make sure the dosing and beam are just right. Dr. Peacock and the dosemetrist will look at it all one more time to see if any final adjustments need to be made, and then I will get my first radiation treatment on Wednesday afternoon.  I am hoping that radiation isn't as bad as I am fearing, but fear of the unknown is pretty powerful stuff. I know my last few chemo treatments were horrible, and I hope to goodness that I never have to go through anything like that again. I don't want this to happen to anyone that I love or to anyone that I know. Folks, we need to find a cure.

May 7, 2011 - Traci's Graduation Day

Our daughter, Traci, graduated from Arkansas State University today. We are so very proud of her and all that she's accomplished, and we know she will make a wonderful teacher. I took off work yesterday to get a nice graduation lunch prepared so that when we came in from the drive to Jonesboro, all we had to do was pull things out and celebrate with family and friends. We're so comfortable with the crowd we had here that it was just like a big family meal. I love that. It was a very good day, and even though I've done too much, I am happy that I felt good enough to DO in the first place.

My CT-RTP is finally scheduled for Monday at 1:00, and they will send the information to a dosemetrist to make sure they will be doing what they need to with my radiation treatments. I don't know if I will start radiation mid-week or if they will have me wait until Monday week to start. The flooding and power outages here have really done a number on many homes and businesses, and my cancer center is no exception to one of the places affected. The Mississippi is nearly at 47 feet, and 48.5 feet is the record high in 1937. It is expected to crest mid-week at the record level. Everyone in this area is hoping and praying that the levee holds or all of our homes, schools and businesses will be under water. No kidding. It's scary, but I try not to worry about it. I'm not as concerned about things as I am about the safety of people and our pets.

I can tell my arm is a little swollen tonight from doing too much, and I would ask for prayers against lymphedema (PAL prayers!).

I am going to be taking Tamoxifen soon to bring down estrogen levels instead of taking the drug Femara since I haven't gone through menopause yet. Tamoxifen has a potential side effect of blood clots, so before I start taking it, I have it on my list to ask the doctor Monday if I can take an aspirin a day to keep a blood clot from occurring.

Another question I want to ask the doctor is whether or not I should wait until radiation is complete before I begin the Tamoxifen. There are two schools of thought on when it should be taken, and one of the schools says any possible cancer is more susceptible to radiation if it's not being hit at the same time with a drug such as Tamoxifen. The other school of thought says it makes no difference. I think I read too much and that the doctor is going to be very tired of me asking questions by the time I'm through with treatment!

Please keep praying for me as I go into radiation treatments. I'm doing well otherwise, and I feel good. And please pray that as I feel good that I will quit doing too much!

May 2, 2011

Just a quick note to let everyone know that my radiation treatment will probably start next week instead of today. Last week's storms left the Cancer Center without power for nearly three days, and then they were backed up on getting patients treated, so we put off my CT-RTP until May 2. Because of the rain and flooding all over this area, they just called to tell me they are literally sandbagging the parking lot to try to keep water from getting in the building. I told them I didn't want to start radiation until next week anyway! Traci graduates this weekend and this cancer treatment mess just clutters up my life!

Regardless of the clutter and busy-ness, I am ever mindful of the fact that I have so much to be thankful for in the midst of these storms.

Thank you for continuing to pray for me as I face radiation and potential lymphedema. No swelling, no swelling! I sleep with my arm elevated and walk around with it up in the air to help with drainage--just in case.

Once I get my CT-RTP completed, I will let everyone know the radiation start date.

April 27, 2011

I saw my surgeon today so he could look at my port site and note how well it was healing. I'm a fast healer, and it honestly looks like an old wound already. I also had a suspicious mole removed (to me it was suspicious) and the biopsy came back benign. Don't know how I would have reacted had it been a bad report, but I didn't have to go there. After surgery and eight rounds of some pretty tough chemo, I feel that I shouldn't have anything remotely related to cancer in my system! Of course, I still "get" to undergo radiation treatments, and those are supposed to start next week.

I contacted the oncology office today to make sure we were still on go for my appointment tomorrow for the radiation treatment plan, and they said they are still without power and to call tomorrow to see if the power has been restored. We had some pretty horrible storms come through Tuesday night, and West Memphis was hit pretty hard. Many power lines, traffic lights, huge trees, signs, roofs, fences, etc. were down, and the flooding is unprecedented. Schools were closed in Marion and West Memphis due to flooding because many streets were unpassable.

I'm looking forward to a more restful night of sleep tonight after spending two nights first hunkered down in our safe place during the storms when the tornado sirens were sounding, and then trying to sleep without any power during both nights. We lost about 40 feet of our back yard fence during the storm, and you can look from the patio to the left and see the neighbor's fence two doors down that had blown into our nextdoor neighbor's yard, then almost the entire length of fence from that side blown over into our yard, and then two or three sections of fence blown from our yard into the neighbor's yard to our right. It's nothing that insurance won't take care of, and I'm thankful we are okay.

One thing I noticed last night during the quietness and darkness of the evening as Barry, Traci and I hollered out movie lines and scenarios for the others to "Name That Movie!", was that we were visiting and talking more to each other because all of our electronic devices were removed from our touch. The only contact we had with the outside world for hours was our cell phones, and we were thankful for those because we got storm updates from everyone. It was fun to laugh at and with each other during the stress of the storms.

My surgeon's nurse told me today at my check-up that I had beautiful skin, and it was a very sweet compliment. I told her it was easy to have beautiful skin that is free from wrinkles if you carry around extra collagen in your body like I do! It's nice to hear words of edification like that when you don't feel so "beautiful". I told Barry on Monday night when the storms were so bad (and I really shouldn't joke this way) that I put on my feminine gown and robe so that if I blew away and they found me in a tree somewhere, they wouldn't say, "We've found a woman over here, we think." We both laughed, but that's my weird sense of humor. I've been telling the girls at work that I had survived cancer, and I was pretty sure God would protect me from tornados and other natural disasters for some time to come as He's not through with me yet. So if you do see me in a tree somewhere, it just may be because I've climbed there and not because I was blown there!

April 21, 2011 - Port Removal

Well, I got my port out yesterday and thought I'd be doing wonderfully by now, but my plans had a little hiccup. When I was in recovery, the IV-sedation had worn off, and the pain was growing in intensity, so the nurse gave me a 1 mg. (I think) injection of Dilaudid. It worked very quickly on the pain, but by the time I was back in my outpatient room, I was so sick to my stomach that I lost my cookies almost immediately. I hadn't had anything to eat, so the nurse brought me some apple juice over crushed ice and a package of Cheez-its. I ate two Cheez-its and took a couple sips of apple juice, and that's all she wrote.

My poor angel of mercy and driver for the day, Janie Baber, faithfully plied wet cloths and asked what she could do for me. My speech was thick from the drug, and I was so groggy it was hard for me to know what to do. I wanted to sleep, I wanted to get up and go and I wanted to throw up--not knowing what to do, I did a little of each. CRH has these cool, blue sickness bags that are coiled up in the shape of an English Muffin, and they expand when you use them, if you know what I mean. I think I used three bags at the hospital.

Janie finally got me home, and I laid down and slept until Barry got home from school. He sent Traci out for food, and since I was hungry, I had them get me something, too. It tasted so good, but I could tell almost immediately that it wouldn't last long, and it didn't.

After a nice bath, I headed back to bed, and I slept pretty fitfully through the night. Because of the reactions that I've had to pain meds, I was determined not to take anything else, so I just gritted my teeth and stood the discomfort from the incision. but it wasn't so bad.

Today was not much better, and I had several side effects from the Dilaudid - nausea, vomiting, headache, redness and flushing. I am just now feeling decent this evening after more than 24 hours of getting the injection. I don't think I will let them administer that drug again. Maybe it was a build up of chemo in my system, I don't know. If there was a horse named "Dilaudid" in a race at Oaklawn Park, it would have my bet.

I am glad the port is gone, and I'm glad I had it removed prior to my radiation starting on May 2. I had been doing very well over the past week and half, and I'm determined that tomorrow and the next day and the next day are going to be better and better. I have too many plans and too much that I want to do. Baby steps.

I have so many friends who have come to my rescue this week with different things. I don't want to name everyone because I might leave off a name, but you know who you are--thank you!
I'll write more in a couple of days when I'm feeling more perky or is it "perkier"?

April 9, 2011 - Short Ceremony

I held a ceremony Friday during my lunch hour. I was the only one in attendance, save the dog, and he follows me everywhere, so I suppose there were two of us. It was a short ceremony, and no big deal really, but it was of significance to me. I removed the plastic trash can from my bedside that has been there for the past five months, waiting patiently for me to be sick. I never used the trash can, and it's still in pristine condition because I was fortunate enough to make it safely to the restroom each time I got sick.

The removal of the trash can may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but it symbolized to me that I am confident that I will NOT be as sick for a very long time as I've been after chemo, at least not unless I have some horrible stomach virus. The trash can was a safety precaution for me because I am the type of person who does a lot of things "just in case". It gave me a feeling of protection or safety during those five months, but now that chemo is over, the container stuck out like a sore thumb, and I couldn't wait to get it away from my bed.

I am SOOO much better right now than I was last weekend, but I still have a bit of lingering queasiness if I get too hungry. I can't explain it really, but I know it's chemo-induced nausea. It's not bad enough to keep me from doing things, but I'm aware of it. Maybe a day or two more...

I see my surgeon this Wednesday for a consultation on removing my port. I've heard of people leaving theirs in for years, but if I have no immediate use for it (and I'm hoping ever), I want this sucker out of me. Other than the benefit I have derived from it for chemo, I have hated it. It makes it dfficult to sleep on my left side, my seatbelt hurts it, my bra strap irritates it, and I am aware of it if I try to lift something weighing greater than 15 pounds (i.e.: the dog). And try puking with a port in your chest from a standing position--It happened to me twice, and the movement sent a sensation similar to a "shock" across the top portion of my chest and upper arms. Hope that wasn't too descriptive--makes me a bit queasy thinking about it all again. If all goes according to my plans, I should get my port out the week before Easter.

I see the oncologist on April 28, and he will probably put me on Femara, a drug I will take each day for the next five years to regulate my estrogen levels (since my tumor was estrogen fed). The doctor thinks my chemo has caused me to have early or forced menopause, so Femara is probably the drug I'll be taking.

I also see the radiation oncologist on April 28 for my CT-RTP which means computed tomography-radiation treatment plan. They'll set the machine just for me, and they'll mark hash marks on my right breast and lymph node area so that all I'll have to do is come in each day and assume a certain position for my radiation treatments. Radiation is tentatively set to start on May 2.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel as far as treatments are concerned, and I am so very thankful for that. If I had to find cancer in my body, I am glad it was during cooler weather because my wig is hot, and I thought very seriously about yanking it from my head in Wal-Mart the other night. The thought of the gasps all around me and little children possibly crying kept me from doing it. My hair is growing back very quickly, and some of it is 2" long. It's just not quite long enough or full enough yet to go without a head covering.

Here is something you can pray for: Lymphedema. This is swelling in my right arm because of fluid not draining properly -- remember I had 20 lymph glands removed, and this will always be a potential issue for me. I overdid it a bit today, and I can feel more tightness in my right upper arm, and I know it's a bit of swelling. I don't know if I lifted something too heavy or if I just did too much. Radiation can make lymphedema worse, and I have seen a woman in the oncology office with a huge "Popeye" arm. She often has it in a compression sleeve, and I guess the first time I saw her was several months ago. Her arm is smaller now, but lymphedema can hang around for months and months. I don't want it! I don't need it, and it will not be a good thing for me to have to endure.

Thank you for continuing to pray for me and for the wonderfully kind words so many of you have written in my Guestbook. Some of you send me private e-mails, and I want to thank you, too, for taking the time to be involved in this chapter of my life. It's kind of crazy, but although I HAD Stage IIIa breast cancer, I know in my heart that I'm a survivor, and I will be around many more years to come. I'm one of the lucky ones. Lots of folks on my prayer list fighting cancer. Let's all pray for a cure, too.

April 5, 2011

Just a quick note to let everyone know that yesterday was better than the weekend, and today was better than yesterday. I am slowly moving toward the day when chemo will be out of my system and I won't have any more waves of nausea. The best way I can describe it right now is a hungry feeling that turns to nausea if I don't eat--hence, the added poundage on this old body. I'm so ready to be free of that feeling. Almost there! I'm thinking I'll be feeling pretty "normal" by this Sunday, and that's a bright prospect.

I'll update more later, but I wanted to let you know I was better. Thank you all so very much for your prayers. I have a wonderful support network.

April 2, 2011 - Recovering from last chemo!

The wonderful news that I get to share today is that I am on day three following my 8th and final chemo! The bad news is that this one has made me so sick, and I've been in bed for the past three days, getting up only to eat, bathe or go to the restroom. I have been sick each night, losing my cookies just before or during my dinner. So much fun! The good news about getting sick is that it gives me a tiny window of feeling almost normal, and that's where I am at this moment, trying to type quickly before I get too nauseated again.

The anti-nausea drugs aren't really working other than giving me a headache, making me extremely thirsty and making everything taste sweet. Phenergan does knock me out if I take a full dose, but I'm awake every hour for a big drink of water because of cotton-mouth. The joys of going through chemo!

I must say that I will forever be compassionate toward anyone who is diagnosed with cancer and then must endure chemo. It's horrible, and I don't care what drug they give you to battle cancer, it's still horrible. And us lay people know nothing more than to do what they tell us to do, to take the current protocols for breast cancer or whatever type of cancer a person might have.

I've read blogs of women, young to old, who are in the midst of treatment, and one minute I would find myself feeling fortunate that I didn't have a more aggressive cancer or that my cancer had not metastisized further. Then I would read of another whose treatment was shorter and they've been cancer free for a dozen years, and I would feel a bit of jealousy. I have friends still in treatment who truly have no end in sight, and I hate that. I just want there to be a cure for cancer so that my girls or Barry or anyone I love and care about won't have to go through the ravages of chemo.

Just to let you know what the time frame is for future treatment, I go back to the oncologist for bloodwork next Thursday, then I won't see him again until April 28 for a final visit. I will then visit with Dr. Peacock, the radiation oncologist who will get me lined up for radiation treatments for six weeks. My radiation treatments will be in the same facility as my chemo has been. Dr. Obaji said I could have my port out three weeks after last Thursday's treatment, and I will be calling my surgeon first thing Monday morning to get that lined up. I have not liked my port at all, but I am thankful I have had it for treatments. That's the most positive thing I can say about it. And I would not recommend throwing up while you have a port because every nerve ending in that area of your chest comes alive and is sore.

I'm just a little irritated today that I missed a beautiful Saturday. Why didn't it rain so I would have felt better about being in the bed? I did sit on the patio for about thirty minutes, but I kept getting up to pull weeds out of my flower bed, so I made myself come back in. The more I'm up, the more I see that I want to do.

I heading back to bed now, and I'm hoping that tomorrow morning will have me feeling good enough to cook. Barry is great at fast food, but I need home-cooked food. Ya'll keep on praying for me that I would feel better and better. I can't wait to feel better so I can go and do!

March 27, 2011

I've been duly chastised by my mother and Aunt Judy about not updating my CaringBridge site. I just figured I wouldn't bother folks if I was doing fine, and no news is good news! I really shouldn't assume that everyone knows I'm doing fine right now, so I'll try to do a better job of posting. :)

It took me ten full days to recover from my last chemo which was on March 10th. I didn't REALLY feel good until last Sunday, March 20th. I know that sounds crazy, but I had major nausea for the first four days, then just regular nausea off and on all day for the next six days. The Emend that I took did not help me at all, so I finally just doped myself with Phenergan when I couldn't stand it any longer. I drank lots of 7-Up with grated fresh ginger, and it would help for a bit, then the nausea would come roaring back like an lion on the prowl.

The nausea that I've had is one where I feel better temporarily if I just eat a little something, but by the end of the day, I've eaten enough to where I'm miserable and ready to throw up. I'm up 15 pounds from last September, and I'm not worrying about it until after I finish chemo. With all of the steroids and other meds they've given me, there is no fighting the weight gain. Some of my other chemo buddies (women fighting breast cancer) are having the same issues, so I'm not alone. I thought I'd lose weight on chemo, but I haven't, and frankly I'm glad that I haven't been prone to throwing up. And my boss did put up the sign on his bathroom door at work that said, "No Puke Zone." So what's a girl to do?

So here I am on the Sunday before my last chemo, my 8th chemotherapy session, my final chemotherapy set for March 31st, dreading what I have ahead of me. I know that I'll be sick this time next week, and I've worked my tail off this weekend trying to get myself organized. I've cleaned out two bookshelves and dusted, I've done laundry, I've ironed and I still have things I want to do. I'm just so thankful that I've felt well enough to be up and about and active.

As I approach this last chemo, it's not without other fears. Yes, I'm concerned about the overwhelming nausea, but I'm also concerned about that portion of my treatment ending. My brain is telling me that as long as I'm getting chemo, my body is in "safe mode" and the treatment will keep cancer at bay. I still have six weeks of radiation ahead of me to cap off my treatment, and I'm dreading that, but I am hopeful that it won't be debilitating. My greatest fear with radiation is lymphedema, but I'm going to take it one day at a time and not dwell on that possibility.

On a different note, we went to dinner last night at one of our favorite steak places, and when we walked in, the waitress who knows us from eating there in the past said, "Ooo, you got your hair cut! It looks so good!" I took Mary by the elbow and whispered in her ear that I was in the midst of cancer treatment and that it was a wig, and then she just went all, "Nuh uh! I know that's not a wig! "Girrrrllll, you look good! You need to tell me where to go and get me a wig!" It was pretty funny and LOUD and she went on and on about it throughout our dinner, but she gave us extra special attention.

Barry took some pictures of the girls and me before we left to go and eat, and when we came back, I uploaded the pictures to the computer and didn't really care for any of them--mainly because I didn't like the way I looked in the photos. I've put on weight, I felt I looked like I was sick and I basically just didn't like my picture. But the girls like one in particular, so I let Kelsey upload that one to Facebook. Barry said this afternoon that he wanted to use the photo as his profile picture. When he said that, I told him not to do it because I just didn't like how I looked right now, that I was so overweight and puffy. And this is the honest truth, he looked at me and said, "If it makes any difference at all, when I look at you, I see the same person now that I saw the day we got married." Yes, I started crying because it was so sweet and sincere. I think I'll keep him.

That's one of the major reasons I've been able to get through this so well, if there is an easier way to get through cancer treatment. I've had an amazing support system of family and friends, and I can't imagine going through any of this without any of you. Thank you for everything you've done for me and for the prayers you've said on my behalf. :)

March 13, 2011

I updated my CaringBridge yesterday, but I clicked on preview instead of post, and it didn't save! When I discovered it, I felt too bad to do it over again, so I'm just now sitting back down to write something. Yes, I have been pretty miserable this weekend, and I can't tell that the new drug did me any good at all. I had to start taking Phenergan again last night just to be able to do anything at all. Today, I cut my Phenergan into fourths, and every hour I've gone by and "eaten" a quarter of a pill to keep me from being nauseated. Limiting the amount keeps me from falling into a deep slumber, so I've been in a state of constant tiredness pretty much all day. However, I have been able to get a little done today in spite of being sick. I'll be SO very glad when chemo is over, and there is just one more treatment scheduled for me. One more.

If anyone had seen me this yesterday, they would have thought I was very ill because I stayed in or near the bed all day, and that is definitely not me. My little Tuffy has stayed right near my side, constantly watching my every move, very keenly aware that his "mama" doesn't feel good. Bless his heart.

I can tell today has been better than yesterday, but that wouldn't take much improvement. I was able to cook lunch and dinner, but I sat down or laid down many times throughout the day just to be able to manage. And bless Barry's heart. He folded clothes and did all sorts of things to try to make things better for me, and I love him for even trying.

Even talking on the phone has made me weary and the extra effort has made me a bit nauseated. Sorry if you've called to check on me and I haven't felt like talking.

I've been watching the news unfolding in Japan, and it has given me a bit of a reality check on my situation. I do know that the chemo in my body will go away eventually, and I will begin to feel normal. I felt great for two weeks before my treatment on Thursday, and I imagine the same thing will happen again this time. I'll be well just in time for another treatment--how fun! The people of Japan will have years and some lifetimes of recovery from what happened in just one day, from one natural disaster. God be with them.

I have a couple of upcoming dates that I am looking forward to, and they are my last chemo on March 31, then removal of my port three weeks later. Traci is scheduled to graduate from Arkansas State University with her education degree on May 7, so the future is bright. It's more fun to look ahead when today isn't so pleasant.          

February 25, 2011

I woke up feeling better today, and it's the first day since my last treatment that I haven't taken any anti-nausea drugs. Hooray! And Barry got my prescription for Emend for my next chemo - three pills, that's all. I take one an hour before chemo, then one each of the next two mornings thereafter. So glad that I have another line of defense against nausea!

Although I dislike chemo, there are some good things about it. One of those is my new chemo friend, Jenni, and she's 63 years old and on pretty much the same track of chemo and radiation as me, but she's just finished treatment #2. She is HER-2 Neu positive so she's getting Herceptin each week in addition to her Taxol, and after radiation, she'll get nearly a year of weekly infusions of Herceptin.

When we were both in for our bloodwork yesterday, we were visiting about side effects out in the waiting room before our names were called, and Jenni leaned over and asked me if there was a point at which they would do some sort of test to determine if what they were doing with chemo was killing any remaining cancer cells like it was supposed to be doing. I knew she had had surgery just as I had, and I mentioned that I had had a PET scan that showed me free from any other cancer in my body, and she said she'd had the same test with the same results. Then I told her that what we were getting with our cancer treatments was the standard protocol for our type of breast cancer, and that they didn't REALLY know that each each every little cell (if any rogue cells existed) was being hit by chemo. However, I reminded her that Taxol kills rapidly dividing cells and that cancer fit that category, and I told her the drugs I was getting right now, Cytoxan and Adriamycin (which she will get soon), attack the DNA of cancer. As I was trying to make her feel better about where she was in the journey, I realized at the same time how far cancer research and treatment have come over the years and yet how little doctors do know as to why it recurs in some people and not in others.

Do those who stay cancer free eat some sort of magical combination of foods or do they get just the right amount of sun? Do they stay away from chemicals better than other folks or do they just pray harder? I don't have the answers, but I'm hopeful that everything I'm doing and that Jenni is doing isn't for naught. We're banking our lives on it.

Barry says I talk too much during my chemo and that I probably disturb some of the sleeping chemo patients. Well maybe I do talk too much, but they shouldn't give me steroids if they want me to be quiet. I like to think that I keep things a bit more lively when I'm there, and this past time I had everyone talking about pork roasts when I left. There was a lively discussion about how the folks in Texas seem to prefer beef brisket, how Arkansans like BBQ pork butts (and sandwiches WITH slaw), and how folks in Louisiana like their sandwichs sans slaw. Those participating in the conversation were me, a WWII vet (his hat says he is), Jenni, a biker dude (really skinny fellow but full of stories once you get him started), and a couple other folks who chimed in occasionally. Just because people have cancer doesn't mean they are out of commission--these folks were full of ideas, and I almost didn't want to leave because I was afraid I'd miss something. I think I may have to cook a pork roast this weekend and report back to them in a couple of weeks.