My PET/MRI Results

I had to wait until my appointment last Friday to get the results of my MRI and PET. I thought for sure Dr. Webster had bad news because she didn’t call and wanted to wait until she saw me to tell me, I was pretty much freaking out. But it turns out I have great news to share.

My PET showed no cancer anywhere in my body, including my lymph nodes and possibly not even in my breast. It picks up inflammation, so it’s hard to tell from a PET about the breast itself, but I am free and clear of cancer everywhere else.

My breast MRI showed no tumors in my breast and the report read ‘lymph nodes all appear normal’.  No cancer in lymph nodes! (appears at least) The tumors that were there before have dispursed (they were just clumps of IBC anyway not really solid tumors) and everything it did pick up said ‘possible whatever the word is for dead cancer’ meaning it didn’t pick up any definite live cancer in my breast, and what it did pick up could just be dead cancer or thick areas. She hadn’t seen the report when I arrived, and we read it for the first time together. That was nerve racking let me tell you. But reading for myself that the tumors are gone was huge as I had 3 when I was diagnosed with a possible lymph node that was enlarged.  Dr. Webster’s words were actually ‘it is the best possible news we could have gotten’.  So surgery is on for next Friday, Oct. 2nd. I can’t believe I’m actually typing that I’m having surgery next week, but I hear it’s true.

I wasn’t sure how to post my news because as happy as I was, I also felt guilty because of all the wonderful women I have met so far who didn’t get such great MRI news. I wasn’t even going to post it as I did, but then the last few days changed my mind because it IS GREAT news! Not just for me personally, but it means that the treatment itself is working, is doing it’s job. On a not personal basis, that’s wonderful news for IBC treatments in general.  I am responding to the chemotherapy and the last 6 months of chemo have been worth it. I have my LAST CHEMO tomorrow! Can you believe it??? My last chemo is tomorrow, I honestly can’t believe it. Cycle 12 of Taxol and my FIRST 3 week dose of Herceptin. I begin taking Herceptin only every 3 weeks tomorrow for an entire year, it will be given through my port. It isn’t chemo so the side effects are much milder I hear, and I shouldn’t have too hard of a time on it. I even get it through radiation which I will get every day for 6 weeks starting about 3 weeks after surgery.

crossposted on http://lynkelley.wordpress.com

another mother with cancer…

I found the blog world through an artist that I read about in Cloth, Paper, Scissors magazine in September of 2007… kellyraeroberts. Once introduced to this new world I began stumbling on many few and interesting people. Many artists but also through those artists doing “good will work” like Jen Lemen I was introduced to The Comfy Place, Toddler Planet and eventually all of us on Mothers with Cancer.

I have my list of favorite blogs that I check regularly and one of those is the editor of the Stampington Company magazines, Jenny Doh. Being in the art publishing business Jenny knows so many interesting people from all over the world. I was first “e”introduced to one amazing local artist through Jenny’s blog, her name is Janice Lowry. She has journalled for over 30 years and her journals have been inducted into the permanent collection of the Smithsonian Archives of America in Washington, DC.… so cool, click here to watch a video of her work.

The reason for this entire back story is this… unfortunately both worlds have collided again. While checking Jenny’s blog I read another post about Janice but she has now been diagnosed with Liver cancer and has entered Hospice. She is also a mother with cancer, she has 3 grown sons. Please take a minute and visit her blog and her website… and send some thoughts her way.

*** I just visited Janice’s blog and she passed away Sunday… the 20th.  Her husband wrote a very nice post and there is a part of it that I found very moving…

“It seems that the brightest stars can’t burn with such intensity for overly long periods of time and we have to enjoy and savor each moment with them as they pass through our orbits.”

bone loss: a public service announcement

I have been reading Cancer Fitness by Anna L. Scharwtz. I’m only a few chapters in, but the book has already taught me some important things.

I don’t tend to devote a lot of thought to preventing bone loss but I did know that regular weight-bearing exercise helps prevent bone loss and to build strong bones. And while I walk and run (just finished the Running Room‘s beginner program again), I really don’t do any strength training (or core work, for that matter, despite repeated promises to myself).

Cross-posted from Not Just About Cancer.

The women in my family tend to have strong bones (and good bone density) but what I didn’t realize was how many factors put me at risk:

• early menopause, as a result of chemotherapy.
• doxorubicin (Adriamycin, the infamous “red devil). I had 6 rounds (this is also the drug that temporarily damaged my heart).
• decadron and other steroids (I had higher doses with the first 6 rounds of chemo but I still get decadron through IV with every chemo treatment, to help mitigate side effects).
• lorazepam (Ativan, which I use only occasionally for insomnia. I had absolutely no idea that it caused bone loss)
• regular consumption of caffeine.

And I don’t drink very much milk, either.

Remember, that promise to myself I made in January? Well, I have not made as much progress as I would like. So, I signed up for a fitness class at my local community centre that incorporates core work and strength training (since the free weights, stability ball and exercise bands don’t seem to be doing much more than collecting dust) to get myself started. Now, I have another reason to get to it.

I also took a calcium supplement today for the first time in months. Those suckers are horse pills but I think I need to get back into the habit of choking them down.

What are you doing to prevent bone loss?

Cross-posted from Not Just About Cancer.

MRI — Good News!

(cross posted from Coffee and Chemo)

“Can the radiation make the tumors go away?” I asked, first to my oncologist, then the radiologist, then the head of radiology.

I was devastated by the discovery of brain mets. I could not accept that the brain mets would not go away.

“Sometimes the tumors shrink from radiation,” I was told, with reservation.

“But can they be totally destroyed?” I persisted.

“Rarely,” I was told, by caring doctors who did not want to give me false hope.

The main goal of the radiation was to stop the tumors from growing any further.

That was not good enough for me. I prayed every day, during my five minutes of radiation, for the radiation to completely destroy the tumors.

Well, the tumors might not be 100% gone, but they have certainly lost some of their power!

We have not yet received the written report, but the images look a lot cleaner! We only saw one or two “shadows,” only one of which is still a remnant of a tumor, according to my doctor’s analysis (though he is the first to acknowlege that he is not a radiologist).

My doctor, upon reading the report, sent me the following message right away:

got the report of your MRI and the improvement we thought we saw is REAL.

This does not mean that I am done with brain mets. Like the bone mets, brain mets never goes away. Still, I doubt anyone expected such good results.

Thank you all so much for your prayers!! God is listening!!

I cannot think of a better way to start the new year!*

*Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish new year, is this Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday

Just Another Oncology Visit

This coming Wednesday I’m going to see my wonderful oncologist, otherwise known as The White Russian, for my 6 month check up.  I’m pretty sure I know how it will pan out.  I’ll sit in the waiting room happily reading until the nurse calls my name.  She and I will walk back to the nurse’s station while she blames me for the weight she’s gained because I happened to tell her about Hope’s Cookies and now she can’t ever drive by there without stopping.  Then, just to be spiteful I’m sure, she’ll make ME stand on the scale (at which time I’ll tell her again that I’ll be a good 30 pounds less the next time she sees me) and drain a couple vials of blood from my arm.

Once I get to the examination room I’ll be depressed about the weight she just recorded for all of eternity and The White Russian will walk in, disturbing my lamentations, and say how great it is to see a healthy person.  Then I’ll feel bad about my whining when I would take every single ounce and then some if it meant not having cancer anymore.

He will ask how my summer was and what my family did.  I’ll tell him we drove to Arkansas for a week to visit friends and family and how we didn’t get to see half the people we would have liked to.  Then I’ll tell him how I flew to Seattle the following week to spend some time in a beach house with four other women.  We’ll also talk about the tight, tingling, almost painful pressure my left arm feels whenever I fly or even ride in the car for any length of time without any support and he’ll look for signs of lymphedema.  Thankfully he won’t find any unusual swelling and I’ll be told to keep wearing the compression sleeve when I fly and hopefully we’ll dodge this particular bullet.

After that we’ll discuss the stiffness in my joints and other bodily aches and we’ll decide that since it’s not debilitating pain I’ll just remain on the Arimidex for another 15 months.  This is when I’ll realize I’m only little more than a year out from my 5-year goal and that will make me happy.

Most likely The White Russian will order a bone density scan because the combination of no ovaries and the Arimidex make for early onset osteoporosis.  He’ll also probably decide I should have a colonoscopy because I haven’t had one yet and colon cancer is somehow closely related to breast cancer.  Not only that, but there is a history of colon cancer in my family.

We will also look at my blood work which will no doubt look good except for my white count and other immune system related values.  They might be within normal limits, but I can tell you right now they’re going to be low.  How do I know this?  Well for one thing they’re always on the low side of normal.  In the nearly four years I’ve been finished with chemo they have never gotten very far above the line.  But I’ve also managed to wear myself down which always results in a thick and swollen tongue, my own personal telltale sign of a low WBC.  When it’s really bad, like it was after my trip to Seattle, minor cuts and blisters won’t heal and I’ll get a funky feeling that I just can’t describe so I’m not even going to try.

Thrown in between all this clinical stuff he’ll ask about my kids.  When I tell him Taylor is now a senior in high school he’ll ask about his desired major and college.  He’ll also ask how Katie likes high school and what do I think about being on this end of parenting.  The White Russian will tell me a little about his family and their summer and before I know it my visit will be over.

I’ll then get to Peggy’s desk and we’ll chat for a moment and schedule my next appointment for sometime around March or so.  And while I’m so happy I don’t have to make weekly or even monthly visits to the oncologist anymore, I’ll be just the teensiest bit sad that I don’t get to see these people for another six months.  But then I’ll stop at Starbuck’s on my way home for a Venti White Chocolate Mocha with whip (Weight Watcher’s points don’t count on oncology days) and all will be right with the world.

I do wish I hadn’t gained all this weight (which I blame all on the various treatments I’ve been through since diagnosis) and I would love it if my body would be more cooperative and less stiff and achy.  I’m very conscious about the possibility of lymphedema and I’m a little angry about the whole osteoporosis thing.  The thing that bothers me the most right now is the white counts and the swollen tongue.  How weird is that?  It’s always swollen, but it gets worse when I’m feeling bad or overly tired and it gets in the way when I’m trying to talk and I’m always biting the sides with my sharp carnivorous molars.

Nobody ever tells you about all the stuff you have to deal with AFTER treatment, even if you don’t have any more cancer.  But I’ll take all of it just to get to my 5-year goal and hear those magic words, “No Evidence of Disease”.  And as I’m driving home I’ll start relaxing, even though I didn’t realize just how tense I was.  I always expect a good report, but somewhere in the far reaches of my mind I suppose I fear the worst.

Finally, I’ll start thinking about those I know who don’t get to hear those words that I’m sure to.  The women who are dealing with a recurrence or a metastasis, those who seem to be losing their fight, and especially those we’ve had to say goodbye to.  My joy at another good report will be dimmed by the sadness for those who are not as fortunate and I’ll be reminded just how horrific cancer is. 

And in six months I’ll do it all again.

Cross-posted at Jenster’s Musings