missed milestones (by Laurie)

This  year, two dates -  November 24th (the anniversary of my diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer) and December 2nd (the anniversary of the night I found the first lump) – came and went without causing me the anxiety of previous years. I noted both events in passing, took the time to breathe deeply and be grateful, and then got on with my day.

It’s been four years since I found the lump. It’s been three since the cancer spread to my liver. And it’s been two and a half years since my first clean scan.

I had an appointment with my oncologist yesterday. I had nothing to tell him. He said, “Shall we keep dragging you in here every few months just to say ‘hi’?”

I readily agreed.

I have chemo next week. They’ve been building a new treatment centre for what seems like years. I have often jokingly pointed in the direction of the new building and said, “They’re building that for me.”

Yesterday, I discovered that the new building is open and the chemo room has been moved. No more listening to the sounds of construction during treatment. No more listening to the intimate details of the constitutional issues of the patient beside me. There will be a little more light and a little more room and hopefully, a little less noise.

I’m kind of excited.

And yes, that is somewhat ironic. I have lived long enough to be excited about getting chemo in the new building.

my husband’s chest

You don’t need to tell me how lucky I am.

I have a roof over my head, great medical care and I’m surrounded by people who love me.

And don’t think I forget how very lucky I am to be alive at all. Why did I get to go into remission? Why me? I am indeed very fortunate.

But there are times when I do feel sad that I will never put this cancer behind me. I feel the toll ongoing treatment takes on my body and my emotional well being.

So last night I stood in my kitchen, with my head on my husband’s chest (we say we were built for each other. My head lands flat on his chest and tucks under his chin). He put his arms around me and we just stood there, breathing together.

He didn’t need to say anything. He understood my frustration. Only a few hours before I was finallly feeling sharp and healthy and energized. And then, after chemo, I stood in his arms, feeling sick and more than a little shaky.

He didn’t remind me how lucky I am.

But I know it.

My cross to bear (by Stella)

Dr. Wendy Harpham of On Healthy Survivorship poses a great question to cancer survivors last week.  She wants to know which stage of cancer was the most challenging?  Diagnosis?  Beginning treatment?  Ending treatment?  Some time in the middle? 

For Dr. Harpham it was those limbo days between initial diagnosis and treatment beginning.  I know what she means.  For me, it seemed an exceptionally long time.  I was diagnosed on December 22, 2005 – the Thursday just before Christmas.  Most every healthcare professional was heading out of town.  Certainly no one wanted to take on a new patient over the holidays.  Consequently, I didn’t meet with my new Oncologist until January 3, 2006 and began chemo the next day. 

Those 13 days were beyond horrible.  There was a cancer inside me thriving at my expense.  It seemed to grow bigger every day!  I could feel it.  I swear, I could hear it whisper dark promises of an early death and motherless children.

What bittersweet Holidays that year.  Daddy-O and I had agreed not to tell anyone about my diagnosis until after New Year’s.  Why ruin everyone’s Christmas?  The end result, however, was a great burden on our hearts that we couldn’t share with our friends and family.  Each seasonal tradition was painful beyond belief.  Who would search with loving dedication for just the right gift from Santa?  Who would listen to their babbling, aimless words and sift from them their heart’s desire?  Would I ever read The Night Before Christmas to my little boys again?  Would I ever see their eyes alight with the wonder that is Christmas morning ever again? 

The day I began chemotherapy was the. best. day. of the next 10 months.  No more being hostage to fate!  No more victim!  At last I was fighting back! 

Still, I don’t think that was the most trying time for me…  My toughest day was the day I truly started losing my hair and made the decision to shave the rest off.  Until that day I had not really felt ill despite my first round of chemo.  Until that day cancer had seemed vague and ephemeral; death had been theoretical. 

Roughly two weeks after my first chemotherapy treatment my hair began coming loose from my scalp.  Initially, it was funny.  It’s really the strangest thing.  It doesn’t fall out all over the place.  I didn’t wake up with a scalp on my pillow.  All the hairs still look firmly attached but they’re not.  It’s like they’re all held on with Post-It glue.  One little tug and it comes away in your fingers without so much as a “pip” to indicate the separation.  It’s kind of amusing in a hey-look-at-my-cool-new-party-trick sort of way.  A couple of mornings later and it’s not so funny anymore.  I won’t bore you with the details again. 

Losing my hair took me out of the closet.  I became a walking Poster Girl for chemotherapy.  Every time I looked in the mirror I was confronted with my mortality.  The baldness literally stripped me bare.  I couldn’t walk through the store without drawing stares.  My son would beg me to take off my hat to show his friends my bald head. 

With my hair went my vanity, my anonimity and my delusion that I would live forever.  Looking back I feel very, very blessed.

 Cross-posted to I Can’t Complain Any More Than Usual.

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.

First Cycle: Xeloda & Tykerb (Medical Update)

(cross posted from Coffee and Chemo
————————————————————————————

The magic number for cancer seems to be 3.

So far, all my chemotherapies seem to be based on 3 week cycles (with the exception of the bone drugs, which are on a 4 week cycle).

Today, I completed the first 3 week cycle of Xeloda and Tykerb (Lapatinib).

Xeloda is taken every day, twice a day, 4 pills each time, for two weeks straight, then one week off.

Tykerb is taken every day, once a day, 5 pills each time, for the entire three weeks.

I meet with my doctor tomorrow to evaluate the first cycle.

I imagine things will continue pretty much the same for the next cycle.

I am super tired, but I do not know if that is from this regimen, or the radiation, or the previous chemo, or the Bar Mitzvah, or having a house full of guests for almost a month, or the beginning of school, or whatever. There are so many possible explanations; I don’t even know how to figure it out!

Besides that, I have the following side effects:

1. Low appetite (not the worst thing for me at this time)

2. Mild nausea (not too bad; no need for drugs)

3. Mild stomach upset — sometimes constipation, sometimes diarrhea (not too bad; when necessary, I take drugs to prevent diarrhea)

I am also very thirsty, but it might just be the heat.

I had a week of migraines, but they might have been because I was not drinking enough.

I keep forgetting things. That might just be because I have a bad memory. I feel like it is getting worse, but I cannot tell for sure.

I am still bald. I am getting used to it, but I still wish my hair would start growing back.

The bald thing is really hard on my kids.

I am in a bit of a slump emotionally. It could be from the whole brain mets thing or from my family leaving. Who knows?

I am so tired of having cancer. I hate the way it sucks up my energy.

For every hour of activity, I need three hours to recover. (There it is again, the magic number)

I just wish I did not have cancer.

I want it to go away.

The longer I live with the cancer, the more I am forced to face the fact that it is not just going to go away.

Tomorrow, I have to start taking all those pills again.

I hate it.

Please pray (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA