What a Week!

You might have noticed that I haven't written in a while. In fact, my last post was on Christmas Day. You could say that the last five days have been a whirlwind for me, not because it is the holiday season, but because last Monday, I received a sucker punch like no other, and have been reeling from it all week.

On Monday, the 27th, I took my oldest child, Wes, in for a routine eye exam. It had been several years since he'd had his eyes checked, and he was overdue and also in need of more contact lenses. I'll admit that after all of the doctor's appointments I've had recently, I was relieved to be taking someone else to the doctor, and that I was also enjoying the "routine" nature of the visit. That is, until the end of the appointment, when the poor opthamologist (who knows that I'm in the middle of breast cancer treatment) turned around and said "well, there is a finding in the back of his eyes that I need to tell you about." Sucker punch. He proceeded to explain that Wesley's optic nerve was elevated, which is abnormal. He further explained that although he thought that this was probably the way he was born (although highly unusual), it also could be being caused by some sort of "pressure" inside the head. The next step, he explained, would be to have an MRI. Sucker punch.

I gathered my things, they went and took some pictures of the back of Wesley's eyes, and we left the office. The next day, the pediatrician's office called to say that they had scheduled the MRI for Wednesday night at 6 p.m. Eli and I both went with Wes, who manned up, as they say, and did wonderfully throughout the procedure. He had been invited to the Vandy/Marquette b'ball game at 8 that night, so Eli took him over to the gymnasium right after the MRI. I went home and fretted.

I fretted some more all day Thursday, and grew more fretful as the late afternoon approached and I figured I'd be receiving a phone call with the MRI results. At some point that afternoon, I decided that I was just so sick of being afraid of my phone ringing with all of the waiting for results we've had recently. Really, at one point, I hid the phone in a drawer because I didn't want to hear it ring, and I'd check it every 10 minutes or so to see if the light was blinking.

By 6:00 Thursday night, we still hadn't heard anything, and I decided to assume that that was a good sign; surely, I told myself, if there were a BIG problem, everyone would be scurrying around and I would've gotten a call. My sister in law and her family arrived that evening and we passed the evening with pizza and football. Good distractions.

Friday morning arrived and I knew that I would hear something today. I decided to call the office a little after 9:00, and a kind woman named Kim looked to see if the results were in. They were in, she said, and then a moment later, she uttered the words "no intracranial mass," and I thought that I was going to faint. I proceeded to tell her how relieved I was, and that I was going through breast cancer treatment, and that I had a son with autism, and that we really had so much on our plate, and that I didn't know what I would have done if the news had been bad. That poor woman deserves a medal for talking to me this morning in such a kind and sensitive way.

I then had the pleasure of descending the stairs and sharing the good news with my husband, his sister and her husband. The kids are all still asleep, and the only one who really knows anything about this is Wes, anyway, so we'll tell him that everything is fine (which I'm sure he assumed, anyway, being the cool cat that he is), and then we'll carry on with our day. And then, tonight, as we bid 2010 farewell, we'll give thanks for our health and for the love of all of the wonderful people in our lives and for all of the support and care that we've received over the past few months. And we'll look forward to a better, less stressful 2011.

Blessings to each of you, and the happiest and safest of New Year's celebrations to you and your loved ones!!

See you on the other side.

Erin

Merry Christmas!!

This is wishing each of you a very merry and blessed Christmas day with your families.

Erin

Six Down, Twenty-Seven To Go

I had my sixth treatment today. I also had my first "Wednesday" appointment. On Wednesdays, the oncologist meets with each patient undergoing radiation treatment, and they also take some x-rays to make sure that everything is still lined up like it needs to be (the radiation tech told me that my x-ray was so beautiful, she wanted to cry -- no kidding!!). In my case, I met with Dr. Rosenblatt, who checked in with me to make sure that all was well and that I didn't have any questions or concerns. I shared with him some of the feelings that I've been having this week (see yesterday's first post), and he assured me that these feelings are normal. Only one more treatment to go this week, and then a three-day weekend. Woo-hoo. I'm looking forward to the break, although I'm also anxious to get on with things so that I can put all of this behind me.

One funny note to share: I've never been a "skinny" girl. I was blessed with a "strong" body, but not one that is long and lean. Three or four times now, however, throughout this whole breast cancer process, medical professionals have referred to me as "skinny." Now it is true that I lost some weight over the summer and early fall when I started running again in earnest. But still, at 130+ pounds and only 5'2", in my mind, I definitely do not qualify as "skinny." The comment that was made today (and which definitely improved my attitude!) related to how well I was lining up under the machine, and the exact comment, I believe, was something along the lines of "it's just easier with skinny people, because it's easier to see everything, and there's not a lot of sagging." So, I suppose that compared with other folks who come in for radiation, I'm skinny. Okay. I'll take it. : )

Have a great day.

Erin

Make It Go Away

Sheryl Crow, well-known singer and former girlfriend of Lance Armstrong (also a cancer survivor), was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006. Her situation sounds very similar to mine -- the cancer was caught early, and she had a lumpectomy followed by radiation therapy. While googling her today, I found a song that she wrote about her radiation treatment called "Make it Go Away." I can relate.

Here are the lyrics:

I stare into
Some great abyss
And calculate
The things I'd miss
If I could only
Make some sense of this

And Madam Butterfly
Resounds
Over the mothership
Her lights flashing around
I float above her and
I wonder how
To make it go away
Make it go away

I crawl into my circumstance
Lay on the table
Begging for another chance
But I was a good girl
I can't understand how to
Make it go away
Make it go away

Sometimes I wonder
Which hurts the worse
The thought of dying
Or reliving every hurt
Was love the illness
And disease the cure
Make it go away

Sheryl is just one of many celebrities who has weathered the breast cancer storm. Other well-known breast cancer survivors include Christina Applegate, Robin Roberts (ABC's Good Morning America Show), Jennifer Griffin (Fox News), Edie Falco (The Sopranos), Melissa Etheridge, Gloria Steinem, Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith (both of Charlie's Angels' fame), fashion designer Betsey Johnson, Rue McClanahan, Nancy Reagan, Betty Ford, Suzanne Somers, Cynthia Nixon (Sex in the City star), Lynn Redgrave, Carly Simon, Sandra Day O'Connor, Cokie Roberts (NPR), and Peggy Fleming and Dorothy Hamill (both figure skating stars).

Quite a list, eh? This disease is rampant, but, again, very treatable if caught early. It's our job as women to make sure that we stay on top of our healthcare and take all necessary steps to ensure that if we do develop cancer, it's detected early.

Have a great day.

Erin

Down on Radiation

I'll admit it, this girl with the usual sunny disposition is feeling a little down about this whole radiation thing. Having to go to the hospital every day, disrobe, lay on an uncomfortable table, have folks moving me around to get me positioned just right, having sharpie marks and pieces of tape all over my chest, and then having to get pumped full of something that folks normally avoid like the plague, is all just a bit much, truth be told. And that cancer center, despite the great folks who work there, is sad and depressing. Let's face it, it's a little grim sitting in a room with a bunch of people who have cancer. Some of them look healthier than others (I'd like to think that I look healthiest of all, but who knows). Some look downright sick. I'd love to know their stories. What kind of cancer? When was it detected? Have they had cancer before? Did they do chemo? What is their prognosis? Will they get better? Will their cancer come back? How long with they (and I) live? All of these thoughts go through my head when I'm sitting in the waiting room at the cancer center waiting for my treatment.

Folks who know me may be surprised to hear this tone from me. I'm sorry. What can I say? It's Christmas and I have to go get pumped full of radiation every day and my breast is already turning pink (something that I was told wouldn't happen for a few weeks). I'm doing fine, really; just having one of those "woe is me" moments, I guess. Perhaps it's the article in The New Yorker that I read last night about a man dying suddenly from an infection in his lung, written by his loving wife of many years. That was a really sad story.

Today, though, I'm going to look for happier things on which to focus, and no doubt, tomorrow's post will be peppy and upbeat again!

Have a great Tuesday.

Erin

Monday, and More Radiation

Well, it's Monday, and that means that I get to go back to the radiation center today. Woo-hoo. The way I see it, though, after today's treatment, I will have complete more than 10 percent of my treatment. The fact that I'll have 29 more trips to the alien monster after today doesn't sound as positive, so I think I'll focus on the percent completed instead. I only have four treatments this week and next -- the center is closed on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. And, since this is a numbers game and a mental game, I'm already thinking about how, after the next 8 treatments (this week and next), I'll be one-third of the way through the treatments.

In other news, I have my first appointment with a trainer at the Wellness Center today. I'm looking forward to getting going on that. Hey, maybe with all this working out, I, for once, will not pack on the usual five pounds that visit me around this time each year! Another silver lining to this whole cancer thing.

I hope that this finds all of my blog readers well, and enjoying this wonderful holiday season!

Talk to you soon.

Erin

And the Beat Goes On....

Second day down. Yesterday, as opposed to Day 1, was, in fact, a breeze. And can I say how much I like the radiation techs, Tonya and Courtney? They are very cool and have a great sense of humor. It makes the whole thing totally bearable.

Today, I'll go to the Wellness Center in the hospital after my treatment. They have this great program for cancer patients (it's still very strange for me to refer to myself in that way!!!) where you can join the center for $40 for two months while you're having your treatments. Although I have a YMCA membership and love the Y, this is going to be much more efficient being able to work out right after my little zap treatments.

The kids are now officially out of school for the holidays, which is going to make getting to the treatments a little trickier than if they were in school. The folks at the radiation center have said that I can bring the kids, but the Graham factor complicates things on that front. If I get in a pinch, I'll take all three of them and put them in a room and let Wesley be in charge -- honestly, I think they'd be fine. However, since I'm blessed with so many wonderful babysitters, I'm trying to line up someone to stay home with them most days. Besides, neither Wes nor Virginia is keen on going and seeing the machine and where I do these treatments, despite the fact that Dr. Rosenblatt has invited them to come. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. I get that, and I can respect that.

Have a great day, friends, and I'll talk to you soon.

Erin

One Down, Thirty-Two to Go!

Well, I did it. I survived my first radiation treatment. I'm told that this first treatment is the "worst" of the lot because (a) you're super anxious; and (b) you're in the required and very awkward and uncomfortable position a lot longer than usual because they are taking a bunch of xrays to make sure they have everything lined up the way it needs to be lined up.

I wasn't expecting this to be difficult at all, but it was a little unpleasant, truth be told. I breezed on into the Dan Rudy Cancer Center with a bit of a bop at 2:00, only to emerge an hour and forty-five minutes with a headache and a good dose of stress. Really, it was no big deal, but it was sort of a weird mental thing being in that contraption for 30 minutes while a bunch of people were looking at x-rays of my insides. I'm tired of being scrutinized.

I'm told that by the fourth treatment, I'll relax and it won't be bad at all. The good news is that the treatment itself lasts all of about three minutes. The bad news is that I have to show up 32 more times and climb up onto that table and into the strange and uncomfortable contraption. Without question, though, this beats the heck out of other cancer treatments, so I'm not complaining.

Here is a photo of Dr. Rosenblatt and me standing in front of the radiation machine, which I think I'll dub "the alien monster," as well as a photo of the monster itself. I thought it might be nice to post some pics....

Cancer Lingo: "Rads"

In cancer lingo, I'll start rads (short for radiation treatment) tomorrow. As I mentioned last week, I went last Thursday to get measured and set up for the treatments. Evidently, this is quite a science and very high-tech, and a lot goes into designing the treatment and getting everything just right. Of course, with rads, we are treating cancer with something that can actually cause cancer (seems a bit strange, doesn't it?), so they have to make sure that they only target the areas they want to treat, and not other parts of the body (like your heart, lungs, etc). And so, as part of the initial set-up appointment last week, I had a CT scan during which they evidently measured all of my insides in order to make sure that the beams of radiation only hit the breast tissue and not my internal organs. That would stink.

They also "marked" me, so I look a little freakish now with big blue and black markings on my torso with plastic tape over them. The tape already came off once (thanks to profuse sweating during one of my workouts over the weekend), causing me to have to go back in yesterday to be remarked.

The great news is that I'll start treatments tomorrow, which means that I should wrap up the 33 treatments right at the beginning of February. The folks at the Dan Rudy Cancer Center who run the radiation department are more than delightful, so if I've got to go someplace 33 times, I can't think of a better place (well, on second thought, I can think of better places to go repeatedly, but if I've got to go for this kind of thing, this is the place for me).

I saw Dr. Rosenblatt, my radiation oncologist, again last week, and on the off chance that he's reading this, let me reiterate how much I like and admire him!! : )

Okay, that's it for now. Off to finish addressing Christmas cards. Am I the only person around who does this anymore? I get fewer and fewer cards each year, but religiously send my 150 cards out to friends and family. It's a tradition I'm not willing to give up. Call me crazy.

Happy Holidays!

Erin

Elizabeth Edwards

I was in Paris when Elizabeth Edwards died earlier this week. I caught only the headline and did not have the opportunity to read much about it. Since I've been up since four a.m. this morning due to jet lag, however, I had some time to read up on her battle with breast cancer and her untimely death this week. She really was an amazing woman. I have read in the past that she could be very difficult to deal with, but the things that she accomplished in her lifetime, and the storms she weathered, were remarkable.

I read this morning that by the time Elizabeth discovered her lump, it was the size of a plum. That's big. She also admitted to not having gone for routine mammogram screening like she should have. By the time she was diagnosed in 2004 (the day after her husband and Kerry lost the presidential election), she was Stage II. Her cancer was treated and seemed to be gone, but then it returned, and it later returned again.

It makes me very sad to think about all that has happened to the Edwards family through the years (the death of their beloved son, Wade, the difficulties of political races, John's infidelity). But perhaps most tragic of all is the fact that Elizabeth's life could have been spared or at least extended had she done a simple thing -- gone for her yearly annual mammogram screenings. This is, of course, how my cancer was detected, and I consider myself incredibly blessed to live in a time when we have access to technology that can detect this disease before it has a chance to cause extensive harm.

I would implore all of my female friends to learn a lesson from Elizabeth Edwards' death, and to be vigilant about your annual breast screenings. May Elizabeth Edwards rest in peace, and may her family know the love of God during what is bound to be an incredibly difficult time.

Erin

Paris!

I've just returned from four glorious days in Paris. Yes, that's right, this breast cancer patient got a reprieve from the good doctors here in Nashville to take the trip that Eli and I had planned a while ago, and to begin radiation treatments upon my return. So, the dichotomies of my life continue: the great privilege of spending four days in one of the most amazing cities on earth followed, within 24 hours, by heading off to the cancer center this morning at 10 a.m. to get started with my radiation treatment. Today is the "measuring" day; not sure what that entails, but I will post a report when it's all over with. I do know that once I begin treatments (which I'm guessing will be early next week), I'll be required to show up there 33 consecutive days (excluding weekends) for a little blast of radiation. I'm expecting this to be fairly easy, but we'll see. Hope you are all well, and talk to you soon.

Erin