Four months ago today, on October 1st, I sat in a dark room with my friend, who also happens to be my radiologist at the breast center I have gone to for the past few years. She had just finished reading my diagnostic mammogram, and had the great misfortune on that day of having to tell me that I would need a biopsy, because my mammogram showed some calcifications that looked suspicious. Upon further pressing by me, she told me that she suspected that I had something called "ductal carcinoma in situ," or early breast cancer. Her suspicions were confirmed the following week after my biopsy on October 7th.
One month later, on November 1st, I laid on a table in the Saint Thomas surgical prep area while my amazing surgeon, Jeanne Ballinger, did her best to assure me that my lumpectomy would go well, and that my lymph nodes would be clear. I was scared. The surgery went well, however, and indeed, the next day, Dr. Ballinger was able to confirm that the surgery had been successful, and that the cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes.
This morning, I sat in a well-lit room at the Dan Rudy Cancer Center with my radiation oncologist, Paul Rosenblatt. I had just received my thirty-third and final radiation treatment, and Dr. Rosenblatt and I talked about what the future would hold for me. I told him how much I appreciated his skill and compassion, and thanked him and his staff with a cake that said "33 Down, O To Go. Thanks Y'all!!"
The last four months of my life have been, in many ways, dominated by breast cancer. While the hardest part of the journey appears to be behind me, the journey is by no means over. I'll have follow-up visits and frequent mammograms. And as much as I historically have disliked going to the doctor, I am taking some comfort in the fact that I'll be followed by so many doctors. If anything comes up in the future, we'll presumably find it early, and nip it right in the bud. I have great doctors. I am blessed.
My hope is that this blog will provide hope and encouragement to other women diagnosed with breast cancer, and persuade friends and family to take care of themselves and to stay on top of their healthcare. Please, if you're reading this blog, go for your annual mammograms. Check your breasts monthly. Go see a doctor if something doesn't seem right. As Elizabeth Edwards reportedly told women in the years between her diagnosis and her death, the cancer is either there or it isn't; the only thing that having a mammogram changes is your options. Catching cancer early can make all of the difference in a woman's prognosis. While cancer can certainly be scary, it also can be a very manageable disease, particularly if detected early.
So you may be wondering what will happen to my blog now that I've finished my treatment. I certainly will keep writing, but perhaps not as frequently as I have been. Who knows, maybe in the aftermath of my treatment, I'll have more to say about cancer and its' impact on my life. On the other hand, maybe I'll move on with my life and not write much more. We'll just have to see. One thing is certain though: I've loved writing this blog and sharing my journey with you, my readers.
A huge and heartfelt thanks to each of you who have read my blog and followed my journey. I am extremely grateful for the support and encouragement you've provided to me along the way.
Erin
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
You're Not the Only One
I am keenly aware of the fact that everyone -- regardless of age, income, race or social status -- has challenges in life. I learned this lesson years ago as couples I thought had the perfect marriage announced they were divorcing, or as I learned that another family's seemingly perfect teenager was struggling with depression and suicidal ideations. I learned long ago not to look at other people and assume that their lives were perfect; no one has a perfect life. We all have struggles.
I was once again reminded of this fact, however, yesterday, as I sat in the parent waiting room at one of my middle child's therapy programs. I was sharing with one of the employees there that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. There were three other parents in the room who listened intently, and for a brief moment, I felt "special."
What transpired next, however, was one of the most unexpected and moving conversations in which I've been involved in a long time. After I shared my situation, each of the other three parents in the room ended up sharing their own recent health issues. One parent had been diagnosed with a terrible neck cancer that, while once was deemed "terminal," recently had simply abated and disappeared. Just weeks ago, he was declared "cancer-free." Another parent shared how she recently had undergone surgery for two masses in her body, neither of which turned out to be cancer, but both of which could have turned into cancer had they not been removed. The third parent talked about a serious neck condition for which she had had a complicated and lengthy surgery several years ago.
As the parent whose cancer recently has disappeared told us his story, and shared with us how many people had been praying for him, and how grateful he was that God had heard and answered those prayers, we all sat mesmerized, thinking undoubtedly about our own experiences, and so grateful to hear this parent's powerful testimony, and to be blessed by his amazing outlook on life and prayer and family and God.
Not for a minute do I think that I'm the only person walking around with challenges, or that I'm somehow special because I've had this experience with breast cancer. My main motivations in writing this blog were to have a record of the experience, and hopefully to provide hope and encouragement to women facing this diagnosis in the future. As we walk through our lives, and face the challenges with which we are presented, we cannot forget that everyone we encounter has trials and tribulations, and that we can be a blessing in other people's lives, regardless of what we're facing. I was grateful for yesterday's powerful reminder of this truth.
Erin
I was once again reminded of this fact, however, yesterday, as I sat in the parent waiting room at one of my middle child's therapy programs. I was sharing with one of the employees there that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. There were three other parents in the room who listened intently, and for a brief moment, I felt "special."
What transpired next, however, was one of the most unexpected and moving conversations in which I've been involved in a long time. After I shared my situation, each of the other three parents in the room ended up sharing their own recent health issues. One parent had been diagnosed with a terrible neck cancer that, while once was deemed "terminal," recently had simply abated and disappeared. Just weeks ago, he was declared "cancer-free." Another parent shared how she recently had undergone surgery for two masses in her body, neither of which turned out to be cancer, but both of which could have turned into cancer had they not been removed. The third parent talked about a serious neck condition for which she had had a complicated and lengthy surgery several years ago.
As the parent whose cancer recently has disappeared told us his story, and shared with us how many people had been praying for him, and how grateful he was that God had heard and answered those prayers, we all sat mesmerized, thinking undoubtedly about our own experiences, and so grateful to hear this parent's powerful testimony, and to be blessed by his amazing outlook on life and prayer and family and God.
Not for a minute do I think that I'm the only person walking around with challenges, or that I'm somehow special because I've had this experience with breast cancer. My main motivations in writing this blog were to have a record of the experience, and hopefully to provide hope and encouragement to women facing this diagnosis in the future. As we walk through our lives, and face the challenges with which we are presented, we cannot forget that everyone we encounter has trials and tribulations, and that we can be a blessing in other people's lives, regardless of what we're facing. I was grateful for yesterday's powerful reminder of this truth.
Erin
Saturday, January 22, 2011
The Boost
I finished up my "regular" treatments on Thursday, and moved on to the boost treatments yesterday. I would be lying if I said that the first boost was a breeze. After all the poking and prodding I've experienced over the past few months, you'd think that a little additional poking and prodding wouldn't bother me at all. But it did.
The "boost" treatments consist of eight treatments targeted to the area in my breast from which the cancer was removed. The amount of radiation is lower, and the penetration not as deep, but I guess that the idea is just to really cover our bases and make sure that no leftover cancer cells survive. Let me tell you, my breast feels a bit like it's had the heck beaten out of it. Looks like it, too. If there's any cancer left in there, I'd be pretty darned surprised.
The boost treatments are delivered by the same machine that delivered the regular treatments, but they use an attachment that comes down very close to my breast. During the first treatment, the doc had to come in to make sure that the treatment field was covering just the right area on my breast (which entailed him pushing, poking and prodding my breast to make sure that the area covered included all of the area he wanted in the boost field), and the techs, once again, had an opportunity to create art on my chest with sharpies, this time drawing a large circle around the area to be treated. Feeling a bit like a science experiment (or a piece of canvas) over here. Just sayin.
The treatment didn't hurt at all, but it was disconcerting because I didn't know how long the blast would last. I'm always afraid that the machine will malfunction and give me way too much radiation, and because I didn't know yesterday how long the treatment was supposed to last, I was especially concerned about that. There's always the fear, too, in the back of the mind that something will hurt, and that I'll have to figure out how to get up off of the table during the middle of the treatment. Yesterday, all of these paranoid thoughts came crashing in around me, and I literally was shaking during the treatment. I surprised even myself with my level of wimpiness yesterday. Now that I know what to expect, however, I'm guessing that I'll sail through the last seven treatments.
Still wondering what a celebration of the end of this nonsense should look like. It will be a Tuesday night -- not exactly the best night of the week to have a big blowout. Maybe a quiet dinner somewhere with Eli; certainly several glasses of wine to mark the occasion; maybe a big, yummy steak. We'll see.
Have a great weekend.
Erin
The "boost" treatments consist of eight treatments targeted to the area in my breast from which the cancer was removed. The amount of radiation is lower, and the penetration not as deep, but I guess that the idea is just to really cover our bases and make sure that no leftover cancer cells survive. Let me tell you, my breast feels a bit like it's had the heck beaten out of it. Looks like it, too. If there's any cancer left in there, I'd be pretty darned surprised.
The boost treatments are delivered by the same machine that delivered the regular treatments, but they use an attachment that comes down very close to my breast. During the first treatment, the doc had to come in to make sure that the treatment field was covering just the right area on my breast (which entailed him pushing, poking and prodding my breast to make sure that the area covered included all of the area he wanted in the boost field), and the techs, once again, had an opportunity to create art on my chest with sharpies, this time drawing a large circle around the area to be treated. Feeling a bit like a science experiment (or a piece of canvas) over here. Just sayin.
The treatment didn't hurt at all, but it was disconcerting because I didn't know how long the blast would last. I'm always afraid that the machine will malfunction and give me way too much radiation, and because I didn't know yesterday how long the treatment was supposed to last, I was especially concerned about that. There's always the fear, too, in the back of the mind that something will hurt, and that I'll have to figure out how to get up off of the table during the middle of the treatment. Yesterday, all of these paranoid thoughts came crashing in around me, and I literally was shaking during the treatment. I surprised even myself with my level of wimpiness yesterday. Now that I know what to expect, however, I'm guessing that I'll sail through the last seven treatments.
Still wondering what a celebration of the end of this nonsense should look like. It will be a Tuesday night -- not exactly the best night of the week to have a big blowout. Maybe a quiet dinner somewhere with Eli; certainly several glasses of wine to mark the occasion; maybe a big, yummy steak. We'll see.
Have a great weekend.
Erin
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
My Friend Bob
In life, people come and people go. I made a friend at radiation named Bob (I've changed his name in order to protect his confidentiality). He was probably about fifteen years older than me and was being treated for prostrate cancer. He had to have FORTY-FIVE treatments. Wow. That's twelve more treatments than I'm having. That's a long haul.
Bob and I had our appointments each day around the same time, and after seeing each other a few times, and smiling at one another politely, one day, we struck up a conversation. Bob isn't the kind of guy I'd normally hang out with, but there we were, together in the waiting room of the cancer center, our lives intersecting. I got to know a lot about Bob; he was a talker. He told me all about how his cancer wasn't diagnosed in a timely manner, about his symptoms, about his diagnosis, about his initial meetings with the radiation oncologists, and about his treatments. He told me about the pain he experienced when they had to insert (not once, not twice, but THREE times) a balloon into the treatment area (ouch!!) On snowy days, he told me about his driveway and how he ran over his azaleas trying to get out of the driveway, and about his long and harrowing drive into Nashville for his treatment on one particular day.
Bob finished his last treatment last Tuesday. I had thought about getting him a big cookie that said "Congratulations," but I didn't. I'm sorry about that. I saw him on his last day, and we hugged each other, and said that we hoped we'd see each other again one day. But not there, we said. We didn't want to see each other at the cancer center. Maybe at the Kroger, or someplace else in Nashville, but not at the cancer center.
Here's hoping that Bob and I are reunited one day under better circumstances, and that Bob has a long, joyful, cancer-free life.
Have a great day, all.
Erin
Bob and I had our appointments each day around the same time, and after seeing each other a few times, and smiling at one another politely, one day, we struck up a conversation. Bob isn't the kind of guy I'd normally hang out with, but there we were, together in the waiting room of the cancer center, our lives intersecting. I got to know a lot about Bob; he was a talker. He told me all about how his cancer wasn't diagnosed in a timely manner, about his symptoms, about his diagnosis, about his initial meetings with the radiation oncologists, and about his treatments. He told me about the pain he experienced when they had to insert (not once, not twice, but THREE times) a balloon into the treatment area (ouch!!) On snowy days, he told me about his driveway and how he ran over his azaleas trying to get out of the driveway, and about his long and harrowing drive into Nashville for his treatment on one particular day.
Bob finished his last treatment last Tuesday. I had thought about getting him a big cookie that said "Congratulations," but I didn't. I'm sorry about that. I saw him on his last day, and we hugged each other, and said that we hoped we'd see each other again one day. But not there, we said. We didn't want to see each other at the cancer center. Maybe at the Kroger, or someplace else in Nashville, but not at the cancer center.
Here's hoping that Bob and I are reunited one day under better circumstances, and that Bob has a long, joyful, cancer-free life.
Have a great day, all.
Erin
Monday, January 17, 2011
A Little Levity
This has absolutely nothing to do with my cancer journey, except that it has made me laugh so hard that I consider it to be therapeutic. Just thought I'd share....
Have a great day!!
Erin
Have a great day!!
Erin
Friday, January 14, 2011
Another CT Scan
I had the pleasure of having another CT scan today. This one was required in order for my radiation team to plan my "boost" treatments, which will begin next Friday. I guess they need to remeasure everything (I'm told things move around and shrink during radiation treatments) and find the area they need to target for the last eight boost treatments. It's really hard for me to believe that I've only got 12 treatments left altogether.
I've learned a lot about all of the different types of scans/x-rays over the past few months. The CT scan machine that I've been in twice is just this narrow tube that you slide in and out of during the scan. If you close your eyes and pretend you're in Disney World, you can almost make yourself believe that you're on a fun space ride or some sort thing. At least, that's what I tried to do today. It wasn't bad.
I'm getting very used to having folks look at my boobs, too. Take today, for instance. Two of the techs set me up for my treatments, and of course, had the pleasure of not only seeing my boobs, but drawing on them and putting tape on them. Then, three more lucky individuals (including the doctor) handled my CT scan set up, and got to make more markings on me. At this point, I'm liable to whip my breast out in the middle of Kroger or something, given the comfort level I now have with being "exposed." No pride anymore. That's long gone, for better or for worse.
Well, on that terrific note, I think that I'll sign off for the weekend. And don't worry; I'm not going to expose myself. I was just kidding.
Erin
I've learned a lot about all of the different types of scans/x-rays over the past few months. The CT scan machine that I've been in twice is just this narrow tube that you slide in and out of during the scan. If you close your eyes and pretend you're in Disney World, you can almost make yourself believe that you're on a fun space ride or some sort thing. At least, that's what I tried to do today. It wasn't bad.
I'm getting very used to having folks look at my boobs, too. Take today, for instance. Two of the techs set me up for my treatments, and of course, had the pleasure of not only seeing my boobs, but drawing on them and putting tape on them. Then, three more lucky individuals (including the doctor) handled my CT scan set up, and got to make more markings on me. At this point, I'm liable to whip my breast out in the middle of Kroger or something, given the comfort level I now have with being "exposed." No pride anymore. That's long gone, for better or for worse.
Well, on that terrific note, I think that I'll sign off for the weekend. And don't worry; I'm not going to expose myself. I was just kidding.
Erin
Thursday, January 13, 2011
A Dream
It was bound to happen, sooner or later, but I had my first radiation-related dream last night. It was weird. I was sitting in a room with a bunch of women who were being treated for breast cancer. They were all in the middle of their radiation treatments, but they all had markings on their head. I started to ask about the markings, and they all looked at me as if I were crazy. They explained that their docs had included a few blasts to the brain as part of their treatment protocol, and began to question why this wasn't included in my plan. I couldn't quite wrap my head around why they would be having brain treatments, but they insisted that I ask my doctor about it. The only problem was that my doctor wasn't around so I sat down with the other radiation oncologist in the practice, Dr. Hunter, and he started drawing pictures of what the radiation field would look like and where it would enter my brain. Dr. Rosenblatt showed up somewhere later in the dream, but I can't exactly remember what happened after the meeting with Dr. Hunter.
I have no doubt that this dream relates to the fact that each day, when I'm in the radiation room, I have to look at the masks that are custom-made for brain cancer patients who are receiving radiation. They sit on a table, staring up at the ceiling, and honestly, they freak me out a little bit. Evidently, when radiation is given to the head or brain, it is absolutely essential that there is no movement, and so these mesh-like masks are created, placed over the patient's head, and bolted to the table. The nurses have mentioned how hard this is for a lot of patients. It would be hard for me, I'm sure. It makes me thankful that all I have to do is lay on the table with my arms up over my head for a few minutes each day.
Dreams are interesting, aren't they? I've never been much of a student of dreams and what they can tell us about ourselves, but I've had a lot of dreams in my day, and it seems abundantly clear to me that they are closely related to our subconscious, and that they reflect our fears, desires and passions.
Have a wonderful day, and sweet dreams!
Erin
I have no doubt that this dream relates to the fact that each day, when I'm in the radiation room, I have to look at the masks that are custom-made for brain cancer patients who are receiving radiation. They sit on a table, staring up at the ceiling, and honestly, they freak me out a little bit. Evidently, when radiation is given to the head or brain, it is absolutely essential that there is no movement, and so these mesh-like masks are created, placed over the patient's head, and bolted to the table. The nurses have mentioned how hard this is for a lot of patients. It would be hard for me, I'm sure. It makes me thankful that all I have to do is lay on the table with my arms up over my head for a few minutes each day.
Dreams are interesting, aren't they? I've never been much of a student of dreams and what they can tell us about ourselves, but I've had a lot of dreams in my day, and it seems abundantly clear to me that they are closely related to our subconscious, and that they reflect our fears, desires and passions.
Have a wonderful day, and sweet dreams!
Erin
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Wacky Thoughts....
I think a lot about how fortunate I am to have such a great medical team. As I've shared on this blog, I am especially fond of my surgeon and my radiation oncologist. The other day, I was driving around town looking at all of the silly bumper stickers folks have on their cars, and I thought to myself, "wouldn't it be funny to have a bumper sticker that says: I [heart] my oncologist?" I mean, that would just blow peoples' minds, wouldn't it?
I was sharing this with a friend this morning, and we got a good chuckle (as her husband was laying in a hospital with an ankle that he had just broken that morning as he slipped on the ice taking out the trash -- we needed some levity!) So, I came home and did a google search for custom bumper stickers, and lo and behold, found a site where one, indeed, can design one's own bumper sticker. And so, here is mine. I doubt that these would sell like hotcakes, but it's funny to think about driving around Nashville with this on the back of my minivan!
I was sharing this with a friend this morning, and we got a good chuckle (as her husband was laying in a hospital with an ankle that he had just broken that morning as he slipped on the ice taking out the trash -- we needed some levity!) So, I came home and did a google search for custom bumper stickers, and lo and behold, found a site where one, indeed, can design one's own bumper sticker. And so, here is mine. I doubt that these would sell like hotcakes, but it's funny to think about driving around Nashville with this on the back of my minivan!
My, How Time Flies!!!
Well, it's hard to believe, but I only have 14 treatments left! Today was my 19th treatment, which means that I only have 6 more "regular" treatments, and then I'll switch to what they lovingly refer to as the "boost" treatments next Friday. Assuming the center is open on MLK Day (I need to check on this), and that I'm able to make all of the remaining 14 appointments as scheduled, I should finish my treatment on Tuesday, February 1st. I dare say that my husband would be wise to plan something very special for that evening!!!!
I also am pleased to report that I continue to have very few, if any, side effects. I have a little of the "sunburned" look, and some accompanying, but mild, itching. Other than that, though, I feel perfectly fine. I'm determined to get through this experience unscathed and with as few side effects as possible.
Like 48 other states in the country, we've had snow here in Tennessee this week, which means that the kids have been home from school. Our school district is notorious for cancelling school if there is even a possiblity of snow, and so given the fact that we got a whopping two inches on Monday and that the temps have still been very low here, I guess it's not surprising that there's been no school so far this week. This, of course, has made getting to my appointments a little trickier, but with the help of Eli and a few dedicated babysitters, we've made it work. As they say, it takes a village.
Here's hoping everyone is staying warm and enjoying a cold, but beautiful, January.
Erin
I also am pleased to report that I continue to have very few, if any, side effects. I have a little of the "sunburned" look, and some accompanying, but mild, itching. Other than that, though, I feel perfectly fine. I'm determined to get through this experience unscathed and with as few side effects as possible.
Like 48 other states in the country, we've had snow here in Tennessee this week, which means that the kids have been home from school. Our school district is notorious for cancelling school if there is even a possiblity of snow, and so given the fact that we got a whopping two inches on Monday and that the temps have still been very low here, I guess it's not surprising that there's been no school so far this week. This, of course, has made getting to my appointments a little trickier, but with the help of Eli and a few dedicated babysitters, we've made it work. As they say, it takes a village.
Here's hoping everyone is staying warm and enjoying a cold, but beautiful, January.
Erin
Friday, January 7, 2011
Almost Half Way!
16 down, 17 to go. The next time I blog, I'll be over the proverbial hump. As I was laying on the table this morning, I was thinking about yesterday's post, and realized that I like everything about going for my treatments, except for the treatments themselves. I still haven't resigned myself to the fact that I'm being pumped full of something that is pretty toxic. Yuck.
For any ladies out there who may be facing the same experience, let me say that the treatments are totally painless, and that if you follow the advice given regarding caring for your skin, you should be fine. I've had 16 treatments, and have had no burning or cracking or other skin problems, so far, at least. If you were to see my chest (a scary thought, I'm sure) you would probably agree that it looks like I've been under the tanning bed with one side covered and the other side exposed. I have no idea what the next few weeks will bring in terms of my skin, but I'm told that the changes are not permanent, and that the discoloration should fade over time.
Okay, well, it's Friday, which means (a) no radiation for two days; (b) no waking up early for two days; and (c) no homework for three nights!!! Yeah!
Have a great weekend.
Erin
For any ladies out there who may be facing the same experience, let me say that the treatments are totally painless, and that if you follow the advice given regarding caring for your skin, you should be fine. I've had 16 treatments, and have had no burning or cracking or other skin problems, so far, at least. If you were to see my chest (a scary thought, I'm sure) you would probably agree that it looks like I've been under the tanning bed with one side covered and the other side exposed. I have no idea what the next few weeks will bring in terms of my skin, but I'm told that the changes are not permanent, and that the discoloration should fade over time.
Okay, well, it's Friday, which means (a) no radiation for two days; (b) no waking up early for two days; and (c) no homework for three nights!!! Yeah!
Have a great weekend.
Erin
Thursday, January 6, 2011
So, I don't know if it's the radiation getting to me, or if I've otherwise just lost my mind, but it struck me this morning that I kind of like going to my radiation treatments every day. Weird, I know, but I have the best oncologist in the world, and the group of folks who set up and carry out my treatments every day are actually kind of fun to hang out with. The nurses, whom I get to see every Wednesday, are totally amazing, too (Mary and Nancy -- you guys rock!). I've also started to get to know some of the other patients, and I really like hearing their stories and trying to support one another.
As of today, I've got 15 treatments under my belt, and only 18 to go. As I understand the protocol, I'll do 10 more "full breast" treatments, and then the last eight treatments will be targeted at the spot in my breast that was harboring the "bad cells." In theory, I shouldn't have any rogue cancer cells in my body, but just in case, this treatment is designed to search and destroy any little cells that might have escaped Dr. Ballinger and her knife.
In any event, by my calculations, I should be done with the treatments the first week of February. I actually had the thought today that I might be sad when those early morning visits to St. Thomas are no longer part of my daily schedule. Crazy, I know.
I'm guessing that by then, I'll be totally done with all of this, and more than ready to move on, but for now, I'm glad that I'm able to enjoy the experience. Gosh, I'm weird.
Have a great day.
Erin
As of today, I've got 15 treatments under my belt, and only 18 to go. As I understand the protocol, I'll do 10 more "full breast" treatments, and then the last eight treatments will be targeted at the spot in my breast that was harboring the "bad cells." In theory, I shouldn't have any rogue cancer cells in my body, but just in case, this treatment is designed to search and destroy any little cells that might have escaped Dr. Ballinger and her knife.
In any event, by my calculations, I should be done with the treatments the first week of February. I actually had the thought today that I might be sad when those early morning visits to St. Thomas are no longer part of my daily schedule. Crazy, I know.
I'm guessing that by then, I'll be totally done with all of this, and more than ready to move on, but for now, I'm glad that I'm able to enjoy the experience. Gosh, I'm weird.
Have a great day.
Erin
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Warning, Your Cell Phone May Be Hazardous To Your Health Gear + Gadgets: GQ.com
I came across this article this morning while doing some research on taking vitamins and supplements during radiation therapy (I know, it's not really related, but someone had mentioned the article in their blog post regarding other things). It's disconcerting, to say the least, but worth a read and some thought, in my view. Not to be a conspiracy theorist, but when you, yourself, have had cancer, I've found that you pay more attention to these kinds of things and ideas. Just though I'd share....
Warning, Your Cell Phone May Be Hazardous To Your Health Gear + Gadgets: GQ.com
Warning, Your Cell Phone May Be Hazardous To Your Health Gear + Gadgets: GQ.com
Friday, December 31, 2010
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
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
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas!!
This is wishing each of you a very merry and blessed Christmas day with your families.
Erin
Erin
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
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
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, December 20, 2010
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
Friday, December 17, 2010
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
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
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....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)