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
Friday, January 7, 2011
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
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