Prayers, Please

I know that many of you will be praying for me tomorrow, and I am so grateful for that. I believe that God hears our prayers and further believe in the power of prayer. I feel that I am great hands with Jeanne Ballinger and that she will do all she can to achieve a postive outcome tomorrow, but I also know that God will be there giving my family and me the strength to get through the day.

I hope to have good news to share with you all tomorrow evening.

Blessings,

Erin

Longest Month Ever

It feels like ages ago that I was at the breast center having my second set of mammogram films on Oct. 1. That was my Mom's bday and Eli's first day as a partner at Bass, Berry & Sims.

We've come a long way since then. More in an effort to document the critical happenings of October, and less as a way of boring you all to death, I wanted to chronicle the events leading up to tomorrow's surgery:

Oct. 1 -- go for second set of mammo films; radiologist says that she thinks the calcifications look like dcis.

Oct. 7 -- stereotactic biopsy

Oct. 8 -- receive pathology report from biopsy; 1.2 cm area of dcis with a small focal microinvasion

Oct. 15 -- meet with first surgeon; have ultrasound; consent to testing for BRCA 1 and 2 mutations

Oct. 19 -- MRI and meeting with second surgeon

Oct. 26 -- meet with radiation oncologist

Oct. 27 -- schedule surgery for Nov. 1, meet with surgeon again, and receive my BRCA test results which were negative

Oct. 28 -- go for pre-admission testing at the hospital

In between all of this, talk with countless breast cancer survivors and friends, and spend lots of time on the internet researching breast cancer, dcis, treatments, etc.

In between all of this, still manage to enjoy the month of October (my favorite month) by spending tons of time at the Warner Parks, having lunch with friends, hanging out at Hume-Fogg rehearsals for Les Mis, and enjoying time with my family.

Crazy times, indeed.

Erin

Letter to Cancer

I've seen a few cancer survivors write "letters to cancer" on their blogs, and I think that it sounds like a wonderfully cathartic thing to do, so I thought that on this beautiful Saturday morning, I'd let cancer know how I feel about it:

Dear Cancer:

I'm not trying to be rude, but I don't like you. You have really disrupted my life, and I didn't have the time or inclination to deal with you. But, you know what? Once I knew you were there, I put almost everything else aside in an effort to ensure that you leave my body and never come back. And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that you are eradicated completely from my life.

The other thing I want to tell you is that you have not ruined my life. You don't have the power to do that because you are just a disease. God is in control of my life, and I have so many wonderful blessings from Him in my life. You are just a cluster of cells and while you may think you're so high and mighty, I've got news for you: you're not.

So, on Monday, my surgeon, who is a butt-kicker, will remove you from my body. And then, after that, depending on what we find out about how sneaky or not you've been in my body, Dr. Rosenblatt and any other needed doctors will come up with a plan to treat my body so that we can make sure that you never rear your ugly head again.

I hate you. I really do. I want you gone from my body, and I feel confident that soon, very soon, you will be. Good riddance cancer.

Oh, and one other thing. Because you've tried to mess with me, I think that you should know that I plan to spend a part of the time I have left on this earth working towards your overall demise. Yes, that's right. I'll get involved in organizations that work towards finding a cure for cancer, and I'll give money to those organizations and others. I will hold the hands of other women in my shoes, and will run in runs to raise money for breast cancer awareness and research. I will pour myself into these activities with great enthusiasm and joy. As I said, I really dislike you, and thus I will be elated and honored to engage in activities designed to destroy you.

Goodbye cancer. I'm sorry that this letter was so unpleasant, but as those who know me know, and for better or for worse, I'm nothing, if not direct.

Erin

Why a Lumpectomy?

On Monday, my wonderful surgeon, Jeanne Ballinger, will operate on me and try to remove the cancerous portion of my breast along with what surgeons refer to as "clean margins." That means that they want to remove the cancer and enough non-cancerous tissue in order to be sure that they've gotten all of the bad cells. If this is successful and if my lymph nodes do not contain cancer, then I most likely will graduate to radiation treatments, which will take about 6 weeks, and which, I understand, are very tolerable (and which do not make you sick or make your hair fall out, like chemo does).

Having talked with so many women who have traveled this road, I have decided to try for this breast-conserving approach, not necessarily in an effort to spare my breasts, which truth be told, I could take or leave, but because this surgery is so much less invasive and frankly just makes more sense. If, as has happened to other friends of mine, they go in and do not get "clean margins," or see that the cancer is more extensive than expected, or find anything new, then I suspect I'll be scheduling a double mastectomy in order to have the sisters removed from my body for good so that they can cause me no additional harm. But I feel that I owe it to them, and to myself and my family to at least try a more minimalistic approach first and just see how that goes.

So, we'll see. The big things we'll be looking for on Monday are margins and nodes. We want clean margins and clean nodes. Clean, just about anyway you look at it, is good. So pray for clean, if you will, and for strength for me and for Eli and for my parents, and for wisdom and skill for my surgeons.

So glad to call each of you "friend."

Love,

Erin

Surgery, and a Big Thank You!!!

Well, it's done. I've decided on a lumpectomy, and I'm scheduled for surgery on Monday, November 1st, which also happens to be All Saint's Day. More later on why I've chosen that particular surgery, but I did want folks to know that I will be having the surgery on Monday. It is scheduled as an out-patient procedure, and I expect to be at the hospital most of the day.

I also wanted to say how grateful I am for all of the wonderful notes and email messages I've received from so many of you. I am doing my best to respond to each one individually, but my days have been so crazy and I'm trying to get a lot of sleep at night, and that just hasn't left enough time to get back to each one of you yet. Please know that I've received all of these touching notes, and that they mean more to mean than you can imagine. I am blessed beyond measure to have so many wonderful friends and family members who have been so loving and supportive through all of this.

Have a great Thursday, and I'll write again soon.

Love,

Erin

My First Visit to the "Cancer Center"

I had an appointment with Dr. Paul Rosenblatt today. He is a radiation oncologist, and he practices at the "Dan Rudy Cancer Center," which is located at St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville, TN. First, a thought about having an appointment at a cancer center. It sucks, to tell the truth. Wow. You really feel like you've arrived in terms of having health problems when you pull into the parking lot for the "cancer center." Walking in felt creepy, and I honestly felt like I did not belong there. The other people in the waiting room were older and appeared to be in poor health. Not me. Young. Healthy. Fit. But still, a patient at the "cancer center."

More on Dr. Rosenblatt later, but let me just say that this dear soul from Linden, NJ is one of my new favorite people. I didn't like everything he had to say (particularly the bit about how even if my lymph nodes are "clear," I may still have to have chemo), but this man literally sat with me for 2 hours explaining and diagramming everything he could about my cancer, the radiation treatment and its side effects, and listening to me deep breathe from time to time. He really was a dear person with a funny sense of humor, a wicked intelligence and a clear passion for stamping out cancer. He's gonna be a member of my cancer-fighting team, for sure!!

One more note about my morning. Along this road, and I plan to write about this in more detail later, God has shown himself to me at different times and in different ways. After my deliriously happy week of "denial" since last Tuesday (i.e. no doctor's appointments, and lots of domestic bliss -- well, okay, I'll admit that I didn't enjoy the laundry, but the rest of the stuff was okay), the rubber hit the road this morning and I had to drag myself over to the hospital for this appointment. I pulled into the hospital grounds, circled around to the "cancer center" parking lot (ugh), and just as I started to pull into that parking lot (with my special parking code -- aren't I lucky??), I looked out my driver's side window and saw.... a rainbow. It really wasn't the kind of day you'd expect to see a rainbow, but there it was, right outside my window. Not to be overly dramatic, but my eyes filled with tears, because I knew -- I just knew -- that this was a sign of hope from God. After parking and getting out of the car, I walked out of the garage to see if the rainbow was still there and it wasn't. But it had been there for me in that moment when I needed it most, and I was ever so thankful for that grace.

As we used to say every Sunday morning at the start of our worship service at Prospect Presbyterian Church in Maplewood, New Jersey, "God is good all the time, and all the time, God is good." Granted, I went through periods of time -- namely, around the diagnosis of our middle child with a chromosomal abnormality and autism -- when I could barely get those words out, but I do believe that God is good, and that he loves us, and that he is there for those of us who are open to receiving his Grace. And I believe that He'll carry me through this trial, like He has all of the other trials I've been through in my relatively short lifetime.

Thanks again for caring enough to read my blog.....

Erin

The Kids

Many of you have asked about how our kids are doing. They are fine. There are many ways of dealing with sharing a cancer diagnosis with your children, but Eli and I decided not to delay this step, and to tell our kids two days after I got the diagnosis. My primary reason for taking this approach was that I had told several friends and family members about what was going on, and I didn't want the kids hearing about this from some well-meaning person who might have accidentally said something to them. I wanted them to hear this news from me and in the safety and comfort of our own home.

So, on Sunday, October 10, we sat down at the kitchen table with Wes and Virginia. Graham was in the room with us, but was watching a video. We are a pretty straightforward bunch, so without much fanfare, I just said that I had found out that I had breast cancer. Before I could get out my next sentence, which was going to be "but I'm so lucky that they found it really early, and I'm going to be fine," Virginia had bolted out of her chair and up the stairs to her room, and was hysterical. Such a girl. Wes just sat at the table smiling, apparently trying to figure out if I was joking or not. Once I assured him that I wasn't joking, I asked him why he was still smiling, and he said, "I think that's pretty cool, Mom. You're going to be a Survivor like all those ladies we saw yesterday." (a reference to the Komen Race for the Cure). About this time, Virginia was coming back downstairs, and was still upset, but was starting to be open to hearing the "good news" about how it was detected so early and that I was going to be just fine. As she was calming down, Graham walked over to me and just gave me a big bear hug. I have no idea whether he was processing what was going on, or not, but if I were a betting woman, I'd say that he was, and that he knew that the thing I needed most was a hug.

I love my children. The thought of not being around for them is horrifying and I, like so many other women who have faced this diagnosis, will do everything I can to ensure that I'm around for a long, long time. Surgeries and radiation and even chemo seem a small price to pay for the gift of being able to live a long life with your children and grandchildren. My kids will be a big part of my journey through this experience, and I thank God every single day for blessing us with three very special little human beings.

Go have a fabulous day.

Love,

Erin