Still rockin'

I am still routinely attired in the latest hospital gown fashions.


Today, I had a DEXA scan, mammogram and ultrasound. Yesterday, pulmonologist for a cough since Christmas that would not go away. Chest x-ray. Two rounds of lung function tests, pre and post inhaler. Last Friday, upper GI scoped. Still getting my ridiculous shot every four weeks and taking a pill every day. Only 3-7 more years of that to go. Meh. I saw my medical oncologist as a second appointment with the shot last Wednesday. A little blood work here and there. I still haven't found myself a new internist since 2014, but I am in no hurry to add yet another doctor's appointment to my list. In all, it seems to be working out.


As confirmed by my "no suspicious findings" imaging today, I still have NO EVIDENCE OF DISEASE.

Surveillance is a good thing!

When it comes to breast cancer at least. 

MRI check in.  So nervous I was literally nauseous with dread.  I go in thinking,  two out of three outcomes are potentially bad: 1) I have cancer and I have to start chemo and all that again; 2) I have cancer again but they don't find it and I die; or 3) I don't have cancer again and I am going to be fine, at least till the next scan. A pessimist would see only the first two. 

Hospital fashion is improving though,  note the light grey socks go much better with my multi gown scrub outfit.  I also have hair on my head.  Not enough for a ponytail yet because I am evening out the ear notch from my March 2015 pixie/haircut from hell, and my hair has only grown out far enough to be a short, non mulleted bob.  I tell myself I am not a pessimist. 

Kokeb who conducted the process for me was a prince. Thoughtful, kind, thorough, and warm-hearted.  Good kidney function, lovely. I hang out on the table, in superman pose, dressed like Wonder Woman in scrubs having a wardrobe malfunction.  Then, 20 minutes of whirring super photography, a little radioactive rare Earth mineral right through my veins, chilled of course, and 5 more minutes of fancy photography listening to some snazzy classical music, and I was done. I told myself I would not think about it. Work was busy,  so that helped.

My results weren't supposed to be back till Wednesday.  I got an electronic records alert today as I left work. I had an immediate feeling this is a "gift" from my oncologist, who is equal parts major perfectionist and deeply compassionate and caring soul,  aka, the best kind of doctor.  She is just the type to say, behind the scenes, "hurry it up, I need to know." If things had been bad, she would have called me on Wednesday as I was told,  and she would already have developed a game plan.  As soon as I saw the alert was for the MRI and not some random blood work, I recognized her handiwork. I knew I was fine, and yet I still had to read the report. 

I read many descriptive words re findings. Very well written. Thorough. I briefly wonder if I am getting anonymously presented at Tumor Board again, that doctor gaggle where they all talk about cancer cases.  Skim skim skim...where is the determination?

And then, there they are, the magic words-- "No evidence of malignancy." Boom. Another 6 months is mine.  I realize I have 6 months till the next surveillance exam, a mammogram next time. (Who doesn't love the experience of becoming your very own breast panini? I kid, but only slightly. I will take it!)

Of course, I cried when I read it, the second time to be sure.  Grateful, relieved, and so much more jumbled up inside. But, the next 6 months are mine. Emotional weight is falling off me like a ton of bricks, hour after hour since finding out.

What can I do in the next 6 months to live fully and savor every moment? What was I afraid to do that I am not afraid of now? What living have I been putting off till now? What could make this little bit of time MORE?

I revel that this time is mine.  It's mine.  The future is mine.  All mine.  Maybe only six months till the next round of torture and chaos, or maybe it will be years and years.  I don't know.  No one knows.  But the next sunrise is mine, and I am willing to bet the one after that. I am really excited to see what the future holds again, finally. Finally, it's mine. My life is mine again. Not the same, but still mine.

Cancer-versary

Two years ago, today, I got my diagnosis.

Now, I have no evidence of disease.

My hair is growing back.  I have just graduated from multiple stages of mullet to a super short bob.  A ponytail is in my future.

I still take a pill everyday.

I still get a shot every 4 weeks.  It's like getting swatted with a stapler.  I've missed it sometimes. I hate and dread going back to the hospital, even though everyone is so nice and beyond supportive.

I feel as if I am fighting a cold war.  Every headache, bruise or cough, I worry that the cancer has returned and spread. And I know treatment for a recurrence would be even harder.  So I worry, but there is nothing to be done. I remember people diagnosed after me who are not here to still fight.  I wait and watch for signs the enemy has returned, its influence spread, and a resurgence lurking around every corner. It's not as if I am actively looking for it, but it is always in the back of my mind, like when I realize I am getting nauseous just from driving down the same street I used to take to chemo, even though I am not going to the hospital at all this time.

Nevertheless, I am here.  I am still here. There are parts of my life that are very, very good. Better than before.  In some ways,  I worry less.  "It's not cancer.  No one is dying.  Let it go."  And, I savor more.  The wind on my face and the leaves of the trees gently stirring. I am still here.

But, it doesn't feel over.

Still fighting.

Finish Line

Friday, September 25 - last chemo ever. Hardest thing I have ever done, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. But I am done now.

It's Monday, September 28. I am getting this port taken out at 10am. Finish line. Fuck cancer. I win. I am a survivor. I am so done with cancer. Onward and upward. Get this garden hose outta my neck.

It's time to get back to living and set some new goals for life. First thing, hair goals. I want a pony tail. I like my short hair, but I want it to be long enough again that if I cut it short, it's because I choose it. I start a new job on Thursday, and I think it's going to be amazing. Total change of scenery. Hello private sector. It's about to be fall. Breast cancer awareness month is about to start. My birthday is early November. Bring it on. Bring it all on. I am ready.

Thank you again to you all for your love and support! Couldn't have done this without you!

June 6

A year ago today, I was diagnosed with cancer. My own personal D Day.

I am alive, and I am winning this war against cancer.

I went through oncofertility and have 8 embryos waiting till my health and doctors allow it. It took two surgeries and a trip to the ER, but cancer didn't win.

I went through six rounds of horrible TCHP chemo, July - October 2014, which gave me horrible nausea for 10 days, diarrhea for 15, fatigue all the way through, eventual chemo induced peripheral neuropathy, a bizarre eye twitch, a perpetually runny nose, and the occasional rash. I lost my hair, my eyebrows and lashes, (temporarily) my period, my strength, my routine, my social life, significant involvement in my job as a lawyer, and I  had to take a complete leave of absence coaching CrossFit, which I love. I lost 23 lbs, 13 of which was muscle, and then gained it all back plus 20 lbs, after going through chemo- and then drug-induced menopause three times, violent hot flashes included. Sweating in a wig is not fun, but cancer didn't win.

I had surgery on November 18th. Two excisions to get clean margins. Happily, my lymph node was clear too.  But, the scar.  Eventually, mild lymphedema of the breast. I will never be able to have my blood pressure taken or a needle stick on my right arm, but these breasts are mine. Not plastic. And I still look good in a tank top or bathing suit. Cancer didn't win. 

Radiation. 6 weeks, Dec thru January 17. Every week day, including Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. (I got the actual days off.) Honestly, this was the most stressful and barbaric part of it all. The techs and doctors were great, but you lose a sense of your own personhood every time you lie there like a piece of meat and let your body be nuked, not knowing when or if your skin will start to burn and peel, potentially never to be normal or even close. Worrying that if you take too deep of a breath, that you'll damage healthy tissue unnecessarily. That years from now, the radiation effects will still be lingering, and you'll feel pain and still not be able to put your arm all the way overhead. Every day, bad traffic is more than just traffic - it might be what prevents you from making the appointment that is at the same time, not so bad physically, mentally torture, and medically saving your life. Radiation made me so tired afterwards that once, I was so tired after putting dinner in the microwave, I had to lie down on my kitchen floor and rest in front of the microwave before I had the energy to get up, take dinner out of the microwave and even eat. Still, I never missed a day of radiation. Perfect attendance. Cancer didn't win. 

Now, I am in a clinical trial, the Katherine Trial, for more chemo, called TDM1 aka Kadcyla, which has already been approved for Stage 3 &  4 patients.  It includes Herceptin, which I would have gotten as standard of care, but TDM1 takes Herceptin and adds a molecule of old school chemo that had such terrible side effects that they stopped using it.  Added to Herceptin, it turns into smart bomb chemo. I am nauseous, headachey, and fatigued for three days after my infusion every three weeks, but I get to keep my hair. I have to go through the end of September, but I am making. Cancer is not going win. 

I have started hormonal therapy. Zoladex, which is like getting shot with a pellet gun to jam essentially a Tic Tac under my skin. Every 4 weeks for the next 10 years. My ovaries refuse to quit, so we're figuring that out, but an aromatase inhibitor is next. For 10 years. But, this is just what I have to do. I won't let cancer win. 

I am slowly getting my life back. Doing great stuff at work, back to coaching, and exercise. It's not the way it was before. And it will never be, but I am working on my new normal and making it great. Winning my battles, winning this war. 

I've owed you a post for a while...

And it is coming.

Right now, I am still halfway in the middle of a deep mental exhale re this cancer journey.  A long update post is coming. For tonight, I just wanted to leave you with this--

2014, you were a lot of heartache, tears, and pain, but also love, laughter and hope. I will not miss you.

2015, things are looking up. It's going to be our year.

Thank you to my family and friends who are the continuum between the hard times and the good. I wish you the best for this year and always.

Surgery follow up and pathology report in!

Stitches are out.  We redid steristrips on one incision, but it is OK. My range of motion without the stitches in is pretty good. I may actually have slightly better internal rotation at the shoulder, but going directly overhead hurts at about 15 degrees from vertical.  No need to stretch things out or stress my incisions right now. I am still supposed to take it easy till next week when I can go back to CrossFit.  Yeah,  CrossFit! Per the surgeon, if it doesn't bother me, it's fine.

The post surgery telephone game on the day of was not entirely accurate, but I got the details officially today. Only one lymph node was taken, and it was clear. The wide area excision did not initially have a clear medial margin as assessed intraoperatively, so additional tissue was required all around.  Happily they were able to do it while I was still under so only one tumor incision. There is a slight contour due to loss of volume, but all in all, I am pleased.  The cancer is out and you can hardly tell. After the swelling goes down over the next week, and a year after radiation ends, if I want to have some tweaks made, I can. That said, even with the way things are right now, no one would ever know in a strapless dress, a sports bra or all but the skimpiest of bikinis. And, I don't wear super skimpy bikinis anyway. Radiation apparently works wonders on scars, so they should not be an issue at all!

In terms of the tumor removed, it shrank from 2.7 cm to 1.9. I did not get a complete pathological response, but I still have a lot of treatment left with radiation, Herceptin, and anti estrogen and anti progesterone therapy.  We are still in a good place. At least that is what I keep telling myself.  Blood flow to the tumor was good, so the chemo was really getting in there. There was no evidence of invasion into the blood/lymph vessels or nerves, which is good.  I had worried that because I had a great response during chemo rounds 1-3 and no discernible improvement after chemo rounds 4-6, that my tumor had somehow figured out how to deal with TCHP. I asked if I had a recurrence whether I was likely to still respond to chemo.  My surgeon laughed and assured me that yes, I would.  It is kind of funny, but it is MY tumor so I would not be surprised if it figured out how to outsmart chemo. Hopefully, there will never be a recurrence. 

I also asked about lymphadema prevention, and I got a referral for Dec. 1. I hope it's a non issue, and I think my surgeon thinks it's likely to be a non issue.  Still, I am glad to be going. Better safe than sorry. 

I am feeling pretty good, but with as much as I have been through, I am in no rush back to work.  I am taking all my planned leave rather than going back early.  I feel like letting myself focus on healing and trying to build back up my energy reserves before radiation begins is the right choice. I still don't have nearly the get up and go I did before chemo, and with fatigue being the most common side effect of radiation, I think it is wise not to make myself do too much too soon, even if I possibly could.

Otherwise, I am enjoying the brief warm weather and being, as best as we can tell, finally cancer free!