Thankful Journal Day 30

Thankful the week is over, that I managed to give the job 40 hours (haven't done that in ages), and most of all, thankful to the people on my team who took me to a neighborhood bar and bought me the first cocktail I've had in a L-O-N-G time (dirty vodka martini, made the mistake of going with 'house' vodka, next time we order Grey Goose).

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Two weeks post chemo

It’s been two weeks since my last (!) chemo treatment, and it’s been a long, hard road. Last week was absolutely the worst week I’ve ever had, hands down. Every day I feel more clear headed, which is such a nice change from the fog that had been normal for so long.


I notice the change the most at work. It’s nice to go to the office and feel like I can make a contribution to the department. I am getting back the ability to concentrate on projects, participate in a meaningful way in conversations and meetings, and give my team thoughtful and useful feed back to their questions and concerns.

Operating as I did on less that full strength for such a long time was mentally challenging and emotionally draining. You begin to question your value and whether the ordeal you are going through by way of treatment is worth everything you perceive you will lose while you sit on the sidelines, unable to pull your weight.

And that’s just what I was feeling about my job. The same feelings of drifting aimlessly, failing to contribute, and sitting by and watching life go one without me was happening at home. I turned down countless offers to go someplace, do something, most of those from PJ. She always took my decline with grace and kindness, never hinted at disappointment.

I just can’t imagine how much more overwhelming all of this might have been without all the love and support I got from Dave, PJ, family and friends, and my coworkers.

How do people who live alone get through this? How do parents with kids that need and demand their attention get through this? How do children or the frail elderly get through this?

My chief complaint now is being physically tired and that I’m sleeping poorly at night. The tired feeling will get better when my sleeping pattern improves. An occasional hit of Tylenol PM isn’t a bad choice (doc approves). Tonight might just be one of those nights.

So, it’s all getting better. Thanks for hanging in.

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Thankful Journal Day 29

Thankful for Dave, for coming home to a lovely dinner--turkey, stuffing, gravy, and squash! Squash was the only thing "missing" from the Thanksgiving table (and only because I'm the only one who will eat it, and I wasn't ready for it). Dave remembered and made it for me tonight. Made me cry. What a guy, huh?

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Thankful Journal Day 28

You know what? I’m feeling fairly decent. A little energy, a little appetite. It’s nice not to feel like a toxic waste dump. Something will come along and rock the boat (something usually does), but for now, life is pretty darn OK.

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Thankful Journal Day 27

Thankful for good food and the nice company of our friend Tanya. She joined us at the 99 in Wilmington for a couple of beers, and I finally got to order a "Nine's Burger," my first beef in months. Soon enough I'll be back on hops and malt as well.

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Baby, it’s cold outside!

You know that theory that you lose 30% of your body heat through your head? Or is it higher than that? Whatever the percent, now that I’m bald, I’m a big fan of hats.


You know that theory that you lose 30% of your body heat through your head? Or is it higher than that? Whatever the percent, now that I’m bald, I’m a big fan of hats.

My head and ears are always cold these days. And so are my feet. I can’t figure out the correlation between not wearing a hat on my head and having cold feet. I’ve even been known (by no more than two people and one cat) to wear a hat in bed. Flannel sheets up around my nose and a red knit cap on my head. It’s a wicked attractive look.

Not that I’m glad all this has happened, but it if had to, I’m happy it’s happening in cold weather. I can hide my head under hats and bandanas (although I’m daring myself to go au naturel to the office some one of these days). Hats in the middle of a summer heat event would be a sad time for everyone involved.

Another sad fact of having no hair is that I can’t push my eyeglasses up on top of my head any more. That was always the place I felt first when I needed my reading glasses (and unless you wear glasses you won’t understand the gesture). If I push my glasses up onto my head they keep riding up and over the dome and fall behind me. Fortunately we’re talking about reading glasses I buy for a buck a pair at the Dollar Tree store in Sanford, Maine, so it’s not like I’m going broke.

I can’t get used to those eyeglass chords or straps, the things you plug into the ends of the ear pieces that let your unworn glasses dangle at your chest. Nope. I’m not old enough for that look (sorry, it’s just a personal preference).

Radiation starts in two weeks and I have to throw away my Degree for Women Shower Clean Body Responsive Antiperspirant and Deodorant in favor of Tom’s of Maine Natural Long-Lasting Deodorant Stick. I hope Tom and I can strike a balance over our 44-day relationship (30 sessions, plus weekends and holidays). If not, I’ll call to you from across the room or send you a note.

Ah, the things I do for my cancer.

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Thankful Journal Day 26

Thankful today that my BCBF Tanya started her radiation treatments. Her diagnosis came with its own unique set of circumstances and treatment decision challenges (as does every diagnosis and sally). I'm glad she's moving ahead and getting ready to leave it all behind.

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Mammograms and Lies

I wrote the following in October and submitted it to a newspaper for publication. Haven't heard from them. I'd rather share it with you.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have you had a mammogram in the last 366 days? If not, schedule one or lie to me.

I had one in April and it saved my life. I was diagnosed with breast cancer, had two surgeries, and am bald due to ongoing chemotherapy. Once that ends I face six to seven weeks of radiation, then five years of drug therapy. I couldn’t be happier.

Happy? Yes, I’m alive.

My mission since diagnosis has been to tell one woman a day to schedule a mammogram, or tell one man to remind a woman he loves to have one. (And yes, breast cancer strikes men too, and they need to be aware of changes on their bodies.)

I am stunned by the numbers of women who can look me in the eye (or talk into my ear or type into my e-mail) and tell me why they don’t have regular mammograms.

• “I can’t be bothered to take the time.” Dying is a bigger waste of time.
• “It’s painful.” Yes, sometimes it is, but it’s less so than biopsies and surgeries.
• “I might get a recall notice and have to go back for another.” If your mechanic asked to see the car again, would you refuse?
• “I’m too busy.” You find time to get your nails done, go out for coffee, hit the gym, sleep late, or wander the mall.
• “I don’t have insurance,” or “I can’t afford one.” There are programs that offer free services to people in need.

And what if you do get a call back or a diagnosis? You fight and you move forward.

I wish my life hadn’t been interrupted with the news from my April mammogram. I wish I didn’t have to see the sadness in the eyes of my husband and daughter as they watch me endure the sometimes miserable aspects of my treatment. I wish I didn’t spend hours on the couch wrapped in blankets to beat back the chills, or days wracked with nausea. I wish I had the energy to give my job a solid eight hours every day, commute another two, and have something left to give when I get home.

All those sound like great reasons to forgo a mammogram. But they’re not. The chills are gone in a matter of hours. The nausea is over in a couple of days. The energy comes back in about a week. I’m learning that the wonderful machine that is my body has plenty of fight in it.

I have a lot of living to do, and my breast cancer diagnosis isn’t going to stop me. I want be around to celebrate my daughter’s accomplishments and commiserate when she’s unhappy, listen to my husband snore, bake apple pies, entertain and be entertained by friends, and eat Ben and Jerry’s coffee Heath Bar ice cream.

I want to be promoted and earn a fat raise, take my new passsport to Switzerland, take out the trash on Tuesday mornings, feed seagulls at the beach, read newspapers, write in my blog, snuggle with maybe-someday grandbabies, buy a new car, and clean the spare room. The list is endless, as it should be.

I’ll keep having mammograms, and if the breast cancer comes back, I’ll find the best way to fight it and keep moving forward.

If you don’t respect yourself enough and love your family and friends enough to do the same, have the decency to lie to me about it.

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Thankful Journal Day 25

Thankful today for a quiet day to contemplate many things. Sadly, it’s back to work tomorrow.

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Thankful Journal Day 24

Thankful today for the bright light in the sky. It’s a sunny (albeit cold) day and it begs for me to put my shoes on and go someplace, and try to put some of the recent difficulty behind me. Maybe it’s a sign that things are ready to turn around? It's been so dank and gloomy lately, this is a lovely change of scenery.

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Thankful Journal Day 23

Thankful today to spend time with my cousin Peter and his wife Laura (click through for a photo).


They make the annual T-giving trek from their home in Hartford to his sister’s in Manchester, NH, and they always stop here on the day after the holiday for another food fest. Turkey, stuffing, gravy, pies, and lots of love and togetherness. It’s what this holiday is all about.

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Thanksgiving 2007 in the rear view mirror

Yesterday was an extraordinarily difficult day. All the cumulative effects of chemotherapy decided Thursday morning, the holiday, would be the perfect time to settle in and try to turn the day into a disaster (click through for a photo).

I spent the morning on the couch, holding on for dear life through waves of nausea and dizzy spells that made me very unsteady on my feet. Dave and PJ hovered nearby offering anything and everything they could think of, but there was nothing to do but wait if out. Of course, they refused to drive to the family gathering in Maine without me (I’d have been very “happy” to take to my and pull the covers over my head). By noon the serious badness seemed to pass and we headed for Route 95.

Thanksgiving isn’t just Thursday with a fancy turkey dinner. It’s about family, friends, and all that wonderful food. When have you know me to turn down food of just about any kind? I did yesterday, in spades. I managed a couple of crackers and pieces on cheese, then “feasted” on a few slices of turkey, tablespoon-sized portions of stuffing, potatoes, and Kelly’s green bean casserole. I passed on the pies (Dutch apple, mince, and pecan), the tarts and raspberry squares, ignored the pickle and olive trays, the leek dip and veggie platter, the bucket of mixed nuts, and all the alcohol. At another point in time I’d have welcomed each as an old friend.


I was absolutely blessed yesterday to be with people I love. Dave and PJ; my mother; brother Ted, his wife Cindy, and my nephews Ted and Tom; sister Kelly and her husband Bill (and later in the day their “girls” Rudy and Duncan). Our gather was complete with Bill’s mother Lillian, his brother David, sister Ann, and Ann’s squeeze Scott. We toasted the important things—our togetherness, my dad, and better days to come. It turned out to be as perfect a day as conditions allowed.

Now it’s Friday morning, and things look brighter on all fronts. I just finished breakfast—a cup of tea and one of Lillian’s raspberry squares.

Now it’s time to cook a turkey of our own. I’ve got a nine-pound breast sitting on the kitchen counter and a date later today with my cousin Peter and his wife Laura, who make a stop here on their way home to Hartford from Manchester, NH. This is our tradition on the day after the holiday.

I hope your holiday was warm and wonderful.

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Thankful Journal Day 22

It's Thanksgiving and I'm more thankful than you'll ever know that I was able to make it to Maine this afternoon and spend the day with my family. Check tomorrow for photos.

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Getting Ready to Give Thanks

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It's always been my favorite holiday.

When I was younger it was the holiday we spent with my mother's sister and her family. Whether we traveled to Manchester, New Hampshire to spend the day at Aunt Nat and Uncle George's home with cousins Melissa and Peter and their dog Pearl, or they all came to our place in Wakefield, there was nothing as wonderful as that day together.

Over the years that tradition slipped away. Nat and George are together in heaven (I assume), having died on the same day, ten years apart. Now Melissa hosts the holiday for her husband's family, and Peter and his wife Laura make the journey from Hartford back to Manchester. We'll see them on Friday for turkey sandwiches before they head home.

We had what was undoubtedly one of our best Thanksgivings 13 years ago tomorrow. Two things happened that made it a spectacular day.

My father had been given the good news that he'd beaten the lung cancer he'd been diagnosed with earlier that summer.

Dave survived a midnight car crash—he was hit broad-side by a car load of drunks, pushed through an intersection, up an incline and through a fence, and into a parking lot. The EMTs who responded assumed from the look of the wreckage that Dave was a dead man. He refused the ambulance ride to the hospital. He woke me with blood on his face, I woke PJ, and we spent the evening in the emergency room.

So there we sat on Thanksgiving, feeling blessed by whatever force it was that was out there handing out the good stuff. Dave was suffering in pain but we were grateful he was not just alive, but able to sit in the same room and enjoy our Thanksgiving meal.

And my father? We were high on excitement. He'd mastered the beast and would be with us for a long time to come. He'd see his grandchildren give him great-grandchildren.

But that wasn't to be. My Dad died in early January, not even two months from that wonderful day when the world was bright and we had so many expectations about so many tomorrows.

There were so many things we never got to talk about. Hopefully when all was finally said, we said the things that were really important.

So, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We have a lot to be thankful for, I know. I just don't feel comfortable about it all this year. Frankly, I'm scared we could find ourselves in the same kind of place we were in 13 years ago—filled with false hope and expectations of things that won't come to be.

It's pessimistic as hell, I know. I'll be scolded by some for all of this, but it's honestly how I feel.

Let tomorrow come, and let it roll along. We'll hold hands, give thanks, tip our glasses to one another and to the sky, and try to be grateful for all that we have.

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Buzzed

PJ just buzzed my peach-fuzz all off. Now we can officially watch my hair grow back!

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Thankful Journal Day 21

Today is my first day in recent memory that I’m cancer-drug-free. No more post-chemotherapy drugs for me, I'm done with them. All I need to do is get all the effects out of my system and try to enjoy tomorrow’s holiday. It’s my favorite day of the year and I can’t wait to spent it with the people who mean the most to me.

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Trying to say goodbye to Chemo #4

Man, it’s hard to let go of all these rotten chemicals in my system. Today was tough; nauseous, dizzy, just not in a good place at all. At least it’s normal, just the Chemo Brain syndrome that bothered me last time, back to bother me again.

It’ll all be over in a few more days and I’ll get a break for a few weeks before radiation starts.

I took my LAST dose of post-chemo drugs this morning. I wanted badly to skip it but figured it was better to take it than not to. Someone smarter than I decided it was important for my body to have it.

Tomorrow I can celebrate being drug-free.

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Thankful Journal Day 20

We made my mother very happy today—Dave uploaded some photos to Wal-Mart online last night and she was able to pick up the prints at her local Wal-Mart in Maine this morning. Talk about convenience! Nice.

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Thankful Journal Day 19

Today I am thankful for patience. I can drive to the next town and buy a Christmas tree. No deal. A few things have to happen before I start decorating for Christmas, and one of those things will be to celebrate Thanksgiving. Goodness, we’re all in such a hurry to have our lives speed by.

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Treatment #4, Second Day

Just back from a 24-hour mini-break to Maine. Didn’t sleep well last night, it’s the drugs (the culprit is Decadron, a steroid with a first-listed side-effect of insomnia).


I’m on it twice daily yesterday, today, tomorrow, and then Tuesday morning. Beginning tonight I can cut the dose in half and hopefully avoid the serious sleep loss and depression I felt the week following Chemo #3. I don’t look forward to another week of “Chemo Brain,” but if that’s what has to happen, at least I’ll understand what’s happening.

So, after Tuesday I’ll be OFF DRUGS until radiation is complete. Then I go on the five-year drug plan (not sure which one yet and at the moment don’t really care). That’s part of the ongoing oncology treatment.

I start radiation on December 10, so anticipate a nice break from treatment for a few weeks. Will be nice to be normal for a while.

I’ll stay in touch and hope you will too.

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Thankful Journal Day 18

Am home from my 24-hour vacation in Maine. Exhausted and ready for a nap, but thankful for the brief chance to escape what has become normal. Had a 16-ounce orange soda and a book on CD to keep me company on the one-and-a-half hour return trip. Arrived home to find the good housekeeping wizards put the house in order. I’m so lucky to be so loved.

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Thankful Journal Day 17

I’m thankful that I’m heading north on this beautiful, bright, sunny Saturday. I’m meeting my mother and driving to Portland for the annual meeting of the Friendship Sloop Society.


It’s a chance to not only get away for 24 hours, but to be with some wonderful friends that I only see two or three times a year. I hope this doesn’t take too much out of me (since it’s the weekend following a chemo treatment). I’ve promised Dave I’ll go slow and easy (and I now he lovingly doesn’t believe that I will). I hope not. I feel like I need and deserve this mini-break from reality.

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It’s DONE, DONE, DONE

I’m through with chemotherapy. Today was my last treatment. Part of me wants to climb up on the roof and scream this wonderful news. Part of me wants to sit on the couch and wait for the other shoe to drop.


At every step along the sally, we thought one thing and then learned another.

• The surgeon “got it all.” No, wait, there was a micro-invasion.



• The lymph nodes were clear. No, wait, there is a cluster of cancer cells in the first node.



• You need chemo, but it’s “easy chemo.” It’ll take two weeks and you won’t even lose you hair. Ah, no.

I don’t want to be cautiously optimistic, I want to be balls-to-the-wall excited about this day. It’s a milestone, three down (diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy), two to go (radiation and drug therapy). I’ve been at what I hope will prove to be the low point. It’s time to climb back on top. It’s time for Dave and PJ to breathe easier and not worry so much about me. It’s time to get back to enjoying life and looking ahead with anticipation.

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Thankful Journal Day 16

Chemo is over, and am I ever thankful.

I'm thankful to the wonderful staff at the Winchester Hospital Oncology Center at Baldwin Park, in particular Kristi, Rose, Barry, Dr. Bowker, and the rest of the cast for their encouragement and support. They are really remarkable people who share a mission: to help people in their dark hours find the sunshine again.

And on another note, today is the 61st wedding anniversary of my dear friends Tony and Mary Foltz of Putney VT. Talk about commitment! Talk about love! Pick up you glass and toast their six-plus decade romance. Wow!

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Stage 2 and Tattoos

So, do you want to see my tattoo? Actually, my four tattoos? They're my passport to Radiation Happiness.

I feel like part of an elite group, a club for those fortunate ones making the voyage to good health. I'm happy to be moving to the fourth step in my personal voyage (first was diagnosis, second was surgery, third was/is chemo, fourth is radiation, fifth will be drug therapy, and sixth will be future monitoring).

Dr. Heidbreder (the radiologist) talked to Dave and me at length about what he wants to do for treatment. He says my cancer was a Stage 2 because of the lymph involvement. For those reasons, he wants to undertake a more aggressive approach and radiate not only the breast tissue but under my arm and up to my collar bone as well. His attitude is, since the cancer got into the lymph system we need to be as aggressive as possible. There is no guarantee it stopped at the first lymph node, it's possible it passed the second and went further.

I've wondered/been afraid of this same thing but never heard any of my providers say it out loud. I give Dr. H credit for being so candid. My assumption is, and he confirms it, that the chemo is killing anything that might be floating around my body and that the radiation will make sure anything in the area of the original cancer will be blasted away.

He says it will be 10 years or so before anyone will make the assumption that "we got it." He says he won't use the word "cure," and I appreciate that, because for the moment, I don't believe anyone is ever cured. We can argue about that another time if you'd like.

So, I have a new fleet of friends in the provider community, including Sandy (nurse) and Natasha and Kristen (radiology technicians).

I went through a CT scan, following which Natasha and Kristen used the images to compute how the radiation will be delivered. It will come in three waves: to the collarbone, to the underarm area at the back of the underarm, and then to the breast). Natasha did the tattoo honors, and I was done for the day.

My appointments are at 4 p.m. daily beginning Monday, December 10 (that is a dry run for positioning and will include more imaging; the first actual treatment will be Tuesday the 11th). I'm scheduled for 30 sessions (5 days a week, 6 weeks, with Holiday closures and such it'll be more like 7 weeks before it's done).

That means I get a short break in treatments. I need to start preparing my skin for the affects, which will include redness and peeling (like a sunburn). Natural antiperspirant only and cornstarch in place of powders.

I'll certainly whine and complain as we go along (there's your warning).

Last chemo is tomorrow. In many ways I'm filled with dread--wishing there could be some other way to go through with it. I expect the next week will be very difficult. Time will tell.

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Thankful Journal Day 15

I'm thankful for messages of love and support. Again today I have a card in the mail from someone who remember me often in her prayers. Please, this isn't a plea for you to send me a card... I get so many from so many wonderful people. There must be someone special you haven't spoken to in a while--a grandparent, a friend who lives far away, a neighbor you haven't seen out and about. Write to that special person, or pick up the phone and call. You'll make that person's day.

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$28,000 worth of Thankful, Journal Day 14

I'm thankful (again) for health insurance. The $7,000 bill I received yesterday was sent "in error." There was a "system glitch" at the hospital that didn't reflect full payment from the insurance company for the $10,000 shot I receive on the day after chemo.

Yes, $10,000 for a drug that boosts my while blood cell production following a chemo treatment (actually it's $10,527.11; I was billed $7,080.04)

With four treatments, and the assumption I'd have to pay $7,000+ for each, we figured we were looking at a $28,000+ total payment. Just for that shot.

What's the total bill going to be for my complete treatment? I can't want to find out.

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I’m tired/Thankful Journal Day 13

Right to my bones tired, of everything associated with breast cancer and not being myself. I want badly to feel good again and be in control again.

I came home to find bills from Winchester Hospital for charges my insurance company apparently isn’t going to cover. Thousands and thousands of dollars in charges. I’ll be on the phone first thing in the morning.

As to being thankful, I recently did a “Notes to Neighbors” campaign for the American Cancer Society (The ACS sends you a list of neighbors, you sent notes out, you buy the stamps for the outgoing letters and the return addressed envelopes). My neighbors are responding and sending checks. Each is a lovely expression of support, and I’m thankful for their thoughtfulness.

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Thankful Journal Day 12

November 12: Thankful today for feeling good and having some energy. Had enough to give a full day at work and came home with some left over. It’s nice to be in a good place.

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Thankful Journal Day 11

November 11: It’s Veterans’ Day. Thank a veteran for your freedom. This isn’t a P.C. sentiment to match the day on the calendar, it’s real and heartfelt. Remind me to tell you about the World War II veterans I interviewed for a newspaper series a number of years ago. They taught me more in mere hours than I ever learned from books or in history classes. I was ashamed of my ignorance of the battles they fought, stunned by the magnitude of their terrible experiences, and honored beyond my ability to express what it meant to have met each of them. I will never forget their stories.

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Mourning my eyelashes

My eyelashes aren’t what they used to be and trust me when I tell you that I’m not happy. I’m the person who wouldn’t go to the mailbox without mascara.

My bottom lashes are just about gone—one or two left. My top lashes are thinning significantly. I don’t mind seeing myself without hair, but without fat, beautiful, brown-black Maybelline XXL Volume+Length Microfiber Mascara layered lashes, well, it’s just not me looking back at myself.

Funny what cancer and chemotherapy do to you. Makes you realize what’s important and what isn’t. Eyelashes aren’t important. Living, and living well is.

Still, I’m mourning my eyelashes. Where are my sunglasses?

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Thankful Journal Day 10

November 10: Chemical-induced sleep. I got just shy of 12 hours of badly needed Zs last night with the help of a little pill pink and white pill (Benedril, with my oncologist’s blessing). I needed sleep badly and woke this morning feeling more like myself that I have in a long time. Better living through chemicals. Others I take would kill me, not this one.

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Thankful Journal Day 9

November 9: Popsicles, particularly root beer or banana. Makes getting fluids down a little easier to bear.

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"Chemo Brain"

That’s the name my nurse Kristi gives to my present state of mind and physician condition. I’m stuck in a place that isn’t much fun and might be here a while. The good news is, it’ll all be behind me soon.

More Penny drama. Sorry, but it’s how I feel. This is about being honest and sharing what’s really going one. I need to keep track of everything and find a way to preserve it, because I don’t ever want to forget this. No way.

I want to remember everything—I don’t plan to keep living with it—but I want to remember what it was like so I can package it up when the time is right and put it away. I don’t want to forget it completely.

So, let’s talk about Chemo Brain. Apparently this is very real and very normal. Disconnected, out of control, no focus. Tired, extremely so. My case of Chemo Brain is being exacerbated by Decadron, one of my anti-nausea drugs. That little gem carries side effects that include (among others) insomnia, muscle weakness, and irritability. While I don’t think I’ve been particularly irritable (Dave? PJ?), I feel a little depressed. Nothing I’m alarmed about, but certainly not mentally sharp. Decadron will do that too, make you happy or take you down.

So, it’s all normal. It’s all good.

I spent part of the morning at the oncology center getting checked out top to bottom (blood pressure was 121 over 65… that was good). My doctor wasn’t on today, I saw another, who took notes furiously, asked a lot of questions, and pronounced me as fit as is possible for this point in treatment.

The third treatment can be particularly difficult, she said. Chemotherapy’s effects are cumulative, so it’s not unusual for the week after #3 to be marked with exactly my symptoms and complaints. And as crappy as I feel, it’s good to know it’s OK to feel this way.

She added that it’s likely to continue and hang on with me through the week following #4 (next Friday, a week from tomorrow). That means this might go on through Thanksgiving week. And that’s OK too, as long as I know this is normal and to be expected, I can handle it.

Imagine how good it’s going to be when it’s over!

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Thankful Journal Day 8

November 8: I’m thankful for Lucci’s in Wilmington. It’s a small grocery store, conveniently located on the way home from the oncology center (where I spent the morning getting my head checked out). I stopped into Lucci’s to make a tough day a little easier (it's all about me today), to get a pound of turkey from the deli so I could make lunches for today and tomorrow and not have to fight my way through the bigger, crowded, very expensive market in North Reading (I know, cling peaches, I'm rambling). I ended up discovering why other people have been raving about Lucci's, like great prices, great sandwiches, great service, no lines (OK, maybe not a mid-day on a Thursday). A very pleasant experience. I’ll be back. It’s nice to have choices.

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Reflecting on how hard this can be

I hoped going through chemo would get easier as I went along. I heard that might be harder, and I’m finding it’s both. Easier and harder. Doesn’t make sense, does it?

It’s easier this time around because I don’t feel so significantly ill. I’m not buried under blankets on the couch or so weak I can’t function, not wracked with gastrointestinal distress or terribly nauseous. It’s harder this time around because I’m not sleeping and I can’t seem to focus.

I feel unconnected in a lot of ways. My concentration is shot and it’s a struggle get interested and stay engaged. Maybe this is normal for someone in this situation. Maybe it’s the way my head is supposed to tell my body that I really need to move into the slow lane and let the rest of the world downshift, gain speed, and pass to my left.

What I need to do is accept that it’s OK to let this happen. I don’t have to be in charge of anything right now except managing the day to day it will take to recover and move forward.

A lot of this goes back to feelings I had in the very beginning, when I realized that I lost control then I gained the breast cancer diagnosis (it makes sense to me). Too many things were going to happen that I couldn’t control and I had to hand management of myself over to other people. That’s a very hard thing to do when you think of yourself as independent.

You imagine yourself as a strong person, and then a miserable tiny speck of a disease brings you to your knees. It strips away all of your leadership qualities and you have to rely on other people to keep you alive. Seriously. Alive. It’s such drama.

Today was a tough day. I’m once again struggling with food and fluid. I know I need to eat to maintain a decent energy level and consume those 80 precious ounces of fluid to flush out the bad stuff. If It’s hard some days and today is one such. I know that by denying or delaying the things I know I need to do I prolong the difficult recovery process.

Enough for today. Tonight is the last night of the breast center support group. I’ll wave goodbye to some of the members, hang in with a few, and keep one close by—hopefully for a long, long time to come.

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Thankful Journal Day 7

November 7: Today I’m thankful for the beautiful flowers in the antique vase on my kitchen table.

The Pretty Girl came through the door the other day and presented me with a huge bouquet of carnations—-white, red, and rosy-wine colored blossoms. They are one of my favorite flowers, mostly because with love and care they’ll last a long time. The flowers are symbols of many things (beauty, nature, and so on and on), but not as much as how special my daughter is to me. She’s a wonderful young woman, a dear friend, and I can’t begin to imagine how empty my life would be like if she wasn’t part of it.

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More on Tuesday

Long day. Different recovery this time from last Friday's chemo session. The new drugs have helped, I haven't felt as sick this time around. The exhaustion, however, is significant and once again I'm losing my voice.

Both yesterday and today (Monday and Tuesday) were long, tough days. Hard to concentrate. Battling to stay awake until a reasonable hour to go to bed, then snoring so loud I disturb Dave within moments of falling under the blankets. Awake just after midnight and on and off until 5 a.m. Part of the problem is trying to get down 80-100 ounces of non-caffeinated fluid a day, and then pass it along through the night.

(Stop fussing Penny, you're a lucky girl... This is easy stuff compared to the rest of the fight.)

Last night I had strange dreams. I work for a medical publishing company and my boss wanted a special give-away we could send to anyone who bought a newsletter. I came up with a brilliant idea, a chimney sweeper's brush, but he didn't like my designs. Where the hell did that come from? Anyone want to analyze that one for me?

I think I need to take a little time away from the office, for sure. I'd like to, maybe in January or February (if my energy holds on that long).

I'm putting a link to Tanya's blog on the page, please check it out. She writes about more than our shared adventures in Pink Land.

We're both glad that October has come and gone. It's no longer Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It's Thankful Month. What are YOU thankful for today?

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Thankful Journal Day 6

November 6: This thankful entry is both sweet and bitter. Tanya and Cheryl shared news yesterday.

Tanya news is wonderful news—the suspicious area in her breast is a funky lymph node, and nothing that will cause concern. I’m thrilled for her.

Then there is Cheryl, whose dad lost his brave cancer fight in late September. I didn’t know he had died.

I ran into both Tanya and Cheryl yesterday at Wal-Mart in North Reading and got to hug them both, for very different reasons. For one my heart overflows with happiness.

For the other it breaks with the sadness for the journey that is still to come through illness and death, learning to live without seeing and leaning on someone you love and miss so deeply. He’s still there, but it’s not the same. I know.

I am thankful both these special women care about me. I’m the lucky one this morning because I have them as my friends.

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Thankful Journal

My friend Tanya, my new little sister in the breast cancer fight, has a wonderful thing going on her blog. She's writing a month-long "Thankful Journal" and invites her friends to join the effort.

I'm jumping on board and I hope you'll take some time to post a comment or two along the way, or even start a blog of your own. Who knows where all the thankful thinking and potential creativity will carry you?

I have to back up and start on November 1. Here goes:

November 1: I'm thankful that I have Dave and PJ on the front line, every day, supporting me as I go through this fight. I've never questioned their love for me, or worried about their commitment. They make the fight worth every struggle.
November 2: I'm thankful for family and friends, near and far, who call, write, worry, fuss, listen, and give generously of their time and attention. It all means the world to me.
November 3: I'm thankful to work for a company and a management team that understands my situation and gives me the time I need to take care of my health. My coworkers in my group have my back every day. I hope they know I'm there for them as well, but I hope I never have to cover for them in a similar situation.
November 4: I'm thankful to have health insurance. I'm beyond stunned at the expenses I'm running up, for surgeries, procedures, appointments, drug treatment, and chemo treatments. Next comes radiation and five years of drug therapy. How do people without benefits survive something like this?
November 5: I'm thankful for a great medical team. I haven't been happy with some of the things we've discussed; I've been upset by news they've delivered on occasion; I've been impatient with delays and scared by procedures. All normal and natural. Still, I'm thankful. It's good to have choices, the ability to make decisions, and a voice in what's happening.

My "thankfuls" won't all be about cancer. I have plenty more to be grateful for, and I look forward to seeing what you have to say. Please comment!

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Treatment #3, the second day

So far so good... no repeat of last session's second day when I was so ill. Maybe the new nausea drugs are working?

Woke up with enough energy to run a marathon. Clear head, great mood. It was 5:45 a.m. (we fell back an hour last night to Daylight Savings Time) and I'd been awake for about an hour. Decided, hell, why not get up and get the day going.

Sent out "Notes to Neighbors" on behalf of the American Cancer Society, begging for contributions. I hate getting those solicitations in the mail, I feel guilty not contributing. But I figured I do it this year (of course, now I'm on the ACS's list forever).

Hit Wal-Mart and Demoulas and ran out of steam. Came home and had lunch with my best girl (which perked me up a bit). Did two assignments for my online management course, and swapped several dozen e-mails with Tanya (we should have just gone to Lendy's for breakfast!)

Now it's time to watch (or try to) the Patriots take on the Colts. I expect to be asleep in no time.

Might just be able to go to work tomorrow. Let's hope so, I'm running out of vacation days to spend on chemo treatments and recovery.

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Treatment #3, the next day

Uneventful day. Well, not really. I spent a lot of someone else's money today.

Had my $3,000 Neulasta shot. Isn't that a sin? What do people without health insurance cope with the high cost of health care?

Then I hit my pharmacy for a chat with Anne, my pharmacist, about all the drugs I'm taking. I want to be sure I'm taking them at the right time of day so they all do the job they're supposed to do. She thinks I'm on track with everything, so I won't fret.

I'm on two new anti-nausea drugs with the cycle, Emend and Decadron. Also a new one for break-thru nausea, Reglan. The nursing staff at the oncology center think I can have better days following treatment that I've had the last two rounds. I assumed I was paying the price for going through chemo with a couple of tough days--we'll see how it goes this time. So far today has been OK, nothing to really complain about that way. A bit of gastrointestinal distress and (now after dinner) a flushed face.

Let's take a look at my drug prices, shall we?
** Emend, $391.99 for three pills; day of chemo, day after, second day after; $25 co-pay
** Decadron, $37.99 for 60 tabs; one evening of chemo, two day after, two second day (morning and evening each, and one third day; $10 co-pay
** Zofran, $309.00 for 10 tabs; one evening of chemo, one next day, one second day; $10 co-pay
** Reglan, $14.99 for 30 tabs; as needed; $8.55 co-pay
** Prilosec, $79.99 for 30 caps; daily since week before chemo started and to continue for one month after chemo ends; $10 co-pay

** Compazine (first break-thru nausea drug they gave me, didn't work well, threw it out this morning because I have Reglan) $22.99 for 30 tabs, $10 co-pay

Absolutely amazing. Are we all in the wrong line of work?

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Chemo Treatment #3

Number 3 is history, in the books, over and done. Thank you very much.





Uneventful day, usual and customary with Kristi at the oncology center. Not much of an appetite, a little nauseous too. They've changed up my medications to help lessen the uncomfortable days following chemo, we'll see how all that goes.

The good news is that my next session--and my last--will be in two weeks, not three. I was scheduled to go again on the day after Thanksgiving, but the center will be closed. My doc suggested waiting four weeks, I opted for two. Why not get it done sooner?

I'm more concerned today for Tanya, a new and wonderful friend I've met through the magic of breast cancer. She's been through a surgery and a boatload of tests and now needs to worry about a newly discovered suspicious area just found through an MRI (and confirmed with additional tests). She doesn't deserve this. No one does.

I know you keep me in your thoughts. Please make some room for Tanya as well.

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Chemo #3 tomorrow

Coming soon to the Baldwin Park Oncology Center, "Chemo #3." I'm headlining tomorrow's 10:30 a.m. session.

The roller coaster of last weekend is long over and I'm in a very positive frame of mind. I feel good, ready to go tomorrow, get it done, and come home and enjoy the weekend. That's my goal. I know that following the last two sessions I had a couple of really difficult days, and in the back of my mind I've already written next Monday off, but who knows? Maybe it won't be so hard this time. And if it is, then it is.

I hear my father's voice in my head when I think of going into chemo. He was fascinated by the weather, and I preferred to ask him for a forecast than depend on a television talking head (since my dad's death I've become addicted to The Weather Channel, not even a shadow of a replacement, but an adequate fill-in).

I'd ask my father when the rain would stop and he'd give me his prediction. I'd ask, "Are you sure?" and he'd reply, "It always stops."

How right he was. The rain always stops (and it usually did when he said it would).

So dad and the rain are a little like feeling crappy after chemo. The crappy feeling always stops and I feel better again.

Life is good.

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