"Lost"

I just did the "Which 'Lost' character are you?" quiz.

Which Lost Character Are You?

Created by BuddyTV

Now, I've never seen the program so I can't really comment. But I find it interesting that my answers match me a character, and my description includes "You may be bald." HA!!!

Click here to go take the quiz (or one of a number of others).

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The first day of the rest of my life

That's what today felt like, a fresh new day. We say things like this all the time, whether we talk about a blank slate, a new beginning, a new chapter, a fresh start--I've done it myself countless times. But this was really the first time it more than "sounded" true, it "felt" true.

I don't want to be overly dramatic, and I hate throwing down the "I had cancer" card (it seems like I'm taking a cheap shot). But something happened over night. I feel transformed and somehow new. It's hard to explain. I'm sure there are some of you out there who understand what I mean and know the feeling. It feels really good.

So, there are new things to think about. Politics, perhaps? Massachusetts' presidential primary is Tuesday (part of the "Super Tuesday" vote). It will be a long night, to be sure.

My mother lives in Maine and they'll hold the Republican caucus votes on Saturday. Here's an interesting twist--it doesn't matter who she votes vote, or the final outcome of each local caucus vote. The real reason for the caucuses seems to be to elect delegates to the state convention (to be held in May). At the convention, delegates can vote however they want to---they do NOT have to vote according to the results of the caucus. My mother's vote on Saturday doesn't count.

For example, if the local caucus supports John McCain, the delegate is free to go to the convention and vote for Mitt Romney. Can someone make this make sense?

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I'm done!

Radiation is over! Cheers all around! It was hard to go today, knowing it was the last time and saying goodbye to the people who have helped save my life. I'm convinced that's what they've done and I'll never forget the gift they gave me.

So, now what? What's next? Hopefully nothing remarkable. Take the drugs, keep all the follow up appointments and head off to a lot healthy tomorrows.

I started this as a way to communicate to family and friends what was happening and, over time, it took on a life all its own. It's time to publish this blog and get it into the hands of people who can use the information to understand what will happen/is happening to them or a loved one.

I’ve already lined up a self-publishing arrangement and given prior posts to a copy editor. With luck I’ll have this out the door and to the publisher by the end of February. If it sells, I'll write a nice check to the Winchester Hospital Breast Center.

Stay tuned. Just because breast cancer is no longer front and center in my life doesn't mean I'll stop writing.

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Day 31

Just two treatments left! I can't believe that this is really almost behind me. To paraphrase something my friend Tanya said when she wrapped up her treatments, "This is a membership I don't care to renew."

I'm filling my calendar with doc appointments (follow ups with the radiologist in 4 weeks and with the oncologist and the surgeon in 8 weeks). I just filled my prescription for Aromasin, an estrogen-blocking drug (estrogen encourages the development of breast cancer). I start that two weeks after the last radiation treatment and will take it for the next five years (groan).

I feel pretty good. Can't complain too much about being tired (which is a very common complaint by radiation patients). I'm tired, but it's more of an insomniac kind of tired. If I have a complaint, it's being scatter-brained. I'm having trouble focusing these last few days. I think it's a combination of things, primarily tension at work. But that's always been an issue and I think it always will be. I'll solve it the day I walk away.

I'm stepping out of my life for a while and going to Maine in the morning. My mini-vacation is disguised around the winter meeting of the Friendship Sloop Society's executive committee, of which I are the membership chairman (I know there's a typo, should be "am," but I'm drifting into mini-vacation mode and will allow it to stand.)

So, I'll catch up with you in a couple of days. Don't have any fun without me.

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A day for good news

Dave and I met with the oncologist today and heard what I consider good news. She says I’ve come through this ordeal in good shape and doesn’t think I need to worry too much about a recurrence. The road ahead should deliver a smooth ride.


Those are my interpretations of her words, not direct quotes. My lab tests look good. There was a spike in December in one of the tests, CEA, which is a cancer marker. A normal reading is under 3.0. In July it was 3.0 (post surgery); in October it was 4.4 (during chemotherapy, an expected rise); in December it was 9.3 (post chemo, beginning of radiation, and not necessarily unusual—as long as it goes down again). It did—it was 3.5 in the blood work done last week and she’s pleased.

I’ll see her again in about 8 weeks. She prescribed Aromasin as my hormone therapy drug; I’ll start that 2 weeks after I complete radiation (next Tuesday is my last day).

I see the surgeon in early March and he’ll set a date for my mammogram.

Looking back, this was not a case of DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). This was an invasive cancer that got out of the breast and into the lymph system, granted only into one node, but one was enough. My oncologist doesn’t think there is a need to worry that it traveled anywhere else. There is no need to be concerned that there may be a cancer putting down roots anywhere else as a result of the breast cancer. Chemotherapy should have killed anything growing anywhere else and the radiation should be murdering anything that happened to outwit the surgeries and the chemo.

Bottom line, it’s all looking good. That’s the hope and that’s the sense that I’ll take with me as I move ahead.

That said, there are no guarantees and I’m smart enough to realize that. This can come back at any time. It might be there right now. I can’t think that way, I have to be positive.

Five more days of radiation and I’ll close another chapter in the sally. I can’t wait!

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W-a-y too much caffeine

OK, who’s had too much coffee today? That would be me. I’m all jazzed up on caffeine. I lost my taste for coffee during my chemotherapy phase—but it’s back. I received a gift of a pound of caramel-flavored coffee and discovered today that it’s great both hot AND iced (twice on the iced). Yikes! I won’t sleep tonight!


Today is a great day. I feel terrific. The New England Patriots take on the San Diego Chargers for the AFC Divisional Championship in an hour (followed by the Green Bay Packers/NY Giants game for the NFC ring at 6:30). These are the kinds of days that make me think about my Dad and how much he’d be loving his recliner and having control of the TV remote. I’ll just have to have a little faith in front row seats in Heaven, where you don’t have to count calories or fat grams when selecting snacks and adult liquid beverages and there’s no wind chill factor (it’s -4 degrees in Green Bay as I type, -19 with the wind chill; by comparison it’s a balmy 25 degrees at the Pat’s own Gillette Stadium in Foxboro).

Back to feeling terrific—it’s been wonderful having a two-day break from radiation. My skin feels much better today but I’m sure it will take a beating over the next five days. But we’re getting there, getting to the end of the road. All I really need now is a little more hair so I can look a little more normal.

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The Patient Transportation Volunteer and The Sharpie Kid

I had to have blood drawn this morning in advance of Tuesday’s appointment with my oncologist. “Patient Transportation Volunteer” was the job title on the identification badge of the person who took my blood.

He was making all the right moves and following the processes I’ve been through countless times over the last 8 months, so I was willing to go along for the ride and see how things went. I wouldn’t have hesitated to speak up if things went astray, but it went just fine, thank you. He’s obviously new at the phlebotomy game so it might just be that his updated ID tag hasn’t arrived yet.

So, yea, blood work for Tuesday’s appointment. This is a two-month post chemo check-in. Isn’t that absolutely amazing? My last chemo treatment was November 16, a life time ago (or so it seems). I had blood work done on December 14, so it will be interesting to see how things have changed—improved—over the last 60 days.

I feel good physically. My only complaint is that my breast and under arm are burned and uncomfortable. I only have two more regular radiation sessions, and then will have five “boost” sessions.

As explained earlier, the regular sessions have been focused on radiation to the entire breast with additional short hits to specific areas (for a total of eight deliveries). The boost sessions will focus only on the surgical area. It’s a single delivery and lasts about 30 seconds (according to Tanya, who said she was waiting to smell burning flesh).

Yesterday was boost set-up day. That involved drawing the area that will receive the focused delivery—on my skin with a “sharpie” marker. My favorite tech Natasha gave me my choice of colors (red, orange or teal) and I left it to her. She went with red and teal, and I’m sporting a “design” that I can only describe as shaped like the state of Iowa, drunk and backwards. I’ll spare you an actual photo.

Each radiation session involves marking my skin and I’ve learned over the last 26 days that sharpie marker washes off in a day or two. But with the current state of burn and discomfort, I’m not going after all this new art with any enthusiasm. I feel a bit like a graffiti board. Of course, if it all works, they are welcome to play sharpie tic-tac-toe on my chest.

I bet the burning is going to get a lot more severe (with five targeted, long sessions). I expect I’ll be in a fairly ugly frame of mind a week or so from now.

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Radiation: Day 23 of 33

Almost done, almost done, almost done. That's what I keep telling myself as I'm applying a new gel specifically formulated for "radiation dermatitis."

The burn is becoming unpleasant, and having to wear clothing against certain areas of skin leaves a lot to be desired. Unfortunately I have to go to work, so I have to wear clothes. It's a temporary no-win situation!

But it'll be over soon enough. Dave and I sat and talked tonight about what a haul this has been. There were tough days and there were days that were harder than I ever imagined possible. All along the way there were indications of what was to come but I'm not sure I actually heard a lot of what was said to me. I think I blocked a lot of it out of my mind, because, if I'd really been focusing on what was coming I'd have had a much harder time going through with it.

I'm not sure whether that made sense. It's difficult to explain. I've done all the things I've been told to do (exams, tests, procedures, surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, countless consultations) and it never entered my mind to say "No" to anything that was recommended or ordered. I've done hours of reading and research, and even through all of those things, I'm convinced I tuned out the unpleasantness and concentrated on the good outcome I fully expect will come of all of this.

I said back at the beginning of this, and I'll say it again and again--I knew that one day I'd develop breast cancer. I just knew it was going to happen to me. Now I'm working hard to put myself into the mindset that says "It won't happen to me again."

I've compartmentalized my breast cancer sally. It's a three-part process.

1. Diagnosis. Been there, done that.
2. Treatment, a three-part process: surgery, radiation, drug therapy. Four chemo sessions. 33 radiation sessions. Five years of drugs. That's 1,826 days, give or take.
3. Living with this history for the rest of my life.

Just when I think it's almost over, I'm reminded of how much longer it's going to go on. Forever.

I can't have my blood pressure taken on my right arm, or have in injection or blood drawn from my right arm. That's the side my cancer was on, and I have to protect that arm from anything that might cause lymphedema (localized fluid retention caused by a compromised lymphatic system, a condition that doesn't go away once it occurs).

I'll freak out a little every time I have a mammogram (and if you think I was dedicated to having them regularly before, watch me in the future).

I'll worry about everyone I love (myself included), others I know, and those I don't and hope no one ever hears those nasty words, "Yea, it's cancer."

So, it's almost over, but it will never really be over. That's just the way it is.

I haven't said this for a while: Life is good, and I'm lucky.

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42 pearls of wisdom

Have patience, friends. This is well worth the read. Found a link to this list on a blog I read each day; the list writer is a minister and her blog provides advice to others in that line of calling (http://peacebang.com). She is celebrating her 42nd birthday with this list of 42 pearls of wisdom. There's some God-speak sprinkled in here and there, and if that's not your thing I urge you to read around it and find the message. This is a wonderful list.

I've reprinted it below in advance of her permission to do so. I hope she won't mind. I hope you find it as inspiring as I do. My favorite is #17.

"Forty-Two Random Smidgens of Wisdom Upon Turning Forty-Two"
1. Eye cream. Every day.
2. Stretching and exercise. Every day, one or the other (not that I practice what I preach here, darlings, I’m just dolin’ out the advice, not necessarily taking it).
3. Love your body. You may berate it for not looking right in any of the outfits you’re trying on that day, but you may not curse it naked, for it is your home. It is your soft little spaceship. Speak kindly to it and of it.
4. That said, there’s no reason to go about naked in broad daylight or bedroom light unless you’re inordinately confident. That’s why God made candles.
5. Change your hairstyle now and then.
6. Get out of ruts: just because you’re absolutely certain you look TERRIBLE in brown doesn’t mean a thing. It’s just a belief you have; you could be really wrong, and you probably are. Go try on something brown. It wouldn’t kill you.
7. Get really serious about retirement funds. Advocate for yourself financially, ’cause honey, ain’t no one gonna do that for you.
8. Some people are emotional nightmares, vampires, and some people are just difficult but worth the trouble. Learn the tell the difference, choose wisely, and eject the vampires from your life. Remember that difficult people are often the most creative, challenging and interesting. Be cautious in relationship with them, but hold on for the ride.
9. When people who don’t really know you think you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread and fawn over you or conversely, think you’re devil spawn, there’s projection going on. For this reason, don’t take people’s reactions to you, good or bad, too personally.
10. Attend to your own addictions. Like, quit smoking, for God’s sake. What has a cigarette ever done for you but try to kill you?
11. Get a yearly mammogram; if you’re a guy, get checked for prostate cancer. Don’t avoid the doctor, and start keeping well-organized health records if you don’t already. Note chronic conditions on a calendar in the bathroom so you can accurately report to your doctor, rather than saying things like, “I feel like I get heartburn a lot” or “I get migraines.” When, precisely? How many days this month? Under what circumstances? This information will be very helpful in getting the best care.
12. Take care of your teeth. Plaque in the mouth can wind up in the arteries and cause heart problems. Floss every day.
13. Find a deep spiritual path that makes serious demands of you and be obedient to it.
14. It’s up to you to get enough sleep. Don’t play the dangerous game of bragging how you never get enough rest. This is an American disease of workaholism, competitiveness and punishing schedules. See that you get sufficient sleep; your body needs it.
15. Have someone or something in your life to which you can rise every morning and say, “I love you” and mean it with all your heart. Allow yourself to receive unconditional love in return (hint: from my life experience, I’ve learned that only God loves us perfectly — your mileage may vary). Practice this just like you’d practice mastering an instrument. Your life depends on it
16. Make arrangements for your own memorial service, just in case. Hope you don’t need it for another 42 years at least, and consider that you’re statistically likely to be about exactly halfway through this pilgrimage: congratulations for making it this far
17. “Love is the drug.” Surround yourself with people with whom you can share a reciprocal relationship of respect and nurture, and with whom you can share your authentic self without fear that your frailties will ever be used in an abusive way against you.
18. Know thyself, and make no apologies for the good gift God has made in you. You will progress in your own soul’s time, not anyone else’s.
19. Say “thank you” about three times more often than you feel is necessary.
20. Mentor the next generation. If you’ve earned any wisdom or expertise at all by now, it’s your responsibility to share it with them, and to help them get started.
21. Saying “yes” when you deeply want to say “no” will not make anyone love you more, it will just make you resentful and exhausted. Don’t let your ego needs override your soul needs.
22. Buy flowers for yourself.
23. Relationships are not about someone making you happy, but about two people having an opportunity to practice the spiritual discipline of love. It is not anyone’s job or responsibility to make you happy, not even your spouse’s.
24. Support your local community theatre. The people on that stage are bringing that story to life for the love of it, as volunteers. There is ritual and magic and transformation in the theatre; it can be very much like a worship service. If you attend the theatre, you will understand liturgy all the better.
25. If you are a caregiver, budget enough money every year for your own self-care, and that includes vacations, massages, nights out with friends, manicures, acupuncture, Reiki, whatever it takes. Keep receipts and share them with the people responsible for determining your compensation for the year. Keeping a caregiver in decent working order can get very expensive.
26. Plan ahead. Have a vision, and when it no longer excites you or demands your deepest, most valuable inner resources, revise it.
27. Read, read, read. Never stop learning, and pursue knowledge outside your comfort zone — it uses new parts of your brain, and that’s a good thing.
28. Avoid jealous people. Seek out those who take pleasure in other’s accomplishments.
29. Love your congregation or leave it. To continue to serve an institution that you viscerally dislike on a consistent basis (not just during occasional times of conflict or special difficulty) is fraudulent. Have some integrity and get another job.
30. Don’t expect people outside the ministry to understand it, or to respect that it is the center of your life or what that means.
31. Start a good, intuitive system of organizing your work life early on in your career, and keep up with it.
32. If God is real in your life, don’t ever apologize for that to those for whom God is not real in order to seem more sophisticated or “cool.”
Likewise, don’t be a proseletyzing pain in the buns, either, because no one wants to hear it. “May your life speak more loudly than your lips.”
33. The devil is in the details. The angels are there, too.
34. Know your gifts, and know your limitations and weak spots. Offer your gifts freely and work hard at becoming better at what you do well, and shower appreciation and support on those whose skills and gifts make up for your deficiencies, especially in the workplace.
35. Give people your full attention. Careful, attentive listening is an act of love.
36. Chronic lateness is a form of passive-aggression. It says, “My time is more important than yours.” Apologize for being late. Honor other people’s time.
37. Everyone is artistic in some way. Find a way to incorporate art into your life.
38. Make your home a sanctuary. If you have kids, good luck with this one.
39. Speak up when you need to (and you do need to), but try not to be obnoxious about it.
40. What you eat really does have a huge influence on your health and well-being, but keep it simple. Trying to follow several different complicated, faddish, esoteric food plans over the years is an almost certain recipe for irritating others and wasting your own time and money.
41. If you can’t comfortably eat dinner alone in a restaurant by the time you’re forty, what are you so afraid of?
42. You’re not required to like birthday cake. You may, at 42, find that you are ready to admit that you hate birthday cake, and would, in, fact prefer 12 perfectly friend buffalo chicken wings as the finale to your birthday dinner. If you’re not a little bit eccentric by the time you’re 42, you’re probably not very interesting. Go for it. Be yourself.

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Hairbrushes

An early morning observation--three people live in my home. There are 10 hairbrushes in the bathroom.

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Radiation Day 18

Still plugging along at radiation and into the second half of treatment (18 down, 15 to go). Part of me can't wait for this to be over and the other part of me is getting very used to leaving the office at 2:30 each day. It'll be tough to return to work for full days, to be sure.

I'm starting to show signs of skin burn. Looks like I forgot to be thorough with sun block---pink patches of skin that are tender. My nipple is bright pink too. My BC sista Tanya has had a very tough time with skin burn (including some blistering). I'm going to be very selfish here and say I hope I'm not headed for the same kind of difficulty. She only has two treatments left. We'll be lifting glasses on Friday in celebration. A similar event is in the whispering stages for February 1 (the Friday of my final week). If you're in the neighborhood, be in touch in advance and I'll give you the particulars.

What's new with you?

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16 down, 17 to go

Almost half-way through radiation—and believe me when I tell you, the end can’t come quickly enough!

The staff at the Winchester Hospital radiation center are wonderful, from the techs and the doctor to the nurses and the support team. I’ve been fortunate to meet a lot of wonderful, caring people along the way, and part of me will miss their presence in my life. The other part of me only wants to see them again if we happen to run into one another at the mall (translated: I don’t ever want to have to go back to the radiation center, or the oncology center, or the surgical suite…!)

Today’s radiation session was delayed about an hour and a half because of a particularly difficult set-up for a patient. In that hour and a half, five other women came in for their BC-related radiation appointments, and we six had a ball chattering with each other about places we’ve traveled. I was almost disappointed when the previous patient cleared the room and it was my turn.

My skin irritation is minimal—a bit itchy, and I notice it’s becoming uncomfortable to wear a bra (the skin where the strap comes across my shoulder and over my collar bone is sensitive; my radiation treatment plan calls for delivery up to my collar bone as well as under my arm). I may have to “go without.” It’s one (of several) reasons why I’m glad to be going through this in the winter (if I must go through it at all…). It’s easy to bounce under layers of clothes or a fleece vest.

So, 17 more days. That means I could be done on January 29, as long as there aren’t any weather- or health-related delays.

In the mean time, happy weekend. I need one, badly.

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Pull the cord and alert the driver, I want to get off the bus

I am in SUCH a crabby mood today. Sat down and had a good cry--I'm just SO TIRED of being on the BC bus.

I can't wait for it to all be over. I'm tired of being cheerful and positive, tired of talking about it, tired of having to deal with it (which I do each and every time I look in the mirror--I miss my hair and eyelashes). I'm tired of daily radiation appointments. I want to plan stuff and not have to worry about doctor appointments and treatments.

I think I'm getting very antsy about my Jan. 22 appointment with the oncologist, to talk, I assume, about the next step (drug therapy). I hope she has good things to tell me. But what if she doesn't?

It's the waiting that's so hard. All I've done for the last seven months is wait for the next appointment, the next treatment, the next step in the process. I want to start waiting for good things. I want to stop existing and start living again.

I just want to get off this ride.

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Good Riddance to 2007

Happy New Year! Aren’t you glad for the opportunities a new year brings? The chance to make—the break—resolutions? The chance to make lists—that you’ll misplace—of all the things that need to be done? Fresh, blank pages in journals and diaries that you’ll stop writing in within two or three weeks?

Goodness, who is the pessimist?? No, just a realist. I make grand plans each year and then fail to follow through on most of them. I’m through promising myself I’m going to stick to New Year resolutions. The only things I’m going to try and promise myself is to try harder to be true to myself.

I need more “Me” time. I need to do a better job of putting myself first more often that I have in the past. Health scares will do that to you if you’re lucky enough to see the scare as a warning.

There are a lot of things I’m going to “try” to accomplish. Eat less and walk more to weigh less (an annual favorite). Hire a dumpster and clean out the basement and overstuffed closets (another one that gets bumped out year after year). Stop and smell the roses (after I plant some). Go someplace really fun with Dave (Las Vegas and Aruba are under discussion). Ride PJ’s motorcycle (if she’ll let me). Enjoy more time with family and friends.

There is one thing I won’t have to “try” to do—it’s a given. Stick to my breast cancer treatment plan, be early for every appointment, have mammograms at every possible opportunity, and hope I never—never—never—never find myself walking this path again.

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