At my fingertips

Every day is better than the last.  I've still got symptoms, but at least I feel a bit more like myself each day.

First and foremost of the symptoms is discomfort in my fingertips and fingernails.  The bruised look has spread to more of them, and they are very tender.  Deep ridges have formed and they look dry and brittle.  The look is secondary to me.  Having tender fingers is more of a pain, literally.  I work a lot with my hands in the kitchen and with my kids.  It doesn't help that I burned my right ring finger on the oven a few days ago!

I've also got a solid case of "chemo brain."  My memory has huge holes in it.  The kids think its pretty funny, and even have Jean-Marc chanting, "chemo brain."  As an example: last Saturday my brother apparently invited us to join him, my parents and my other brother and his family to go to an Iraqi restaurant in San Diego.  The invite was transmitted via Eric. I didn't get the part that we were invited-I just heard that my brothers were going to eat Iraqi food.  The next day, my mom asked why we didn't go.  I had no recollection of being invited! I was a bit annoyed at Eric and let him know when I saw him again.  He defended himself, and I didn't believe that he had transmitted the invite.  Olivier was sitting there and said, "Uh, yeah, mom.  We were invited."  I had absolutely no memory of it.  That is just one example.  I'm hoping that with time, my memory will not have gaping holes in it.

My taste buds are slowly returning.  They aren't 100% yet, but each day food tastes better and better.  My entire digestive system seems to be getting back on track.  All the drugs around chemo time tend to block my system.  It feels awful.  But that is behind me now.

Physically, I'm weaker than I was.  But getting better.  I did my Jillian "Banish Fat Boost Metabolism" DVD today.  It was really hard, and I had to drop the arms a little by the end.   I sweat like a dog and it felt great.  Almost like I was sweating the nasty drugs right out of my system.

One thing that I haven't blogged about much yet is the menopausal symptoms I've been having, particularly hot flashes.  I seem to have them most at night.  They've started a little in the evenings as well now.  I sleep with a knit cap on my head because of the cold.  But I'm awakened at least 3-4 times a night hot and sweating.  I take the cap off my head, and my head is drenched and the pillow is soaked. If I'm fortunate, I'm able to get back to sleep, only to have the cycle repeated awhile later.  I've had to wash the pillowcases, my pajamas and my knit cap a few times this week.  From what Dr. P tells me about tamoxifen, I might as well get used to it.  If it interferes with my sleep too much, he would be happy to prescribe something.  But I'd rather stay away from drugs if at all possible.

My prayer requests:

• That the six rounds of chemo that I've gone through will have been effective against my disease.
• That my family and I can trust God enough not to worry about the cancer coming back after all of my treatment.  This one is huge for me right now.  I'm not even done with treatment, and I find myself constantly fretting about recurrence.  I don't want to live the rest of my life (and a long life at that), in turmoil about cancer. It drags me down and sometimes I feel like I'm marinading in a swamp of cancer fear.  
• That the pain in my fingertips subside. 
• That I get my wits about me again...that chemo brain go away.  

Elizabeth Edwards

After just hearing yesterday that Elizabeth Edwards' had taken a turn for the worse, I found out today that she died of her breast cancer.  So sad.

I hope Isabelle doesn't hear about it.  If she does, I hope they don't point out that it was breast cancer.

After all of the emotions from last Sunday about the parade, she and I had a good talk about how she was feeling.  Bottom line is that she is scared.  She is scared that I am going to die.  So hearing that someone that has died from breast cancer would not be a good thing for her.  I told her all the things I remind myself daily: that we have to trust God. That He will work out all of this for our own good.  That He loves us and will do the best for us.  Like me, she will have to learn to walk the walk and not just talk the talk.

I was glad that she opened up to me.  She feels bad that so many of her friends don't understand.  But how could they?  Unless you've walked a mile in someone else's shoes, you have no clue.  You can try, but there are limits.  She is lucky to have a friend whose mom went through this a year and a half ago.  She gets it.  I told Isabelle that she will be able to support someone in the future who needs to talk to someone who has been there.  I can't help but believe that is one of the reasons that we are facing this trial.  So that down the road, we may be able to comfort others as Christ has comforted us.  (³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, New King James Version)


I told my sobbing daughter that not all cancers are the same.  Not even all breast cancers are the same. I asked her if she knew about "the medicine."  I explained the concept of tamoxifen to her. How I was going to be able to take a medicine that would help prevent the cancer from coming back.  I would be able to take it for several years, and each year that the cancer stayed away, the better it was for us. That made her feel better.

For me, it was tough to hear about Mrs. Edwards losing her battle with breast cancer. It is hard for me to even really read blogs or bulletin boards of women who have stage 4. I would rather bury my head in the sand and not think about it.  It is my worst fear. But like I told my daughter, I have to trust God and all that He has in store for me. Whatever that is.

Putting one foot in front of the other

Today is day 3 of my last round of chemotherapy.  Historically, it has been my "worst" day.  This time, I sunk into it a bit early.  It is still hard today, it just started late Saturday this time around.

Once again, I was blessed to have my mom take Jean-Marc for the day and overnight.  She even came by early enough to take Isabelle to school this morning.  I didn't have to go anywhere today.  A day totally to do whatever I needed to do.  What a concept, even in the midst of cancer.  

The hard part is shutting my brain off from all of the things I know I need to get done:  laundry; some Christmas wrapping; decorating the tree; picking up the clutter; getting organized for Christmas; etc.  Today, it is down to the bare minimum.  I'm in a fog anyway. If I tried to start anything, I would end up with lots of stuff just taken out and the house even more cluttered than it was when I started.

I started the day with a little bit of a workout from Exercise TV.  I can't describe how important it is for me to get a little bit of exercise every day.  Breaking a sweat and getting those endorphins going has made a huge difference for me.   I did a 30 minute cardio workout that a year and a half ago used to kick my butt.  I barely broke a sweat, which made me laugh.  Exercise TV had Jillian's new ab workout, "Six Pack Six Weeks" or some such thing.  I didn't have the mojo to do that today, but I watched it and can't wait to give it a shot later in the week.  

I got a black eyed pea salad for lunch marinading in the fridge and spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon on the couch.  Around 3 p.m. I was feeling a bit like a slug, so I took our dog, Lucie, out for a walk.  It felt good to get the blood flowing again. 

The thing with chemo is that I just don't feel like myself.  Maybe that is why it feels so good to get a little physical-it reminds me of who I am.  For a few moments, I feel a little like myself again.  Even if I am a bit dizzy.  Aside from that, I'm in a mental fog and on an emotional edge.  As I walked with the dog, I just put one foot in front of the other.  Head down, one foot in front of the other.  

That is how this whole cancer thing has been.  I've just had to put my head down and put one foot in front of the other.   To do what I've had to do to get through it.  I didn't ask for it.  I still think about that phone call on June 11 when the Kaiser nurse told me that, "unfortunately, there was cancer."  From that point on, I've been told what I've had to do to get through it.  To weather the storm.  So I've done it as best as I could.  As long as I keep moving forward, its okay.   It's not a sprint, its a marathon.  We are so tired of it all, but we can't give up and pack it in.  No retreat.  Press on.  I'm not done yet-I still have over six weeks of radiation to weather. Years of tamoxifen and a lifetime of faith that the cancer will not come back. One foot in front of the other.  I'm learning how to accept the help that is offered, realizing that I can lean on other people to take that next step sometimes.  That has been hard for me.  Above all, I've learned my absolute dependence on God to get through each and every day.  I may not read chapters upon chapters of my Bible each day.  But I do have a constant relationship with the Lord that has sustained me and boosted me throughout this journey, carrying me when I could not carry on myself. 

It truly has been like the poem, "Footprints in the Sand"

"One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was one only.

This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord,“You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?” 

The Lord replied, “The years when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.”

Slacker mom

I'm feeling pretty bad tonight. Physically, yes. It's exactly what I was expecting.  My "down" day started to hit earlier this time.  But even more so emotionally.

Isabelle was in the San Marcos Holiday Parade today with her girl scout troop.  For the first time, I wasn't able to be there.  Not even to stand on the streets and watch her go by. I spent the afternoon in bed trying to rest, but knowing that I was letting her down.  So I laid there, zoning out.  Wishing I had the energy to get out there, but knowing I didn't. All in all, a pretty crappy way to spend the afternoon.

When she came home, she seemed okay at first.  I asked her to tell me all about it, and she did have a good time.  I apologized for not being able to be there.  All the other girls had at least one parent there.  She was the last one to be picked up.  She did cry a little bit.Which made me cry a lot.  We just sat there on the couch.  Hugging and crying. It was kind of hard, because at the same time, Jean-Marc was trying to get a piece of me too, and was climbing on lap, edging her out.

I hate not being able to be out there supporting my kids like I used to be.  I know that it is temporary, but that doesn't make it any easier today.  I know that as she grows older, she will come to understand that my absence today was not by choice.

But that doesn't make it any easier today.

Thank you to everyone

Just a quick note to pass along my thanks for all of the wonderful notes of encouragement and support over the past few months.  Comments to my blog, comments on facebook, cards, and letters...they all have been so uplifting and special. It helps so much, you don't even know.

I'm starting to feel the effects of the chemo today.  My taste buds are starting to go metallic.  My eyes are watering.  But what is the most difficult to handle is what it does to me mentally.  I have no patience and don't want to deal with things.  Unfortunately, being a wife and mom with 3 kids, I can't completely check out.  Eric kind of got upset at me this afternoon when he tried to give me a hug.  I know he was trying to be supportive and comforting.  But I just need my own space.  When I ended the hug quickly, he got kind of upset and went into a little mini-rant on his own about how I was spurning him.  Or something to that effect.  I was trying to get the lunch dishes cleaned up, help Olivier get started with a project for school that he is having trouble with all so I could then go upstairs and rest for a couple of hours.  I just stated loudly enough for everyone to hear, "We don't have the luxury of having more than one person pissy and hormonal.  It's MY turn right now!"  That pretty much ended that.  Everyone is okay now.

I did rest awhile today.  I finished my Vince Flynn book, "Memorial Day."  I finished today's installment of Angry Birds Seasons with 3 stars.  Then I found an album I recently bought on iTunes by a group called "Watershed Worship."  It's an a Capella group.  The title of the album is "I Know You Love Me."  The words were exactly what I needed to hear.  It really brought me right to a place of quiet before the Lord.  I prayed that He would get me through these next couple of days.  That he would renew my strength, that He would fill me with his Holy Spirit so I could demonstrate more of His love and patience, the fruits of the spirit. That he would bless my family and increase their faith as well as my own. I know the kids are upset, even if they don't express it to me.  Apparently, Isabelle had a slight melt down while at my parents' house last week.  There are feelings right under the surface that can bubble up without warning.  She keeps a lid on it around me, but sometimes she lets others in.  I'm glad that she has others that she can talk to.  I know that my parents and Eric are worried about recurrence just as much as I am.  Those words from Dr. P last week were honest, but tough to hear.  We all now are faced with putting the walk in our walk, after having just talked the talk.  It is REAL faith, not lip service, and its hard.  So the music today that reminded me of His love and what He has done for me was just what I needed to hear.

We continue to get ready for Christmas. Olivier, Jean-Marc and I went to Michael's this morning and got more Christmas stuff.  When Jean-Marc wakes up from his nap, we are all going to pile in the van and go down to the Christmas tree lot and get our tree.  I'm looking forward to the smell of Christmas tree in the house, even if I don't get the energy up to decorate for a few more days!

Thanks again for all of your prayers and support.  You are my co-warriors!

Chemo is DONE

Would be better with my eyes open!

Well, almost.  I still have to deal with the side effects from this last round.  At least this time, when I have my down days, I'll know that it is for the last time.  That will be good.  Every day I will gain strength that won't be taken away next time.  I won't have to plan on going back in and get poked and dripped into again.  Praise God for giving me the strength to get through the last 18 weeks!

I had Eric take a few pictures of me this morning to document my last day.  I realized I hadn't posted a baldy picture yet, either.  Since my hair should start coming back in about 6-7weeks, why not show the world what I've looked like underneath?  I bare it all in words, why not bare some more in photgraphs?

Pink and Plaid warrior ready for battle

I wore my pink "survivor" shirt that I got at the Charger game in October.  I like it because it says "SURVIVOR" on the back.  Regardless of my fears about recurrence, I want to think of myself as a survivor.   I also wore my pink and plaid scarf.  Lookout chemo suite...the pink and plaid warrior is on her way for the last time!

Everything went very smoothly.  As always, the IV placement was the worst part. But it was over quickly.  I spent the time mastering today's level of  "Angry Birds Seasons" and reading a Vince Flynn book on my Kindle.  

My mom, dad and brother Jared came by at the end of the morning and we went to lunch at Mimi's Cafe to celebrate the end of chemo. On the way out of Kaiser I picked up my first supply of Tamoxifen.  I'll be able to start around Christmastime.  Great present, eh?  A 3 month supply cost me $30 out of pocket, so that isn't too bad. I don't know if that will go up next year when I am back at zero for my deductible.   Speaking of insurance, I got my 2011 renewal from Kaiser and our premiums are only going up by $36 per month. I was afraid it would be much worse.

There isn't really much more to say right now.  Just pray that these drugs coursing through my body seek out and destroy the enemy.  No prisoners, just casualties!  Thank you all for your support!

Bring it on!

The nurse removes my IV and it's over!

Thoughts on my last chemo eve

Tomorrow marks a date on the calendar that I have looked forward to since August.  December 3rd.  My sixth and final round of chemotherapy.

I have mixed emotions about it.  Yes, I am thrilled to have it behind me. It will be a celebration, to be sure.  Pardon the crude expression, but chemo sucks.  It affects your body and mind, inside and out.  It affects every aspect of your life and your family's life.  Weekends and holidays lose meaning.  Dates, birthdays, anniversaries and events are only important as how it relates to chemo.  You are unable to participate in all of your kids' events like you used to.  Even if you feel okay, which I have been blessed to have been a surprising amount of time, you look like a sick person.  Bald, thin or no eyebrows or eyelashes. You get looks from friends and strangers alike when they don't think you can see them. You can see when people are shocked or taken aback just by seeing you. On some faces, you see the looks of pity.  Which sometimes makes you feel worse.  Not always, but sometimes.

On the other hand, there is a bizarre kind of security in being in chemotherapy.  You are doing something actively to fight the disease. It may be wiping you out, but you are fighting back.  With chemo over, the waiting begins.  Will the cancer come back? Was it enough chemo? Was the chemo effective on the cells?  Because I had surgery first, I have no real way of knowing for sure.  If I had chemo first, we would know if those drugs shrunk the tumor.  On the other hand, we got the known cancer out so I feel good in that decision of timing. Did we use the right drug combination?  It is a little like I felt in the beginning of this experience when we just didn't know what we were dealing with.  I feel a little like we are coming full circle. Is the cancer there?  We just don't know.

This is where I guess one must simply walk by faith and trust that whatever happens, is what God has in store for the ultimate good.

I had an appointment with Dr. P, the oncologist, today.  I asked him about where we go after treatment.  He wants to see me in four months, and then we will go to every six months.  Obviously, I can't have mammograms.  So how do we screen for the cancer coming back?   I wasn't very reassured by his answer.  Remember, this is a research type guy.  He's really smart and knows his stuff.  He may not have the best bedside manner, but we have developed a rapport over the past few months.  Even so, he doesn't sugar coat or spare any unnecessary words.  He said he does not like to do scans because they lead to a lot of false positives.  My gut would rather have a false positive than not catch cancer earlier.

The bottom line he said was that if the cancer comes back, its not going to be curable. Not those exact words, but he did use the words, "not curable."   Thud.   Punch me in the gut, why don't you, doc?  If it comes back, it will have moved to either an organ or the bones. It isn't the kind of thing that would kill me right away.  They have treatments and therapies to help you live with it for as long as possible. But he put my darkest fear into words and it was out there in the room.

In my case, he has observed that I am a health conscious person.  I exercise a lot and have good body awareness.  I can tell if there is "something wrong."  In some ways, its true.  On the other hand, I had no clue about having breast cancer until I felt the cancerous lymph node in May.  Breast cancer was so far off my radar screen.  Now it is smack dab in the middle of it.  So maybe that will be enough of a red flag to seek an exam.  He told me that I should keep in mind that we are throwing everything at this cancer that we can, so I can "put that in my back pocket."

I still don't feel that comfortable with the situation.  But I suppose every person who has gone through cancer therapy feels that way.  I can look on the bright side...I still have radiation to go through.  So there is more fight left to fight.  I'll be on tamoxifen for at least 2 years starting in late December/early January.  In 2 years, we'll test my estrogen levels to see if my ovaries have resumed making estrogen.  At my age (41), the menopause I'm experiencing may go away.  Lucky me, I'll get to do it again later on.  If I am post-menopausal, then they can move me to another class of drugs with a smaller dose and less side effects.  I'm grateful to have a type of cancer that is receptive to this hormonal therapy.  It's another security blanket.

There are other things I can do to prevent the cancer from coming back. Lifestyle things like keeping my weight down (another incentive), eating right, and limiting alcohol.  The more I learn about the health risks of being overweight, the more annoyed I am with myself that I let it go for so long. At least now I'm near my ideal weight.  After all of the treatment is over next spring, I'd like to drop at least another 10 pounds.  I would hate to have to lose the 50 pounds that I lost last year now. That was another way God prepared me for this trial.

Anyway, that is the jumbled mess of my thoughts tonight as I await my last infusion of taxotere and cytoxan. ("TC" in cancer treatment parlance.)   The bottom line is that while I am thankful for this phase of the journey to be over, I am reluctant to let this toxic lifeline go.

My prayer requests:

• That my final round of chemo go smoothly tomorrow. That I tolerate it well and that the drugs do the job they are supposed to do. 
• That I be able to put my fears aside and walk by faith.  I know that God already knows the number of my days. It doesn't do me any good to worry about it, and by worrying I'm not having faith.  Fear is the opposite of faith.  I want to live by faith, not fear.  Pray that I not "go there" in my mind. 
• For complete healing.  That there be no cancer cells in my body anywhere.