Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Pass and Danket


WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 2011 11:02 AM, EDT
Pass and Danket
Logan was 5 months old when I discovered that all pacifiers in the house had been in the dishwasher for over 24 hours. I hadn't realized that he had gone without a "pass" for that long. And from that day forward, he went without the pass.

I bragged for 2 years about how Lo stopped using the pass on his own at 5 months old. It took me 2 years to realize that I needed to stop bragging about the fact that my 2 year old stopped the pass at 5 months and began substituting a baby afghan shortly thereafter.  He walks (yes, as in he still does it) around with "Danket" hanging out of his mouth, dragging it on the floor like Linus. There are 3 Dankets. We wash them daily...because we have to. It's a nasty habit that is going to have to stop eventually, but trying to take away a 2 and a half year old's security blanket is difficult enough...try doing it when he gets a new baby brother or his mother is suddenly bald!

I decided that I would try to reason with Logan on the potential loss of Danket...you know, feel him out a little. This is how the conversation went:

Me: Lo, do you know that there are children in the whole wide world who don't have Dankets? Isn't that sad? 
Lo (blanket in mouth, sucking...yes, sucking.) nods yes.
Me: Do you know that there are danket fairies who take dankets to kids who don't have any?
Lo, eyes getting bigger, nods yes.
Me: One day the danket fairies are going to come and takeyour dankets to little boys who don't have dankets.
Lo (removes Danket from mouth, looks me square in the face, and in sing-song says): Not today! (Danket back in mouth briefly, and then out again). And not tomorrow!

When I was in Houston, Mama found this great cook book titled "The Cancer Fighting Kitchen." The premise of the book is to provide recipes to help you deal with the symptoms of treatment...all of which I've discussed in previous posts. The book is also a lifestyle change - a lower carb, lower fat, lower fun diet that is supposed to decrease my chances of recurrence by two thirds! And that, my friends, is worth the lifestyle change! God forbid I have breast cancer again later in life, but if I do, I want to be able to say, "You know what? I did everything I was supposed to do to ensure that this didn't happen again, so I guess this was just meant to be." I don't want to have to think of what I shoulda, coulda, woulda done to prevent it. Someone asked me the other day when I was planning to start this new lifestyle change...my answer?Not today!

While I was typing this, I finished my 4th chemo session! 50% done with chemo altogether and 100% done with the first set of chemo drugs. The second set starts in 2 weeks, and is supposed to be much easier on me! Thank you all for your continued support and prayers!

Bean

Sunday, July 24, 2011

The Other Woman


SUNDAY, JULY 24, 2011 8:39 PM, EDT
The Other Woman
Nathan and Tina...circa 2001.Nathan and I graduated from Radiography school in 2003. Nathan was driving a red Dodge Shadow...and he couldn't wait to ditch the Shadow and purchase his first adult vehicle. He had it narrowed down to two choices - there was a 2001 black Lexus E300 and then there was "Luscious." Luscious is a fully loaded Limited Edition black 2001 Jeep Grand Cherokee with grey leather interior. And in 2001, with about 3000 miles, she was Nathan Frey's dream girl. I will never forget when he introduced me to Luscious at the dealership. I said, "I wish you would look at me like that!" That was the decision-maker. He drove her off the lot that day, and from that point forward "Luscious" has been the other woman.

I can count on one hand the number of times that Nathan has looked at me like he looked at Luscious that day. Every time it takes me by surprise, and every time I melt. It's not something that I take for granted. And it's not something that I need every day, so don't be sad that I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen it during our 10 years together (this week). The scarcity is what makes it special.

The first time I got the look was before we even knew that Luscious existed. In true Tina fashion, I'm going to over-share something that will make Mama roll her eyes and Nathan blush. But it was 9 and a half years ago...they'll get over it. I was bound and determined to be the coolest girlfriend ever, and in order to reach that status, you have to think outside the box when it comes to gift giving. So for Nathan's 21st birthday, I assembled his best friends (and a few extras) into his apartment for a surprise party (which I did not attend). As I walked up the steps after the the party was over, my "gift" was walking down the stairs. She said to me, "You're the girlfriend, aren't you? Iknew you would have big boobs! They had a blast...you have to be the coolest girlfriend ever." The stripper validated what I knew all along. When I walked into the apartment, all of the guys cheered...validation #2. And then there was Nathan...giving me what I would later learn would be the "Luscious look." Mission accomplished.

There were a couple of weak Luscious looks in between, but the next notable Luscious look was when I was 6 months pregnant with Logan. Nathan and I were lying in bed, and he said to me, "I wish I could take a picture of you right now - you are just so beautiful." Hormonal, I began crying uncontrollably. Poor Nathan. He just sat there wondering what he had done wrong while I sobbed. I tried to regain composure to tell him that I was fine, but every time I spoke I began sobbing again. I have never seen anything like what was happening, and it hit me like a ton of bricks that I was no longer in control of my emotions - hormones had completely taken over, and that again made me sob. After what seemed like a lifetime, I was able to speak through the sobs..."You just gave me the Luscious look. I've waited 7 years for you to look at me like you look at that car. 7 years! And now I'm going to have it for 3 more months, and then you are going to look at him (pointing to my pregnant belly) like that...and I'll never see it again." Resume sobbing. Nathan just smiled. A good man knows how to stop when he's ahead. Both times I delivered a child I got the Luscious look...and rightfully so.

Cancer sucks. There's nothing beautiful or glamorous or forgiving about cancer. There is no silver lining. There is no glad game. There is no sunshine. A chemo pole is not a dance partner. Nausea is not fun. Scarves are lovely, but they are still hot in 100 degree heat. If you think birth control makes you more sensitive to the sun, try chemo. Weakness and limitation are not my strong points. Cancer is not beautiful...no matter how hard I try. Cancer sucks. 

And yet, somehow, somewhere, I have managed to count a few more Luscious looks in the last two months. We are two months post D-Day tomorrow. I am in my "new normal." That's what they call it - the time period after you are diagnosed with cancer...your "new normal." And while I'll never get used to the fight or the side effects or the idea of cancer, I could get used to a lifetime of the Luscious look...and still not take it for granted. ;-)

Monday, July 18, 2011

A whole bunch


MONDAY, JULY 18, 2011 6:44 PM, EDT
A Whole Bunch
Logan, at 2 1/2, is about the most observant little guy I know. It's amazing to me that a two year old can look at the world around them, only to look past it and see more. For close to a year now, I have been telling Logan at night that Mommy loves him better than the whole world. I will never forget asking him, "Do you know how much Mommy loves you?" and hearing his high-pitched little voice say, "Better than thewhole world!" It was successful brain-washing at its best, and one of my proudest moments to date. I have continued to add to this little evening ritual over time. I can go so far as to ask Logan if "better than the whole world" is equivalent to a "half bunch," to which he replies, "No, Mommy! That's aWHOLE bunch!"

It never struck me that two year old wouldn't grasp the concept of what a "whole world" might be. And Logan's concept is pretty interesting. The other day, while on the way to fabulous Kayfield Academy, Logan and Parker were snug in their car seats in the back of the Jeep. We were stopped at a routine stop light when Lo proclaimed, "Mommy, that's a better than the whole world right there in that car!" I looked over, admittedly a little confused (or at least curious), only to find that my two year old thinks I love him better than the Garmin in the car next to us! Now that's a whole bunch! Never mind the brilliance that is my two year old equating the map on a Garmin in the car next to us to the whole world! This concept has evolved into a map, a globe, a Garmin...it's awfully hard to explain to a two year old that the whole world encompasses more than a handful of city blocks.

Today I had an appointment at MD Anderson in Houston for a second opinion. Aside from the normal fears associated with a diagnosis of "the big C," I had some concerns that I felt needed to be addressed a little further. First, I have had 3 (and now 4) separate pathology reports from a single biopsy. Each one has been a little bit different, particularly in regards to the hormone receptor status of my tumor. Hormone status refers to what feeds the tumor. If you know the status, you can prevent recurrence or another tumor. If you don't know what feeds the tumor, it's a little more of a crap shoot. It has been determined that my tumor is fed by estrogen. This is a very important part of my treatment plan, and a part that does not change after today's appointment. Another concern was that one pathology report included an "associated singular focus of intraductal carcinoma." To me, this meant that I had a precancerous second tumor that hadn't been brought to my attention. Today, however, it was explained that a tumor is kind of like a garden. You have seeds that sprout into invasive cancer, and you have seeds that may or may not sprout at all.  Now this was imagery that I could work with! So my little garden of a tumor is versatile. Hownice?! At least there aren't two of them!  It was comforting to hear that my MDACC Oncologist concurred with the treatment plan of the Louisville Oncologist, and that I would not need to be separated from family during treatment. But what impressed me most is that my Louisville Oncologist is just as current with the treatment regimen as this world renowned, state of the art cancer center. Short of being told that someone made a huge mistake and that I didn't have cancer after all, we heard the best new we could have heard - my breast cancer is looking pretty standard, and we are treating it aggressively. There should be no other visits to MD Anderson.

Worth noting, MDACC as an operation is just as impressive as I expected it to be - a well oiled machine with Southern hospitality tied in.  The buildings are expansive. MD Anderson is one of many medical facilities that makes up the Texas Medical Center in downtown Houston...a conglomerate of organizations that together employ over 90,000 people! TMC actually has its own power plant. That's like Houston having its own little medical city inside the actual city!

Mama and I are going back to little old Louisville tomorrow. I cannot wait to hug the boys and Nathan, and celebrate that we have a plan, a positive outlook, and a bunch to look forward to...a whole bunch! And that's better than the whole world right there!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Dear Chemo...#3


SUNDAY, JULY 17, 2011 6:44 PM, EDT
Dear Chemo...#3
Dear Chemo,

It is getting increasingly difficult to work with you. Last Wednesday, you really had me in a rough patch. The nausea was barely tolerable, despite the mass amounts of medication to curb the insatiable desire to empty the contents of my tortured belly. I was diagnosed with migraines when I was 17, but I have had so many more since I met you. While I am thankful that prescription meds work for me, I wish I didn't have a need to pump one more med into my body right now. The nausea and weakness carried into Thursday...another day of FMLA gone.

Dr. Hargis completed a physical exam on Wednesday. It was anticlimactic. He said that when this chemo works, it works quickly. The sad thing is that when he did my initial clinical exam, I was lactating, and there was a fullness in my breast that isn't there anymore...as a result of lactating. And there was also a good sized hematoma from my biopsy that is no longer there. So in essence, my first clinical exam is not comparable to the exam from Wednesday because my tissue has changed so much. Unfortunately, he added, my imaging studies may be similarly comparable. This is discouraging, Chemo. I just pray that you are not only affecting the taste of my food, my equilibrium, and my ability to play with my kids. Please work, Chemo...please be worth it.

Friday was interesting. Nathan's mother Lynet came into town to help Nathan with the boys while Mama and I are in Houston. While Nathan and I would have loved to have taken this trip together, it is a harsh realization when you've just taken time off with a newborn, only to be faced with needing to take time off to deal with a personal health matter. We are just lucky to have two Mamas who can be here (or there) for us when we need them. And we all went to dinner with BFs Kerrie and Nick and their kids on Friday night...it was nice b/c we haven't seen them in a few weeks...and yet, another harsh realization. I forget that while I haven't had hair for a week or more, my friends and family really cannot prepare for it until they see it. Even covered with a scarf, you know it's bare. And while I rock my scarves, they are definitely a sign that I've been labeled with this diagnosis...there is no denying that I am "sick." If I had to guess, I would say that was hard on Kerrie...we haven't really had an emotional moment throughout this process, and we came close in Red Robin...

Thank you, Chemo, for allowing me to travel to MD Anderson on a "good day" yesterday. The 4 hr flight delay due to mechanical problems was actually a good thing...it allowed me a much-needed nap in the Memphis airport. Mama and I made it safely, and we are enjoying the comfort of our suite. Last night's dinner with Terry was excellent! I was grateful to have a good appetite...and to get some red blood cell-boosting buffalo tenderloin into my system! Quite nice.

I am nervous for my 2nd opinion appointment tomorrow. Nervous for the unknown...nervous for the uncertainty. There are so many "what-ifs" that I will likely not sleep well tonight. What if they want me to have treatments here? What if they tell me something different from what I'm hearing in Louisville? What if they can't help me?

Chemo, please work. Shrink this thing inside me that is not supposed to be there...Please work. 

I miss my Nathan and my boys. 

Tina

Monday, July 11, 2011

Your hairs are numbered


MONDAY, JULY 11, 2011 8:41 PM, EDT
Your Hairs Are Numbered
Big sis Tiff came to visit this weekend. It was a fabulous weekend of my favorite sister movies and lots of rest - thanks again Tiff for bringing meLittle Women (and for cooking, and cleaning, and entertaining the boys)! My favorite quotation from any movie EVER is "I could never love anyone as I love my sisters!" And then of course there is Practical Magic, which the three of us could recite (and have) in unison...We talked about this Bible verse that references God knowing each of the hairs on your head, so she sent me this verse and quote when she returned home. I wanted to share some insight.

And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Matthew 10:30 

Tiff: This is what the commentary says in our Bible program on the computer. I thought it was fitting -
"The hairs--are all numbered. That is, each one has exercised the care and attention of God. He has fixed the number; and though of small importance, yet he does not think it beneath him to determine how few, or how many, they shall be. He will, therefore, take care of you."

While I love the explanation from Tiff's Bible program on the computer, my interpretation is a little different. "Even the very hairs on your head are all numbered"...as in, even your days are numbered. Each one will lose its place at one point or another. 
Despite my interpretation of the verse, I don't really think about the cancer as the end. For me, it is a new beginning...it sheds a new light on life, makes flowers a little brighter and pancakes a little sweeter. My children's laughter is a little louder, and their tears a little more salty. I know it sounds trite, but the cancer brings out the best in me.
I manage 8 Medical Imaging departments/modalities in a freestanding/hospital-based outpatient medical center. The building happens to have an Oncology focus, and my Oncologist happens to practice there. That is where I receive my chemotherapy treatments, have labs drawn, eat my lunch on a daily basis, and spill my blood, sweat and tears for a job that I love. I know the quality of my care because I work side by side with the nurses who deliver it. I trust my team. It's an odd thing to be treated in your workplace. I take care of their patients, and they take care of me. We take care of each other (again, with the synergy).
And in my clinical experience, cancer patients meet one of two generalizations. They are either gruff and mad at the world, or they are quite possibly the nicest people you have ever met. Their family members are, generally speaking, always in the first category....overbearing and impossible to please. You can never do anything good enough, and heaven forbid be running behind. A cancer patient's time is, by the way, more precious than you could imagine (this I actually agree with). The cancer patient who falls into the first category is often male, over 65, and coming to grips with the fact that he should have been going to church all those years like his wife suggested. He feels like it's too late to be nice, so why bother?
But the latter category..."the nicest person you ever did know" category...now that's the mass majority of cancer patients. They fall into the "It always happens to the nicest people" category (enter discerning look and head shake).  You can't imagine cancer striking the "nice ones." Let me tell you a little secret, and I speak from personal (as opposed to clinical) experience: Cancer patients are nice because they feel a little bit closer to Heaven, and you don't get to heaven by being an asshole. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. And they don't even have to think they might be dying to make this transition. Look at me, for example. I know I'm going to beat this - I have no doubt, yet life is a little sweeter, a little sunnier, a little more glad (to finally throw out thatPollyanna reference you've all been waiting for). It's a "just in case" kind of attitude. Now, I plan to keep this love of life when I beat the cancer, but if I was truly going to be honest with myself I could admit that could be the bargainer in me. All I'm saying is that if it's not just the hairs on my head that are numbered, it might be nice to have a plan!
I love you both Jayme and Tiff! I really could never love anyone as I love you. I have always felt sorry for anyone who doesn't know the joy of having a sister...or for anyone who knows the pain of losing one.  To quote Practical Magic: We'll grow old together. It's going to be you and me living in a big house... these old biddies with all these cats.
God bless...
Bean

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Dear Chemo...#2


SATURDAY, JULY 9, 2011 9:27 AM, EDT
Dear Chemo...#2
Dear Chemo,

We have met twice, and now we have 6 more rendez vous to go...I am 25% done with our relationship. They say it takes half the time of the relationship to get over the relationship, but I have a feeling it won't take me that long.

You make me feel pregnant x 10. Ten times the nausea. Ten times the fatigue. Ten times the tired. Ten times the forgetfulness. Ten times the lack of creativity.

I am thankful that your side effects are predictable. 

Day 1 (Chemo Wed): Fluids before chemo. Best morning I have throughout the process. Premeds: a super bolus of Decadron (steroid) and Zofran (nausea) - This changes my vision for about 15 minutes - an annoying but bearable side effect. And then the hyper sets in, a side effect of the steroid that I rather enjoy. It's like I drank a giant Red Bull. And then the first chemo - Cytoxin. No immediate side effects. Then the second chemo - it is red and clear. It actually looks like poison. Mama says she can watch me turn grey as the nurse hand-injects the Adriamycin. My nurse Leslie calls this a "booger of a drug." If it spills outside of my port, it can blister my skin immediately...truly a poison. I try not to think about it too much because it kind of freaks me out....kind of like if I dwell on the fact that humans are smart enough that we have created electricity and cars and road systems...if you think about it too much, it's almost disturbing.

Leslie commented that she was surprised to see that I still had all of my hair. I asked if I might be one of those people that didn't lose their hair, and she said she doubted it...they've never seen anyoneon this drug do that...

Day 2: Wake up. Take steroids and nausea meds. Go to work. Steroids again are like a super-boost of energy.

Day 3: Same as day two with more nausea. Very tired by end of work day.

Day 4: Last day of steroids. No more targeted preventative nausea meds - move on to nausea treatment meds. Exhausted by 6pm. More nausea meds.

Day 5: Not as bad the second time around, which is not the norm. I rested but wasn't bedridden all day. I didn't actually miss a day with my kids. I was lying on the floor "playing" with them, but at least they had my attention.

My hair started hurting. It felt like someone was poking me in the scalp with a Christmas tree limb(Douglas Fir, specifically) that was far past its Christmas half life. And there were hairs everywhere. I could rub one spot of my head for about 3 minutes before that patch was completely bare. It would be nice, Chemo, if you could just take it all at the same time. It's hard to rock your baldness when you are not bald. 

Exhausted. All day.

Day 6: Thank heaven's Monday was a holiday. Duplicate of Sunday. Hair still hurting, more falling out. Still not bald. 

Side note: If you are going through chemo and you are losing your hair, you may get a wild hair (pun intended) and decide to help facilitate things. It is NOT, I repeat NOT, a good idea to lint roll your hair. Yes, I truly attempted this - and this was not a scholar moment that I am proud of.

Day 7: Back to work and feeling a little foggy. I seriously questioned whether or not I should be driving while I was on my way to work on Tuesday. Trouble is, I was halfway there, so it wouldn't have made any difference if I had turned around at that point. I felt like I was floating. I wore ballet flats to work...my shoe Nannie would NOT approve. It was my first day with a scarf...it was as fun as I could have made it. Nausea.

Nathan put Logan to bed while I fed Parker. After I put Parker to bed, I went into Lo's room and crawled into bed to say good night. Normally when I do this, he is already sleeping, but tonight it was different. He was wide awake. My scarf was off and my mangy looking patchy head was bare. He rubbed my head and said in his high-pitched toddler sing-song voice, "I love your hair...It's kind of furry!" I laughed hysterically at the mangy dog reference, despite his innocence. Logan continued, "It's too cute!" I gave him the best hug ever! 

Day 8: Feeling good. Nausea. I had more fun with scarves today. Accessorizing, according to little sis Jayme, is on the "long list!" 

PM Abdominal pain...like labor. Not fun, chemo, not fun. You especially suck on Day 8, Chemo.

Day 9: Feeling good. Hungry. Bone Pain...joint pain in hips and knees. Awful back pain at night.

Day 10, 11, 12: Normal. It's too bad this is when my immune system is at its lowest. I am confined to my house on a pretty Summer day that ought to be spent with Nathan at Sam's. Everybody loves Sam's, and I have to miss it. Or at the zoo with the boys...the last place on Earth that I ought to be. So here we are, watching Handy Manny. Nothing against Disney programming, but you can only watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Handy Manny so many times before a trip to Sam's with a low immune system starts to sound like a viable option. Don't worry Mama, I didn't go.

Day 13, 14: Feeling Great! Now it's time for our next date. Ugh. Here we go again.

Take it easy again, Chemo. Next Saturday Mama and I are flying to MD Anderson for my second opinion. I need a strong immune system for the plane, and manageable side effects while out of town.

Peace out,
Bean