Hi all,
Yesterday was Sheila's first round of chemo. Late in the afternoon she was OK but feeling a bit "off" --weak with low energy. She is armed with a slew of anti nausea meds she'll be taking through Friday. She did have a few hours of nauseau but forced herself to eat some soup despite it.
I just spoke with her again now...she is very sleepy but still strong and plugging along. She had a tough go of it when she got to chemo yesterday as they had some portacath issues plus the anxiety of the unknown but once again she persevered. She sounded really well on the phone (again, a bit sleepy) so hopefully she can lay low for the next two days and regain her strength as her body is STOMPING THIS.
Sending her all our best...will keep you posted on our dear one.
Sheila's good friend, Val, created some monthly calendars featuring Sheila's appointment dates. For now the appointment dates can also be seen under Stay Abreast on the right side of this blog.
Val wanted people to know they can sign up to bring Sheila and family dinner, escort her to applicable appointments, clean their house, etc. All ideas welcome and I will have Sheila CANDIDLY tell me and/or Val what does and doesn't work.
Ideally meal delivery dates are best on Tues. and Thurs. of chemo weeks. In terms of food--lots of veggies, tofu, white rice, fruits. I am ordering from https://www.delicious-planet.com/ (organic meals delivered to your home) so they can pick and choose what they like.
quick side note: While I know they will be grateful with anything you provide for them I do advise more organic, healthier (less processed) the better. Be aware that Sheila is too polite to state this but when she discussed creating a blog with me she knew she was getting a vocal friend who is a huge believer in transparency.
I know Rebecca P. mentioned creating a calendar as well so there may be a way to upload one on here or have a link to one where people can add their names to help with needs (holler, techies, if there is a way to do so as I do not know how to!)
For now, please email Val at VDonlan@its.jnj.com to plug in a date where you can help. Stay tuned for a calendar online if I can make it happen.
Peace to you...k
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Portacath --update
Sheila reports that the Portacath placement went well. The nurses had a hard time (as unfortunately is always the case with her) getting an IV line to administer the happy drugs. It held up for awhile, but stopped delivering the drugs about halfway through the procedure. She says she was never “out of it” at all, but was numbed for the procedure. As has been typical throughout her journey--she said the fear of what was to come was much worse than the actual procedure itself.
She is back home and sounded great via phone this afternoon.
Keep the positive vibes flowing!
She is back home and sounded great via phone this afternoon.
Keep the positive vibes flowing!
Sheila Post!
Yesterday as my former neighbor and long-time friend Rebecca Pompon and I were driving back from our long-standing Sunday grocery shopping trip, the subject of belief and spirituality arose. Rebecca’s always a terrific person with whom to discuss human behavior, religion and the ways of the world in general, and yesterday was no exception. She was recalling a discussion she had with a friend about how to cope with difficult situations; in particular, the recent news of a relative’s dire illness. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be the type of person who could just ‘put it in the hands of God?’” her friend asked Rebecca wistfully. “To just be able to say, ‘God will handle everything.’”
“Actually, no,” Rebecca had answered her friend, which sparked an interesting exchange between the two of us – so interesting, that our previous conversation about the tasty risotto corn cakes we’d had for lunch was all but forgotten. “I think I’d rather be able to feel like I was actively doing something to deal with the situation. Handing it over to God seems like giving up control.”
Control. The word, by its very nature, is a strong one. I completely understood what Rebecca was saying. I am also not a person who believes so strongly in a higher power that I can ultimately put my fate into its hands. Like Rebecca’s friend, I have often wished I was – it would make for a lot fewer restless nights. But on the other hand, I have always been someone who needs to have a handle on the outcomes of situations. I’ll squirm in my seat and finally blurt out “turn HERE!!” when Jason is driving, even though I know he may have a different route in mind. I need to know the exact location of the remote control at all times. And don’t try surprising me by taking me out to dinner to a “special place.” I need to know where we’re going so I can be prepared!
Getting a disease like cancer – in which body parts are removed, skin is repeatedly pierced, and nausea is induced every other week for a number of months – is difficult for control freaks like me. Knowing that errant cancer cells may be staking out my internal organs and planning a sneak attack is disconcerting to say the least. We arm ourselves with green tea, Brussels sprouts and the city’s best oncologists and hope for the best. We swallow fish oil pills the size of the fish themselves and study meditative practices, all while trying to push thoughts of our looming mortality from our minds.
I had a procedure at Swedish today called a “portacath placement” in which a surgeon inserts a small, quarter-sized device just under the skin near the collarbone. It remains in place for the duration of chemotherapy treatment so an IV line can be placed directly into a vein through the portacath, eliminating those repeated piercings I mentioned earlier. It’s a day surgery that employs “conscious sedation” instead of a general anesthetic. Instead of being completely unconscious, I would be given a drug that the nurses told me would make me “not care” about the knives, tubes and other scary things being wielded above me.
“But what if the drugs don’t work and I do care, right in the middle of the procedure?” I asked.
The nurse, well-meaning but obviously missing the true nature of my question, tried to assure me.
“We won’t start the procedure until we’re sure the drugs are working,” she said. “It’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable. I promise you, you won’t feel a thing.”
It wasn’t the physical pain I was concerned about. In fact, if I had my way, I would have opted for just a local anesthetic and no drugs at all. My biggest fear was being sedated to the extent that I could not convey a need to the nurses. What if my heart started racing, but I was so doped up I couldn’t tell them? Or if I suddenly lost my sight or started choking? Or if I started to panic but couldn’t move my body? I’d be too sedated to bring it to their attention.
It all comes back to control. Or the lack of it, over these past several weeks. I’ve been driven places, excused from obligations and told to take naps. Before my diagnosis, that would have sounded like pure heaven. But being faced with something that takes your day-to-day routine and turns it on its head? It sucks rocks. Big time. Will I be able to go to Dom and Lynna’s wedding in Steamboat Springs in June? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see how the chemo goes. Will I be able to keep going to my spinning classes? That’s probably a decision my doctor – not me – will have to make.
As time goes on, I do think this experience – as scary and uncertain as it may be - will serve me well in the end. I may not put my situation in the hands of a higher power, but putting it somewhere besides my shoulders every now and then is not such a bad thing.
And a nap would actually feel pretty good.
“Actually, no,” Rebecca had answered her friend, which sparked an interesting exchange between the two of us – so interesting, that our previous conversation about the tasty risotto corn cakes we’d had for lunch was all but forgotten. “I think I’d rather be able to feel like I was actively doing something to deal with the situation. Handing it over to God seems like giving up control.”
Control. The word, by its very nature, is a strong one. I completely understood what Rebecca was saying. I am also not a person who believes so strongly in a higher power that I can ultimately put my fate into its hands. Like Rebecca’s friend, I have often wished I was – it would make for a lot fewer restless nights. But on the other hand, I have always been someone who needs to have a handle on the outcomes of situations. I’ll squirm in my seat and finally blurt out “turn HERE!!” when Jason is driving, even though I know he may have a different route in mind. I need to know the exact location of the remote control at all times. And don’t try surprising me by taking me out to dinner to a “special place.” I need to know where we’re going so I can be prepared!
Getting a disease like cancer – in which body parts are removed, skin is repeatedly pierced, and nausea is induced every other week for a number of months – is difficult for control freaks like me. Knowing that errant cancer cells may be staking out my internal organs and planning a sneak attack is disconcerting to say the least. We arm ourselves with green tea, Brussels sprouts and the city’s best oncologists and hope for the best. We swallow fish oil pills the size of the fish themselves and study meditative practices, all while trying to push thoughts of our looming mortality from our minds.
I had a procedure at Swedish today called a “portacath placement” in which a surgeon inserts a small, quarter-sized device just under the skin near the collarbone. It remains in place for the duration of chemotherapy treatment so an IV line can be placed directly into a vein through the portacath, eliminating those repeated piercings I mentioned earlier. It’s a day surgery that employs “conscious sedation” instead of a general anesthetic. Instead of being completely unconscious, I would be given a drug that the nurses told me would make me “not care” about the knives, tubes and other scary things being wielded above me.
“But what if the drugs don’t work and I do care, right in the middle of the procedure?” I asked.
The nurse, well-meaning but obviously missing the true nature of my question, tried to assure me.
“We won’t start the procedure until we’re sure the drugs are working,” she said. “It’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable. I promise you, you won’t feel a thing.”
It wasn’t the physical pain I was concerned about. In fact, if I had my way, I would have opted for just a local anesthetic and no drugs at all. My biggest fear was being sedated to the extent that I could not convey a need to the nurses. What if my heart started racing, but I was so doped up I couldn’t tell them? Or if I suddenly lost my sight or started choking? Or if I started to panic but couldn’t move my body? I’d be too sedated to bring it to their attention.
It all comes back to control. Or the lack of it, over these past several weeks. I’ve been driven places, excused from obligations and told to take naps. Before my diagnosis, that would have sounded like pure heaven. But being faced with something that takes your day-to-day routine and turns it on its head? It sucks rocks. Big time. Will I be able to go to Dom and Lynna’s wedding in Steamboat Springs in June? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see how the chemo goes. Will I be able to keep going to my spinning classes? That’s probably a decision my doctor – not me – will have to make.
As time goes on, I do think this experience – as scary and uncertain as it may be - will serve me well in the end. I may not put my situation in the hands of a higher power, but putting it somewhere besides my shoulders every now and then is not such a bad thing.
And a nap would actually feel pretty good.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Apply Within
Here's some news from Sheila--she's doing well and BUSY
I am officially in need of a personal assistant!
Not really, but the combination of conventional and non-traditional treatment I have chosen to pursue has meant my next few months are filled with appointments and procedures. I’m lucky and thankful that I am able to scale back work a bit to accommodate this new lifestyle.
I came away from my visit to my oncologist on Thursday with an entire page of appointments from now until April. My first round of chemotherapy will start next week (Feb. 24) preceded by the portacath placement the day before (Feb. 23). I will receive an infusion of two drugs every other week for eight weeks (four treatments). After that, I will receive a weekly infusion of a third drug for 12 weeks. If there are no changes to the schedule, I will finish up chemo on August 4, a few days before my birthday.
There was some uncertainty whether or not I would receive daily radiation treatments for several weeks after my chemo is finished. The size of one lymph node that was removed prompted my oncologist to bring the issue to a weekly meeting of his colleagues. The consensus was mixed, with some experts opting for radiation and others saying it wouldn’t be necessary. I will be consulting with a radiation therapist sometime in the next few months to come up with a plan. One drawback of radiation for women who have had a large number of lymph nodes removed (I had 23) is that there is the possibility of edema (swelling) of the arm.
I also visited an acupuncturist and set up an appointment with a reflexologist, both in an attempt to offset the near certain nausea that will accompany the first four chemo infusions. I saw the acupuncturist today. The 45 minute appointment consisted of two needle placements in my ankle, the placement of a heat lamp over my abdomen, a lot of hand movements over my entire body and some gentle pressure on my neck. At the very end of my session, the acupuncturist put his finger on my jaw, said “tooth,” and walked out of the room. When I met him in his office after the treatment, I asked him what he meant by that. “Inflammation,” he said. “Not big, but you get it checked.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. I have been putting off a visit to the dentist for several months, and had recently started feeling a bit of sensitivity in one of my molars. How in the world did he know this? I asked him. “I see it,” said the man of few words. I’m not sure if he meant that literally or figuratively, but it was enough to convince me that he is, at the very least, extremely in tune with his patients. My oncologist had told me not to get my teeth cleaned during treatment, but I called my dentist (who, luckily, is also a friend) and she is going to check out my tooth Saturday.
I also ventured into the world of wigs this week. I tried one on at a shop up on Phinney Ridge. It was actually adorable and very real looking. I also visited with a patient navigator (aka social worker) at the Swedish Cancer Education Center this week, and was given a brand new, real-hair wig, compliments of Pantene and the American Cancer Society. It needs to be trimmed and styled, and I plan to take it to a woman who does this often in the next week or so. I was touched by the generosity of the American Cancer Society. They have a collection of wigs (some nicer than others) that they give out free to cancer patients. They also have a program called Look Good, Feel Great, in which make-up artists show cancer patients (and a guest) how to apply make up and style wigs during the chemo process. The free class includes $200 in free make up (anyone want to join me?). My dear friend Lara has also offered to lend me her platinum blonde pageboy wig, so I guess I have no excuse for looking frumpy! I also got the name of a wig place downtown that carries goofy and fun wigs (field trip, April?).
My preschool mom friend Carol (and college acquaintance) reconnected me with a mutual friend who recommended a reflexologist in Greenwood, whom I will see in two weeks. Reflexology involves the stimulation of the feet. It is used to cure a number of ailments, but I am hoping it provides some nausea relief. (And a great excuse for a soothing foot rub!) I will be given a steroid to take after the infusion, but it is my hope that I can use natural methods as much as possible.
On a lighthearted note, Jason and I are heading to Palisades Saturday evening for our long-awaited wedding dinner – the one we had to miss because of the accident on the Ballard Bridge. I’m also looking forward to a relaxing weekend in preparation for an uncertain week. Hasn’t the weather been beautiful?
See "Stay Abreast" Button on the front page of this blog for Sheila's latest appointment schedule
I am officially in need of a personal assistant!
Not really, but the combination of conventional and non-traditional treatment I have chosen to pursue has meant my next few months are filled with appointments and procedures. I’m lucky and thankful that I am able to scale back work a bit to accommodate this new lifestyle.
I came away from my visit to my oncologist on Thursday with an entire page of appointments from now until April. My first round of chemotherapy will start next week (Feb. 24) preceded by the portacath placement the day before (Feb. 23). I will receive an infusion of two drugs every other week for eight weeks (four treatments). After that, I will receive a weekly infusion of a third drug for 12 weeks. If there are no changes to the schedule, I will finish up chemo on August 4, a few days before my birthday.
There was some uncertainty whether or not I would receive daily radiation treatments for several weeks after my chemo is finished. The size of one lymph node that was removed prompted my oncologist to bring the issue to a weekly meeting of his colleagues. The consensus was mixed, with some experts opting for radiation and others saying it wouldn’t be necessary. I will be consulting with a radiation therapist sometime in the next few months to come up with a plan. One drawback of radiation for women who have had a large number of lymph nodes removed (I had 23) is that there is the possibility of edema (swelling) of the arm.
I also visited an acupuncturist and set up an appointment with a reflexologist, both in an attempt to offset the near certain nausea that will accompany the first four chemo infusions. I saw the acupuncturist today. The 45 minute appointment consisted of two needle placements in my ankle, the placement of a heat lamp over my abdomen, a lot of hand movements over my entire body and some gentle pressure on my neck. At the very end of my session, the acupuncturist put his finger on my jaw, said “tooth,” and walked out of the room. When I met him in his office after the treatment, I asked him what he meant by that. “Inflammation,” he said. “Not big, but you get it checked.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. I have been putting off a visit to the dentist for several months, and had recently started feeling a bit of sensitivity in one of my molars. How in the world did he know this? I asked him. “I see it,” said the man of few words. I’m not sure if he meant that literally or figuratively, but it was enough to convince me that he is, at the very least, extremely in tune with his patients. My oncologist had told me not to get my teeth cleaned during treatment, but I called my dentist (who, luckily, is also a friend) and she is going to check out my tooth Saturday.
I also ventured into the world of wigs this week. I tried one on at a shop up on Phinney Ridge. It was actually adorable and very real looking. I also visited with a patient navigator (aka social worker) at the Swedish Cancer Education Center this week, and was given a brand new, real-hair wig, compliments of Pantene and the American Cancer Society. It needs to be trimmed and styled, and I plan to take it to a woman who does this often in the next week or so. I was touched by the generosity of the American Cancer Society. They have a collection of wigs (some nicer than others) that they give out free to cancer patients. They also have a program called Look Good, Feel Great, in which make-up artists show cancer patients (and a guest) how to apply make up and style wigs during the chemo process. The free class includes $200 in free make up (anyone want to join me?). My dear friend Lara has also offered to lend me her platinum blonde pageboy wig, so I guess I have no excuse for looking frumpy! I also got the name of a wig place downtown that carries goofy and fun wigs (field trip, April?).
My preschool mom friend Carol (and college acquaintance) reconnected me with a mutual friend who recommended a reflexologist in Greenwood, whom I will see in two weeks. Reflexology involves the stimulation of the feet. It is used to cure a number of ailments, but I am hoping it provides some nausea relief. (And a great excuse for a soothing foot rub!) I will be given a steroid to take after the infusion, but it is my hope that I can use natural methods as much as possible.
On a lighthearted note, Jason and I are heading to Palisades Saturday evening for our long-awaited wedding dinner – the one we had to miss because of the accident on the Ballard Bridge. I’m also looking forward to a relaxing weekend in preparation for an uncertain week. Hasn’t the weather been beautiful?
See "Stay Abreast" Button on the front page of this blog for Sheila's latest appointment schedule
Monday, February 16, 2009
Correction and a Toast to the Mystery Gifter (revealed)
In this latest post Sheila clears some things up (sorry for the confusion I caused regarding the fundraiser) and a code was broken.
Here goes--
Many of you were confused (understandably) by the post awhile back (http://stompthis.blogspot.com/2009/02/breast-cancer-fundraiser.html#links) that talks about a fundraising climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro. This is not me making the climb – it is a friend of my aunt’s. Although I’d love to climb a mountain in July, I doubt I’ll be up for it! It is a good cause, though, and one I would recommend supporting if you are so inclined.
Also, my friend Brenda Marshall outed herself as the mystery champagne gifter. We had to miss a much-anticipated dinner at Palisade the night of our wedding because of a car accident on the Ballard Bridge that brought traffic to a standstill. We heard through the grapevine that someone had bought us a bottle of champagne to enjoy at dinner. Brenda let me know it was her. Not only did she bring the bottle to the restaurant, she also made special arrangements with the wait staff and pastry chef to bring us four specially made chocolate desserts. We’re still heartbroken that we had to miss this extra-special dinner, but warmed by the kindness of Brenda. Thank you, my Saturday morning workout partner!
Here goes--
Many of you were confused (understandably) by the post awhile back (http://stompthis.blogspot.com/2009/02/breast-cancer-fundraiser.html#links) that talks about a fundraising climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro. This is not me making the climb – it is a friend of my aunt’s. Although I’d love to climb a mountain in July, I doubt I’ll be up for it! It is a good cause, though, and one I would recommend supporting if you are so inclined.
Also, my friend Brenda Marshall outed herself as the mystery champagne gifter. We had to miss a much-anticipated dinner at Palisade the night of our wedding because of a car accident on the Ballard Bridge that brought traffic to a standstill. We heard through the grapevine that someone had bought us a bottle of champagne to enjoy at dinner. Brenda let me know it was her. Not only did she bring the bottle to the restaurant, she also made special arrangements with the wait staff and pastry chef to bring us four specially made chocolate desserts. We’re still heartbroken that we had to miss this extra-special dinner, but warmed by the kindness of Brenda. Thank you, my Saturday morning workout partner!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Escorts Welcome...
Hi all,
Sheila starts chemotherapy Feb. 24 (instead of early March as had been planned).
Apparently there was a scheduling conflict with the surgeon putting in the portacath.
The portacath will be put in Monday, Feb. 23, and chemo starts the next day, Tuesday, Feb. 24.
Jason will take care of Sheila for the Feb. 23 and Feb. 24 appointments. Stay tuned if she wants escorts on any following chemo appts. as we will let you know on here. She wants to get through the first two and go from there.
It appears for now that should would like escorts for the physical therapy appointments (again, as it stands now). Sheila says that if anyone is interested in accompanying her you can simply email her if you are available.
Please note~ Sheila feels awkward asking for help but I assured her we all desperately want to be able to do things for her. She also more than understands that we can't all be there despite how badly we'd like to be given the challenges with juggling busy lives.
Check out the "Stay Abreast" tab for upcoming appointment dates.
Onward as we Stomp This!
k
Sheila starts chemotherapy Feb. 24 (instead of early March as had been planned).
Apparently there was a scheduling conflict with the surgeon putting in the portacath.
The portacath will be put in Monday, Feb. 23, and chemo starts the next day, Tuesday, Feb. 24.
Jason will take care of Sheila for the Feb. 23 and Feb. 24 appointments. Stay tuned if she wants escorts on any following chemo appts. as we will let you know on here. She wants to get through the first two and go from there.
It appears for now that should would like escorts for the physical therapy appointments (again, as it stands now). Sheila says that if anyone is interested in accompanying her you can simply email her if you are available.
Please note~ Sheila feels awkward asking for help but I assured her we all desperately want to be able to do things for her. She also more than understands that we can't all be there despite how badly we'd like to be given the challenges with juggling busy lives.
Check out the "Stay Abreast" tab for upcoming appointment dates.
Onward as we Stomp This!
k
Friday, February 13, 2009
Positively Pink
This is a tear jerker as Sheila inspires once again--here she goes:
On the calendar Jason printed off for me to keep track of cancer-related appointments and therapies, I drew a big skull and crossbones on the date of my diagnosis: January 13.
Jason noticed my amateurish artwork the other day and laughed.
“Personally, I put a pink “C” on that date in my calendar,” he said.
Clearly, we both have very different takes on this whole cancer thing.
I’m not typically a pessimist. When faced with adversity, the first thing I usually do is try and figure out a way to make things OK. When I got diagnosed, however, several days went by during which I felt that things were not OK by a long shot. I was really reeling from the fact that my tumor was a “triple negative” tumor that would not respond to estrogen-blocking treatments. Not only does that limit the treatment options, but these types of cancers tend to recur more often. When I learned of this, all the positive things I had heard about my diagnosis were forgotten. I fixated on the possibility of recurrence – which may or may not be a possibility several years down the road. Jason, on the other hand, took heart in the survival rate statistics, which were pretty close to those of those with ER/PR positive tumors. He also kept reminding me that the cancer had not spread beyond the lymph nodes. Not to the liver. Not to the ovaries. Not to the bone. Nowhere.
Over the past several days, I’ve started to gain a more upbeat outlook. We’re changing our diet to include more antioxidants and known cancer-fighting foods. I’m starting to think about things other than cancer every waking moment, and I’m feeling as physically strong as ever. In short, I am feeling that through diet, exercise and stress management, I have more control over the outcome of this ordeal, and that it is not the automatic death sentence I had thought initially.
So I think I am going to go borrow Jason’s pink pen. I’m going to need it for the big pink “V” for “victory” I’m going to put on my calendar six months from now.
On the calendar Jason printed off for me to keep track of cancer-related appointments and therapies, I drew a big skull and crossbones on the date of my diagnosis: January 13.
Jason noticed my amateurish artwork the other day and laughed.
“Personally, I put a pink “C” on that date in my calendar,” he said.
Clearly, we both have very different takes on this whole cancer thing.
I’m not typically a pessimist. When faced with adversity, the first thing I usually do is try and figure out a way to make things OK. When I got diagnosed, however, several days went by during which I felt that things were not OK by a long shot. I was really reeling from the fact that my tumor was a “triple negative” tumor that would not respond to estrogen-blocking treatments. Not only does that limit the treatment options, but these types of cancers tend to recur more often. When I learned of this, all the positive things I had heard about my diagnosis were forgotten. I fixated on the possibility of recurrence – which may or may not be a possibility several years down the road. Jason, on the other hand, took heart in the survival rate statistics, which were pretty close to those of those with ER/PR positive tumors. He also kept reminding me that the cancer had not spread beyond the lymph nodes. Not to the liver. Not to the ovaries. Not to the bone. Nowhere.
Over the past several days, I’ve started to gain a more upbeat outlook. We’re changing our diet to include more antioxidants and known cancer-fighting foods. I’m starting to think about things other than cancer every waking moment, and I’m feeling as physically strong as ever. In short, I am feeling that through diet, exercise and stress management, I have more control over the outcome of this ordeal, and that it is not the automatic death sentence I had thought initially.
So I think I am going to go borrow Jason’s pink pen. I’m going to need it for the big pink “V” for “victory” I’m going to put on my calendar six months from now.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
News from Sheila
Here is the latest from Sheila. She continues to leave me in a state of awe and inspiration.
I had an appointment with my oncologist today to go over the pathology report (right mastectomy was a week and a half ago). The news was good. The tumor measured only 2.7 centimeters – quite a bit smaller than the 3 to 5 centimeter estimate that was derived from the MRI and PET images over the past few weeks. Also, only two of the 23 lymph nodes the doctor removed were cancerous. The fewer nodes involved the better, so we were really glad to hear only two were affected. The odd thing, however, is that one of the two nodes measured 5.3 centimeters! It’s ridiculously large – nearly twice the size of the tumor. The oncologist said he didn’t feel overly concerned about it – the size of the breast tumor and the number of nodes affected is what matters, and the fact that my main tumor was relatively small and only two nodes are affected is very positive. My oncologist is planning to discuss my case with his colleagues next week. Typically, tumors under 5 centimeters and with fewer than four nodes involved would not have to undergo radiation following chemo, but depending on the opinions of the other experts, this may not be the case for me.
I will likely start chemotherapy the first week in March – one week later than I had originally thought. I have a final meeting with the oncologist on Feb. 19 to discuss details. It sounds like I will start with two drugs every other week for eight weeks, then switch over to another drug weekly for 12 weeks. The medicine is delivered through an IV, which usually takes a couple hours each time. For most people, the nausea hits the next day and lasts for a couple days. I had a terrific conversation with a fellow West Woodland mom today who went through cancer treatment two years ago, and she said that she managed her chemo very well with acupuncture and the use of a “reflexology mat” – a type of bumpy mat that you walk on. It stimulates parts of the foot that correspond to different body parts. It is used widely in China and said to help manage nausea. I plan to get one and also start seeing an acupuncturist.
The chemotherapy drugs will be delivered via a port-a-cath – a small port that is imbedded just under the skin near the collarbone, and stays there for the duration of treatment. The oncologist and the surgeon had initially decided that I would be delivered the chemo through a vein in my arm, but the difficulties the IV tech had finding a vein before my surgery made them decide on the port-a-cath. I will be taking a low dose of coumadin (a blood thinner) while the port-a-cath is in place to fend off the possibility of a blod clot (I had blood clots in my leg during my pregnancy, so the coumadin will be used as a precaution).
I also saw a naturopath earlier this week and she had me start taking a multivitamin, fish oil, Vitamin D, and calcium. I will also start taking digestive enzymes once I start chemotherapy. Her suggestions for dietary changes were very similar to what Jason and I had already researched – more green tea, more Omega3s, and – sadly – no sugar. I have been off refined sugar for a week and a half now, and it’s pretty tough. I thought I had found a good replacement: dried tart cherries from the bulk section at Ballard Market. I checked the nutritional information on the bin yesterday when I went back to get more and I noticed, unfortunately, that sugar was added. I switched to another type of dried cherries without sugar – not nearly as yummy, but I’ll take what I can get. I am also using agave syrup – a natural sweetener – instead of sugar on things like muesli and plain yogurt. I am finding that what I crave the most are the pastries from Starbucks. The low-fat blueberry coffeecake and the cranberry orange scone used to be my weekly treats. I am finding myself thinking about them all the time. I will probably have sweets every now and then once I start treatment, but while there are cancer cells still running loose in my body I am abstaining. Cancer feeds off sugar, and even though our bodies turn all food into glucose, I can’t justify adding in any more.
The drains that were in place after surgery were removed yesterday, so it’s easier to move around (AND, I don’t have to empty them three times a day – yuk!). I see the surgeon tomorrow for a check-up, but all looks good at the surgical site.
That’s it for now!
I had an appointment with my oncologist today to go over the pathology report (right mastectomy was a week and a half ago). The news was good. The tumor measured only 2.7 centimeters – quite a bit smaller than the 3 to 5 centimeter estimate that was derived from the MRI and PET images over the past few weeks. Also, only two of the 23 lymph nodes the doctor removed were cancerous. The fewer nodes involved the better, so we were really glad to hear only two were affected. The odd thing, however, is that one of the two nodes measured 5.3 centimeters! It’s ridiculously large – nearly twice the size of the tumor. The oncologist said he didn’t feel overly concerned about it – the size of the breast tumor and the number of nodes affected is what matters, and the fact that my main tumor was relatively small and only two nodes are affected is very positive. My oncologist is planning to discuss my case with his colleagues next week. Typically, tumors under 5 centimeters and with fewer than four nodes involved would not have to undergo radiation following chemo, but depending on the opinions of the other experts, this may not be the case for me.
I will likely start chemotherapy the first week in March – one week later than I had originally thought. I have a final meeting with the oncologist on Feb. 19 to discuss details. It sounds like I will start with two drugs every other week for eight weeks, then switch over to another drug weekly for 12 weeks. The medicine is delivered through an IV, which usually takes a couple hours each time. For most people, the nausea hits the next day and lasts for a couple days. I had a terrific conversation with a fellow West Woodland mom today who went through cancer treatment two years ago, and she said that she managed her chemo very well with acupuncture and the use of a “reflexology mat” – a type of bumpy mat that you walk on. It stimulates parts of the foot that correspond to different body parts. It is used widely in China and said to help manage nausea. I plan to get one and also start seeing an acupuncturist.
The chemotherapy drugs will be delivered via a port-a-cath – a small port that is imbedded just under the skin near the collarbone, and stays there for the duration of treatment. The oncologist and the surgeon had initially decided that I would be delivered the chemo through a vein in my arm, but the difficulties the IV tech had finding a vein before my surgery made them decide on the port-a-cath. I will be taking a low dose of coumadin (a blood thinner) while the port-a-cath is in place to fend off the possibility of a blod clot (I had blood clots in my leg during my pregnancy, so the coumadin will be used as a precaution).
I also saw a naturopath earlier this week and she had me start taking a multivitamin, fish oil, Vitamin D, and calcium. I will also start taking digestive enzymes once I start chemotherapy. Her suggestions for dietary changes were very similar to what Jason and I had already researched – more green tea, more Omega3s, and – sadly – no sugar. I have been off refined sugar for a week and a half now, and it’s pretty tough. I thought I had found a good replacement: dried tart cherries from the bulk section at Ballard Market. I checked the nutritional information on the bin yesterday when I went back to get more and I noticed, unfortunately, that sugar was added. I switched to another type of dried cherries without sugar – not nearly as yummy, but I’ll take what I can get. I am also using agave syrup – a natural sweetener – instead of sugar on things like muesli and plain yogurt. I am finding that what I crave the most are the pastries from Starbucks. The low-fat blueberry coffeecake and the cranberry orange scone used to be my weekly treats. I am finding myself thinking about them all the time. I will probably have sweets every now and then once I start treatment, but while there are cancer cells still running loose in my body I am abstaining. Cancer feeds off sugar, and even though our bodies turn all food into glucose, I can’t justify adding in any more.
The drains that were in place after surgery were removed yesterday, so it’s easier to move around (AND, I don’t have to empty them three times a day – yuk!). I see the surgeon tomorrow for a check-up, but all looks good at the surgical site.
That’s it for now!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Status of Sheila!
An update from Sheila~
It’s been a week since surgery and I am feeling great. I came home less than 24 hours after surgery and have been pretty comfortable since then. Aside from several walks, I have basically been laying low. I’ve gotten out a few times – I watched a parade at Oliver’s school Friday and went downtown with Jason Saturday. It’s actually quite surprising how little pain I’ve had. The most uncomfortable part is the pulling of the stitches, which seems to bother me toward the end of each day.
The surgeon removed the right breast as well as a “handful” of tissue from underneath the right arm. This tissue included a cluster of lymph nodes – the doctor couldn’t even say how many. They will be counted by the pathologists, and we should have a report sometime this week. They’ll dissect the nodes and be able to tell how many are cancerous. They’ll also be able to determine the exact size of the tumor now that it’s out, instead of looking at images on a computer screen. If the tumor measures less than five centimeters and fewer than four lymph nodes are cancerous, I have been told I won’t have to follow up the chemotherapy with radiation. If the tumor is larger than five centimeters and more than four nodes are affected, I expect I’ll have several weeks of radiation at the end of all this. From what I have heard, radiation treatments are done five days a week for about 20 minutes at a time for about six weeks. The treatments don’t typically made people nauseous, but people do get tired and the skin becomes scarred and sore.
The right breast is completely gone. It’s very strange to look at my chest and see nothing there on the right side. Much of the skin around the incision, as well as under my right arm and down the inside of my arm, is numb. The surgeon placed a gauze pad and waterproof surgical tape over the scar. I have kept it on all week, but it started peeling off today so we were able to remove the tape and gauze. There are still some surgical strips over the stitches, and those will dissolve on their own eventually. I have two long tubes stitched into my side that are draining fluids from the breast area and the under-arm area. Each tube ends in a compressed plastic bulb that I keep tucked into a pouch in a special camisole I am wearing. I have to empty these bulbs of the fluid that collects in them three times a day. Once the fluid in each bulb reaches less than 30 ccs a day, I can go into the surgeon’s office and have the tubes removed. I expect by Monday or Tuesday they’ll be ready to come out.
I see my oncologist on Wednesday to go over the pathology report, and then my surgeon on Thursday to check out the incision. I made an appointment with a naturopath on Monday. I am hoping to get a plan put together that includes healthy eating, supplements and self-care including meditation and possibly acupuncture. My plan is to get my body in tip-top shape so I can better handle the chemotherapy and – more importantly – be able to fight against the cancer cells we all have in our bodies in the future. Jason’s completely on board with this new eating plan – we’ve both been reading a lot about eliminating refined sugar and boosting intake of antioxidant foods. I have not had refined sugar for a week now. It’s tough, but manageable!
We’ve been so lucky to have some amazing meals brought to us this week! We’ve been so spoiled. Since the range of motion in my arm is coming back, I think we are set for meals – at least until chemo starts. Hopefully chemotherapy will be as easy as the surgery was – fingers crossed!
It’s been a week since surgery and I am feeling great. I came home less than 24 hours after surgery and have been pretty comfortable since then. Aside from several walks, I have basically been laying low. I’ve gotten out a few times – I watched a parade at Oliver’s school Friday and went downtown with Jason Saturday. It’s actually quite surprising how little pain I’ve had. The most uncomfortable part is the pulling of the stitches, which seems to bother me toward the end of each day.
The surgeon removed the right breast as well as a “handful” of tissue from underneath the right arm. This tissue included a cluster of lymph nodes – the doctor couldn’t even say how many. They will be counted by the pathologists, and we should have a report sometime this week. They’ll dissect the nodes and be able to tell how many are cancerous. They’ll also be able to determine the exact size of the tumor now that it’s out, instead of looking at images on a computer screen. If the tumor measures less than five centimeters and fewer than four lymph nodes are cancerous, I have been told I won’t have to follow up the chemotherapy with radiation. If the tumor is larger than five centimeters and more than four nodes are affected, I expect I’ll have several weeks of radiation at the end of all this. From what I have heard, radiation treatments are done five days a week for about 20 minutes at a time for about six weeks. The treatments don’t typically made people nauseous, but people do get tired and the skin becomes scarred and sore.
The right breast is completely gone. It’s very strange to look at my chest and see nothing there on the right side. Much of the skin around the incision, as well as under my right arm and down the inside of my arm, is numb. The surgeon placed a gauze pad and waterproof surgical tape over the scar. I have kept it on all week, but it started peeling off today so we were able to remove the tape and gauze. There are still some surgical strips over the stitches, and those will dissolve on their own eventually. I have two long tubes stitched into my side that are draining fluids from the breast area and the under-arm area. Each tube ends in a compressed plastic bulb that I keep tucked into a pouch in a special camisole I am wearing. I have to empty these bulbs of the fluid that collects in them three times a day. Once the fluid in each bulb reaches less than 30 ccs a day, I can go into the surgeon’s office and have the tubes removed. I expect by Monday or Tuesday they’ll be ready to come out.
I see my oncologist on Wednesday to go over the pathology report, and then my surgeon on Thursday to check out the incision. I made an appointment with a naturopath on Monday. I am hoping to get a plan put together that includes healthy eating, supplements and self-care including meditation and possibly acupuncture. My plan is to get my body in tip-top shape so I can better handle the chemotherapy and – more importantly – be able to fight against the cancer cells we all have in our bodies in the future. Jason’s completely on board with this new eating plan – we’ve both been reading a lot about eliminating refined sugar and boosting intake of antioxidant foods. I have not had refined sugar for a week now. It’s tough, but manageable!
We’ve been so lucky to have some amazing meals brought to us this week! We’ve been so spoiled. Since the range of motion in my arm is coming back, I think we are set for meals – at least until chemo starts. Hopefully chemotherapy will be as easy as the surgery was – fingers crossed!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Breast Cancer Fundraiser
Here is a breast cancer fundraiser you may wish to support!
I have committed to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania in July 2009. I recently accepted this challenge for the Climb to Fight Breast Cancer to raise funds benefiting Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. My goal is to raise a minimum of $10,000 with this climb, so please support me in this important project by pledging your donation. Your support will help fund cutting-edge research in the prevention, detection and treatment of breast cancer.
For information about this volunteer fund raiser and its programs, visit www.fhcrc.org/climb.
To find out more about why I'm doing this, please visit my climb website at http://getinvolved.fhcrc.org/goto/adam.fain. The site allows you to donate directly to Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center.
For every dollar donated, 85 cents goes towards research. None of your donation goes towards my travel expenses.
If you are able to donate and wish to do so by check, please make it out to Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center and send it to:Adam Fain 11950 SE 4th Place, Apt. 401 Bellevue, WA 98005 afain@us.mufg.jp
Your donation is 100% tax-deductible. Please forward this email on to friends, family, and coworkers who may have an interest in the cause, and feel free to contact me directly if you have any questions.
I have committed to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania in July 2009. I recently accepted this challenge for the Climb to Fight Breast Cancer to raise funds benefiting Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. My goal is to raise a minimum of $10,000 with this climb, so please support me in this important project by pledging your donation. Your support will help fund cutting-edge research in the prevention, detection and treatment of breast cancer.
For information about this volunteer fund raiser and its programs, visit www.fhcrc.org/climb.
To find out more about why I'm doing this, please visit my climb website at http://getinvolved.fhcrc.org/goto/adam.fain. The site allows you to donate directly to Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center.
For every dollar donated, 85 cents goes towards research. None of your donation goes towards my travel expenses.
If you are able to donate and wish to do so by check, please make it out to Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center and send it to:Adam Fain 11950 SE 4th Place, Apt. 401 Bellevue, WA 98005 afain@us.mufg.jp
Your donation is 100% tax-deductible. Please forward this email on to friends, family, and coworkers who may have an interest in the cause, and feel free to contact me directly if you have any questions.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Gratitude and an Update from Sheila
I am back home (as of noon Tuesday) and moving around well. I’ve done some stretches to get the full range of motion in my right arm and I took a walk around the neighborhood with my mom. I also took a shower. The pain is barely noticeable – hard to believe!
The area of stitches is mostly just very tight and stiff. I’m not overly tired or groggy at all, although I have promised several people (my mom included) that I will just rest.
I have plenty of books and movies, so I will stick to that plan. We’re set for food, too – lots of leftovers in the fridge as well as one meal coming Saturday.
I want to tell everyone how much I appreciate the cards, flowers, calls, emails, etc. It sounds so trite to just say, “thank you.” Receiving everyone’s well-wishes is like getting a little gift every 10 minutes!
The area of stitches is mostly just very tight and stiff. I’m not overly tired or groggy at all, although I have promised several people (my mom included) that I will just rest.
I have plenty of books and movies, so I will stick to that plan. We’re set for food, too – lots of leftovers in the fridge as well as one meal coming Saturday.
I want to tell everyone how much I appreciate the cards, flowers, calls, emails, etc. It sounds so trite to just say, “thank you.” Receiving everyone’s well-wishes is like getting a little gift every 10 minutes!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Supergirl
Here's the latest update from Jason regarding Sheila--sent TUES a.m.--first day following surgery
She just got back from a walk after breakfast and is really doing well. Off of pain meds already. The surgeon came in this morning and did a quick inspection and said everything looks good. We're still waiting to hear when she will be released but my guess is it will be in a few hours.
No pain meds? Already out for a stroll? She rocks.
She just got back from a walk after breakfast and is really doing well. Off of pain meds already. The surgeon came in this morning and did a quick inspection and said everything looks good. We're still waiting to hear when she will be released but my guess is it will be in a few hours.
No pain meds? Already out for a stroll? She rocks.
Dear Sheila--From Jason
Trust me- no one can update you better than Sheila's husband--here goes (grab your Kleenex---he's witty and charming!)
(simply click on the link below)
http://helpingtostompthis.blogspot.com/
(simply click on the link below)
http://helpingtostompthis.blogspot.com/
Monday, February 2, 2009
Mission Accomplished....
The latest from Sheila's wonderful husband, Jason... bless them..
Just got a call from the surgeon. Everything went well.
Step ONE of "Operation Stomp This!" Complete!
Jason
Just got a call from the surgeon. Everything went well.
Step ONE of "Operation Stomp This!" Complete!
Jason
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