August 27, 2009
Sheila here...
Oliver and I were at Fred Meyer this morning buying school supplies when the following conversation occurred:
Cashier: I like your haircut!
Me: Thank you.
Oliver: It’s not a haircut.
Cashier: Oh, is your mom sick?
Oliver: My mom had breast cancer and her hair fell out.
(Way to cut to the chase, O!)
Me: I’m OK now. My hair’s just growing back after chemo.
Cashier: My good friend lived in Virginia. She had breast cancer and had a mastectomy and a couple years later it came back in the other breast and it killed her! I told her she should have had the other one removed. I really wish she had. Now her auntie has it too. She’s not doing so good.
OK, hello! Time out! My son is standing right here! And so am I! And unless your friend later rose from the dead, I really don’t need to know of her demise.
It’s hard to be mad at people when they share their stories like this – she was just being friendly, but I really wish she would have thought twice before telling me breast cancer killed her friend.
I’ve had conversations similar to this one a few times over the past several months. I am not sure if people just have a temporary lapse in judgment, or if they don’t realize that hearing about things like this is scary for someone in my position. I actually think that they just don’t immediately sense the reality of the situation. They just start talking as if they just discovered we both live in Green Lake, or our kids go to the same school. They find a commonality and run with it.
Luckily I am able to take this with a grain of salt. I’m not naive enough to think that there aren’t people who die from breast cancer. But, I also know the facts – mine was caught early, I have great doctors, my MRI scans are clear, I am exercising and eating right, and I’m being watched carefully.
Just a random observation!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Moms in Maui
August 24, 2009
Sheila here...
We’ve been back from Maui for a week now, and it’s been difficult to get the images of that paradise vacation out of my mind: the waves crashing ashore at Kapalua Bay Beach, the sound of the waterfall at the hotel pool, the smell of the plumeria flowers in the air.
And the woman at the dive shop.
One morning Jason and I got up early and headed into Lahaina to rent scuba gear before heading to the island’s South Beach area for some snorkeling. We popped into Snorkel Bob’s and headed over to the display of dive masks when I saw her.
A cancer mom.
As one myself, I know how to spot them a mile away. No hair, usually a cap of some kind, no eyebrows, no eyelashes. Jason’s getting good at this game too: he noticed her port-a-cath scar. She also had three young kids with her, and they were with an older man – likely the woman’s father. I guessed they were on a family vacation of some sort. The older man’s gaze lingered on me and I could tell exactly what he was thinking: “She doesn’t have hair or eyelashes either.”
I kept stealing glances at the mom until our eyes met from across the store. Mask in my hand, flippers in hers, we looked at other for a few seconds. We both smiled at each other. She winked at me. I winked back.
Then I went out to the car and cried.
There was another woman facing the same thing I was facing. And I knew just how she felt. I knew she was mustering up all the energy she had to make sure her kids were having fun. I knew she would be sitting at the pool, laughing with her family, even though she knew in the back of her head that she had a disease that wasn’t the least bit funny. She’d get tired and turn in early while the rest of her friends and family were raising glasses on the lanai. And when she got a moment, she’d close her eyes and listen to the sound of the crashing waves and her kids and her husband playing in the sand and hold that moment close, knowing that what is happening RIGHT NOW is what matters the most.
I cried because that woman is me. And there are millions more of them out there. And sadly, there will be millions more to come. We are busy women. Active women. Women who work, have children, raise children, volunteer at co-ops, pack our kids’ lunches, set up playdates, make dinner, pay bills, return library books on time, discover the perfect coffee shop, plan vacations and clean out the litter box. We are the generation that is raising the next one. It’s an important job. We don’t have time to put our lives on hold for 10 months while we face surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, scans and doctors’ appointments.
But there she was. The cancer mom. She still packed her bags, got someone to watch the pets, cancelled the newspaper delivery, asked the neighbor girl to take in the mail, threw some fruit leather and Highlights into her carry-on and flew to Maui. She celebrated her family, the warm breeze, the clean pathology report and her luggage that arrived on time.
That wink said it all.
In other news…
My second MRI – the one of my brain – came back all clear. I am officially cancer-free! I had a six-month check-up with my surgeon last Thursday and everything looks good. Friday I went in for my radiation “mapping” procedure, during which I was measured and scanned in preparation for radiation treatment to start Sept. 1. My standing appointment each weekday is 2:30 p.m., and it is expected that it will only take about 30 minutes each time start to finish. My last day will be sometime around Oct. 16 (happy birthday Jason!).
Maui was unbelievable. Oliver stayed with Grandma and Grandpa and Jason and I had a great time at the pool, walking on beaches, running trails, hiking to blowholes, watching luaus, and especially attending the beach wedding of friends Jason and Kendra! It was an incredibly relaxing vacation filled with warm weather, good food and better company. We were both disappointed to leave, but are finding comfort in the fact that we get to go back to the islands for our wedding re-do in January/February!
The end of summer is near, with Oliver in gymnastics camp this week and Labor Day just around the corner. Jason and I will say goodbye to summer with a trip to the Gorge on Sept. 5 to see the Dave Matthews Band. School starts Sept. 9 and the much-anticipated 3-Day walk is Sept. 11-13.
Sheila here...
We’ve been back from Maui for a week now, and it’s been difficult to get the images of that paradise vacation out of my mind: the waves crashing ashore at Kapalua Bay Beach, the sound of the waterfall at the hotel pool, the smell of the plumeria flowers in the air.
And the woman at the dive shop.
One morning Jason and I got up early and headed into Lahaina to rent scuba gear before heading to the island’s South Beach area for some snorkeling. We popped into Snorkel Bob’s and headed over to the display of dive masks when I saw her.
A cancer mom.
As one myself, I know how to spot them a mile away. No hair, usually a cap of some kind, no eyebrows, no eyelashes. Jason’s getting good at this game too: he noticed her port-a-cath scar. She also had three young kids with her, and they were with an older man – likely the woman’s father. I guessed they were on a family vacation of some sort. The older man’s gaze lingered on me and I could tell exactly what he was thinking: “She doesn’t have hair or eyelashes either.”
I kept stealing glances at the mom until our eyes met from across the store. Mask in my hand, flippers in hers, we looked at other for a few seconds. We both smiled at each other. She winked at me. I winked back.
Then I went out to the car and cried.
There was another woman facing the same thing I was facing. And I knew just how she felt. I knew she was mustering up all the energy she had to make sure her kids were having fun. I knew she would be sitting at the pool, laughing with her family, even though she knew in the back of her head that she had a disease that wasn’t the least bit funny. She’d get tired and turn in early while the rest of her friends and family were raising glasses on the lanai. And when she got a moment, she’d close her eyes and listen to the sound of the crashing waves and her kids and her husband playing in the sand and hold that moment close, knowing that what is happening RIGHT NOW is what matters the most.
I cried because that woman is me. And there are millions more of them out there. And sadly, there will be millions more to come. We are busy women. Active women. Women who work, have children, raise children, volunteer at co-ops, pack our kids’ lunches, set up playdates, make dinner, pay bills, return library books on time, discover the perfect coffee shop, plan vacations and clean out the litter box. We are the generation that is raising the next one. It’s an important job. We don’t have time to put our lives on hold for 10 months while we face surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, scans and doctors’ appointments.
But there she was. The cancer mom. She still packed her bags, got someone to watch the pets, cancelled the newspaper delivery, asked the neighbor girl to take in the mail, threw some fruit leather and Highlights into her carry-on and flew to Maui. She celebrated her family, the warm breeze, the clean pathology report and her luggage that arrived on time.
That wink said it all.
In other news…
My second MRI – the one of my brain – came back all clear. I am officially cancer-free! I had a six-month check-up with my surgeon last Thursday and everything looks good. Friday I went in for my radiation “mapping” procedure, during which I was measured and scanned in preparation for radiation treatment to start Sept. 1. My standing appointment each weekday is 2:30 p.m., and it is expected that it will only take about 30 minutes each time start to finish. My last day will be sometime around Oct. 16 (happy birthday Jason!).
Maui was unbelievable. Oliver stayed with Grandma and Grandpa and Jason and I had a great time at the pool, walking on beaches, running trails, hiking to blowholes, watching luaus, and especially attending the beach wedding of friends Jason and Kendra! It was an incredibly relaxing vacation filled with warm weather, good food and better company. We were both disappointed to leave, but are finding comfort in the fact that we get to go back to the islands for our wedding re-do in January/February!
The end of summer is near, with Oliver in gymnastics camp this week and Labor Day just around the corner. Jason and I will say goodbye to summer with a trip to the Gorge on Sept. 5 to see the Dave Matthews Band. School starts Sept. 9 and the much-anticipated 3-Day walk is Sept. 11-13.
Friday, August 7, 2009
All clear!
August 7, 2009
Sheila here...
I had my post-chemo MRI yesterday and a follow-up appointment with my oncologist this morning to go over the results: all clear! No evidence of tumor growth in any organs or bone. A scheduling mishap meant I did not get my brain scan (which is not typical protocol, but something I insisted on), but we’ve scheduled that for August 19. I’m not thrilled to go back in “The Tube,” but I do want to make sure I am 100 percent cancer-free.
Heading back into the MRI machine was not as difficult as it was the first time, when I nearly panicked and needed some serious reassuring to get me through it. Knowing that I tend to feel claustrophobic in such situations, I was prescribed something to calm my nerves. The Ativan – a medication described by the nurse as an “attitude adjuster” – that I took an hour before the scan helped make the whole thing manageable. Even so, I had my friend Rebecca standing by (just as I did at my first MRI) just in case I needed her! This time I didn’t need her hand on my ankle to make me feel better. I got to wear a pair of nifty glasses that, with the use of mirrors, makes it seem like you are looking out the end of the tube instead of at the ceiling of the tube about three inches above you. That kept me entertained for about five minutes; then I just closed my eyes and amazingly dozed off and on. When I got home I took a three-and-a-half hour nap – wow, was that nice!
I expected the good news from the scan would feel like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but I still feel a bit uneasy. I have become very cynical throughout this whole ordeal and am somewhat mistrusting of scans, procedures and doctors’ reassurances. There’s a part of me that thinks there’s some cancer still lurking around that wasn’t picked up by the machines. I am hoping that will pass with time.
In the meantime, I am getting back to real life: I had a fantastic spin class at the gym this morning and a good meeting with one of my favorite clients in Bellevue this afternoon. Lab results from my blood draw this morning showed my white counts quite low, but I am told they will continue to rise in the absence of the infusions. My red counts are normal and my energy level is good.
A celebratory dinner is in order tonight, then another night out with Jason’s cousin who is in town from Denver. And Maui…six days and counting!
And…I know I’ve said this before, but my mom reminded me that repeating myself would be a good idea in this case: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to all my friends, family, neighbors and colleagues who have helped me in so many ways: rides to treatments, uplifting cards in the mail, words of comfort, movie nights, dinner nights, lunches, donations to the 3-Day walk….I could go on and on. True friends rise to the top in situations such as these, and I feel so very lucky to have so many!
Sheila here...
I had my post-chemo MRI yesterday and a follow-up appointment with my oncologist this morning to go over the results: all clear! No evidence of tumor growth in any organs or bone. A scheduling mishap meant I did not get my brain scan (which is not typical protocol, but something I insisted on), but we’ve scheduled that for August 19. I’m not thrilled to go back in “The Tube,” but I do want to make sure I am 100 percent cancer-free.
Heading back into the MRI machine was not as difficult as it was the first time, when I nearly panicked and needed some serious reassuring to get me through it. Knowing that I tend to feel claustrophobic in such situations, I was prescribed something to calm my nerves. The Ativan – a medication described by the nurse as an “attitude adjuster” – that I took an hour before the scan helped make the whole thing manageable. Even so, I had my friend Rebecca standing by (just as I did at my first MRI) just in case I needed her! This time I didn’t need her hand on my ankle to make me feel better. I got to wear a pair of nifty glasses that, with the use of mirrors, makes it seem like you are looking out the end of the tube instead of at the ceiling of the tube about three inches above you. That kept me entertained for about five minutes; then I just closed my eyes and amazingly dozed off and on. When I got home I took a three-and-a-half hour nap – wow, was that nice!
I expected the good news from the scan would feel like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but I still feel a bit uneasy. I have become very cynical throughout this whole ordeal and am somewhat mistrusting of scans, procedures and doctors’ reassurances. There’s a part of me that thinks there’s some cancer still lurking around that wasn’t picked up by the machines. I am hoping that will pass with time.
In the meantime, I am getting back to real life: I had a fantastic spin class at the gym this morning and a good meeting with one of my favorite clients in Bellevue this afternoon. Lab results from my blood draw this morning showed my white counts quite low, but I am told they will continue to rise in the absence of the infusions. My red counts are normal and my energy level is good.
A celebratory dinner is in order tonight, then another night out with Jason’s cousin who is in town from Denver. And Maui…six days and counting!
And…I know I’ve said this before, but my mom reminded me that repeating myself would be a good idea in this case: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to all my friends, family, neighbors and colleagues who have helped me in so many ways: rides to treatments, uplifting cards in the mail, words of comfort, movie nights, dinner nights, lunches, donations to the 3-Day walk….I could go on and on. True friends rise to the top in situations such as these, and I feel so very lucky to have so many!
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