Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Life moves pretty fast
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Life after cancer
I had a routine check-up with my oncologist a couple weeks ago. At these appointments, blood is drawn and checked for "tumor markers," which, if elevated, could indicate the growth of a tumor. I asked my doctor not to tell me if my markers were elevated until after we get back from Hawaii in February. I refuse to have another trip derailed by my health!
Jason, Oliver and I are heading to Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii on January 28. There, we'll be celebrating out first wedding anniversary on January 30. We're having a small ceremony - what we should have been doing one year ago instead of recovering from a mastectomy. My parents, Jason's parents, and a small handful of fantastic friends will be joining us for a ceremony on the beach, followed by dinner at a restaurant. We couldn't be more excited for this trip! The constant rain and gray skies of wintertime in Seattle have begun to take their toll. It's time to lie on the beach and relax for awhile!
My energy has fully returned and I am again working out regularly at the gym. Only recently have I realized how much the treatment had zapped me of my energy. It's nice to be energized by a run or spin class instead of feeling completely drained and tired. I have also started working more, and surprisingly - despite the down economy - have been keeping fairly busy. I'm wrapping up a couple big projects before we leave, and I have two on the books that I'll start as soon as we return.
Oliver is doing well. He's been a real trooper all this, and only had some intermittent sleep issues to show for it. He really enjoys attending Small Talk at Gilda's Club - an art therapy group for kids whose loved ones have or have had cancer. He loves the group leader, Michelle, and looks forward to the sessions every other Wednesday. I've continued to attend the Young Survival Coalition meetings once or twice a month, and found myself saying "yes" when asked if I wanted to share the duties as co-chair of communications for the YSC Seattle Leadership Committee. I'll be attending the YSC National conference in Atlanta at the end of February, traveling with about a dozen other young women from our chapter. We'll spend three days attending conferences aimed toward young women affected by breast cancer. I'm looking forward to learning some new things and spending time with some incredibly strong, smart and engaging women from my group.
Not a day goes by that I am not thankful to be done with my treatment. It was such an interruption to all our lives. Just knowing that I don't have to go to the hospital for treatment makes me appreciate my days so much more!
Next up: another Zometa infusion on April 5. Until then, just keeping busy and enjoying life!
Friday, November 6, 2009
The fun never ends!
Chemo and radiation are over, but the visits to Swedish Cancer Institute keep on coming. Not for anything serious – just routine follow up stuff.
As my treatment was winding down, I discussed a preventative medication with my oncologist and decided to go ahead and take it. If you recall, the nature of my tumor – triple negative – meant there is no adjuvant therapy that I can take to decrease the chance of recurrence. Some drugs like Tamoxifen or Herceptin block certain hormones that could fuel a tumor, but your tumor needs to be receptive to those hormones, and mine was not. However, the drug Zometa – which has been used to treat osteoporosis for years and is often used by patients whose cancer has spread to their bones – can also be given to post-treatment patients to help ward off bone metastases. I decided to take this, and had my first infusion last week. I’ll just go once every six months for three years. I was warned of achy bones, but I didn’t expect it to be as uncomfortable as it was. I was fine until the day after the infusion; then felt as if I had the flu – chills, body aches, and a headache that lasted for several days. Glad this is over for now!
I had my first follow-up mammogram this week, and it came back all clear. I am a bit cynical when it comes to mammograms. I’ll feel better on Tuesday after I have a chest MRI.
I’ll continue to have mammograms and/or MRIs every six months to check for any new tumors for the next several years.
OH! And I get the much disliked port-a-cath removed on Nov. 16!! It’s a minor day surgery. I’ll have a mild sedative while it’s being performed. I’m really looking forward to this!
As for reconstruction, the jury is still out. The thought of a pretty- hard-core medical procedure right now does not appeal to me, and I’m also not interested in having foreign material in my body. There are also several different types of surgeries that use tissue from your own stomach or back to create a breast. Those are pretty invasive and don’t appeal to me either. Some people wait years before considering reconstruction. That may be me.
So that’s pretty much it! I have been busy with work these past several weeks, and just finished up a big project. We’re looking forward to a week in Colorado over Thanksgiving.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Up in smoke
The night after my final radiation treatment I was feeling as if I needed to somehow commemorate the event. Jason suggested burning something. It sounded good to me, so I sifted through my cancer “notebook” – a large binder that has held my path reports, scan results, weekly blood counts and a pile of associated paperwork. While I kept most of it (who knows when I’ll need to look back and find out what my white cell counts were the second week of June), I pulled out a handful of cancer-related documentation that I could do without.
Jason headed out to the garage armed with a headlamp and dusted off an old rusty hibachi. We fired it up in the pouring rain out on the front walkway. Among the documents that went up in smoke:
* An article written by a Seattle woman about how to talk to your kids about cancer. The article was informative, but her big smiley face on the front was way too cheery for the subject matter.
* A list of Seattle-area wig shops.
* Scribbled notes from one of a zillion doctor’s visits.
* Information on a cancer support group at Swedish.
* An incomplete spreadsheet documenting doctor visits, procedures and blood draws that we gave up on filling out after a few weeks.
* A brochure for Mary Catherine’s – a shop near the hospital that specializes in post-mastectomy bras and camisoles.
* A catalog of wigs and hair coverings that Jason found stashed under the seat of his car. One particular photo – “before” and “after” pictures of a woman with no hair – had sent me into hysterics shortly after I was diagnosed. I was all too pleased to torch this.
Here we are bidding farewell to canc
Monday, October 12, 2009
TWO MORE DAYS!
October 12, 2009
Just two more days of radiation until I can kiss the daily slog up to Swedish Medical Center GOODBYE! Despite the fact that I have made the trip no fewer than 30 times in the past six weeks, I still find myself bolting out of here at 2:05 p.m., having realized only moments before that my appointment time is looming. Luckily I've never been late, and my machine -- the "Precision" (not to be confused with the "Synergy" down the hall) -- seems to be running on time most days.
Here are a few things I'm going to miss:
- Angela, the receptionist at the main entrance to the Swedish Cancer Center building; and T0ny, the security guard. They are possibly two of the friendliest people I have ever met.
Bria and Sharon – my two favorite radiation therapists (even though I vowed not to get attached to any “cancer people.) - The free parking spaces set aside especially for radiation patients. I feel so privileged when I pull in, toss my parking pass on my dashboard and breeze past all the other unfortunate folks driving around the block looking for street parking.
- A forced break in the middle of the day.
And here are some things I am NOT going to miss:
- The seemingly never-ending construction work going on at Virginia Mason just around the corner from Swedish. This hospital was under renovation seven years ago when I was going up to Swedish on a bi-weekly basis for pregnancy complications. I have to believe it’s been going on ever since. Every day is a new traffic configuration around the site.
- The annoying panhandler at the Denny/Dexter exit off Highway 99. He won’t let you off the hook until you make eye contact. There’s only so much fiddling with the radio one can do.
- The McDonalds on Madison Street that I drive by on my way home every day. Just because I don’t eat there anymore doesn’t mean I don’t WANT TO. ALL. THE. TIME!
- Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Nosy and Mr. Know-It-All. These three not-so fine fellows are usually in the waiting room about the same time I am. It’s pretty unusual for anyone in the quiet waiting room to be talking to each other (probably because we’re all in some sort of goofy medical gown), so their conversations/outbursts tend to offend like a fart in church. Mr. Grumpy can barely stand it that his machine is “always” late. Calming words from the receptionist and various medical personnel who are unlucky enough to pass by during one of his tirades can say nothing to appease him. His machine is “always broken,” he always has to sit around “for hours,” and “these people should do something about it.” Mr. Nosy is that overly-friendly guy you try to avoid in social settings, except in the waiting room there’s nowhere to hide. I have seen him assault other patients with the full run-down of his medical condition (prostate cancer) and subsequent treatment (radioactive seed implants), and last Wednesday my luck ran out. He plops down next to me with a “So how you doing, young lady?” and without waiting for an answer, plunges into a detailed description of how his doctor planted “little GPS trackers” in his prostate. TMI, dude. Mr. Know-It-All is actually not a patient but the husband of a woman who comes in for daily radiation treatment. I’ve been able to avoid him so far, but I’ve been privileged to listen in on his enlightening conversations with other patients. As I was coming out of the changing room the other day, I caught the tail end of one: “Yep! And the waiting room upstairs is full of young women going through treatment! And I know exactly what put them there!” Well, what a genius! Care to share? Apparently not, as he switched gears and started yapping about his yacht when he saw me.
- Getting home five minutes too late to pick Oliver up at the walking bus stop.
Cancer, it’s been an interesting nine months to say the least, but I’m moving on.
And as usually, I’m running late for my appointment. Gotta go!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Super Friends and Radiation Update
Check out Jason’s amazing friends! (Actually, I’m claiming them as my own, now.) These guys participated in the Komen Denver Race for the Cure on Sunday, Oct. 4. Their shirts say it all!!
Back row, from left: Brownell, Damian, Dom, Ian, Brian, Josh and Dave. Front row, from left: Lynna, Mia, Marti and Shevaun
My mind-numbing daily radiation appointments have been moving along without much fanfare. The only exciting thing that’s happened is one of the transformers at Swedish blew up last week, knocking down the servers that run the radiation department computers. Oliver had an early dismissal from school that day, so he came with me to the appointment. We found out the whole department was down when we got there, but we were able to get a personal tour of the radiation room, thanks to my nice radiation therapist Bria and the intern, Trisha. Oliver was quite impressed with the equipment. He’s becoming a regular there – he was a little under the weather yesterday and stayed home from school. He was feeling better by the afternoon, so he came again to the appointment. He got to watch me on the TV screen while I got my treatment, and of course he asked a million questions. One of the therapists called him a “budding radiation oncologist.”The chest wall where the radiation beam is directed is showing some reaction. A couple weeks ago it started to turn a little red, like a sunburn. Now it is bright red, extremely itchy and starting to blister. The area under my arm is especially chaffed. My radiation oncologist seems disturbingly upbeat about this. Apparently my skin is reacting just as it should! He checked it out this past Tuesday and declared Tuesday, Oct. 13 as my LAST DAY! Apparently, he is known for tacking extra days on to the end of your treatment if your skin isn’t angry-looking enough. Mine seems to be reacting as it should, and he’s promised not to add any days (barring another transformer explosion!)
So that’s that! This whole thing that started with a really crummy day at the doctor’s office January 9 (Katie W. – you were with me – you remember it well!) will be DONE. At some point I’ll have my port-a-cath out (a day surgery) and I’ll have regular check-ups and scans, but the treatment part is over. It’s hard to believe – I thought this day would never come.
I guess there’s one more thing – I am going to get infusions of a drug called Zomeda once every six months for three years (first one is October 27). This drug is supposed to minimize the chance of the cancer coming back in my bones. I’ll have it done in the same place as I had my chemo infusions, although it should only take about 30 minutes.
Enjoying the sun and warm afternoons!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Life after the 3-Day
Sheila here…
Walking for nine hours a day for three days in a row gives one lots of time to think, even when one if surrounded by 2,300 other walkers (not to mention supporters cheering, drivers honking and merchants handing out goodies ranging from fruit shish-ka-bobs to breast-shaped sugar cookies).
I completed the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 3-Day walk Sept. 11-13 in Seattle with my two fantastic and energetic teammates, Carol LaMotte and Katherine Meenk – both friends from Oliver’s preschool. The experience was one I will likely never forget.
Seeing all these women (and a few men!) dressed in pink and ready to pound the pavement made me think about what they had all been through to be there. We gathered at Shoreline Community College for opening ceremonies before the sun came up. Large, pink paper lanterns with words like, “Courage” and “Hope” shone in the pre-dawn darkness.
At the very least, each and every one of these participants had put in considerable time and energy raising money for the event (we each had to earn at least $2,300 to participate) and had likely trained for months beforehand to be able to walk the 20 miles each day the course would require. I wondered what else the event meant to each participant. Why was each person was walking? Did their mother have breast cancer? A friend? A co-worker? A partner? Themselves?
After a moving opening ceremony, we left the grounds and began our walk. As we filed nearly single file down a trail, I realized just how many people were walking. The line of women seemed to go on forever. And every one of them was sacrificing a precious weekend to walk and walk and walk for one reason. To draw attention to breast cancer and hopefully find a cure.
Over the next several hours it began to dawn on me the impact of this walk. The 2,200 participants had raised millions of dollars. That’s big stuff. But every car that drove by and saw the steady stream of pink suddenly thought about breast cancer. And maybe they told their wife or husband when they got home what they saw. And the neighbors along the route who handed out candy, made signs or simply stood and cheered thought about breast cancer too. And hopefully they told their kids why they were cheering and wearing pink and crying a little bit and saying “thank you” over and over and over. And maybe THAT’S what’s going to make the difference.
Some of my favorite moments along the 60 mile route weren’t the elaborate balloon arches, free cookies or cheerleaders with their customized cheers (“Shake your boobies! Shake, shake your boobies!”). While those certainly brought a smile to my face (and my tummy!) some of the most touching examples of generosity were very small and subtle. In Edmonds, we passed by a schoolyard filled with children who had run to the fence and poked their tiny arms through to give us all high fives.
Oh yeah – and a little bit about radiation. I’m halfway through the six weeks and my last day is expected to be October 12. My skin is getting a little red and I am becoming tired, but it’s a piece of cake compared to chemo. I have also been working with my naturopath to create a healthy diet plan, and we have decided that I will avoid sugar for a month. It’s been almost two weeks and I have to say this is a lot harder than radiation by a long shot!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Radiation update
Sheila here…
I have completed my first week of radiation and just started my second week today. So far so good! I go in every weekday (weekends and holidays – such as Labor Day – I have off) for the treatment, which lasts only about 10 minutes. Add to that wait time, changing clothes, and getting situated on the table, and it’s just about a half hour total. Not so bad. No skin issues yet – those will apparently start showing up in a week or so. Most people get what they describe as a sunburn. I have some cream and some aloe gel to put on a few times a day. Hopefully that will keep the burn down.
Radiation is much different from chemotherapy. While the chemo was a drug administered intravenously, radiation is the use of a certain type of energy called ionizing radiation to kill cancer cells. The radiation is directed at the chest wall where the breast used to be. It comes out of a large machine that circles around me while I lay on a table. It reminds me of getting an x-ray. The techs come in, get me situated, then leave the room while the radiation is administered. Then they come back in, move me around a bit, and do it again. The machine moves around to four different positions to reach the chest wall from all angles.
Like all my caregivers, the radiation folks are very nice. There are usually three women in the room for my treatments. They are very good at short conversations. I’m in there so briefly there’s really only time to discuss a.) the shoes I am wearing; b.) the book I brought in to read in the waiting room; or c.) what I did over the weekend/last evening.
In other news, the 3-Day walk is Friday, and I am ready! The weather is supposed to be in the mid-70s – sounds just about perfect. Hope to see some of you along the route!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The things people say
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!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Moms in Maui
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Last chemo and other tidbits
As Katie posted on Tuesday, my blood counts were phenomenal and I was able to complete my last infusion as scheduled. The day was somewhat anti-climactic: I didn’t feel the giddiness I thought I would feel, although that will probably come next Tuesday when I DON’T have to go back! I thought I might feel a bit of nostalgia as I took the elevator down from the third floor, but NOPE! Not going to miss that place one bit. The nurses were fantastic, but I won’t miss them either. The fish tanks were cool…nope – won’t miss them. Bye bye nice lab people who have seen me no fewer than 20 times but still ask, “Arm? Or port?” every time I’m there. See ya later Billy, the well-meaning lab tech who, when he asks me to confirm my birth date, says every time, “Oh! My birthday is one day before yours!” Toodle loo, sweet cancer patient with the fantabulous real-hair wig whose infusions are also Tuesday mornings. It was nice visiting with you and your nice husband in the waiting room, but I won’t be seeing you anymore. Adios, Dr. Kaplan’s nurses, whose names I purposely never learned. Sayonara to the barista at the Swedish Starbucks who twice made me a short raspberry mocha instead of a short ristretto shot mocha. And good riddance to the insanely tight parking stalls in the garage. By some crazy stroke of luck my car made it through five months of visits with nary a scratch.
While I won’t be seeing these folks on a regular basis anymore, I’ll probably run into them from time to time. My visits to Swedish are going to continue, since I’ll be visiting the first floor of the Cancer Institute for daily radiation treatments for six weeks starting August 31. I also have a “staging MRI” next Thursday – a head to toe post-chemo scan to make sure there aren’t any tumors lurking anywhere. Throw in a few mapping visits to the radiologist to get that course of treatment all squared away and my August is filling up quickly.
My visits to the oncologist will slow significantly from here on out. After a visit next Friday to go over the MRI results, I’ll only see him once every few months for the next two years, then every six months for two years after that. I’ll have MRIs and mammograms on a regular basis during that time as well.
I’m considering a preventative treatment using a drug called Zomeda. It is a drug that has been used for the past 10 years to treat osteoporosis in post-menopausal women. More recently, it has been used in patients whose cancer has metastasized – or spread – to the bone. And even more recently, it has been used proactively on women who have finished breast cancer treatment and face some risk of recurrence. When cancer returns, it often returns to the bone. This drug may inhibit the production of osteoclasts, which break down bone and emit hormones that create tumors. The drug would be administered via IV once every six months for two years. There’s a tiny risk of kidney damage or jaw problems associated with the use of Zomeda, but this has only been seen in people who take it weekly. My dose would be significantly lower, and my risk of these side effects “miniscule,” according to my oncologist. There is actually a trial study going on that uses this drug, along with two oral drugs. I am eligible for the study, but I am leaning toward just using the Zomeda. I am all for furthering scientific study, but when it comes right down to it, I think I’d rather go with a drug that is known to help, rather than take the risk of being assigned to a study group that administers one of the lesser-known drugs. I’m hoping to study up more on Zomeda before I decide to do this. If I choose to, I would start once radiation is complete.
Other than recovering from my final infusion I, along with the rest of the Pacific Northwest, have been trying to stay cool in our 100 degree-plus weather. As I write this, four fans are whirring about me, doing little more than blowing 90 degree air around. Uncomfortable, but hey – it’s SUMMER. This is what I have been waiting for!
The countdown to Maui is on and I’m on track to finish my last two work assignments by Friday. I’m taking it easy in August thanks to a hard-working hubby.
Lunch anyone?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Green Light
Sheila's white blood cell count was at 14.6 WAY up from 2.6 last week.
As she said, "we're ready to roll!"
Stay tuned!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Message to white blood cells: RALLY!
At my Tuesday appointment my labwork indicated that my white cell count dropped again - this, after the promising numbers a week earlier. Frustrating! My dosage Tuesday was reduced by 25 percent and I am giving myself two doses of Neupogen (similar to Neulasta) via injection this coming Sunday and Monday morning. Hopefully this will boost me up so I can complete my last infusion next Tuesday. I really don't want this delayed, so cross your fingers the shots do their job!
I'm off to the support group at Gilda's Club this evening, mostly because they are serving Vietnamese sandwiches. ;)
Oliver is enjoying his summer camp at Kids Inc. - the go on lots of fieldtrips. Monday they rode the Duck and today they visited the Center for Wooden Boats.
Nice hot weather, eh?
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Blood Counts: A+
I received good news at my last chemo treatment last Tuesday: both my white and red blood cell counts were well within normal range. The shot of Neulasta and a week off seemed to do the trick. My oncologist was very pleased, and suspects those high counts will hold me through my final infusions. I am down to just two more now – one this Tuesday and one on the 28th.
On Friday, my 3-Day teammate Carol and I co-hosted our much-anticipated Drink Pink Happy Hour at my house to raise money for the 3-Day walk. We were both blown away by the generosity of our friends and family. You guys are phenomenal! The weather was perfect (if not just a bit too hot!) and the company was terrific. We drank pink drinks: cosmos (thanks, Anne S.!), pink champagne, vodka cranberries and pink lemonade. We snacked on fruit (great job, Mom!), veggies, cheese, crackers, chili cheese biscuits (again, thanks Anne S.!) and mini pink cupcakes (kudos, Tina!). The kids cooled off in the inflatable pool out front while the adults socialized and helped us raise money for a worthy cause. Thank you to everyone who attended!
This weekend we are heading over to Spokane for my friend Chelsey’s wedding. We’re looking forward to helping Chels and Santavorn celebrate and showing Oliver around the Gonzaga campus. We’re excited about the hotel pool – it has a slide!
Last night Jason and I corralled our friend Chris and headed off to join friends Kate and Bill (and about 20 others) to sing karaoke at a Ballard dive bar called the Wagon Wheel. We had a blast and had a hard time leaving! I had to get home and get some sleep, though, to prepare me for a 15-mile training walk with Carol this morning. I cut the walk a bit short (probably 11 miles or so?), but Carol kept going. We’re contemplating a couple laps around Green Lake early tomorrow morning. We’re feeling more and more confident that we’ll be able to tackle those 60 miles in September with minimal pain!
The 3-Day organizers have promised to let us know the exact walking route as the event nears. We’d love to have cheerleaders meet us along the way! If you’d like to be on our email list when the route map is released, let me know in a comment or send me an email.
Also, friends and family members are encouraged to write letters or send cards to 3-Day participants. They must be received by Sept. 1 to be delivered during the event. (Envelopes only – no care packages!) If you’d like to send a letter to me (or anyone else on the walk), mail them to:
Breast Cancer 3-Day Camp Post Office
PO Box 78646
Seattle WA 98178
We’re having some great weather in Seattle this summer. I hope those of you here are enjoying it!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
A week off, Fourth recap and Happy Hour invite!
The Fourth of July was spent at the tip of a sand spit on the Key Peninsula – property owned by friends Janice and Chris. We joined about 30 other campers at the property and enjoyed a near-360 degree view of the Puget Sound, 85 degree weather, wonderful camp-mates and some astounding food. The first night we were treated to king salmon, corn, red potatoes and a variety of side dishes. The next night we ate some clams that we dug that day on the beach. Oliver had a great time playing on the beach, messing around with several other kids his age, and riding in various water craft. We were so lucky to be invited to come along on the trip – an annual event that has been going on for the past 22 years!
I have started serious training for the Breast Cancer 3-Day walk. Yesterday I joined a group of about eight people on a 15-mile training walk. It was fun to see some of the same people I trained with several weeks ago (when the walks were a mere eight miles!) and meet some new people. A “pace car” followed us along the six-hour walk manned by a couple generous volunteers and packed full of bagels, bananas, cheese sticks, Chex mix, watermelon and M&Ms (pink, of course!). There was no way we were going to go hungry!
Thanks to my generous friends and family members, I have met my required fundraising goal of $2300 for the walk and am well on my way towards meeting my personal goal of $4000. My teammate Carol and I are co-hosting a fundraising happy hour at my place this Friday, July 17, from 4 to 8 p.m., complete with pink drinks, free childcare, yummy snacks and great company. Visit the Evite (http://www.evite.com/pages/invite/viewInvite.jsp?inviteId=GQUDMGJEIQRECGAXPUKD ) to RSVP – the more the merrier!
Jason and I visited another radiologist to get a second opinion regarding radiation, and it was decided that I would do it. We both agreed that we’d never forgive ourselves if I decided not to go through with the treatment just to avoid the hassle and the cancer returned. I will be starting daily treatments August 31 every weekday for approximately six weeks. Each session lasts only about 10 minutes start to finish and it’s unlikely I will feel any side effects aside from a pretty nasty sunburn towards the tail end of the six weeks.
In other treatment-related news, my last chemotherapy session is scheduled to be July 28, assuming these last three go well and none are postponed. Everyone cross your fingers! I get giddy thinking about this part of the treatment ending. I am so ready for this to end, I can’t even put it into words. I have really been so lucky that I have not had any crazy side effects to the chemo. I’ve heard horror stories of women reacting adversely to the treatment and requiring 24-hour IV drips every week. One woman I see regularly at Swedish got an infection of some sort and has had to have antibiotics administered daily for several weeks.
Math whizzes will notice there’s a month of NO TREATMENTS between the end of my chemo and the start of radiation treatments. Jay and I noticed too, and decided to skip off to Maui for five days! Actually, we have a reason: our friends Kendra and Jason have conveniently scheduled their wedding on the Hawaiian island on August 14. We decided we deserve a quick getaway and promptly booked our flights to help them celebrate.
I’ve been enjoying the great weather we’ve been having this summer and Oliver and I are looking forward to visiting my friend April and her sons Wednesday in Snoqualmie. Thursday we’re hooking up with Miki and her daughter Ava at Golden Gardens for a picnic on the beach.
Friday is the Drink Pink party. Won’t you come raise a glass?
P.S. I love the photo below – Oliver came with me to the hospital for my white cell shot July 2 and noticed several bulletin boards of breast cancer ribbons that family members and friends have posted for their loved ones. Oliver wanted to write my name on one and pin it to the board. He was so proud of himself. As was I.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tuesdays with Sheila
Our first stop was at the dermatologist to have stitches removed due to a mole removal she had more than a week ago. She is fine, THANKFULLY. But it was quite a scare--the mole had a lot going against it in terms of color, shape, size, etc. but again, NO WORRIES now.
Then the usual routine began--to the lab, see the doc, and then to chemo (pop a pill, receive anti nauseau meds and then the "cocktail" of chemo begins). We spend a lot of time swapping stories, flipping through mags, over hearing conversations of others--some people shoot the breeze as though they were chatting over coffee and others share their very difficult struggles and diagnosis and how hard it is to traverse the path they're on. Sheila handles each step with such grace.
Her white blood count was down some yesterday so she was only able to receive half of her chemo treatment but as one lovley, upbeat, and courageous patient also getting her chemo treatment pointed out to me after we expressed slight disappointment, "A half treatment is better than no treatment; always look for the silver lining in this process."
Sheila went in for a shot early Weds. to help boost her white blood cell count. I shot her a text to check in on her. Her reply: "Doing well! Got shot first thing this a.m. to boost white cells. Feeling Fine!"
Clearly, Sheila is seeking the silver lining herself. Rock on, sister, as you continue to Stomp This!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Flower Power!
The photo below is me with the artist, Dave Hughes. He is a close friend of Jason and also the mastermind behind the “StompThis!” artwork on this blog. Talented, isn’t he?
This was the first time I have left the house without my wig. I rarely even leave the house with a scarf, except to go to the gym. It was pretty scary. I tried to act confident, but I felt really exposed knowing that 100 people were going to be staring at me and wondering what my story was. Countless people came up to me and said they liked it, and even strangers asked me about it. Probably the most memorable was a man, probably 70, who came up to me and could barely speak. He just shook his head over and over and said, “That’s just so great! It’s…just great! God damn it, that’s just so damn great!”
Despite the rave reviews, the wig is back on today and will likely stay there until my hair grows back. Which shouldn’t be long – it’s already starting to come back in pretty quickly.
Back to the wedding. The event was spectacular, and the bride and groom were glowing. We were treated to a two-night stay in a fabulous condo – one of about eight units that were filled with about 80 wedding guests. Each morning, the families of the bride and groom hosted a wonderful breakfast buffet – pancakes one day, breakfast burritos the next. Friday night, we were guests at a barbecue. During the day, we relaxed by the pool. The weather was beautiful the whole time.
We drove to the wedding from Loveland with Jason’s parents, who have known the groom and his family for decades. It was great to have some extra time to visit with them, and fun for Oliver to have Grandma Alice and Grandpa Roger there. The drive home took us through Rocky Mountain National Park and across Trail Ridge Road – at over 12,000 feet, the highest continuously paved road in North America. At the top, we were so high that we were above the tree line. Several feet of snow lined the road, and we hopped out into the 41 degree air so Jason and Oliver could have a quick snowball fight. We took a few photos – look at the majestic mountains in the background!
The night before we left on vacation, I attended my second “Young Survival Coalition” meeting at Gilda’s Club. Again, I was impressed with the group of women. No tears – just a lot of laughs and support. A nutritionist spoke to us for an hour about nutrition for cancer survivors. Most of the information she gave had to do with keeping cancer from recurring or even taking hold in the first place – information relevant for anyone concerned with staying healthy. In my opinion, it doesn’t hurt to hear this information from time to time. I tend to forget how important nutrition is unless I’m reminded every so often. Here are a few things I learned that I’d like to share with you.
Did you know that there was a spike in cancers post-World War II when farming practices changed and chemical use became more prevalent? This was when cows – who traditionally grazed on grass in pastures – were moved into feed lots, fed an unnatural diet of corn, and pumped full of hormones and antibiotics to counteract the cheap and fast feeding methods. Same thing with chickens and pigs: they were put into pens and raised in a new way that was faster and cheaper. In short, humans’ protein sources were now eating cheap, unnatural food. As a result, their flesh (and their products such as milk and eggs) became devoid of essential vitamins like Omega-3 fatty acids that come from grass, bugs, and other natural food sources. Such vitamins are vital in humans, and if the animal flesh doesn’t have them, we aren’t getting them.
The nutritionist who spoke stressed the importance of eating organic animal products. In fact, she said if you make only a slight shift towards an organic lifestyle, it should be with eggs, dairy and meat. It will be more expensive, but view it as an investment in your health. If cost is an issue, set your priorities. You might need to make some sacrifices. Do you need cable television? Those magazine subscriptions? Meat does not have to be central to every meal. Add more vegetables, grains and legumes to your diet instead, and you will barely notice the added expense.
When buying organic food, it’s often tricky to decipher the labels. “Grass-fed beef” may not mean the animal is grazing peacefully in a pasture for its entire life. In fact, it may mean the animal is raised in a feed lot and given dried grass in addition to its corn diet. Below are a few key words to look for when buying organic animal products:
Meat: Look for the labels “100 percent grass fed.” The flesh of cows that eat only grass is almost as rich in Omega-3s as wild salmon!
Chicken/eggs: Seek out those labeled “Free range,” “No antibiotics” and “No hormones.”
Salmon: Always make sure the label says “Wild.” Farmed fish don’t get the same nutrition as wild salmon do. Any fish from Alaska is guaranteed to be wild, as fish farms are not allowed in the state.
This nutritionist’s opinion on supplements mirrors that of my naturopath: try to get as much of your vitamins from food sources themselves. That said, the one supplement she does recommend is fish oil; specifically cod liver oil. Quality is important, she said, and buying reputable brands such as Carlson’s or Nordic Naturals is a good idea. These and other high-quality brands have been tested for purity and are guaranteed to include the nutrients printed on the label. Oftentimes, the label will say if the supplement has been tested. Look for it.
Lastly, the nutritionist stressed the importance of protein in one’s diet as an anti-inflammatory. Low-fat meats and beans are important, as they are good sources of protein. She also mentioned that sugar cravings of those with diets high in protein are greatly reduced! I am giving this a try, as eliminating sugar from my diet continues to be an uphill battle. A high-protein breakfast: eggs, chopped veggies and a little cheese baked in muffin tins at 350 degrees until they stop jiggling when wiggled. These mini-frittatas can be wrapped individually and refrigerated, then heated up in the morning for a quick, high-protein breakfast. I’m going to make some this week!
As I type this, I am at Swedish Medical Center receiving dose seven of Abraxane. After this, just five more to go. The countdown continues…
Monday, June 1, 2009
June 1, 2009
As I suspected, the Gilda’s Club meeting was much more my speed. The session I attended was for breast cancer patients and survivors under 40. The group was vibrant, fun, fearless and positive thinkers. There were no tears, few complaints and a lot of laughter. It was very casual, and I felt very comfortable. I plan to go back for the next meeting June 10.
I’ve been doing really well since my last post. I backed off the exercise and have been walking daily instead of trying to exercise the way I used to. I have also been napping for about an hour every other day or so. As a result, I’ve had a lot more energy and my blood counts are remaining steady. I did lose my voice over the weekend, however. I’m not sure if it is because of the chemo or a virus. In any case, I’ve spent the past couple days whispering instead of talking.
My mom is coming with me to my sixth infusion tomorrow. After this I will be halfway through the 12 Abraxane infusions! I have the following week off, then only six treatments after this one, with a week break after number nine. After tomorrow, I think I will finally feel like this whole ordeal is winding down instead of dragging on and on.
The three of us are going to a wedding in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, June 11-15. I am looking forward to a vacation – it’s been a long time since we’ve had one!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Something Lost, Something Gained
After trying my hardest to get the hang of meditation, I decided to give it up until another time. I had been taking a Monday night class, but had started becoming very jaded about it. I was putting far too much pressure on myself to “get” it, and it just wasn’t coming. Instead of going to the class with an open mind, I was approaching the process annoyed and frustrated. I couldn’t seem to snap out of my bad attitude, so I decided to stop going. It wasn’t doing me any good to spend two hours angry. I do see the value of it, but just can’t do it right now. I plan to do a little reading about meditation and hopefully pick it up again a few months down the line.
I’ve marked meditation off my list, but decided to take up the support group circuit. I have avoided support groups until now because I did not want to surround myself with more cancer talk. However, I realized I was constantly thinking about cancer anyway, and that it would probably be good to be talking to other people who have been in my shoes. I attended a support group at Swedish yesterday, but it was actually only one other person and myself. The other patient who was there was an annoying Pollyanna who said she is told by all her doctors that she has a fantastic outlook and positive attitude. Well, goody for you. The session was moderated by a social worker intern who could not have been older than 20. When I walked into the room, I felt the same way I do when I walk into the aerobics room and notice there’s a substitute. Trapped, and too late to turn around and leave! I sat through the painful 90 minute session, enduring the awkward pauses and listening to Miss Perfect talk about how she likes to crack jokes with her friends to keep the mood light. Thankfully I am planning to go to different group at Gilda’s Club next Wednesday that is sure to be a little more vibrant. This one is especially for women under 40. I exchanged emails with the group leader, and she said there are four other women with the triple negative diagnosis. I think I will be more comfortable there.
Taking the previous week off was a good decision. I had a ton of energy and felt normal again. When I went in for my infusion Tuesday, my blood counts had gone back up to more normal levels. Oliver came with me to this treatment on the advice of several of the oncology nurses. It was good for him to see what “chemo” really meant. He met a lot of nice people and realized that it’s just not all that exciting! I think he was most excited about taking the morning off school.
Jason and I are looking forward to a Mariners’ game Friday night and a relaxing weekend in the sun!