So, survivorship class. The oncology nurse started by saying that many people tend to feel/anxious depressed at this stage. (Really?!) During chemo you're actively engaged in fighting this thing, you're doing something, you feel forward motion and then it stops. The end of chemo was totally anti-climactic for me. People think you're done, but you're not. In some ways you've only just begun. I'm going to have this shadow trailing me for the rest of my life; I need to figure out how to deal. I realized later in the conversation that she was trying to gauge my level of depression/sadness to decide whether to recommend an anti-depressant. According to her, many people go this route post-chemo to get themselves back to feeling normal again and certain pills can also be duel-purpose helping to control the hot flashes of the Tamoxifen. Do I feel sadness most of the time? No. As I told her, I'm too busy to be sad all the time. Between work and family and life, I don't have time to dwell on it. I certainly have my moments when I panic about how I'm spending my time. Should I stop working and spend as much time as I can now with my kids, just in case? That's a huge one. It sounds overly dramatic, but it weighs on me. Apparently I didn't do a very good job convincing her because she told me not to rule the anti-depressant option out and plans on calling me next week to see what I've decided. She also suggested a support group.
Here's what I've decided. Apart from continuing to exercise, maintaining a healthy weight, eating more fruits and vegetables, and limiting my alcohol intake to 2x/month and special occasions (boo!), there's not much else I can do, so there isn't much point in worrying about it. Easier said than done, but that's my new mantra. I don't want cancer to waste any more of my precious time than it already has. Am I cured, did they get it, is it gone for good? Who knows? No one, that's who, but I'll continue to be monitored and scanned (basically forever) so I'm not forgetting about it. I'm moving from attack mode to uber vigilance. I'm still going to break out in a sweat when I go for my mammograms (and not just from the hot flashes), worry about my work/life balance, and be extra thankful every time I'm around to see another of my kids' "firsts", but I think that's normal. Survivor normal anyway.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Peach Fuzz
News Flash: I need to shave my legs! This is the one and only time I will be excited by this, but true to my oncologist's word my hair seems to be coming back 2 months post-chemo. And check out my fuzzy duckling head! I'm not out in public like this yet, but hopefully soon? I have no idea what I'm going to do with it as it grows out. It's definitely looking darker.
I've started jogging again which is huge to my mental health. I'm only doing three miles at a very relaxed pace, but it feels great to be out there again. I'm eager to get my upcoming reconstruction over with but at the same time annoyed that I'm going to slide backwards again during recovery. I was listening to a woman complaining about working out in the gym today and wanted to give her a smack. I'd love to be training for something awesome right now. Maybe by next spring I'll be in ten-miler shape. Destination half-marathon anyone?
According to my calculations I have 11 more Herceptin infusions. I like keeping track of this stuff because it makes me feel like I'm advancing to another stage. It's like a cancer video game. In other news, I also started my five year stint on Tamoxifen. I didn't realize this was coming yet. I thought I was to start next spring after the Herceptin was over, but it's actually post-chemo. I don't think I'll be counting this one down so methodically - 2017 is really far away! The biggest side effects are hot flashes. The funny thing is it's hard to tell whether the hot flashes are a product of the Tamoxifen or if chemo has induced early-menopause. At this point I suppose it really doesn't matter. Sorry boys, you will not be getting a new baby to play with!
Friday I am signed up for "Survivorship" class at my oncologist's office. The nurse will attempt to answer the million dollar question, "What now?" I've kind of been avoiding this topic because I know it will be depressing. I complain about life being so busy, but in some ways it's a blessing. I think I would go crazy if I actually had time to be alone with my thoughts.
I've started jogging again which is huge to my mental health. I'm only doing three miles at a very relaxed pace, but it feels great to be out there again. I'm eager to get my upcoming reconstruction over with but at the same time annoyed that I'm going to slide backwards again during recovery. I was listening to a woman complaining about working out in the gym today and wanted to give her a smack. I'd love to be training for something awesome right now. Maybe by next spring I'll be in ten-miler shape. Destination half-marathon anyone?
According to my calculations I have 11 more Herceptin infusions. I like keeping track of this stuff because it makes me feel like I'm advancing to another stage. It's like a cancer video game. In other news, I also started my five year stint on Tamoxifen. I didn't realize this was coming yet. I thought I was to start next spring after the Herceptin was over, but it's actually post-chemo. I don't think I'll be counting this one down so methodically - 2017 is really far away! The biggest side effects are hot flashes. The funny thing is it's hard to tell whether the hot flashes are a product of the Tamoxifen or if chemo has induced early-menopause. At this point I suppose it really doesn't matter. Sorry boys, you will not be getting a new baby to play with!
Friday I am signed up for "Survivorship" class at my oncologist's office. The nurse will attempt to answer the million dollar question, "What now?" I've kind of been avoiding this topic because I know it will be depressing. I complain about life being so busy, but in some ways it's a blessing. I think I would go crazy if I actually had time to be alone with my thoughts.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Dear Red Wine
Dear Red Wine,
Oh how I have missed you and your delectable cousins beer and cocktails! I probably shouldn't have indulged without my oncologist's okay, but it's been 6 months and you were just so tempting. Here's hoping we can continue this relationship now that chemo's finally over. Until next time,
M.
Oh how I have missed you and your delectable cousins beer and cocktails! I probably shouldn't have indulged without my oncologist's okay, but it's been 6 months and you were just so tempting. Here's hoping we can continue this relationship now that chemo's finally over. Until next time,
M.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Appointments Galore
I know, it's been awhile, so here's what's been happening on the always busy medical front...
First and foremost, I'm slowly starting to feel better. Maybe it's purely psychological, but I feel like I'm starting to get some of my energy back. My nail beds are a mess and my feet still swell occasionally, but that's nothing compared to where I've been. The Herceptin I am still getting apparently does not affect my counts, and (knock on wood) I haven't noticed any new side effects. I go for my labwork and check-up with my oncologist this Friday and am curious to see what my counts are. At last check my hemoglobin was at 9 (should be between 12 and 15), but my white blood cells were making a comeback. I'm either high or low in a bunch of other categories as well, but I derive some sort of strange pleasure from tracking my progress each time I get a lab report. At least it's something tangible I can see and understand and follow. Plus all these appointments and tests help reassure me that someone is keeping an eye on things.
Speaking of which, you may recall that I had a MUGA scan in February to provide a baseline heart test. They basically inject you with a radioactive tracer and then watch and measure how your heart performs. One of the potential side effects of Herceptin is that it can weaken the heart muscle affecting its ability to pump blood. For the next year or two I will be monitored periodically to make sure that my heart is still in good shape. At my first scan in February I was 61% (don't ask me what that means but it's normal). When I went 2 weeks ago I was at 64%. Yep, it went up. Not sure how that is possible, but I'll take it. Another item to discuss with my oncologist.
In other medical news, I met with my plastic surgeon to discuss operation #2 of the reconstruction. He told me I needed to wait at least a month after my last chemo in order to get my counts back up, his main concern presumably being the white blood cells and risk of infection. I'll also need a week or two to recover post-surgery. At first I was all about getting it over and done with asap, but when I started thinking about it I realized that was kind of silly. Why not let myself recover over the summer, not to mention actually enjoy my summer and vacation plans, without having to deal with another operation. Even though the implant is supposedly much more comfortable than the expander, it's not like it really bothers me. It will just be nice to have it over with. In case you've forgotten what's going on, I need to swap out the temporary expander with an implant. The plastic surgeon makes it sound easy, but I'm more concerned about mobility issues with my arm afterward. He assures me that it will be nothing like the mastectomy/lymph node dissection where I had to do physio for months just to raise my arm over my head, but I can't help worrying. Anyway, I'm booked for 8am on September 10th. Not too soon, but not all that far away either.
And last but not least, I had my six month mammogram on my left, healthy breast last week. If you've had a mammogram you'll know that it's not the most fun procedure in the world. They basically put your boob in a clear vice, squish the hell out of it and repeat. I swear the glass plate was about 1cm from my port and I kept thinking they were going to crush it into my chest. If that weren't bad enough, when it's all over they make you go into a little room in your gown and wait (presumably so the radiologist can look over the results and send you back in for more imaging if needed). Other patients come into the little room to wait and are called out before me. Okay, now I'm getting a little nervous. Why is it taking so long? Then the technician comes in and leads me to yet another room where I can get changed and wait some more. Did I mention this is the exact same place where I received the bad mammogram news the first time? Waiting, waiting, lalalalala, waiting... Finally Dr. So-and-so comes in, shakes my hand and introduces herself. OMG, here we go... "Just wanted to let you know that your mammogram looks normal," she says. Good grief. Cocktails/sedatives should definitely be offered in the waiting room for all previously diagnosed cancer patients. It's the least they can do.
First and foremost, I'm slowly starting to feel better. Maybe it's purely psychological, but I feel like I'm starting to get some of my energy back. My nail beds are a mess and my feet still swell occasionally, but that's nothing compared to where I've been. The Herceptin I am still getting apparently does not affect my counts, and (knock on wood) I haven't noticed any new side effects. I go for my labwork and check-up with my oncologist this Friday and am curious to see what my counts are. At last check my hemoglobin was at 9 (should be between 12 and 15), but my white blood cells were making a comeback. I'm either high or low in a bunch of other categories as well, but I derive some sort of strange pleasure from tracking my progress each time I get a lab report. At least it's something tangible I can see and understand and follow. Plus all these appointments and tests help reassure me that someone is keeping an eye on things.
Speaking of which, you may recall that I had a MUGA scan in February to provide a baseline heart test. They basically inject you with a radioactive tracer and then watch and measure how your heart performs. One of the potential side effects of Herceptin is that it can weaken the heart muscle affecting its ability to pump blood. For the next year or two I will be monitored periodically to make sure that my heart is still in good shape. At my first scan in February I was 61% (don't ask me what that means but it's normal). When I went 2 weeks ago I was at 64%. Yep, it went up. Not sure how that is possible, but I'll take it. Another item to discuss with my oncologist.
In other medical news, I met with my plastic surgeon to discuss operation #2 of the reconstruction. He told me I needed to wait at least a month after my last chemo in order to get my counts back up, his main concern presumably being the white blood cells and risk of infection. I'll also need a week or two to recover post-surgery. At first I was all about getting it over and done with asap, but when I started thinking about it I realized that was kind of silly. Why not let myself recover over the summer, not to mention actually enjoy my summer and vacation plans, without having to deal with another operation. Even though the implant is supposedly much more comfortable than the expander, it's not like it really bothers me. It will just be nice to have it over with. In case you've forgotten what's going on, I need to swap out the temporary expander with an implant. The plastic surgeon makes it sound easy, but I'm more concerned about mobility issues with my arm afterward. He assures me that it will be nothing like the mastectomy/lymph node dissection where I had to do physio for months just to raise my arm over my head, but I can't help worrying. Anyway, I'm booked for 8am on September 10th. Not too soon, but not all that far away either.
And last but not least, I had my six month mammogram on my left, healthy breast last week. If you've had a mammogram you'll know that it's not the most fun procedure in the world. They basically put your boob in a clear vice, squish the hell out of it and repeat. I swear the glass plate was about 1cm from my port and I kept thinking they were going to crush it into my chest. If that weren't bad enough, when it's all over they make you go into a little room in your gown and wait (presumably so the radiologist can look over the results and send you back in for more imaging if needed). Other patients come into the little room to wait and are called out before me. Okay, now I'm getting a little nervous. Why is it taking so long? Then the technician comes in and leads me to yet another room where I can get changed and wait some more. Did I mention this is the exact same place where I received the bad mammogram news the first time? Waiting, waiting, lalalalala, waiting... Finally Dr. So-and-so comes in, shakes my hand and introduces herself. OMG, here we go... "Just wanted to let you know that your mammogram looks normal," she says. Good grief. Cocktails/sedatives should definitely be offered in the waiting room for all previously diagnosed cancer patients. It's the least they can do.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
A la plage
Seriously, we should all live at the beach. We just got back from a week in Ocean City, MD. My post chemo treat. Our friends own a condo right on the beach so all we have to do is step off the patio and we're in the sand. Perfect for the kids. We schlep all our stuff down to the water in the morning, leave it there until dinner time, but in the meantime we can come and go for lunch, naps, bathroom breaks, whatever. Luckily for us the boys love to dig in the sand and be in the water. Even litle G-ski had no fear of running right into the surf. Some people have a hard time unplugging from work while on holiday. I am not one of those people. I have no problem turning my blackberry off and keeping it off. I had the usual food issues while away which was annoying because half of the fun of vacation for me is food, but I managed. I can't really jog for more than about a minute right now without gasping for air, so instead I went out for an hour long walk on the beach every day while the kids were napping. So relaxing. I also got kind of used to a mid day siesta. I really need to figure out a way to sneak that into my work day...
While on the beach one day a woman approached me and asked if I was going through chemo. Turns out she had breast cancer a year ago, underwent chemo and radiation and is now doing great. I was also happy to see her hair was long and full a year out! It seems like no matter where I am there is some kind of cancer connection for me now. You'll never hear me say I'm glad I got cancer, that it's some kind of gift or blessing or secret mission, but I am grateful and inspired by all the amazing people I've met along the way.
While on the beach one day a woman approached me and asked if I was going through chemo. Turns out she had breast cancer a year ago, underwent chemo and radiation and is now doing great. I was also happy to see her hair was long and full a year out! It seems like no matter where I am there is some kind of cancer connection for me now. You'll never hear me say I'm glad I got cancer, that it's some kind of gift or blessing or secret mission, but I am grateful and inspired by all the amazing people I've met along the way.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Chemo - Round 6
So here we are - last round of chemo. I should be thrilled about this prospect, but instead I find myself being a bit of a Debbie downer. In case you're confused, it's not finished/finished. I'm done with the four and a half hour infusions and hopefully the majority of the nasty side effects. Instead of the full chemo cocktail (Carboplatin/Taxotere/Herceptin), I will only have to receive the Herceptin which they are telling me does not effect my blood counts, interfere with my hair growth, or cause the metal mouth, fatigue, swelling, or my nails to fall off (my latest issue). And the Herceptin infusion only takes about half an hour. Cake, right?
I think I'm grumpy for three main reasons:
1. I'm on the Herceptin until next February. February! Until this port is out of my chest and they stop sticking me with needles, I can't consider myself done.
2. I'm not convinced that there will be no side effects. As I was sitting in "the chair" for number six I was watching Robin Roberts on television telling America that she has developed a bone marrow disease called MDS as a result of the chemotherapy she received while being treated for breast cancer five years ago. Totally and ridiculously unfair.
3. I don't know how much more my body can take. I literally feel like I'm falling apart.
I know, get a grip. I should be happy the worst is over. Not to mention the fact that Herceptin is a relatively new drug that has had amazing results in boosting the survival rates in people with my type of cancer. Hopefully when I get through this round I will start to regain some of my energy and perk up a little! We are headed to Ocean City next week for some r and r which won't hurt either...
I think I'm grumpy for three main reasons:
1. I'm on the Herceptin until next February. February! Until this port is out of my chest and they stop sticking me with needles, I can't consider myself done.
2. I'm not convinced that there will be no side effects. As I was sitting in "the chair" for number six I was watching Robin Roberts on television telling America that she has developed a bone marrow disease called MDS as a result of the chemotherapy she received while being treated for breast cancer five years ago. Totally and ridiculously unfair.
3. I don't know how much more my body can take. I literally feel like I'm falling apart.
I know, get a grip. I should be happy the worst is over. Not to mention the fact that Herceptin is a relatively new drug that has had amazing results in boosting the survival rates in people with my type of cancer. Hopefully when I get through this round I will start to regain some of my energy and perk up a little! We are headed to Ocean City next week for some r and r which won't hurt either...
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Race for the Cure 2012
What an amazing day! The weather was absolutely perfect - sunny, warm and comfortable. We got the kids up at the crack of dawn and headed into DC to meet up with Team Canada in the International tent. I'm very happy to report that we were the top fundraising team in the International division with $12,031 raised! I got to carry the flag for Canada in the opening ceremonies which was fun. It was great to see the "parade of pink" and all the wild outfits. If my boa weren't so itchy, I might have worn it into work today.
Team Canada had 101 members which included Embassy staff, family and friends, and C2C members. I was thrilled that my little gang included John and the boys, my good friends and neighbours Nicole and Chris, Mark and his daughter Campbell, as well as my long time gal pals Christine, Bree, and Isabelle, and my new friends Susan and Teresa. The biggest treat of the day, however, was being surprised just before the race by Julie and Mindy who came from London, England and Fort Collins, Colorado respectively, to do the race with me! Sneaky Christine masterminded the whole thing, and I didn't have a clue. Needless to say I was a little verklempt over everyone's awesomeness.
After lunch, naps, and a 3 year old birthday party, we headed over to a b-day BBQ at Christine and Brian's where I got to hang out more with the ladies. Funny how we haven't all been in one place in ages, but it felt like no time had passed at all. The same is true of my Winnipeg friends. It's just like old times.
I have tons of pictures I could post, but here are a few taken by my colleague. Enjoy!
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| My Olympic moment |
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| Susan, Mindy, Isabelle, Me, G, John, Christine, Bree & Julie |
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| Team Canada |
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| Me and the boys |
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| En route |
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| Me & Christine |
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| My team! |
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| Awesome surprise visitors: Mindy and Jules |
After lunch, naps, and a 3 year old birthday party, we headed over to a b-day BBQ at Christine and Brian's where I got to hang out more with the ladies. Funny how we haven't all been in one place in ages, but it felt like no time had passed at all. The same is true of my Winnipeg friends. It's just like old times.
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| We rock. |
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