On October 12, 2007, I kissed my 11-week old newborn goodbye as I left him with my mom and dad while Rigo checked me into Stanford Hospital for my bilateral mastectomy surgery. After a 12-hour surgery, I was rolled into the recovery room and officially declared myself "cancer-free." Incredible to think that yesterday I celebrated 4-years of being cancer-free. Some days, October 12, 2007, feels like an eternity ago; other days, it feels like yesterday. To mark this special day, Blake and I played hooky and spent the entire day together with eating corn dogs and shaved ice and enthralled by the pig races and muttin' bustin' at the Big Fresno Fair. There's no other way I'd rather have spent the day. Life is good.
Unless you live under a rock, you probably know it's National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The pink is splattered everywhere. So much so, it even makes me a little pink-nauseous. (Truth be told, I never really liked pink.) Nonetheless, I find it refreshing whenever I see my family, friends and strangers pitching in to help bring us a step closer to the long overdue cure that's needed.
All in all, I am doing incredibly well. I am healthy and happy. But for the last few weeks and months, my heart has been exceptionally heavy for my friends. Perhaps it's inevitable that the longer I'm part of this cancer world, the more people I will meet who have cancer recurrences and, in some cases, ultimately on the losing end of cancer. But that may also be what's so dang hard about this cancer culture. The beast of cancer is so unforgiving.
Anyone who knows me knows I handle my own journey with cancer very matter-of-fact. It is what it is and I am okay with that. If I'm not okay with it, I'll figure it out and make it work. Reconstruction revision surgeries. I can deal. Early onset menopause. Again, deal. Long-term chemotherapy side-effects like chemo-brain. Dealing. All of this issues are mine to deal with and to a certain extent, in my control. My support system with my medical team, great insurance coverage, my family, my friends, my work. I have an amazing team in place to help me maneuver life after cancer as smoothly as possible and for me it's all do-able. Even on the tough days or the tough weeks, I go to bed at night knowing that odds are tomorrow will probably be a better day.
The security of knowing tomorrow will be a better day isn't always the case for my friends living with and battling through metastatic breast cancer, breast cancer that's spread beyond the breast. In fact, while the month of October is Breast Cancer Awareness Day, today is Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day. Despite the flood of support for breast cancer awareness around the country, seen on TV, in the stores and heard on the radio, the numbers continue to startle me, as a breast cancer survivor. Every year, over 40,000 people in the United States will die from breast cancer. This number is unnerving for me, but I could only imagine how daunting it is for my friends living in the world of metastatic breast cancer. It's TOO many. The realist in me knows death is certain. But in 2011, death to metastatic breast cancer is unacceptable. We need a cure for breast cancer. Now. We need more effective treatment and targeted therapies. Now. If my friends want to fight, dammit, we should let them fight. To tell these women, "sorry, we are all out of options" is simply unconscionable. The reality of metastatic breast cancer is much more troubling than the worse case of pink overload.
Continue doing what you do and then pause and ask yourself, "what else can I do?" Odds are you aren't that far removed from cancer, but even if you are, keep doing and then do some more. Read about breast cancer. Practice self exams. Talk about the issues. Ask questions. Run. Walk. Fundraise. Donate. And at the end of the day, go to bed hoping for a better tomorrow. I wish you all a happy and healthy October and a brighter tomorrow.
http://www.mbcn.org/
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Holding My Breath
It's been a long time. So where do I begin? Fortunately for me, I am *lucky* to say that 'no news is good news.' I've been busy living life. Better yet, I haven't been (too) busy living with cancer.
My baby is a baby no more! Blaker turned 4 a few weeks ago and is back in preschool. He is the big kid on campus returning to Willow International Community College at the Child Development Center for his second year. He also spends three days a week in Speech Programs through Fresno State and Clovis Unified and sure is thriving. Let's just say for having only one kid, I sure spend a lot of time driving Blaker between schools. (I know Mom: having one kid doesn't even count!) Blake literally wakes up every morning with a smile on his face. Rigo and I like to sneak in on him when he sleeps and no joke, my baby sleeps with a tiny smile on his face. He is hands-down the happiest little person I have ever met in my life.
My plan to stay home with Blaker until he was in school fulltime didn't run according to plan, and for us, that's a good thing. We have gotten to spend an incredible amount of priceless time together enjoying the little things and smelling the roses. Weekly zoo and library visits. Daily dips in the pool. All three of us. And it's fair to say that Rigo and I have been able to shape a completely different lifestyle for our little family than when I found myself in private practice and the DA's Office.
But last year, I went to Los Angeles for a Cancer Rights Conference to get some MCLE (continuing education) units. The one-day conference was full of information on how the law can help protect cancer patients and survivors. As much as I am involved in the cancer community, I didn't realize an organization of attorneys working on behalf of people with cancer existed, let alone just a few hours down the road. One thing led to another and I quickly found myself back to work as a staff attorney for the Cancer Legal Resource Center.
The transition was tough. Very tough. Going from working at the DA's Office --> to being a stay at home (admittedly, transitioning to this role may have been the most difficult for me) --> to working in (yes, *in*) LA fulltime for nearly 6 months --> working from home for the CLRC. And meanwhile, I've been fortunate to keep my classes at City. The dust has finally settled. Hence, a blog post. The short of it is I'm back to work and I love the work. We are wrapping up the last few details for our Cancer Rights Conferences in Washington, DC in two weeks and Ann Arbor, MI in October. (shameless plug: http://www.cancerrightsconference.org/)
Who would've thunk, a year later? I hate to give cancer any credit, but I am confident that I wouldn't be here but for my journey with cancer. The fact that I am still practicing law and doing it from home for group whose mission and purpose I hold close to my heart is nothing short of remarkable. During treatment, I was lost about what my future held, for my health, family and career. Somehow over the last two years, it has all seemingly come together. There have been many a times that I find myself still holding my breath, cautious about fulling embracing that we've come full circle along this journey, but I'm slowly letting some air out, little by little.
2011 has been a tough year of bad news: many recurrences, new diagnoses, loss of loved ones, and hurt for my family and friends who are bearing the brunt of the economy with the loss of their jobs and homes. It's ugly. I'm glad Blaker is too little to have any worries. I am constantly sending good thoughts in a hundred different directions, for the same network of support that held my hand and carried us through to today. Oh, if only good thoughts could fix the bad and cure the ugly. Good thoughts, good thoughts, good thoughts.
Our reality is perfect, today. I am healthy. I continue to have no evidence of disease. <> But I realize reality doesn't always match up "according to plan." For that, I will continue to live each day to the fullest enjoying the ups and downs along the way. Perhaps it's inevitable that I will forever hold a sense of cautious optimism to all that I encounter? We are healthy and happy today. And that is all we can ask for. Thank you for today. Today, life is good.
My baby is a baby no more! Blaker turned 4 a few weeks ago and is back in preschool. He is the big kid on campus returning to Willow International Community College at the Child Development Center for his second year. He also spends three days a week in Speech Programs through Fresno State and Clovis Unified and sure is thriving. Let's just say for having only one kid, I sure spend a lot of time driving Blaker between schools. (I know Mom: having one kid doesn't even count!) Blake literally wakes up every morning with a smile on his face. Rigo and I like to sneak in on him when he sleeps and no joke, my baby sleeps with a tiny smile on his face. He is hands-down the happiest little person I have ever met in my life.
My plan to stay home with Blaker until he was in school fulltime didn't run according to plan, and for us, that's a good thing. We have gotten to spend an incredible amount of priceless time together enjoying the little things and smelling the roses. Weekly zoo and library visits. Daily dips in the pool. All three of us. And it's fair to say that Rigo and I have been able to shape a completely different lifestyle for our little family than when I found myself in private practice and the DA's Office.
But last year, I went to Los Angeles for a Cancer Rights Conference to get some MCLE (continuing education) units. The one-day conference was full of information on how the law can help protect cancer patients and survivors. As much as I am involved in the cancer community, I didn't realize an organization of attorneys working on behalf of people with cancer existed, let alone just a few hours down the road. One thing led to another and I quickly found myself back to work as a staff attorney for the Cancer Legal Resource Center.
The transition was tough. Very tough. Going from working at the DA's Office --> to being a stay at home (admittedly, transitioning to this role may have been the most difficult for me) --> to working in (yes, *in*) LA fulltime for nearly 6 months --> working from home for the CLRC. And meanwhile, I've been fortunate to keep my classes at City. The dust has finally settled. Hence, a blog post. The short of it is I'm back to work and I love the work. We are wrapping up the last few details for our Cancer Rights Conferences in Washington, DC in two weeks and Ann Arbor, MI in October. (shameless plug: http://www.cancerrightsconference.org/)
Who would've thunk, a year later? I hate to give cancer any credit, but I am confident that I wouldn't be here but for my journey with cancer. The fact that I am still practicing law and doing it from home for group whose mission and purpose I hold close to my heart is nothing short of remarkable. During treatment, I was lost about what my future held, for my health, family and career. Somehow over the last two years, it has all seemingly come together. There have been many a times that I find myself still holding my breath, cautious about fulling embracing that we've come full circle along this journey, but I'm slowly letting some air out, little by little.
2011 has been a tough year of bad news: many recurrences, new diagnoses, loss of loved ones, and hurt for my family and friends who are bearing the brunt of the economy with the loss of their jobs and homes. It's ugly. I'm glad Blaker is too little to have any worries. I am constantly sending good thoughts in a hundred different directions, for the same network of support that held my hand and carried us through to today. Oh, if only good thoughts could fix the bad and cure the ugly. Good thoughts, good thoughts, good thoughts.
Our reality is perfect, today. I am healthy. I continue to have no evidence of disease. <
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Whew: Pregnancy Doesn’t Appear to Worsen Breast Cancer Outcomes
Susan G. Komen for the Cure | Pregnancy Doesn’t Appear to Worsen Breast Cancer Outcomes
According to the results of a study conducted at the M. D. Anderson Cancer Center, women who are diagnosed with breast cancer and treated with chemotherapy while pregnant have a better disease-free survival (survival without a cancer recurrence or a new cancer) than women who are not pregnant at the time of diagnosis. Overall survival was similar in the two groups of patients. These results were presented at the 2010 Breast Cancer Symposium.
Previous reports have suggested that being pregnant at the time of diagnosis worsens breast cancer outcomes. This may have been due to older approaches to cancer treatment, in which pregnant women received less effective cancer treatment than non-pregnant women or delayed cancer treatment until after the birth of the baby.
A recent study compared breast cancer outcomes between pregnant and non-pregnant women who were treated with 5-fluorouracil, doxorubicin, and cyclophosphamide (FAC).[1] In pregnant women, treatment with FAC was administered after the first trimester of pregnancy. When additional therapies—such as hormonal therapy—were warranted, these were started after the woman gave birth. Each of the 54 pregnant breast cancer patients treated was matched with two non-pregnant patients based on age and stage of cancer.
Overall survival between pregnant and non-pregnant women was similar. In fact, pregnant women appeared to have a slightly better overall five-year survival (77%) than their non-pregnant counterparts (72%). This difference, however, was not statistically significant and may be the result of chance alone.
For five-year disease-free survival, results were significantly better for pregnant women: 74% versus 56% for non-pregnant women.
These results suggest that with current approaches to treatment, pregnancy does not worsen breast cancer outcomes. In a prepared statement, one of the authors of the study stated “Now, when we are counseling breast cancer patients who are pregnant, we can say that they should have every expectation that they will do as well as our non-pregnant patients, and that they should start their treatment in the second or third trimester without delay.”[2]
References:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Litton JK, Warneke CL, Hahn K, et al. Case-control analysis of patients (pts) treated with chemotherapy during pregnancy for breast cancer (BC). Presented at the Breast Cancer Symposium, Washington, DC, October 1-3, 2010. Abstract 105.
[2] MD Anderson News Release. UT MD Anderson Study Finds Women Treated for Breast Cancer While Pregnant Have Improved Survival. 09/29/10.
***
Blaker and I had FAC (Five-FU, Adromyiacan and Cytoxin) for 6+ months together. This kinda news is beyond reassuring for us! Whew ...
Life is good.
According to the results of a study conducted at the M. D. Anderson Cancer Center, women who are diagnosed with breast cancer and treated with chemotherapy while pregnant have a better disease-free survival (survival without a cancer recurrence or a new cancer) than women who are not pregnant at the time of diagnosis. Overall survival was similar in the two groups of patients. These results were presented at the 2010 Breast Cancer Symposium.
Previous reports have suggested that being pregnant at the time of diagnosis worsens breast cancer outcomes. This may have been due to older approaches to cancer treatment, in which pregnant women received less effective cancer treatment than non-pregnant women or delayed cancer treatment until after the birth of the baby.
A recent study compared breast cancer outcomes between pregnant and non-pregnant women who were treated with 5-fluorouracil, doxorubicin, and cyclophosphamide (FAC).[1] In pregnant women, treatment with FAC was administered after the first trimester of pregnancy. When additional therapies—such as hormonal therapy—were warranted, these were started after the woman gave birth. Each of the 54 pregnant breast cancer patients treated was matched with two non-pregnant patients based on age and stage of cancer.
Overall survival between pregnant and non-pregnant women was similar. In fact, pregnant women appeared to have a slightly better overall five-year survival (77%) than their non-pregnant counterparts (72%). This difference, however, was not statistically significant and may be the result of chance alone.
For five-year disease-free survival, results were significantly better for pregnant women: 74% versus 56% for non-pregnant women.
These results suggest that with current approaches to treatment, pregnancy does not worsen breast cancer outcomes. In a prepared statement, one of the authors of the study stated “Now, when we are counseling breast cancer patients who are pregnant, we can say that they should have every expectation that they will do as well as our non-pregnant patients, and that they should start their treatment in the second or third trimester without delay.”[2]
References:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Litton JK, Warneke CL, Hahn K, et al. Case-control analysis of patients (pts) treated with chemotherapy during pregnancy for breast cancer (BC). Presented at the Breast Cancer Symposium, Washington, DC, October 1-3, 2010. Abstract 105.
[2] MD Anderson News Release. UT MD Anderson Study Finds Women Treated for Breast Cancer While Pregnant Have Improved Survival. 09/29/10.
***
Blaker and I had FAC (Five-FU, Adromyiacan and Cytoxin) for 6+ months together. This kinda news is beyond reassuring for us! Whew ...
Life is good.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Four Years Ago, Today.
Four years ago today. Valentine's Day is a day of infamy in our family history book. Not your traditional celebration of red roses, chocolates and stuffed teddy bears. Rather, I'll be spending today doing all the things that matter, but with a little bit more 'umph.
Eating breakfast with Blake. Sipping my morning coffee. Having a second and even a third cup. Doing a round of homework with the bug before taking him to school. All the while, working: on stuff that matters. Attending a Board Meeting tonight right dab smack in the middle of the evening and wrapping things up for the day with my family. Sharing. Smiling. Giggling. And undoubtedly, a bit of impromptu dancing which isn't so impromptu since it's a nightly ritual.
In my wildest dreams, I would have never, ever been able to tell you five years ago that "this" is what my life would look like. A life so closely intertwined with cancer. I am back to work helping people with cancer-related legal issues (seriously, right.) and spend a tremendous amount of time volunteering with Komen among a host of other cancer-advocacy and outreach groups. Stuff that matters. But the last four years have brought more blessings than one could ever hope for in a lifetime. I am beyond lucky in the purest sense of the word.
The stats are ugly. The surgeries are long-listed and are to-be-continued in my book. The triple-negative front is anything but hopeful. And 2011 has been a short, but tough year. My "sisters" are bearing the brunt of the disease and Hallmark is getting the best of me. Not being the patient can make one feel so helpless so in my pursuit to do something, I retreat to Hallmark. The realist in me lives on.
But four years is nothing to minimize. Four years brings me one step closer to the mark. The mark that "they" gave me. The mark that I gave myself. The mark that means the world to our family. While the targeted treatments for triple negative breast cancer are pretty much non-existent, the 5-year mark for triple negative patients is monumental in our recovery. I can feel it and it's oh, so close.
The realist in me knows that those closest to me who are spending their day preparing for chemo, changing bandages or lining up caretakers for their babies as they head into surgery were all well beyond the 5-year mark. My mentors in the cancer-world, but more importantly, my mentors in the "this-is-who-you-can-strive-to-mirror-to-be-a-loving-mother,-strong-and-beautiful-woman,-full-of-compassion,-and-with-the-kickin-sense-of-humor" type of women. All 5-years and beyond. And, as I think about them every single morning, my small victory of four-years isn't without loss. I miss you, Shawna and Kel. Realist.
Blake is 3 1/2. Blake is amazing. Blake is playing baseball (tee-ball) in April. Blake is growing. Growing tall and won't slow down. Nothing in his vocabulary or mental awareness has any clue about 5-years, 4-years or 50-years. I'm his Mama. And in his world, I'm his Mama forever. So. That's the way it'll be. There is no reason to try to rationalize and lay out the stats to my 3-year old. Afterall, he is my carrot. I am on a constant chase to keep up with him. Forever. And ever. And ever.
Four years ago, I was 27, pregnant and deathly afraid (but tried not to act it). I wasn't sure if I were going to still be alive to see my son take his first steps.
Four years ago, my life changed forever.
Today. Blake is the greatest joy ever. Rigo is amazing. I am healthy. We are happy.
Today. Life is good.
Thank you dearest family and dearest friends for the last for years. Cheers to the next forty!
Eating breakfast with Blake. Sipping my morning coffee. Having a second and even a third cup. Doing a round of homework with the bug before taking him to school. All the while, working: on stuff that matters. Attending a Board Meeting tonight right dab smack in the middle of the evening and wrapping things up for the day with my family. Sharing. Smiling. Giggling. And undoubtedly, a bit of impromptu dancing which isn't so impromptu since it's a nightly ritual.
In my wildest dreams, I would have never, ever been able to tell you five years ago that "this" is what my life would look like. A life so closely intertwined with cancer. I am back to work helping people with cancer-related legal issues (seriously, right.) and spend a tremendous amount of time volunteering with Komen among a host of other cancer-advocacy and outreach groups. Stuff that matters. But the last four years have brought more blessings than one could ever hope for in a lifetime. I am beyond lucky in the purest sense of the word.
The stats are ugly. The surgeries are long-listed and are to-be-continued in my book. The triple-negative front is anything but hopeful. And 2011 has been a short, but tough year. My "sisters" are bearing the brunt of the disease and Hallmark is getting the best of me. Not being the patient can make one feel so helpless so in my pursuit to do something, I retreat to Hallmark. The realist in me lives on.
But four years is nothing to minimize. Four years brings me one step closer to the mark. The mark that "they" gave me. The mark that I gave myself. The mark that means the world to our family. While the targeted treatments for triple negative breast cancer are pretty much non-existent, the 5-year mark for triple negative patients is monumental in our recovery. I can feel it and it's oh, so close.
The realist in me knows that those closest to me who are spending their day preparing for chemo, changing bandages or lining up caretakers for their babies as they head into surgery were all well beyond the 5-year mark. My mentors in the cancer-world, but more importantly, my mentors in the "this-is-who-you-can-strive-to-mirror-to-be-a-loving-mother,-strong-and-beautiful-woman,-full-of-compassion,-and-with-the-kickin-sense-of-humor" type of women. All 5-years and beyond. And, as I think about them every single morning, my small victory of four-years isn't without loss. I miss you, Shawna and Kel. Realist.
Blake is 3 1/2. Blake is amazing. Blake is playing baseball (tee-ball) in April. Blake is growing. Growing tall and won't slow down. Nothing in his vocabulary or mental awareness has any clue about 5-years, 4-years or 50-years. I'm his Mama. And in his world, I'm his Mama forever. So. That's the way it'll be. There is no reason to try to rationalize and lay out the stats to my 3-year old. Afterall, he is my carrot. I am on a constant chase to keep up with him. Forever. And ever. And ever.
Four years ago, I was 27, pregnant and deathly afraid (but tried not to act it). I wasn't sure if I were going to still be alive to see my son take his first steps.
Four years ago, my life changed forever.
Today. Blake is the greatest joy ever. Rigo is amazing. I am healthy. We are happy.
Today. Life is good.
Thank you dearest family and dearest friends for the last for years. Cheers to the next forty!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Turning the World Pink, Virtually ... #fightbreastcancer
Every 69 seconds, a woman dies of breast cancer somewhere in the world. Monday, August 2, 2010
Coincidences? Not So Much.
Nearly six months ago, I scheduled my 7th surgery for July 30th. Yes, lucky number 7. Seriously. But a few weeks ago, for the first time in my journey with breast cancer, I had a doctor call to reschedule. I didn't ask why (because I don't really care) but I think my surgeon went out of town. The nurse asked to move me up or back a week. But because of my teaching schedule and the anticipated recovery time, I opted to move the surgery to December so I can recover over winter break (and my birthday; margaritas bedside). Even though I was mentally prepared to have this pretty invasive surgery (yes, I have to psych myself up), I was happy it got pushed back so I can finish out the summer with Rigo and Blake.
Well, a short time after the surgery got rescheduled, I received a wonderful surprise - Vera Bradley called to invite Rigo, Blake and I to participate in a photo shoot for their Spring, 2011 catalog in Malibu. Guess when? On July 30th. When the invitation came, I immediately knew I had something on that date, but I couldn't recall what (alas, chemo brain). Then I remembered it was my long-anticipated surgery. But then I remembered it had been cancelled! We're in.
So, last weekend, on a day I was suppose to be checking into the hospital to be butchered open and sewn up for a 7th time ... I was on the Malibu shore with my two best men and a host of amazing professionals! I'm not a big believer in coincidences. Not so much. Everything happens for a reason. If I've learned anything from this ride with cancer, it's just that - it all happens for a reason. And in this case, a very good reason.
Vera Bradley went above and beyond and hosted our family at the Delfina Hotel in Santa Monica for the weekend. We were treated to a stellar stylist. Stacey, I love you! Awesome hair and makeup artist. Rick, you spoiled me (and I loved every second of it)! World-class fashion photographer. Dominique, we were awed by you and your team! A set donned with classic cars and surf boards which went by the wayside with an impromptu run along the shore and INTO the tides to appease Blake. VB Team and Company, you spoiled Blake; thank you from the bottom of our hearts!
Dolphin sightings. Lots and lots of dolphins. Dinner at the Promenade. Coffee on the Pier. Bike rides along the boardwalk. Jaunts in Venice. Afternoon dips. Lunch with great friends.
Best of all, many cherished memories of the warm welcome and blanket of compassion from our old/new Fort Wayne, Chicago, LA friends. Thank you Vera Bradley for a fairytale of a weekend and for making our family feel a part of the Vera Bradley Family.
Heidi Floyd, the amazing force behind all of this - Congratulations Sister-Friend for making it 5 years deep and thank you for being my beacon of hope. Cheers to many, many more!
If interested, please visit the Vera Bradley Breast Cancer Foundation at www.verabradleyfoundation.blogspot.com.
Well, a short time after the surgery got rescheduled, I received a wonderful surprise - Vera Bradley called to invite Rigo, Blake and I to participate in a photo shoot for their Spring, 2011 catalog in Malibu. Guess when? On July 30th. When the invitation came, I immediately knew I had something on that date, but I couldn't recall what (alas, chemo brain). Then I remembered it was my long-anticipated surgery. But then I remembered it had been cancelled! We're in.
So, last weekend, on a day I was suppose to be checking into the hospital to be butchered open and sewn up for a 7th time ... I was on the Malibu shore with my two best men and a host of amazing professionals! I'm not a big believer in coincidences. Not so much. Everything happens for a reason. If I've learned anything from this ride with cancer, it's just that - it all happens for a reason. And in this case, a very good reason.
Vera Bradley went above and beyond and hosted our family at the Delfina Hotel in Santa Monica for the weekend. We were treated to a stellar stylist. Stacey, I love you! Awesome hair and makeup artist. Rick, you spoiled me (and I loved every second of it)! World-class fashion photographer. Dominique, we were awed by you and your team! A set donned with classic cars and surf boards which went by the wayside with an impromptu run along the shore and INTO the tides to appease Blake. VB Team and Company, you spoiled Blake; thank you from the bottom of our hearts!
Dolphin sightings. Lots and lots of dolphins. Dinner at the Promenade. Coffee on the Pier. Bike rides along the boardwalk. Jaunts in Venice. Afternoon dips. Lunch with great friends.
Best of all, many cherished memories of the warm welcome and blanket of compassion from our old/new Fort Wayne, Chicago, LA friends. Thank you Vera Bradley for a fairytale of a weekend and for making our family feel a part of the Vera Bradley Family.
Heidi Floyd, the amazing force behind all of this - Congratulations Sister-Friend for making it 5 years deep and thank you for being my beacon of hope. Cheers to many, many more!
If interested, please visit the Vera Bradley Breast Cancer Foundation at www.verabradleyfoundation.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Today is a good day.
There are so many things I can write about today:
First, Rigo and I just returned from a week vacation to celebrate an early-anniversary. We are still on semi-vacation mode finding sand here and there and slathering on the aloe, day and night. I am grateful for all that Rigo brings to my life. But one of the greatest things he brings is his willingness to whisk me away every now and then (so long as it's not baseball season). Thank you for a blissful week, Rigo. I do.
Then, there is cancer. Or I should say, there is no cancer. The last few months have been a roller coaster ride for us in a
But none of that comes close to why my heart is absolutely full of fireworks today. I am bursting with emotions today (which, for those of you that know me, is pretty atypical). I am still in utter awe and amazement everytime I think about it: Three years ago, after enduring six months of chemo with me in utero, Blake Michael was born. Blake was a month early, but he was healthy, happy and had a full head of hair. Blake arrived on his own and just in time for me to move forward with my treatment plan, like he knew how important it was. Truly remarkable because his timing was right-on. I meet people all the time who comment that they didn't know you could be pregnant and have chemo. My response is always the same - I didn't know that either. And, to be honest, even though I see Blake as a healthy 3-year old, I still don't quite get it. I fully understand the science and medicine behind it, but I just have a terribly difficult time grasping the concept of it all. Blake's beginning was so different than I would have ever imagined. And to watch him today try to "fly" off the bed or dive into the deep-end of the pool, you'd never guess it either.
At the time I was diagnosed, I prayed and asked God to help me keep my baby safe, healthy and happy, if possible. From my perspective, that was my one and only task - a happy and healthy baby (no crying - maybe the baseball wife in me). On July 14, 2007, my prayers were realized. Thank you God for the greatest blessing of the gift of life. Blake is the most amazing sign of hope and love, full of laughter and life. He is more than I could have ever hoped for. All this cancer bleh and I am blessed with B. Thank you.
On July 14, 2007, my focus became doing everything in my power to get Blake to kindergarten. Give me kindergarten. Blake's age tracks my years-from-treatment, so kindergarten is a pinnacle moment in both our lives. His for obvious reasons. Mine, well that will be my 5-year mark. In the world of triple-negative breast cancer, 5 years is huge. Please, give me until kindergarten. I'm not greedy. I know just how precious of a gift 5-years is; too many of my friends that have lost this fight would do anything for 5 years, 5 months, 5 minutes with their babies. That is why with each temper tantrum, with each upset tummy, with each "oops Mommy, I broke it," I find a way to freeze-frame the moment. The look in his eyes. The giggles from deep within his belly. The feel of his arms squeezing tight around my neck. Geez, I don't think I am being unreasonable. Please. Kindergarten. I need to get to kindergarten. (And then we can reevaluate.)
Blake Michael, have a wonderful birthday, bug. Mommy loves you, a lot.
Today is a good day.
First, Rigo and I just returned from a week vacation to celebrate an early-anniversary. We are still on semi-vacation mode finding sand here and there and slathering on the aloe, day and night. I am grateful for all that Rigo brings to my life. But one of the greatest things he brings is his willingness to whisk me away every now and then (so long as it's not baseball season). Thank you for a blissful week, Rigo. I do.
Then, there is cancer. Or I should say, there is no cancer. The last few months have been a roller coaster ride for us in a
cancer-sorta way. As the onc put it yesterday, "after the trillion-dollar work-up, I don't think you have cancer." Bittersweet. "Don't have cancer" is amazing to hear. "I don't think" not quite as definitive as one hopes to hear. Nonetheless, I try not to get lost in the details.
How it all unfolds (warning: long version) - About three months ago, my lower back started bothering me, flaring up and progressively went from annoying to intolerable. Recently, things have been looking a bit better. The pain is not nearly as consistent, which is a nice sigh of relief (massages on the beach tend to help with back pain, sorry don't mean to rub it in).
About a month into this, I had a regular follow-up with my oncologist. As a matter of practice, my onc is a no-scan type of doctor meaning scans are not used absent symptoms. Since I was pregnant during my diagnosis and majority of treatment, I essentially have not ever really had a scan. Pro - less exposure to radiation and no scanxiety (needless worry). Con - no sneak peak for cancer in hard to find areas. Without scans, my standard follow-ups include blood work, clinical exams and chest x-rays, so I am still under a watchful eye. And I am ever so grateful that I am still on the 3 month follow-up schedule. Since I am 3 years post-diagnosis (2 1/2 years post-surgery), most patients move to follow-ups every 6 months or 1 year. I am certain I would need to be institutionalized from withdrawals if I had to wait 6 months, much less a year, to see Dr. Perkins. (Tangent ... returning.)
Onc decides to order up a bone scan. Unremarkable. (Good.) Back still hurts. Order up an MRI. Unremarkable. (Great.) Back worse. Order the CT. Unremarkable. (Excellent, even though it took three blown veins and 9 pricks to inject the contrast. I still have the track marks.) Finally, today I had a bone density test done. I don't expect much from those results. Even the worse news isn't as bad as cancer, so bleh. But I've spent much of my time the last few weeks in a whole lot of waiting rooms, under expensive and nerve-rackingly loud machines with scanners. So much so that with my latest scan today, I decided I am going to shop online for my own cute hospital gown. There is no sense in not getting my own gown, albeit cute, since I've been spending so much time in them lately.
And here we are. I think they have run out of tests to give me. He says "the trillion dollar work-up and I don't think you have cancer." Brilliant. I actually have my money on the good 'ol aging process, but I count this as a point for NED. But hey, thanks for the ride. (I'm still going shopping.)
Next, is the Central Valley Affiliate Race for the Cure, which is at the end of October. The buzz is beginning to brew in town as people start putting their teams together and registering for the Race. Lorenzo Neal is the Honorary Chair of the Race this year! This is such an exciting time of the year for me. My surgeryversy is October 12th, so it is quite astonishing to think I can run this year, when just three years ago, my family tried to insist I use a wheelchair. Register for the Race at komencentralvalley.org or donate to someone in the community who is participating.
Yes, a lot of great things to write about why today is a good day. Vacations, anniversaries, the Race and NED. I mean NED never gets old. Today is a good day.
How it all unfolds (warning: long version) - About three months ago, my lower back started bothering me, flaring up and progressively went from annoying to intolerable. Recently, things have been looking a bit better. The pain is not nearly as consistent, which is a nice sigh of relief (massages on the beach tend to help with back pain, sorry don't mean to rub it in).
About a month into this, I had a regular follow-up with my oncologist. As a matter of practice, my onc is a no-scan type of doctor meaning scans are not used absent symptoms. Since I was pregnant during my diagnosis and majority of treatment, I essentially have not ever really had a scan. Pro - less exposure to radiation and no scanxiety (needless worry). Con - no sneak peak for cancer in hard to find areas. Without scans, my standard follow-ups include blood work, clinical exams and chest x-rays, so I am still under a watchful eye. And I am ever so grateful that I am still on the 3 month follow-up schedule. Since I am 3 years post-diagnosis (2 1/2 years post-surgery), most patients move to follow-ups every 6 months or 1 year. I am certain I would need to be institutionalized from withdrawals if I had to wait 6 months, much less a year, to see Dr. Perkins. (Tangent ... returning.)
Onc decides to order up a bone scan. Unremarkable. (Good.) Back still hurts. Order up an MRI. Unremarkable. (Great.) Back worse. Order the CT. Unremarkable. (Excellent, even though it took three blown veins and 9 pricks to inject the contrast. I still have the track marks.) Finally, today I had a bone density test done. I don't expect much from those results. Even the worse news isn't as bad as cancer, so bleh. But I've spent much of my time the last few weeks in a whole lot of waiting rooms, under expensive and nerve-rackingly loud machines with scanners. So much so that with my latest scan today, I decided I am going to shop online for my own cute hospital gown. There is no sense in not getting my own gown, albeit cute, since I've been spending so much time in them lately.
And here we are. I think they have run out of tests to give me. He says "the trillion dollar work-up and I don't think you have cancer." Brilliant. I actually have my money on the good 'ol aging process, but I count this as a point for NED. But hey, thanks for the ride. (I'm still going shopping.)
Next, is the Central Valley Affiliate Race for the Cure, which is at the end of October. The buzz is beginning to brew in town as people start putting their teams together and registering for the Race. Lorenzo Neal is the Honorary Chair of the Race this year! This is such an exciting time of the year for me. My surgeryversy is October 12th, so it is quite astonishing to think I can run this year, when just three years ago, my family tried to insist I use a wheelchair. Register for the Race at komencentralvalley.org or donate to someone in the community who is participating.
Yes, a lot of great things to write about why today is a good day. Vacations, anniversaries, the Race and NED. I mean NED never gets old. Today is a good day.
But none of that comes close to why my heart is absolutely full of fireworks today. I am bursting with emotions today (which, for those of you that know me, is pretty atypical). I am still in utter awe and amazement everytime I think about it: Three years ago, after enduring six months of chemo with me in utero, Blake Michael was born. Blake was a month early, but he was healthy, happy and had a full head of hair. Blake arrived on his own and just in time for me to move forward with my treatment plan, like he knew how important it was. Truly remarkable because his timing was right-on. I meet people all the time who comment that they didn't know you could be pregnant and have chemo. My response is always the same - I didn't know that either. And, to be honest, even though I see Blake as a healthy 3-year old, I still don't quite get it. I fully understand the science and medicine behind it, but I just have a terribly difficult time grasping the concept of it all. Blake's beginning was so different than I would have ever imagined. And to watch him today try to "fly" off the bed or dive into the deep-end of the pool, you'd never guess it either.
At the time I was diagnosed, I prayed and asked God to help me keep my baby safe, healthy and happy, if possible. From my perspective, that was my one and only task - a happy and healthy baby (no crying - maybe the baseball wife in me). On July 14, 2007, my prayers were realized. Thank you God for the greatest blessing of the gift of life. Blake is the most amazing sign of hope and love, full of laughter and life. He is more than I could have ever hoped for. All this cancer bleh and I am blessed with B. Thank you.
On July 14, 2007, my focus became doing everything in my power to get Blake to kindergarten. Give me kindergarten. Blake's age tracks my years-from-treatment, so kindergarten is a pinnacle moment in both our lives. His for obvious reasons. Mine, well that will be my 5-year mark. In the world of triple-negative breast cancer, 5 years is huge. Please, give me until kindergarten. I'm not greedy. I know just how precious of a gift 5-years is; too many of my friends that have lost this fight would do anything for 5 years, 5 months, 5 minutes with their babies. That is why with each temper tantrum, with each upset tummy, with each "oops Mommy, I broke it," I find a way to freeze-frame the moment. The look in his eyes. The giggles from deep within his belly. The feel of his arms squeezing tight around my neck. Geez, I don't think I am being unreasonable. Please. Kindergarten. I need to get to kindergarten. (And then we can reevaluate.)
Blake Michael, have a wonderful birthday, bug. Mommy loves you, a lot.
Today is a good day.
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