anyone starting chemo in Nov 2005

Sending a great big hug to all my chemo sisters.

Grrrrr, the counter is still on order. It is the one  that is 12 ' long and houses the sink. No ice and water to the fridge, no GD, DW, or sink  This is paid for and the most important part to completing this project.

But we will make it.

Hope you all have had a great summer. Ody, hope you are safe .....DWTS is almost here again! Not sure about the line up.

LOL, Anna

It stands for garbage disposal.....As for the counter, they sent the special order 12 foot one with a back splash a half inch shorter. So we sent back the 6 foot one to have it special made. Just a few dollars difference. The 4 foot one is fine, it is the coffee bar and is on the other wall. Now all we need is the Island put in. Can't do that till the counters are complete.

I will post pictures as soon as I'm up and running. Anna I have been having meals out. But to tell you the truth, I miss being in my kitchen. And with summer tomatoes I grew, we have been having sandwiches too.

Hope all are doing well. ((((((HUGS))))))) to each of you.

Yep, almost four years! My surgery was on the 19th of September, I think. I like the fact that I'm not entirely clear on that. I do remember starting chemo on Halloween, however.

How are my sisters doing?

I agree, Odalys, each one of you is special to me.

Heading back to the States tomorrow. It's mighty hard to leave this wonderful place.

Lots of love to all my sisters.

Here we are back in Virginia. Gorgeous gorgeous weather, cool breezes, open windows, lots and lots of green.  Hope it lasts till our brand new A/C compressor gets replaced on Wednesday........

And how are my sisters?

Hi everybody,

Happy cancerversary to you, ML.  Ody, did I miss yours?  Anna, when is yours?  Marg, how bout you? 

These past few months have been insane to say the least.  Hmm...lived at Ronald McDonald House for 2 weeks, lived in Chicago for 3 weeks (for Daniel's therapy).  Ruptured foob, exchange surgery, broke a toe, nearly cut off another toe the next day, school has begun.....

Whew!  I think of you guys daily and miss the days we were all checking in on each other during treatment.  It's almost our 4 year anniversary since we've known each other! Love you all!  Deb

Dearest sisters, 
Four years ago today, I waited nervously for the entire morning and tried to keep myself busy on the computer.  What was I waiting for?  I was waiting to go to the doctor, so he could tell me, "It came back cancer." 

I knew it the moment my husband found my lump.  He saved my life, and I will never be able to fully share with him how tremendous of a husband he really is-I don't know what kind of words can completely portray that message.  When my husband said, "When was the last time you did a breast exam?", and put my hand on the lump he had felt, my heart sank. 

I did do self exams on a fairly regular basis, but as a woman with "lumpy boobs" it became so monotonous to me that I often let it lapse to a once every other month occurrence. 

I also just had my yearly check up with my gyno, and came up all clear. 

However, that moment I felt that lump, I KNEW it wasn't right.  It felt as hard as a rock.  It was HUGE.  It was sickening. 

I tried to reassure him (him?  I mean myself....) that my boobs always got lumpy between my period cycles.  I said I would wait till my period came (due about a week later), and if it didn't change, I'd get it checked. 

I poked at my breast constantly that whole weekend and hoped/prayed the lump would go away.  "Maybe it was just the angle we were poking at it," I'd think to myself as I poked and prodded so hard my breast turned red. 

We had been trying to get pregnant as of that very month.  I was feeling tired and nauseous, and my BOOB hurt.  NOT my boobs.  Nonetheless, I was excited and was sure I had a baby growing inside me.  Yep, I was giving birth; just to cancer instead of a child. 

I couldn't take the nagging feeling I had and called for an appointment that Monday.  I had the sonogram and mammogram, and with both tests, I had such a horrible feeling.  Both tests took forever!  The techs would just say, "Oh, the doctor wanted a different angle....." and took TONS of pictures. 

When the doctor came in, I really knew it wasn't right.  She said, "It's up to you, but I think you might want to do a biopsy. I'm concerned with the irregular borders I am seeing." 

Oh, the whirlwind of emotions!  Denial!  Anger!  Fear!  Sadness!  Confusion!  What?!?!  This couldn't be!  Besides, what the he** did that even MEAN??!! I had no idea what those terms meant back then.  Four years later, I am in the process of writing a book! 

I had to wait nearly two weeks for the biopsy, and that is when I came to breastcancer.org.  I grew to love the women here instantly.  What an amazing resource I had right before my eyes.  I was on the computer constantly, chatting away and asking question after question. 

Four years ago today, my husband, 15 month old son and I walked nervously into a small room where we had to wait for our lives to be forever changed.  The doctor who did my biopsy came in, avoiding eye contact, and in a sing-song voice, said, "Hello!  How are you today?"  He smiled awkwardly, looking at the enormous packet of slides, and the giant breast cancer book he held. 

He said, "I'm afraid I have a bomb to drop on you.  It came back cancer....."  He continued on with a flurry of statements that I just heard as "cancercancercancercancercancercancercancercancer" 

He stopped briefly and looked at my glassy blank eyes, saying "Are you ok?!?"  I nodded and didn't say a word.  I failed to tell him that I had no idea what he was telling me, because I didn't speak "cancer" very well.  I didn't tell him that instead of listening to him, I concentrated on my baby, who was happily eating soggy Cheerios from his stroller. 

After he finished talking I asked him all the questions I was told to ask him (thank you, all the women who taught me!).  He had no answers, handed me a yellow post-it note with a name and number, and said, "I wish you all the best, do you need a moment in here?"  I nodded, and began a high-pitched wail that lasted for what seemed to be an eternity. 

I clung to my husband, who held on just as tightly to me and let me cry.  I remember sitting on that cheap sofa, and my husband getting up and moving closer to me so I could reach him better.  I buried my face in his lap and screamed.  Every time the tears began to slow down, I'd re-hear the doctor....

"I'm afraid I have a bomb to drop......cancercancercancercancercancer......"

 I looked at my sweet, precious baby who sat unknowingly in his stroller, happily eating and oblivious the entire time.  I needed my baby and held on to him, afraid to let go.  My sweet boy had no idea what was happening to Mommy.  He obediently let Daddy pull him out of the stroller so his Mommy could hold on tight. 

It was almost as if I was afraid that if I didn't clutch my husband and son with all my might, I'd lose them. 

Or, worse, that they'd lose me. 

Oh, the things that have happened since September 29th, 2005.  All the things that went wrong....the doctor I was referred to that day had no idea I was told to come to her, and had no openings until a month later.  Like I was going sit idly and wait?  

I was told that there was time to wait, because it takes years for cancer to grow inside of you.  However, my tumor was GROWING before our very eyes.  I had a high-grade cancer, and to this day I am so glad I took it upon myself to say, "SCREW you, I'm not waiting," I went to the American cancer society president, and a winner of the MacArthur genius grant almost immediately.  How is it I got in to see them so quickly?!?!  Oh, the Lord was working His ways. 

It was the genius doctor who saved me from that point.  She determined that my tumor was simply out of control, and while it looked to be only 2.3 cm on the surface, it went back to my chest wall and was anywhere between 7-10 cm. 

I did pre-op chemo, which had its own list of mishaps.  I had infections galore, missed lots of treatments due to bad blood counts, and had to remind my doctor at the end of treatment that he OWED me some treatments!  I learned to FIGHT for myself. 

I had my bilateral mastectomy with immediate reconstruction on June 15th of 2006.  The morning of surgery, my husband took a short video of me without my top on, and took pictures of my once huge DD boobs.  It makes me cry when I see the video-not because I miss my huge boobs (I do, by the way), but because I looked so sick and so terrified.  I've only watched that video a handful of times.  I can't bear to look. 

So, my amazing husband took care of me, even helping me to bathe.  What a precious man he was during my 6 weeks of recovery.  Don't get me wrong, we fought like crazy, because we had not spent so much constant time together since we were dating.  Nonetheless, he gave so much of himself to me.  Again, how do you thank someone for something like that? 

I had 36 radiation treatments, and made the rads team a hotdog cake with hamburger cookies and french fry cake pieces.  I attached a note saying, "Some things were meant to be fried, grilled, and broiled.  My breasts aren't one of those things!"  I loved my rads team. 

Now that I am four years since dx., I am piecing my life back together.  I am getting back into life slowly but surely.  I still deal with lots of pain issues, but I have MS too, so who knows what is causing it?!?! 

Not a day goes by where I don't think of parts of my cancer journey.  I still wear my CANCER SUCKS t-shirts, and talk openly to anyone who questions it.  I stop people in the stores who are clearly going through chemo and talk to them.  I have flashed dozens of curious women my braless chest.  I don't care if they see it.  I have no humility, and besides, cancer loves to try and make us as uncomfortable with our bodies as possible.  Dangit-I am NOT going to let cancer win that struggle.  Screw you, cancer. 

I totally mean that, by the way. SCREW CANCER!  This year brought an entirely new bout of fun for our family.  After more than a year of begging any doctor I knew to listen to me, I finally found out I had colon cancer. 

Good Lord.  I mean that one too.  GOOD LORD! The Lord had been very good to us by helping us somehow detect that cancer.  I had been pushing and pushing for a doctor to test me.  I had a colonoscopy, and an endoscopy.  While the endoscopy showed that I had gastritis ("Whoo-hoo" was my response to that one, if I remember correctly), the colonoscopy was different. 

I had woken up several times during the procedure.  I grabbed the nurse standing beside me, begging and pleading with her to stop what they were doing because "I COULD FEEL IT!!!"  I had never felt so powerless in my life. 

As I was coming to in the recovery room (and tooting a symphony of farts, I might add), the Doctor came in.  "You had two polyps.  I removed one, but because of the location of the other one, you will have to have surgery to remove it."  At this point, I clearly remember thinking, "Phhfft!  Whatever.  Surgery.  Bah."  Then he dropped the C bomb on me. 

Cancercancercancercancercancer.....................

I began to cry in between toots.  My son intently watched PBS Kids shows and my Dear Hubby began to get a vacant look in his eye. 

We were told we would find out the initial path reports in about 5 days.  I waited in sheer misery.  Again?!  Come on, already! 

At 4:59 on the promised day, I was finally given a phone call.  I was told the polyp was benign.  However, I was still encouraged to have surgery.  I saw my PCP the next day, and he hollered, "That polyp is huge!  You need to get it out, NOW!" 

Before I knew it, I was scheduled for a right hemicolectomy.  The surgery was 3 days later, and it was beyond what I could imagine.  When I woke up that night, a nurse's aide was yanking a pillow out from behind me (to get to the NG tube and flush it).  The sudden movement caused a wave of intense spasms that continued for over 2 days.  They were so intense that I had difficulty breathing, and they would knock me over as I would attempt to walk a few steps. 

I felt cocky.  I had gone into this surgery thinking I was a pro, and instead, I felt like a fool. 

Once again, I had to succumb to what cancer was demanding of me.  I had to do this in order to become victorious.  I HAD to gnash my teeth in pain while I attempt to turn over.  I HAD to utter strange sounds and wails while I felt spasms overtake my body while I walked.  I HAD to accept help, or I would never recover. 

So, cancer had another brief affair with the body I once thought I knew and understood.  It took approximately a month before I truly began to feel functional.  However-it's been about 6 months since the surgery and I still feel pain, discomfort, and can never again eat the foods I once loved. 

Cancer has changed me, and while I would NEVER want to go through this again, I am grateful for what I have learned during this journey.  I have learned to appreciate my husband who can drive me crazy at times.  When he makes me nuts, I remember all that he did for me. 

The different thing about this year is that I have learned that it did not matter how much I tried to acknowledge my husband's loyalty to my recovery and his love for me, the chronic stress can finally catch up with the person who loves you most on this earth.  While he really did believe my previous cancer was just a bump in our proverbial road, this time has really shaken his confidence in my recovery.  He has been given the most difficult taste of "fight or flight syndrome" ever imaginable. While my body has been given a diagnosis of NED, my loving husband now lives in worry and fear of something else slamming into our lives. 

Why do I share this with you?  I can't beg you all enough to look at your loved one/caregiver/spouse, and really, truly ask how they are.  Grab onto each other's hand, look each other in the eye, and assure one another that you have both made it through another day. 

Just remind each other that even though cancer has marched in and out (and perhaps in and out and in and out) of your lives, you will still experience "normal" illness.  Cancer does not make us exempt from living the life we once knew.  We had worked so hard on making sure I was well that we neglected the well-being of my husband.  We have to now acknowledge that we will always "live" with cancer, but we have to trust that I am NOT dying from it. 

I have learned to appreciate each and every precious moment I have with my baby.  The same principal applies-he is a 5 year old who can make me crazy, yet I am so glad I have that opportunity to experience him growing up.  In the last year alone, I have been blessed with the opportunity to watch my Cheerio-eating son go to kindergarten, find a best friend, go to play dates, write his name, read books out loud, ride a bike, and the list goes on.  My son caught me watching him with a bemused expression as he played with two crayons.  He had an entire dialogue going on between Purple and Red.  "I'm the best crayon! No, I am the best one! Look, I get to color the picture and you don't!  No!!! I wanted to do it!  Go away, Purple!"  When he caught me grinning at him with a goofy sort of glee, he asked what I was doing.  I answered, "Soaking it all in, sweet child." 

Cancer changed my son just as it changed my husband and I.  He tells every person that sees our car that his Mommy is a survivor, "can't you tell?" When I go to the doctor with my son in tow, he prepares his bag of toys and brings a snack.  As I lay down for exams, he reaches up and pokes at my belly and foobs just like my doctor does.  Because of cancer, my son faces his fears head-on.  He has learned to be fiercely independent (because Mommy didn't always feel good).  He has also developed a gentle nature.  While we find ourselves collapsing beneath the stress of it all, our son reaches up and gives us a hug at the moment we need it. 

This past summer, I had my son enrolled in a 3 week long, intensive physical therapy camp.  My foob had ruptured the second week (for no apparent reason).  I had the option of going to my original surgeon two days later, but that would have meant taking my son out of the therapy that was teaching him so much.  I chose to go for two weeks with a deflated foob (I walked all over Chicago with a lopsided chest).  The experience made me realize that I have finally graduated to the next level...the level where the inconvenience of cancer will never invade my life AGAIN.

I love you all, and pray for each of us! 
Love and prayers, Deb

"And if it turns out it's over too fast, I'll make every last moment last"
Diagnosis: 9/29/2005, IDC, 6cm+, Stage II, Grade 3, 0/7 nodes, ER-/PR-, HER2- [Edit] [Delete]

Dear Sisters:

Congratulations to all of us as we mark four years of survivorshood.  Whenever I stop to think about those dark days (it is dark at 3 a.m.), I am filled with such appreciation for each of you who shared that time when we were exhausted beyond belief but couldn't sleep because of steroids and fear.  You were there with shared stories of physical abuse inflicted by countless doctors; mental anguish about too few answers to too many questions; and unbelievable emotional pain inflicted on our families, friends, and ourselves by an uncertain future.

Four years later and we are still in different stages of recovery, but we're still here.  There have been so many hard-fought victories and additional challenges, but I am so grateful and humbled by this journey and those who have shared it with me.  I remember four years ago, a survivor telling me that someday, I would recognize the gifts from the journey and my response was, "bring it on, because this isn't fun."  There have, indeed, been gifts.  The biggest gift of all has been time:  time to see my granddaughter start college and my youngest grandson play more ball games; time to get off the corporate hamster wheel and spend my days in joy and contentment; time to give back to other cancer patients and bc survivors; time for creativity, physical activity, and naps; and especially time to enjoy my family and friends.

Just because I had breast cancer doesn't mean that my world has been non-stop positive.  I face some significant physical challenges, won't work again, and have experience the grief of losing my precious brother and other dear friends and watching my son's marriage come to an end.  Life does go on and the continuity of that is reassuring.   I know that you too have experienced the joys and pain of life--you've had babies born in your family or babies that have grown up and are going to school.  Jobs are lost and new opportunities present themselves.  We go through physical scares and learn to whistle in the dark and we go on with our lives--never entirely safe from recurrence, but them we were never exempt from bc anyway, were we.

There aren't enough words to tell you how much you all mean to me and that even though I am a poor correspondent, you are always in my thoughts and in my heart.  I wish you continued health, joy, and sisterhood.

Love (your older sister)

Nancy

Oh Nancy....beautiful words.  I've missed you around here.  Sorry to hear about your brother and your son's divorce. Yes, we've come a long way and I too am incredible grateful to have more time on this earth.  I will forever be grateful for our chemo sisterhood.  Love you guys!

Anna, if only it were a little later . . . I am going to be in Boston on 11-4/6 to do a HER-2 talk.  It would have been fun to finally meet.  Oh well--the universe works in wonderous ways and I'm sure we will meet someday.  So glad that you will be with your baby--can you imagine that you ever had a life before?

Love to all.

Nancy

Oh, Nancy, I wish I could have walked with you!

No, I wonder what I did with all this love before...

Anna - Adorable.  He is growing so fast. Oh, I just know you are going to enjoy every minute with him and your daughter.  I hope you take lots of pics and share them with us.