Time To Put Away The Germ-X

For the past five months, these bottles of 99.99% germ killing power have fashioned their way throughout our home. They have replaced Pottery Barns vases and flea market knickknacks on side tables, been camouflaged behind picture frames, been placed on night stands and sink counters. Pretty much anywhere in the house where an unexpected sneeze or cough could leave little hands (or big ones) stranded with a hot mess of germs...you could find a bottle for it within a 3 step radius. I even considered performing some minor surgeries on the kids favorite stuffed animals to stash a trial-sized bottle for those midnight cough attacks....a bit extreme, I know and in case you are wondering whether or not I actually did it - let's just say that no stuffed critters were harmed during the 'degermification' process.

At long last, it's time to reclaim my decorating accessories and put away the Germ-X bottles. The fear of landing a night in the ER from catching a common cold or stomach bug no longer remains...16 rounds of chemical cocktails downed and this girl is done with chemotherapy.

June 21, 2012

It's a date that has been etched into my brain since the very first chemical cocktail - my last day of chemotherapy (yet I didn't dare write it down on the calendar). In the words of Michael Scott from The Office, "I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious." I wasn't willing to jinx the date by marking up my calendars with that monumental event. There were too many opportunities for things to go wrong, a feisty liver acting up or those germ-fighting cells not bouncing back to a treatable level. Oh no, regardless of how silly my superstitions may have been, I was not going to take the risk of scribbling those 4 little words "Last Day of Chemo" on my calendar. Any delay to that highlighted occasion would be too crushing.

It wasn't until three weeks before my last chemical cocktail that the calendars were not only marked but doodled, highlighted and starred. At that point, I invested too much time and suffered through too many cocktails for any delays. I determined that, short of not having a pulse, nothing was going to keep me from this chair:

Let me tell you, on that faithful morning it felt like my superstitions were being validated...we were running 25 minutes late by the time that we finally got on the road to Hopkins, my husband missed the exit to the hospital and I had an infection developing under my fingernail....appropriately located on my middle finger.

But, despite cancer's lame attempts, my date with that chair was kept. And thankfully just like the previous 15 rounds...it went down uneventfully.

Good to the last drop

Last bag in and that's a wrap, folks. This part of my treatment is done...over...complete...finito! I think it goes without saying how relieved I am to be getting off this emotionally straining and physically exhausting roller coaster ride. 

So, what will I miss most about chemo?
 Hmmm...uhhhh...let me think...give me a second...oh right -
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

 Well, that's not entirely true.

 Admittedly, 

there is something...

 that I might miss

 just a little

bit...

...the blanket oven.

Hands down one of the best inventions EVER! Totally was trying to figure out a way to get that bad boy out of the hospital without being noticed.

But, in all seriousness, I do have to give a shout out to these amazing ladies. Can't imagine a more caring and compassionate group of women that I would rather be "stuck" by...they made this difficult part of the journey a heck of a lot easier:

A big, heart-felt thanks to Debbie, Fran, Linda, Colleen & Kelly (not in pic) for all that you do for your patients!

Of course, I can't even imagine getting into the ring without the love and support of my husband and these 3 monkeys cheering me on along the way: 

Alex expressing his thoughts on cancer

 And it's because of them that there's no way I'm coming out of the ring without a KO under my belt. Some day, years from now, when they're all grown, I hope they realize how much they were in large part the reason behind my fight.

And so, this chapter in "The Battle With The Big C" has come to an end...hopefully, never to be revisited. Next up, surgery. But, before that happens, I'm going to need some time to allow the white cells to bounce back. In the meantime, I will continue to replace those Germ-X bottles with vases of freshly picked flowers and enjoy this time with family and friends.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Lisa has left the building. Thank you and goodnight."

Cancer, you don't stand a chance...

Some Sentiments Are Best Left For Greeting Cards

 

One of the annoying things about cancer is its perfect ability to make people around you feel uncomfortable. It's the kind of unease that makes a casual acquaintance dart down the next aisle in a supermarket in order to avoid having to ask the question, "How are you?" Admittedly, BC ("before cancer") I would have been one of those evaders. God forbid, that person actually answered my question truthfully....TMI, thank you very much. Just here to buy some vegetables not to pretend to know how to respond to a person who is not faring well with chemo. Awkward.

For the not-so-fortunate people who are unable to escape those by chance confrontations (your aunt at Easter dinner or a book club buddy), it makes them blurt out absurd, greeting card sentiments like "Hey, bald is beautiful" when the discussion of hair loss comes up. I can't blame them for uttering such nonsense. That's the effect that cancer has on people. I mean what the heck are you suppose to say, "Gosh, now that you are losing your hair, I hope you don't discover some hideous birthmark or that your head is really knobby!"

Of course, there are those who are excluded from the club:

And there are plenty of men who rock the bald look:

...I couldn't resist!

But, for this bald chick...please do not tell me that bald is beautiful because it most certainly is not. Before you start thinking that chemotherapy has not only destroyed the cancerous cells in my body but has also left a hole through my heart...let me explain.

My disdain towards baldness goes beyond vanity reasons. Sure, my cue ball situation is not exactly a confidence booster but it's only temporary. Losing my hair was a reminder that I was sick. Not sick like I just told a joke in poor taste sick...I mean sick like life threatening disease sick. With each shedding hair, I was losing another strand of my "normal" life BC. Holding onto those blonde tresses was the only way to hold onto the comfortable life that I once knew and loved just months before.

Each clump of hair left behind in my hairbrush, on my pillow and in the drain after a shower was a reminder that I was one step closer to the woman that I dreaded becoming...the sick person who acquaintances would dodge in the store, loved ones would lay their sorrowful eyes upon and friends, regardless of how I answered, would do the preemptive nod of sympathy after asking, "How are you?" 

With the last hair that fell from my head also came the realization that this wasn't a bad dream soon to be awakened from. This cancer thing was serious business and was not going away without a fight...so bring on the chemicals and the side effects, and, yes, the greeting card sentiments that come along with being part of the bald club.

Four and 1/2 months later, one more chemical cocktail to go, and as I am typing this post I am sporting a nice, peach-fuzzed noggin. That's right, folks - my hair is coming back! I'm not ready to ditch the wig just yet...but, approaching what I like to call "the Beckham". Just add a pair of Stella & Dot Capri Chandelier earrings and it's all the rage for Summer 2012.

Yep, the uninvited guests that set up camp and have been partying like it's Woodstock in my body for years now have been handed their eviction notice and are heading out. And with their exit, a healthier woman is beginning to emerge. So, I will continue to take delight over the beautiful, salt & mostly pepper hairs that have sprouted from my head because they are a reminder that I am on the mend.

As for all of you well-intentioned, caring people trying to lift a sick person's spirits, I would recommend leaving the warm & fuzzy sentiments to Hallmark (or your elementary school daughters) -- sure to bring a smile to any bald, fighting like a girl's face - at least it did to mine...

Well, Cancer, so far you took my hair, thinned out my brows and lashes, sent me on an emotional roller coaster ride, even took some cheap shots below the belt...but here I am still standing and stronger than ever...you don't stand a chance!

Sorry, peeps...no full head disclosures here.

D-Day: The Day I was Diagnosed

It has been 6 months since I was diagnosed with breast cancer but every detail of that day remains fresh in my mind. This is my story of that unforgettable morning...

December 12, 2011 @ 9:06 am. I just dropped the kids off at school and was driving home when the call came into my cell. I looked at the screen, 'Unknown Caller'. On any other day, I would have shrugged the call off as a wrong number or the pharmacy calling to let me know that the kids vitamins were ready to be picked up. But on that particular morning, I knew that wasn't the case. The person on the other end was all too familiar and was calling to provide the answer to the question that I had been asking myself all weekend, "Do I have cancer?"

For a brief moment, I remember feeling angry that the pathologist was calling me at that particular point in time. News of that magnitude should have been received on my terms...like in my PJs, snuggled up on the sofa with my morning coffee...not when I was stuck in my car at the cursed u-turn that must be made in order to get to my development. Second ring. Okay, chin up. I've had 4 days to prepare myself for this moment. Deep breath. Then with the perkiest voice that I could muster, "Hello?"

Reflecting back now, what took place in the next 60 seconds of our conversation was much like a ride on a roller coaster. The call lead off with the typical exchange of pleasantries -- you know, "How are you?" followed by "How was your weekend?" and so on. {roller coaster begins to slowly make its way up the steep slope} She must have picked up on the terseness in my voice because she quickly turned the conversation to the business at hand. No cushioning the blow just straight to the verdict. (Doctor): "I have the results of your biopsy. {roller coaster reaches the top of steep slope & comes to a complete stop} The cells in the mass tested positive. <pause> You have cancer. The type of cancer that you have is invasive ductal carcinoma." {silent gun shot & the roller coaster takes off as though you've been dropped from the sky. Twisting & turning along the steel tracks, doing loops until you feel like you are going to lose the cotton candy & funnel cake that you had eaten 5 minutes earlier} Her words became blurred as she continued on with the prognosis. Those 3 words, "You have cancer" continued on that amusement ride through my brain, twisting, turning, flipping, jerking me from side to side. When was this bloody ride going to stop? And, just like that the ride came to a screeching halt.

As I sat there waiting for my head to stop spinning, the doctor asked me, "Are you okay?" It's one of those vacuous questions that needs to be asked in these types of situations (I mean the woman just delivered the news that I have cancer) but it irritated me nonetheless. I wanted to yell, "NO, I'm not okay, dummy!" My once comfortable life has just been thrown into complete turmoil. But instead, I calmly replied, "Yes."

Next, the doctor asked, "Do you have any questions?" Hell yes I had questions! Although none of which she could possibly answer...like how do I track down that uptalking, asking & answering his own questions, Californian doctor who looked at the same lump 10 years ago, and I quote, said to me, "Are you a 30-something woman with breast cancer? Absolutely not!" It was all overwhelming & too much to absorb. More than anything I just wanted to get off the phone and so I responded, "No."

We wrapped up the call as I was pulling up the driveway. I walked through the back sliding doors into the kitchen & threw my keys on the counter, just like I do every Monday morning after dropping the kids off at school. Only instead of heading over to the coffee maker to refill my mug, I fell to my knees and cried.

I cried...and cried...and then cried some more. 

A flood of emotions rushed through me: anger, fear, sadness, loneliness, self-pity, devastation. And then came the questions one after the other: Why is this happening to me? What about the kids? How am I going to be able to care for them?  How is my husband going to handle having a bald headed freak for a wife (yes, vanity issues made their way through my tears too). Why did all those doctors over the years who questioned the lump never make the push for me to have it checked out? Why didn't I take seriously the changes that I noticed to my breast over the past months? But the one question that kept coming front & center...How am I going to get through this?

My focus turned toward my husband - my rock, the love of my life, the man who is not only my lover but best friend. He didn't sign up for this. Oh wait, vow #5: "in sickness & in health." Sure, but did either one of us really expect to have to deal with anything beyond the common cold or case of strep throat? Certainly not at this age. We had a good 50 years before the real health issues would come in to play...or so I thought.

My husband & I have been together now for over 20 years, during that time we have overcome numerous obstacles in our relationship which in the end always made our love for each other stronger. I had no reason to believe that he would turn his back on me now. I mean just because you married a man who eats, breathes & sleeps politics doesn't mean you hitched yourself to a Newt Gingrich or John Edwards. We would fare this storm just like we have fared all the other hurricanes, earthquakes & tornadoes that have come our way through the years.

Next, I thought of my three beautiful children who provide so much love, laughter and joy to my life. I would do anything for them...and I mean, anything. I'm not just talking about the every day things like kissing their boo-boos or putting extra chocolate chips in their pancakes. I'm talking about the monumental actions like jumping in front of a train, walking across a burning bed of coal & taking a bullet through the heart if it would protect them from harm. With them on the sidelines cheering me on, there was no way that I would come out of the ring without a TKO on my belt. My children certainly didn't sign up for a life without their protector.

{Tears began to dry up...perhaps I could get though this whole cancer thing?}

Last, but definitely not least - God. He will carry me through this battle. I mean why not? I am a person of Faith. I went to Sunday school, youth group, spent all of those Sunday mornings and holidays with the big Guy. I say my prayers nightly, do my best to be a good Christian, asked Him into my heart...was that all for nothing? I reached out to Him asking- no begging -to give me the strength to persevere this battle. Surely, He will not abandon me during this fight.

So there you have it...sitting in a puddle of my own tears, I "figured out" how I was going to get through the whole cancer thing. I had my troops lined up & I was ready to lead them into a victorious battle. 

I picked myself up off the floor armed with a new strength, a new sense of hope, and a renewed Faith. I went into the bathroom to clean myself up and caught a glimpse of the splotchy-faced, puffy-eyed woman looking back at me in the mirror. It occurred to me at that moment that the woman looking back at me would no longer be the same. No longer would I be living life but living life to live. It was time to clear the erase board calendar filled with Daisy & MESA meetings, sport schedules, PTA board meetings & events that normally took center stage and replace each day's agenda with a new #1 priority: destroying the cancer that has invaded my body. From that point on the image of the woman looking back at me will be the woman who survived cancer. 

Cancer doesn't stand a chance...


It has been 6 months to the day that I received the news that I have cancer. Although I have shed many tears during this time, I have not cried again like I did on that morning. Sure, my Faith has been called into question, my relationships have been tested and my tolerance levels have been pushed to extremes. But, I know that God has a plan for me & I will continue to trust in that plan, which is why no matter how hard cancer tries...and it has put up a good fight so far...I will not allow for it to bring me down.

"It's All In A Name"

Two days ago, I made the decision that I was going to create a blog page as a way of sharing my personal experiences with battling cancer. Truthfully, the idea to start a blog came to me months ago but was quickly dismissed after stressing over what to name it (I have cancer for Pete's sake-like I need any additional mental strain). To most people, naming a blog is not something that would send them into a cold sweat. But for me, I stress over minute details like these. Do you go kitschy trying to work "breast" or "boob" into a cute catch phrase or go serious? Too much to think about and so I filed the thoughts of creating a blog into the very dark corners of my brain.

Over the past few months, many people have reached out to me claiming that they've been keeping up with my updates on Facebook and that they admire my strength and positive attitude (which I purposefully keep to a bare minimum when it comes to divulging the real TMI issues that I have experienced thus far in my treatment. After all, I am mindful that the boy who sat next to me in 8th grade science class did not sign up for the disclosure of those details). It wasn't until recently that a friend of mine mentioned that I should write a blog about my personal accounts dueling with the big 'C' and the thoughts that were tucked away in that dark remote space in my brain resurfaced. Now, the thought of posting to a blog was not quite as scary. And so the portmanteau of breast words began circling in my head.

The first part of my blog name came to me while relaxing poolside. I received a text from my sister - Uplifted Boobs has sent you a message. Yep, it's my sister's username. It always brings a smile to my face, just like my sister does. During this fight, one of the things that I draw on to get me through the down times is my sense of humor. It's a real slap in the face to cancer too...cancer may be able to take my hair, but not my laughter. So although my sister & I do not share the same style of tomfoolery, I tend to be more dry-witted and low key and my sister is more boisterous and over the top, it seemed appropriate to dedicate part of my blog name (which may also be interpreted as stealing) to her for her ability to make me laugh in any situation. Oh, and it also helped that the body part corresponded with the area of my body which has been inflicted by cancer and that when this combat is through & all that remains are the battle scars, I will be in possession of some uplifted boobs (not triple Ds but definitely lifted)...at least there is one perk to this whole cancer thing.

Which leaves the second part of the blog name, My Battle with Breast Cancer...um, think that is self-explanatory. Basically, I created this blog as a way to share my personal accounts with family & friends without the constraints of many public forums. I don't proclaim myself as being some sort of professional writer (I wasn't blessed with the wonderful talents that my husband possesses of putting words to paper so eloquently) so bear with me as I try to figure this whole blogging thing out.


So here we go...hope that you will join me on this journey.