Tough, tough news for Senator Kennedy yesterday. A malignant brain tumor, and a pretty aggressive type tumor as well. That stinks. Saturday morning he's out walking the dogs on the beach before breakfast, by Saturday afternoon he's been airlifted to Boston and undergoing lots of poking and prodding. Life changes in the blink of an eye.
But who knows that better than Kennedy? The assassinations of his brothers, deaths of his sisters and then both of his children had to battle their own cancer. His Cross must be very heavy.
I am not a big political fan of Sr. Kennedy, but my son and I enjoyed hearing him speak when he introduced Senator Obama in Hartford a couple of months ago. He sure does have an 'air' about him that commands attention. Torrie also thought it was really neat that he was the uncle of Caroline (the song "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond is one of his favorites because it is played at Fenway). So I was sad when I heard the news yesterday. And the passage that I heard Sunday came back to mind: "The Cross is very heavy".
I was driving when I heard a Catholic Priest on the radio answer a question about why there is suffering and why some lives seem to be much more difficult than others. I actually sat in the parking lot and let the car idle because I wanted to hear what his answer would be. He related a story about a woman that had received some kind of medical diagnosis and she was questioning 'why me' and 'why did god let this happen to me? I come to church regularly, pray the Rosary, etc. " He asked her if she were married; "Oh, yes! A beautiful 40 year marriage". Do you have children? "Oh, yes! Two beautiful, successful grown sons". Do you have a home? "Oh, yes! We just finished paying it off, we're set." He said to her "Are you kidding me? You have a marriage, you raised sons, you're financially secure and now you're wondering why you?" He went on to point out the Cross on the wall and said that there are no guarantees that you will always have a 'rosy' life because you are a Christian. In fact, the deeper you walk with Christ the stronger you become to carry the trials and tribulations you may face. We all have Crosses to bear, it is how we carry them that matters. You've trained for the workout - "Why not you?"
I have had back pain as of late. I have been through more Xrays and MRIs in the past few weeks that I can count. Yesterday, I found out that my back pain is not of any cancer origin. I actually giggled with my doctor: "It's been the weight of my Cross that's hurt my back. Finding out that it isn't cancer has lightened the load. I feel better already!" Actually, some physical therapy and a new mattress may really do the trick!
If your back hurts because your Cross is heavy, take comfort in the idea that God will only give you what He knows you can carry, with His help. And if others try to add to your load (which seems to happen - we think we're carrying enough of our own load, then others dump on it too!), tell them to "stay off my Cross, it's heavy enough!"
I'm going to take some Motrin, get a new mattress, say a lot of prayers and marvel at my new found strength, courtesy of my home workout program: Carrying The Cross.
KG
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Nature's Alarm Clock
4:22 a.m.... For the past 3 mornings, that it is exactly the time that I have been woken up by the morning songs of the birds outside. It's been great 'sleeping with the windows partially open' weather - warm during the day then dropping to the low 40's at night. I love to sleep with the windows open and an extra blanket, Ken thinks I'm nuts. One little bird starts off the symphony by calling out to the others. He is a couple of backyards over so his chirping is quite faint. Another bird, with a totally different sound answers from my yard, then a few from across the street chime in. It's really very pretty to listen to once you get past the stage of being totally annoyed that you are wide awake and interpreting bird calls at 4:22 a.m!
So I am up and have an hour until I go to church and thought about writing. I have missed that hour at the computer in the mornings, but I have continued on with my routine of attending daily Mass and so enjoy it. I guess now I can do both! In my next post (I am sure the birds don't take the weekends off), I will share with you some experiences I've had during my morning adventures.
My health remains good - undergoing an MRI this afternoon for some issues with my spine. It's at 3:30, I am looking forward already to the nap! Ken and I are off to a black tie affair tomorrow night - A Night Of Hope - to benefit the American Cancer Society. With the walking I have been doing getting ready for the Relay For Life, I've dropped several pounds, so I am ready to get dressed up and dance!
To all of the Mom's: enjoy your special day this weekend! To everyone else: be extra good to Mom!
KG
So I am up and have an hour until I go to church and thought about writing. I have missed that hour at the computer in the mornings, but I have continued on with my routine of attending daily Mass and so enjoy it. I guess now I can do both! In my next post (I am sure the birds don't take the weekends off), I will share with you some experiences I've had during my morning adventures.
My health remains good - undergoing an MRI this afternoon for some issues with my spine. It's at 3:30, I am looking forward already to the nap! Ken and I are off to a black tie affair tomorrow night - A Night Of Hope - to benefit the American Cancer Society. With the walking I have been doing getting ready for the Relay For Life, I've dropped several pounds, so I am ready to get dressed up and dance!
To all of the Mom's: enjoy your special day this weekend! To everyone else: be extra good to Mom!
KG
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Let's Get Ready To Relay!
It sure feels like it has been a long time since I have written. Actually, it has been. The past few weeks have flown by and I have felt a tugging from my computer to sit down and write. It's good to be back!
It's the fifth Sunday of Lent and a beautiful day as well. Since my last posting, West Hartford has endured two major snowstorms, an ice storm and a lot of rain. Today is quite chilly, but the sun is gorgeous and warm on the face. In a corner near the side entrance of my house that receives a lot of sun, little green stems of my tulips and hyacinth are actually popping up. I mention Lent because it is one of my favorite times of year. A time of spiritual renewal and growth. For the third year in a row, my friend Judy and I have made attending daily Mass a part of our Lenten experience. We meet each other each morning at 6:15 to attend Mass. It is a routine that we both love and a great way to start the day, however 6:15 in the morning is when I usually do my writing - hence the lack of postings!
Since my last post, two more friends of mine have been diagnosed with cancer. Actually, I will say three friends because I feel like I know Patrick Swayze, having loved all of the acting work he has done. That said, I feel that it is important to share with you a project that I am working on: The American Cancer Society's 2008 West Hartford Relay For Life. I am helping on the planning committee to promote the Relay and all of the great work that the ACS does for cancer patients and their families. I am sharing with you the speech that I gave at the Kick Off Party on Feb. 29 to officially begin our Relay efforts. I hope that you will take time to click on the link under "Links I love" at the right of this page and join my team 'Gang Green' or support our efforts. It is such an important cause and one that so many cancer survivors have benefited from.
My name is Kim Green and I am a cancer survivor. A stage 4, metastatic breast cancer survivor, to be exact. I am so happy to be here tonight to talk to you about the Relay For Life. I think I can give you some insight into the life of a cancer survivor and the tremendous impact the Relay and the American Cancer Society can have on a cancer patient.
I was diagnosed in June of 1998 after discovering my own lump while in the shower. I was very diligent about performing monthly self checks because my mother had passed away from cancer - at age 37. I felt a lump that day and thought how odd it was that I hadn't felt it before because it felt quite large. I told myself not to be alarmed - your body can change - after all I was 7 months pregnant. I was also only 34 years old.
I wasted no time getting to the Dr. I asked my ob to feel the lump and assure me that I was just a paranoid pregnant woman. His expression told me that I wasn't paranoid. It was a Friday afternoon and my Dr. got me in as the last patient for a surgeon to see that day. The surgeon aspirated the lump and I waited out the longest weekend of my life. I vacillated between this is nothing, to at one point crawling into my three year old daughters' bed and crying myself to sleep, thinking about my own mother and how afraid she must have been to know that she was going to die and leave her three young daughters without a mother.
The call came on Monday - "Kimberly, you have a malignancy". I would need immediate surgery - I was scheduled for that Thursday.
I have always felt that knowledge is power. We are so lucky to live in an age that information is at our fingertips. I hit the Internet and the first name that came to mind was The American Cancer Society. I pulled up their website and instantly felt some relief. I wasn't alone. There were so many resources available to me: information in the form of written material that would be mailed to me at no charge, people that could answer questions for me over the phone 24 hours a day, online support groups that I could participate in, and support for my family and friends as well.
I had surgery to remove the tumor, but even before all of the pathology reports came back, I went into premature labor. My son Torrie was born 72 hours later after all attempts were made to stall labor. He was small, but very healthy and is now seated right there next to my daughter Tessa and my husband Ken. They are my reason for fighting.
I underwent a bilateral mastectomy, removal of lymph nodes and six months of chemotherapy. It was tough. I lost all of my hair and most of my energy. But then again, the ACS was right there for me. A Reach To Recovery Volunteer contacted me. These are great volunteers that are also cancer survivors. They reach out to newly diagnosed patients and those undergoing treatment to show them the ropes and to help them cope. My volunteer supplied me with a goodie bag of items to aid my recovery: a small pillow to take pressure off of my wounded arm, exercise aids to gain range of motion and volumes of pamphlets to help with eating, nausea and fatigue. They were invaluable materials to me. She was also invaluable because she was able to really identify with me and once again make me feel that I was not alone in this fight.
I recovered well and went on to lead a normal life, taking care of my 2 young kids and of all things training to run a marathon , just to prove to myself that I could. I trained for many months and completed the Walt Disney World marathon in 2001 with Ken and the kids waiting at the finish line. I was feeling so well that I went through the training to become a Reach To Recovery Volunteer myself. The the program I was able to talk to so many women, and hopefully help a few, too.
Then the worst...my cancer had returned, this time invading the lymph nodes in my neck This was devastating to me because I really thought that I had kicked it. Now new,scary words would become part of my vocabulary: metastatic disease, stage 4, pain management. It was a part of the cancer world that I wanted no part of. I didn't want the pain, the fear, the fatigue - heck, I didn't want to lose my hair again! I just wanted to look normal, feel normal, be normal.
Once again, ACS was there for me. My oncology nurse told me about a special evening called 'Look Good, Feel Better' that was going to take place at the cancer center. A group of specially trained volunteers provide their talents to help cancer fighters deal with the ravaging effects that chemotherapy and radiation have on skin and hair. These great people teach cancer patients makeup techniques, scarf tying ideas, skin care for radiated areas and even provide wigs to those who cannot afford one. Skin care and cosmetic companies donate all of the products and makeup artists and hair stylists donate their time and talents. In a very relaxing and positive setting, women are nurtured and are able to have a really good time during the midst of a very difficult time. It is a very popular ACS program and would not be possible without the funds raised from events such as Relay.
Unfortunately, my cancer spread one more time to the lung area and that involved more chemo and radiation, more surgeries and hair loss one more time.
The cancer road is a bumpy one. But it is certainly not a dead end. I have realized that it can actually be made a lot smoother with the help and support of programs and volunteers such as the ones that make up the ACS. The Relay For Life is the signature event that raises awareness and money to make the programs available to cancer patients.
We are here tonight to kick off the planning, organization and fundraising of the West Hartford Relay For Life to be held June 13-14. Each of you that are here tonight are here for very personal reasons. Some of you are here tonight and aren't quite sure why you are here, but know that you want to help. One thing is certain - all of us in some way are affected by cancer in West Hartford. We live in a great town, but that hasn't spared us from this disease. Cancer is rampant in our town. I have spoken to you in the Center at the two stores that I work at. I have heard you speak of yourself, your spouse, your children and your friends that have cancer. I have heard of teachers, local government officials, clergy, medical personnel and business owners that are all engaged in the fight of their lives. We are a prosperous, thriving town, yet this disease is in every corner of it.
What are we supposed to do here tonight? Of course, all of us are here because we want to see a cure for cancer. All of us would like to be a part of the process that makes that happen. Sometimes though, that task can seem so enormous and unattainable that we fall into a position of thinking that our individual effort will not make a difference. But, our individual effort DOES make a difference. Ten years ago when I was diagnosed, 3 of the chemotherapy drugs that I have recently received were not yet available. I have 2 more new drugs now in my arsenal when needed. That is a complete product of fundraising and research. And no one does it better that ACS. Finding a cure for cancer can seem like an enormous goal. Funding a ride for a person to treatment or providing money for a wig can seem easier to accomplish. This Relay is here to provide you the opportunity to do all.
We have an opportunity here in West Hartford to really make a difference. The Relay For Life could become the signature event for our town. Northwest Catholic High School has been so generous to host the Relay. Already businesses in town are donating services, just like Real Art Ways tonight for this facility and The Pond House for the great food and drinks. There is so much work though that we have to do.
Coming from the point of being a person that has lived with and fought cancer for such a long time, I am asking you to step out of your comfort zone - or step out of the box so to speak. Form a team. If you can't form a team - join one. If you can't join a team - offer to support one. My team name is Gang Green and I am actively recruiting new members! If you can't support a team - we would love your help in planning and help on the day of the event. There is a niche for every person, and every ounce of work that is given adds up to our success. And best of all, so many people we know and that are a part of our lives will benefit from your efforts. You, yourself, one day might need the services the ACS provides. Just this week, I received this book from the ACS. They are still fighting for me, that is why I will Relay for them.
My favorite quote is one from Eleanor Roosevelt: We must do the things we think we cannot do. It is so applicable here tonight. We can do anything. Just think, our actions might help to cure cancer.
Ten years ago, on June 8, I found out that I had cancer. To celebrate winning the battle thus far, I am going to walk 10 miles around the track for Relay on June 13. I can't think of a better way of celebrating than spending the evening with a few thousand of my new friends. I hope that you will be there.
Thank you for everything that you are doing and for being here tonight.
God Bless.
KG
It's the fifth Sunday of Lent and a beautiful day as well. Since my last posting, West Hartford has endured two major snowstorms, an ice storm and a lot of rain. Today is quite chilly, but the sun is gorgeous and warm on the face. In a corner near the side entrance of my house that receives a lot of sun, little green stems of my tulips and hyacinth are actually popping up. I mention Lent because it is one of my favorite times of year. A time of spiritual renewal and growth. For the third year in a row, my friend Judy and I have made attending daily Mass a part of our Lenten experience. We meet each other each morning at 6:15 to attend Mass. It is a routine that we both love and a great way to start the day, however 6:15 in the morning is when I usually do my writing - hence the lack of postings!
Since my last post, two more friends of mine have been diagnosed with cancer. Actually, I will say three friends because I feel like I know Patrick Swayze, having loved all of the acting work he has done. That said, I feel that it is important to share with you a project that I am working on: The American Cancer Society's 2008 West Hartford Relay For Life. I am helping on the planning committee to promote the Relay and all of the great work that the ACS does for cancer patients and their families. I am sharing with you the speech that I gave at the Kick Off Party on Feb. 29 to officially begin our Relay efforts. I hope that you will take time to click on the link under "Links I love" at the right of this page and join my team 'Gang Green' or support our efforts. It is such an important cause and one that so many cancer survivors have benefited from.
My name is Kim Green and I am a cancer survivor. A stage 4, metastatic breast cancer survivor, to be exact. I am so happy to be here tonight to talk to you about the Relay For Life. I think I can give you some insight into the life of a cancer survivor and the tremendous impact the Relay and the American Cancer Society can have on a cancer patient.
I was diagnosed in June of 1998 after discovering my own lump while in the shower. I was very diligent about performing monthly self checks because my mother had passed away from cancer - at age 37. I felt a lump that day and thought how odd it was that I hadn't felt it before because it felt quite large. I told myself not to be alarmed - your body can change - after all I was 7 months pregnant. I was also only 34 years old.
I wasted no time getting to the Dr. I asked my ob to feel the lump and assure me that I was just a paranoid pregnant woman. His expression told me that I wasn't paranoid. It was a Friday afternoon and my Dr. got me in as the last patient for a surgeon to see that day. The surgeon aspirated the lump and I waited out the longest weekend of my life. I vacillated between this is nothing, to at one point crawling into my three year old daughters' bed and crying myself to sleep, thinking about my own mother and how afraid she must have been to know that she was going to die and leave her three young daughters without a mother.
The call came on Monday - "Kimberly, you have a malignancy". I would need immediate surgery - I was scheduled for that Thursday.
I have always felt that knowledge is power. We are so lucky to live in an age that information is at our fingertips. I hit the Internet and the first name that came to mind was The American Cancer Society. I pulled up their website and instantly felt some relief. I wasn't alone. There were so many resources available to me: information in the form of written material that would be mailed to me at no charge, people that could answer questions for me over the phone 24 hours a day, online support groups that I could participate in, and support for my family and friends as well.
I had surgery to remove the tumor, but even before all of the pathology reports came back, I went into premature labor. My son Torrie was born 72 hours later after all attempts were made to stall labor. He was small, but very healthy and is now seated right there next to my daughter Tessa and my husband Ken. They are my reason for fighting.
I underwent a bilateral mastectomy, removal of lymph nodes and six months of chemotherapy. It was tough. I lost all of my hair and most of my energy. But then again, the ACS was right there for me. A Reach To Recovery Volunteer contacted me. These are great volunteers that are also cancer survivors. They reach out to newly diagnosed patients and those undergoing treatment to show them the ropes and to help them cope. My volunteer supplied me with a goodie bag of items to aid my recovery: a small pillow to take pressure off of my wounded arm, exercise aids to gain range of motion and volumes of pamphlets to help with eating, nausea and fatigue. They were invaluable materials to me. She was also invaluable because she was able to really identify with me and once again make me feel that I was not alone in this fight.
I recovered well and went on to lead a normal life, taking care of my 2 young kids and of all things training to run a marathon , just to prove to myself that I could. I trained for many months and completed the Walt Disney World marathon in 2001 with Ken and the kids waiting at the finish line. I was feeling so well that I went through the training to become a Reach To Recovery Volunteer myself. The the program I was able to talk to so many women, and hopefully help a few, too.
Then the worst...my cancer had returned, this time invading the lymph nodes in my neck This was devastating to me because I really thought that I had kicked it. Now new,scary words would become part of my vocabulary: metastatic disease, stage 4, pain management. It was a part of the cancer world that I wanted no part of. I didn't want the pain, the fear, the fatigue - heck, I didn't want to lose my hair again! I just wanted to look normal, feel normal, be normal.
Once again, ACS was there for me. My oncology nurse told me about a special evening called 'Look Good, Feel Better' that was going to take place at the cancer center. A group of specially trained volunteers provide their talents to help cancer fighters deal with the ravaging effects that chemotherapy and radiation have on skin and hair. These great people teach cancer patients makeup techniques, scarf tying ideas, skin care for radiated areas and even provide wigs to those who cannot afford one. Skin care and cosmetic companies donate all of the products and makeup artists and hair stylists donate their time and talents. In a very relaxing and positive setting, women are nurtured and are able to have a really good time during the midst of a very difficult time. It is a very popular ACS program and would not be possible without the funds raised from events such as Relay.
Unfortunately, my cancer spread one more time to the lung area and that involved more chemo and radiation, more surgeries and hair loss one more time.
The cancer road is a bumpy one. But it is certainly not a dead end. I have realized that it can actually be made a lot smoother with the help and support of programs and volunteers such as the ones that make up the ACS. The Relay For Life is the signature event that raises awareness and money to make the programs available to cancer patients.
We are here tonight to kick off the planning, organization and fundraising of the West Hartford Relay For Life to be held June 13-14. Each of you that are here tonight are here for very personal reasons. Some of you are here tonight and aren't quite sure why you are here, but know that you want to help. One thing is certain - all of us in some way are affected by cancer in West Hartford. We live in a great town, but that hasn't spared us from this disease. Cancer is rampant in our town. I have spoken to you in the Center at the two stores that I work at. I have heard you speak of yourself, your spouse, your children and your friends that have cancer. I have heard of teachers, local government officials, clergy, medical personnel and business owners that are all engaged in the fight of their lives. We are a prosperous, thriving town, yet this disease is in every corner of it.
What are we supposed to do here tonight? Of course, all of us are here because we want to see a cure for cancer. All of us would like to be a part of the process that makes that happen. Sometimes though, that task can seem so enormous and unattainable that we fall into a position of thinking that our individual effort will not make a difference. But, our individual effort DOES make a difference. Ten years ago when I was diagnosed, 3 of the chemotherapy drugs that I have recently received were not yet available. I have 2 more new drugs now in my arsenal when needed. That is a complete product of fundraising and research. And no one does it better that ACS. Finding a cure for cancer can seem like an enormous goal. Funding a ride for a person to treatment or providing money for a wig can seem easier to accomplish. This Relay is here to provide you the opportunity to do all.
We have an opportunity here in West Hartford to really make a difference. The Relay For Life could become the signature event for our town. Northwest Catholic High School has been so generous to host the Relay. Already businesses in town are donating services, just like Real Art Ways tonight for this facility and The Pond House for the great food and drinks. There is so much work though that we have to do.
Coming from the point of being a person that has lived with and fought cancer for such a long time, I am asking you to step out of your comfort zone - or step out of the box so to speak. Form a team. If you can't form a team - join one. If you can't join a team - offer to support one. My team name is Gang Green and I am actively recruiting new members! If you can't support a team - we would love your help in planning and help on the day of the event. There is a niche for every person, and every ounce of work that is given adds up to our success. And best of all, so many people we know and that are a part of our lives will benefit from your efforts. You, yourself, one day might need the services the ACS provides. Just this week, I received this book from the ACS. They are still fighting for me, that is why I will Relay for them.
My favorite quote is one from Eleanor Roosevelt: We must do the things we think we cannot do. It is so applicable here tonight. We can do anything. Just think, our actions might help to cure cancer.
Ten years ago, on June 8, I found out that I had cancer. To celebrate winning the battle thus far, I am going to walk 10 miles around the track for Relay on June 13. I can't think of a better way of celebrating than spending the evening with a few thousand of my new friends. I hope that you will be there.
Thank you for everything that you are doing and for being here tonight.
God Bless.
KG
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
My Grade On The Tests
It's been over a week since I have posted and what a week it has been! I received the results of my scans on Friday and everything is stable. The only blip is that I have another hernia (this makes six - the last required a piece of mesh placed in my abdomen that was the size of a cookie sheet). I'm off to church then over to talk to Dr. B about the latest development - or protrusion. Will post later about the excitement around my house last week.
KG
KG
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
To Correct...
I am so happy someone is actually reading what I write, and am very humbled that so many are... a couple of things I need to correct: my husband did once attend an Ohio State game (it was more years ago then I have been alive so I didn't think it counted) and on a more serious note, a port feeds into a large vein, not an artery. If you haven't read my posts yet, I bet you are curious now aren't you?!...
Happy reading and thank you -
KG
Happy reading and thank you -
KG
Monday, February 11, 2008
You Can't Study For These Tests!
I had to have tests today at St. Francis. I underwent a MUGA Scan to make sure that my heart is tolerating the Herceptin well and a P.E.T. Scan to make sure that the cancer is not acting up anywhere. I receive the MUGA every three months and the PET every six months. I went to church this morning and was on the road by 7:15 to get started.
The test day itself is never too bad for me. It's the days that lead up to it that can really bother me. I seem to become much more agitated and stressed as the day approaches. Today was marked off on my calendar with the word "Tests". No work today, as I would be gone for the majority of it. Also, nervous energy had me up before 5:00 packing lunches, feeding the pets, etc. All without coffee.
Having done these tests now for many years, I have figured out a few tricks. First, I always have my nurse/angel Judy access my port at the cancer center. For each of these procedures, an IV needs to be started as different contrasts are administered. My veins gave out about the same time as my figure did, shortly after my bilateral mastectomy. My surgeon put in a port, which is a catheter that is laced directly into an artery. The nurses and doctors can access it by feeling for the little bump that protrudes on my chest and sticking it with a small needle. I have had it done so many times there is no feeling left in the skin around the port, so it doesn't hurt too bad. Before I learned that sweet Judy would be happy to access my port before a procedure, I endured many nurses that swore they were the BEST at finding a vein on a difficult arm.
So Judy was kind enough to see me at 7:30 this morning, before her first patient, to get me accessed. Small problem though; the port flushed beautifully, but would not let any blood be drawn back. It's been picky like that before. I'm sure that my blood was just frozen around it because it was something ridiculous like 2 degrees this morning. I flapped my arms and stood on my head and did all of the other things that have worked in the past, with no luck. The day was not starting well and I could feel my anxiety rising. We both hoped that maybe they would only need to push contrast in and not need to take any blood so I marched off to the Nuclear Dept. with the port still accessed.
Nurses in different departments are thrilled when you come in with a port already accessed. It gives them a big jump on their work load. The Nuclear nurse, Kathy, told me she had to draw 2cc. of blood - rats. I thought that by basically jogging across the hospital from department to department, that maybe I had got the bugger unclogged or whatever was going on. No luck. So now she says "No problem, I'm great at finding veins". Oh no. A blown vein below my thumb and an ugly bruise forming on the backside of my arm, was all of her great technique that I could stand. She called in another nurse who added another tourniquet (my arm was now as purple as the shirt I happened to be wearing) and slapped my hand so hard that I really thought she was angry at me. Nothing. Finally, 'Ron' (trumpets blaring) walked up. He moved me to a reclining chair (I must have looked faint by that time), rubbed my hand and proceeded to drive a needle into the vein that went across one of my knuckles. I was glad I was reclined. Success! He thanked me for being still and said he now needed a cup of coffee.
Some radioactive stuff was mixed with my blood and then given back to me. I then was placed in a machine that is very similar to a CT Scan machine where over the course of fifteen minutes, my heart was photographed pumping blood. It's not noisy, nor uncomfortable, so I think I actually dozed for a minute. Kathy, walked me to the front so that I could proceed across the street for my P.E.T Scan.
The P.E.T Scan is an amazing technological test. It is actually able to pick up any new cancer or cancer activity by highlighting "hot spots" of cellular activity to the radiologist. The prep involves nothing to eat or drink 6 hours prior to the scan (it's tricky when your test is at 10:00 or 11:00 in the morning and you last ate at 6:00 the night before) and then having an injection of a nuclear isotope. You must also drink about 16 oz. of a thick chalky substance conveniently labled apple, berry or vanilla. Personally, I choose the vanilla and imagine I am drinking a noncaloric VERY thick milkshake. A nice side effect of the drink, is that it is so thick it actually curbs your hunger pangs from your overnight fast! You are instructed to wait for 30 minutes, Drew Carey kept me entertained on The Price Is Right, then you are escorted to the scan room. At St. Francis, the P.E.T scan machine is actually housed in a semi trailer attached by a covered walkway to the building. Brrr.
Into a long tube you are placed . I was asked to put my arms over my head so that they can clearly see the lung and spine area. The test last about 25 minutes. It, too, is not noisy like an MRI, but does have a humming sound and vibration that certainly keeps you reminded of the scanning that is going on. The most uncomfortable part is keeping your arms over your head - my back started to cramp up and it was a test of wills not to move. If you move too much, they have to start over. Once the test was completed, I was free to go - directly to a Chinese takeout to treat myself to a bowl of Hot and Sour soup.
Now the waiting begins. Another lesson I have learned is to always schedule major tests such as these on a Monday or Tuesday so that results can be reported back in a timely manner. A Friday test can take days to get back as many times the tests are not even sent to be read until the following Monday. They then must be sent to the oncologist, then to you. Ugh. Having been a patient for 10 years, I have learned to not go too crazy until about 72 hours of not hearing anything. Dr. B. is wonderful about trying to curb my anxiety and I have no doubt I will receive the results before Wednesday.
I have a feeling of calm tonight. I stopped back at the church this afternoon and had a lovely chat with Fr. Sas. He quoted to me one of my favorite verses from the Bible - Exodus 14:14 - "The Lord will fight for you, you have only to remain still".
I am back to the normal routine of making dinner, homework and baths. Such a transition from the craziness and intensity of the morning. But that is what the life of a person fighting cancer is... crazy and intense with wonderful moments of normal routine life. Tonight when I go to bed though, I am sure I will remain very still while I let the Lord fight for me.
KG
The test day itself is never too bad for me. It's the days that lead up to it that can really bother me. I seem to become much more agitated and stressed as the day approaches. Today was marked off on my calendar with the word "Tests". No work today, as I would be gone for the majority of it. Also, nervous energy had me up before 5:00 packing lunches, feeding the pets, etc. All without coffee.
Having done these tests now for many years, I have figured out a few tricks. First, I always have my nurse/angel Judy access my port at the cancer center. For each of these procedures, an IV needs to be started as different contrasts are administered. My veins gave out about the same time as my figure did, shortly after my bilateral mastectomy. My surgeon put in a port, which is a catheter that is laced directly into an artery. The nurses and doctors can access it by feeling for the little bump that protrudes on my chest and sticking it with a small needle. I have had it done so many times there is no feeling left in the skin around the port, so it doesn't hurt too bad. Before I learned that sweet Judy would be happy to access my port before a procedure, I endured many nurses that swore they were the BEST at finding a vein on a difficult arm.
So Judy was kind enough to see me at 7:30 this morning, before her first patient, to get me accessed. Small problem though; the port flushed beautifully, but would not let any blood be drawn back. It's been picky like that before. I'm sure that my blood was just frozen around it because it was something ridiculous like 2 degrees this morning. I flapped my arms and stood on my head and did all of the other things that have worked in the past, with no luck. The day was not starting well and I could feel my anxiety rising. We both hoped that maybe they would only need to push contrast in and not need to take any blood so I marched off to the Nuclear Dept. with the port still accessed.
Nurses in different departments are thrilled when you come in with a port already accessed. It gives them a big jump on their work load. The Nuclear nurse, Kathy, told me she had to draw 2cc. of blood - rats. I thought that by basically jogging across the hospital from department to department, that maybe I had got the bugger unclogged or whatever was going on. No luck. So now she says "No problem, I'm great at finding veins". Oh no. A blown vein below my thumb and an ugly bruise forming on the backside of my arm, was all of her great technique that I could stand. She called in another nurse who added another tourniquet (my arm was now as purple as the shirt I happened to be wearing) and slapped my hand so hard that I really thought she was angry at me. Nothing. Finally, 'Ron' (trumpets blaring) walked up. He moved me to a reclining chair (I must have looked faint by that time), rubbed my hand and proceeded to drive a needle into the vein that went across one of my knuckles. I was glad I was reclined. Success! He thanked me for being still and said he now needed a cup of coffee.
Some radioactive stuff was mixed with my blood and then given back to me. I then was placed in a machine that is very similar to a CT Scan machine where over the course of fifteen minutes, my heart was photographed pumping blood. It's not noisy, nor uncomfortable, so I think I actually dozed for a minute. Kathy, walked me to the front so that I could proceed across the street for my P.E.T Scan.
The P.E.T Scan is an amazing technological test. It is actually able to pick up any new cancer or cancer activity by highlighting "hot spots" of cellular activity to the radiologist. The prep involves nothing to eat or drink 6 hours prior to the scan (it's tricky when your test is at 10:00 or 11:00 in the morning and you last ate at 6:00 the night before) and then having an injection of a nuclear isotope. You must also drink about 16 oz. of a thick chalky substance conveniently labled apple, berry or vanilla. Personally, I choose the vanilla and imagine I am drinking a noncaloric VERY thick milkshake. A nice side effect of the drink, is that it is so thick it actually curbs your hunger pangs from your overnight fast! You are instructed to wait for 30 minutes, Drew Carey kept me entertained on The Price Is Right, then you are escorted to the scan room. At St. Francis, the P.E.T scan machine is actually housed in a semi trailer attached by a covered walkway to the building. Brrr.
Into a long tube you are placed . I was asked to put my arms over my head so that they can clearly see the lung and spine area. The test last about 25 minutes. It, too, is not noisy like an MRI, but does have a humming sound and vibration that certainly keeps you reminded of the scanning that is going on. The most uncomfortable part is keeping your arms over your head - my back started to cramp up and it was a test of wills not to move. If you move too much, they have to start over. Once the test was completed, I was free to go - directly to a Chinese takeout to treat myself to a bowl of Hot and Sour soup.
Now the waiting begins. Another lesson I have learned is to always schedule major tests such as these on a Monday or Tuesday so that results can be reported back in a timely manner. A Friday test can take days to get back as many times the tests are not even sent to be read until the following Monday. They then must be sent to the oncologist, then to you. Ugh. Having been a patient for 10 years, I have learned to not go too crazy until about 72 hours of not hearing anything. Dr. B. is wonderful about trying to curb my anxiety and I have no doubt I will receive the results before Wednesday.
I have a feeling of calm tonight. I stopped back at the church this afternoon and had a lovely chat with Fr. Sas. He quoted to me one of my favorite verses from the Bible - Exodus 14:14 - "The Lord will fight for you, you have only to remain still".
I am back to the normal routine of making dinner, homework and baths. Such a transition from the craziness and intensity of the morning. But that is what the life of a person fighting cancer is... crazy and intense with wonderful moments of normal routine life. Tonight when I go to bed though, I am sure I will remain very still while I let the Lord fight for me.
KG
Monday, February 4, 2008
Thank you, Giants
The New York Giants upset the New England Patriots to win Super Bowl XLII. I can't remember what the final score was, but it doesn't matter. New York has made it possible for my son Torrie to be a relatively happy camper (or Giant) this week.
Torrie is a very intense sports fan for only being nine years old. He is passionate about his teams (he has a lot) and is equally passionate about the sport being played (he loves them all). He has inherited this quality from Ken, who can find enjoyment in any type of competition on television, in person, in the newspaper or being recalled by another sports devotee. Two years ago, Ken and Torrie went on a 'sports weekend' roadtrip to Ohio. They made the 10 hour drive to arrive for kickoff of Ken's high school football game. The next day was off to see Ohio State play (the first time for Ken) - Torrie was sure that ESPN was broadcasting live there just because he and Ken had come. The next day they were able to go to the Cleveland Browns game. Monday they visited the Football Hall of Fame, and Tuesday was the icing with great seats at a Cleveland Indian's game, where Ken caught a foul ball during batting practice. Other than working at a toy store, I will never be able to achieve the status in Torrie's eyes as Ken did that weekend.
I was nervous going into this weekend. Torrie had a basketball game to play in and the other team was tough (they won). Then Ken broke the news that he has an extended business trip this week which will keep him away until Thursday. Torrie really misses Ken when he is gone. We had a little bit of rivalry in the house, as I was pulling for the Patriots. Torrie and Ken went down the street to a Super Bowl Party while Tessa and I curled up in front of a fire. Torrie called twice with updates just in case I had missed some great Giant plays. The pressure was building...
Thank you Giants. He is up, dressed and has a smile on his face. Signing Bonuses, Super Bowl Rings, parades - the most important reason for the win in my house just sat down for breakfast.
KG
Torrie is a very intense sports fan for only being nine years old. He is passionate about his teams (he has a lot) and is equally passionate about the sport being played (he loves them all). He has inherited this quality from Ken, who can find enjoyment in any type of competition on television, in person, in the newspaper or being recalled by another sports devotee. Two years ago, Ken and Torrie went on a 'sports weekend' roadtrip to Ohio. They made the 10 hour drive to arrive for kickoff of Ken's high school football game. The next day was off to see Ohio State play (the first time for Ken) - Torrie was sure that ESPN was broadcasting live there just because he and Ken had come. The next day they were able to go to the Cleveland Browns game. Monday they visited the Football Hall of Fame, and Tuesday was the icing with great seats at a Cleveland Indian's game, where Ken caught a foul ball during batting practice. Other than working at a toy store, I will never be able to achieve the status in Torrie's eyes as Ken did that weekend.
I was nervous going into this weekend. Torrie had a basketball game to play in and the other team was tough (they won). Then Ken broke the news that he has an extended business trip this week which will keep him away until Thursday. Torrie really misses Ken when he is gone. We had a little bit of rivalry in the house, as I was pulling for the Patriots. Torrie and Ken went down the street to a Super Bowl Party while Tessa and I curled up in front of a fire. Torrie called twice with updates just in case I had missed some great Giant plays. The pressure was building...
Thank you Giants. He is up, dressed and has a smile on his face. Signing Bonuses, Super Bowl Rings, parades - the most important reason for the win in my house just sat down for breakfast.
KG
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Feverish Thoughts
I got sick this week. It was inevitable because it seems that everyone in West Hartford is sick right now. The great store, The Toy Chest, that I work at is conveniently located across the street from one of the most popular pediatric practices in West Hartford. Lately, I've overheard many moms telling their child something on the lines of "Sweetie, you were such a good boy/girl for the doctor and I know how bad you feel, so let's pick out a nice toy to make you feel better". Then the child would touch, hold and play with a hundred toys before finally deciding on one. Even with using enough antibacterial hand gel to cause people to question my choice of perfumes, the odds of me not getting sick were not in my favor.
On Wednesday evening, around dinner time, it hit: The Shivers; my kids' term for a fever. No other symptoms, just a fever. It started with a warm feeling around my ears. I haven't had a good fever in quite a while (thank goodness), but as soon as it started, I knew I was in trouble. I could almost feel the fever make a path through me like some little bug. My throat felt tighter, then my shoulders and back began to ache - time for bed. Too bad it was only 5:30 p.m. because it was going to be a long night.
I tried to sleep but everything hurt. I was freezing (I'm never freezing) so I put a heating pad in the bed with me. Then I was so hot that every blanket was kicked off and I wanted a cool rag and a drink of water but was too achy to get up and get them. So went the night. I fell into that weird fever sleep where dreams are so strange yet so real you wonder if you are asleep or awake. Finally morning came. Ken had to be gone early so it was up to me to get the kids ready and off to school. I kept telling myself to hang in there, that once they were at school I could lay back down. I drove them both to school in my pajamas. I had to call in sick to my great little job at Toy Chest - I hate to have to do that. I plopped down on the sofa and fell asleep - for 3 hours. It's been a long time since I've fallen asleep on the sofa for 3 hours. I was awakened by Ken calling to ask how I was feeling. Poor guy, he gets in trouble for calling to see how I'm feeling, yet he also would have gotten in trouble for not calling to see how I was feeling.
I got up and took some ibuprofen and drank about ten gallons of water. I clicked on the TV and tried to find something to watch that did not require any effort to understand, as my brain felt like it had been cooked. After a couple of hours, I actually started to feel a bit better. I don't know if it was the ibuprofen, the water, or all of the "Please God let me live through this" prayers, but I was on the mend.
While flipping TV stations, I landed on the Eleen DeGeneres show. I love Ellen - she cracks me up with all of her dancing, jokes and hilarious Internet videos. I don't watch her show that often though because it's on at the same time as Oprah - enough said. Ellen's first guest was Dr. Wayne Dyer. He is a very interesting man who was written many books on how to have a happy life. I have seen him in the past on PBS and enjoyed him. He was on The Ellen Show to promote his new book "Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life: Living The Wisdom Of Tao". He was very dynamic and inspiring. He talked quite a bit about how we are constantly on the move, zooming through our lives and not taking time to live 'in the moment' and appreciate what we have right now as it is. He said that in the storms of our lives, like in real storms, there is a calm place - or peace - we just have to find it. One of the first ways to find this peace is to look at our 'storm' and try to find the good in it. I thought about having cancer and what some of the good/blessings are that have come from it. Here are some of my thoughts:
On Wednesday evening, around dinner time, it hit: The Shivers; my kids' term for a fever. No other symptoms, just a fever. It started with a warm feeling around my ears. I haven't had a good fever in quite a while (thank goodness), but as soon as it started, I knew I was in trouble. I could almost feel the fever make a path through me like some little bug. My throat felt tighter, then my shoulders and back began to ache - time for bed. Too bad it was only 5:30 p.m. because it was going to be a long night.
I tried to sleep but everything hurt. I was freezing (I'm never freezing) so I put a heating pad in the bed with me. Then I was so hot that every blanket was kicked off and I wanted a cool rag and a drink of water but was too achy to get up and get them. So went the night. I fell into that weird fever sleep where dreams are so strange yet so real you wonder if you are asleep or awake. Finally morning came. Ken had to be gone early so it was up to me to get the kids ready and off to school. I kept telling myself to hang in there, that once they were at school I could lay back down. I drove them both to school in my pajamas. I had to call in sick to my great little job at Toy Chest - I hate to have to do that. I plopped down on the sofa and fell asleep - for 3 hours. It's been a long time since I've fallen asleep on the sofa for 3 hours. I was awakened by Ken calling to ask how I was feeling. Poor guy, he gets in trouble for calling to see how I'm feeling, yet he also would have gotten in trouble for not calling to see how I was feeling.
I got up and took some ibuprofen and drank about ten gallons of water. I clicked on the TV and tried to find something to watch that did not require any effort to understand, as my brain felt like it had been cooked. After a couple of hours, I actually started to feel a bit better. I don't know if it was the ibuprofen, the water, or all of the "Please God let me live through this" prayers, but I was on the mend.
While flipping TV stations, I landed on the Eleen DeGeneres show. I love Ellen - she cracks me up with all of her dancing, jokes and hilarious Internet videos. I don't watch her show that often though because it's on at the same time as Oprah - enough said. Ellen's first guest was Dr. Wayne Dyer. He is a very interesting man who was written many books on how to have a happy life. I have seen him in the past on PBS and enjoyed him. He was on The Ellen Show to promote his new book "Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life: Living The Wisdom Of Tao". He was very dynamic and inspiring. He talked quite a bit about how we are constantly on the move, zooming through our lives and not taking time to live 'in the moment' and appreciate what we have right now as it is. He said that in the storms of our lives, like in real storms, there is a calm place - or peace - we just have to find it. One of the first ways to find this peace is to look at our 'storm' and try to find the good in it. I thought about having cancer and what some of the good/blessings are that have come from it. Here are some of my thoughts:
Some things I am grateful for, or have a new appreciation of, since having cancer:
- The unconditional, over-the-top, friendship I have with Julie H.
- A good nights' sleep
- My bean bag pillow from Donna D.
- Prepared meals
- The shawl Ellen H. made for me
- Play dates and carpools while I was on heavy chemo
- My dachshunds
- My crockpot
- My garden in the spring
- Exploring my garden in the spring with Tessa and Torrie to see life blooming
- A clean house (not cleaned by me)
- Helen's homemade soup
- A good belly laugh
- My fireplace
- Judy and Bob M. for their constant love, prayers and friendship
- Hour(s) long phone chats with my sister Tricia
- Ken (these are not in order of preference!)
- A great recipe
- My books
- Andre Bocelli
- "Just Because" cards from Kara F.
Some experiences I have had because of having cancer:
- Renewed relationship with my faith
- The healing waters of Lourdes, France compliments of my wonderful friends and family
- Met Nancy Brinker (Susan G. Komen's sister)
- Ran the Walt Disney World marathon in less than 5 hours
- Saw Oprah
- Invited to Miraval Spa in Arizona
- Walked 60 miles
- Invited to Vice President Al Gore's home
- Learned to knit
- Met Bill Rodgers, Ann Curry and Paula Poundstone
- Got to drop a puck to start a hockey game
- Spent an hour with 'The Horse Whisperer'
Some lessons I have learned from having cancer:
- Never be too busy to cook a meal for someone who is ill.
- There IS a difference between an expensive bra and an inexpensive one.
- A wig can burn if too close to heat.
- You can eliminate at least 2 aisles at the grocery store after having a hysterectomy.
- There is no such thing as a 'painless' procedure.
- There are more uses for duct tape than you think.
- 'Chemo Brain' is real.
- 60 seconds of being angry is 1 minute of missed happiness.
- My body is tough.
- My will is tougher.
There are so many people that I have met that I never would have met if cancer had not come into my life. There are so many acts of kindness that were performed for me and my family by complete strangers. We have been the recipients of great love because of my cancer. There has always been calm in my 'storm', sometimes I just let the clouds get too thick to find it. Of course, these are just a few of my things to be grateful for, the rest are stored in my heart and soul for me to savor.
KG
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Other Side Of The Table
Last Wednesday, I attended a breast cancer support group. As I got ready to go to the cancer center for my treatment that day, I wasn't thinking about support groups, let alone attending one. But I have always believed that people, things and events randomly pop into our lives to keep us on the path that God is laying out for us.
As I checked into the cancer center, a piece of paper on the registration desk caught my eye. It was an informational flyer for the monthly breast cancer support group that is held at the hospital. It was the last flyer, and I noted on it that the meeting was scheduled for that evening at 5:30. I have seen those flyers so many times over the years and never gave them a second thought. This time though, I found myself wondering if I should go.
"You should go Kim; you haven't been to one in years" (nine to be exact) I thought to myself. I wasn't facing a new issue that I needed support for, nor had my treatment or health changed recently. But the feeling didn't let up to attend. It certainly wasn't going to be easy to fit into my schedule that day - I had Herceptin treatment that would last all morning, then straight to work (I work part time at a darling little boutique - Lyn Evans For Potpourri Designs and at a really unique toy store - The Toy Chest, in West Hartford). Could I make it back to the hospital for the meeting? "If it's meant to be, I will" I thought. Needless to say at 5:15 I was flying down the highway, and as if to validate my effort to go, God gave me a beautiful pink sunset to drive through.
I walked into the conference room about five minutes early. The facilitator warmly welcomed me and I sat down on the RIGHT side of the table. There were about seven women already seated and others were expected to trickle in. I took a mental inventory of the women - hats, scarves and the pallor that a person has while enduring chemo. One women had a sleeve on her arm - obviously dealing with lymphedema, a nasty complication that can arise after having lymph nodes removed to check for cancer progression. Most of the ladies seemed to know each other and were chatting among themselves. I had a brief feeling of 'what the heck am I doing here'? The reason I felt that was because these wonderful women were new rookies to the game of breast cancer, I was the veteran player. The odd thing about that dynamic though, is that I was the youngest person at the table.
Each person took a few moments and gave a brief history of their diagnosis and where they were currently in their treatment. All of the women had gone through surgery, whether a lumpectomy or mastectomy. Several were in the process of reconstruction. All were having or had received chemotherapy and many were also going to be having or already had radiation. We covered the whole spectrum as a group. So many memories came back to me while I listened to these brave women. Did anyone have that terrible metallic taste in their mouth from chemo? Would I get feeling back near my incision? How do I deal with the fatigue? What foods are good to eat while battling nausea? Questions that I had myself once asked, and eventually found answers to over the years. I had forgotten (or maybe chose to forget) how overwhelming those initial weeks of living with cancer are.
As it got closer to my turn to speak, I got nervous. How do I sum up ten years of cancer in two minutes without scaring the heck out of these newbies? Then I had a jarring thought come to my mind: "I am on the OTHER SIDE of the table".
When I attended my first breast cancer support group nine years earlier, I walked into the room with a bald head and carrying my 3 month old son in a carrier. The room was crowded and I found a seat on the LEFT side of the table. I was 34 years old and the youngest person there. I was a very enthusiastic participant. The women were very complimentary to me about how I was juggling a newborn, a toddler, and chemo. At that time, I thought 'big deal, it's almost over - a couple more doses of chemo, get my new boobs and this chapter of my life is done'. A woman across the table from me caught my attention. She was probably in her early to mid fifties and was wearing a scarf on her head. She was assisted by a cane and also had portable oxygen with her. I felt a mixture of sympathy and fear when I watched and listened to her. She had Metastatic Breast Cancer - it had spread to her bones, she was a Stage 4. All of those terms I had briefly scanned over in my 'bible' - The Breast Book by Dr. Susan Love. Those were the chapters at the back of the book that 'other" women had to deal with - not me. I then realized that most of the women sitting on her side of the table had metastatic disease. It seemed to me that there was an invisible barrier between 'us' (the non-metastatic) and 'them' (the metastatic). I felt very relieved that this dance with cancer was going to be a short one for me, and felt very sorry for those women that were still dancing. I had so much I had to do in this life,as they did also, how do you do it when you have Stage 4 cancer? As I left, I am ashamed to say I put those women out of my mind. It was just too scary to think about. I was going to stay seated on the LEFT side of the table.
So here I was last week, sitting where I never thought I would be. But if I had been attending that group for all of those years, I would have been sitting on that side of the table for a LONG time. That was a realization that made me smile. When it came my turn to talk, I could tell that the women were shocked that I have been fighting the fight for ten years. I am sure that because of my age and my 'chemo style' haircut (see previous blog Where Oh Where Is My Hair, for details!) they thought that I was newly diagnosed. I told them about discovering my lump while pregnant, about my bilateral mastectomy and the many attempts at successful reconstruction. I told them about radiation and infections. Then I told them about the two separate metastasis, more chemo, radiation and surgeries. But I also told them about running a 5k race, then a 26.2 mile marathon, and walking 60 miles for breast cancer awareness. I also told them that my newborn was now 9 and that my beautiful toddler is now 13. I told them that I had received Herceptin that morning, worked that afternoon and was going home to cook dinner for my family. I told them that I was LIVING.
And I think that was what God wanted me to do when I picked up the flyer that morning. Maybe I was able to break that invisible barrier on that table and show that you can indeed live a very full (crazy) life with cancer, no matter what stage. At the end of the evening, I was very thankful and proud to be sitting on the OTHER SIDE of the table.
Maybe at our next meeting, we can sit at ROUND tables!
KG
As I checked into the cancer center, a piece of paper on the registration desk caught my eye. It was an informational flyer for the monthly breast cancer support group that is held at the hospital. It was the last flyer, and I noted on it that the meeting was scheduled for that evening at 5:30. I have seen those flyers so many times over the years and never gave them a second thought. This time though, I found myself wondering if I should go.
"You should go Kim; you haven't been to one in years" (nine to be exact) I thought to myself. I wasn't facing a new issue that I needed support for, nor had my treatment or health changed recently. But the feeling didn't let up to attend. It certainly wasn't going to be easy to fit into my schedule that day - I had Herceptin treatment that would last all morning, then straight to work (I work part time at a darling little boutique - Lyn Evans For Potpourri Designs and at a really unique toy store - The Toy Chest, in West Hartford). Could I make it back to the hospital for the meeting? "If it's meant to be, I will" I thought. Needless to say at 5:15 I was flying down the highway, and as if to validate my effort to go, God gave me a beautiful pink sunset to drive through.
I walked into the conference room about five minutes early. The facilitator warmly welcomed me and I sat down on the RIGHT side of the table. There were about seven women already seated and others were expected to trickle in. I took a mental inventory of the women - hats, scarves and the pallor that a person has while enduring chemo. One women had a sleeve on her arm - obviously dealing with lymphedema, a nasty complication that can arise after having lymph nodes removed to check for cancer progression. Most of the ladies seemed to know each other and were chatting among themselves. I had a brief feeling of 'what the heck am I doing here'? The reason I felt that was because these wonderful women were new rookies to the game of breast cancer, I was the veteran player. The odd thing about that dynamic though, is that I was the youngest person at the table.
Each person took a few moments and gave a brief history of their diagnosis and where they were currently in their treatment. All of the women had gone through surgery, whether a lumpectomy or mastectomy. Several were in the process of reconstruction. All were having or had received chemotherapy and many were also going to be having or already had radiation. We covered the whole spectrum as a group. So many memories came back to me while I listened to these brave women. Did anyone have that terrible metallic taste in their mouth from chemo? Would I get feeling back near my incision? How do I deal with the fatigue? What foods are good to eat while battling nausea? Questions that I had myself once asked, and eventually found answers to over the years. I had forgotten (or maybe chose to forget) how overwhelming those initial weeks of living with cancer are.
As it got closer to my turn to speak, I got nervous. How do I sum up ten years of cancer in two minutes without scaring the heck out of these newbies? Then I had a jarring thought come to my mind: "I am on the OTHER SIDE of the table".
When I attended my first breast cancer support group nine years earlier, I walked into the room with a bald head and carrying my 3 month old son in a carrier. The room was crowded and I found a seat on the LEFT side of the table. I was 34 years old and the youngest person there. I was a very enthusiastic participant. The women were very complimentary to me about how I was juggling a newborn, a toddler, and chemo. At that time, I thought 'big deal, it's almost over - a couple more doses of chemo, get my new boobs and this chapter of my life is done'. A woman across the table from me caught my attention. She was probably in her early to mid fifties and was wearing a scarf on her head. She was assisted by a cane and also had portable oxygen with her. I felt a mixture of sympathy and fear when I watched and listened to her. She had Metastatic Breast Cancer - it had spread to her bones, she was a Stage 4. All of those terms I had briefly scanned over in my 'bible' - The Breast Book by Dr. Susan Love. Those were the chapters at the back of the book that 'other" women had to deal with - not me. I then realized that most of the women sitting on her side of the table had metastatic disease. It seemed to me that there was an invisible barrier between 'us' (the non-metastatic) and 'them' (the metastatic). I felt very relieved that this dance with cancer was going to be a short one for me, and felt very sorry for those women that were still dancing. I had so much I had to do in this life,as they did also, how do you do it when you have Stage 4 cancer? As I left, I am ashamed to say I put those women out of my mind. It was just too scary to think about. I was going to stay seated on the LEFT side of the table.
So here I was last week, sitting where I never thought I would be. But if I had been attending that group for all of those years, I would have been sitting on that side of the table for a LONG time. That was a realization that made me smile. When it came my turn to talk, I could tell that the women were shocked that I have been fighting the fight for ten years. I am sure that because of my age and my 'chemo style' haircut (see previous blog Where Oh Where Is My Hair, for details!) they thought that I was newly diagnosed. I told them about discovering my lump while pregnant, about my bilateral mastectomy and the many attempts at successful reconstruction. I told them about radiation and infections. Then I told them about the two separate metastasis, more chemo, radiation and surgeries. But I also told them about running a 5k race, then a 26.2 mile marathon, and walking 60 miles for breast cancer awareness. I also told them that my newborn was now 9 and that my beautiful toddler is now 13. I told them that I had received Herceptin that morning, worked that afternoon and was going home to cook dinner for my family. I told them that I was LIVING.
And I think that was what God wanted me to do when I picked up the flyer that morning. Maybe I was able to break that invisible barrier on that table and show that you can indeed live a very full (crazy) life with cancer, no matter what stage. At the end of the evening, I was very thankful and proud to be sitting on the OTHER SIDE of the table.
Maybe at our next meeting, we can sit at ROUND tables!
KG
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Calm Before The Storm
The early morning newscasters are all in a tizzy this morning. It's supposed to snow tonight. It's supposed to snow quite a bit tonight. It's supposed to snow more more than it has snowed since February of 2006. PREPARE!! This always cracks me up since we live in New England and it is supposed to snow a bunch in January.
Of course the kids are ecstatic because more than likely we will have no school on Monday. But first, they will both set their alarms earlier than normal, to see if they can go back to sleep, but by the time "West Hartford" scrolls on the screen, they are wide awake. So actually, they are up earlier on a snow day than they would be on a school day. Go figure.
Torrie, especially, wants it to snow. He received a brand new sled from Santa that he's dying to use. I really don't know if you can actually even call it a sled - it's more like a five foot piece of slick plastic. I almost broke my neck when I accidentally stepped on it in the living room and slid completely into the family room. It does have four handles on it - probably for when you become airborne! He has been waiting patiently for a good snow storm so that we could go out to the golf course and hit the hills. He did ask if he could try the stunt that was in the movie 'Home Alone', where the kid opened the front door and slid down the staircase and across the front lawn. One guess for what my answer was.
I love snow. I love how clean and pristine it looks. Everything slows down because a lot of things close. Fewer cars, etc. The first hours before the snow plows come are the best. Once the plows come though - time to work so we can get back to work.
I live in a GREAT neighborhood. It rarely fails that when we get a big storm, Ken is on the road. In fact, he leaves tonight for three days with the BIG STORM coming. In the past, when I was sick and Ken was gone, my driveway magically got plowed. Almost like the Christmas Elves looking for another job now that Christmas is over. It wasn't just one neighbor, many of them came to help out. I had a hysterectomy after my first metastasis because my ovaries and uterus looked questionable. I was then plagued with incisional hernias. Shoveling snow isn't good for hernias, trust me on that one. So anyway, my great neighbors always helped me out, as I am sure they will again tomorrow.
Ken and I have learned a lot from our neighbors about giving and helping others. You could write a 'How To' book on being a good neighbor based on this group of people. When I was hospitalized at length several times, our neighbors took over everything for Ken and me. Meals were delivered, kids were babysat, groceries were bought, dogs were walked, our lawn was mowed, etc. And they were never asked to do it. They all just showed up and took charge. My friend Mary Ann basically moved in (leaving her job and family) so that Ken could still travel for an important meeting. She got the kids up, dressed and to school, did laundry and made meals, then picked up my kids and helped with homework, etc. She was truly an Angel for my family. Once I was in the hospital for Easter and the gals in my neighborhood got up in the attic, found Easter baskets, and took care of everything for Ken and me. It was such a relief to know my young children and Ken were being taken such good care of. It made my recovery much easier.
So, here comes the snow. And all around town tomorrow friends will be helping each other out. If it isn't snowing where you live tomorrow, maybe there is still a way you can help a neighbor out. You'll feel good and so will they.
Have a great (snow) day!
KG
Of course the kids are ecstatic because more than likely we will have no school on Monday. But first, they will both set their alarms earlier than normal, to see if they can go back to sleep, but by the time "West Hartford" scrolls on the screen, they are wide awake. So actually, they are up earlier on a snow day than they would be on a school day. Go figure.
Torrie, especially, wants it to snow. He received a brand new sled from Santa that he's dying to use. I really don't know if you can actually even call it a sled - it's more like a five foot piece of slick plastic. I almost broke my neck when I accidentally stepped on it in the living room and slid completely into the family room. It does have four handles on it - probably for when you become airborne! He has been waiting patiently for a good snow storm so that we could go out to the golf course and hit the hills. He did ask if he could try the stunt that was in the movie 'Home Alone', where the kid opened the front door and slid down the staircase and across the front lawn. One guess for what my answer was.
I love snow. I love how clean and pristine it looks. Everything slows down because a lot of things close. Fewer cars, etc. The first hours before the snow plows come are the best. Once the plows come though - time to work so we can get back to work.
I live in a GREAT neighborhood. It rarely fails that when we get a big storm, Ken is on the road. In fact, he leaves tonight for three days with the BIG STORM coming. In the past, when I was sick and Ken was gone, my driveway magically got plowed. Almost like the Christmas Elves looking for another job now that Christmas is over. It wasn't just one neighbor, many of them came to help out. I had a hysterectomy after my first metastasis because my ovaries and uterus looked questionable. I was then plagued with incisional hernias. Shoveling snow isn't good for hernias, trust me on that one. So anyway, my great neighbors always helped me out, as I am sure they will again tomorrow.
Ken and I have learned a lot from our neighbors about giving and helping others. You could write a 'How To' book on being a good neighbor based on this group of people. When I was hospitalized at length several times, our neighbors took over everything for Ken and me. Meals were delivered, kids were babysat, groceries were bought, dogs were walked, our lawn was mowed, etc. And they were never asked to do it. They all just showed up and took charge. My friend Mary Ann basically moved in (leaving her job and family) so that Ken could still travel for an important meeting. She got the kids up, dressed and to school, did laundry and made meals, then picked up my kids and helped with homework, etc. She was truly an Angel for my family. Once I was in the hospital for Easter and the gals in my neighborhood got up in the attic, found Easter baskets, and took care of everything for Ken and me. It was such a relief to know my young children and Ken were being taken such good care of. It made my recovery much easier.
So, here comes the snow. And all around town tomorrow friends will be helping each other out. If it isn't snowing where you live tomorrow, maybe there is still a way you can help a neighbor out. You'll feel good and so will they.
Have a great (snow) day!
KG
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
A Spa Treatment It's Not
It's Treatment Day! Doesn't that sound fun and a little glamorous? Something that you would look forward to for relaxation and self indulgence?
Actually, it's my Herceptin Treatment Day. I only write it in my calendar as 'Treatment Day' in case I lose it and someone else finds it. Then for a brief moment they might think I am some very elegant woman that treats herself to facials, pedicures and massages on a regular basis (until they read the next page that reads, carpool @3:35, football practice 5-7, etc)!
I go to the Cancer Center every three weeks for Herceptin. It is a monoclonal antibody that it infused through a port in my chest. I envision the drug as something similar to saran wrap, that wraps itself around my cancer cells and keeps them from spreading. The treatment itself has very few side effects, the only drawback is that I am allergic to the drug, so I need an infusion of Benadryl prior to the Herceptin, which promptly launches me into la la land. Herceptin can eventually be toxic to the heart, so every 3 treatments I have a MUGA scan of the heart to make sure it is still pumping well. So far, so good!
I have been going to the Cancer Center now for 9 years. I think I should have my own parking space like the docs, but the hospital won't go for it. They do offer valet parking which is a very nice touch especially in lousy weather. I have had the same nurse, Judy, for the entire nine years. She has become one of my closest friends. She has been through everything with me, held my hand, wiped my brow, rubbed my feet (there's that 'spa' aspect again) and laughed with me a lot. I've been with her through her kids romances and eventual marriages, the birth of her first grandchild, and the loss of family. She makes having to go there a pleasure.
Even though I've been doing this for so long, I am always restless the night before a treatment. Don't sleep well, have strange dreams, toss and turn. Last night I dreamed that both Dr. B and Judy were standing at the front door of the center with long faces, saying that the reports on my heart had come back - no treatment for me. It's funny how the unconscious mind tries to fight all of our battles.
I have my treatment bag all packed. It to has gone with me each time for 9 years. I've actually worn out a few bags and like to change them to compliment the seasons. This one is a very snappy striped number, pink (of course) orange and purple. It contains a hand knitted blanket from my lovely friend Julie, a comfy neck pillow, snuggly socks, a book and a calendar. I always bring the newspaper, but never make it past the front page section before the Benadryl kicks in; that's when the blanket and pillow come in handy.
All in all, it's not too bad a way to spend a morning. I receive juice, a nice snack and can even watch a movie if I could stay awake. The hardest part for me is comprehending the sheer numbers of people that are there. The place is like a grocery store on a morning before a snow storm. Too much cancer. Mind boggling at times.
I have met so many great people at the cancer center. Wonderful, inspiring, strong people. So many have left the center because they are well now. Others have left the center after a brave fight that they could not win. It lifts my heart to see the staff has remained almost entirely the same since I arrived there. They love their patients, their work and truly are angels among us to be working in the environment that they are.
So off I go, looking forward to the 'nap'! Maybe Judy will do my nails today, too...
KG
Actually, it's my Herceptin Treatment Day. I only write it in my calendar as 'Treatment Day' in case I lose it and someone else finds it. Then for a brief moment they might think I am some very elegant woman that treats herself to facials, pedicures and massages on a regular basis (until they read the next page that reads, carpool @3:35, football practice 5-7, etc)!
I go to the Cancer Center every three weeks for Herceptin. It is a monoclonal antibody that it infused through a port in my chest. I envision the drug as something similar to saran wrap, that wraps itself around my cancer cells and keeps them from spreading. The treatment itself has very few side effects, the only drawback is that I am allergic to the drug, so I need an infusion of Benadryl prior to the Herceptin, which promptly launches me into la la land. Herceptin can eventually be toxic to the heart, so every 3 treatments I have a MUGA scan of the heart to make sure it is still pumping well. So far, so good!
I have been going to the Cancer Center now for 9 years. I think I should have my own parking space like the docs, but the hospital won't go for it. They do offer valet parking which is a very nice touch especially in lousy weather. I have had the same nurse, Judy, for the entire nine years. She has become one of my closest friends. She has been through everything with me, held my hand, wiped my brow, rubbed my feet (there's that 'spa' aspect again) and laughed with me a lot. I've been with her through her kids romances and eventual marriages, the birth of her first grandchild, and the loss of family. She makes having to go there a pleasure.
Even though I've been doing this for so long, I am always restless the night before a treatment. Don't sleep well, have strange dreams, toss and turn. Last night I dreamed that both Dr. B and Judy were standing at the front door of the center with long faces, saying that the reports on my heart had come back - no treatment for me. It's funny how the unconscious mind tries to fight all of our battles.
I have my treatment bag all packed. It to has gone with me each time for 9 years. I've actually worn out a few bags and like to change them to compliment the seasons. This one is a very snappy striped number, pink (of course) orange and purple. It contains a hand knitted blanket from my lovely friend Julie, a comfy neck pillow, snuggly socks, a book and a calendar. I always bring the newspaper, but never make it past the front page section before the Benadryl kicks in; that's when the blanket and pillow come in handy.
All in all, it's not too bad a way to spend a morning. I receive juice, a nice snack and can even watch a movie if I could stay awake. The hardest part for me is comprehending the sheer numbers of people that are there. The place is like a grocery store on a morning before a snow storm. Too much cancer. Mind boggling at times.
I have met so many great people at the cancer center. Wonderful, inspiring, strong people. So many have left the center because they are well now. Others have left the center after a brave fight that they could not win. It lifts my heart to see the staff has remained almost entirely the same since I arrived there. They love their patients, their work and truly are angels among us to be working in the environment that they are.
So off I go, looking forward to the 'nap'! Maybe Judy will do my nails today, too...
KG
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Did The World Stop Spinning?
Last night on the evening news, before going to commercial, the news anchor reported that Dorothy Hamill has been fighting breast cancer. In the next breath he reported that LSU would play Ohio State at 8:00 p.m. Same tone, same delivery, etc.
It got me to wondering if having cancer compared in some way to playing in a college National Championship game? I guess it does in a very "out there' sort of way... there are winners and losers, statistics will be gathered and analyzed, the 'players' will then have a title... I wondered that because the reporter's delivery made it seem like the two were very similar situations. Of course they aren't, though.
I remember when I heard the words "Kimberly, you have a malignancy". I was 7 months pregnant with my second child, my three year old daughter was asleep upstairs, and my husband was traveling somewhere in New Jersey when the call came. I hung up the phone and sat down on my window seat. I watched the hubbub of the cars and people in downtown Hartford below me. "Stop! Look up here! Didn't all of you out there just hear those awful words?" I felt that for one brief instance, the world should stop spinning so that I could come to grips with my diagnosis of breast cancer.
But the world doesn't stop. My daughter needed a glass of water, the cat needed to be fed, etc. Everything goes on the same, but it is never the same again. It's like stepping through a pink curtain onto a brand new stage, except the curtain only opens one way.
I pray that Dorothy Hamill will be strong in her fight, as I say a small prayer of strength for each person that I find out now has cancer. Just for strength to perform on that big pink stage.
Right now, a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer every 3 seconds and a woman dies from breast cancer every 7 seconds. Did I just feel the world stop spinning for a brief second?
KG
It got me to wondering if having cancer compared in some way to playing in a college National Championship game? I guess it does in a very "out there' sort of way... there are winners and losers, statistics will be gathered and analyzed, the 'players' will then have a title... I wondered that because the reporter's delivery made it seem like the two were very similar situations. Of course they aren't, though.
I remember when I heard the words "Kimberly, you have a malignancy". I was 7 months pregnant with my second child, my three year old daughter was asleep upstairs, and my husband was traveling somewhere in New Jersey when the call came. I hung up the phone and sat down on my window seat. I watched the hubbub of the cars and people in downtown Hartford below me. "Stop! Look up here! Didn't all of you out there just hear those awful words?" I felt that for one brief instance, the world should stop spinning so that I could come to grips with my diagnosis of breast cancer.
But the world doesn't stop. My daughter needed a glass of water, the cat needed to be fed, etc. Everything goes on the same, but it is never the same again. It's like stepping through a pink curtain onto a brand new stage, except the curtain only opens one way.
I pray that Dorothy Hamill will be strong in her fight, as I say a small prayer of strength for each person that I find out now has cancer. Just for strength to perform on that big pink stage.
Right now, a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer every 3 seconds and a woman dies from breast cancer every 7 seconds. Did I just feel the world stop spinning for a brief second?
KG
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Where Oh Where Is My Hair?
I went to get a haircut today. This is something that I have found that I cannot plan to do anymore, but rather just need to fly by the seat of my pants and go. I gave up having my own hairdresser years ago because I couldn't stand the guilt/anxiety/embarrassment of not keeping a regular schedule for cuts. This is a new aspect of life that cancer has given me.
I used to have great hair. I mean really great hair. "You're hair is so pretty" is a compliment that I enjoyed hearing on a regular basis. Soft, curly locks when I was a young child, hair that was great for any popular hairstyle (Farrah Fawcett Wings, Pat Benatar Short) when I was a teen, and hair that easily could have stood 6 inches off of my forehead with the aid of aerosol glue (i.e. hairspray) in the 80's. Finally, just a long, thick, wavy mane that could be worn many ways in my 20's.
I often complained to myself about my hair (don't we all?), but deep down always knew that it was one of my best features - right up there with another part of my body that I no longer have due to cancer, but I will share/complain about that later.
I have been completely bald twice and have had my hair become really thin a third time. I don't know which one was the hardest to endure. When I began my first rounds of chemo, my docs told me that I, under no uncertainty, would lose my hair and probably within 2 weeks of beginning treatment. So I did what any Type A personality would do: I planned. I researched everything, called the American Cancer Society to have brochures forwarded, rehearsed the conversation I would have with my 3 year old daughter about why Mommy would soon look like a marble, and called my hairdresser, Jimmy (at that time I did see a hairdresser every 4.2 weeks like a good West Hartford girl should do). Jimmy was so great. He closed his shop and off he and my husband Ken and I went to look for a wig to purchase. We found a cute, sassy thing about the same color as my hair and I bought it. We then went back to the salon and he cut my long hair to look like the wig to help ease my transition. Sounds like a cake walk, right?
I think it was exactly the 14th day when I was in the shower when the inevitable began. Looking back, I remember that the night before I was very uncomfortable because my head really itched - an omen, I guess. As I lathered and then rinsed, I opened my eyes and to my horror the entire shower was COVERED with my hair. How could there be a strand left on my head when I couldn't even see the shower tiles? I tried to pull myself together and gently patted dry. My bangs were in my face so I brushed them away. They fell off in my hand. I sobbed to my husband and he called 911 - not really, just Jimmy the hairdresser, who was my 911 that day. Jimmy graciously closed the shop again and proceeded to shave my head. I wanted to take control of the uncontrollable. I just wanted it over with - next adventure, please. I couldn't imagine walking around for the next several days leaving a trail of my hair - yuk. I kid you not, it took less than 3 minutes to remove all of my hair. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. More importantly, I couldn't look at Ken. I thought that if I didn't make eye contact with him, he couldn't see me - and I couldn't see his expression, whatever it may be. To his credit, Ken immediately told me that I was always beautiful to him, bald or not. I quickly and quietly put on my wig and headed home.
I now had to share my new, altered appearance with my three year old daughter Tessa. Did I mention that she had locks of gold that would have made Rapunzel envious? And that one of our favorite parts of the morning was doing our hair together in my bathroom? I sat down on the sofa with Tessa and slowly removed my wig while again explaining that my hair would be away for awhile. She looked at me hard and long, and then very seriously said "Mommy, you look just like Torrie" (my beautiful bald, round headed 6 week old son - I was diagnosed while 7 mos. pregnant - that's another story). And that was that. Can we play now? I love kids.
I wore my wig every day. I hated that stupid wig. That's exactly what it looked like - a stupid wig. Half of the time it was lopsided because one of my babies pulled on it. It itched like crazy and it was hot as hell. Once I almost caught the thing on fire when I opened the oven door to remove dinner - the bangs got really burnt so I had to do my own cut/style job on the dumb thing. I regret now that I was not brave enough or self assured enough to wear my baldness like a medal for the battle I was fighting. I see women now and I am so proud of their courage and confidence.
Once my chemo was over, I thought that my hair would grow back immediately. No, it took it's own sweet time. Patience is not one of my strongest attributes, but cancer has made me work on it. Once the fuzzies came in I switched to a ball cap that I had made that read 'Hair by Chemo' - I thought it was very clever and I am sure it answered a lot of unasked questions. When my hair finally grew in to the cool punk rock looking stage - I donated my wig to the American Cancer Society. No big fanfare, just a heave ho. You've served me well, dear wig, but now I need you no more - I'll never be bald again....
The second time I found out that I was going to be bald, an acquaintance named Depression came for a visit. She stayed for a long time. Things were so much different now; my kids were older, in elementary school. Other kids might not be so nice. Would they be embarrassed, or worse, ashamed of me? God has blessed me with the two sweetest, kindest, smartest, wise beyond their years, children (o.k. I'm biased). The stresses that they have endured having a mother with cancer their ENTIRE young lives are incalculable. I was afraid. To get my pal Depression to leave, I brought in all of my really good friends to show her the door. We had a party. A Head Shaving Party! This is no exaggeration - 73 women came over, partied and held my hand while my hair was once again shaved off. My heart almost exploded with gratitude. This time, I walked around with nothing on my head, then later, a Red Sox cap (Go Sox). After all, everyone I knew had just seen me get my hair cut off, what was there to hide now? My kids were exceptional, they have never said anything short of "you're beautiful to me, Mommy".
It does get old being bald though. Sometimes you just want to look in the mirror and see/feel/be normal. I can understand if a person chooses to be bald - it's when the choice is taken away from you that it becomes tough to deal with.
That brings me to today. After determining that my hair resembled a brown football helmet today - I jumped into the car and went to one of those no appointment needed places. I told the stylist that I wanted something short, cute and sassy - like the gals you see in the magazines. My "style" looked like...a chemo patient - way too short. Just for a few days though, until I figure out how to use all the gels, cremes and sprays they suckered me into to look like all of those cute , sassy gals in the magazines!
I am not nearly as vain of a person as I used to be, and that's a good thing. So much time and energy wasted - now if someone doesn't like to see me at the grocery with that beautiful 'just outta bed look', they can look at someone else!
Many great things are happening with breast cancer drugs now. Most of the new targeted therapies that are working so well to fight cancer don't cause hair loss. Let's all pray for that. After all, a woman loses so much of herself physically and emotionally while fighting breast cancer, shouldn't she at least have REALLY GREAT hair?!
KG
I used to have great hair. I mean really great hair. "You're hair is so pretty" is a compliment that I enjoyed hearing on a regular basis. Soft, curly locks when I was a young child, hair that was great for any popular hairstyle (Farrah Fawcett Wings, Pat Benatar Short) when I was a teen, and hair that easily could have stood 6 inches off of my forehead with the aid of aerosol glue (i.e. hairspray) in the 80's. Finally, just a long, thick, wavy mane that could be worn many ways in my 20's.
I often complained to myself about my hair (don't we all?), but deep down always knew that it was one of my best features - right up there with another part of my body that I no longer have due to cancer, but I will share/complain about that later.
I have been completely bald twice and have had my hair become really thin a third time. I don't know which one was the hardest to endure. When I began my first rounds of chemo, my docs told me that I, under no uncertainty, would lose my hair and probably within 2 weeks of beginning treatment. So I did what any Type A personality would do: I planned. I researched everything, called the American Cancer Society to have brochures forwarded, rehearsed the conversation I would have with my 3 year old daughter about why Mommy would soon look like a marble, and called my hairdresser, Jimmy (at that time I did see a hairdresser every 4.2 weeks like a good West Hartford girl should do). Jimmy was so great. He closed his shop and off he and my husband Ken and I went to look for a wig to purchase. We found a cute, sassy thing about the same color as my hair and I bought it. We then went back to the salon and he cut my long hair to look like the wig to help ease my transition. Sounds like a cake walk, right?
I think it was exactly the 14th day when I was in the shower when the inevitable began. Looking back, I remember that the night before I was very uncomfortable because my head really itched - an omen, I guess. As I lathered and then rinsed, I opened my eyes and to my horror the entire shower was COVERED with my hair. How could there be a strand left on my head when I couldn't even see the shower tiles? I tried to pull myself together and gently patted dry. My bangs were in my face so I brushed them away. They fell off in my hand. I sobbed to my husband and he called 911 - not really, just Jimmy the hairdresser, who was my 911 that day. Jimmy graciously closed the shop again and proceeded to shave my head. I wanted to take control of the uncontrollable. I just wanted it over with - next adventure, please. I couldn't imagine walking around for the next several days leaving a trail of my hair - yuk. I kid you not, it took less than 3 minutes to remove all of my hair. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. More importantly, I couldn't look at Ken. I thought that if I didn't make eye contact with him, he couldn't see me - and I couldn't see his expression, whatever it may be. To his credit, Ken immediately told me that I was always beautiful to him, bald or not. I quickly and quietly put on my wig and headed home.
I now had to share my new, altered appearance with my three year old daughter Tessa. Did I mention that she had locks of gold that would have made Rapunzel envious? And that one of our favorite parts of the morning was doing our hair together in my bathroom? I sat down on the sofa with Tessa and slowly removed my wig while again explaining that my hair would be away for awhile. She looked at me hard and long, and then very seriously said "Mommy, you look just like Torrie" (my beautiful bald, round headed 6 week old son - I was diagnosed while 7 mos. pregnant - that's another story). And that was that. Can we play now? I love kids.
I wore my wig every day. I hated that stupid wig. That's exactly what it looked like - a stupid wig. Half of the time it was lopsided because one of my babies pulled on it. It itched like crazy and it was hot as hell. Once I almost caught the thing on fire when I opened the oven door to remove dinner - the bangs got really burnt so I had to do my own cut/style job on the dumb thing. I regret now that I was not brave enough or self assured enough to wear my baldness like a medal for the battle I was fighting. I see women now and I am so proud of their courage and confidence.
Once my chemo was over, I thought that my hair would grow back immediately. No, it took it's own sweet time. Patience is not one of my strongest attributes, but cancer has made me work on it. Once the fuzzies came in I switched to a ball cap that I had made that read 'Hair by Chemo' - I thought it was very clever and I am sure it answered a lot of unasked questions. When my hair finally grew in to the cool punk rock looking stage - I donated my wig to the American Cancer Society. No big fanfare, just a heave ho. You've served me well, dear wig, but now I need you no more - I'll never be bald again....
The second time I found out that I was going to be bald, an acquaintance named Depression came for a visit. She stayed for a long time. Things were so much different now; my kids were older, in elementary school. Other kids might not be so nice. Would they be embarrassed, or worse, ashamed of me? God has blessed me with the two sweetest, kindest, smartest, wise beyond their years, children (o.k. I'm biased). The stresses that they have endured having a mother with cancer their ENTIRE young lives are incalculable. I was afraid. To get my pal Depression to leave, I brought in all of my really good friends to show her the door. We had a party. A Head Shaving Party! This is no exaggeration - 73 women came over, partied and held my hand while my hair was once again shaved off. My heart almost exploded with gratitude. This time, I walked around with nothing on my head, then later, a Red Sox cap (Go Sox). After all, everyone I knew had just seen me get my hair cut off, what was there to hide now? My kids were exceptional, they have never said anything short of "you're beautiful to me, Mommy".
It does get old being bald though. Sometimes you just want to look in the mirror and see/feel/be normal. I can understand if a person chooses to be bald - it's when the choice is taken away from you that it becomes tough to deal with.
That brings me to today. After determining that my hair resembled a brown football helmet today - I jumped into the car and went to one of those no appointment needed places. I told the stylist that I wanted something short, cute and sassy - like the gals you see in the magazines. My "style" looked like...a chemo patient - way too short. Just for a few days though, until I figure out how to use all the gels, cremes and sprays they suckered me into to look like all of those cute , sassy gals in the magazines!
I am not nearly as vain of a person as I used to be, and that's a good thing. So much time and energy wasted - now if someone doesn't like to see me at the grocery with that beautiful 'just outta bed look', they can look at someone else!
Many great things are happening with breast cancer drugs now. Most of the new targeted therapies that are working so well to fight cancer don't cause hair loss. Let's all pray for that. After all, a woman loses so much of herself physically and emotionally while fighting breast cancer, shouldn't she at least have REALLY GREAT hair?!
KG
New Year's Resolution
Well, here I go: keeping my New Year's Resolution (okay, it's already Jan.5, I'm a little slow). I've always wanted to write. Have always said I was going to write. Have purchased a million journals to begin to write; now I am writing! I think I have a story. It sure feels like I've been living a story at times (this can't be happening in real life kinda thing). I've been living with breast cancer for 10 years (in June) and I am only 43 years old - almost a 1/4 of my life. It's unbelievable to me because I can remember the day I found out about my cancer like it was yesterday. I can remember exact dates of surgeries, chemo, procedures, scans, etc. as if they took place just this week. I can't remember what I really did do this week, but that's a different story.
I've struggled with what a lot of professionals and even just regular folk say to "not let cancer become your life". But the fact is, it is my life and will always be my life. There is no cure for Stage 4 metastatic cancer, there is just time. So I have decided to embrace this aspect of my life instead of fighting it as I have for the past ten years. That is not to say that I am not fighting the cancer, because I will do that until it takes the last breath from my body, I am just not going to fight the idea of living (cohabiting is a nice word) anymore. It is me, take it or leave it.
I have had a lot of really neat experiences in the past 10 years; a lot of scares, successes and failures. I have fought depression and anxiety just as hard as I have fought the cancer. I want to use this forum as a way to share and to preserve memories that I have. I hope that this blog may also help anyone else that is newly diagnosed with cancer, or is living with metastatic disease, like me
I titled this site 10 Years of Pink for obvious reasons. Just about everything I own now is pink. Clothes, jewelry, cookware, bedding, umbrellas, etc - so many trinkets from loving well wishers. Fortunately, I love the color pink, it has always been my favorite color. Long ago, when I was going through the "Why me" stage (again), I wondered if my life would be different if pink wasn't my favorite color. At least the color looks good on me!
KG
I've struggled with what a lot of professionals and even just regular folk say to "not let cancer become your life". But the fact is, it is my life and will always be my life. There is no cure for Stage 4 metastatic cancer, there is just time. So I have decided to embrace this aspect of my life instead of fighting it as I have for the past ten years. That is not to say that I am not fighting the cancer, because I will do that until it takes the last breath from my body, I am just not going to fight the idea of living (cohabiting is a nice word) anymore. It is me, take it or leave it.
I have had a lot of really neat experiences in the past 10 years; a lot of scares, successes and failures. I have fought depression and anxiety just as hard as I have fought the cancer. I want to use this forum as a way to share and to preserve memories that I have. I hope that this blog may also help anyone else that is newly diagnosed with cancer, or is living with metastatic disease, like me
I titled this site 10 Years of Pink for obvious reasons. Just about everything I own now is pink. Clothes, jewelry, cookware, bedding, umbrellas, etc - so many trinkets from loving well wishers. Fortunately, I love the color pink, it has always been my favorite color. Long ago, when I was going through the "Why me" stage (again), I wondered if my life would be different if pink wasn't my favorite color. At least the color looks good on me!
KG
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