#cancerdiva

[theteddyblaze]

Mentoring the #nextgen of #media repost from @tkaythegreat - Great Pleasure Meeting This Man Today Learned A lot In So Lil Time #Salute #OmarGoodingParty #ManorOnVine #CancerDiva (at Manor on Vine)

[yourbolderswedish]

Sadly, cancer still gets to me

When the phone rang, it annoyed me.

I looked at the Caller ID, recognized the number and refused to answer the call. I knew who it was. I knew what they wanted. I knew I should answer. Still, I walked away.

When my oncologist’s office called last week to set my next check-up appointment, I was lacing up my running shoes. I was preparing to go out and put in a few miles. I was thinking about how hot the weather was. I was thinking about running near a lake to stay cool. I was not, repeat NOT, thinking about cancer.

As the phone continued ringing, I walked out of the house to my truck and drove to the nearby mesa for a run. It was hot. I should have gone to the lake. I should have stopped thinking about that phone call. I should have let it go. Instead, I remained irritated and it spoiled my run.

When I got home -- still annoyed -- I called the oncologist’s office, spoke with a nurse and set my next check-up.

September 21. It will be another dutiful consultation with the oncologist. He’ll ask if I’ve noticed any new lumps or bumps. He’ll ask if I’m still taking my medication, forgetting that I am not and he already knows this. We’ll talk about this again. Sigh. He’ll examine my chest. He’ll ask about my diet, my exercise. He’ll ask if I have any questions.

I won’t. I know the drill.

Lately, life has been good. I haven’t been obsessed with medical consultations, blood tests, lumps, bumps … Or, cancer. I have enjoyed time with family and friends. I have gone on mini adventures with my husband. I have returned to being a blonde. 

After living for more than a year with daily reminders about breast cancer and its treatment, I feel like I have moved on. I haven’t written on this blog for quite some time. I don’t have much to say about cancer.

I still hate it.

I still want it wiped from the face of this Earth.

I still want to never consider it again.

Likely, most people touched by this disease have the same feelings. Unfortunately, deep down we know ignoring cancer and its effects is a luxury we cannot afford.

My annoyance last week was misspent energy. It’s disheartening for me to admit but cancer still gets to me. It does.

I can go for days, weeks, months and not be bogged down by what happened with me and cancer.

Occasionally, I think back to the surgeries, the treatments, the pain, the fear and it registers. Still, it no longer is a part of my everyday life. Although I see the scars daily, they aren’t as fresh. They aren’t the stark reminders they once were.

In a few days, it will be the anniversary of my diagnosis. I dread thinking back to that day in 2013. That day when a nurse called to tell me what I already suspected. That day that started an avalanche of uncertainty and angst.

I hope to do something fun and silly this year on that anniversary. Last year, The Weed and I were in Vancouver. We ran through a beautiful park on the coast. We rode bikes. We drank wine. We laughed.

This year, I hope to feel as alive as possible.

Yesterday, I sat in my truck after a trip to the grocery store. I was not thinking about cancer. I was smiling and laughing a little as I ate a giant Snickers bar and drank from a sweating bottle of Dr. Pepper. I have no idea when I last let candy bar chocolate melt on my teeth or had carbonated soda bubbles tickle my nose.

It was a truly decadent and bit mental moment for me. However, it reminded me to feel alive as often as possible.

Although cancer still gets to me from time to time, there are the days spent riding bikes with my husband or sitting in a parking lot devouring a diet-busting candy bar.

There are the days when being as alive as possible is all I need to think about.

Since I last wrote on this blog, life has been good. I’ve enjoyed spending time with family and friends. I’ve also got enough hair again so that I am blonde. I feel like life is back to normal. Blonde. Normal.

[yourbolderswedish]

Too many tears

I don’t have children.

People who read this blog know I have two beautiful, precocious, naughty, silly, cherished yellow dogs.

Rio is 8 years old. She will celebrate her 9th birthday next week. Bravo also is 8. He turned that magic number in March.

Since these beasts came into my life, I have doted on them. I have spoiled them. I have treated them as I suspect I would treat my biological children.

Fortunately, my husband is just as sweet on Rio and Bravo as I am.

When Rio tore her ACL a few years ago and the vet told us she needed surgery and rehab totaling several thousands of dollars, The Weed did not flinch. He put down his credit card and said something like ‘Fix our Baby Girl.’

This year, Bravo became the focus of expensive medical consultations and difficult discussions about surgeries and treatments. Then, we received a phone call I never wanted to experience. Again.

A kind veterinary student at Colorado State University called to talk to me about cancer. They found cancer in Bravo.

The Weed and I visited the CSU veterinary teaching hospital several times earlier this year to have our ‘Big Boy’ examined by a team of cardiologists and then a team from the Flint Animal Cancer Center.

Over the years, Bravo developed two large lipomas -- noncancerous, fatty masses -- that were hindering his movement. The Flint oncologists were brought onto Bravo’s case because they routinely remove such masses.

During a presurgery exam, a veterinary student and surgical fellow also found a suspicious mass on the point of Bravo’s shoulder. They did a needle biopsy and confirmed it was a mast cell tumor, a common cancer that develops in the connective tissues of dogs. (During surgery, it was discovered that two mast cell tumors were growing in Bravo’s shoulder.)

So, when I received the call detailing Bravo’s cancer, my mind raced. As The Weed likes to say, ‘Our family knows far more about cancer than we ever wanted to.’

My first thoughts were extreme. ‘What if this has metastasized?’ ‘What if they want to amputate his leg?’ ‘What if they can’t fix him?’

The ‘What ifs’ were plenty. One question I kept asking really haunted me: ‘What if he has to do chemo?’

After going through six rounds of toxic chemo and a year’s worth of Herceptin infusions following my breast cancer diagnosis, the thought of having my dog endure such treatment and not understand it crushed me.

I went through the bone pain, the nausea, the exhaustion … all the crap associated with chemotherapy and I understood why I had to do it. The notion of putting our sweet, gentle dog who loves carrots and chasing backyard bunnies through something like chemo weighed heavily on me. The notion of not doing chemo if it could help left me equally conflicted.

So, I resolved to myself to trust the surgeons trained to help Bravo. As I put my trust in the surgeons and oncologists who helped me through cancer, I again put my faith in the hands of people I did not know but hoped could make everything alright again.

Then, I cried.

I have cried a lot in the past month. Some days, I just stood in the bathroom with the fan drowning out my sobs so the dogs and my husband couldn’t hear me. It was cathartic. However, I remained scared to death. This was the first time someone I loved was facing the very real consequences of cancer. I was spent and stupid with emotion.

Today, we are about two weeks past Bravo’s surgery. He is recovering like a true champ.

Pathology showed the cancer cells in his body were low grade and the surgeon got clear margins around the tumor sites. When talking with The Weed and me about Bravo’s prognosis, the surgeon said ‘Cured.’ <More tears>

Bravo is now walking around with surgical scars that rival mine from the double mastectomy and reconstruction. Still, he is walking -- at times bounding -- around. For this, I am beyond grateful.

I know there comes a point when everyone touched by cancer faces daunting treatment decisions.

I never expected to have to consider such decisions twice.

I hope there never comes a third time. I have shed too many tears over cancer in this life.

Here are a few photos of Bravo. The photo on the left shows Bravo at about 4 months old. The photo on the right shows Bravo five days after his recent surgery to remove two lipomas and two mast cell tumors. We keep telling him: ‘Chicks dig scars.’

[yourbolderswedish]

The toenails are back! As I write this, I'm enjoying my first pedicure in years. When my toenails fell out during chemo, I longed to sit in a massage chair, dangling my feet in chemical-blue water. I really missed this little luxury. I am grateful to have a new pair of sandals and, soon, colorful toenails to show off. The little things are important for me these days! Thanks for reading ... Hope everyone is happy and healthy! All my best! ~Kelley

[yourbolderswedish]

Moving on

My husband knows what to say.

When people ask if my cancer treatment was successful, he explains the results so much better than me.

When someone asks if I am in remission, I pause. He answers.

When someone asks if I am healthy, I pause. He answers.

For me, it’s difficult to know what to say at this point.

I had a double mastectomy to cut the cancer from my body. I went through cytotoxic chemotherapy to poison any rogue cells that escaped the knife. I had 12 months of infusions that put my body in hormonal limbo to keep estrogen-fed cancer cells from thriving.

When someone asks if I am free from cancer, The Weed tells the truth.

He starts by explaining, that although, my cancer was ugly, it was detected early. It had not spread to other areas in my body. Then, he says the treatments were aggressive. To the best of my doctors’ knowledge, the surgeries obliterated the disease. And, the chemical salvo -- infusions of three robust chemotherapy drugs -- likely scorched any nastiness that might have remained.

That’s how we approach life now. We trust in the treatments.

There are no scans for me. No blood tests. No medical proclamations of health.

Instead, every six months, I will see my oncologist. He will ask if I have noticed any new ‘lumps or bumps.’ He will examine my lymph nodes and check my transplanted breasts for anomalies.

Last week, was my first post-treatment exam with the oncologist.

It was quick. Like first boy-girl date quick. It was filled with questions from the doctor, answers from me and uncomfortable probing. Again, insert first boy-girl date analogy.

I left the appointment feeling, well, underwhelmed. The doctor found no strange lumps. My lymph nodes seemed normal. We talked about future exams. He wished me well. I left.

This is my new baseline for health, I guess.

From the start, cancer brought certainties for me.

There was the terrifying, all-too-clear diagnosis.

There was the roadmap for surgeries and treatments.

There was the knowledge that I had to get really sick before I could get better.

Such certainties are gone from my life post-cancer.

Today, I came across a New York Times column by Suleika Jaouad published earlier this month detailing her similar feelings and concerns. You can read the column here: http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/03/16/lost-in-transition-after-cancer/?_r=2

Called ‘Lost in Transition After Cancer’ much of what Jaouad writes rings true with me. I am strangely happy to know I am not alone.

‘It is hard not to speak in clichés about cancer,’ Jaouad writes. ‘It can be even harder not to feel as if I have to live up to those clichés. I sometimes feel a deep sense of guilt for not doing a better job of making lemonade out of metaphorical lemons. I know that I am one of the lucky ones, and I am deeply thankful to be alive. In writing about problems I am facing now, I worry about sounding ungrateful -- or worse yet, insensitive to my friends in the cancer community who may never go into remission. These fears color the unexpected challenges that emerge during life after cancer, and can overwhelm the need to talk about them. After all, I’m supposed to be better. So, why don’t I feel better?’

I recently heard someone going through cancer treatment say he would feel better when he could look in the mirror and once again recognize himself.

I think for some people such recognition never returns. We are forever changed by cancer.

Finding a way forward is uncomfortable, at times unspeakable and daunting.

Still, we must move on. We’re ‘better’ now, right?

‘Lost in Transition After Cancer’ written by Suleika Jaouad in the New York Times rings true with me and my feelings as I try to move on after breast cancer. You can see the column here http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/03/16/lost-in-transition-after-cancer/?_r=2

[yourbolderswedish]

What did you ask your oncologist?

The first meeting with my oncologist is a blur of a memory.

I remember being scared. Overwhelmed. Feeling out of my league.

I am not sure what I asked him or what my husband asked. I was thankful The Weed was there with me, though. He helped me remember parts of our discussion and eventually helped me settle on a course of treatment for my breast cancer.

What did you ask your oncologist?

Recently, I received a press release highlighting the top five questions to ask when considering how to treat your cancer. I wish I had this checklist when I first considered life with cancer.

“Not all treatment plans are created equal,” says Dr. Jay Piccirillo, vice chair of Research and director of Clinical Outcomes for the Research Office at Washington University School of Medicine.

Piccirillo encourages patients to be proactive and research all of their treatment options. Additionally, he offers the questions any newly diagnosed cancer patient should ask their oncologist, including:

> What type of cancer do I have?

> What is the stage of my cancer or how far has the cancer spread?

> What is my prognosis or how likely is a cure?

> What type of treatment options are available to me?

> How will the cancer and treatment affect my body function and quality of life?

For anyone considering a course of treatment, I also encourage visiting The American Cancer Society at Cancer.org. There, you can learn about various treatments, technologies and types of cancers.

Additionally, The National Cancer Institute at Cancer.gov provides much information, including how to assess a clinical prognosis. You can find prognosis information and a short video here, http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/coping/prognosis

Once the shock of a cancer diagnosis settles, the serious work begins.

Being an educated and prepared patient will make your journey with cancer one that is meaningful and manageable.   

The National Cancer Institute offers information about cancer treatments and assessing a clinical prognosis. You can find prognosis information and a short video here, http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/coping/prognosis

#breastcancer #breastcancerawareness #cancerdiva #chemo -- What questions do you think a patient should ask their oncologist before starting treatment for cancer?