So, by this time tomorrow, I'll know the answer to the question, has my cancer spread? I guess that kind of makes it D Day, doesn't it? Diagnosis Day, that is. It's been three weeks already since this whole thing started. What a long time to have this hanging over my head. But, I realized tonight that I'm at peace with it, whatever it is.
This on the heels of yet another study on routine mammograms. I have said before that it is my hope that I can use my cancer experience to help others in whatever way I can. I am not a medical professional but I am living, breathing proof that routine mammograms can detect breast cancer that might otherwise go undetected until it is too late. I wholeheartedly recommend that you "go with your gut" on this one and forget all the studies. It's your life and your body and this is a decision to be made by you, number one, and your doctor. If you don't trust your doctor, get a different one.
It was a year ago that I made the long overdue decision to find another doctor. For him to accept you as a patient he requires that you come in for a complete physical. He scheduled a routine mammogram, among other things, although the exam had turned up no indication of possible cancer. The rest is history.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I am not "pro-pink." I am "pro-knowledge is power". If you have never had a mammogram or you are past due for one, please give it your prayerful consideration. It could save your life.
As for me, whether I have 2 years, 20 years or more left, I will be doing what I can to help others who have faced or will be facing a cancer diagnosis. It may be through this blog or through volunteer activities or, who knows, maybe some day I'll write a book. Until cancer is eventually eradicated so that no one else has to go through what I and many others have, it will be my cause.
Once again tomorrow I face labs, exam, chemo, sitting around waiting and, this time, a diagnostic consultation to discuss the results of my recent tests. Yes, by this time tomorrow, I'll know. I will update you.
Later.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Great Memory
I was on the Siouxland Komen site the other day and noticed that they had a link to the video of the Siouxland Race For the Cure. I watched the whole thing and felt some of the same emotions I felt that morning as so many people gathered to walk/run to raise money for breast cancer.
Here is the video...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-sDNTNWr9zE
It's kind of long, so if you're pressed for time, I'll tell you that you can catch a glimpse of our team, Cathy's Light Brigade, at approximately 4:45 (look for the bright green shirt and flourescent green sign). You can also catch me crossing the finish line at approximately 7:04. Enjoy.
Later.
Here is the video...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-sDNTNWr9zE
It's kind of long, so if you're pressed for time, I'll tell you that you can catch a glimpse of our team, Cathy's Light Brigade, at approximately 4:45 (look for the bright green shirt and flourescent green sign). You can also catch me crossing the finish line at approximately 7:04. Enjoy.
Later.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
First Haircut
I didn't get up thinking that this was going to be another one of those "hair days" but that is what it ended up being.
I decided after my shower that I was going to try to spike it since I have had so many people express the opinion that I should do that. Actually, I did try it awhile back but couldn't get it to stand up so today I used more gel and was a little more successful. But I looked in the mirror and there was my dad staring back at me. SERIOUSLY.
Here's the deal. When I was growing up, my dad wore his hair in a flat top. For those of you too young to know what that is, it was a pretty popular men's hairstyle back in the 50s and 60s. It was cut about an inch long and stood straight up on top. The sides and back were cut short. My dad had a great flat top and his hair was gray. I don't remember his hair ever being any color other than gray. He went gray very young. Anyway, with my hair kind of standing up on top but being too short to spike anywhere else, I swear I am the spitting image of my dad. Couldn't do it. Couldn't wear my hair like my dad. Maybe I'll try it again later when it gets longer...or maybe not.
Then, this afternoon Michelle had a hair appointment so I decided to stop in to get some input from Candace on the unruly way in which my hair is growing in. She was amazed at how thick it is and most of all, how curly it is. Yes it is. She offered to trim it just a bit for me so, totally unexpected, I had my first "post bald" haircut today. She tried 3 different products on it to see if she could get it to lay down but nothing worked. It is totally in to doing its own thing. But, with the trim, it does look a bit less disheveled.
She and Michelle got their kicks making fun of me. I still haven't decided whether or not I like the color so they decided maybe I should try going from silver to copper. Instead of looking like a dime, I could look like a penney. :) Well, THEY thought it was funny. Actually, Candace joined the ranks of those who claim to like the silver look. In her words..."Hey, I wouldn't kid about that. I'm a hair dresser and it's my job to try to get money out of you. But, I like the color as it is." She thinks as slow as it's growing, it will be the first of the year before I could do anything with it anyway. So, guess I don't have to worry about it right now.
OK...the tests. Didn't mention the subject because I'm trying not to focus on it. Everything went OK. Once they got the IV in for the MUGA at Mercy, they decided to leave it in so I wouldn't have to have it done again at the Cancer Center. So, that was good. The PET prep is interesting. They have to test your blood sugar to make sure it is not high enough to fight with the sugar solution they have to inject. They fill several syringes with this radioactive stuff, which, by the way, was my second radiactive high of the day. They draw some blood before the MUGA and then mix it with some sort of radioactive stuff and then reinject it into you. So, anyway, prior to the PET, they bring in this metal box which contains syringes of radioactive glucose or some such thing, and inject it into your IV. You are in a small, dimly lit room which has a big radioactive sign on the door. You sit in a recliner and, in my case, cover up with a couple of blankets. (I am always cold) Once she injects the solution, the tech leaves and you just relax in the dark and quiet room for an hour while this stuff courses through your system. Then she comes bank to get you and starts the picture taking process. I think the table you have to lie on is about 12 inches wide on a good day. I couldn't help but think about how accustomed I had become to lying under massive pieces of heavy technology while they circle the body at very close range and either shoot you with radiation or record views or your insides or whatever the deal of the day happens to be. A year ago, I had never done any of this, ever. Anyway, enough on that. It went OK but I won't know anything until Friday. Must come up with ways to distract my mind until then.
Later.
I decided after my shower that I was going to try to spike it since I have had so many people express the opinion that I should do that. Actually, I did try it awhile back but couldn't get it to stand up so today I used more gel and was a little more successful. But I looked in the mirror and there was my dad staring back at me. SERIOUSLY.
Here's the deal. When I was growing up, my dad wore his hair in a flat top. For those of you too young to know what that is, it was a pretty popular men's hairstyle back in the 50s and 60s. It was cut about an inch long and stood straight up on top. The sides and back were cut short. My dad had a great flat top and his hair was gray. I don't remember his hair ever being any color other than gray. He went gray very young. Anyway, with my hair kind of standing up on top but being too short to spike anywhere else, I swear I am the spitting image of my dad. Couldn't do it. Couldn't wear my hair like my dad. Maybe I'll try it again later when it gets longer...or maybe not.
Then, this afternoon Michelle had a hair appointment so I decided to stop in to get some input from Candace on the unruly way in which my hair is growing in. She was amazed at how thick it is and most of all, how curly it is. Yes it is. She offered to trim it just a bit for me so, totally unexpected, I had my first "post bald" haircut today. She tried 3 different products on it to see if she could get it to lay down but nothing worked. It is totally in to doing its own thing. But, with the trim, it does look a bit less disheveled.
She and Michelle got their kicks making fun of me. I still haven't decided whether or not I like the color so they decided maybe I should try going from silver to copper. Instead of looking like a dime, I could look like a penney. :) Well, THEY thought it was funny. Actually, Candace joined the ranks of those who claim to like the silver look. In her words..."Hey, I wouldn't kid about that. I'm a hair dresser and it's my job to try to get money out of you. But, I like the color as it is." She thinks as slow as it's growing, it will be the first of the year before I could do anything with it anyway. So, guess I don't have to worry about it right now.
OK...the tests. Didn't mention the subject because I'm trying not to focus on it. Everything went OK. Once they got the IV in for the MUGA at Mercy, they decided to leave it in so I wouldn't have to have it done again at the Cancer Center. So, that was good. The PET prep is interesting. They have to test your blood sugar to make sure it is not high enough to fight with the sugar solution they have to inject. They fill several syringes with this radioactive stuff, which, by the way, was my second radiactive high of the day. They draw some blood before the MUGA and then mix it with some sort of radioactive stuff and then reinject it into you. So, anyway, prior to the PET, they bring in this metal box which contains syringes of radioactive glucose or some such thing, and inject it into your IV. You are in a small, dimly lit room which has a big radioactive sign on the door. You sit in a recliner and, in my case, cover up with a couple of blankets. (I am always cold) Once she injects the solution, the tech leaves and you just relax in the dark and quiet room for an hour while this stuff courses through your system. Then she comes bank to get you and starts the picture taking process. I think the table you have to lie on is about 12 inches wide on a good day. I couldn't help but think about how accustomed I had become to lying under massive pieces of heavy technology while they circle the body at very close range and either shoot you with radiation or record views or your insides or whatever the deal of the day happens to be. A year ago, I had never done any of this, ever. Anyway, enough on that. It went OK but I won't know anything until Friday. Must come up with ways to distract my mind until then.
Later.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
FINALLY
Well...the appointments are finally confirmed. Now it is just a matter of getting through the anticipation. Friday is the big day. I will have the MUGA scan at Mercy in the morning and the PET/CT scan at the Cancer Center in the afternoon.
In case some of you are not familiar with PET scans, in a nutshell...
* PET/CT is the most advanced medical imaging technique available today, combining Positron Emmission Tomography with Computed Tomography
* PET/CT combines the fine structural detail of CT with PET's ability to detect changes in cell function. This combination allows for earlier and more accurate detection of disease than either CT or PET alone.
How Does It Work?
* Cancer cells grow at a very fast rate.
* Growing cells use glucose as a primary source of energy. The faster cells grow, the more glucose is consumed.
* A form of glucose called FDG, which emits particles called positrons, is injected before a PET/CT study is done.
* The FDG molecules are consumed more in fast-growing cancer cells than in normal cells, resulting in concentrations of FDG, and positrons, in areas of cancer.
* A PET/CT scanner detects where positrons are being emitted from within a patient and provides images that map the locations
* PET FDG mapping is combined with a CT image's structural detail in order to identify both the presence of disease and its precise location.
That is what tipped them off to the problem with my Thyroid back in December. It was lit up on the PET scan. The hope is that nothing will be lit up this time. Please, please!! (By the way, the brochure indicates that you should avoid contact with infants and pregnant women for 8 hours after the procedure. Somehow, that is not a very comforting thought)
I have an appointment on Friday, October 1, to find out the results of all the tests and to also have my next chemo treatment. So, while there isn't long to wait for the remaining tests themselves, the wait to find out the results is still pretty foreboding. It will be a long week.
Later.
In case some of you are not familiar with PET scans, in a nutshell...
* PET/CT is the most advanced medical imaging technique available today, combining Positron Emmission Tomography with Computed Tomography
* PET/CT combines the fine structural detail of CT with PET's ability to detect changes in cell function. This combination allows for earlier and more accurate detection of disease than either CT or PET alone.
How Does It Work?
* Cancer cells grow at a very fast rate.
* Growing cells use glucose as a primary source of energy. The faster cells grow, the more glucose is consumed.
* A form of glucose called FDG, which emits particles called positrons, is injected before a PET/CT study is done.
* The FDG molecules are consumed more in fast-growing cancer cells than in normal cells, resulting in concentrations of FDG, and positrons, in areas of cancer.
* A PET/CT scanner detects where positrons are being emitted from within a patient and provides images that map the locations
* PET FDG mapping is combined with a CT image's structural detail in order to identify both the presence of disease and its precise location.
That is what tipped them off to the problem with my Thyroid back in December. It was lit up on the PET scan. The hope is that nothing will be lit up this time. Please, please!! (By the way, the brochure indicates that you should avoid contact with infants and pregnant women for 8 hours after the procedure. Somehow, that is not a very comforting thought)
I have an appointment on Friday, October 1, to find out the results of all the tests and to also have my next chemo treatment. So, while there isn't long to wait for the remaining tests themselves, the wait to find out the results is still pretty foreboding. It will be a long week.
Later.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Patience is a Virtue
...that I don't seem to have. It has been well over a week now since Dr. D. indicated that he wanted me to have another MUGA scan and PET scan. I still don't know when they will be.
Last week I called the Cancer Center to ask about it and they said that the insurance company would have to give the OK before they could schedule it. By this morning, I was really wondering how big a decision this could be for them, that it could take that long. I was scheduled for a Lymphodema Clinic at the Cancer Center this afternoon, so, while there, I asked about this. They had just received the OK from the insurance company, so were going to call and schedule the tests this afternoon. She said she would call me once they were set.
It is now 6:00 and I have not heard from them so, at this point, do not expect to. I just feel mentally exhausted. It's not that I believe these tests will have a negative outcome, but the waiting and wondering is unbelievably draining. I've always considered myself fairly patient, but this is a true test and I'm afraid I'm not getting a passing grade.
Sorry. Just felt the need to vent.
Later.
Last week I called the Cancer Center to ask about it and they said that the insurance company would have to give the OK before they could schedule it. By this morning, I was really wondering how big a decision this could be for them, that it could take that long. I was scheduled for a Lymphodema Clinic at the Cancer Center this afternoon, so, while there, I asked about this. They had just received the OK from the insurance company, so were going to call and schedule the tests this afternoon. She said she would call me once they were set.
It is now 6:00 and I have not heard from them so, at this point, do not expect to. I just feel mentally exhausted. It's not that I believe these tests will have a negative outcome, but the waiting and wondering is unbelievably draining. I've always considered myself fairly patient, but this is a true test and I'm afraid I'm not getting a passing grade.
Sorry. Just felt the need to vent.
Later.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Waiting Game...
I wonder how much time I have spent waiting since I was diagnosed with cancer. Waiting for test results...waiting to get in to see the doctors...waiting to get called back for chemo...waiting for my hair to fall out...waiting for my hair to grow back...waiting, waiting, waiting.
Right now I am waiting again. Once Dr. D. decided he wanted to do these other tests to make sure the cancer hadn't spread, he got me right in for the EGD. Only had to wait from Friday until Monday. But the PET scan...now that is a different story. Why? Because the insurance company has to decide whether or not they will allow you to have the test before it can be scheduled. So, here it is, almost a week later, and I still don't have an appointment for either the PET scan or the MUGA scan. The MUGA is the same deal, by the way. The insurance company holds you up on that as well.
In the meantime, they supposedly can't set my next chemo appointment either because they have to wait to schedule the two scans first. Why? Ya' got me. But now, all of the "three weeks from last Friday" appointments are taken so they are "holding a place" for me on Wednesday of that week. WEDNESDAY? If I have to have chemo, I certainly prefer to have it on a Friday. That gives me the weekend to hopefully get my energy back. Though, this time, I have been incredibly tired this whole week. Don't know if that is still a result of the Herceptin or if it is a side effect of the Femara I'm taking. I know that it is one of the items in a long list of possible side effects. Just noticed that weight loss is another possible side effect. Wait a minute? Did someone mention weight loss? Could the Femara be the culprit? I suppose not since I've only been taking it for 3 weeks. Anyway, back to the chemo appointment...if they plug me in on Wednesday, then they will automatically start scheduling me every third Wednesday and I don't want that. So, now I will have to deal with that too. But, in the meantime, it doesn't really matter on what day they are holding a place for me because I'm not doing anything. Just playing the waiting game.
Later.
Right now I am waiting again. Once Dr. D. decided he wanted to do these other tests to make sure the cancer hadn't spread, he got me right in for the EGD. Only had to wait from Friday until Monday. But the PET scan...now that is a different story. Why? Because the insurance company has to decide whether or not they will allow you to have the test before it can be scheduled. So, here it is, almost a week later, and I still don't have an appointment for either the PET scan or the MUGA scan. The MUGA is the same deal, by the way. The insurance company holds you up on that as well.
In the meantime, they supposedly can't set my next chemo appointment either because they have to wait to schedule the two scans first. Why? Ya' got me. But now, all of the "three weeks from last Friday" appointments are taken so they are "holding a place" for me on Wednesday of that week. WEDNESDAY? If I have to have chemo, I certainly prefer to have it on a Friday. That gives me the weekend to hopefully get my energy back. Though, this time, I have been incredibly tired this whole week. Don't know if that is still a result of the Herceptin or if it is a side effect of the Femara I'm taking. I know that it is one of the items in a long list of possible side effects. Just noticed that weight loss is another possible side effect. Wait a minute? Did someone mention weight loss? Could the Femara be the culprit? I suppose not since I've only been taking it for 3 weeks. Anyway, back to the chemo appointment...if they plug me in on Wednesday, then they will automatically start scheduling me every third Wednesday and I don't want that. So, now I will have to deal with that too. But, in the meantime, it doesn't really matter on what day they are holding a place for me because I'm not doing anything. Just playing the waiting game.
Later.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Back From That Dark Place...
Sorry to be so slow in letting you know how this came out...
The last couple of days have been rough and I found myself retreating to that dark place where I don't like to be. I seldom do that, thank goodness, but I guess I allowed myself to start thinking about how finding out the cancer had spread would affect my life. This, right at a time when I had just been realizing that there is finally going to be an end to this. A time when I was beginning to see some light. It seems like so long ago that I woke up with that song going through my head. That was back before I even started chemo...before I started this blog...
"There's a light at the end of this tunnel
Shining bright at the end of this tunnel
For you...for you."
Yesterday Dr. Hartje scoped my esophagus and my stomach and biopsied some tissue. He found nothing. He said he has no explanation for the weight loss but it is not due to cancer in my stomach or esophagus.
I still will have a PET scan and it could show something, but I'm not going there. Not right now. For now I am focusing on that light that I am allowing myself to see.
Later.
The last couple of days have been rough and I found myself retreating to that dark place where I don't like to be. I seldom do that, thank goodness, but I guess I allowed myself to start thinking about how finding out the cancer had spread would affect my life. This, right at a time when I had just been realizing that there is finally going to be an end to this. A time when I was beginning to see some light. It seems like so long ago that I woke up with that song going through my head. That was back before I even started chemo...before I started this blog...
"There's a light at the end of this tunnel
Shining bright at the end of this tunnel
For you...for you."
Yesterday Dr. Hartje scoped my esophagus and my stomach and biopsied some tissue. He found nothing. He said he has no explanation for the weight loss but it is not due to cancer in my stomach or esophagus.
I still will have a PET scan and it could show something, but I'm not going there. Not right now. For now I am focusing on that light that I am allowing myself to see.
Later.Sunday, September 12, 2010
Nothing To Eat or Drink After Midnight...
This can mean alot of things...
Could be routine bloodwork in the morning.
Could mean you're having surgery.
Or it could mean you're having a procedure to determine if your cancer has spread. That's the case for me.
The house is very quiet. Ken is at practice tonight so I don't even have the TV on. I'm just trying to read or surf the Internet or whatever I can do to take my mind off of tomorrow. I'm getting more and more apprehensive. Not sure why. I really thought when Dr. D. told me he wanted to do this that it was really nothing. But now I keep thinking about how concerned he appeared to be so I'm starting to have doubts.
I remember several months ago when I went through this with my thyroid. Lots of people commented on this blog that it would be nothing. There was no way it could happen twice, etc. This time the blog is eerily quiet. Like everyone realizes that wanting something to be so doesn't make it so.
When I say I'm feeling apprehensive, I don't mean I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself. It doesn't mean I'm thinking I don't deserve this. Nobody deserves stuff like this. I'm no different than anyone else. Except tonight it is me sitting here wondering what tomorrow will bring.
I have to check into Mercy at 9AM. Not sure if I will be able to sleep tonight or not but it doesn't really matter. Once I get there they will give me something that will pretty much make me sleep the rest of the day. And the good news is, we don't have to wait around for results. Whatever the verdict, we"ll know tomorrow.
Later.
Could be routine bloodwork in the morning.
Could mean you're having surgery.
Or it could mean you're having a procedure to determine if your cancer has spread. That's the case for me.
The house is very quiet. Ken is at practice tonight so I don't even have the TV on. I'm just trying to read or surf the Internet or whatever I can do to take my mind off of tomorrow. I'm getting more and more apprehensive. Not sure why. I really thought when Dr. D. told me he wanted to do this that it was really nothing. But now I keep thinking about how concerned he appeared to be so I'm starting to have doubts.
I remember several months ago when I went through this with my thyroid. Lots of people commented on this blog that it would be nothing. There was no way it could happen twice, etc. This time the blog is eerily quiet. Like everyone realizes that wanting something to be so doesn't make it so.
When I say I'm feeling apprehensive, I don't mean I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself. It doesn't mean I'm thinking I don't deserve this. Nobody deserves stuff like this. I'm no different than anyone else. Except tonight it is me sitting here wondering what tomorrow will bring.
I have to check into Mercy at 9AM. Not sure if I will be able to sleep tonight or not but it doesn't really matter. Once I get there they will give me something that will pretty much make me sleep the rest of the day. And the good news is, we don't have to wait around for results. Whatever the verdict, we"ll know tomorrow.
Later.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Reason This Concerns Me...
Forgot to mention yesterday...
My Dad died of Esophageal Cancer and that has been a big fear of mine ever since.
Later.
My Dad died of Esophageal Cancer and that has been a big fear of mine ever since.
Later.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Some Days Things Just Click...
Some days they don't! Today was one of those days.
The last time I had chemo, we were getting ready to leave for Colorado. I have never had things go as smoothly as they did that day at the Cancer Center. I finished up about an hour earlier than I had anticipated. That was totally unexpected and quite frankly, it is totally unlikely that it will ever happen again. But it did that day. Not today!!
I knew when I got there that today would be a challenge. There were no available parking places except behind the building. Not a big deal since Ken was dropping me off, but still, a bad sign.
I got right in for labs and very shortly thereafter was called back for my nurse consultation. I was beginning to think that I had misjudged things. Not the case. I was scheduled to see my doctor at 10:20. It was pushing noon when I finally got called back. Needless to say, my 11:30 chemo appointment was not happening on time.
The exam was not destined to be clear sailing either. Due to scheduling conflicts I had seen other oncologists the last two times I had been there so had actually not talked with Dr. D. since June. He walked into the exam room and just did a double take. He said "You don't even look like Mrs. Stueve. How much weight have you lost?" Obviously he could have looked back through my charts and found that out but I just told him. He then asked me some other doctor type questions like...
Do you have any appetite?
Do you have any pain in your abdomen?
Do you have any pain in your back?
Do you have any trouble swallowing?
etc. etc.
To make a long story short, based on the amount of weight I have lost and several other things, he said he wanted to refer me to Dr. Hartje for an immediate EGD. He scheduled it for Monday morning at Mercy. He also wants to schedule a PET scan and another MUGA scan in the next couple of weeks. I don't know...does this seem kind of like deja vu?
No..things just didn't click today. I guess we'll just see what happens.
Later.
The last time I had chemo, we were getting ready to leave for Colorado. I have never had things go as smoothly as they did that day at the Cancer Center. I finished up about an hour earlier than I had anticipated. That was totally unexpected and quite frankly, it is totally unlikely that it will ever happen again. But it did that day. Not today!!
I knew when I got there that today would be a challenge. There were no available parking places except behind the building. Not a big deal since Ken was dropping me off, but still, a bad sign.
I got right in for labs and very shortly thereafter was called back for my nurse consultation. I was beginning to think that I had misjudged things. Not the case. I was scheduled to see my doctor at 10:20. It was pushing noon when I finally got called back. Needless to say, my 11:30 chemo appointment was not happening on time.
The exam was not destined to be clear sailing either. Due to scheduling conflicts I had seen other oncologists the last two times I had been there so had actually not talked with Dr. D. since June. He walked into the exam room and just did a double take. He said "You don't even look like Mrs. Stueve. How much weight have you lost?" Obviously he could have looked back through my charts and found that out but I just told him. He then asked me some other doctor type questions like...
Do you have any appetite?
Do you have any pain in your abdomen?
Do you have any pain in your back?
Do you have any trouble swallowing?
etc. etc.
To make a long story short, based on the amount of weight I have lost and several other things, he said he wanted to refer me to Dr. Hartje for an immediate EGD. He scheduled it for Monday morning at Mercy. He also wants to schedule a PET scan and another MUGA scan in the next couple of weeks. I don't know...does this seem kind of like deja vu?
No..things just didn't click today. I guess we'll just see what happens.
Later.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Other Side
Back from Colorado...back from the lake...done traveling for awhile. Now it's back to the business of confronting cancer. These next few weeks are going to be an emotional roller coaster as I approach the one year anniversary of my diagnosis. Ironic that it was in October...Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Now I feel driven to make others more aware. I'm not a "pink pusher" but sometimes there are things that I consider worthwhile and I may mention them here.
First and foremost - ladies...if it has been more than a year since you have had a mammogram, get one. Don't wait for October. And, don't assume you're OK just because you haven't noticed a lump. My cancer was caught with a routine mammogram and even the doctors were unable to detect a lump. Get a mammogram...PLEASE!
2. Are you on Facebook? Every year Yoplait Yogurt does a "pink lid" promotion and donates 10 cents to Susan Komen for every lid that is sent to them. Save Lids to Save Lives. This year, Dannon Yogurt is participating with a Facebook promotion where they will donate 10 cents for every "like" they get on Facebook. All you have to do is go to their page and click "like". Here is the information if you are interested.
Every New Light And Fit® "Like" Helps Fight Breast Cancer!
http://www.facebook.com/lightandfit
Dannon® and the National Breast Cancer Foundation are teaming up in the fight against breast cancer. “Like” the Dannon® Light And Fit® page to activate a 10¢ donation to the National Breast Cancer Foundation today! Share this message of hope with your friends and help the cause!
I have chemo again tomorrow. I have spent months going to the Cancer Center for treatment and have many more months to go. If I can do just a tiny bit to ensure that others I care about do not have to go through this it will be well worth my time.
Later.
First and foremost - ladies...if it has been more than a year since you have had a mammogram, get one. Don't wait for October. And, don't assume you're OK just because you haven't noticed a lump. My cancer was caught with a routine mammogram and even the doctors were unable to detect a lump. Get a mammogram...PLEASE!
2. Are you on Facebook? Every year Yoplait Yogurt does a "pink lid" promotion and donates 10 cents to Susan Komen for every lid that is sent to them. Save Lids to Save Lives. This year, Dannon Yogurt is participating with a Facebook promotion where they will donate 10 cents for every "like" they get on Facebook. All you have to do is go to their page and click "like". Here is the information if you are interested.
Every New Light And Fit® "Like" Helps Fight Breast Cancer!
http://www.facebook.com/lightandfit
Dannon® and the National Breast Cancer Foundation are teaming up in the fight against breast cancer. “Like” the Dannon® Light And Fit® page to activate a 10¢ donation to the National Breast Cancer Foundation today! Share this message of hope with your friends and help the cause!
3. I received an email from Susan Komen For the Cure. The gist of it was "Next month is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. If you give a gift today, we'll send you a Pink Ribbon. Wear it and show the world you want to stop cancer from taking one more life."
Later.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
What a Difference a Year Makes
Just sitting here staring at the lake and thinking...
Friday evening Kelli and Brett met up in Sioux City and we hosted a small engagement dinner party. What a great time we had. Saturday morning we all visited a few possible wedding venues. What a huge decision. It looks like they are going to have to decide between standing firm on the date they would like and selecting a venue that isn't their first choice or changing the date so that they can get one of their preferred venues. Places are already booked for the entire month of June, 2011. I'm sure they will decide soon.
Interesting thing. We were talking about being there for Labor Day weekend a year ago which was right at the time that I had finally stepped up and made an appointment with a new doctor. He was going to require a complete physical with the associated tests including mammogram. Susan took a picture of me next to the fire pit that night. It is still on her camera. She took another just like it last night. Same firepit, same angle, same time of night, same me. Except that they look like two different people. It is amazing what a difference a year has made.
I am glad that all of this happened a year ago and not this year. This year we can switch the focus from fighting for my life to helping with wedding plans and looking forward to Kelli and Brett's new life together. Life is good.
Later.
Friday evening Kelli and Brett met up in Sioux City and we hosted a small engagement dinner party. What a great time we had. Saturday morning we all visited a few possible wedding venues. What a huge decision. It looks like they are going to have to decide between standing firm on the date they would like and selecting a venue that isn't their first choice or changing the date so that they can get one of their preferred venues. Places are already booked for the entire month of June, 2011. I'm sure they will decide soon.
Saturday aftenoon, we turned the house over to them to just enjoy each others company for a few days before Kelli has to return to Denver and Brett returns to UNI. Ken and I left for the cabin to spend the remainder of the holiday week-end with Sue and Ron.
It was absolutely beautiful when we arrived. It did cool off last night but we built a beach fire and enjoyed the warmth while admiring the night sky.
Interesting thing. We were talking about being there for Labor Day weekend a year ago which was right at the time that I had finally stepped up and made an appointment with a new doctor. He was going to require a complete physical with the associated tests including mammogram. Susan took a picture of me next to the fire pit that night. It is still on her camera. She took another just like it last night. Same firepit, same angle, same time of night, same me. Except that they look like two different people. It is amazing what a difference a year has made.I had an appointment with that same doctor last week. He likes to keep tabs on me and how things are going with the cancer. At the end of the appointment he said that he would not need to see me until the end of the year. He is the nicest man and said that when he sees me again we will put 2010 behind us and start looking forward to 2011. I agree with him for the most part but there are parts of this past year that I will never forget. And there are things...life lessons learned...that I always want to keep top of mind. Next month will be the one year anniversary of my diagnosis. It has been a long, hard year, but there have been positives too. And those are the things I want to focus on.
I am glad that all of this happened a year ago and not this year. This year we can switch the focus from fighting for my life to helping with wedding plans and looking forward to Kelli and Brett's new life together. Life is good.
Later.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Life Lessons
I learned an important life lesson today. I learned to fully accept myself and become comfortable in my own skin, even though that "skin" may have completely changed due to circumstances beyond my control.
Cancer changes you. I'm sorry, but you can't understand just how fully it changes you unless you have experienced it or, at least, have been very close to someone who has experienced it.
It's not just a matter of having a terminal disease. That is bad enough in and of itself. But, in the process of experiencing a terminal illness, so many ancillary changes take place as well. Such as?
How you see yourself.
How others see you.
How you feel about life.
How you feel about death.
How you are affected physically by the disease itself.
How you are affected physically by the treatment of the disease.
How your life is changed.
Etc. Etc.
Cancer robs you of so much.
One of the most obvious, in many cases, is your hair. Months ago, I wrote about "A Really Bad Hair Day." There is no way I can fully explain the emotional devastation of losing your hair. It's not just here today and gone tomorrow. It falls out. It comes out in your hands. It comes out in your hair brush. It clogs the drain when you're taking a shower. It sticks to your skin and your clothes and your pillow. The only time I remember crying after I was diagnosed with cancer was when I was standing in the shower and my hair was coming out in globs and sticking to me. For many people, their hair defines them. Right or wrong, our society is obsessed with shiny, silky hair, hair color and hair style. So, when you lose your hair overnight, it is like losing a part of yourself. The first time I went out in public after losing my hair and covering my head with a scarf, it was like being an insecure teenager again. I was sure everyone was looking at me. But, after I did it a time or two, that feeling went away and I became comfortable with the new me. The hat and scarf look began to define me and the fact that I was battling a devastating illness. At that point, I gave no thought to my hair coming back and how that might feel.
Now, however, if you have been following my blog, you know that I have been struggling with that very issue. My hair is growing back and it is growing in gray/white. I have searched that face in the mirror day after day, trying to recognize it. But, it is not the same face. Because I am not the same person I was before. And, as time has gone on, I have begun to get comfortable with the new face. I have come to accept the new me. Best of all, I am beginning to like the new me. I am stronger. I am more secure.
My biggest hangup has been in believing that others would be able to accept the new me. My family has...totally. That has never been an issue. But every day the desire has become stronger to allow the others in my world the opportunity to accept me as well. Today, I finally talked myself into it. I shed the hat. I went out into the world in the "new skin" that God has given me. I am comfortable with that and was so pleased to discover that, for the most part, others are too. If some aren't, I can understand where they are coming from, and I don't have an issue with it. But, this is me now. And, no matter how anyone else feels, I am OK with that. Will I someday change my hair color? Maybe. Maybe not. I just may decide that wearing my hair very short and very gray works. But I'm not worrying about my hair of the future. I am feeling good about my hair of today. It's back! I have been bald for 8 months and now I'm not. I accepted that I was bald and now I accept that I have very short hair, but hair, nonetheless, and it's gray. Cool!
Later.
Cancer changes you. I'm sorry, but you can't understand just how fully it changes you unless you have experienced it or, at least, have been very close to someone who has experienced it.
It's not just a matter of having a terminal disease. That is bad enough in and of itself. But, in the process of experiencing a terminal illness, so many ancillary changes take place as well. Such as?
How you see yourself.
How others see you.
How you feel about life.
How you feel about death.
How you are affected physically by the disease itself.
How you are affected physically by the treatment of the disease.
How your life is changed.
Etc. Etc.
Cancer robs you of so much.
One of the most obvious, in many cases, is your hair. Months ago, I wrote about "A Really Bad Hair Day." There is no way I can fully explain the emotional devastation of losing your hair. It's not just here today and gone tomorrow. It falls out. It comes out in your hands. It comes out in your hair brush. It clogs the drain when you're taking a shower. It sticks to your skin and your clothes and your pillow. The only time I remember crying after I was diagnosed with cancer was when I was standing in the shower and my hair was coming out in globs and sticking to me. For many people, their hair defines them. Right or wrong, our society is obsessed with shiny, silky hair, hair color and hair style. So, when you lose your hair overnight, it is like losing a part of yourself. The first time I went out in public after losing my hair and covering my head with a scarf, it was like being an insecure teenager again. I was sure everyone was looking at me. But, after I did it a time or two, that feeling went away and I became comfortable with the new me. The hat and scarf look began to define me and the fact that I was battling a devastating illness. At that point, I gave no thought to my hair coming back and how that might feel.
Now, however, if you have been following my blog, you know that I have been struggling with that very issue. My hair is growing back and it is growing in gray/white. I have searched that face in the mirror day after day, trying to recognize it. But, it is not the same face. Because I am not the same person I was before. And, as time has gone on, I have begun to get comfortable with the new face. I have come to accept the new me. Best of all, I am beginning to like the new me. I am stronger. I am more secure.
My biggest hangup has been in believing that others would be able to accept the new me. My family has...totally. That has never been an issue. But every day the desire has become stronger to allow the others in my world the opportunity to accept me as well. Today, I finally talked myself into it. I shed the hat. I went out into the world in the "new skin" that God has given me. I am comfortable with that and was so pleased to discover that, for the most part, others are too. If some aren't, I can understand where they are coming from, and I don't have an issue with it. But, this is me now. And, no matter how anyone else feels, I am OK with that. Will I someday change my hair color? Maybe. Maybe not. I just may decide that wearing my hair very short and very gray works. But I'm not worrying about my hair of the future. I am feeling good about my hair of today. It's back! I have been bald for 8 months and now I'm not. I accepted that I was bald and now I accept that I have very short hair, but hair, nonetheless, and it's gray. Cool!
Later.
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