Update

Just a quick update to let you know that Dr. D. just called to tell me the mammogram was OK. Was a bit surprised to get a call at 8:30 pm but I'm guessing that since I just got the report from Mercy today he did too. He was surprised to hear that the endocrinologist doesn't think the weight loss is thyroid related so now he is back to being concerned about what is causing it. But I'm not, so we'll just see how it goes.

Later.

100

Just noticed...this is my 100th post this year. Wow. And you're still reading? :)

Had my appointment with the endocrinologist this afternoon. He doesn't think the weight loss is thyroid related. He is ordering a blood workup just to be on the safe side, so we'll see. If it isn't, I don't have to see him again until 10/26/2011.  Whoa! He also checked the lump I found in my neck. He says it is just a swollen gland. Nothing he is concerned about.  Looks like things have finally turned around. No more bends in that tunnel. Just a straight shot toward the light. By mid-March, spring will be making its debut again and I will be finishing chemo and stepping out into the warmth of that light. Maybe even heading to the ocean.

Still haven't gotten a call from Dr. D. with the results of the mammogram. Sure glad I already know what the results are. I even received a report in the mail from Mercy today saying it was normal.

Loving the road I'm on.

Later.

Lemons

On this incredibly dreary, windy day, just thought I would share a day brightener with you. These are on my desk, sent by Matt and Sara in honor of my Cancerversary. They said they thought of me because I had done such a good job of turning lemons into lemonade over the past year. See the little lemons in the vase? Cute, huh.

Have a great day. I plan to. :)

Later.

The Call

I stood in the shower for the longest time this morning, with the water cranked up as hot as it would go. I was hoping it would thaw out the chill of apprehension I was feeling. I was scheduled for my one year mammogram at 11AM at Mercy.

It was such a feeling of deja vu when I walked in that room. I even had the same tech I had a year ago. She talked about how much had changed in a year's time. She even had to feel my fuzzy head. Then we just got it over with.

Unheard of. Usually even if you ask they won't tip their hand on what they see. She volunteered. She said the doctor would have to read it but from what she could see, if looked good. She even volunteered to call me after the doctor looked at it to tell me what he thought. Can you believe it? I gave her my cell number and within the hour I got a call. The doctor gave me the "all clear". What an unbelievable feeling of relief. And how I thank her for being so sensitive that she would let me know the results even though I know that is a "no no". My results were to have come from Dr. D. but he has yet to call. I doubt that he has even received the results yet. What a long wait that would have been. Technically, I should probably wait until he confirms to celebrate, but I know it's OK. Maybe he'll call tomorrow. Maybe not.

Regardless, the end is in sight.. All clear. Can you even imagine the relief we feel?

Later.

Cancerversary

October 22, 2009

It was just another day - pretty much like every other day - except that I would not be going to work. My new doctor had scheduled some routine tests at Mercy as part of my new patient physical. I emphasize "routine" because that is exactly what they were supposed to be. There were no indications that they would be anything other than that. One of these was a mammogram.

I should have realized something was wrong when they came upstairs to get me about an hour after the mammogram was done.  I was waiting for them to administer the anaesthesia for the next test when they informed me that I needed to go back downstairs for one more picture. Odd, yes, but for whatever reason, it never occurred to me that anything was wrong.

When I returned to 8th floor and the first of 3 people came in to attempt my IV, someone else came in to tell Ken there was someone there to see him. Again, very odd. He left and came back several minutes later. I asked what that was about and he said Dr. Lucke's nurse wanted him to schedule an appointment. What? And still, I ignored the fact that something very unusual was going on which must mean that something was very wrong.

At home later, still very tired from the anaesthesia, I couldn't stay awake. I fell asleep and stayed that way for hours. The next thing I knew, Ken was waking me up. I asked why and that is when I heard the words...
You have breast cancer. We have to be back at Dr. Lucke's office at 4:00 to discuss it.

October 22, 2009 - one year ago today.

I'm reading the book, Promise Me, and in it, Nancy Brinker, founder of Susan G. Komen For the Cure, shared what Betty Ford said to her after her diagnosis...

"Take a day to cry. Get angry. Throw a tantrum. Feel terrible for yourself. Get it all out of your system, then get over it. Get on with it. Get through it."

For some reason, I skipped that first part. I never allowed myself that option. I think that's why now, a year later, I'm struggling with it.



Labor Day, 2009 - Shortly before diagnosis

I had no idea, on that day, just how much I had ahead of me. I had no idea just how difficult this journey was going to be.

Also in the book, Nancy Reagan shared "People are incredibly kind and sympathetic. I can't begin to say how much this means and how helpful it is. Yet, there is a feeling of loneliness when you're in this situation. Not that people aren't supportive - they are. But no one can really know what it's like unless they've traveled this path...each day is different, and you get up, put one foot in front of the other, and go."



Labor Day, 2010 - Nearly 1 year after diagnosis

That's me. Anyone who really knows me knows that is exactly what I did. And, day by day, step by step, I've moved through it. Today, on my cancerversary, I celebrate how far I've come. I celebrate triumph over fear and hope over despair. And I celebrate everyone who has been walking with me on this journey. I still suffer from extreme fatigue, a feeling of bone chilling cold, chemo brain, and a slight neuropathy in the tips of my fingers and toes, but I'm alive - small price to pay.

I'm not sure, technically, if your cancerversary is supposed to be celebrated a year after your diagnosis, or a year after surgery, or a year after you start treatment or what, but hey...I think I'll just celebrate them all. Unfortunately there are many who don't get to celebrate any of these milestones. So, I'm just going to make life one big celebration. Yay me! The party starts now. Going to Des Moines this weekend for a wedding. Kelli and Brett will be there too. So looking forward to it.

Later.

Tomorrow

Chemo tomorrow. Doesn't it seem like a year later you shouldn't still be going through this? Oh, how I long for the day when all of this will be behind me.

Still...in my quiet moments, when I let my thoughts run away with me, I have to admit that I actually fear that day when this is behind me. Why?

For the past year I have seen and been treated by a multitude of doctors. I'm monitored constantly. In looking back at the calendar on which I've recorded all of my appointments, I think there have been more days when I've had medical appointments than days when I haven't. So, I've never really had to think much about whether any cancer still exists or is growing or anything - a little bit when Dr. D. was concerned and ordered all of those tests - but, realistically, I've always felt like that couldn't really happen because they are always poking, sticking, checking, infusing, etc, etc.

However, once that stops, what happens? I read this today...
"Cancer cells are lethal because they proliferate beyond control and refuse to die. This isn't a foreign object in your body; this is YOU, your own biology going so against your nature, it can actually kill you. We all have cancer cells roaming silently through our bodies. They are part of what we are, and they're only dangerous when a genetic mutation allows them to take control."

So, when they're no longer monitoring me constantly, how do I not wake up in the morning wondering if some errant cell decided to mutate overnight, causing the evil cancer to start growing again? It's like walking a tight rope and knowing that someone has removed the safety net.

I physically can't wait to finish treatment, but, mentally, it is beginning to scare me. So, for now, I will go spend yet another day at the Cancer Center tomorrow, and I will do it willingly. Because, for now, as long as I'm doing that, I can rest easy.

Friday is my cancerversary. What can I possibly say about that?

Later.

A Look Back...

I got a card in the mail today and it got me thinking...

Next week will be my cancerversary. Can you believe that? Next Friday it will be one year since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. What a year!! I think I am feeling more emotional and more devastated now, at the one year mark, than I was then. I wonder if this works the same way that grief does. They say that when you lose someone really close to you, if you don't allow yourself to go through the grief process you will just bury it and it will resurface at a later time. I lost a part of me last year...a big part...and I'm not sure that I really did accept all that was happening mentally. Everyone wants you to stay strong. They expect you to stay strong. And, that I did. I still am. But now, it's haunting me.. It is like I can't forget all that has happened. It is all still so clear to me. Some things I can accept. Some things I can't.

I got a card in the mail today and it got me thinking...

I have received literally hundreds of cards in the past year. I still have every one of them. I appreciate so much all of the people who have been there for me through this journey. The "king and queen" of cards has to be Eric and Misty Howard. I'm not sure how many cards I have received from them, just wanting to let me know that they were thinking of me and praying for me. Thanks so much to you guys and to EVERYONE who sent these wonderful cards.

That makes me think about all of the other wonderfully kind people who are a part of my life. My absolute "hugest" bunch of heartfelt thanks has to go to my husband, Ken. I could not have made it through this without him. Not in the grand fashion that I did, anyway. I can't even calculate the number of hours that he spent sitting in waiting rooms with me this past year not to mention keeping vigil by my side in hospital rooms and during chemo treatments. Not only that, but he took over so many tasks that he is not used to doing when I was physically unable to do them. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, etc. etc. He encouraged me, he prayed for me and most of all, he continued to love me through it all. Thank you so much, Ken!!

And then there are other members of my family. My kids...Michelle helped me with any number of things, most notably, hand-picking my surgical team, not once, but twice. She is a surg. tech. so she knew everyone involved in surgery at Mercy and she made sure that I had the best of the best. Matt and Sara made numerous trips home to be with me and checked in often when they were unable to be here. My Granddog, Spencer, even sent me a heavy duty Vail sweatshirt because he was afraid I would be cold last winter. Most recently, they participated in the huge Denver Race for the Cure. Kelli and Brett also did so much. They were here for my first chemo treatment when I was so afraid of what was ahead. They coordinated a raft of gifts to keep me comfortable like lounging clothes, slippers, a cozy blanket to curl up in, soft sheets and the now famous chemo bracelet. The whole family participated in these. And, when I ended up needing a thyroidectomy, Kelli was here for that too. My sisters, Marilyn and Susan, both spent many hours with me, just to offer their love and support. Marilyn sat through a couple of my marathon Cancer Center appointments and chemo when Ken's teaching schedule precluded him from being there. Sue and Ron made the trip back from Colorado several times and were instrumental in forming Cathy's Light Brigade...my team in the Siouxland Komen Race for the Cure.They have all been here for me all the way and I appreciate that so much. I love you all.

Meals...I had so many people offer to help by bringing food. I am going to try my best to remember everyone so that I can publicly thank you here, but if I leave someone out, please know that it is unintentional. It is that annoying chemo brain...second only to the obnoxious chemo curl. Thanks thanks thanks to my sister and brother-in-law, Russ and Marilyn Clifford. I can't begin to remember how many meals they shared with us. Others included Sue and Ron Highstreet, Nicole Packard, Kuen Yeh, Barb Pieper, Adele Sorenson, Allen and Tylene Zevenbergen, Eric and Pam Pfautsch, Steve and Judy Miller, Eric and Misty Howard, Bev and Bob Howard, Judy and John Pehrson, Don and Barb Jorgensen, Geri Ducommen...   I hope I haven't forgotten anyone.

I can't neglect mentioning my staunchest "blog" supporters. Jean Turner, Barb Kimmel and Cindy Backer have been relentless in their encouragement on my blog. Many read but these three also let me know that they are out there and are offering their encouragement no matter what. This feedback has meant and continues to mean so much to me. There are others who email their support when they read the posts and I much appreciate that as well. This started out as a small venture to keep people updated on what was going on. This past month, I had almost 900 visitors to my blog. Can you believe it? I have no idea who they all are. I am just amazed but truly appreciate the support I have received through this as well.

Can't forget my job. So many thanks go out to Sue, Sandy, Joan, Debbie, Jennifer, Fred and Kevin for helping to take up the slack when I was unable to physically be there. And special thanks to Ron McManamy for allowing me to have the VPN Remote Desktop option of continuing my job when I just had no choice but to work from home. I'm back to working full time now, but there were many months when it was just more than I could handle.

The prayers of the people...so many people...priceless.

I know I have forgotten to name someone but if you are that person, please know how much I appreciate and love you as well. When I think of someone I forgot, I will mention them in a future post. I will be offering additional insight into the year just behind me over the next few weeks. It's not the end of my journey, but the light is definitely shining much more brightly today than it was a year ago. Hopefully remembering, reliving and relating will help me to get past this.

Later.

A Matter of Perspective

I went grocery shopping this afternoon and, once again, found myself swimming in a sea of pink. For awhile, I was getting caught up in the outrage of those who claim that companies are taking advantage of a terrible situation and are attempting to profit from it. There are, apparently, some that are doing that while contributing very little to the cause. However, it occurs to me, that it serves no useful purpose to throw out the baby with the bathwater, so to speak. There are companies that are doing a great deal to advance cancer research and cancer research is doing a great deal to increase the survival odds of people like me.

Did you know that the real push for cancer research did not even happen until the 1970s? As a result of these efforts, the odds of a cancer diagnosis not being synonymous with a death sentence today have greatly increased. I, for one, am very grateful for that. And, if the October sea of pink helps to advance that research and raise public awareness of it, I'm all for it.

Another thing that the Komen organization is trying to do is to reduce the sexism compunent in the breast cancer equation. Did you know that Richard Roundtree was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1993 and kept it a secret for 8 years.  Yet, that year, more than 1500 men died of breast cancer. Yes...it is predominately a female cancer, but men do get breast cancer, too. It is important that people realize this and don't ignore the fact. In the decade since Richard Roundtree came forward and admitted that he had breast cancer, the mortality rate for men with the disease has decreased by 25%.

There is good floating in that sea of pink. I know it can be annoying to see the pink packaging on everything from food products to batteries to toilet paper to home appliances, etc, etc. But the heart is in the right place...or maybe I should say the pink ribbon. More and more of us are surviving every year. And that is definitely a good thing.

Later.

There's a light at the end of this tunnel...

shining bright at the end of this tunnel. Please take a moment to listen.

http://www.last.fm/music/Third+Day/_/Tunnel

It was a long day yesterday. We didn't get home until after 5:30. But, it was a good day. The MUGA scan indicated that my heart is actually functioning at a higher level than it was before. 5% higher. That, in spite of the fact that I continue to receive a drug that is known to damage the heart, so that was great news.

The PET scan was clear except for a small cyst in the pelvic area which did not show up as cancerous. So, imagine the collective sighs of relief in that exam room. :)

I lost another 5 pounds which continues to concern him so I have to go see the endocrinologist. I also have to get another mammogram before my next appointment so, guess what. Once again I am waiting to find out when these appointments will be scheduled and they won't put me on the chemo schedule until they have that information. Here we go again. :)

But, no matter. It is what it is and the appointments will be whenever. I want Fridays but if I can't get it, so be it. There is an end in sight now and I couldn't be more excited. We're even beginning preliminary discussions about a beach vacation this spring. This photo from the beach in northern California doesn't really even look like me any more but I love it. This crazy journey I have been on for the past year will end in about 5 months. Looking forward to the next one.

Later.