I dried my hair to completion this morning with a towel. It was easy enough to do since I had Beth take the clippers to it last night. Guard number 4 was in place—and I had thought we’d work our way down to the number 2. But in the end, I decided this was short enough. My first thought when I saw it was how much I looked like Dana. I know he wanted me to also go blonde so he could see what HE might look like with blonde hair (selfish bastard :) )…I decided against that in the end—I’m freaking enough people out right now.
It’s actually really fun that I’ve gotten this opportunity—and I do view it as an opportunity at many levels. At a fun and basic level, I got to cut off my hair (which was a GOOD thing because I had been pondering doing so, but had spent so much time growing it out it was hard to convince myself that I should), and now I’ve gotten the chance to see what I look like with the Sinead O’Conner look. OK, I don’t have her beautiful face, but it’s not as bad as I thought it could be.
I went to the restroom here at work a few minutes ago. As I was walking there I realized that now I’m REALLY likely to scare a few coworkers in there. I guess I needn’t worry about that—it’s their problem, not mine. Friends did get me some new earrings—something that I hope might help distinguish me from the little brother I didn’t have (mine are all older). But if not, so be it.
For what it’s worth, that fatigue thing has faded. I even managed to play some basketball last night. So perhaps I’ll have a better understanding as to how my body is going to react for the next treatment. In the mean time, I’m just going to try and do good things for it and get it ready for the next round of poison. I recently read (YAY!! I’ve been READING!!) that when curing cancer, one has to base life’s schedule on the chemo schedule. I understand that now. Hopefully the events that I can’t control will work out those terms…
Monday, April 10, 2006
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Fatigue
fa·tigue n.
- Physical or mental weariness resulting from exertion.
- Something, such as tiring effort or activity, that causes weariness: the fatigue of a long hike.
- Physiology. The decreased capacity or complete inability of an organism, an organ, or a part to function normally because of excessive stimulation or prolonged exertion.
I think the definition of fatigue is interesting. All of the above relate to activity or exertion causing the fatigue…sort of that “wear and tear” idea. I can honestly say that I haven’t done any activities or exerted myself lately. In fact since Monday, I’ve been barely able to put a run of 5 minutes together on my feet. I’ve managed to teach my class twice, and I’ve made it into work for a few hours at a time. But seriously—I’m not even sure I can put into words how it feels…this thing they call fatigue.
I know tired—I’m an Ultimate player. I’ve pulled all-nighters, I’ve had runs of sleepless nights because of work…but this is crazy. It’s the weakness that one feels post-fever, but without the aches that come with a fever. And when my body is really trying to shut me down, it actually cries from the inside. I can feel my inner being (whether that means my cells/tissues or whether that means my soul, I don’t know) yelling at me. I get breathless just trying to have a conversation.
Sleep helps, most definitely, although it’s not always easy to fall asleep. My MIND knows that I’ve had “enough” sleep, so it doesn’t want to shut down. But my body has its own mind for now. And I have to say that really pisses me off. I know it’s a control thing, and all along I have been trying to control this—at least how I handle THIS. I have to give up some of the control right now, or at least I have to find a different way to take control. This week, I took control by deciding that I couldn’t go on a trip to California for work. I hated having to admit that. At the beginning of the week, I figured each day would get better. Perhaps each day has, but I can’t tell that yet. So instead, I’m staying put. I’ll do what I can with each day, I’ll hang out with friends, perhaps I’ll try and enjoy a good cup of coffee (I have been missing that). And I’ll spend some time telling my inner self that it’s fine to be angry at me—I’m angry at it too. Perhaps we can come to an agreement to fix the situation.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Dr. Poison
I actually called my chemo doc that at my first appointment with him. What else can he do to me? His name is actually Sanjay Yadav. He’s a really nice guy—very genuine, very concerned, and very informative. He has already given me his cell phone number—to use even when he is NOT the doc on call. He laughed at my 3-ring binder. Yeah, I put together a binder with all sorts of information. Cancer stuff, medication information, insurance papers, etc…it’s my style I guess—to have this on hand. He saw me showing it to Walker at my first treatment. He giggled at me from across the room.
So the first chemo treatment…I was there about 4 hours…they say it won’t always take that long, but since it was my first, they wanted to be sure I handled the process OK. I guess I did—I drove home after (with Walker in the car). She was a trooper. We sat among 10-12 other chairs…not all filled. But those that were filled were occupied with women all probably over the age of 60. They sort of looked at me funny—in the sense that “hey, she’s too young for this.” Perhaps in some way they were thinking that “she’s young enough to do this.” There was one other new patient there. She had a little breakdown when she realized she needed all of the prescriptions filled BEFORE starting that day (and she was already hooked up). But the nurses rounded up the meds she needed to get by until she got hers filled. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything was going to be OK. The woman next to her (Norma Jean) was starting her 2nd 12 weeks of treatment. She was filled with advice, but also chatted at length about the bad stuff that can happen after treatment. I almost asked her to stop, but I guess it’s good to know the good and the bad.
The procedure itself was pretty uneventful. I had my laptop with me (all of the ladies there were rather taken aback by that), and Walker had reading material. They basically plug the tubes into the port and start pushing fluids. They give 2 different kinds of anti-nausea/vomiting meds first, along with one of the oral pills I have to take for those first 3 days of treatment. Then the 3 different drugs (fluorouracil, epirubicin, and cytoxan—and yes, I can pronounce all of them) are administered—each separately. The first 2 are “pushed”—the nurse has to use a syringe to get them into through the port. The last one is an IV drip. So by the end, I felt as though my eyeballs were going to pop out from all of the fluids.
They also push you to drink a ton of fluids—it helps with the cleansing part, which minimizes the potential side effects. I haven’t felt too many—I was nauseous that first night, but I was also in a car that I was not driving (ie. motion sickness evil). But since then, I’ve just had raging heart-burn and the fatigue part has set in (hey, you chose to read this). Unfortunately it’s not the fun fatigue—the drop on the couch and go to dreamland kind. It’s just more like recovering from the flu—low energy. But my appetite has been good (and steroid aided), and I am getting good sleep. The drugs they give for the first 3 days after treatment have to be amazing. They have kept me going and strong so far. I’m still going to have to deal with some stuff, but at least it’s not the vision of 20 years ago. And I am beginning to crave much healthier things. I haven’t had coffee in 4 days and I am loving a glass of juice in the morning. Might not seem like a lot, but for me, that’s all good stuff.
I go for my first blood draw tomorrow—a couple of days early since I have to travel for work. Hopefully the blood count will stay high and I’ll stay free of infection so the next treatment won’t have to be postponed. Dr. Poison is doing his magic—I can feel it happening.
So the first chemo treatment…I was there about 4 hours…they say it won’t always take that long, but since it was my first, they wanted to be sure I handled the process OK. I guess I did—I drove home after (with Walker in the car). She was a trooper. We sat among 10-12 other chairs…not all filled. But those that were filled were occupied with women all probably over the age of 60. They sort of looked at me funny—in the sense that “hey, she’s too young for this.” Perhaps in some way they were thinking that “she’s young enough to do this.” There was one other new patient there. She had a little breakdown when she realized she needed all of the prescriptions filled BEFORE starting that day (and she was already hooked up). But the nurses rounded up the meds she needed to get by until she got hers filled. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything was going to be OK. The woman next to her (Norma Jean) was starting her 2nd 12 weeks of treatment. She was filled with advice, but also chatted at length about the bad stuff that can happen after treatment. I almost asked her to stop, but I guess it’s good to know the good and the bad.
The procedure itself was pretty uneventful. I had my laptop with me (all of the ladies there were rather taken aback by that), and Walker had reading material. They basically plug the tubes into the port and start pushing fluids. They give 2 different kinds of anti-nausea/vomiting meds first, along with one of the oral pills I have to take for those first 3 days of treatment. Then the 3 different drugs (fluorouracil, epirubicin, and cytoxan—and yes, I can pronounce all of them) are administered—each separately. The first 2 are “pushed”—the nurse has to use a syringe to get them into through the port. The last one is an IV drip. So by the end, I felt as though my eyeballs were going to pop out from all of the fluids.
They also push you to drink a ton of fluids—it helps with the cleansing part, which minimizes the potential side effects. I haven’t felt too many—I was nauseous that first night, but I was also in a car that I was not driving (ie. motion sickness evil). But since then, I’ve just had raging heart-burn and the fatigue part has set in (hey, you chose to read this). Unfortunately it’s not the fun fatigue—the drop on the couch and go to dreamland kind. It’s just more like recovering from the flu—low energy. But my appetite has been good (and steroid aided), and I am getting good sleep. The drugs they give for the first 3 days after treatment have to be amazing. They have kept me going and strong so far. I’m still going to have to deal with some stuff, but at least it’s not the vision of 20 years ago. And I am beginning to crave much healthier things. I haven’t had coffee in 4 days and I am loving a glass of juice in the morning. Might not seem like a lot, but for me, that’s all good stuff.
I go for my first blood draw tomorrow—a couple of days early since I have to travel for work. Hopefully the blood count will stay high and I’ll stay free of infection so the next treatment won’t have to be postponed. Dr. Poison is doing his magic—I can feel it happening.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
It’s a bouncing baby tumor!
Ok, maybe that’s not funny. But it is good news, actually. Turns out that in the tissue that the doc took from my left girl there was as tumor—a very tiny mass, only about 4mm big (if you aren't into the metric system, that's well short of 1/2 inch). It was invasive (for those keeping score—invasive ductal cancer), which means it was invading the neighboring ducts and passageways to the lymph node. AHA! That explains the adenocarcinoma IN the lymph node. I guess it’s hard to say that I was hoping that they’d find cancer in the breast tissue, but I am very pleased that they did. It turns out that the little guy (I think I’ll call it “Fred”—no offense if you know or are a “Fred”) tested positive for a bunch of biological gobbly-gook that means it is very treatable with the chemo drugs that are out there. I guess there is a new drug that is all the rage as well—so I might even get that one. I’ll find out more today…I get to meet the man who is going to poison me for the next 6 months.
Does anyone know what is up with Race for the Cure stuff being all pink? I’ve run the race several times, and I KNOW that pink is the color of choice…but why does it have to be pink? I am not a fan of pink. Miss Dorothy (the little lady who previously owned my house) was apparently a fan—so much so that 80% of the interior of the place was indeed pink (keyword WAS). I’m just not sure how to take it. Pink is feminine. Pink “represents” everything girly. Little girls want to wear pink dresses. I just find it odd that at a time in a woman’s life when they need to be the strongest they can be, they get pink to wear. OK, I will wear it—Beth noticed on the Komen website that it’s not just survivors that wear pink. From the Columbus website:
sur•vi vor n. - One who carries on despite hardships or trauma; one who perseveres; one who lives through affliction.
Komen Columbus cherishes and honors our Survivors…our heroes. These women and men are our inspiration and light the way in our efforts to eradicate breast cancer as a life threatening disease. It is our promise to celebrate and honor, as well as, provide encouragement and hope to the women and men living with breast cancer – from the newly diagnosed to long-term Survivors, their families and friends.
I’ll get over the pink. I know what it represents, and for that I can deal with it. I actually have a few pink t-shirts…playing Ultimate will do that to you.
Does anyone know what is up with Race for the Cure stuff being all pink? I’ve run the race several times, and I KNOW that pink is the color of choice…but why does it have to be pink? I am not a fan of pink. Miss Dorothy (the little lady who previously owned my house) was apparently a fan—so much so that 80% of the interior of the place was indeed pink (keyword WAS). I’m just not sure how to take it. Pink is feminine. Pink “represents” everything girly. Little girls want to wear pink dresses. I just find it odd that at a time in a woman’s life when they need to be the strongest they can be, they get pink to wear. OK, I will wear it—Beth noticed on the Komen website that it’s not just survivors that wear pink. From the Columbus website:
sur•vi vor n. - One who carries on despite hardships or trauma; one who perseveres; one who lives through affliction.
Komen Columbus cherishes and honors our Survivors…our heroes. These women and men are our inspiration and light the way in our efforts to eradicate breast cancer as a life threatening disease. It is our promise to celebrate and honor, as well as, provide encouragement and hope to the women and men living with breast cancer – from the newly diagnosed to long-term Survivors, their families and friends.
I’ll get over the pink. I know what it represents, and for that I can deal with it. I actually have a few pink t-shirts…playing Ultimate will do that to you.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
"LEFT" means "left"
DeAnna and I are back from outpatient surgery... After some chicken noodle soup and a toasted english muffin with butter, she's now curled up on the couch, doing just fine. She was a trooper (anyone out there surprised?).
Let me rewind a bit and give you a quick rundown of the afternoon: noon arrival at Grant hospital, free valet parking, quick check in at the front desk. We were directed upstairs to the Abulatory Surgery waiting room where we met a VERY pleasant nurse who really knew her stuff.
Grant has a fantastic system for family and friends: she handed me a pager they would use to notify me when D was done that would work anywhere in the hospital AND the public library across the street (BONUS!). In the waiting room, they also have a computerized patient status system mounted to the wall. In short, DeAnna was a assigned a patient number and I could use to check where she was in the process simply by finding her number in the appropriate column on the monitor (ie waiting to be checked in, surgery, recovery, etc)- think ariport arrival/departure monitors- BRILLIANT!
We barely had time to take off our coats and have a seat in the waiting area before a volunteer came to whisk DeAnna away to get her prepped and ready to go.
About a half an hour later, I was permitted to go back to the prepping area with her. There, I found her all gowned-up, covered in warm blankets and in good spirits. (They had also marked the word "LEFT" right below her collar bone on her left side, in case they forgot where they were supposed to go once they had her sedated and could no longer ask HER, I suppose. Where's my camera when I need it?!?) We were able to sit and giggle together for about a half an hour before they whisked her away a final time to surgery.
Couple of hours later, I was paged, informed by the friendly nurse that she was out of surgery and doing well. She pointed me to a small private room where I met with Dr.Liang, her surgeon, to get the official scoop.
The results are as follows: the port went in easily. No problems there. As planned, Dr.Liang also performed the excisional biopsy, removing a hardened lump from DeAnna's breast, as well as a bit of surrounding tissue. She had a pathologist waiting right there to do an on-the-spot test of the tissue. Much to Dr.Liang's surprise, it came up negative. Benign. No cancer found.
Hm. Crap.
So where does DeAnna proceed from here? Dr.Liang is... well... stumped! She is still recommending following through with the chemo, treating this as occult breast cancer; attack this stuff wherever it's setting up shop. DeAnna still has to tough it out through a few more tests (the painless ones, at least- another MRI and ultrasound) to make ABSOLUTELY sure they're not missing anything before they get started with the chemo. So the plan has not changed, post-surgery.
Worst case scenario is that DeAnna has a mastectomy some where in her future. But one thing at a time: more tests, chemo (bye bye eyebrows!), surgical removal of the offending lymph nodes.
WHEW.
DeAnna says "hi" from the couch, by the way :) She just informed me that "the only thing that hurts is my boob!" Yeah, that's going in the blog, too :)
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Needles, schmeedles
Saw the doc after all of those tests. I have to admit that I spent the weekend not very happy. OK, yeah, that sounds odd. But I wasn’t happy to have been through a round of tests and then have to sit tight for an entire weekend. It’s not even that I had to deal with the worst-case-scenario running through my head. Rather it was just the not being able to do anything (again). But Monday came, and I was in to find out where things stood...
She was incredibly positive. The tests all came back really great. The CT scan was clean. The MRI showed some things, but hey, we knew there might be something. She checked out a few of the areas with her portable ultrasound right there in the office. The only spot that still worried her was the area around where the calcifications were found on the MRI. The bone scan was also clean—and that was a huge relief. OK, back to the great unknown, but at least the worst-case-scenario was NOT happening. For now, the assumption still had to be that the primary location was something in the breast tissue. I questioned the doc on several things, but my biggest concern was determining the primary location. She was confident that it it’s NOT lymphoma (of any kind); the cancer cells from the lymph node biopsy showed adenocarcinoma cells. These cancer cells do not originate in the lymph nodes.
Stereotactic biopsy… So I’m not sure I can explain a lot of this in words. In fact, they gave me a diagram showing how it works. I again wound up on my belly on a table, with the area in question poking through a hole in said table. Underneath that table was a unit, similar to a mammogram press, complete with xray. Here is where it gets dicey to explain the details. Let’s just say that after 5 or 6 tries at getting the position correct, I was finally told to hold still. This, of course, with my left girl in a press and my body contorted. I had to breathe very carefully to ensure that inhalations didn’t reposition me such that I’d have to go through the set-up over again. Here I stayed, for some 30 minutes. During that 30 minutes my boob was numbed, stuck, and plucked. After all was said and done, they had 12 tissue samples, some of which in fact had the calcifications that were seen on the mammogram. I left the office bruised, stunned, numb, and sore. I can say compared to that, a mammogram is nothing.
The call I received from the doc concerning the results of this biopsy—DCIS, or ductal carcinoma in-situ. Simply stated, these cells are precancerous cells that haven’t moved anywhere. This of course adds to the confusion—I have cancer cells in my armpit that came from somewhere. I did some of my own research as well, and it does seem that these cells CAN become invasive and move. It’s highly likely that there is a small area that is invasive (and moved on to my lymph node). Have I mentioned that I like my doc? We have spent a few conversations over the phone—a nice thing that doesn’t require me to keep going in for consults in her office. Over the course of these conversations, we have laid out a plan for the situation—chemo followed by surgery. OK, it’s not exactly that cut and dry, but close.
So tomorrow (Wednesday), I’m headed in for out-patient surgery to get the port put in place. This port will help with the administration of chemo drugs. It gives a semi-permanent, direct line to a vein. The stick at each chemo treatment will be into a receptor on the port that then travels into the vein. Saves the arms and keeps me from looking like a heroin addict. Along with the port placement, the doc has decided to do part of the other surgery—she’s going to remove a piece of breast tissue where the other biopsies have come from (called an excisional biopsy; it will be about the size of a quarter). It is likely that the cancerous area is small enough that they have just missed it with all of the needle pokes. As nice as it would have been to just go straight to this (to avoid all of the needles), it is encouraging that whatever is in there isn’t large enough to hit directly with a needle stick. Strangely, I am hoping for a positive test result on that biopsy. The mystery will be solved, and I’ll be ready to start getting the chemo treatments. Have I mentioned that I like my new hair cut?
She was incredibly positive. The tests all came back really great. The CT scan was clean. The MRI showed some things, but hey, we knew there might be something. She checked out a few of the areas with her portable ultrasound right there in the office. The only spot that still worried her was the area around where the calcifications were found on the MRI. The bone scan was also clean—and that was a huge relief. OK, back to the great unknown, but at least the worst-case-scenario was NOT happening. For now, the assumption still had to be that the primary location was something in the breast tissue. I questioned the doc on several things, but my biggest concern was determining the primary location. She was confident that it it’s NOT lymphoma (of any kind); the cancer cells from the lymph node biopsy showed adenocarcinoma cells. These cancer cells do not originate in the lymph nodes.
Stereotactic biopsy… So I’m not sure I can explain a lot of this in words. In fact, they gave me a diagram showing how it works. I again wound up on my belly on a table, with the area in question poking through a hole in said table. Underneath that table was a unit, similar to a mammogram press, complete with xray. Here is where it gets dicey to explain the details. Let’s just say that after 5 or 6 tries at getting the position correct, I was finally told to hold still. This, of course, with my left girl in a press and my body contorted. I had to breathe very carefully to ensure that inhalations didn’t reposition me such that I’d have to go through the set-up over again. Here I stayed, for some 30 minutes. During that 30 minutes my boob was numbed, stuck, and plucked. After all was said and done, they had 12 tissue samples, some of which in fact had the calcifications that were seen on the mammogram. I left the office bruised, stunned, numb, and sore. I can say compared to that, a mammogram is nothing.
The call I received from the doc concerning the results of this biopsy—DCIS, or ductal carcinoma in-situ. Simply stated, these cells are precancerous cells that haven’t moved anywhere. This of course adds to the confusion—I have cancer cells in my armpit that came from somewhere. I did some of my own research as well, and it does seem that these cells CAN become invasive and move. It’s highly likely that there is a small area that is invasive (and moved on to my lymph node). Have I mentioned that I like my doc? We have spent a few conversations over the phone—a nice thing that doesn’t require me to keep going in for consults in her office. Over the course of these conversations, we have laid out a plan for the situation—chemo followed by surgery. OK, it’s not exactly that cut and dry, but close.
So tomorrow (Wednesday), I’m headed in for out-patient surgery to get the port put in place. This port will help with the administration of chemo drugs. It gives a semi-permanent, direct line to a vein. The stick at each chemo treatment will be into a receptor on the port that then travels into the vein. Saves the arms and keeps me from looking like a heroin addict. Along with the port placement, the doc has decided to do part of the other surgery—she’s going to remove a piece of breast tissue where the other biopsies have come from (called an excisional biopsy; it will be about the size of a quarter). It is likely that the cancerous area is small enough that they have just missed it with all of the needle pokes. As nice as it would have been to just go straight to this (to avoid all of the needles), it is encouraging that whatever is in there isn’t large enough to hit directly with a needle stick. Strangely, I am hoping for a positive test result on that biopsy. The mystery will be solved, and I’ll be ready to start getting the chemo treatments. Have I mentioned that I like my new hair cut?
Standardized Test Practice
Tests, tests, and more tests. It’s been over a week since I had these tests, but I realized something about that today. It least was a time when I felt like I was DOING something towards dealing/treating/whatever. The last week or so, I’ve been playing the waiting game. There is kind of a plan of attack, but it’s about getting all the ducks in a row to get it started.
The tests…the CT scan was first. It was scheduled for 9am, but I had to be there at 7:30am. If you have ever had a scheduled CT scan, you probably know why. You get 2 bottles of something-barium-with-berry-flavor-something or other. It was, well, not as filling as I thought it should be. If I had the equivalent of that in the form of a chocolate milkshake (from Coldstone made with cake batter ice cream), I would have been STUFFED. But within an hour (they give you an hour and a half), I had this stuff downed. Patty and I played a game…OK, it wasn’t really that fun of a game, but she gave me a time deadline to drink part of the cup’s worth. It worked until the receptionist was confused about what test I was there for and yelled at me to STOP DRINKING. After a minor consultation (wherein the receptionist bitched and moaned about how Maurine had failed to cancel something else), I was back to drinking and on track for the 9am scan.
And no CT scan is complete without an injection. Wow, I can’t remember what this injection was, but I do remember it was NOT the radioactive injection (that comes later). Apparently it was some other contrast agent—all running through me making me HOT from the inside out. The tech warned me about that, with the little note that the warmth would travel EVERYWHERE, wherein it would make me feel as though I had wet my pants. “You won’t,” she declared. Whew. I hadn’t brought a change of clothes. Once in the unit and after watching the thing spin loudly and having to hold my breath on the command of a computer-generated voice, it was over. OK, that was easy enough. By the way, that something-barium-with-berry-flavor-something really didn’t taste like anything, so if you ever need to drink it, don’t be afraid.
MRI…BREAST MRI…um, instead of lying on my back in the MRI tube (which I thought was going to happen, so I took a little Xanex to help me through that—no need for panic here!), I had to lay down face first, with my girls appropriately placed in 2 squared areas. Um, they ain’t square. And there was PLENTY of room there. My face was placed in a cradle similar to that on a massage table, and holy cow, there was a mirror down there. With the mirror in place, I could just look OUT of the tube, without having any perspective as to how tight that tube was. Nice—although a little TV or something would have been better. I was hooked up again to receive another injection of something or other (I think this time it was gallium). When it was injected, little syringes (that I could see thanks to that little mirror—see, a TV would have been better) started to move down, slowly pushing that gallium in. It kind of reminded me of some movie where there was an execution scene. OK, perhaps that was the Xanex talking. Despite the fact that I was given no music and the ear plugs were barely in place, I managed through the knocking and pinging of the MRI.
After a night’s slumber aided by the presence of Xanex in my system (not to mention barium and several other contrast dyes), I headed in again for another 7:30am check-in time for a bone scan. In terms of my effort, this was by far the easiest. Checked in, got injected with radioactivity (for those of you keeping count, that’s injection #3, technium-99), and headed to the cafeteria. Apparently it takes up to 3 hours for the radioactivity to stick where it’s supposed to—basically bones (anything with a lot of calcium). Bone scans are GREAT at detecting lots of things about bones—including hairline fractions and the like. Very sensitive, so if anything abnormal was on my bones, it would find it. Patty and I hung out at the hospital—cafeteria, gift shop, lobby—then headed back for the scan. The scan itself was nothing. This scanner was just a moving table with “readers” above and below me—not a tube, like the MRI. It took a mere 15 minutes to drag my body through the reader so the computer could pick up the radioactivity that stuck to my bones. The excess was supposed to leave via my bladder, but apparently I hadn’t quite emptied it. I thought I had, but as I said, the scanner is a wee bit sensitive…
The tests…the CT scan was first. It was scheduled for 9am, but I had to be there at 7:30am. If you have ever had a scheduled CT scan, you probably know why. You get 2 bottles of something-barium-with-berry-flavor-something or other. It was, well, not as filling as I thought it should be. If I had the equivalent of that in the form of a chocolate milkshake (from Coldstone made with cake batter ice cream), I would have been STUFFED. But within an hour (they give you an hour and a half), I had this stuff downed. Patty and I played a game…OK, it wasn’t really that fun of a game, but she gave me a time deadline to drink part of the cup’s worth. It worked until the receptionist was confused about what test I was there for and yelled at me to STOP DRINKING. After a minor consultation (wherein the receptionist bitched and moaned about how Maurine had failed to cancel something else), I was back to drinking and on track for the 9am scan.
And no CT scan is complete without an injection. Wow, I can’t remember what this injection was, but I do remember it was NOT the radioactive injection (that comes later). Apparently it was some other contrast agent—all running through me making me HOT from the inside out. The tech warned me about that, with the little note that the warmth would travel EVERYWHERE, wherein it would make me feel as though I had wet my pants. “You won’t,” she declared. Whew. I hadn’t brought a change of clothes. Once in the unit and after watching the thing spin loudly and having to hold my breath on the command of a computer-generated voice, it was over. OK, that was easy enough. By the way, that something-barium-with-berry-flavor-something really didn’t taste like anything, so if you ever need to drink it, don’t be afraid.
MRI…BREAST MRI…um, instead of lying on my back in the MRI tube (which I thought was going to happen, so I took a little Xanex to help me through that—no need for panic here!), I had to lay down face first, with my girls appropriately placed in 2 squared areas. Um, they ain’t square. And there was PLENTY of room there. My face was placed in a cradle similar to that on a massage table, and holy cow, there was a mirror down there. With the mirror in place, I could just look OUT of the tube, without having any perspective as to how tight that tube was. Nice—although a little TV or something would have been better. I was hooked up again to receive another injection of something or other (I think this time it was gallium). When it was injected, little syringes (that I could see thanks to that little mirror—see, a TV would have been better) started to move down, slowly pushing that gallium in. It kind of reminded me of some movie where there was an execution scene. OK, perhaps that was the Xanex talking. Despite the fact that I was given no music and the ear plugs were barely in place, I managed through the knocking and pinging of the MRI.
After a night’s slumber aided by the presence of Xanex in my system (not to mention barium and several other contrast dyes), I headed in again for another 7:30am check-in time for a bone scan. In terms of my effort, this was by far the easiest. Checked in, got injected with radioactivity (for those of you keeping count, that’s injection #3, technium-99), and headed to the cafeteria. Apparently it takes up to 3 hours for the radioactivity to stick where it’s supposed to—basically bones (anything with a lot of calcium). Bone scans are GREAT at detecting lots of things about bones—including hairline fractions and the like. Very sensitive, so if anything abnormal was on my bones, it would find it. Patty and I hung out at the hospital—cafeteria, gift shop, lobby—then headed back for the scan. The scan itself was nothing. This scanner was just a moving table with “readers” above and below me—not a tube, like the MRI. It took a mere 15 minutes to drag my body through the reader so the computer could pick up the radioactivity that stuck to my bones. The excess was supposed to leave via my bladder, but apparently I hadn’t quite emptied it. I thought I had, but as I said, the scanner is a wee bit sensitive…
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Friends and family beyond belief
I still have not completed the story as to how I have gotten to this short hair. Yes, I know everyone knows WHY I now have the short hair, but there is more...those blasted tests. But before I head into that, I wanted to say that I feel so INCREDIBLY FORTUNATE for all of the people that I have around me. Friends have been sending messages that have stopped me in my tracks. Wow, I miss so many people that have previously touched my life. And it is so great to hear from them again--if even for this reason.
And my family--you guys ROCK. I feel you around me all of the time (as I do my friends), even though you are not physically here.
Thanks everyone. I feel really blessed.
And my family--you guys ROCK. I feel you around me all of the time (as I do my friends), even though you are not physically here.
Thanks everyone. I feel really blessed.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Are you OK with needles?
I went ahead and cut the hair. It's one of those things--you get a wild hair someplace, and you just can't stop thinking about getting it completed. What's the harm in having some friends over to cut your hair while sharing a little wine? Well, you tell me--you can see the photo.
After that mammogram and the ultrasound, I finally had the chance to meet my new doctor--the breast surgeon. It was a little scary--she is part of an oncology practice. She's incredibly nice and very energetic. I like that. She talks through everything--whether she has it figured out or not. That's pretty cool in my book, because then I can pay attention to how she is thinking (and THAT she is, for that matter).
After she checked things out and looked at all the films I brought, she decided that a couple of needle biopsies would be a good thing. I concurred, and she disappeared to go and get said needles. Oh, I hadn't thought that she meant RIGHT THEN. Alright, I can deal with it. Now a needle biopsy like this isn't an exact science. Basically the needle is inserted and moved around while drawing up tissue (cells). Yeah, ouch. It wasn't so much the needles; in fact, I do pretty OK with needles. But that spot was already sore. In the end it even wasn't so much about the stick--it was the pressure that was needed to get the bleeding to stop AFTER the needle was out. I think it's the first time I've ever gotten nauseous purely from pain. But it was these very cells that were taken that were going to determine that I was going to have to lose the hair.
The other end of this visit to meet the new doc involved meeting the new doc's admin. Along with the needles sticks, the doc decided that a full battery of tests/scans would be a good thing--so that she could get as clear a picture as to what was going on as possible. Her admin was apparently new at this--or at least I hope so. MRI, CT scan, bone scan--they were all arranged, starting 2 days later. I actually understood what all this was for. If the needle biopsies turned out positive (for cancer that is), the CT scan and bone scan would help determine the extent of spreading--if any. The MRI was purely an breast MRI (I never knew there was an MRI specific for just boobs like that). Anyway, Maurine had a little trouble keeping it all straight, but in the end, I left the office with 4 other appointments arranged...
After that mammogram and the ultrasound, I finally had the chance to meet my new doctor--the breast surgeon. It was a little scary--she is part of an oncology practice. She's incredibly nice and very energetic. I like that. She talks through everything--whether she has it figured out or not. That's pretty cool in my book, because then I can pay attention to how she is thinking (and THAT she is, for that matter).
After she checked things out and looked at all the films I brought, she decided that a couple of needle biopsies would be a good thing. I concurred, and she disappeared to go and get said needles. Oh, I hadn't thought that she meant RIGHT THEN. Alright, I can deal with it. Now a needle biopsy like this isn't an exact science. Basically the needle is inserted and moved around while drawing up tissue (cells). Yeah, ouch. It wasn't so much the needles; in fact, I do pretty OK with needles. But that spot was already sore. In the end it even wasn't so much about the stick--it was the pressure that was needed to get the bleeding to stop AFTER the needle was out. I think it's the first time I've ever gotten nauseous purely from pain. But it was these very cells that were taken that were going to determine that I was going to have to lose the hair.
The other end of this visit to meet the new doc involved meeting the new doc's admin. Along with the needles sticks, the doc decided that a full battery of tests/scans would be a good thing--so that she could get as clear a picture as to what was going on as possible. Her admin was apparently new at this--or at least I hope so. MRI, CT scan, bone scan--they were all arranged, starting 2 days later. I actually understood what all this was for. If the needle biopsies turned out positive (for cancer that is), the CT scan and bone scan would help determine the extent of spreading--if any. The MRI was purely an breast MRI (I never knew there was an MRI specific for just boobs like that). Anyway, Maurine had a little trouble keeping it all straight, but in the end, I left the office with 4 other appointments arranged...
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Mammogram or bust
I'm getting my hair cut next week. I hadn't planned on getting a hair cut any time soon...maybe a trim, or at most and inch or so cut off. I've been growing it out for the last 3 years. Once upon a time I would have the stylist use the #2 guard on the clippers, so I'm used to SHORT. But of course, with it that short, it's a little hard for the dude at the cash register to get the gender correct. OK, I digress. I'm getting my hair cut next week.
I decided to go ahead and get it cut of in advance of it falling out. I've recently been diagnosed with cancer. Wow. The big C. It's been a surreal experience at times (that word came from my sister-in-law Jane--it's an accurate descriptor). I knew I had an issue, but the reality that it is cancer came on pretty quickly.
Last fall, I noticed a lymph node in my armpit that wasn't happy. It didn't hurt, but it was enlarged a little. I think I originally noticed it while I was shaving. I "ignored" it; eh, every once in awhile I remembered it was there. It wasn't growing, it wasn't shrinking--it wasn't doing much of anything. It was just there--a smooth, squishy, swollen lymph node.
At my yearly exam (ahem), I asked the doc to feel that node. Yep, it's a little inflamed. She prescribed an antibiotic, told me to watch it, and get back to her if it started to bother me. It did, but perhaps more mentally than physically.
In February of this year, I noticed that the armpit was a bit sore. The lymph node was still swollen but perhaps a little different. I headed back to the doc for another check and she noted that it was indeed different then last time. It felt different. I knew it was different. At this point, it's a little hard to pinpoint what I was thinking. I know just enough biological/body stuff to be dangerous, but perhaps enough to know when something needs some attention. I knew this did. The doc referred me to a breast surgeon--whether that was based on a concern that something bad was going on I'm not quite sure. She did say that since it was painful it probably meant that it was an infected lymph node that might have to be cut out. A breast surgeon would be a logical choice--because of the proximity of the node to the breast area. After calling the surgeon's office, the ball started rolling (really, no pun intended). Before I even had an appointment to see her, the doc sent me in for around of tests--what amounted to an ultrasound and a mammogram.
Now I'm not old enough to have had a mammogram yet. Yea, I had a cyst a couple of years ago, but an ultrasound clearly showed that it was a cyst and nothing more. That cyst wasn't significant enough in my head to warrant going to get the ever-feared mammogram. Yea, I know Oprah did a show where she had one done to show how "easy" it is. I just really had a hard time putting together how my little girls were going to be flattened enough to x-rayed. But the time had come, I was going to have one.
It wasn't too bad. But then again, I don't really have anything to compare it to. I did have to have more "pictures" taken on the left side than the right side--the radiologist wanted a better view of some calcifications. Calcifications are normal and don't necessarily mean anything--good or bad. The ones we were seeing were microcalcifications (as opposed to macrocalcifications). Radiologists look at the shape of them, and a magnification was definitely needed to determine the shape of mine (hence the second trip to the press).
From what I remember, I had probably 8 of them. Little tiny specs infront of the background of what one might know as a radiograph of a breast. They actually shine pretty brightly. In the magnified view, the radiologist pointed out to me that a couple of them were not round. They were almost star-like. He said again that normally these wouldn't be of concern, but with that lymph node, the breast surgeon may want more testing done (she certainly did).
The ultrsound was interesting. The ultrasound technologist found that little booger right away. It wasn't a boy or girl--it was a node that had normal fatty tissue in the middle of it. The edges had lobulations (yes, that is a word). That was curious, and she even found a deeper lymph node that was perhaps a little enlarged (gender unknown). The radiologist came in for a look-see as well, but still, things didn't quite add up. Pain in the lymph node is not normally and indication of cancer. But still--something was going on...
I'm getting my hair cut next week. I hadn't planned on getting a hair cut any time soon...maybe a trim, or at most and inch or so cut off. I've been growing it out for the last 3 years. Once upon a time I would have the stylist use the #2 guard on the clippers, so I'm used to SHORT. But of course, with it that short, it's a little hard for the dude at the cash register to get the gender correct. OK, I digress. I'm getting my hair cut next week.
I decided to go ahead and get it cut of in advance of it falling out. I've recently been diagnosed with cancer. Wow. The big C. It's been a surreal experience at times (that word came from my sister-in-law Jane--it's an accurate descriptor). I knew I had an issue, but the reality that it is cancer came on pretty quickly.
Last fall, I noticed a lymph node in my armpit that wasn't happy. It didn't hurt, but it was enlarged a little. I think I originally noticed it while I was shaving. I "ignored" it; eh, every once in awhile I remembered it was there. It wasn't growing, it wasn't shrinking--it wasn't doing much of anything. It was just there--a smooth, squishy, swollen lymph node.
At my yearly exam (ahem), I asked the doc to feel that node. Yep, it's a little inflamed. She prescribed an antibiotic, told me to watch it, and get back to her if it started to bother me. It did, but perhaps more mentally than physically.
In February of this year, I noticed that the armpit was a bit sore. The lymph node was still swollen but perhaps a little different. I headed back to the doc for another check and she noted that it was indeed different then last time. It felt different. I knew it was different. At this point, it's a little hard to pinpoint what I was thinking. I know just enough biological/body stuff to be dangerous, but perhaps enough to know when something needs some attention. I knew this did. The doc referred me to a breast surgeon--whether that was based on a concern that something bad was going on I'm not quite sure. She did say that since it was painful it probably meant that it was an infected lymph node that might have to be cut out. A breast surgeon would be a logical choice--because of the proximity of the node to the breast area. After calling the surgeon's office, the ball started rolling (really, no pun intended). Before I even had an appointment to see her, the doc sent me in for around of tests--what amounted to an ultrasound and a mammogram.
Now I'm not old enough to have had a mammogram yet. Yea, I had a cyst a couple of years ago, but an ultrasound clearly showed that it was a cyst and nothing more. That cyst wasn't significant enough in my head to warrant going to get the ever-feared mammogram. Yea, I know Oprah did a show where she had one done to show how "easy" it is. I just really had a hard time putting together how my little girls were going to be flattened enough to x-rayed. But the time had come, I was going to have one.
It wasn't too bad. But then again, I don't really have anything to compare it to. I did have to have more "pictures" taken on the left side than the right side--the radiologist wanted a better view of some calcifications. Calcifications are normal and don't necessarily mean anything--good or bad. The ones we were seeing were microcalcifications (as opposed to macrocalcifications). Radiologists look at the shape of them, and a magnification was definitely needed to determine the shape of mine (hence the second trip to the press).
From what I remember, I had probably 8 of them. Little tiny specs infront of the background of what one might know as a radiograph of a breast. They actually shine pretty brightly. In the magnified view, the radiologist pointed out to me that a couple of them were not round. They were almost star-like. He said again that normally these wouldn't be of concern, but with that lymph node, the breast surgeon may want more testing done (she certainly did).
The ultrsound was interesting. The ultrasound technologist found that little booger right away. It wasn't a boy or girl--it was a node that had normal fatty tissue in the middle of it. The edges had lobulations (yes, that is a word). That was curious, and she even found a deeper lymph node that was perhaps a little enlarged (gender unknown). The radiologist came in for a look-see as well, but still, things didn't quite add up. Pain in the lymph node is not normally and indication of cancer. But still--something was going on...
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