today's not a cliche, is it?

As a kid I could run around in the snow in the thinnest dress and would not flinch in the slightest. Then I was either spoiled by California weather or my perception of cold changed. For most of the last seven years in Seattle I've only been comfortable in a range of 71-82. Fragile like I fine wine! Partly because of that (partly because it was more environmentally friendly, and partly because it will save us money in the long run) Todd and I finally took the plunge and added insulation to the attic. It was a messy all-day effort, but well worth it. Now the house is very warm and I sometimes have a hard time determining if I'm having hot flashes or if the house is just doing a better job retaining heat. Yes, that's right - here comes the cliche - I've been running hot and cold. When I went into surgery we were expecting that I would keep my ovaries. Alas cancer decided that one of them was yummy and hunkered down and grew. So, aside from immediately loosing my potential future ability to biologically make more kids, I also woke up having been injected with hormone replacement so I wouldn't go through menopause on top of everything else. I then got a low-dose hormone patch to keep me "stable" during chemotherapy and radiation. Probably a good idea to not have your body and mind going through too many things at once, but staying on the patch increases your risk of cancer - isn't that ironic? So eventually I knew I wanted to stop. About a month ago I took the plunge. Yes, there are more side effects than just running hot and cold physically, such as running hot and cold emotionally. Todd and the kids don't seem any worse for the wear... yet... The adventure continues because it's a completely individual experience as to how long the effects will last. This adventure may last 6 months or could go 10 years. Alas, this blog wouldn't reflect how fun it is if I didn't point out the awesome upside - this opens a whole new world of conversation with the women who are 50+ at parties. I'm part of a new special clique.

Looking at the new normal

I have to apologize to anyone who has been following my progress and wellbeing via the blog. I promised myself that I would use the blog to tell people things that were going on and to update it somewhat frequently and with honesty. But since I finished treatment in October that commitment seems to have flown out the window. No, I haven’t been fibbing – but I certainly have neglected writing and sharing for the past month. Part of me wonders whether people have moved on since I’m not posting and am now just in “surveillance” mode. To combat that I am wrapping my head around the concept that it’s okay to write without trying to second guess who’s reading this now - or in the future. Another part is that I’ve been incredibly busy. As treatment wound down, I dialed back up my responsibilities at work.  Now the filp-side is true. In the last two weeks I have facilitated one training and attended two others. This meant traveling cross-country to Florida, Wilton Connecticut, and Chicago.  Throw on top of that Thanksgiving travel, three snow-days where the kids were out of school and you’ve got yourself a full agenda. Looking in to the future also planning travel to Santa Fe in two weeks. So now you’re probably wondering what spurned the return to the blog or what exciting topic would make me pick up the pen… er… laptop. I certainly have missed writing and have felt a tug towards getting proverbial pen to paper, but alas it is not solely for those reasons that I am writing today. As I mentioned I went to a training this week. I ran into many people I had not seen since last year’s training. Some of them knew I had cancer; others had no idea. I had to re-tell my (now shortened into almost an elevator pitch) story on how I’m doing. I so desperately wanted to just say: “I had cancer, and I’m cured.”  Instead it was more likely to come out: “I had cancer, but at this point things look fine, but only time will tell.” I know there’s a whole book published on life after cancer (which I’m not going to read) but this is a brave new world for me. I have been desperate to get back to normal, but I’m not able (and frankly not willing) to give up the acknowledgement that this has permanently changed me. Let’s just hope it’s for the better, right?  

relief for at least 3 months...

Most people probably saw that I posted immediately on Facebook that the results of my scan were good. Since then it's been a whirlwind of activity. As I had mentioned my mom is visiting. We took the whole family out to dinner on Friday night. Saturday we had a celebratory brunch at a friend's house. Saturday night I babysat for for another friend. To top it off my mom brought the the family a Christmas present - a super fancy keyboard - and we've been setting that up and playing with it. I am enjoying a morning that really does feel like Christmas. A hot cup of coffee, I got to sleep in, and the kids are busily playing with a present without fighting.

So trying to remember back to Friday afternoon. My doctor said my CAT scan was "perfect". There was no sign of anything troubling. He also used the "R" word - remission! With that good news comes other news, which I had anticipated; I don't have to go back for another 3 months. He actually offered that I could come back sooner since some people have a hard time going from the intensity of treatment to no doctor's visits. I know exactly what he meant since right at the end of radiation I felt somewhat like I had been dumped, but now that I haven't seen a doctor in a few weeks I'm not feeling the need to go back any time soon.

news flash: anticipation sucks

I went for my long-anticipated CAT scan yesterday. You can see I had a barium drink. No, it wasn't a delicious shake like the nurse promised. Then they "accessed" my power port. Yeah - it looks like fun, doesn't it? I was then injected with contrast dye and scanned (you can see squiggly the tube in the third picture attached to the dye dispenser). Overall a quick procedure, about an hour all said and done. Now I'm just waiting for the results. I have my doctor's appointment at 1:30 pm (it's noon now) and I've been able to keep my mind off it for most of the day, but I am not looking forward to hanging out and waiting... and waiting... and waiting... Doctors' appointment time slots seem to be more general guidelines than specific time slots, so I'm taking my new iPhone, Todd, and my mom to entertain me and keep me from chewing off my fingernails.

And time slips by

It seems hard to remember what things were like about a month ago. I was still in treatment a month ago. I have never posted things on the blog to get people to be proud of me or to inspire someone. I'm just trying my darnedest to cope with things. Having cancer sucked. A lot. But I think we all cope with things in different ways. My way of coping was not consciously to be strong and brave. It just seems that way on the outside. On the inside I wasn't actually coping. It was really denial that made me seems so strong. I just ignored it all. A minor inconvenience in my life. Sure, sometimes I broke down and was freaked out, but overall I had just compartmentalized this crappy little experience and tried to ignore it. That's probably the only way I was capable of dealing with it. I had (and still have) too much life and living to do that I don't have time to mope. I didn't want to let cancer define me. For the most part I have tried to move on. I pretend that it was just something I did for one summer and that I'm done. But the sad reality is that I'm not done. I have a CAT scan on Thursday (11/4) and then a meeting with my doctor on Friday. No big deal, right? It's just another thing that I need to do in my busy schedule. I'm trying not to think about what it means. I am certainly in denial that there could be any bad results. That's simply not an option.

Instead of hiding my head in a box of tissues I decided to do things and pretend to be super-woman. If I pretended long enough maybe it would work. This is an extreme form of denial and I don't specifically encourage people to try it themselves, but it seemed to work fine for me. So, in my little world of denial last month I was looking forward to K's first days of Kindergarten, three of my sisters visiting, the kid's birthdays, seeing my mom for her birthday, running a 1/2 marathon, seeing my brother, visiting with my nieces and of course Halloween. Just your typical busy October, right? And yes, I did a 1/2 marathon last month.

You might want a little background.... For years I have been interested in doing the Nike 1/2 marathon in SF (it happens in mid-October), but have not been able to get in. Instead, one of my friends who turned 30 on 10/10/10 convinced me to sign up for the 1/2 marathon in Victoria for that day. I then convinced some of my siblings to join me for the race weekend. We ran, walked, shopped, drank, had tea at the Empress, and had generally great weather. I am so very proud of my siblings who came and raced with me in a sign of support and celebration!

And yes, I'm very proud for running 6 days after I ended treatment. I guess that's what you can do when you're in denial. There are pictures to prove I was there (http://www.brightroom.com/go.asp?83890315) and you can search to find my time (2:35:36)! I felt great the whole time and am already looking forward to planning the next big race event. 

Oh, and I can't finish a post without mentioning that I love that my hair is growing back!

I'm done? How did that happen?

I woke up Tuesday morning October 5th and no longer had Chemo to look forward to. I didn't have to go to radiation. I just had to face an 8 am conference call. Piece of cake to go back to work, right? It would seem so, but I will steal a quote from a friend of mine who said she was "up to her eyeballs in alligators". I like to pretend that busy hands are happy hands, but sometimes there can be too much of a good thing. I'm not all made up of clichés however, and I am looking forward to settling into a "new normal". As I've said before it's going to still be a long haul before we know for sure if all the treatments worked, but I am glad to be on the other side of them.




One of my sisters came to visit and made it just in time to accompany me to my final radiation treatment. As you can see my hair is starting to grow back, for which I am very grateful.

waiting for my last radiation treatment (hopefully ever)

My fancy shmancy IMRT



Laser guided precision



219 zaps later and I was free to head home - hopefully to never see that machine again.

zap - 1, zap -2, zap 3....

It seems like a lot of people going through radiation for other types of cancer spend about 5 minutes with their machine. My treatment takes more like 20 minutes once they start zapping me. I mentioned before that I started counting the number of times I get zapped. It's hard to keep focused on counting for 20 minutes and your mind starts to wander, but sometimes you don't want to have your mind wander. You don't want to fixate on the fact that your foot itches, that there's a tickle in your nose, or that you feel like taking a deep breath and sighing - each of which would probably move you off your precise mark and screw the whole thing up! Nothing says hold still for 20 min like a little stress. So I have continued to try and count on a daily basis. They blast me a bunch of times and then the big machine rotates around to a new position to get a different angle. I've been able to memorize the sequence.

zap 1 zap 2 zap 3 zap 4 zap 5 zap 6 zap 7 zap 8 zap 9 zap 10 zap 11 zap 12 zap 13 zap 14 zap 15 zap 16 zap 17 zap 18 zap 19 zap 20 zap 21 zap 22 zap 23 zap 24 zap 25 zap 26 zap 27 switch zap 28 zap 29 zap 30 zap 31 zap 32 zap 33 zap 34 zap 35 zap 36 zap 37 zap 38 zap 39 zap 40 zap 41 zap 42 zap 43 zap 44 zap 45 zap 46 zap 47 zap 48 zap 49 zap 50 switch zap 51 zap 52 zap 53 zap 54 zap 55 zap 56 zap 57 zap 58 zap 59 zap 60 zap 61 zap 62 zap 63 zap 64 zap 65 zap 66 zap 67 zap 68 zap 69 zap 70 zap 71 switch zap 72 zap 73 zap 74 zap 75 zap 76 zap 77 zap 78 zap 79 zap 80 zap 81 zap 82 zap 83 zap 84 zap 85 zap 86 zap 87 zap 88 zap 89 zap 90 zap 91 zap 92 zap 93 zap 94 zap 95 zap 96 switch zap 97 zap 98 zap 99 zap 100 zap 101 zap 102 zap 103 zap 104 zap 105 zap 106 zap 107 zap 108 zap 109 zap 110 zap 111 zap 112 zap 113 zap 114 zap 115 zap 116 zap 117 zap 118 zap 119 zap 120 zap 121 switch zap 122 zap 123 zap 124 zap 125 zap 126 zap 127 zap 128 zap 129 zap 130 zap 131 zap 132 zap 133 zap 134 zap 135 zap 136 zap 137 zap 138 zap 139 zap 140 zap 141 zap 142 zap 143 switch zap 144 zap 145 zap 146 zap 147 zap 148 zap 149 zap 150 zap 151 zap 152 zap 153 zap 154 zap 155 zap 156 zap 157 zap 158 zap 159 zap 160 zap 161 zap 162 zap 163 zap 164 zap 165 zap 166 zap 167 zap 168 switch zap 169 zap 170 zap 171 zap 172 zap 173 zap 174 zap 175 zap 176 zap 177 zap 178 zap 179 zap 180 zap 181 zap 182 zap 183 zap 184 zap 185 zap 186 zap 187 zap 188 zap 189 zap 190 zap 191 switch zap 192 zap 193 zap 194 zap 195 zap 196 zap 197 zap 198 zap 199 zap 200 zap 201 zap 202 zap 203 zap 204 zap 205 zap 206 zap 207 zap 208 zap 209 zap 210 zap 211 zap 212 zap 213 zap 214 zap 215 zap 216 zap 217 zap 218 zap 219 done... 

And, with one more radiation treatment on Monday I truly will be DONE with treatment - hopefully forever! But life after treatment won't be quite normal for a while. I will still get to keep my port for a few extra months. My doctor wants me to keep it in for at least a year after I end treatment. So I guess all I want for xmas this year is to be cancer free, and all I'll want next year is to get the port out.... I am looking forward to that day already.

public "out"-ing of myself...

I still think back to the day that my friends came over and helped me clipper off my hair. It was liberating, invigorating, and one of the best nights I've ever had. What may not have been so obvious was that even though I faced losing hair with defiance, a smile, and a willingness to show cancer "who's boss" I ended up feeling a bit like a split personality. Maybe if you consider that bald Michelle is the crazy action hero then the normal Michelle disguised herself amongst the general population by wearing wigs. In some ways looking "normal" was also a way to show that I was taking this all in stride. I wasn't looking for sympathy or for someone to give me a break. I was just as committed and dedicated and hard working as ever before and didn't want to give anyone a chance to see me as weak. But alas I grew tired of wigs. They are hot, itchy, tight, and generally uncomfortable. For those who have worn pantyhose I would say it's the same experience - it kind of makes you look good for a while, but then you want to claw them off and shred them. So I switched to scarves. I remember the first time I went to the office with a scarf and wondered if I would get odd looks and if people would ask or say something. Then I would have to go through the whole story convincing them (and myself) that this is all just a piece of cake - hmmmmm cake - everybody loves cake! 

So, in a nutshell, loosing hair is one of the most obvious (and for most women very difficult) parts of going through cancer treatment. Throughout most of my chemo I had my eyebrows and lashes. But around the time of my last treatment even those started to dwindle. About five weeks ago I had one long eyelash on my left eye and three on my right. I felt pangs of loss about a month ago when I looked in the mirror and those long lashes had fallen out. It's not like they were luxurious and model-worthy but I was left with tiny little stubble. They weren't even a millimeter long! I researched online (using Bing AND Google) shopping for answers and hoping to find a website that would tell me they would grow back instantaneously. At this point my hair was still falling out in tiny little wispy tufts, but I was determined to stop shaving it and see what it did. The last time I shaved my head was Sunday August 1st. The day before my last chemo treatment.



June 26th, 2010 - towards the end of chemo





September 28, 2010 - 2 months hair growth



Finally about a week ago my eyelashes started to grow longer and my hair stopped falling out. So this past Friday was a big office-wide meeting. I went au-natural. No scarf, no wig, no false eyelashes. I felt very self conscious most of the time. I think it went well since I got lots of compliments - of course what else do you say to the woman who has cancer other than she looks great? It's not like someone could say: "Wow, you better get a refund on that haircut!" or "Did you do that at home with the lawnmower?" I don't really know the psychology of why I wanted to do it. But it felt liberating and like I was finally being much more honest with my co-workers and maybe even with myself. Now if I wear a scarf it's because I want to either to keep my head warm or because it's just the perfect color to go with an outfit. It's truly a fashion statement rather than an attempt to prevent other people from being uncomfortable. Just so people have a little comparison of what this fantastic new hair style looks like I have posted some pictures. The picture with Anna was taken towards the end of June. She was thrilled to swipe my scarf from my head. The other picture (of me in the green shirt) was taken tonight. Today is exactly 8 weeks after my last chemo treatment!

Even though I have 4 more radiation treatments the public signs of battling cancer are soon going to fade into a distant memory....

5/25 left - but then what?

It seems like the end is in sight. I started writing this post when I had about 9 treatments left and just kept having too much other stuff get in the way of finishing the update. Today however marks a nice milestone. Barring unforeseen circumstances I will be done in exactly one week. My last day is scheduled for October 4th. Originally it was estimated that I would have 25-28 treatments. Last Monday I met with my radiation oncologist and he confirmed that I will only be going through 25 total treatments. That's because the fancy machine they're using on me can vary the extent of radiation to give the more intense dose exactly where they want it. Had my insurance not covered the cost of the fancy machine they would need to radiate the whole area 28 times to get the maximum effect for certain high-risk parts of my body. Isn't it nice that this is all so clinical? Fortunately he even let it slip that I was "going to be just fine". Not that you want to read too much into it, but it's nice to hear that the doctor is confident that the treatment will work. But statistics suck. Because even if you try to focus on the positive there is always the other sliver. You know, the ones who don't make it. The ones we are all pretending won't be me. I guess ever since I found out that my cancer was classified as Stage IV it's been hard to just ignore that possibility. Sometime shortly after I was diagnosed I allowed myself to go through a mini phase of the fear, anger, grief, and mourning. But then I firmly planted my feet into the denial bucket. It was going to take a lot to move me out of that realm. I just stuffed all the emotions deep inside (just like Marge told Lisa to do). Somehow in the back of my mind I allowed myself to believe that I didn't want to waste a perfectly good summer (that actually rained more than it's fair share) by being a complete emotional basketcase. So I put on my Pollyanna face and moved forward like there was nothing wrong. And most of the time I feel great.

But here we are, close to the end of my triathlon from hell (surgery, chemo, radiation) and I've spent the past week worrying about things that never crossed my mind before. Silly things like: what if this didn't work? what if it comes back? what kind of treatment can I have if it recurs?

So for all my supporters who think that I'm kicking this thing's butt and making it look easy I guess there's the ugly truth - MOST of it's easy, but every once in a while you get a little head-trip that spins you for a loop and makes you look things up on the internet you wished you hadn't researched. Things like the fact that I really didn't want to know survival statistics if this thing comes back. And that I now can't expunge the knowledge that treatment options are VERY limited the second time around. So, don't go look it up, it was silly of me to do so, and you don't need that kind of stress. ;)

you've got to be kidding me...

"You've got to be kidding." That's all I can really think when I read the summaries from my doctors' offices. As I mentioned a while back I just don't know how to balance the time commitment of radiation along with a job that is supposed to be 50-ish hours a week. So I asked for my doctor to submit information for my short term disability for 1-2 days a week. They provided me a full copy of the radiation oncologist's notes and my oncologist's notes so I could submit it myself. The upside is that they consider me to be "a plesent 35 year old female". However, it seems my oncologist thought I was 4 feet 11 inches... hmmm... I'm actually 5 feet 9 inches (I hope they didn't confuse me with someone else when they treated me!). My radiation oncologist has the slightly more troubling description. If you remember it was my left ovary that had a tumor and my right lymph node that had "rare keratin positive signet ring cells, consistent with isolated tumor cells" (aka cancer). It's also my left lymph node that has been swollen and that was evaluated with the FNA (the Fine Needle Aspiration biopsy that I wrote about a while ago). However my radiation oncologist thinks that all the cancer was on my left. This is probably not an issue as I think they're treating me "bilaterally" i.e. they're beaming the same stuff at both sides; but, since there's nothing in the notes about that and there's the off chance that they're trying to cure me by beaming a side of my body that doesn't need it I put a call in to my doctor's office...

Don't you just envy my life? I just wonder if I were to deliver my work with the same amount of care and detail that these guys do if I wouldn't be fired. Oh - yeah - the kicker - my doctors are considered by their peers to be some of the best in the region. And Seattle is one of the top 5 places to be treated for cancer. No wonder people die from this crap!

five down 20-23 to go...

Radiation started this past week. I have now endured 5 sets of being bombarded by particles that both cure and cause cancer. Monday the ordeal kicked off about 1/2 hour late. I have one of the earlier timeslots in the morning and these appointments are supposed to run much more like a swiss clock than normal doctor's visits, which I would liken to swiss cheese. So this did not leave me with the confidence that things would always be on time and on schedule. Fortunatey Tuesday - Thursday was pretty much on time, but Friday was almost an hour late. Given that the actual radiation treatment takes about 1/2 hour the overall average time commitment is close to 2 hours once you factor in the commute and changing into approrpiate garb. Also, on a weekly basis I am expexted to meet with the radiation oncologist to make sure treatment is going well. So far things are going okay and I have minimal debilitating side effects. However, given that I have about 10 hours a week dedicated to those doctor's appointments and I'm working full-time I've still been trying to figure out how to fit all things together. Add on top of that the other personal obligations such as Katarina's first day of kindergarten (which is probably worthy of a whole post in and of itself).

The radiation is interesting enough. I get placed on a machine and they move me around until my tattoos and markings are lined up in the lazer sights. Then they cover me with a flimsy blanket to keep me warm and leave the room. I should be able to pick my music, but usually they have a classical CD playing. Thursday I got a trip down memory land starting with Dreamweaver and then Blinded by the Light - how fitting, eh? Then I start counting. The big machine zaps me from 9 different angles. I even started counting the number of total zaps to keep my mind off how cold I am or how uncomfortable it is to lie flat on my back on a metal plate (221 I think). I don't get the same number of beams from every angle, so it's kind of fun to know how far I've gone and how many are left: 27, move, 50, move, 72, 96, etc. It may not seem like much, but it helps to pass the time.

Like I mentioned, I have not felt too many side effects. Fatigue is a big one. Mere mortals probably would be wiped out, but I'm still powering through. The other main side effects are nausea and general digestive junk. To combat the nausea I have been eating more, which sadly is no help to my struggle to not gain any more weight. My doctor told me not to worry about it, but he's not the ones who can't fit into his cute gray pinstriped pantsuit.

oh if only I had hair...

When I cut my hair short it was all a preemptive strike against the shock and emotional stress of loosing long locks of hair on my pillow or in the shower. I had a very short buzz cut when I went into the hospital for my second treatment. Since my cycles were three weeks apart that's exactly the time when my hair was scheduled to start to fall out. Sure enough when I was sitting in my hospital bed I started to play with my super short hair. Some part of me was still clinging to the thought that perhaps clippering my hair was a bad idea - i.e. that it would never fall out and that this would have been a big waste. But there I was, playing with my little stubble and having little tufts of hair come out. By the time I made it home from the hospital I had some random bald spots. I suppose I should have taken pictures, but trust me, it wasn't very pretty. So, the next morning I took at razor to my head and shaved it all off. The great news was that my eyelashes and eyebrows didn't seem to be affected. Sure, they would fall out, but there was no real noticeable increase in the number of lashes that would come off when I washed my mascara off. That is of course until around the time that my 5th treatment started. Then they seemed to want to head for the hills and fall out with no indication that there would be reinforcements. I now have one long eyelash on my left eye (not that they were ever anything but puny) and about 5 on my right. Then I have a bunch of little sprouts that are about a milimeter long. But I have no idea if they'll fall out again or if these will be in it for the long haul. Last week I even bought false eyelashes just to wear for some big meetings at work without feeling self conscious. Since my last treatment my hair new hair started to come in a little bit, but the tips are very blond. Of course about a week ago (remember that was about 3 weeks after my last treatment) even the new blond hair was falling out. It has dark brown roots, so it's anyone's guess what the actual color will be once it's filled in. Total length at this point is about 1/4 inch. I am guessing that it will grow about the same amount over the next month and then settle into the 1/2 in per month that's a normal rate of growth.

However, hope springs eternal and since chemo ended almost four weeks ago I am optimistic that my hair and lashes will start growing at some noticeable clip faster than that. Unfortunately no scientific medical information seems to be available. Doctors either don't want to give you an average time-line because they don't want to disappoint you or the general medical community just doesn't care. I kind of get that - the more important clinical work is on refining the chemo drugs so I'll survive, not in studying if/when I'll have luxurious lashes and eyebrows again. Yeah - I'm thinking of the t-shirt "chemo ate my eyebrows". Until then I'll be wearing false lashes, pink wigs, and colorful scarves.

you're hot then you're cold; you're yes then you're no...

It seems like so many things in my life recently have been on a serious roller coaster. So riddle me this one batman: am I up or down after you juxtapose the good and bad news?

Lost 5 lbs, BUT it was likely all water weight from edema that's likely something I'll have to permanently deal with.

My radiation got rescheduled to a more desirable time (7:50AM appointments rather than 8:30), BUT I still have to go through radiation.

My hair might be growing in light blond, which is seriously cool since it was very dark blond before I shaved it off, BUT it's starting to fall out again and I'm down to a total of 5 long lashes on both eyes and about 6 long eyebrow. On the other hand it is growing and it gives me something to pick at.

I ran 3.1 miles this morning and only had to walk 2 times and only for about 10 seconds each time. I also sprinted the last 200 feet and felt great; BUT I was still only at a 12 minute mile and I wasn't able to run very far last Friday on my long run (4.5 miles) and to be on track for the October 1/2 marathon I should have been at 6 miles...

I got tattooed by the radiation technician, BUT they were only four little dots and that's not very cool and/or exciting.

This weekend I decluttered a bunch of stuff, swept, mopped, and polished the kitchen, dining room, and living room BUT I scarred the kids in doing so & I still have a HUGE pile of toys in the entry hall where I relocated them from the living room.

This weekend I also went to see Lady GaGa and she was awesome BUT I had to get up at 4 am when someone had an accident in their bed.

If you know me at all you know I'm up!

still surreal

I don't know to whom I should attribute the quote that the days are long, but the years are short. It seems hard to believe that summer is almost over (which you can tell by the crappy weather we've had today) and that I am done with chemotherapy. I put a lot of things on hold mentally and emotionally. Part of me is starting to process that now. Yet I still have so much to look forward to. You know, I have to subject myself to the next part of the scientific experiments that will grant me superpowers. So, I had my meeting with my radiation oncologist last week and today I had a planning CAT scan - yippee, more radiation. I was poked in ways that I won't describe and tattooed with four little "jailhouse tattoos". That's where they put ink on your skin and then jab you with a needle. You can't imagine the fun, and unfortunately they refused to make any interesting designs. Just your basic dots. Then they used the CAT scan to line me up so they would have a roadmap of where my lymph nodes and stuff are for my daily radiation treatments. Next Wednesday I go in for a "dry run". They will put me in the machine and instead of radiating me with radiation I will be getting an Xray. Then the doctor will make sure things are perfectly lined up and starting Thursday (August 26th) I get daily doses of radiation. My last treatment is scheduled for October 5th. I know time will eventually move along, but at the same time it is so odd what becomes a "new normal" .

As an example, appointments are scheduled at the same time every day and some people have 60 or more treatments. Sitting in the waiting room I was able to watch quite a few these souls and their interactions. Lots of them had developed weird relationships with other patients and the medical staff. For one woman today was her last day. The receptionist was congratulating her on "graduating" and more than one person made the comment "you won't know what to do with your afternoons now that this is over". Her response was "I can think of a lot of things I'd rather be doing." She didn't want to be there and I just wanted to scream "I don't belong here either!" I don't want to be one of these people who comes in day after day chatting it up with my new "friends". I'm sure most of them are lovely people, but I have allowed myself to be sane because I've refused to admit that I'm sick. I don't know if I'm just having a little emotional roadblock brought on by the anticipation of the next phase, or if I'm just overly stressed this week. Pile on top of that the fact that I am disappointed that today was one of those days where I didn't get to see the kids at all. I was on a conference call hiding in my basement before they got up and by the time I was done, they were gone. I then had a dinner meeting that went until 10 pm and of course they were asleep before I got home. Remember the post about balancing things? Yeah, that was this week. Posting about it didn't seem to make it all better. Since it's late I'm going to sleep on it and see if that makes things better.

more insurance woes... aka I don't know how to do it all...

I am now "officially back" at work and boy do I love my job. Immediately I got slammed with two large reviews and I have also stepped back into a management role at my favorite client. The gentleman who had taken over for me while I was out for surgery and chemo is moving to Las Vegas, so the natural move is for me to take up the reins. Timing seems perfect and since I love the people there is no client I would rather serve. But I do need to pay attention to balancing things. Although busy hands are happy hands I probably can't be as over-zealous about work as I used to be. I thrive on stress - but right now that's probably not the best idea. So it really puts a lazer-like focus on doing a better job of creating work/life balance. You know, the thing I never seemed to have before the stuff hit the fan. Remember the Thanksgiving that I gave up my vacation time and worked on a proposal while my family was in town? You know, the proposal that we didn't even win. Yeah - those are the choices I didn't like making before, but am trying to avoid like the plague going forward. I will also have another administrative burden to handle: radiation. I went to the radiation oncologist last week to discuss my treatment plan. I will be going back later this week to get a CAT scan so the good Doc can make sure he knows where all my parts are. Then they program the radiation machine. A week or two later I get to start my daily infusion of superpower #2. I am presuming that Scotty won't be able to accidentally beam me up since they will be using a precise pattern focusing on the surgery site and lymph nodes. I don't have the exact schedule yet, but it is likely to start the last week of August. As for the logistics, it will be daily treatment making it a large time commitment.


So I decided to call my company's leaves and disability team. The sad news is that they will only cover disability if I'm out the whole day. It's an all-or-nothing deal. So, I could (easily) get approved to be out of work full-time for the 6 weeks of radiation or have a few hours eaten up by radiation and on top of that put in my 8-10 hour day... hmmm, neither one sounds like a fun way to spend most of September and October. The creative option is to work my butt off for 3-4 days a week and then have them write me out for 1-2 days of disability so I can recover and take it easy. My company and management have been wonderfully supportive, so I have no qualms about any of this actually being a problem. It's just another thing that I didn't think I would ever have to worry about.

biohazard spill on 11 SouthWest

Just about every chemo treatment something exciting happens. I fondly remember the first time where I showed up and my orders hadn't been submitted. Then there was the time that they were flat out wrong and they wanted to give me the wrong dosing of the drugs. Other visits included orders that weren't signed, but this time things were so exciting that I got a "code orange". Codes are interesting. They are used so that patients don't freak out over what's happening. You wouldn't want to hear "biohazard spill" or "uh-oh someone flat-lined" in the room next door. Code Orange at my hospital is a bio-hazard spill. In this case it was my precious taxol. How it came about is an error in training people on new processes. Over this past weekend the hospital changed the connection tubing on some drug bags. When my favorite nurse opened the bag to plug in my IV line it spilled some. They had trained her to open the bag a certain way, which she had done - but the training was wrong. I didn't freak out, but by this time I had already been subjected to numerous "you won't care what I do to you" drugs including the 25 mg of benadryl, some aloxi, decadron, and various others that are delivered right to the heart. So I grinned like a drunk fool and tried to take some pictures of the cleanup. (I know they're blurry, like I said, I was drugged!) Overall the damage was minimal. The spill was small enough that they didn't need to mix any more chemo, so that was fortunate.

The interesting and/or perturbing thing is that this hospital is one of the best in the nation. That means I am getting a pretty high standard of care even with the inconsistencies and silly issues. I trust my doctors and nurses (at least most of them) and am very glad that I am in this facility. However, reinforces the need to question them and keep them (and me) on our collective toes about the treatment they are prescribing and I am receiving.

So here I am at the culmination of my chemo treatment 8 hours away from being done with taxol and cisplatain. Then in about a week I meet with my radiation oncologist to discuss the next phase of treatment. I have already read horror stories on the internet about some radiation treatments that have gone awry and so I have a small list of questions for my radiation oncologist next week. If there's anyone out there who has experiences or advice to share about the radiation leg of the journey please feel free to let me know.

so close, yet so far

A week has passed since my penultimate cycle of Chemo. My 6th and last session will be on August 2nd. Then three or so weeks later I will start the 5-6 weeks of daily radiation treatment. Being this close to the end of chemo makes me feel like the whole regiment of treatment is almost over. That’s certainly how others are treating it. “Yeah! You’re almost done” come the cheers from the supporters. “Yeah!” I think to myself. Yet there’s this nagging unknown of how the radiation is going to affect me. A simple internet search will give you a bunch of horror stories of women who had terrible experiences of burns, fatigue and other nasty side effects. So I am torn between tough Michelle and vulnerable Michelle. Tough Michelle signed up to do a ½ marathon about 10 days after radiation is scheduled to complete. Vulnerable Michelle decided to NOT do the Danskin triathlon in August.

In the book “Crazy Sexy Cancer” one of the women shares how she had felt that being fatigued was “Doing cancer the wrong way” because people had expected her to be strong. Sometimes I feel like that. I’m supposed to be tough, right? Shouldn’t any sign of weakness be eradicated? Since I’m only human and both sides of the coin will show up periodically. I've considered how cool it would be if I had come up with a superhero persona like baldylocks (http://baldylocks.blogspot.com/) or chemobabe (http://www.chemobabe.com/). Then maybe I could more clearly differentiate between the ass-kicking Michelle who ran/jogged/walked 4 miles on Sunday and the beat-down Michelle who crawled back in bed for a nap that same afternoon.

I even feel that maybe I’m not fulfilling my full potential by just sort of casually blogging. I’m getting lots of awesome wonderful supporting messages from people who read my blog, but somehow I feel like I should be doing more. I was warned about this by a friend of mine. She insisted that I not make a bucket list; otherwise when this whole thing is over I would be left feeling like I had to quit my job to go do all the things on my list. So I’m not sure what I should be doing, but in thinking about this I was reminded of a story one of my wonderful sisters tells about me. When I was about 8 or 9 years old I was sent to bed. I clearly didn’t want to go and stomped up the stairs. About ½ way up I turned around, raised my finger into the air and declared: “I will rid the world of injustice”. Cute, right? Can’t you just imagine me with an indignant look on my face, finger raised in admonishment to all the oppression and oppressors everywhere? So, I am not saying that I’m going to quit my job and become some sort of activist (mainly becuase I love my job and I'm good at it), but I am spending a lot more time wondering how to make the world a better place.

Time’s fun when you’re having flies

Or at least that’s what Kermit the Frog used to say. Any number of clichés could describe what it’s like to wait for the next cycle of chemo or the next CAT scan or biopsy result. I actually had a CAT scan Thursday of last week (7/8/2010). Once they got me going it only took 10 minutes. Waiting for the results on the other hand took another 30 hours until my doctor’s appointment on Friday. The results were negative (which is STILL positive). I didn’t have as much anticipation for this scan as I thought I would. It was sort of anticlimactic and I just took it in stride. At that point I thought I had come to terms with my treatment and cancer. I make fun of it. No, I didn't hope to spend age 35-40 wondering if the cancer would come back. And my 40th birthday party will hopefully be one hell of a "completely f-ing cancer-free" bash! I know I technically won't be considered "cured" until closer to my 41st, but I'll take the little victories.

Since the last scan was so “easy” I wanted to know what the future holds today I asked the doctor what the foreseeable scans/tests would be. It looks like I’ll be getting CAT scans (not PET) from here on out. He said the PET scans are best used up front, and after that point CAT scans are what he prefers to use. Todd will probably now launch an investigation into the medical journal Gynecological Oncology (favorite reading these days) to see what’s standard industry practice.

For those into the logistics, my schedule will be somewhat along the following lines. I will get a CAT scan in about 6-8 weeks (end of August/beginning Sept), right before I start radiation. Then I will have 5-6 weeks of radiation therapy and I will get another CAT scan at the end of that (mid-end October). I think I will get CAT scans every 6 months for 5 years with other tests in between.

Then sitting here in the hospital getting infused with round 5 of chemo (see me in comfy shirt and *gasp* no makeup), I tempted fate and asked my doctor the kicker of a question. The one I didn’t really want to ask, but that is always lurking in my mind. I asked him what he thought my chances for cure were given how far treatment has progressed and my most recent CAT scan results. I was sort of surprised that they haven’t changed since the beginning: 85% chance of survival. It makes sense – the chances don’t change much because it’s all based on overall survival etc. We talked a bit more about the incidence of recurrence etc. Todd and I have already speculated a lot about what the point is at which you start to relax a little. Per my doctor (and he IS the expert) about 60-80 percent of the cases of recurrence are in the first two years. The clock officially starts ticking when I’m done with radiation. So October 2012 will be a good time to check back in.

what a post about something other than cancer?

Last Monday (July 5th) Todd and I celebrated 7 years of wedded bliss. This entailed gettin' the heck out of dodge and going to the Bay Area for a few days without the kids. My mom braved Katarina and Sebastian and also two of my 11 year old (adorable, smart, and helpful) nieces. While the cousins enjoyed each other, the science center, duck rides (the boat/car combination; not the animal), and swimming, Todd and I toured some of the Bay Area's more expensive towns. We had sushi in Berkeley, breakfast in Palo Alto, and lunch at In-N-Out. It was a great little getaway and we contemplated things like what we were going to do when Todd finishes his PhD. It was starting to get close; in fact I was sort of hoping that he would graduate May 2010. Then of course I derailed his plan by getting you-know-what. Todd has been a real gem. He banned me from dropping off and picking up the kids from school so I wouldn't pick up random cold/flu/strep. He cooks and cleans and is generally just about perfect. But being perfect at home also limited his ability to focus on writing a masterpiece of a thesis. So the only frustration I would admit to is that I've emotionally been putting things on hold waiting for Todd to finish school and start applying for jobs. I don't actually necessarily like to "do" things, but I like to pretend that I'm going to do them. Sort of like window shopping for life.

In preparation for this day we've *gasp* considered moving someplace else. There are so many benefits to Seattle, but there's something to be said for our other places as well. This weekend afforded us the opportunity to see my sister and really evaluate whether we wanted to move back to California. Being closer to family is a huge consideration. That, and I have been so sick and tired of the rain and gloom in Seattle that I was about to go bonkers. Somehow the gods of sunshine heard me cursing their name because it's been 90 degrees the past two days and today's supposed to be equally sweltering. I don't mind making decisions, but right now I'm feeling like Jack on 30 Rock when he was deciding between Avery and Nancy.

I think the end conclusion is that if we moved to the Bay Area we would want to be in Palo Alto, but since it's one of the top 5 most expensive places to live, we probably can't really afford it until/unless I make partner and/or Todd strikes it rich with a fancy invention.

so, I'm waiting on the edge of my seat for the results!

If you’re like me, you hate not knowing. I really dislike that I will get test results that are hopefully negative (which of course means positive) but that due to sampling errors and granularity of the test you won’t actually know that there isn’t a problem until it’s a big problem. But that is my task for this week. To wait patiently for the results of the FNA. Yes, you read that right. I had an FNA test. Those words actually came from my doctor’s mouth: “I need to get stuff for the FNA”. Now that really meant that he was going to do a “Fine Needle Aspiration”, which is a fancy word for biopsy . So a few minutes later he returns with a big grin and an even bigger needle that he plunged into my leg without any prior numbing - think epi-pin from pulp fiction. If you have no idea why I'm doing this you missed last week's "Doctor Roulette" post regarding the ER visit on Saturday (6/12) and my subsequent visit to the PA (physician's assistant) on Tuesday (6/15) where she looked at my ultrasound results and my PET and CAT scans. By the time I saw my oncologist that Friday he was thoroughly briefed on my medical analysis and random guessing as to what might be going on. He concurred with my conclusion that the lump that could be felt was a lymph node. Todd had not been convinced, but that’s why we went with the majority votes. Isn’t that what they meant by “team of doctors”? I should preface these things by saying that my doctor was not concerned. He was not expecting to find anything, but that's part of the uncertainty, right? Finding nothing doesn't mean there isn't something....

Back to the task on hand - my FNA: So, the poking wasn’t too bad (less painful than a tattoo) and I only gushed a little bit of blood. My doctor smeared it onto some slides and got them sent off to a lab. And here we are three business days later waiting to find out if the enlarged lymph nodes – which could be enlarged for any number of logical reasons – turn out to be cancerous. Still waiting… Still waiting… Still waiting…

So, to take my mind of things I did some actual work – which is totally unauthorized when you’re on short term leave. But I guess it’s not amazing given how much I love my job that I would opt to sift through workpapers on a day when I should just enjoy being drugged up by a cocktail of junk.

P.S. Shortly after finishing this blog my oncologist came to visit me dressed in his fashionable green scrubs. Coming directly from surgery he wanted to share the great news that my FNA was negative (which is positive). So, we get to rest easy until my next CAT scan, which will be in about three weeks.

Doctor roulette anyone?

My general health and well being isn't the only interesting thing that's been going on lately. The kids also seem to provide an endless source of amusement. In the last three weeks we’ve visited the ER twice and been to the doctor’s office an additional 5 times. This is all above and beyond the normal expected pre-chemo visits that I go in for. The fun and joy is that each time that you go to the ER or have to go to the doctor’s office on short notice you end up explaining things to people who don’t have any history with you.

Katarina has been to the doctor three times for an ear infection that just won’t go away. This last time she was finally prescribed a stronger antibiotic and she is feeling much better. Next time I’m going to insist on the stronger dose at the start.

Sebastian, aka monkey boy, fell off his chair and the resulting profusive bleeding of the head wound prompted an ER visit where they superglued his hair like a twist-tie to close the wound. Then he got an ear infection. We opted NOT to take him to the doctor when he subsequently got a fever of 102 and then broke out in a rash. Good thing we didn’t waste another trip (and another co-pay) because we found out the next Monday roseola was going around at the daycare. He’s also much better now.

Then on Friday I volunteered to pull weeds for my company’s volunteer day. Aside from getting smacked in the face several times (once by myself) I came home and my left leg was significantly swollen. Since it hadn’t resolved itself by the next morning (which happened to be one of the first nice and sunny Saturday’s this year) I called the on-call doctor. She insisted that I take the precaution and go to the ER for an ultrasound to make sure it wasn’t a blood clot. I was very sad to spend the morning in the windowless room for two hours until the ultrasound tech was able to confirm that I did not have a clot. But that left the question of what was going on. Now that could be for many reasons including the most likely which is that I have Lymphedema. This is a condition where the lymph nodes aren’t able to can’t get rid of extra fluid (if you wiki it, I’m giving you fair warning there are some gross pictures). This can easily happen given the fact that I am only 10 weeks post surgery where I had 16 lymph nodes removed, it is a known possible side effect of chemo treatment, I have a sore throat that is transforming into a cough which also taxes the lymph system, and I have a general reduced ability to fight infections. So really, I shouldn’t be worried. But alas, I had also noticed a lump and the ultrasound tech checked it out. Looks like there are some lymph nodes that appeared to be large (i.e. 1.8 cm and 1.4 cm). Again, this could totally relate to the fact that I’m kind of sick right now with some pesky cold/cough thing. However, I am a little more active in managing my health and correlated this finding to my PET scan that had some slightly hypermetabolic ill-defined soft tissue that was classified as likely post-operative but that should be monitored to make sure it’s not a lymph node. For high clarity: There’s some tiny chance that these lymph nodes were large (and growing) because they were cancerous. So, when Monday rolled around and my leg was still swollen I called the doctor’s office again. They scheduled me for an appointment on Tuesday morning with the Physician’s Assistant. She was awesome, but in an effort to be conservative, wanted to confer with my oncologist on the most appropriate course of action. I was probably secretly hoping for her to dismiss my concerns as overzealous. But alas, they took me seriously. Today she called back to tell me that during my regularly scheduled appointment on Friday they will stick a big needle in me to try and extract some cells from the lymph nodes for analysis. The results of that lab-work will likely take a week, so until then I can keep biting my nails and stress eating. Need I mention that I downed a ½ a bag of tortilla chips, a can of Pringles, and a ½ a can of nuts today? Delicious and maybe the salt will help bring back the swelling, because by now that’s completely resolved itself and the only proof is a picture I took with my cell phone. But since you’re my friend’s I’ll spare you the visual!

sorry you have cancer - can you fill out this form?

There are lots of things that can keep you busy when you have cancer. Granted, going through 6 cycles of chemotherapy followed by 6 weeks of daily radiation isn't really how I planned to spend my summer and fall of 2010. On the other hand it's pouring rain in Seattle and that's not how I envisioned summer either. Yet there are some small joys in life, like calling the insurance company that authorizes medical disability. I am given the privilege of calling them every few weeks to tell them that I am still being treated for cancer, I am still going through chemo, and I am still going to need time off work. Appropriately sympathetic they give me the same answer each time: "We are waiting for your doctor to confirm your treatment and fax back authorization; I will make a note of all your cycles; good luck, you'll be fine". I wonder how the call center or claims adjudicator at an insurance company knows that I'll be fine, or if it's just written somewhere in their script. Not even my doctor will tell me that I'll be fine more than some statistical probability; so how would someone who's never met me (and whose qualifications I seriously doubt) be able to tell that from a 5 minute phone call? But these calls do warm my heart because it reminds me that they are pushing paper, filling out forms, routing requests and just making the whole insurance and medical process endlessly expensive, time-consuming, and “well controlled”. The other upside is that they are providing jobs for so many people who otherwise wouldn't know what to do with themselves.

So let me familiarize you with the joyous process of getting some well earned disability benefits. I call my insurance company from the hospital to tell them that I am “in for treatment”. About two weeks later, I get a letter in telling me that my claim is in review and that the insurance company is just waiting for my doctor's authorization. A week goes by. I get nasty email messages from my company telling me that I am out of compliance with my time reporting and that my inattention to such important matters will be escalated to the highest executives within the firm. Apparently we take time reporting very seriously (it is an accounting firm after all) and if I miss the cut-off by a second I get at least two email messages. One comes automatically from the system. This one isn't so bad because you can't really blame a computer for not having a brain, sympathy, or concept of extenuating circumstances. The second one comes the next morning from someone who sits in India. He or she runs a report to show everyone who has not submitted their time report for the previous week. They then send a "personalized" email, which doesn't seem very personal at all even though it says things like "it is critical we have all time reported and your compliance is appreciated". I don't mind these insomuch as I totally understand that most people really are just forgetting to submit time reports and need to be sternly reminded. I am however incapable of complying. For the time that I am off on medical disability our national office leaves team has to process the hours in our system. As such, I can't submit my time as work or vacation time. Both would screw something else up down the road. Maybe I should try it and see if something seriously explodes, but chances are that instead I would end up just loosing vacation days because our disability team would somehow be impeded from processing things properly. At this point I call my insurance company again. More of the same. Then they call me and leave me cryptic messages like: “We need some information from you”. No, they don’t specify what information they want or need. Nor do they provide a direct phone number. It’s back to the main menu and to a generic call-center person who will type some notes and forward things on to the case manager. Are you really surprised? About a month after my chemo treatment things start to sort themselves out. Apparently stars align and my doctor’s office has stopped seeing patients, performing surgery, and saving lives long enough to push the right forms back to the insurance company and I get another letter in the mail telling me that I am actually approved for disability. My insurance company then happily marks my case “closed”. In their world once you go back to work you’re “better”. Sweet – if only they could make it so! But alas, by this time I will have already called and started the whole process for the subsequent round. I find it gives me purpose on those days when I really wanted something to do, but didn’t feel like cleaning toilets!

generosity is endless

I have to say that I am very glad that I am 1/2 way through my chemo. I know it just seems like I started this whole thing just a few days ago. I guess time flies when you're having fun. Or maybe it just seems to go faster when you're drugged up every few weeks.

But I somewhat digress. This post is/was supposed to not be a nonchalant recounting of my week. It's really supposed to be about all the support that's crawled out of the woodwork. I didn't know how much I could count on my friends. At some level I was still having a hard time believing that we had really settled into Seattle. I always felt like it was just a temporary thing and that I didn't want to get too attached as we would be moving "soon". Well, the "soon" turned into seven years. That's a long time, so it's not surprising that a great set of friendships have developed in that time - whether I was expecting them to or not. I just fell in with some great people. There are many acts of generosity that keep taking me by surprise. My beauty school gals (from the blog post "posse goes to beauty school") arranged dinners while I was in for surgery. Another friend brought over sundries of items from Trader Joe's to stock my freezer and one of my Phi Chapter Chi O sisters sent a delicious meal from Omaha steaks. I was sent homemade biscotti from Minnesota and I have received many touching and funny cards and emails from unexpected sources and flowers from people whose thoughtfulness has taken me by surprise. I received gifts of clothing (from Alyssa the leopard print top and yoga pants already displayed on the last post) and from another friend (code name LNK) a very hot biohazard t-shirt (see right)! My sorority sister advisory group banded together to plan meals for the weeks I am going to be in the hospital for chemo. Another friend is riding in a cancer bike event in my honor. People have changed their schedules to make sure they can "take me for a walk" (yes kind of like how you need to take the dog out for a walk!) When people found out I would loose my hair they eagerly offered to chop theirs as well. Todd did it right away, which wasn't a big change for him since he already kept it at about 1/4 inch. But another friend (DWW pictured right) has gone through with it and I think the look suits him wonderfully.

So I have also learned that as tough as I try to be I am deeply touched by all the outpouring of support that many people have displayed in a variety of ways. I like to make fun of situations and use humor to keep this whole thing in perspective. But, as I sit here to the calm clicking and humming of the medical devices I don't feel alone. I am surrounded by wonderful people and I appreciate each and every person that has come into my life and willingly shared their perspectives, personal struggles with cancer, generosity, or just let me be completely random with my emotions. You're all exactly what I need.

Atlas Shrugged - aka the weight of the world

In "the good ol' days" people were likely to lose a lot of weight during chemotherapy because of the nausea that is involved. However, modern medicine has cured that problem and now, thanks to anti-nausea medicine and lack of energy, some people can even look forward to gaining weight. Can you say "that's just not fair!?"

Most people who know me well have heard me fret about my weight at one point or another. Shockingly, I wasn't svelte when I was younger. In fact, some kindly referred to it as "babyfat" and others unkindly referred to it as "thunder-thighs". I inherited my father's weak spot for ice cream, chocolate and I are on a first name basis, and coffee really is better when it has a big fat dollop of real cream and sugar.

This new adventure over the past three months is just a roller-coaster of a ride on the scale. Lose 13 lbs. Promptly gain it it back. Rinse. Repeat. Overall the downward trend leaves me optimistic that I will be able to fit back into my jeans that I had before I got married and "b.c." (before children). And my friend said, the only thing worse than having cancer is having cancer and a fat ass.


Well woman exam: $40 copay
Biopsy: $40 copay
Hysterectomy: $100 copay
Chemotherapy: $600 copay
Radiation: $40 copay
Wigs: $250 copay
Being skinny: Priceless
For everything else there's insurance!

follow the yellow brick road (and blog postings via email)

The familiar "duh ding duh ding" of skype called me out of a benadryl induced coma. My mom was calling me. Of course I had to answer as it was sure to be important. I guessed right, she wanted to know how to sign up and follow my blog - but not just to "follow it" she wanted email delivered to her inbox. I hadn't given it much though even though I love that I have a bunch of followers. I had tinkered with things a bit last week to try and see if it would email, but hadn't gone so far as to try and figure anything out. So tonight with a bit of time on my hands and some additional prodding from Alyssa I think I've figured out how you can sign up to get email. It's a test feature at this point, but presumably it will work for those who want to get a little email in their inbox as I post changes. I am testing it tonight with my own yahoo account and we'll see what happens. Cross your fingers for good computer luck tonight.

#2 is upon us, er, me...

I am sitting in the hospital. No, I don't want you to feel sorry for me 'cause right now I'm laughing. In my day job I deal with processes and preventing risk all the time. So here I am, sitting in the hospital and am just laughing at how screwy their risk management processes are. Every time I come in they ask certain questions such as whether or not I wear glasses or contacts (I don't), whether I have allergies (none related to medical stuff), and my address and insurance information (which hasn't changed in many many years). They caution me to not get up and walk the 3 feet to the bathroom if I'm dizzy without help so that I won't fall (and presumably sue them?) So, isn't it surprising that for cycle #1 when I checked in to the hospital they didn't have any idea why I was there? They had record of me checking in, but just had no idea what to do with me. And this time the orders were "submitted" but not "electronically signed", so they couldn't be processed. And to top it off my nurse just came in and asked me what kind of treatment I was supposed to be getting. Her: "You got the the 24 hours of taxol last time, not the three hour dose, right?" Me: "Yeah, uhm, why?" Her: "That's what I thought. But don't worry, I'll fix it." Me, too shocked to say the obvious: "WHAT????" My nurse is great. She's the one that's paying attention here and triple checking things to make sure they're right. I guess she's the last preventive control before stuff gets dripped into my veins, so I'd better trust her.

What? Cycle 2 is next week?

I have been feeling so energetic the past two weeks. Today's energy was spurred by a 3 mile run and a cup of coffffffeeeeee. I feel so good that I am actually anxiously awaiting my next chemo cycle. That may seem obsessive, but I'm very goal oriented. Ya know: "1 down, 5 to go... Let's get this show on the road so I can get back to my real life." So no, I am not worried that it's going to be worse than the last round because that would "not be fun". With the last cycle (April 19th) I was in the hospital at 9 am Monday through Wednesday 10 am. The rest of the week I sat around on the couch and played video games. Being a bump on a log is not something I do often or well - I know it's shocking to have found my weak point. I'm not saying that I am looking forward to how it will make me feel, as it was overall a somewhat crappy experience. I didn't have any energy, I am still way slower and much worn out than before, and I have occasional tingling in my hands and feet, and I felt vaguely nauseated for a week. Sort of your run-of-the-mill symptoms I suppose. Nonetheless next Monday will be another important milestone in the process and even though I'll be tethered to bags of poison, it feels a bit more "active".

For those who want to know, I am scheduled for hospital check-in at 9 am every three weeks on a Monday. Since the hospital provides free internet you'll also be able to email and/or skype (shellssc) me!

4/19 - check, done, complete, conquered, achieved, mastered
5/10
5/31
6/21
7/12
8/2 (last treatment of chemo!!!)
Radiation would likely start somewhere around 8/23 and be daily for 5-6 wks (haven't met the radiologist doctor yet)

Posse goes to beauty school

Christina had me pegged when she said I wanted to run home and just shave my head immediately once I had made up my mind to go that route. However in an uncharacteristic display of restraint, I waited until yesterday to cut my hair in order to have both friends participate and pictures to document the event. Christina, Jill, Alyssa, Erin, Todd, and Katarina got to help. Fun, cheese, chocolate, strawberries and a little bit of port were enjoyed in appropriate quantities.



Below are photos and commentary of what transpired.

The kids are quite excited by the idea of having some friends over for Beauty School. Sebastian is testing out a modern curly reddish do, while Katarina contemplates princess sparkle hair.

Or perhaps maybe blond goes better with Sebastian's blue eyes.

Not to be outdone Katarina gets in on the action.

Is that the first woman president or just a Hillary Clinton look-alike? Hilarity ensues and Christina is next.

Red curls were much more up her alley (that alley would also include chocolate for those who are interested).

So quiet and serious on the outside, this look brought out Jill's inner gym instructor. Don't you feel like dropping and giving her 20?

Erin finds the mop in dire need of some tie-backs.

Nothing a poke in the eye can't fix. SO SORRY!

Alyssa gets it on.

Katarina is thrilled that she gets to stay up past bedtime for the adventure.

Not wanting to be left out, surfer Todd appears.

Or was that Kurt Cobain?

Finally we're ready to pick out styles - this is the look I want to go for - Alyssa is confident we can achieve that "model" look by end of night.
Optimistically we strike out and let the styling begin. Seems like the first cut is the deepest as Katarina takes charge. It's not really a bad idea to let your 4 year old cut your hair, is it?

Maybe a bowl will help get a slightly straighter edge...

Yes, I am laughing so hard I'm crying! Or is it "I laugh for I cannot cry?"

Who knew this was a full service salon. Katarina generously applies some eye shadow.

And then applies some more eye shadow. You can never have enough blue eye shadow, right?

Relax and have your nails done while I give the side a litle trim.

You wanted business in the front and party in the back, right?

After firing stylist #1 I'm crossing my fingers that I'll get some good old fashioned techniques they still employ in Christina's stomping grounds in Auburn. The full service salon extends to other clientele who can enjoy yoga toes while they wait for their turn.

Christina is concentrating hard at making sure this cut will be even, smooth and stylish.

Can you say "wow"? It's the best of both worlds - like a mullett with a rat tail.

Such attention to detail is hard to find in a stylist these days. Especially one that's free.
This is however one of those styles that requires three people to help you get ready in the morning. I am just not sure I can invest that much time and commitment on a daily basis.

Gratuitous product placement.


Even grade A stylists need to go to bed after 9 pm (don't forget this was Thursday night and she had her big Kindergarten entrance exam the next day). Also note the fact that this style is still long enough to braid.
Alas the cut was too much effort to maintain so another stylist had to be fired.

She's very serious about her work.

Nothing says high fashion like being bedazzled with sparkles.

Shiny.

Just check out those edgy steps in the back.

When all else fails you go to someone you trust to take your problem seriously.

Did she really just say "uh-oh"?
Jill describes her masterpiece like one of those dogs that looses patches of fur.

I'm sure I can trust my husband to get it right...

Alyssa thought my ears were pointy so I threw my best gang signs and threatened to kick that Klingon's butt!

Maybe it wasn't such a good haircut, but I love him anyway. And he loves me too anyway.

You want the job done right ya gotta do it yourself.

Finally perfection! It's a "model" look, just like from the magazine. Wait, is that a bowl of hair?

I couldn't ask for better friends and I shouldn't try or the current posse will kick my butt. This night ranks as one of my top 5 best nights ever!

Final product after a shower.