BoobNews: "And now we wait" edition

Posted: 8/8/2016

Today it's been exactly 40 weeks since I started treatment for my cancer, the same amount of time as a full-term pregnancy. But instead of creating life I've been working to maintain it.

My original to-do list was...
Step 1: Portacath surgically implanted in my chest for my IV chemo treatments.
Step 2: 5 months total of chemo. Ok, it ended up being 4 months instead. Stupid neuropathy.
Step 3: Double mastectomy.
Step 4: 6 weeks of daily radiation treatments.
Step 5: Take an estrogen-blocking pill (tamoxifen) every day for 10 years.
Step 6: Not die.

So far, so good. I've completed all 6 steps so far, with a Step 5.5 thrown in there that's yet to be completed, which is finishing out the reconstruction. That surgery will be right after Thanksgiving and, since it's actually a more extensive surgery than the mastectomy itself was, I'll have a 4-6 week recovery time afterward.

Now, because they found some metastasis when they biopsied the lymph nodes from my mastectomy, my cancer was upgraded from Stage 2A to Stage 3A. Because of this, my oncologist has asked me to also consider having an oophorectomy (removal of my ovaries) or a hysterectomy (removing all of the reproductive things). But really, if you're gonna do it, why wouldn't you go all the way? Bag up that whole box and throw it to the curb!

She suggested it because removing these potential sources of future metastasis would MAYBE further reduce my risk of cancer recurrence. The down side is it also would require me to change my 10-year medication course from the Tamoxifen, which is a now-known entity in terms of side effects (which range from bearable to slightly beneficial) to a completely different class of daily medication, which may have completely different side effects. For 10 years. Would the side effects be better? Worse? Who knows? It's an unknown until I actually do it. So that's still under consideration, too. I'll probably end up doing the hysterectomy just to be safe but oh, Magic 8 Ball, why are you not effective?! Step up your game! Earn your $8 price!

Which brings us to the below comic that I saw a few days ago. It summarizes where I am right now really well. (You can see the full-size version here: https://xkcd.com/931/) Maybe the cancer won't come back and skipping a hysterectomy and a different medication regimen wouldn't matter. Yay! But maybe it will try to come back, metastasized to my lady parts, which are completely useless and irrelevant to me at this point in my life. They're like the "Rick Perry's Choice of Vice-Presidential Running Mate" of body parts! Which means the hysterectomy and medication trade-out would definitely be worth it.

That said, maybe the cancer will try to come back, but by metastasizing to one of the other areas it likes to jump to: bone, bone marrow, brain, lungs, lymphatic system. Then I'm just screwed and the above would have been irrelevant, too. *Sad trombone*

So, now I just try to make the best choices as far as trade-offs that I can and watchfully wait. Hopefully, I'm waiting for nothing.

Fuck cancer.

Since my deductible is all paid up this year...

Posted: 8/1/2016

Just settling in for a comfortable, relaxing night for my sleep study.

Posted: 6/19/2016

Went back to working 12-hour shifts today. Jumped back into it with an extra-busy day.

Posted: 6/14/2016

Radiation complete! 🎉

BoobNews: "Teapot" edition

Posted: 6/7/2016

We've now reached the stage of radiation where the side of my rib cage under my right arm is sporting a second-degree burn. That means the top layer of my skin is adhering to whatever clothes or dressings I have on it and then peeling off in sheets. Most of you don't want to see it. It's kinda gnarly. (Don't scroll down!)Those of you who would want to see it? You're messed up people, and I like you. Nevertheless, because of this, I tend to walk around with my right arm cocked out. I look like a little tea pot (hear me shout).

The good news is that today was the last day they're irradiating that particular area. The bad news is that the area will still continue to "cook" for another three days. Then it'll start healing. But, back to good news, I only have one more week of radiation left to go and then I'm done. (Hear me shout: Hooray!)

I told you not to scroll! 

Mini BoobNews: "Ow"

Posted: 5/31/2016

That radiation burn I said didn't hurt much last week? I'd like to retract that statement now, please...

Eleven more sessions to go.

Boob News: "Duke, nuke 'em!" edition

Posted: 5/25/2016

I'm now on day 20 of 33 total doses of radiation. I go in to the office five days a week, Monday through Friday, to get nuked. I also pay $50 a day in co-pays for the privilege. Woo!

Fortunately, they have the whole radiation process pretty dialed in, so it's pretty efficient. Before we began the process they had me come in for a CT-scan to get a 3-D image of my body in the areas to be irradiated. They then put me in the exact same position every day so they can use a whole range of angles to irradiate my right breast, over to my right armpit (because of the lymph node that had a bit of metastasis), and then all the way up the right side of my neck to get the lymph nodes there, too, just to be sure. They do all that while avoiding my heart, most of my lungs, and as much else as possible that I don't need to go nuclear. Hopefully the areas they are targeting will wipe out any stray cancer cells that may be trying to set up shop.

So every day I go in, get topless, and lay on a table surrounded by a giant machine for 10 or 15 minutes (demonstrated in the photo with my top on, to protect the innocent). The main sound is the buzzing of the red light on the wall that lights up each time they do an exposure. Like getting an x-ray, it doesn't hurt, I don't need eye protection, and I can't see or feel anything. The major side effects are fatigue and a radiation burn on my skin over the whole irradiated area, front and back. But, meh, as a pasty-skinned chick, this burn ain't any worse than many I earned in my childhood summers.

Meanwhile, my radiation techs - Heather and Sara - sit on the far side of a big, honkin', foot-thick door, controlling the machine remotely with a computer. Every time that giant sucker slides shut I feel like I maaaaaay be on the wrong side of it. I did tell them it was a real missed opportunity that they don't have it decked out like the sliding doors on the USS Enterprise. I'm hoping they rectify that before I finish my doses.

Then, may I live long and prosper.

Posted: 4/27/2016

Markers and sutures and scars, oh my! Healing from my double mastectomy is getting there and radiation starts tomorrow. Today is the "dry run" to double-check target placement.

Posted: 4/10/2016

Good news! I've hardly noticed my chest soreness today.
Bad news! I've hardly noticed because the rest of my body has hurt so much while hugging the toilet all day.

Thanks for the GI crud, household men. :(

BoobNews: "Tiny Tatas and a Metastasis to Match" edition

Posted: 4/5/2016

The port is out! And look how little my chest is now! It's seems so foreign to me because it hasn't been this size since about middle school. It's adorable!

Of course, I have no idea how most of my clothes fit anymore, since most were sized to accommodate my chest before - being big chested ain't a walk in the park when it comes to clothes shopping. Now, none of my bras fit and I don't have the foggiest idea what size does. My current size doesn't even matter though because it'll change in two weeks.

On the 21st I go in for my first expansion, where they'll inject saline into the two spacers in my chest via a port on each. That will start stretching my skin for the future repair, so my size and shape will be changing then. I've been advised to plan to take muscle relaxers that day to offset the discomfort. But! Fun fact: years ago, my husband's uncle is the one who developed and patented the access port in the spacers currently installed in my chest. So thanks, Uncle Greg!

And some good news: I was able to have the last two drains removed from the sides of my chest yesterday and I feel SO much better. 95% of the pain and discomfort I've had since the operation has been from the drain on my right side. And now it's finally out and I'm so much more comfortable. Which means that I was even able to sleep in my own bed last night instead of in the recliner in the living room. Honestly, because my chest is still recovering, the recliner would have still been more comfortable but I just really wanted to sleep in my own bed anyway.

Also, my plastic surgeon says I can go back to work when I feel up to it. It's been 11 days since surgery so I think I can get back to it pretty soon, basically as soon as I can get the proper paperwork done and processed. So, probably next week.

I also spoke with my primary surgeon the other day, the one who did the mastectomy part of the surgery, because he received the final biopsy reports back from all of the tissue. The tumor in my right breast looked as expected, and my left breast was completely clear of any cancer. During the surgery he also removed the first two lymph nodes closest to my right breast, though, and the closest one had a teeny little tumor in it - it was 0.25 mm - so the breast cancer had in fact started to metastasize into my lymphatic system. Fortunately, the second lymph node appeared completely free of any cancer, so it looks like the cancer had only just gotten to the first node and not beyond that. And that node is now in a medical waste bin somewhere, so hopefully all will be well.

The main impact that seems to have on me right now is when I start radiation in a few weeks, they'll target both my breast and my right armpit, where the node was. I'll meet with the radiation oncologist next week and we'll start the radiation soon thereafter. Then I'll be getting nuked Monday through Friday for six weeks. So, toasted tata and armpit, here I come!

BoobNews: "Drugs, drains, and dancing" edition

Posted: 4/1/2016

My recovery has gone ok so far, thanks to my new best friend Percocet. We've been pretty tight for the last week but I feel like we're seeing too much of each other so I've started weaning down our time together. It's definitely a "This hurts me more than it hurts you" kind of break up though.

That said, I'm a little more comfortable today than I was because we were able to take a couple of my drains out. During surgery they placed four drains, two in each side. These come out of the sides of my chest to let excess blood and other fluids drain out as my body recovers from last week's insult. Twice a day I get to empty the drains and, when the volume is low enough, they pull them out once they're no longer necessary. They know the volume is low enough based on a log I've been keeping. And my semi-functional brain helped me leave the log at home on the kitchen table for my first appointment yesterday. Oops.

My ever-patient mom, Cathy Abbruscato, drove all the way home again so she could take a photo of the log and text the photo to me to show the PA at the office. Verdict: two of the four drains could be removed. Hooray!

The procedure is pretty straight forward. The PA removed the Tegaderm holding it in place, told me to take a deep breath and then just pulled it straight out. It wasn't particularly painful but my body objected to the procedure anyway by promptly having a nice vagal response: I got lightheaded, with cold sweat running down my face, and turned sheet white. After about 5 minutes and a Gatorade, my blood pressure and color restabilized and she was able to pull out the second one with no problem at all. It just felt super weird to feel the small tubing slide across my chest from the INSIDE. Feeling queasy yet? Sorry. My life is weird right now. But that just leaves two more for next week, which will be a relief because the remaining one on my right side is the uncomfortable one.

In the meantime, I've been well on my way to finishing reading the entire internet while conscious between meds. As you can see, I've got my little command central set up on the table in the living room, next to the recliner I've been living in. Everything a girl could need, including now some snacks and new reading materials from Heather Addor, and a bouquet of flowers to enjoy from Briana Bowden, as well as a bouquet from all of my awesome Seton NICU peeps, because I have the best co-workers ever.

Also, one of my recovery goals was to feel well enough to get out to Ballet Austin to enjoy tickets that the beautiful Anne Marie Bloodgood gifted to me and Matt so we could watch her and her awesome husband Paul dance. We were able to see them in Hamlet several years ago, before I met them. They were just as amazing of dancers last night as we remembered. I'm so thankful for the gift and that I was feeling well enough to make it.

BoobNews: "Hopped Up On Pain Meds" edition

Posted: 3/16/2016

Wheeeeeeeeeee!

Clearly the percocets are doing their job well today. The IV dilaudid last night worked really well but totally knocked me out. The percocets at least let me be conscious, although a bit loopy. I just feel like I did about a thousand push-ups yesterday - the muscles in my chest are pretty sore.

I'm working the heck out of these sexy skid-free socks, though.

BoobNews: "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye" edition

Posted: 3/25/2016

Double mastectomy in a few hours. Goodbye, boobs. We've had a good run together, other than that whole trying-to-kill-me part. Left boob, I know you weren't actively trying to, but in this case you're guilty by association. It's time for us all to move on. Separately.

Posted: 3/25/2016

Rockin' the pre-surgery paraphernalia.

Posted: 3/25/2016

And the day begins.

Posted: 3/24/2016

I don't want to go to sleep because when I wake up it will be Friday.

Posted: 3/22/2016

I found my new hairbrush for the head fluff I'm growing back in.

BoobNews: "The most unkindest cut of all" edition

Posted: 3/16/2016

I know the Ides of March was actually yesterday but I just got my surgery date today. Next Friday (3/25) I'll have my double mastectomy, which will take a few hours, immediately followed by stage 1 of my reconstruction, which will take a few more hours I believe. Stage 1 will include my plastic surgeon placing "spacers," which I've been told feels like you've had two racquetballs installed in your chest. To prevent PTSD, please refrain from waving sports equipment near me for a while.

That'll be followed by one or two nights in the hospital (Seton Main) with several chest drains and (hopefully) some good drugs. Then I'll be home, permanently nipple-less, adorned by the chest drains, required to sleep in a recliner, barred from driving, unable to lift my arms over my head, out of work, and relatively useless for anywhere from 2-6 weeks. Can you feel the excitement?

I will have the benefits of my amazing husband, his lovely parents, and my mom at my side for much of that. That said though, if you've previously thought you might want to help out in some way but I looked way too healthy to warrant it, now's your time to shine! My dear Katherine Mary Smithpreviously set up a care calendar for me where you can let us know if you want to offer any edibles. You can log in at http://www.carecalendar.org/ to let us know with the ID# 224243 and security code 6163. Food isn't necessary though, as well wishes, positive vibes, good juju, or donor nipples will also be happily accepted if offered, too.

Posted: 3/7/2016

9:30pm MRI. Designer evening wear. What's not to like?

BoobNews: "No Mo' Chemo" edition

Posted: 2/29/2016

TL;DR version: Chemo's over. Double mastectomy is next.

Today would have been my 9th dose of Taxol (of 12) but that silly neuropathy is kicking up again. My toes on both feet have been numb for several weeks and I've had increasing numbness in my left hand for about 2 weeks too, but it hasn't bothered me much. Until just this morning, that is. 

Now, I have new neuropathy. When I elevate my left hand for very long, like to drive or while eating a sandwich, it gets rather uncomfortable all the way up to my bicep. I reported this to my nurse practitioner this morning like a good girl, and I got grounded from chemo for it. Rude!

Their concern is, apparently, the risk of any neuropathy becoming permanent increases as we get further into chemo. Since it's getting uncomfortable and starting to affect use of my left hand/arm (and she's concerned the numbness in my feet could cause balance and safety issues down the road as well), we're stopping chemo now. And after 4 months of chemo, I didn't even get to ring the "last dose bell" while being covered in confetti - a little custom they have at the office - but I've been promised I can come and get glittered at my next office visit to make up for that.

So honestly, I'm a little conflicted about where we are. On one hand, it's not like chemo is FUN and I'm dying to do more of it. But I'm also not interested in dying to do less of it, either. When I asked about how outcomes are affected by stopping the chemo early, she said it doesn't seem to negatively affect outcomes but they don't have any data to back that up right now. They're looking at doing a retrospective study to get some numbers, but haven't yet. So...encouraging? I guess?

It's a bit scary because I've had the mindset that I'm going to do all of this, get rid of it, and be done with it, but then a few days ago I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a post by Humans of New York (https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork). The guy being interviewed talked about how his wife beat breast cancer in 1999 but has had it come back and it's now in her bones. The thought that that could be me someday makes me want to do as many doses as possible. It'd be nice if I had my own "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. Then I could just cheat and see how each option plays out. What if I just do the 8 doses? 12 doses? Does the neuropathy improve? Does my ending change? Do I get hit by a bus tomorrow? Who knows? So here we are: I guess I just "pays me money and takes me chances."

So now it's time to schedule the surgeons. Mastectomy and first part of reconstruction, here I come.

Posted: 2/22/2016

It's Monday! Today is the 8th dose of Taxol (out of 12) and the 12th chemo dose overall (of 16). One more month to go.

BoobNews: "Ice and Fuzz" edition

Photos by Daniel Nguyen (https://www.facebook.com/petrodan)

Posted: 2/10/2016

Just before my trip, I was having chemo-induced pain and numbness called peripheral neuropathy (http://www.cancer.net/navigating-ca…/…/peripheral-neuropathy). The neuropathy is progressive with the chemo and can be permanent, and it was in both of my hands and about three toes on my left foot. It hurt to button small buttons, try to open pop-tops on soda cans, attempting to unknot my kids' shoes. Really, anything that put any pressure on my fingertips hurt like a mo-fo. But all praise the magic of the Caribbean - the islands fixed it! Well OK, the Caribbean and the fact I had to miss a week of chemo because of poor results on my blood work.

Although the numbness in my toes remains, the week off of chemo allowed my fingers to return to normal. Hurray! Since then I've had three more doses of chemo but now I keep my fingers and toes on ice during each infusion. This is supposed to sometimes, maybe, possibly help protect against the nerve damage that causes the neuropathy. So far it's been working pretty well, although I noticed a few days ago that more of my toes are now numb and occasionally will randomly give me a friendly little stab of pain, as if I've stepped on something small and sharp. I've heard that chemo side-effects are always changing and can keep you on your toes but didn't think it was meant quite so literally. Six more chemo doses to go!

But now the good news: Hair! It's downy and short and barely there but it appears my scalp is attempting to cover itself again in the last week. It's odd because the chemo I did back in the fall made my hair fall out while graciously leaving my eyelashes and eyebrows untouched, but the Taxol I'm on now quickly dropped almost all of my eyelashes and half of my eyebrows but is letting my hair regrow. Odd how that works, but I'm not complaining because I now have a lustrous 1/8 inch of hair to enjoy. I mean, look at what a sexy beast I am these days! Soon I may even have as much fluff as a baby duckling! Life goals!

Meanwhile, my 4-year-old goes to pre-school during the day and his little classmates have noticed for quite a while now that Asher's mom doesn't have hair. One of them asked me about it this afternoon, so I explained to the little gathering of kids that I take a special medicine that made my hair fall out but now it's starting to grow again. Before I knew it, I was bending over in the playground with a pack of little kids rubbing the fuzz on my noggin and giggling. Good times. I'm sure some parents will be confused tonight when their child tells them they rubbed Asher's mom's head today though.

Bonus good news: I've been feeling well enough to even get out on the motorcycle a couple times this past week. Other than my one ride last month, I haven't been strong enough to ride since October. Winning!

Posted: 2/4/2016

Behold what $1,200 of co-pay buys. 16 doses. Needles and syringes not included. Damn, cancer! Why you gotta be such an expensive date? I don't even like you.

Thank you CVS for telling me there was "co-pay assistance" available from the drug manufacturer, though!

Boob News: The "Fingers, toes, and lab work blows" edition

Posted: 1/19/2016

For those of you who have been waiting for an update on how my booty is feeling, I'm happy to report that after a full month of significant pain and constant discomfort it's finally better. So thank you for your concern! Also, you are a weird person. I'm just kidding. You're awesome. I love you. But really. It's better now. You can stop thinking about it. Don't be weird.

Moving on! I last was able to work on Dec. 13 and ever since then the aforementioned pain from chemo complications kept me tethered to the house. I finally started feeling better last week but in the meantime have noticed that I've developed peripheral neuropathy in my fingers on both hands. A great little summary of what that means is here:
http://www.cancer.org/peripheral-neuropathy-caused-by-chemo…

Go ahead and check it out for a minute. I'll wait.

Ok. So, not great news, right? The Taxol is making it so I'm having numbness and some pain in my fingertips. It's at an annoying-but-manageable level right now. I can't untie the double knots in my kids' shoes, or open the pop top on a soda can well, or button tight shirt buttons easily, but I can work, ride the motorcycle, and do 99% of my normal stuff. But now a couple nights ago I noticed it's starting in my left foot, too. Which means I'm sure it'll pop up in my right foot any day now, also. And it will get worse with every dose of Taxol. And may or may not improve. Ever. So, I have to figure out how far I want to let it go before I stop the Taxol. The goal is 12 doses. I've done three. I want to be as aggressive as possible on killing this tumor but I also have to balance that against the quality of life I'll have afterward in daily pain levels and being able to perform daily tasks, work, and do the things I enjoy. Something to consider as we go forward.

At the same time the neuropathy was kicking in, I noticed that I'm rapidly running out of the vacation time that's been giving me income while I've been out on FMLA, so I considered converting over to short term disability. That's when I learned new and exciting things about how FMLA and disability leaves work. I thought I understood how they worked, but I didn't fully, so I want to share in case you're ever in a similar position. I know it sounds super boring so I'll keep it brief...

You get 12 weeks total of FMLA in a year. You can take it paid with vacation time, you can take it unpaid, you can take it intermittently or continuously, you can take it in conjunction with disability, or not. You can take it in a box, you can take it with a fox. You can take it here or there, but regardless of how you take it, the only thing it does is prevent your employer from firing you during that time. So after I've used up the 12 weeks of FMLA, I've been told that my employer will "no longer be able to hold" my job. So once I use those 12 weeks up, I'll have to reapply to my employer for a job, lose all of my seniority, possibly (probably) end up no longer getting to work in the NICU, and certainly end up back on night shift, all while just trying to come back to work after cancer.

C'mon FMLA! Who's able to get through chemo, a mastectomy, reconstructive surgery, and radiation with less than 12 weeks total out of work? Well, it looks like I damn well am. They'll have take the NICU from my cold, dead hands. Um, metaphorically speaking. I mean I am doing all this stuff to avoid that.

So since I learned all that info on Wednesday, I got my happy ass into work on Thursday. And on Saturday. And Sunday. On Monday I went in for chemo. They took blood for my lab work first, like they always do. An hour later the nurse came back with the results. My red blood cells (RBCs) are low, my hemoglobin and hematocrit (H&H) are low, my white blood cells (WBCs) are REALLY low. Translation: I'm anemic, I have no immune system, and I can't get my chemo until they improve. We'll have to try again next week to see if I can get the 4th dose of my Taxol then, which tacks another week onto my cancer treatment timeline. Hmm. Note to self: perhaps working three 12-hour shifts over the course of four days was overly ambitious.

The good news there is last week my mom, Cathy, called and asked if I wanted to join her at my parents' beach house on the island of St. Kitt's, her treat. Heck yeah I would. I verified there's emergency medical treatment available if I need it, I slapped on a paper face mask from the oncologist (remember, no immune system), left well before the crack of dawn this morning, and now I'm typing this from her villa in the Caribbean.

I'll be busy rebuilding my blood components from the beach until Saturday if anyone needs me.

Posted: 1/11/2016

Posted: 1/7/2016

I haven't been able to ride for two months but felt able to today so I seized the opportunity. Fuck you, cancer! We were ton up, baby!

BoobNews: Tushies and Taxol edition

Posted: 12/29/2015

Short version: I've been getting my butt handed to me by AC chemo side-effects, but the new Taxol chemo seems better.

The last update from this intrepid explorer left us awaiting the last dose of the every-2-week (AC) chemo. It turned out to be much better than the previous week. My nurse practitioner had me dose myself with some medications and then also gave me IV fluids afterward, which ended up helping me to feel much better than I had expected, side-effect-wise. That was the good news. The bad news is that mid-chemo dose, we got a call from the pre-school. Asher was sick. My wonderful in-laws went and picked him up for us, and I later determined that he had hand, foot and mouth disease. That was Monday. The beginning of hell.

On Tuesday my compromised immune system gifted me with illness and I lolled on the couch, feeling puny all afternoon. By the time I crawled up to bed that night I was damp with fever. I woke up Wednesday morning feeling better and still didn't have any ill-feelings from the chemo. I was so excited! And then Thursday began the tushie trouble. I'll spare you the gory details because I'm a lady, damn it (see attached photo), but the summary is that side effects from the AC chemo created a chain reaction of side effects that ended with a constant pain level of about a 3 (on a 10-point scale), with occasional spikes of pain up to a 9 that would last the better part of an hour. A nine! I pride myself on being pretty tough, but this pain had me sheet-white and on the verge of tears. It was literally an enormous pain in the ass. It prevented me from walking, sitting, or sleeping well. It's now two weeks later. The constant pain is finally gone in just the last few days, and the intermittent pain level is down to a 5 or 6. So, progress, but not as fast as I'd like.

Meanwhile, I started my new chemo regimen of weekly Taxol yesterday.Matthew couldn't join me so my sister, Catherine, drove all the way out from Houston to take me since I wasn't sure if I'd be okay to drive afterward. We presented ourselves to the office at 9 am for the lab work and the office visit I always need to do before the chemo infusion.

Now, all morning I'd felt queasy. And the closer it got to chemo time, the more queasy I felt. Once I went back to talk to the NP they began to run down the long list of questions they ask each time. "Have you had any fever? Night sweats? Mouth sores? Numbness or tingling?" and on and on. "Any nausea?" I tell her that I haven't had any, except for this morning, but I'm sure it's just nerves before chemo. And now it was time to learn something new! She told me that anticipatory nausea is a real thing. I've begun to associate this process with negative feelings and so my body is having a stress response to it. It's rather Pavlovian. Except that instead of a bell causing a drooling dog, it's a drug causing a drooling bitch. Even the thought of the scent of the chemo I'd been getting will make me feel ill with a gross mouth-watery response at this point. So, more drugs to the rescue! I now have a prescription for Lorazepam to take before chemo each week. My nurse friends will recognize it as an anxiolytic, but apparently it has anti-nausea properties to it too, so it should be double boon. Huzzah! My bag o' drugs continues to grow.

And then it came time to actually get the Taxol. I got premedicated with a Benadryl mix first. And then I became conscious again about an hour later. That was just in time to verify the Taxol with the nurse so she could start it for me. Now, as I mentioned before, the AC chemo had a distinctive scent, and it would waft up from the tubing as it infused. No one else around me could smell it, but my med port is right under my face, so I'd spend half the hours-long infusion time trying to cover the smell with mints, hot chocolate, snacks. Anything to mask it. So, now it came time to hook up the Taxol. I tensed up and turned my face away, so my sister held my hand as I waited for the nauseating smell to slink its way onto my face. The nurse hooked up the tubing, flushed the line with saline (yep, there's that salt-water taste), started the Taxol and...nothing. No terrible smell, no awful taste in the back of my throat. It's a Christmas miracle!

We spent the next 2 hours watching a movie on my iPad and then it was done. We unhooked, took care of some scheduling for the future, had some lunch and went home. Granted, I passed out on the couch for a while (that Benadryl is effective stuff) but since then I've felt pretty good. My appetite is fine - shout out to Cyrus and his wife for providing our amazing post-chemo dinner last night - and the ill feelings that were usually starting by now with the AC chemo are still absent. The only thing I've noticed so far is feeling fuzzy-headed; it's definitely a little harder to focus than usual. That's probably hard to believe based on the dissertation I just wrote, but you'll just have to take my word for it.

So, hopefully this weekly chemo will be not too bad, which would be good because I have eleven more doses of it.

So for those of you keeping score, so far the thing that's kicked my ass the most in this whole adventure is...my own ass. Here's hoping I can get that straightened out soon. I'd like to start the new year focused on what's ahead, instead of what's behind me.

Posted: 12/8/2015

It's been a while since I updated so here's the (extensive) skinny. Short version: I'm bald, chemo blows, I'm almost to the next phase of it, and I'm not dead yet.

About 10 days after I buzzed my head, I got out of the shower to find that most of the 1/4 inch of hair growth I had was still hanging in there on the sides and back of my head. It was as dark and fluffy as always. But it had almost completely fallen out on the top. It looked like I had an extremely unattractive case of male-pattern baldness. All that remained was an amount of peach fuzz that wouldn't have even made a teenage boy proud. And I could feel it waving gently in the breeze as I walked. So weird feeling. So the razor blades came out, and I've now looked like Kilroy (see below) for a few weeks.

But fear not! Those random bastard chin hairs we're always fighting? (Ladies, you know the ones I mean.) Those are still in there trying to fight the good fight. Good to know some things never change.

Meanwhile, the every 2-week chemo schedule has been continuing. I've done three of the four sessions of those now. The good news is that it doesn't hurt. They use my port, which I numb first with Emla cream, to take blood and then give me my meds. The bad news is that it feels...weird. Unpleasantly weird. It creates turbulence in the large blood vessels in the middle of my chest, which is a very disconcerting feeling. At the same time, it makes my mouth water in that I-may-be-sick-soon way that your mouth sometimes does, while also creating a sour taste in the back of my throat. I'm finding the more times I go, the more I dread it.

The side effects of it haven't been too bad though until this past week. Usually, I would feel a little off on the Monday of chemo. Then Wednesday would be the worst, with enormous fatigue - even walking to the next room would wind me - and anything that brought on the fatigue would also cause nausea and lightheadedness and general feelings of awfulness. But then that would gradually improve over the next several days, so that by the weekend I felt fairly normal.

This last round was worse though. I was nauseated to the point of vomiting a few times (the first time that's happened) the Monday of chemo and felt fatigued and terrible all week. By the time the weekend rolled around I was a little better but not feeling normal yet. In fact, I wanted badly to go on a memorial motorcycle ride on Sunday for a friend who killed himself. I ended up having to ride on the back of my own bike because I wasn't strong enough to do it myself. Jeremiah is one of the few people I would pillion for, but it was discouraging to admit I couldn't ride on my own.

And now it's Tuesday. I was feeling better this morning. Yay! My plan to work tomorrow looked like it was going to happen. Yay! I took my oldest son out for breakfast before school this morning and had a nice meal with him. Yay! I had a nice little breakfast burrito. Not because I wanted one, mind you - my appetite has been disappearing - but because I knew I needed to eat something. Then it turned out that it gave me food poisoning. Are you f$^*ing kidding me? So now I've spent the day on the couch trying to not move so the stomach cramps don't flare up, and not being able to eat like I know I need to. Which means I'll probably be more tired and more easily fatigueable again tomorrow.

So, going to work gets pushed back at least one more day. And that bums me out. I like work! Going gives me a sense of normalcy and purpose. It saves some of my vacation time for later when I may need it more than now. I get to see my co-workers, whom I love. I get to see the babies and their families, whom I love. Well, most of the families...

But that's where I am right now. All of the exciting, fast-paced changes and updates are over for now. Now it's just the daily grind of suckitude. Every day when I wake up, I'm having to monitor myself. Do I have enough energy that I can drive the kids to school? Is that terrible feeling I have nausea or hunger? Or maybe it's heartburn? I need to figure it out so I know which med to take or maybe just eat something. Do I even have any appetite for that matter? Probably not. What can I make myself eat anyway? When everyone gets home, can I make anything for them to eat or will standing that long be too much?

It's nothing earth-shattering or terrible. It's just this ongoing feeling of being weak, or at least weakened, and I hate it. I'm not used to not knowing what my body can do on any given day. I'm not used to not being able to plan anything very well because I just don't know how I'll feel. I mean, I've been meaning to type this update for days but didn't have the energy. Granted, it's better than being dead. But still. Aggravating.

And on the topic of eating, the amazing Amy Sheinberg and S Van Lokey sent us an enormous and much-appreciated food care package, which we've been enjoying on some of my down days. And my wonderful in-laws, Chris and Terry Smithhave brought us food multiple times. And then my dear Katherine Mary Smith even set up a care calendar for me a while back.

I didn't publicize the care calendar because it meant admitting I might need some help and I felt like I didn't need help. And mostly I didn't really. But the time may be starting to come where I could use a little in the future. So I wanted to let people know that should you feel moved to (and PLEASE don't feel like anyone needs to, because I know about busy lives and obligations, and lord knows Bastrop is NOWHERE NEAR most of you, so seriously. Only if you really, really want to) you can let us know if you want to bring something by, by marking it on the calendar. It's at http://www.carecalendar.org/ . The calendar ID is 224243 and security code is 6163. But I promise we will not starve if you don't. Matt's a great cook. Fire extinguisher use is much more likely when I cook.

Now that brings us to the future! One more round of the every-two weeks stuff to go on 12/14. Because of the cumulative nature of the chemo, I can look forward to feeling even crummier after the next round than I did this past time. But then on 12/28 I'll switch to weekly chemo with a different type of drug. Word on the street is that the fatigue will become ever-present, at an unknown level, but the rest of the side effects should go away. That's something to look forward to, at least.

To review the plan, it was:

Step 1: Portacath surgically implanted in my chest.

Step 2: 5 months total of chemo. I'll get a treatment every other Monday for 2 months. Then I'll switch to getting a treatment every week for 3 more months.

Step 3: Double mastectomy about a month after chemo finishes. Recovery from that will take about a month.

Step 4: After recovery from the mastectomy, 6 weeks of daily radiation treatments.

Step 5: Take an estrogen-blocking pill (tamoxifen) every day for 10 years.

Step 6: Not die.

That means I've completed Step 1, almost completed the first part of Step 2, and am continuing to do Step 6. And I suppose that's good enough for now.

BoobNews: "Hair we go!" edition

Posted: 12/8/2015

It's been a while since I updated so here's the (extensive) skinny. Short version: I'm bald, chemo blows, I'm almost to the next phase of it, and I'm not dead yet.

About 10 days after I buzzed my head, I got out of the shower to find that most of the 1/4 inch of hair growth I had was still hanging in there on the sides and back of my head. It was as dark and fluffy as always. But it had almost completely fallen out on the top. It looked like I had an extremely unattractive case of male-pattern baldness. All that remained was an amount of peach fuzz that wouldn't have even made a teenage boy proud. And I could feel it waving gently in the breeze as I walked. So weird feeling. So the razor blades came out, and I've now looked like Kilroy (see below) for a few weeks.

But fear not! Those random bastard chin hairs we're always fighting? (Ladies, you know the ones I mean.) Those are still in there trying to fight the good fight. Good to know some things never change.

Meanwhile, the every 2-week chemo schedule has been continuing. I've done three of the four sessions of those now. The good news is that it doesn't hurt. They use my port, which I numb first with Emla cream, to take blood and then give me my meds. The bad news is that it feels...weird. Unpleasantly weird. It creates turbulence in the large blood vessels in the middle of my chest, which is a very disconcerting feeling. At the same time, it makes my mouth water in that I-may-be-sick-soon way that your mouth sometimes does, while also creating a sour taste in the back of my throat. I'm finding the more times I go, the more I dread it.

The side effects of it haven't been too bad though until this past week. Usually, I would feel a little off on the Monday of chemo. Then Wednesday would be the worst, with enormous fatigue - even walking to the next room would wind me - and anything that brought on the fatigue would also cause nausea and lightheadedness and general feelings of awfulness. But then that would gradually improve over the next several days, so that by the weekend I felt fairly normal.

This last round was worse though. I was nauseated to the point of vomiting a few times (the first time that's happened) the Monday of chemo and felt fatigued and terrible all week. By the time the weekend rolled around I was a little better but not feeling normal yet. In fact, I wanted badly to go on a memorial motorcycle ride on Sunday for a friend who killed himself. I ended up having to ride on the back of my own bike because I wasn't strong enough to do it myself. Jeremiah is one of the few people I would pillion for, but it was discouraging to admit I couldn't ride on my own.

And now it's Tuesday. I was feeling better this morning. Yay! My plan to work tomorrow looked like it was going to happen. Yay! I took my oldest son out for breakfast before school this morning and had a nice meal with him. Yay! I had a nice little breakfast burrito. Not because I wanted one, mind you - my appetite has been disappearing - but because I knew I needed to eat something. Then it turned out that it gave me food poisoning. Are you f$^*ing kidding me? So now I've spent the day on the couch trying to not move so the stomach cramps don't flare up, and not being able to eat like I know I need to. Which means I'll probably be more tired and more easily fatigueable again tomorrow.

So, going to work gets pushed back at least one more day. And that bums me out. I like work! Going gives me a sense of normalcy and purpose. It saves some of my vacation time for later when I may need it more than now. I get to see my co-workers, whom I love. I get to see the babies and their families, whom I love. Well, most of the families...

But that's where I am right now. All of the exciting, fast-paced changes and updates are over for now. Now it's just the daily grind of suckitude. Every day when I wake up, I'm having to monitor myself. Do I have enough energy that I can drive the kids to school? Is that terrible feeling I have nausea or hunger? Or maybe it's heartburn? I need to figure it out so I know which med to take or maybe just eat something. Do I even have any appetite for that matter? Probably not. What can I make myself eat anyway? When everyone gets home, can I make anything for them to eat or will standing that long be too much?

It's nothing earth-shattering or terrible. It's just this ongoing feeling of being weak, or at least weakened, and I hate it. I'm not used to not knowing what my body can do on any given day. I'm not used to not being able to plan anything very well because I just don't know how I'll feel. I mean, I've been meaning to type this update for days but didn't have the energy. Granted, it's better than being dead. But still. Aggravating.

And on the topic of eating, the amazing Amy Sheinberg and S Van Lokey sent us an enormous and much-appreciated food care package, which we've been enjoying on some of my down days. And my wonderful in-laws, Chris and Terry Smithhave brought us food multiple times. And then my dear Katherine Mary Smith even set up a care calendar for me a while back.

I didn't publicize the care calendar because it meant admitting I might need some help and I felt like I didn't need help. And mostly I didn't really. But the time may be starting to come where I could use a little in the future. So I wanted to let people know that should you feel moved to (and PLEASE don't feel like anyone needs to, because I know about busy lives and obligations, and lord knows Bastrop is NOWHERE NEAR most of you, so seriously. Only if you really, really want to) you can let us know if you want to bring something by, by marking it on the calendar. It's at http://www.carecalendar.org/ . The calendar ID is 224243 and security code is 6163. But I promise we will not starve if you don't. Matt's a great cook. Fire extinguisher use is much more likely when I cook.

Now that brings us to the future! One more round of the every-two weeks stuff to go on 12/14. Because of the cumulative nature of the chemo, I can look forward to feeling even crummier after the next round than I did this past time. But then on 12/28 I'll switch to weekly chemo with a different type of drug. Word on the street is that the fatigue will become ever-present, at an unknown level, but the rest of the side effects should go away. That's something to look forward to, at least.

To review the plan, it was:

Step 1: Portacath surgically implanted in my chest.

Step 2: 5 months total of chemo. I'll get a treatment every other Monday for 2 months. Then I'll switch to getting a treatment every week for 3 more months.

Step 3: Double mastectomy about a month after chemo finishes. Recovery from that will take about a month.

Step 4: After recovery from the mastectomy, 6 weeks of daily radiation treatments.

Step 5: Take an estrogen-blocking pill (tamoxifen) every day for 10 years.

Step 6: Not die.

That means I've completed Step 1, almost completed the first part of Step 2, and am continuing to do Step 6. And I suppose that's good enough for now.

Posted: 11/16/2016

Well that was fun.

Posted: 11/12/2015

Inspired by Cristina's haircut suggestion and Alicia's bad-assery: I'm now heavily asymmetrical and purple. I also want to thank Clint and Payne at Ulta in Bastrop for making me feel good today!

https://www.facebook.com/dulcenea/videos/10156274383670650/

Below photos taken during chemo on 11/16/2015, courtesy of Dalton Campbell Photography...