One Year Later!

Somewhere in the midst of all the exhausting work of fighting cancer and still working and being a mom, I lost the ability to update this blog. Just in case you thought I didn't make it through, here I am to tell you: I am here. I am rocking my post-chemo pixie cut, my soft silicone foobies, a nosering, a devoted Chihuahua, and a life much more rich and full after facing such a dark time.

I still love to drink Cosmos and laugh with my amazing friends (this is my beautiful vet school bestie, Melissa). That much hasn't changed.

 

Sooo... let's see... where did I leave off? I think I got to the part where my hair fell out. Right. So we did indeed have a "hair-shaving party" and my whole family came to help me try to laugh through this depressing admission of illness. I was feeling terrible from my 2nd round of the nasty AC chemo, and really not enjoying that my hair was coming out in clumps in the shower. I really wanted to be able to shave my head and donate it to Locks of Love, but I washed it and then couldn't dry it or it would've been all over my bathroom floor, so I admitted defeat and just... got rid of it. Sigh. My beautiful long blonde hair, a part of who I have always been. I told myself "it's just hair, it will grow back" and tried hard to stay positive, but man, that was rough. On May 27, 2015, I sat on a chair out in our backyard and let it just happen. It was an ironically beautiful, sunny spring day. My sister wielded the clippers, and my sweet nephew Brooks bagged up the clumps. My niece Cadence did her best to keep me laughing as she documented with photos - and I love her for trying. My hubby Kevin was my rock through this experience. If you are reading this as a chemo patient about to lose your hair: I do not recommend trying to make this into a "party". Loved ones gathering around looking sad and awkward while you shave your head just does not feel fun. Lock yourself in the bathroom with your spouse or best friend and perform this sad act privately. Here are some head-shaving photos. I was trying my best to be brave and happy but was kinda dying inside a little.

 

 

My sweet Ashlyn May telling me it will be okay.



 Doing my best to triumph over this terrible day.

 

Okie-dokie. So now that that's out of the way (phew.... it only took me a year to gather the courage to post about that), we can move on with the story.

 

So chemo went on through the whole summer. The treatments themselves were actually pretty fun (!!). I became good friends with the woman I mentioned in my last post, Kayla, and her husband Andy, and we basically hysterically laughed in our chemo chairs every 2 weeks together. I also had a friend or family member join me for the treatments: My mom, dad, sister; Kevin (x2), my friends Meg, Dean, and Melissa. Have I mentioned how awesome my support system was? So they laughed along with us and we had an amazing little party each time in the back corner of the chemo room.

Kayla and me at one of our boisterous "chemo parties". Not joking... chemo infusions were a blast
thanks to this amazing woman right here.

Then I headed home for 3-4 days in bed while summer weekends took place around me. Pretty depressing. But we got through it. The kids, after going through the whole "Mommy has a boo-boo chest, be gentle" thing, got used to now hearing "Mommy is sick and needs to rest right now." I would return to work on the Tuesday of each post-chemo week and carry on with business as usual. Amazingly, I usually felt pretty okay, and it was shockingly comforting to be the doctor instead of the patient - to get to help others. I had one hiccup when my red cells dropped and I felt terribly weak and anemic, landing in the hospital with a blood transfusion. Other than that, though, life went on as usual. All my clients remarked on my gorgeous new "hair cut" and "highlights", tee-hee, awkward. Only one nasty rotten woman felt the need to point out directly to me that I was wearing a wig and demanded to know why. How rude. Let's just say that day wasn't so smooth... but I picked myself up and moved on. As usual.

 



Check out my awesome new haircut. Please don't ask what salon I use.

 



Wearing a wig and pretending to be "normal" was a pretty strange experience. That blasted wig was hot, itchy, and just generally annoying. I felt incredibly fake wearing it, but the only other option was to wear a hat or scarf and announce to my clients that I had cancer. No, thank you. I wore comfy cotton caps at home and around town if I felt *safe* doing so. It was like I was living a double life, trying to keep track of "people who know" and "people who don't know". Yuck. Very uncomfortable. I really hated this part of losing my hair the most. I just really didn't want every single person to know my business, but to have people not know felt wrong too. It's so hard when you have an obvious outward sign of being sick and just want to suffer with some dignity and privacy.

 

 

Relaxing with my girls in the backyard on a hot summer day.

 

 



The end of summer finally came, and with it the end of chemo. I was pretty exhausted but otherwise okay - just some mild numbness in my fingers from the Taxol, which has since resolved. I pulled myself together enough to pack the family up for our annual week-long vacation in Maine. The trip was fun but really tiring. I was NOT going to let cancer take this trip away from me, but rocking a chemo cap on the beach is super uncool. We did get some much-needed family bonding time, though. Priceless.

 

Somewhere in the middle of the summer, I went back to Dana Farber in Boston to talk to my really smart oncologist there, Dr. Sara Tolaney. She had recommended that, after chemo, I join a clinical trial for BRCA-1 positive, triple-negative, stage 2 patients in which they were studying an oral drug to prevent cancer recurrence, and I was all about that. So when I went in to talk to her about the trial, she asked about my treatment. I told her that I was getting through chemo, and then would be done. No radiation treatment was needed, according to my local oncologist (who shall remain unnamed). Long story short, Dr. Tolaney quietly raised an eyebrow - she knew that I should DEFINITELY have radiation because of the aggressive type of cancer I had and the spread to my lymph node. So we got that arranged back here at home, and about 2 weeks after finishing chemo, I started 6 weeks of radiation with a wonderful, awesome, amazing radiation oncologist named Dr. Aryal DeJesus, who developed a deep friendship with not just me, but also my little radiation buddy, Shayla. She and her receptionist Debbie spoiled her rotten while they irradiated my entire left chest and armpit area 36 times.

 

Dr. DeJesus was such a blessing to us. She is just the coolest, most compassionate oncologist ever.

 

I magically sailed through radiation with very little skin burning, religiously slathering myself with aloe and calendula oil daily. My treatments ended around Halloween. I got my port removed, and my hair was starting to grow back.

 

So remember how depressing it was to lose my hair? Well, let me tell you -- when your hair starts to grow back from chemo, it's the most uplifting feeling ever. Just to have peach fuzz, then a buzz cut, then a spiky-rockstar girl 'do, makes you giddy. I felt so funky with my new hair that I went and got my nose pierced to match my new look and to celebrate being a SURVIVOR. Wow. It felt really good to be able to say that.

Yes, I really wore this hair to work. Freedom from the wig -- amazing. One client said, "Wow, now THAT's a brave haircut!" And I thought... yeah, you don't know the half of it. ;)

Starting to have a real lesbian/punk chick hairdo now. Told myself that people totally choose to wear their hair like this all the time. I became obsessed with Chihuahuas somewhere around this time. That little creature on the left is my new dog, Lupita. How stinking cute is that face? Talk about pet therapy. If only she wasn't impossible to housetrain...

 

That gets my story pretty much up-to-date. I am almost to the end of this long process of getting cancer the hell outta my body. Double mastectomy - check. Chemo x 8 treatments - check. Radiation - check. I am midway through the one-year clinical trial and go to Boston once a month for checkups, which has been great. I get to see my dear vet-school friend Debbie and stay overnight with her and her sweet family. There are really no other treatments available to prevent recurrence for Triple Negative patients like there are for estrogen-positive breast cancer patients, so hopefully the Olaparib drug they are studying on me (or maybe I'm in the placebo group - boo) will prove to have a big benefit to us in years to come. Last Friday, April 22, I had my final soft silicone implants put in and no longer have those hard, uncomfortable tissue expanders in my chest. Surgery was painful but it already feels, and looks, so much better. My plastic surgeon, Dr. Susan Gannon, is so talented and wonderful. This fall I will be getting my ovaries +/- uterus removed laparascopically to prevent ovarian cancer due to my BRCA mutation. Yeeeeeah, we don't want any more cancer, thanks. :) I am also planning to take a road trip down to Maryland in November to see Vinnie Myers, the world's-best nipple tattoo artist. Can't wait for that! Having no nipples is sad, folks.



 

What a year this has been. Lots of sadness, tears, fear, and pain... but also great things like: new friends, like Kayla. Getting to reconnect with my old friend Jen from high school, who helped me tremendously - she is also a recent young survivor and talked me through some tough days. Deeper connections with my existing friends, and realizing I have the truest, most loyal, loving friends on the planet (Meg, Dean, Beth, Melissa, Bizarro Beth, Tara, Lakshmi, Jenna, Steph... the list keeps going). Bonding with my kids and family. An incredible appreciation for life and living each day to the fullest. Feeling loved and supported. Watching my entire neighborhood rally around me to bring huge meals, cards, and gifts for me and the girls; even doing our laundry and mowing our lawn for weeks on end. Obscenely thoughtful and generous care packages constantly arriving in the mail from my vet school girls - Sharon, Debbie, Rachel, Holly, Krishna, and Jasmine.Visits and phone calls from my most favorite people. Finding out that our family carries this rare cancer gene so that my mom and sister can do preventive surgeries, and the next generation doesn't have to get cancer if they also carry the mutation. Feeling like I kicked this thing in the ass, and showed my girls how to be tough when life gets hard. Knowing that I am stronger than cancer.

"Yes they're fake, the real ones tried to KILL ME." Love this shirt that I wore to the 
Breast Cancer walk in October. 
My friend Michah made me this beautiful pink ribbon scarf.

With my dad, girls, hubby, nephew and niece at the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk. Such a fun day - it got freezing cold and snowed but we still had a blast!

Yes, that's right, I'm a cancer-fighting superhero. I raised over $3500 and was presented with a pink Pacesetter Cape.

 

And that, my friends, is where we are. Here is a silly picture I took yesterday after I dried my hair and ended up looking like a middle-aged Midwestern hockey mom. Or Kate Gosselin. Yeesh. Growing out my hair is going to be a long process, but I'm enjoying it in all it's crazy stages. I got some blonde highlights and I'm feeling more like myself - but it is definitely a new self. I am not the same woman I was one year ago, and I actually couldn't be happier about that.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading, and for sharing in my story. And don't worry, I will keep posting as my hair grows back and life goes on, and on, and on... for a really long time.

 

Xoxo,

Melanie

 

 

 

 

 



 



Soldiering On Through Chemo

I wrote this post in May 2015 and it never posted to the blog... so here it is, one year later:

Today I had my second AC treatment -- so now we're 2 down, 6 to go. The nurses brought us over and sat us next to a really nice 31-year-old woman there with her sister for chemo. She has two young kids and was diagnosed about a month ago with Stage 3 estrogen-receptive invasive ductal carcinoma. We chatted about our experiences and got to know each other a little bit. She was really nice and positive, and it was so nice to meet another woman going through this at the same time. She has already lost her hair and had on an adorable hat, so I asked her where she got it and ordered a couple for myself on Amazon. It's amazing that everyone you meet along this journey can be a source of knowledge and support!

I have already been hit with the queasiness tonight, but it's not too terrible. Going to stick to tea, fiber toast and Miralax this evening, haha. Tomorrow I have to go get my Neulasta shot to increase my white cell count, but other than that we'll be laying low. Ashlyn woke up this morning with the bright red "slapped cheeks" rash on her face that means she has a virus called "Fifth Disease", so she ended up having to stay home with Shayla and Donna last minute today. You can't make this stuff up. At least it's nothing too serious, and by the time the rash appears, the virus is no longer contagious.

I returned to work last Saturday, and shockingly this week went really well! It was so nice to see all my coworkers again, and to be a doctor again rather than a patient! It feels good to use my brain, help people, and of course, snuggle the cute animals. A really wonderful couple in their 60's came to see me with their brand-new puppy on Tuesday and the woman looked at me with tears in her eyes. "We don't know if we should be doing this whole puppy thing right now. Our 37-year-old daughter died last year of breast cancer, and we're raising her 3- and 6-year old kids." My stomach dropped out my you-know-what, but rather than running out of the room like I wanted to, I sat next to her and we talked. She was obviously overwhelmed but looking for some comfort and healing in her life, and for those sweet children. I examined the cute little pup and he was adorable, gentle, and healthy. I reassured her that he's a great little dog and that I think he will be therapeutic for them. She seemed to leave feeling happy and relieved after we talked. THAT is the kind of thing that makes my job worthwhile and makes up for some of the bad days.

The next puppy I saw that day was an 8-week-old Eskimo Spitz who was beyond adorable. I love this breed because of the Eskimo my mother-in-law rescued when I was in vet school. Puppy kisses just have a way of making everything seem better, don't they?

A Rough Few Weeks

I feel super guilty about not updating this blog in the last few weeks. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Basically what happened was that I got some less-than-ideal biopsy results after my surgery and really, really didn't want to talk about it. I'm going to try to give a quick(ish) summary of a rough couple of weeks.

So about a week after my surgery, I was snoozing on the couch (my new occupation) when the phone rang and it was my breast surgeon, Dr. Weber. She was calling with the results of the analysis done on both of my removed breasts (that sounds weird), and the two sentinel lymph nodes removed from my left axilla. The final diagnosis was: the tumor was 1.2 cm - still pretty small - and the margins were clean; however, one of the lymph nodes she removed was found to have 4mm of cancer in it. The other lymph node was clean. This news sucked the breath out of me. Kevin was listening in on this call on the other side of the living room, and we locked eyes as Dr. Weber spoke and silently screamed together. Crap. Spread. Metastasis. This means I'm Stage II. I was SO DESPERATELY HOPING to have caught this at Stage I. Like, I really really really really needed that win. Like, really bad. Way to kick me while I'm down, Cancer, you asshole! I was so mad. This basically means that there is more of a chance that cancer cells got out into my body and are trying to set up shop. Very very scary stuff to think about. When I went to see my oncologist a few days later, she started to rattle off numbers that mean lower survival rates and higher recurrence rates and I burst into tears that just wouldn't stop. I was completely unable to stop picturing myself dying and leaving my girls. The reality of this cancer sank in in a way it hadn't up until then: I might die. This might NOT be curable the way all those smart people at Dana Farber had told me it would be.

I spoke with my midwife Lisa and told her I couldn't stop thinking about dying, and she had me increase my Paxil dose to what I think of as the "Mind-Numbing Dose". It has done the trick in getting me to stop feeling so hopeless and negative, but it has also made me a bit... blah. I started sleeping ALLLL day long in a way even I had never done before. Right now I'm working on backing down again to a normal dose and I hope I don't become miserable again. I think I'm okay now. I really think I can do this.

Now that I'm Stage II, I have to have the longer, more aggressive chemo protocol - which my oncologist was actually leaning toward anyways, so no major change. The protocol will be: 4 doses of Adriamycin/Cytoxan ("AC") every 2 weeks, and then 4 doses of Taxol every 2 weeks. Of course this schedule depends on my body's cooperation with keeping normal blood cell counts and all that good stuff. I've planned the chemo treatments to happen on Thursdays, since I normally work Monday through Wednesday, so that hopefully my work schedule can stay on track. My bosses understand that things may not work out this perfectly, and are also letting me cut back on my weekend shifts while I go through chemo, which is awesome.

In preparation for starting my chemo on May 7th, I had to undergo a barrage of tests and procedures. I had an echocardiogram to assess my cardiac function, since the Adriamycin drug can damage the heart muscle and you have to have a very healthy heart to start this treatment. That was easy and the test was normal. Then I had a PET scan, which is a test to look for any other tumors forming throughout your body. AKA - THE SCARIEST TEST I'VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE. The test was funny because they inject you with radioactive sugar for the scan, and make you drink a barium shake, and you become radioactive for 24 hours. I had to limit my proximity to the kids that night, which was hard because they didn't understand what was happening. I explained to Ashlyn that Mommy had invisible waves coming off her body that could give her boo-boos. That seemed to appease her, and the next day she announced how happy she was that I wasn't radioactive anymore!

Mmmm.... sweet creamy vanilla Barium. Blech.

Praise be to Jesus, my PET scan was negative. Perhaps the most amazing news I've ever heard. They would have had to ship me directly to the psych ward for long-term sedation if that test had shown more bad news.

In order to safely get my chemo, I had to have a Port placed as well. This is a little doohicky that they implant under the skin just below the right collarbone, with a tubey-thingy that tunnels under the skin up to the neck and dives into the jugular vein. They put the chemo right into the port (which is like a little plug under the skin) and it goes directly into a major blood vessel. This gets rid of the need for constant IVs in my arm and also decreases the risk of the drugs causing serious tissue damage. This procedure seriously skeeved me out, so I insisted that I get some sort of sedation for this. They gave me Versed and Fentanyl... I highly recommend this. I was not fully asleep, so I was vaguely aware that they were hacking away at the right side of my chest/neck, but did not have pain or really care. Good drugs. The problem arose when they took the drape away from my face and the radiologist's assistant told me that they *may* have just ruptured my right tissue expander. Umm.... excuse me?? How on earth does that happen? I was groggy and out of it but knew this could be major bad news. Long story short (we'll scan past Kevin punching the wall in the men's room after the doctor delivered this news to him very non-chalantly)... once the doctor spoke with ME, I was able to figure out that the gush of fluid he encountered while placing the port was not my tissue expander rupturing, it was just a pocket of fluid left behind after my surgery called a seroma. File this under Things Melanie the Vet Figures Out When Human Doctors Fail. Anyways, now the port is in, and while it's not the most attractive or comfortable thing in the world... it serves it's purpose.

The catheter going up my neck is pretty gross. Looks like a parasite!

So the big day finally came -- I had my first AC chemo last Thursday, 5 days ago. The treatment itself was a piece of cake - I sat in a comfy recliner with warm blankets with Kevin by my side, and read, slept, and chatted. After the 5 hours at the infusion center, we had to go car shopping because - get this - my car decided to die last week. Awesome, right? I kinda need a car. That went well and I ended up getting a gorgeous blue 2014 Subaru Outback... same as my old car but a new model. It's fantastic. Anyways, back to chemo. They gave me steroids and anti-nausea meds to prevent side effects and overall I've done pretty well. I basically have times when I feel queasy as though I'm pregnant, or have an achy feeling in my stomach. And - try not to be too shocked - I've been pretty tired. It's been quite the process trying to figure out what to eat that will not make me feel nauseous, and will also not completely clog my colon (sorry for being so graphic - the struggle is real). Fruit and Fiber One cereal are my new best friends. I'm trying to take it easy and stay well hydrated. My other issue is that my right Foobie (let's be honest - they're not Boobies anymore) is very painful at times. I think the tissue expander is rubbing against my muscle. I have an appointment with Dr. Gannon today so hopefully she can help make this better.

 

Hooked up to my infusion. Chemo Mel.

 

The "Kool-Aid" red Adriamycin. Creepy, right? Also turns your pee pink. TMI?

Jello shots, anyone?

Now we just hope that the chemo continues to go well and we stay on schedule. I return to work this Saturday (yikes), so hopefully my energy level continues to improve. I'm working on staying positive and, as Ashlyn says, feeling like I will "kick breast cancer in the body!" which I think is her school's solution to kids not saying "butt". Next weekend I think I'll invite my family over for a head-shaving party since that's about the time my hair will start falling out. Last weekend we had a fabulous Mother's Day at the local park just relaxing, eating and playing all day. The kids loved the ice cream truck that came by, and their sweet, sticky smiles just made the day perfect!

Life's greatest gifts.

Thanks for the Mammaries!

Today is Day 4 post-op and I'm finally feeling coherent enough to sit at the computer! (Thank you, Hydrocodone).

Last Thursday was the big day of my double mastectomy. I went to the hospital Wednesday afternoon to have radioactive dye injected into my left breast so that they could find my sentinel lymph nodes for biopsy the next day. The PA who did the procedure was very nice and professional, and explained everything well. He told me that the three injections would "pinch and burn", like a bee sting. OK, I thought, no big deal. I've had a lot of needles lately so this would be no problem. I laid back on the table and he prepped the skin with some antiseptic and then proceeded to INJECT MY BREAST WITH BATTERY ACID. Let me just say that never in my life have I screamed a profanity in a doctor's office (and I've been through some stuff), and as the first needle hit me, I screamed out, "OWWWW!!! F@CK!!!!!" It was indescribably painful, and it didn't stop when the needle came out - it continued to hurt more. Let's just say they pinned me down and got me through the other two injections, but it wasn't pretty. Now I understand why my patients sometimes want to bite me.

Thursday morning, I had to be at the hospital at 9am for an 11:30am surgery time. I kissed Ashlyn goodbye at the breakfast table but Shayla was still happily snoozing when Kevin and I left at about 8am. I started out the day at the hospital in Nuclear Medicine for a scan of my lymph nodes. They were able to successfully locate my sentinel node, which was great. They marked my skin for the surgeon and then moved me to the pre-op waiting area, and I was quickly brought back to a bed in the ward. I changed into a gown and snuggled under the warm blankets the wonderful nurse brought me when she noticed me shivering. She started my IV and then the waiting began. Various people stopped by - my breast surgeon, Dr. Weber, came in to review the plan, and the anesthesiologist came in to introduce herself. Dr. Gannon wouldn't be at the hospital until later to do the reconstruction portion of the surgery at the end. My sister came to the hospital to wait with Kevin during my surgery so she sat with us and helped keep me laughing. I wasn't feeling terribly nervous, just sick of all the waiting and very much wanting things to get underway. At around 11:45am, the anesthesiologist came to bring me to the OR. She put some lovely Versed in my IV and told me I would have no memory of what was happening in a few seconds. I hugged and kissed my husband and sister and as they started to wheel me away, I waved to my boobs and loudly announced, "Thanks for the mammaries!", which is an old joke in our family. The doctor cracked up and then I don't remember anything after that (although apparently I moved myself onto the surgery table - freaky).

I woke up in the recovery suite, and couldn't open my eyes yet but could hear some very serious stuff happening around me - nurses discussing the old lady in the bed next to me that had multiple pelvic fractures and apparently wasn't doing well, and some other complicated-sounding cases. Someone kept telling me to breathe, which seemed weird because I thought I WAS breathing. I guess they'd given me IV Fentanyl, a powerful narcotic pain medication that suppresses your respiratory drive and was making me forget to breathe. At some point I became more coherent and was moved to a double room upstairs, which bummed me out because I wanted Kevin to be able to stay overnight with me. Shortly after they got me settled, Kevin and Jess came in. I immediately asked Kevin if I was able to get the implants put in, which Dr. Gannon had told me was 90% likely to happen. I had my heart set on getting those implants right away. Kevin gave me the very upsetting news that they were unable to fit the implants and so I had tissue expanders placed instead. Dr. Weber had to take some skin around the tumor to feel like she was getting clean margins, and that left too little skin behind to close over the implants. It felt like a huge deal at the time, as it now meant I'd have to go back and forth to the plastic surgeon's office weekly for awhile to get the implants slowly inflated with saline, and the expanders are more uncomfortable, and then of course I'd need a second surgery to have the implants placed later. But now I've realized this isn't a huge deal in the big scheme of things we're going through. Of course the most important thing was to get the cancer taken out completely. Sometimes you just get your hopes up that ONE THING will go the way you want it to during this mess, and it can be so disappointing when that doesn't happen. It also feels lousy to be in the small losing percentage of a situation because it makes you think about being in that small percentage when it comes to other things, like your prognosis. But, we'll get though this reconstruction and it will be fine.

I ate a disgusting cold hamburger from the closing hospital cafeteria that evening and hung out with Kevin and Jess for a couple of hours. My sister asked again if there was a single room opening, and the nurse told us they were just cleaning one, so I was moved over and Kevin, the lucky dog, was able to sleep in an exquisitely uncomfortable chair next to me that night. We had a long series of obscenely beautiful, sweet nurses and often clueless techs taking care of me. I was switched to oral Hydrocodone and antibiotics that evening, and actually slept well except for being awoken every 4 hours for vitals. The next morning, I woke up to my doctors coming in to check on me and explaining how things went. I ate some breakfast, got cleaned up, and got my discharge instructions, and by 11am I was being wheeled down to the lobby. The ride home was a little uncomfortable when we went over bumps, but overall not bad.

I came home and gave Shayla and my parents a huge (gentle) squeeze, but Ashlyn was still at school. I walked directly to the couch to snuggle with my pillow and blanket, and that's mostly where I've been the past four days. A lot of family has stopped by to visit, which has been great. I can get up to do small things, but am mostly just feeling wiped out. I've been able to sleep up in bed, which is great, because I thought I'd have to sleep slightly upright in a recliner for awhile. Today when I woke up the pain felt much better, so I decided to taper off the pain meds and I also took my first glorious shower. I was able to look at the new appearance of my chest without feeling too much angst. I think I had plenty of time to mentally prepare myself for surgery, and it really doesn't look too bad, just... flat. And we'll fix that.

My mom and stepdad have been taking awesome care of the girls and me, and the house has been running smoothly despite my inability to do much. Ashlyn and Shayla seem to be handling everything fine so far, I just have to keep reminding them that they have to be gentle to Mommy's "boo-boo chest," and they get a bit upset when I have to be on the couch instead of playing with them or putting them to bed. Kevin feels much better knowing the cancer is out of me. Now we just have to wait for the biopsy report in the next few days to find out what the official size of the tumor was, and if there was any spread to the lymph nodes. Next week is my visit to the oncologist to review all of the latest information and come up with the final chemo plan, which will probably start in 3-4 weeks. I'm scheduled to return to work on May 16th as long as that's not going to be a weekend I'm sick from chemo (my summer will basically alternate between weekends at work, and weekends with chemo - I'm really looking forward to that, haha).

I'm feeling good that this will all be behind us soon. First step to kicking cancer's butt: COMPLETE!

 

The morning after surgery in the hospital. We've got this! 

 

 Kevin and Ashlyn on their way to see "Beauty and    My mom (Gran) snuggling Shayla.
the Beast" on Sunday afternoon.

Wigging Out

Yesterday was my appointment at the local wig salon. The consultant was awesome and it was fun trying on the different wigs. Most of them had crazy layers that tried to fall in my face, and since I'm mostly going to wear my wig to work, that wasn't cool. I was also worried that one of the longer styles would be hot in summer, and get tangled in my stethoscope. I ended up choosing one that's a sleek chin-length bob with bangs. My own hair is too crazy to ever tame into this style, so it's kind of fun to be able to rock this look for a few months! I ordered this wig but in my own blonde color (aka "Spring Honey", haha):

 

 

I feel much better having checked this task off the list. Stay tuned for the awesome pixie-punk look I'm going to have this fall when my hair starts to grow back. I think I'll dye it neon pink.

 

My car decided to break down this morning on the way to bring Shayla to daycare, so now I'm waiting for the tow truck to come and bring it to the dealership for me. Great timing, right? I swear, you can't make this stuff up. The brand-new litterbox I just bought for my cats has also decided to leak urine all over my laundry room floor. Seriously... you just have to laugh.

 

I'm excited to see my mom and stepdad today, and get geared up for the big surgery day tomorrow! It will feel so good to be free of my killer boobies... if you had told me it would take an entire month to get anything done to address this aggressive cancer, I would've never believed you. I'm so glad it's finally happening. Thanks so much, everyone, for all the encouragement and prayers you've been sending my way. I am one lucky girl to be surrounded by so much love!

 

Doing the Happy Ovary Dance

Today I went for the scariest medical test of my life: an ultrasound of my ovaries to look for ovarian cancer. It's one thing to have cancer somewhere that you can touch and feel, and another thing entirely to worry about what's lurking inside the depths of your abdomen, and await imaging studies to tell you if you're okay, or seriously not okay. Although it would be extremely unlikely to have BOTH breast and ovarian cancer at the same time, I had an insanely strong feeling that, because I have this BRCA mutation, I would have an ovarian tumor. It was really just a done deal in my mind. I was preparing myself for it so that I wouldn't pass out when they told me.

The ultrasound was done right in my OB's office. It was pretty fast, and while I was trying to peek at the screen, it was turned so that I couldn't quite see.  At the end, I asked the ultrasound tech to please see if my midwife, Lisa, could get the doctor to interpret my images now instead of calling me later on today. I felt like I couldn't breathe as we waited for about 15 minutes to see if that could happen. Thankfully, Lisa was able to do this for me, and came out to the waiting room smiling from ear to ear. She brought us into an exam room and told us that the ultrasound of my uterus and ovaries was completely normal, and my CA-125 test, which is a blood test used to detect ovarian cancer, was also normal. Between these two results she felt very good that I did not have ovarian cancer, but reiterated that once my breast cancer surgery/treatment is completely done, I should have my ovaries removed prophylactically. Apparently this surgery is laparascopic and the recovery is pretty easy, and I do not ever want to have cancer again, so I will be planning to do that this fall. I'm not super excited about early menopause, but hey, maybe I'd stop being so gosh darn cold all the time!

Tomorrow I have an appointment at a wig store to try on wigs. While we were out today, Kevin and I tried to check out another wig place that came up on a Google search. It was down in a very urban part of Albany, but I didn't think twice about the address until we got there. Let's just say, they didn't have any straight blonde wigs there. I hope we have better luck tomorrow!

My surgery is scheduled for Thursday, so I'm trying to rest, eat well, and prepare for being out of commission for a little while by getting the laundry and house in order. My mom and stepdad will arrive on Wednesday to help us out. I just can't wait to get this thing out of me that seems to be growing every day. Now that I know this is my only problem, I know I can do what I need to do to get it out, get through the chemo, get spayed, and move on with life. The continuous stream of letters, flowers, gifts and messages of encouragement and love has been just amazing. I am so lucky to be so loved.

The weather here today is gorgeous - sunny and 77 degrees. I can't wait to go get the girls from daycare and take them out for a nice walk before dinner!

I'm Practically Angelina Jolie

You get to a point where you just think, Really? How much more could possibly go wrong here?

Yesterday was Monday. I woke up expecting to get a phone call telling me that my double mastectomy/reconstruction would be happening either that Tuesday or Wednesday. Instead, I got a call that the two surgeons were both incredibly busy and that the soonest they could get together to get me to surgery was NEXT THURSDAY, April 16th. Next. Freaking. Thursday. I panicked. I freaked out. It wasn't pretty. I called the surgical schedulers for both doctors, basically crying and begging them to help me get this done this week. They were very nice and very sorry, but there was just no way they could make this happen sooner. Nope. Not gonna happen.

So, my mom and stepdad left to go back to Cape Cod today, and will return next Wednesday as I prepare to actually go have my surgery. They'll stay with me for a few days to help out after surgery and stay with the girls while we're in the hospital for the overnight on Thursday. I'm extremely upset that they have to leave and come back, but very grateful that they're being awesome about doing anything and everything we need right now.

After they left, Ashlyn was just hanging out with me on the couch and I called Kevin into the room. Shayla was at daycare and the house was quiet. All of a sudden, at that moment, it seemed like it was time to talk to Ashlyn about what was going on. I've been reading about how to talk about this honestly so kids understand without knowing too much. She's such a smart kid and I know all of our whispering and worrying must be getting through to her somehow. I told her that I had a boo-boo in my breast and it has a scary name -- cancer. But this cancer was very, very tiny and I was going to have an operation to get it taken out. Then I would have some special medicine to make sure all of the cancer was completely gone. This medicine would do something silly - it would make my hair fall out. We talked about Mommy wearing some pretty hats, scarves and wigs for awhile and giggled about Ashlyn helping me pick out what to wear and maybe putting some temporary tattoos on my head to make it pretty. We talked about the fact that the surgery would make my chest very sore for awhile, and the chemo would make me have times when I was very tired and needed to rest by myself. Daddy and our other friends and family would be here to help out when Mommy wasn't feeling well, so she and Shayla would still get to do all their normal things and have lots of fun this summer. I told her that it's okay to cry and be sad, that Mommy was sad too, but that we would all be strong and brave and get through this together. I reassured her that I was NOT going to die and that all my doctors said I'm going to be completely fine. She cried and hugged me for a few minutes and then we were getting ready to go to the park and she was fine. I'm sure this topic will come up many more times, but for now, it seems like she's going to be very resilient about this and handle it well. I was extremely shocked that I managed to get through this conversation without crying, but somehow I did, and I think that helped her to feel like it was going to be okay.

I spent the day today with Ashlyn, going to the playground and trying to just relax. When we got home from picking up Shayla, Kevin had the phone in his hand and told me the genetic counselor from Dana Farber was on the phone. I went upstairs to talk with her and she told me what I had already somehow known - that I have a BRCA-1 mutation. I'm what they call "BRCA positive", exactly like Angelina Jolie, who just recently had her breasts and ovaries removed for this same reason. This means that I have a mutation in the gene that protects me from getting breast and ovarian cancer. Now I not only need the double mastectomy that I had already decided to have, but at some point in the near future, I will also need my ovaries removed because I have a very high risk of also developing ovarian cancer. I've been having (what I hope are irrational) fears in the last few days that I have an ovarian tumor already, so I immediately contacted my OB office and told them I wanted an ovarian ultrasound ASAP. They were able to schedule that for next Monday. So now, we wait and hope and pray that my ovaries are normal and this once again goes back to "just" the one original breast tumor.

Because I have this gene, my sister and mom also need to be screened for this. There is also a 50/50 chance that each of my girls has it as well - they either got the bad gene from me, or the good gene from Kevin. As a parent, there is nothing worse than thinking that you could have something bad that you've passed onto your kids. All you want is to give them the very best of you -- not something so incredibly harmful and painful. If they have the bad gene, they could need prophylactic surgeries when they become adults. Maybe in 20 years when this would impact them, there will be better technology. We can only hope.

Now I continue to wait. I'm taking this next week off from work until I have surgery just to try to get mentally and physically ready for surgery, and spend extra time with the girls. I just feel too stressed and distracted to be effective as a doctor right now.

The outpouring of love and support we're receiving has been incredible. Thank you to all of you who are following my story and praying for me!

 

At the park today with my 5-year-old beauty, Ashlyn, after telling her about Mommy's cancer.

Kids are so incredibly resilient!