Sunday, December 28, 2008

Boxing week panic

Now that Christmas is over, the thought of what's waiting for me on the other side of New Years night is terrifying. This stupid book I read didn't help either --too much of a reality check. There's a saying about breast cancer treatments: "slash, burn and poison". Sounds great. No wonder I'm getting really, really nervous about all the probing and stabbing I will have to lie still for very soon. And the pain. God, the pain. And the meds. And the side effects. If I don't feel sick now, the chemo will fix that, no problem.

I turned to D last night and said : "I don't want to do this. What if I just leave it there? Pretend none of it is real..." And he said "then it will kill you". That's my reality now, my 35th year of life reality: slash, burn and poison... or die. So many women have done this before me but I feel I'm not strong enough. Blood tests make me nervous, IV's make me cry. I can't give blood, it hurst too much. How can I cope with this thing life has thrown at me? I'm so afraid of what cancer and it's treatments will do to me, the scars they will leave, the mental, emotional and physical tramas I will endure. Will I be the same person after this? Will the people I love find me somewhere in there when I can't recognise myself? I don't know how to do this, except follow my gut. And it's saying to put one foot in front of the other, not to think of what's next too much and stock up on endorphines. I'm going to need plenty.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Chritmas is Christmas

I've not been writing much, since Christmas and other stuff are in the way of me feeling or thinking anything about cancer. Great. Love it. Bring on life and all it requires. No time for stupid health issues I didn't ask for when there are gifts to wrap. D is throwing up and C. de lune is on pennicilline (medicine I can't touch since I'm allergic) so really, no time for me and my useless cells. And it seems I have sort of forgotton about the tests from last week, which makes me feel strong. I feel I can probably do this --if there's a bit of time between treatments. Oh who am I kidding, I will be able to do this even if they bombard me with treatments... I will cry a hell of a lot, but hey, better out than in. Next up, my results.

I know Christmas will be a bit different this year. I hope by the holidays next year, cancer will just be another experience, a memory, like being pregnant --I rememeber being pregnant, but I don't remember how it felt. So Happy Holidays everyone. Be happy. As for me, I am bracing myself for 2009...

Saturday, December 20, 2008

MRI hell

(credit: Tower Radiology Centre)
I've had an MRI before the one last night, but now I realise that all MRI's are not created alike. The last one was in October, for my swollen disk, before I found out about my breast pirates. I was still, on my back, for at the most 15 minutes of jackhammer noises. I made rock beats in my head as I sort of relaxed. Last night was nothing like that. First of all, there was an IV involved. An unexpected IV. I thought I was getting a simple injection like the one I got for the bone scan on Wednesday. IVs hurt me since my skin in thin and my nerves raw --good for massage, bad for needles. So I cried when the discomfort turned into sudden pain. Then I had to lie on my stomack, my breasts in holes, my arms over my head while a cold drug was injected in me. This time, I wasn't still for 15 minutes, but for 45. And forget rock beats, these were alarm noises. Loud and alarming. All I could think of was getting the hell out of there:"please technician, tell me this is the last one"...and I cried. I cried both from the discomfort and the situation. It's one thing to have a test, it's another to have a test when you know it's the first of a series of terrifying medical experiences. I felt like a lab rat even though I knew it was for my own good. Then, I went for an x-ray.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Too much of my life

Sick child, sick husband, fifth diseases, ear infections and fevers; early mornings and sleepless nights; bus strikes and car pool arrangements; christmas shopping and gift wrapping; missed work days and missed school days; bone scans, MRIs and X-rays; physio appointments, epidural shots and vaccins; requested favours, work dealines and holidays...and that's only what I can tell you.

I'm not sure I can do all of it, good or bad. I know I'm not alone, but I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders tonight. At the end of the day, no one can live my life, but me. And I'm overwhelmed.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Doctor doctor

I appear to I have a breast cancer specialist as a distant friend. I knew she was an oncologist, but this is a surpise.

You might even say she's a friend, I did go to her wedding in Barbados 8 years ago after all, my first trip with D. "You're bringing a girl?" I think is what her fiancé, D's university buddy said when he broke the news to him. D even paid for the whole trip, part of his woooooowing me. Yes, it worked. We kept in touch, they came to our wedding 4 years ago and their first born met our only born.

She knows about my diagnosis and she has made it clear I can call anytime. The problem is, the last time I talked to her or him for that matter was a year ago, during our last medical emergency. I know they care a lot and want to help, but I don't want to treat her like, god forbid, a doctor: "Hi, we haven't talked much, you know, life gets in the way, but now your profession makes you my favourite person". D hates when people aks him to fix computers too much. I know, deep down I realise she's sincere and wants to offer what she can, like everyone else, but I don't feel comfortable yet. I told D to give her the details of my diagnosis, and then if she still doesn't mind, I will call her. She is a friend first. Her profession is just lucky for me right now.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Hypochondre-acting

I think there is a fundamental truth about diseases : Not knowing what in the world you have is far worse than dealing with what you do have. No one told me I was going to start obsessing about every little thing happening in my body I don't recognise. I don't mean loosing my long blond curls to chemo --I know that's coming, and why. I mean, why is the hair on my legs suddenly not growing as much? Why are my feet so dry? Why am I dizzy in the morning? Why do I have this other odd little lump in that same breast? Why, why, why. It could be bad, hell, I could have cancer! Oh wait...

Knowing is easier. Which is why I'm looking foward to this MRI on Friday that will scan all of me searching for rogues...little buggers. I called them to asked if I could drink before. An odd request I know, and I imagine myself showing up drunk, but it's not as interesting as all that. My work holiday lunch is that day and I want to enjoy a glass of yummy of two.

Will let you know how it all goes.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Positive thinking 101

Yes, yes, I know, I need to stay positive. Positive thoughts are the answer. Whenever I talk about what's coming in a realistic way, like chemo making me sick for example, I always get "come on, you have to think positive!" So really, if I have the power to make myself better through positive thinking, then my negative thoughts... gave me cancer. No? Yeaaahhhh. I don't buy it. The author of this book I'm reading elaborates on this further, and while I was reading, I was thinking "yes! absolutely, I have the right to be depressed and negative and a crap head somethings, right? If not now, when?". Still, I understand what people really mean when they say stay positive. They're telling me to try to keep my spirit, my natural positive outlook on life, my easy-come laughter. And yes, I do think the happier I stay in these circumstances, the more awesome endorphins will flow through me, the better I will cope. But lets face it, my mood and my outlook won't save me, medicine and my strengh will. When I look ahead at what's in store for me in the next few months with what sounds like negativity, I'm just being realistic. I dont' want painful surprises --if I can get my brain used to something before it happens, I'm better prepared to face it. I know chemo will make me throw up everywhere. I just know. I have a weak stomack. There's this line in the book I love that says "It's your kids world, you're only puking in it". Ha! Love it. Sooooo true. And that's fine. Bring it on. I might not "think positive" all the time, but I've got my fighting gloves on and no, cancer will not kill my spirit. I promise.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Unhealthy, me? Any superpowers?

I can't seem to see myself as anything but healthy. I keep reading stuff that tell me I'm not, and I'm going to all these tests, but I still don't see it. At least if I felt sick, I might consider changing my view on the matter, but not now. Even the oncology nurse, after she went through my profile and asked me questions said "wow, you are healthy!" and I added "Yes! Thank you! Well, except for this cancer thing". So, yeah. Cancer, shmancer. Nuh hun. Unhealthy? not me.

I'm reading this book that was written by this former TV producer in NY. She describes her breast cancer experience in useful, funny ways. This book and the last one I read make me think about the differences in having cancer in the US and having it in Canada. These books have pages and pages of advice about choosing the right surgeon, the right chemo oncologist, the right radiologist. It's like shopping for doctors! Come to think of it, that's exactly what it is. I guess when you're paying for a service, you must treat it as such. In my case, the choice I had was Where. Where did I want to be treated. So I picked the state-of-the-art Breast Cancer Treament Centre at the Civic. I met my doctor and that was it. I trust her. She seemed to know. Just...know. No second opinion needed or wanted.

Now, about that Nuclear Medicine Centre. Apparently, I have to go for a bone scan. Doesn't that sound gross? The receptionist assured me it doesn't hurt...yeah ok. I should have asked her if she has even had one. I will be injected with radio-active die twice in 3 days. That can't be good. Maybe I'll have superpowers. A friend asked me what 2 superpowers I would want. I think dissapearing (clothes included of course) and teleporting. Thought of mindreading , but I think it would just drive me nuts...

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Week from hell, or was it?

This last week started with my oncology appointment, as you know, and will end with the Nutcracker tonight, with family. There were many, many ups and downs and I feel the ride is just picking up speed.

I scheduled an MRI, an X-Ray (both on the 19th) and a post test, pre-op appointment with the surgeon (January 5th). That's when I'll get my surgery date and find out if I have the choice of keeping my breast or not --but that's another story. Last but obviously not least, I got a call from the Centre of Nuclear Medecine (or something like that) telling me they want to see me too. Hearing that on the answering machine is a little disconcerting, believe me!

Got into fights with the ones I love most, but in all that mess, raw honestly and real vulnerability was share like never before. For that, I am grateful. Found out my kid is, in fact, the smart ass D calls her --my kindergardener was evaluated to be of a grade 3 level, I kid you not. Our guess is she might skip a grade or two, which would make her 15 or less when she starts university. D is worried about this scenario, which father wouldn't. Had a really nice lunch with friends from work and got checked out by a crowd of middle aged men (that won't happen when I'm bald all over and flat chested), had a casual dinner with friends, and had a great night out with D.

Lastly, I've learned a lot about who I am, my baggage, my fears, and why I tick the way I do. Funny how this cancer is turning out to be the something that is forcing me to face life, not death.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Learning curve

Many of the ones I care about in this world feel very helpless right now, but are, in fact, the opposite. I'm starting to understand just how little it takes to make a difference in someone's life. When I do laundry, or read, or get ready in the morning, I often stop to think of all the people who are thinking of me, and who are sending their strong, positive energy my way...and I think I can actually feel it.

These last three weeks, I've learned a lot about human reactions and coping mechanisms --it's odd just how many different ways we deal with this sort of crisis. Some feel debilitating fear and try to hide it, some feel overwhelming sadness and can't hide it, some feel anger and rage and want to fight this for me, some refuse to accept and pretend nothing has changed, some want to know every detail of every part of it, and some just want to take care of me like a parent would. Whatever the reaction, I now understand that it's a reflection of ourselves, not on the person in crisis. It matters little what emotional road we"re on, because they all lead to caring and support. My whole life, I've never felt so loved. If someone told me my disease would go away if I gave it all up, I would say no way.

I also realise I'm very limited in my abilities to help you through this because, lets face it, I can't relate --I don't have a loved one who is fighting cancer. Odd how that is. The only concrete way I can do anything for you is to let you help me, which might make you feel less helpless. I'm trying very hard to put aside my fears of seeming needy and demanding (part of the baggage from my childhood), and am getting better at asking for stuff I need. And for you, I've found this site: http://willow.org/. And this song: http://www.thesubmarines.com/.

Monday, December 1, 2008

What I feared

Not the part about the flaky doctor with the funny shoes. That part was ok--my oncologist/surgeon is young woman called Angel. What are the odds we'd share a name. As for the rest, it was pretty much what I expected: the lump seems to be less than a cm, but she didn't talk about stages yet. I will go for an MRI this month to see if there is any cancer in the rest of the breasts; surgery in January, followed by 4 to 6 months of chemotherapy, then about a month of radiation therapy (might be the other way around though). I should be off work until September, basically. 8 months or so. Holiday!

Now there's just one big decision I have to make.