Welcome Home Celebrations. What Wonderful People.......

9/25/13--Wednesday--DAY 1 Cancer Free--Living Life More Than I Ever Have Before!

It has been such an incredible 24 hours and I am still smiling and celebrating every minute I am awake!  Such a burden has been lifted from Greg and I both, and it is the first time we have truly felt this happy in 347 days!

After ringing the bell yesterday, we spent a few minutes with those who had come to celebrate with us.  Juanita, my friend from the lab, made the perfect cake--a boobie cake--and presented it to us, which was super sweet.  Betsy, a second floor nurse who has been out on maternity leave, returned just in time to help us celebrate along with nurses Tia, Cheryl, Heather, Carolyn, Sue, Dr. Grade, and so many more.  There must have been 30 people there altogether.  It felt wonderful and was exciting to have so many there as we finished our race.  It truly was like crossing the finish line of a very long marathon, which was something that kept me going throughout this long and challenging fight.

From the hospital, Bob, Wanda, Charlene, my dad, Preston, Diane, Paul, Greg and I went to IHOP to celebrate.  Greg and I were both so excited, neither of us could hardly eat but it was great to visit and laugh and take in the excitement from everyone.  After saying goodbye, we decided to celebrate more by going to the Apple store and buying new iPhones :)  

Several hours later, we picked up Sierra, our dog, and headed home.  As we drove into town, Greg said, "It feels nice coming home for the first time not really knowing when we will be going back to Mesa," and he was right.  It was the first time of feeling completely finished.  As we pulled onto our street, there were colored flags and signs lining the corrals saying "Welcome", "Home", "Greg and Susan", "Today is the First Day of the rest of your lives" and they were right.  It was truly a fresh start.  We were off of 'pause' and on 'play' as we were free to decide what to do now, where to go, with no restrictions to plan around.

We pulled into the driveway to a huge sign lining the carport saying, "You Made It To The Finish Line!"  How absolutely sweet for our friends to be so thoughtful.  I knew our neighbors Kristi Fertig and Gayrene Claridge, our friend Susie Case, and my friends and co-workers Carol Elders and Stephanie Saldana were responsible.  They had been our cheerleaders and helpers all the way through this.  We walked in the door to even more surprises.  There were more Finish Line flags draped across the kitchen, and signs lining the windows, "Kiss Cancer Goodbye", "Cancer Does Not Live Here Anymore!", "Cancer Free Zone!", "No More Chemo", "My Friend Is A Cancer Survivor!", "My Friend Kicked Cancer's Butt!".  What an amazing feeling.  It felt so good to be celebrating.  The counter had balloons and a great elephant cake (I collect elephants), along with a sign letting us know there was meat, fruit, and veggies in the frig.  And that wasn't all!  There was a menu of meals they and others (Sue Bonefas and Barbara Haralson) would be bringing for the next four nights so we could get settled in without worrying about shopping.  And to top it all off, they had completely cleaned my house--vacuumed, dusted, cleaned the bathrooms, the whole works.  I have never been more grateful for a kind act in my life.  These wonderful people will never know what a difference they made in helping us celebrate, feel completely relieved and experience such gratefulness.  

Greg and I soaked everything in and then collapsed on the couch as we tried to process the feeling of being truly free from cancer.  I don't think we realized the huge burden and pressure we had been under until it was completely lifted.  We were both floating.

This morning, we woke after enjoying our own bed and the idea of being here to stay.  In the shower, we peeled off the last eight remaining green tags from radiation and everything looked better immediately.  While the area on the side of my breast, under my arm, and underneath my breast remains black and blue and peeling, having the tags gone just looked better as it symbolized being free from any more treatments.  Some of my skin came off with some of the tags, but it signified a time for healing to begin.

Soon I was off to work looking forward to settling back in at my office.  As I walked into my office and opened the door, there my team stood to surprise me as I crossed under yet another Finish Line sign.  There were flowers, more signs, and many happy faces in my office and it felt amazing not only to be back, but to have so many people happy to see me and welcome me back.

This was a long race and I plan on spending a long time celebrating my finish.  The next celebration coming up is the Cardinals breast cancer awareness game.  I received final details today concerning the events.  I learned that next Monday, we will actually have dinner with some of the Cardinals players in celebration of being a survivor.  Then on Thursday, we will practice with the cheerleaders for the game on Sunday.  Finally, on Sunday, I am excited to have the opportunity to end this journey where it started, on the Cardinals field during halftime.  One year ago as I watched the breast cancer survivors on that field, I never imaged myself being one.  But I knew, if I ever was one, I would want to be as brave as those women were, dancing on a field, bald or with little hair, celebrating surviving in front of 70,000 people.  And now, here I am, about to do just that.  I am lucky that several of our friends are going to attend the game in my honor as well as Preston and my dad.  And I can't wait to celebrate being a survivor on that field. You see, in some ways, I believe that game last year saved my life.  I found my lump 16 hours after attending and watching those ladies.  Maybe, subconsciously, I looked for something I might not have without being there.  I only hope the sponsors of this event, Cigna Health Care, realize the difference this can make for someone, and the difference it made for me.

I will post another entry following the Cardinals events, and then, on October 19th, the day before my birthday, Greg and I are hosting a "Kissing Cancer Goodbye" party.  I want everyone who can come to attend as we cut down that Pink Tree.  So many people have done so much for us, and we want to end this journey with a final celebration of being alive with all of those who have done so much for us.  Please mark your calendars to be part of our celebration.  Following that, I will make one last post before ending my blog.  This blog and the followers of the blog have helped me through this horrific journey and trial in my life and I am so glad I was able to use it to stay positive and focused on winning this battle.  But my journey is over, the race I have won and it is time to move on and start Living Life More Than I Ever Have Before.

Crossing the Finish Line...........

9/24/13--Tuesday--Day 346--Ringing the Cancer Free Bell!

What an absolutely amazing few days it has been celebrating the end to this horrific year of cancer!  I am so happy I crossed the finish line in this breast cancer race.  I feel like I felt the day I had my braces taken off and I couldn't stop smiling.  I am beaming from the inside out and feel like the weight of the world has been taken off of my shoulders!

When we arrived home last Friday afternoon, we unloaded our six week's worth of baggage and supplies, dropping most of them on the floor by the door.  It was SOOOOO nice to be home for good.  And though we had one more overnight trip for the remaining two treatments, that seemed minute by comparison to what we had just finished.  We set out to shop since there hadn't been groceries in the house for six weeks but after that, spent Saturday and Sunday enjoying being home.  Our friends from Albuquerque, Mike and Suzie, came for the weekend since they wouldn't be able to be at the cancer center on Tuesday for my final treatment.  It was nice to celebrate with them since they had been so helpful during my hospital stay and many different times throughout this journey.

Wanting to thanks those who have done so much for us, we made small bags of treats to hand out on Tuesday when we rang the bell.  The nurses, doctors, aides, and technicians have become almost like family to us over these past eleven and a half months.  They have done so much to help us through this journey so this seemed like a small way to show our appreciation.  We made pretzels with Hugs and M&M's melted to them and packaged them in small clear bags.  These were the same treats we created in January to hand out at the hospital before my surgery, but instead of the tags saying "Kisses of Hope", these tags said "The Lindsey's are Kissing Cancer Goodbye!"  It seemed a fitting farewell.  Sunday evening we left some of the treat bags on the desks of all those who work in my building at school.  Many have been so supportive as I have fought this battle, but especially those who work on my team.

Over the weekend, Greg had his toenails painted one last time.  Our friend, Cheyenne, has been doing different breast cancer designs on Greg's toenails since January.  Since I didn't want him to shave or dye his hair, he decided to do his toenails as support.  The nurses have LOVED his creativity and admired him for being so supportive of me.  This was the most exciting toe design yet because they were our CELEBRATION TOES.  He still had his signature breasts and breast cancer ribbons, but this time they were surrounded by confetti with bright glitter gleaming with happiness.  He vowed to wear sandals on Tuesday in celebration and I was okay with that!

Monday morning we headed back to Mesa for the first time without dreading it since the end was finally so close in sight.  When I walked in for treatment Monday afternoon, I could hardly contain my excitement.  I hugged Ernie and told him goodbye since he would not be there the next day when I finished my treatment.  He and Kalib had been so wonderful and truly a joy to have on my team.   After treatment, Greg and I went to dinner in Chandler by a small lake, then we headed to a nice hotel to celebrate.

This morning was incredible.  We woke early and met my dad at the cancer center an hour before my scheduled treatment.  We wanted time to deliver our treats and say goodbye to so many.  In the lab we started with Marc and Juanita who always had a smile for us as they checked us in.  Tracy, who administered my last chemo, was there as was Heather.  I don't know what I would have done without Heather, the only nurse who could consistently access my port.  We had become so close.  I hugged them both and left them goodies.  We then started on the third floor, the dreaded infusion floor.  As I pressed 3 on the elevator, my mind flooded with memories of when I first stepped into that elevator and Dale, the volunteer, was escorting me around.  I remember having no idea what it meant when he said, "The third floor is our infusion floor," so he smiled at me and explained that was where chemo was administered.  I wasn't concerned because I knew I wasn't going to have chemo since I just had ductal carcinoma, the easy, stage zero cancer.   Months later, I remember how scared I was when I first pressed that button to go to the third floor.  This time, today, as we stepped out of the elevator and walked down the long hallway, I was beaming with excitement and gratitude for all of these amazing people who had done so much to save my life.

We delivered our treats along with hugs to all those who had made us feel so very safe--Donna, the third floor receptionist who I always kidded about giving me "jewelry" (the hospital arm bands); Hailey and Pam who greeted us with smiles and took vitals before escorting us to the chemo chairs; several different nurses who always stopped by to chat during our treatments; Sue and Kim, the amazing volunteer ladies who deliver lunch to the patients getting chemo; and Cheryl, my angel, my main chemo nurse, my partner, my encourager, and my reassurer.  How very fortunate I had been to connect with this amazing lady.  As we embraced, tears flooded into my eyes as I felt that familiar love and reassurance Cheryl always provided.  What a gift she is.  I was so glad she was there today.

We left treat bags for those we missed, nurses Carrie-Ann and Sarah, Mike the pharmacist, Fred who I always joked with about mixing my chemo in the flavor I requested ;).  From the third floor we moved to the second.  It was too early for anyone to be there, but Sonja, my friend from the lab, was covering for Heather and Christa, the second floor receptionist.  All three ladies have been so welcoming and Sonja has been especially supportive.  We left treats for them as well as all of the doctors and their staffs who have cared for me--Dr. Byrum, Dr. Matt, Dr. C., Melissa, Michelle, Lisa, Tia, Betsy, Leona, Adriana, and even Rita, my favorite gift shop volunteer.  It felt good to be giving back, even something so little, knowing each of them would smile when they received their treats and know we appreciated what they have done.  I was glad my dad was with us as we thanks all of these people.  He has been with me through every step, and next to Greg, been my biggest supporter.

Time was up and we headed back to the first floor.  As we exited the elevator, we ran into Bob, Wanda, and Charlene, our family friends from Cottonwood.  What a great surprise.  I've known Wanda since I was a little girl and she was my mom's best friend.  My heart melted seeing her as, in some small way, it felt a little like having my mom there to help me celebrate.  Charlene, Wanda's daughter, was the one of the first people I called for help last October when my biopsy results hadn't come back for several days.  She was also a big influence for me on recommending MD Anderson Cancer Center.

As we walked down to radiation, I was happy to see Preston there waiting.  I was glad he could be there and though I missed Brooklyn being there, I knew she was there in spirit, sending love from Idaho.  Our good friends Paul and Diane were there waiting as well.  They were the first people we told about the cancer last October as we sat in their van in a parking lot 24 hours after first being diagnosed.  I remember the devastating looks on both of their faces that night.  We now realize they understood the battle we were about to face better than we did at that time.  And, they had been by our sides throughout this battle to support and encourage us.  We spent several evenings at their house while we were in Mesa and they kept us cheered up and positive while we were away from home so long.

After saying hi to everyone, I went back to the dressing room smiling and delivering a few treats along the way, starting with Robbie, the receptionist who checked me in with a smile at radiation each day.  I was so excited to be putting on my treatment shirt for the last time.  Tracy and Kalib were excited with me as we set up for the last boost treatment.  They had both read the super long blog entry from last week and were excited for me about the Cardinals halftime show.  Once I was set, they left the room for the final time.  For a moment, I reflected back on just how scared I was the first time they walked out of that vault and left me with all of those machines.  This time, I couldn't stop smiling as I heard the machine begin to work.  It almost sounded like an electrical charge building up.  Then, within seconds, the "Beam On" light lit up and that familiar firing sound began.  As with the previous four times, it sounded like little BB's hitting glass super fast, almost like sandblasting as the radiation shot into on my scar one last time.  And that was it.  I was done!  As I stood up, I expressed my gratitude to Kalib and Tracy and told them what a difference they made in my treatment.  Yes, this was their job, but the respect and kindness they use was calming and comforting and I really appreciated working with them and Ernie over these last six weeks.  I told Kalib I would never forget his confident tone of voice that first day when he said, "This is easy peazy!"

They followed me down the long hallway and the door swung open to cheers and applause as I exited.  A large crowd had joined my friends and family in the waiting room.  All of the nurses whom we have grown to love from both the third and second floors and the lab girls had come to watch me ring the bell.  It was touching and I couldn't have been happier to share this exciting moment in my life with those who had taken such good care of us.

I motioned for Greg to come join me.  This has been his journey as much as it has been mine and he deserved to read the poem and ring the bell with me.  In unison, we read, "Ring this bell three times well, Its toll to clearly say, My treatment's done, This course is run, And I am on my way!"  The sound of that Soleri bell rang through our bodies as Greg and I together rang it loud and clear.  I can't remember ever being that excited.  There were no tears--just joy and happiness.  That bell signified that our lives had resumed.  The pause we had taken over the last eleven and a half months was over 19 days short of a year.  It had been 346 days of breast cancer; 21,714 miles driven for treatment or 4 round trips from Los Angeles to New York; 69 trips from Safford to Mesa, which works out to 363 hours or 15 days straight of driving; 38 nights in a different bed; 4 major surgeries, 3 of which were within 5 weeks of each other; 8 nights in the hospital; 98 injections in the butt of Heparin by Greg; 16 sessions of being killed by chemo or over 64 hours throughout 24 weeks; 30 rounds of radiation; 4 really bad days of being mad at Greg (when coming off of steroids); 0 baths (only showers); no hot tubbing; no longer being embarrassed about being naked in front of people; 0 times puking; and 0 missed days of work due to being sick (other than recovery from surgery and doctors appointments).  Whew.....It Was Finally Over!  We had Crossed the Finish Line and we were Ringing The Cancer-Free Bell!

The Radiation Journey......

9/19/13--Thursday--Day 341--The Last Leg of the Race and Finishing the Race.

Well, we have just about made it to the end.  I am down to three more treatments, and next Tuesday, I will ring that bell in the radiation department to signify the end of radiation, the last leg of this race, and the end of cancer!

I'll apologize ahead of time for the length of this blog.  I feel badly that it has been a month since my last blog, but since we have relocated to Mesa for treatments, we have kept ourselves super busy.  Greg and I both set up offices in separate rooms so we could work remotely.  As each evening approached, we shut down our computers and headed out of the house spending each night with different friends, or with Preston, going to a movie, or eating out.  That has been an important part of keeping our spirits up during these six weeks.  We have really enjoyed connecting with old friends, socializing, and enjoying some of the food and entertainment the big city offers.  And, we are forever grateful to my Aunt Mary for opening her house to us and letting us stay here.

Overall, radiation has gone very well with only a few setbacks or side effect.  I ended my last blog after the first week of radiation when I was developing a rash.  By Monday morning of week two, the rash had spread from my hand and forearm to my upper arm and a large marble-sized hard bump had formed above my elbow which was red and hot.  Research on the Internet suggested either a blood clot or Cellulitis--neither of which were good.  The doctor had the same concerns and wanted to see me right away, so I left work early and we headed to Mesa.  Dr. Grade's PA, Aida, saw me as soon as we arrived.  She ordered labs and an ultrasound of my arm to look for a blood clot.  Both tests came back negative.  With both ruled out, Aida suggested it was a bite of some kind.  She wanted to proceed with radiation, but directed me to start on Benadryl, Advil, and Cortisone cream.  I agreed since the labs showed no infection and the ultrasound showed no clot, but something just didn't add up for me.  If it was a bite, why did it start in the hand and move up to the upper arm instead of the reverse?

Monday through Wednesday nights I did what Aida suggested but by Thursday, the rash persisted and the bump was getting larger and was still hot to the touch.  After radiation I saw Dr. Grade for my weekly appointment.  After examining me, she agreed it probably wasn't a bite, but an infection of some kind.  She said the bump was probably an infected lymph node (I didn't even know there were lymph nodes by your elbow but I guess there are).  Because of the lymphedema, infection wasn't draining from the arm so it began swelling and the rash appeared.  Then the infection landed in the lymph node and began swelling.  As we thought about the possible causes of the infection, we realized it's possible that the weekend I stayed at Preston's to kitty-sit, his new kitten, Waffles, might have left microscopic scratches or a puncture from when I played with her.  Even though there were no visible marks, a cat scratch would explain how it started with the hand.  Because of my lymphedema, any kind of puncture, even microscopic, can be dangerous.  I have been wearing gloves to clean house, wash dishes, and even to work in the yard, but it never occurred to me the kitten would be dangerous.  To treat the infection, Dr. Grade started me on Keflex, an antibiotic I had been on when my toes were infected during my last chemo round.  We figured it would be better by the following week.

As week two ended, we filled the prescription and left for the airport to fly to Boise to meet up with Brooklyn.  It was the weekend she moved into her dorm at Boise State and I wasn't going to miss being there for her.  We had a great evening in Idaho preparing for the move and Friday morning we were up early and heading into the city with two carloads full of Brooklyn's belongings.  My stamina was low, but I was determined to help as much as I could.  Brooklyn's campus apartment is on the fourth floor with only staircase access.  I wasn't sure how many trips up and down the stairs I would make, but I was going to give it my best shot.  She has a great corner apartment that is super spacious with a full kitchen and a nice living room as well as a washer and dryer.  There are four girls who share the space but each has her own room.  Brooklyn shares her bathroom with one girl so it is really an ideal setup.  It didn't take us long to get her set up and by Friday afternoon Brooklyn and I were off to shop for apartment essentials while her dad worked on changing the fuel pump in her truck.  By late afternoon, I was super tired, but hanging in there.

Saturday I had noticed my throat seemed really weird, almost I had a piece of bread lodged in it.  By the afternoon, I was having some trouble swallowing.  It almost felt like I had to gulp to swallow, but it wasn't hurting on the inside like a sore throat would.  Just before we left for dinner, I called my good friend, Diane, who is a nurse, just to pick her brain on if this could be a side effect of the radiation.  She said probably not, but it could be a bad reaction to the antibiotic I had started so she wanted me to call the doctor.  As I explained what I was feeling to the radiologist on call, he was afraid I might be having an anaphylactic reaction to the antibiotic.  He told me to stop taking the antibiotic and go to the emergency room if it got worse or I started to have trouble breathing.  The anaphylactic reaction made sense.  To have that type of reaction, you have to be exposed to the allergen one other time--I took medicine for the first time for my toe infection in July.  Then your body builds up the allergic reaction to it, and the next time you are exposed to it, your body has a bad reaction.  It seemed to make sense.

Sunday we spent the day buying Brooklyn a bike (and teaching her to ride it since she hasn't ridden in years), and seeing some of BSU before we left to see some of the rodeo events for Trina's kiddos.  We ended the night finally meeting Tina, the woman who has cancer and made a video of getting a blue mohawk when her hair started to fall out.  We learned of Tina and the video through our good friend and former neighbor, Gayrene.  She is a counselor at EAC where Tina's son attends college.  Gayrene met Tina in December, just after my diagnosis had become worse.  She told Tina of my story and then shared Tina's video with me.  Before my Pretty in Pink party in February, Brooklyn secretly found Tina in Boise.  She met her and they did a photo shoot together and surprised me with it during the party.  What a small world we share.  It was really nice to meet Tina in person and I was grateful she had befriended Brooklyn.  It gave Brooklyn someone in Idaho close by that she could relate to who was going through a similar situation as I was and therefore made Brooklyn feel more a part of me.  It was intriguing spending a few hours hearing Tina and her husband share their experiences with this horrible disease.

We flew back to Mesa Monday morning and began week three of radiation.  My throat continued to be a challenge but the doctor started me on a different antibiotic for my arm and I figured the lump would go away in a few days.  I saw the doctor for my regular Thursday appointment and questioned the situation with my throat.  I asked her if the radiation could be damaging my throat and she assured me it wasn't.  She said we weren't treating anywhere close to my throat.  I told her I was confused because I thought she had originally said we were treating my upper clavicle lymph nodes.  She looked at her paper and said we weren't.  I left feeling really confused because it seemed in conflict of what I remembered her telling me when we first started.  She had originally told me she would treat the upper lymph nodes because if the cancer were to return, that would be the most likely place since my other lymph nodes were all taken out.  By the time we drove home, Dr. Grade called me and apologized.  She said when she left the room, she was concerned too and went to look up my records again.  She then said she was treating my upper lymph nodes and it was really close to the larynx, which could be causing the discomfort.  I really respected her for calling me.  It set my mind more at peace for the weekend.

On Friday, it was nice to head back to Safford for the Labor Day weekend since we had been away for two weeks in a row.  I have the sweetest neighbors ever.  Gayrene and her daughter Kristi left me cute balloons counting down five done the first week, and now they had a sweet sign with Milkyway bars lining the number 15 for being half way through.  We had a great, relaxing, long, much-needed weekend at home.

When we returned on Tuesday for week four, my throat was still really bothering me.  I had finished the second prescription and it had been five days since I had seen the doctor.  Sue, Dr. Grade's nurse, came to the waiting room to check on several of us.  When I told her my throat was still bad, she was perplexed.  She had never heard of this kind of reaction to radiation for breast cancer, and honestly, she almost seemed frustrated with me.  She took me back to an exam room and paged Dr. Grade saying, "We're going to get to the bottom of this."  When she told me they weren't treating anywhere near my throat, I explained what Dr. Grade had said when she call me the previous week following the appointment.  I finally said, "I'm not making this up.  It is really difficult to swallow," then Sue seemed to soften up a bit knowing I was as frustrated about it as she was.  She assured me we would figure it out.  When Dr. Grade came in, she explained that before coming to MD Anderson where she focused mostly on breasts, she treated many kinds of cancers.  The lump-in-the-throat effect I was experiencing was a common complaint from throat cancer patients and it was likely I was experiencing that same effect.  She showed me how far over the radiation was coming and how high up it was so it was actually crossing  up high by my neck to get the mammary glands since the PET scan had shown there was a tumor there and it couldn't be surgically removed.  She assured me that the lump would go away about two weeks after the radiation treatments ended saying, "I would stake my reputation on it."  As Dr. Grade walked me back to the dressing room, we ran into Sue and Dr. Grade explained what she had shared with me to Sue so she would have a better understanding of the situation.  I left feeling much better.  Finally, someone validated that what I was experiencing was a normal or expected reaction to something, and, it wasn't going to be permanent.

On Wednesday of week four, after radiation, I was taken back to the original room where they did my first mapping.  This time they were planning for my boost.  Boost treatments are the last five treatments that target just the scar area from the original lumpectomy.  For this they start with a CT scan.  Following that, they use what looks like a large, clear, plastic clamp.  They hook the clamp to the table then place a clear, plastic, square paddle over my breast.  With the paddle attached to the clamp, they compress my breast as much as possible squishing it down into my chest.  The point is to flatten the breast so the tumor bed is as close to the surface as possible.  During the boost treatments, they use a different type of radiation, electrons, which are more surface penetrating rather than protons that permeate all the way through the body.  They also use a larger dose of radiation as they are targeting the tissue where the tumor actually rested to make sure any cancerous tissue that might be remaining is killed.  When they were finished doing the boost treatment tagging, I was up to 20 tags on my body.  I had the original black and purple marks, then I had orange marks, and now I had green boost tags.  It was actually funny.  They ran from just above my breast to around the sides and underneath and on my belly and were even on the other side and breast to help with lining me up.

We headed home on Friday after treatment and I went to the office.  On the weekends home, I usually worked Friday afternoons and Monday mornings in the office, which was nice to be face-to-face with my team.  Those were very productive times as we would squeeze as many meetings and project updates into them as possible.

Monday afternoon we returned for week five knowing we would be in Mesa for two weeks in a row again since we had plans with friends on Saturday and a Cardinals game on Sunday.  During week five we were invited to go for a hike in the Pinnacle Peak mountains by our good friend Paul.  I was scared at first; I haven't had much energy and wasn't sure how I would do.  It had been raining for a few days so the temperature was perfect at 82.  When we arrived, I wanted to climb the trail up to the top of the mountain, but by the time we had hiked to the fork in the trail, I knew I couldn't make the climb up so we opted for the lower trail.  I still did pretty well overall and finished the trail, which was the most I have hiked in months.  I was super encouraged and motivated to start my journey to getting back in shape so the next day, we decided to hike with Preston.  This time we hiked by his apartment up the Papago mountains by the Phoenix zoo where Hunt's Tomb is.  I made it to the top and we watched an amazing sunset over the cityscape.  As week five ended, Greg noticed my underarm and under my breast looked almost black and blue.  It was the first physical signs of the radiation we had really seen other than my skin being a little red.  It looked like someone had actually beaten me with a bat.  Greg and I wondered if it was a result of hiking since my arm was rubbing my side.

Last week we also had our last appointment until December with Dr. C, my oncologist.  She told me as soon as my last radiation was finished, I would be starting Arimidex, the pill I will have to take for the next five to ten years.  It is a pill that is an antineoplastic or more precisely, a nonsteroidal aromatase inhibitor.  Basically it inactivates aromatase, which is what converts certain enzymes in women (androstenedione and estrone) into estrogen.  Since my cancer was estrogen fed, I have to keep my body from having any estrogen to keep my cancer from returning.  I had heard some scary things about some of the "after cancer" pills, so I asked Dr. C. what if I didn't take it.  She said I would have a 50% chance of my cancer coming back if I didn't take the pill.  I think I'll take it and deal with any side effects.  Since Arimidex can cause a loss in bone density, I had to have a bone density scan.  I returned to the imaging center where my friend Pam works and where this all began.  It was nice to see her and she loved my hair, which has grown in quite a bit.  The bone density scan was the easiest test I've had yet.  I laid on a table while an arm hovered above me moving from my thighs to my chest.  To test bone density, they test your left hip and you lower spin only.  The technician said that is because those are the first places to break down.  The results of my bone density test came out good as I am not showing any bone density deficiency as of now.  That is great news since most women my age are already in the  osteopenia stage, meaning they have lost bone density but are not yet in full blown osteoporosis.  I was worried since my mother had osteoporosis.   Prior to the bone scan, I also had a mammogram on my left breast.  That was a little scary when the radiologist requested a second scan because he saw something.  My heart dropped at the thought that they were now seeing something in my left breast.  I can't tell you the horror I felt as I waited for the results of the second scan.  A new scan showed what he was seeing was just scar tissue from where my port was.  A huge relief almost brought me to tears.

We enjoyed the weekend activities and the Cardinals game and started on week six, this week.  Kalib and Ernie have been my radiation therapists during this entire journey.  They have been great.  On Tuesday I took them and others at the Cancer Center more Hugs and Kisses, but this time in little glass jars with a ducky on top.  This is because when Kalib and Ernie ask how I'm doing each morning, sometimes I answer "Just ducky" and we all laugh.  It was also to celebrate my "one more week" mark.  They have made each session fun and we always smile and laugh.  They both are excellent and have offered great help throughout this.  I told Kalib I had started hiking last week and he recommended I not hike for now.  He said any friction or sweat can break down the skin even more, so that was probably what had caused the bruising look under my arm.  So we decided to give it a few more weeks before we start walking, even after we return home.

My boost treatments started on Wednesday.  No more holding my breath--though I've become really good at it.  I also got to peel off all of my tags except for the green ones, yay!  With the boost treatments, they squish my breast using the clear paddle and line me up to a led cast that was pour to outline the shape of my tumor bed.  They were able to create the shape based on the CAT scan they did a few weeks ago.  This led mold keeps the higher doses of radiation from penetrating anywhere except exactly where they are directing it on my scar.  The boosts are super simple and super fast compared to the regular treatments.  It takes longer to set me up and line me up than to receive the treatment.  Each day I've gone in this week I can't help but have a huge grin on my face knowing we are almost to the end.

This morning we did notice signs of peeling under my breast.  Dr. Grade said my skin will continue to break down and get worse for about two weeks after treatment, then it will start to repair itself.  She said it actually repairs very quickly, but when we asked about the lake, she insisted no lake water for several weeks until it is completely repaired, so I guess that definitely means lake season is officially over until next year.  I also showed her a rash I have developed in the bend of both of my arms.  She said it was a yeast infection and suggested a topical cream for it.  Then she started to wonder if I didn't have some type of yeast infection attacking my throat as well.  She instructed me to start eating yogurt again and see if it doesn't help my throat.  Who knows, but it does makes sense.  It did start just after a few days on a powerful antibiotic so maybe that's been it all along.  We'll see.

Each day since the start of radiation, Greg has been great.  He has applied Aloe all over the radiation area several times a day, he's repaired my tags as they would start to come off, and he has gone to every treatment with me.  He continues to be my rock and amazing support system.  A few weeks ago he and I headed back up to the infusion floor to see some of the great chemo nurses whom we love.  They were so happy to see us.  We took them goody bags with Hugs and Kisses and told them we missed seeing them but didn't miss being on that floor.  Cheryl and Heather and others were super glad to see us and said it takes a lot of courage to go back there because it is a place that holds tough memories.  Greg and I both agreed, but I'm so glad we went.

So tonight we are packing up our things from my Aunt Mary's house, and moving out of our temporary home over these last six weeks.  Tomorrow we will head home for the weekend after my treatment.  We will come back Monday afternoon, but have decided to get a nice hotel Monday night, the night before our last treatment.  Then, Tuesday morning, sometime around 9 AM I will be finished with my last treatment and go into the radiation waiting room where I will ring the bell as a symbol of my treatment for cancer ending.  We have invited the nurses and technicians from different areas of the cancer center who have meant so much to us as well as our family and friends to help us celebrate as we walk away from this challenging year.  I will finish treatment 346 days after it all began, exactly 19 days short of a year from when this journey and this blog first began.

Greg has arranged for the most amazing culminating event as we end this journey and begin to celebrate life.  On October 6th, I will be on the Cardinals football field during their breast cancer awareness halftime show!  As we approach the one year mark and I reflect back on this horrific journey, I often think about the Cardinals game halftime show a year ago.  In a way, that event saved my life.  It was a strange sensation being at that game last year before I knew I had cancer.  I remember feeling so empathetic towards the women on that field and saying to my friends, "If I ever have breast cancer, I would want to be brave like those women--brave enough to be on that field in front of a huge crowd to celebrate surviving."  The events from that day raised my awareness and made me think twice the next morning when I got out of the shower and felt something a little odd on my breast.  So in a sense, that halftime show saved my life.  So ending this year, my treatment, and this journey where it all started, but actually on the field this time, is going to be an amazing celebration of surviving this Last Leg of the Race and Finishing This Race.

One Week Down, Five and a Half to Go.........

8/18/13--Sunday-Day 309--So Far Radiation Isn't Bothersome, Just Noticeable.

It's Sunday following my first week of radiation and we are back home on a 48 hour furlough.  Yesterday was the first home game of the Cardinal Football Season so we stayed in Mesa to attend Saturday's game against the Cowboys, which, by the way, WE WON!  We have been season ticket holders for eighteen years now and used to really look forward to our trips to Phoenix as protected time we guaranteed with each other.  This weekend, however, staying in Mesa the extra day only delayed our escape back home.

The first week of radiation has gone well.  On Monday, I had a late afternoon appointment so I worked at the office until noon when Greg, Brooklyn and I headed for Mesa.  The evening before, we loaded the car with everything we figured we needed to set up offices at my Aunt Mary's house for the next six weeks.  Greg and I both had super busy work weeks ahead plus, Brooklyn would be flying out on Wednesday morning, I had my four-month gynecology oncologist exam, and we were starting radiation for real.  It was going to be a challenging week, so I was glad we arrived in Mesa with enough time to unload and settle in before heading to the Cancer Center.

I was not looking forward to going in for radiation as the first two simulation sessions had been challenging.  When we arrived at the Cancer Center, Greg and Brooklyn waited in the waiting area as Robbie, the receptionist, greeted me and pushed the button for the automatic door to open.  I went down the hallway and into the dressing room where I put on my gown and waited.  A young lady came to get me this time, and escorted me into the control room where Kaleb asked me to verify my name and birth date.  The three of us then proceeded into the radiation room.  As I went through the vault door, I realized it really wasn't three feet thick after all, but maybe half that size.  And the machine, it didn't have the large CAT scan ring as I had remembered, nor did it have near as many intimidating arms.  In fact, it already looked familiar and much less ominous.

I climbed onto my body mold on the table hoping the back stretches I had started doing were going to keep me from cramping. With my gown pulled down, both arms stretched above my head in arm cradles, and my back in the body mold, Kaleb and his assistant pushed the table up under the machine then adjusted my body until the marks on my skin lined up perfectly with lights being shot from around the room.  Bright red lights with patterns shined on me from the ceiling on both sides of the room and neon green laser-looking lines helped position my body to the exact spot.   When it was just right, Kaleb and his helper both left the room.

I closed my eyes to keep the bright red light out and to relax hoping to keep the cramps at bay.  I focused on staying calm by picturing myself on the shore of Apache Lake at sunset relaxing.  As machines started to move, I opened my eyes.  Though my head was turned sideways to the left, I could see from the corner of my eye that above me was the round machine with metal plates behind glass.  From my research, I knew this was the multi-leaf collimator which is what is used to deliver the radiation and what the big deal behind IMRT is.  As the radiation is delivered, these metal leaves are programed to change shape directing the radiation so higher doses can be precisely delivered to certain areas while minimizing radiation exposure to healthy areas.  On the sides of me, two large flat panel screens moved in close on each side.  These were silver, but shaped like super large flat screen computer monitors.  "When you're ready, take a deep breath and hold it," Kaleb said through the speakers.  As I held my breath, I heard a quiet buzzing noise for about five seconds while the monitors took the x-ray images. "You can breath now," Kaleb said as the two screens and the large round machine, automatically rotated to the right 90 degrees so one screen was now above me and one beneath.  As I held my deep breath once again, more x-rays were taken.  Then there was a long pause.  The table jerked ever so slightly moving probably a millimeter at a time.  I held my breath several more times as more adjustments were made. Soon the screens rotated to the left moving beyond their starting position and pulled away a bit while the collimator moved in closer.  The collimator was large and round.  Behind a glass were what looks like the edges of a bunch of metal plates.  It reminded me of those metal toys that look like tons of small nails and you put your hand on it and the metal nails form a three dimensional shape around your hand.  The collimator sort of looked like that.  Certain plates were opened creating an odd looking shape.

The collimator was now positioned to my left at a 45 degree angle pointing toward the target, my right breast.  After being instructed, I took a deep breath and the collimator began rotating to the right.  The entire machine slowly rotated around my body approaching its 180 degree point underneath me.  While it was moving, I held my breath as long as I could, then gasped for air.  As I gasped for a breath, the machine stopped immediately, just as Kaleb had told me it would.  Through the speaker, he assured me it was okay, instructed me to catch my breath, and when I was ready, to take a deep breath and hold it again so we could finish.  I did and the final few seconds of the radiation beam continued while the machine found its resting place just underneath my right side now.  After a few minutes, it was time to start again.  I took another deep breath and the machine began its journey back around to the top of me. As the collimator moved around my body, the metal leaves moved creating different shapes directing the radiation to certain parts of my body while protecting other parts.  I closed my eyes trying to focus on keeping my breath.  Though I knew it was okay not to hold my breath for the entire rotation, it was now a challenge.  I pretended I was at Apache Lake swimming and wanted to make it under the boat.  That helped.  It kept my mind busy and just as I was about to lose my breath, the machine stopped back in its starting position and I heard Kaleb say, "You can breath now.  That's it.  Stay still until we come in."  And that was it.  It was over.  My first radiation was completed.

As they pulled me out from under the machine, my right arm was hurting where it is numb from the surgery, but that was it.  I wasn't nearly as exhausted, I had no back cramps, and the treatment seemed much shorter.  Wow, I was pleasantly surprised, encouraged, and optimistic.  "I can do this!" I said to Kaleb.  "This is much easier than it was on Friday!"  He laughed, "Easy peesy, I told you."  The whole process had taken about forty minutes.  That was MUCH BETTER than the hour plus the practice sessions had taken.  I returned to the dressing room, got dressed, and, with a much brighter attitude, headed out to where Greg and Brooklyn were waiting.  Greg asked how it went and I told him my right side seemed warm, and I swear I felt the tingling of the energy which had just been forced inside of me, but all in all, I was encouraged that this whole process from start to finish would be just under an hour.

Tuesday's, Wednesday's, and Thursday's treatments went pretty much the same.  Each day I learned a little more as I came prepared with questions for Kaleb.  He's been great, patiently explaining how things work and providing the answers for all of my questions.

On Wednesday, Preston took Brooklyn to the airport to return to Idaho.  We weren't able to go because we had an appointment with Dr. Matt, my gynecologist oncologist that morning.  My tumor markers were down from 19 to 17, which is great.  Anything under 36 is good, so all looks good on that part.

Thursdays after treatment, we met with Dr. Grade, something we will now do every Thursday throughout the treatment.  I saved my medical questions for her.  One thing that had been bothering me was having multiple x-rays done every single day.  Dentist only x-ray your teeth once a year to minimize your exposure to radiation, yet I was having multiple x-rays each day for 30 days?  Dr. Grade assured me that the x-ray was a much smaller dosage which is also why they didn't cover the other parts of my body with a led apron like they do at the dentist.  She said all of the imaging is taken into account when calculating the total amount of radiation exposure I am receiving.  Just like with chemo, you have to trust that the doctors know what they are doing when they are prescribing treatment.  I had to trust that all of the radiation I was receiving was part of the prescribed plan.

On Friday, I learned it was double imaging day.  Once a week, they take an extra set of images to make sure the positioning of my body and the delivery of the radiation beams are still in line.  After the two x-rays are taken with the screens to my sides and then on top and bottom, for the extra x-ray or imaging, now a screen makes a complete arch circling around me while I hold my breath, sort of like a CAT scan you can see moving.  Kaleb said this is just an extra precaution to make sure everything remains in line with the calculations of the IMRT.

So that's the story of radiation so far.  We have started applying the aloe vera as instructed by Dr. Grade.  The only bad side effect so far is my lymphedema in my right hand and arm has really flared up.  My hand is so swollen you can't see my knuckles and it is really aching, and this morning, my forearm was covered with a rash of light red dots.  We will return to Mesa tomorrow after I work at the office for half the day as our Monday radiation appoints are in the late afternoons.  Tuesdays through Fridays I will have morning appointments starting this week, so that will help us settle better into a routine.  This past week my appointments were all in the afternoons because some of the machines were down for mandatory maintenance and they had to fit everyone in on the remaining machines.  As for the actual treatments, being someone who is very in-tune with energy and energy fields, I truly believe I feel the radiation for quite some time after each treatment.  It's like a crazy, bouncy, excited energy field bouncing around on that side of my body.  But all in all, So Far Radiation Isn't Bothersome, Just Noticeable.

Tomorrow Starts Radiation Treatment One of Thirty.......

8/11/13--Sunday--Day 302--Our Celebration Day is Getting Closer

So here we are, the night before the real radiation starts.  It has been a busy two weeks, and really, a busy two months.  Getting school started is always hectic--in fact, it's definitely my busiest time of year at work--but this year things have been extra busy as we are implementing three new major programs in the middle of starting school.  That coupled with being gone in the middle of it all for my port removal and mapping day, plus, not knowing when everything was going to start made it even more challenging.  But I got through it, school started, and here I am about to start the real thing.

After my last post, I started to wonder and worry about what this change in treatment was that happened in the middle of the mapping session.  All I could remember was Dr. Grade coming in and saying she wanted to see if my insurance would approve a different kind of treatment.  Then, once they did, we redid my body mold and everyone said this new treatment would be so much better.  It all happened so fast while I was in the middle of the mapping.  I wasn't even sure what the procedure was called, much less how new it was, what it really meant, and why I suddenly qualified for it.  By the end of the weekend, I was really anxious about "it" but couldn't even begin to research "it" because I didn't even know what "it" was called.

My 12-14 hour working days didn't leave me a minute to spare on Monday, but by Tuesday, I had to make time to call the doctor.  I was going crazy over not knowing while I waited for the call to come start treatment.  At lunch I was able to get in contact with Sue, Dr. Grade's assistant.  I explained to her what had happened during the mapping and how everything changed so fast.  I told her it didn't seem like the right time to ask questions as I was stretched out on the body mold, naked from the waste up while five or six people were tagging and tapping me.  Sue was super sweet and after looking at my chart, assured me the new treatment option wasn't new at all.  It was just different.  It was more protective of surrounding organs.  She said I would be receiving Intensity Modulated Radiation Therapy (IMRT) instead of the traditional 3 Dimensional (3D) Radiation Therapy.  She assured me this was really much better and would reduce the amount of time I would be on the radiation table, but said she would have Dr. Grade call me to better explain the treatment choice.

By early evening Dr. Grade called.  She was understanding of my confusion and patient in explaining IMRT.  First, she clarified this was not a new treatment as it has been used for quite some time over the last decade.  She also assured me I would be receiving the exact same dosage at the exact same intensity as 3D radiation.  Then she said something that made complete sense to me and put it all in perspective.  She said, "IMRT is a more advanced technology.  Basically, it is a different software approach."  She explained that 3D radiation uses a beam of radiation to treat one field at a time.  IMRT is a continual beam which moves all around you to treat all of the fields while turning on and off to avoid areas not being treated.  "If it's more technologically advanced, why isn't it used on everyone instead of 3D," I asked.  The answer--it's more expensive so many time insurance companies won't pay for it because it produces the same results, just more safely.  It is less dangerous on the surrounding tissue and organs.  She said that is why IMRT is not usually used to treat breast cancer, and when it is, it is more likely approved for left side breast cancer, to protect the heart, verses right side, like mine.   So again, why did mine get approved I asked.  She said I was approved because of the mammary gland tumor which could not be removed.  She said the mammary glands are much deeper than the lymph nodes so delivering radiation so deep can be tricky.  The advanced technology of IMRT will make that easier to pinpoint and reach while protecting the vital organs and tissue around the mammary glands.  So while I still didn't really understand how IMRT was going to work exactly, I at least had a starting point to do some research and learn.  The other information she gave me, which surprised me, is that she wouldn't be treating the areas where the Level 1 lymph nodes or Level 2 axillary lymph nodes were removed, but she would be treating the Level 3 axillary lymph nodes that were left in place.  She said studies have shown if cancer returns in the lymph system, it usually returns to the area above where it first was, not in the spot where the lymph nodes were removed.  Plus, radiation where the lymph nodes were already taken out increases the risk of more severe lymphedema.  She ended by saying my plan was almost complete.  It would be sent to Houston for review, but she anticipated us being able to complete the imaging run on Friday and start the real radiation on Monday.

When I got off the phone, I felt lucky that everything had fallen in place as it had.  It was my concerned questions when Dr. Grade walked in the room during the mapping session where I wanted to make sure she was going to cover my mammary gland with the radiation that had set this all into play.  Because of the mammary gland tumor, I was going to receive a more technologically advanced, more precise, and more safe type of radiation.  I was once again grateful for the doctors at MD Anderson, and thankful for my insurance allowing this.

Wednesday went by with no phone call, but Thursday, just before noon I received my call from radiology scheduling me to come in the next day for the imaging run.  This is where they run you through the radiation plan, but instead of delivering radiation, they take images of where the radiation would hit inside of your body and make sure everything lines up.  My appointment was set for  1:20.  Unfortunately, Greg had had just as difficult of a week as I had.  He had been working non-stop for five days trying to fix one of his trucks at the delivery business.  After a final attempt, the engine seized once again, and it was done.  So Greg had to be on his way to Amarillo, Texas in the next couple of days to buy a truck and get it back before Monday.  We decided I would go to the imaging appointment by myself, so he and Brooklyn left Thursday afternoon for Texas, and Friday, after working a couple of hours, I left for Mesa for the first time alone.

When I arrived at MD Anderson Cancer Center, I stopped to say "hi" to the ladies in the lab showing them where my port had been removed.  They were happy to hear I was starting radiation, the last leg of this journey.  Radiology is on the first floor just around the corner from the lab.  When I checked in, the receptionist pushed a button and the door opened automatically as he instructed me to go on back.  I must have looked a little confused because he immediately asked if I knew what to do.  I told him I really didn't as this was my first time.  He told me to walk down the hall and the changing rooms would be on my right so I proceeded through the door.

The waiting area and changing rooms were where I had waited to be taken back for my mapping.  You go into one of the changing rooms, lock your clothes and personal belongings in a locker, put a hospital gown on, and wait in the women's waiting room until they call you back.  A nice woman volunteer offered to get me something to drink as I waited and then sat and chatted with me until the radiologist came to get me.  He introduced himself as Earnest and walked me to a room different than where the mapping and CAT scan had been done.  On the way, he stopped and showed me the control area where he and his partner Kalib would be controlling the scanning. He showed me the video monitors where they would be able to see me the whole time as well as hear me.  He then lead me through what looked like the largest vault door you can image.  It must have been three feet thick.  From there we walked down a hallway with backlit pictures of nature scenes from floor to ceiling giving the impression we might be looking outside of this cave-like hallway.  Then, as we rounded the corner, there was an ominous machine dominating the room.  The hard, bench-like table with my foam-hardened body mold lay in the center of a crazy concoction of high tech tunnels, arms, and panels.  At the top was the round CAT scan donut machine, but in front of that were what looked like numerous arms with round and square shaped screens.

Earnest and Kalib where both very polite and super nice explaining first that they were going to have to remove my gown and I would be bare-chested throughout the treatment as they needed to line up the taped marks with the lights from the machines.  They carefully positioned my arms, my legs, my hips trying to get my body in the same position so that all of the marks lined up with the lights from the machines.  There I was, once again, lying flat on my back with both arms stretched above my head, my right side pushed up, my hips twisted, my head to the side and my chin up.  Why is it that I can goes days and even weeks without an itch, but the minute I am in a position I'm supposed to hold still in, everything itches.  Besides that, I began to have horrible back cramps.  The first one hurt so badly that I had to raise my right leg to relieve the pain causing them to have to readjust me again.  They tapped a box on my tummy so they could monitor my breathing.  There were two different machines above me moving up and down and several different arms on the sides of me.  All of the arms rotated 360 degrees completely around me.  Both men left the room before any of the equipment moved.  They would speak to me through a speaker telling me, "when you're ready, take a deep breath and hold it.................you can breath normally now."   They must have said that fifty times during the next hour.  In between, they would come in and out of the room adjusting my body more, moving the table more, making everything line up perfectly.  At one point, the cramp in my back became so intense, I had to have one of them come in the room and rub it or I was surely going to move to relieve the pain.

It was well over an hour before we were finished.  When they finished, they had to make even more marks and tape them as the previous ones didn't seem to line up exactly.  Now I had both black and red taped marks all over my torso totaling nine now I think.  When it was all over, my right arm was numb and swollen, my back was sore, and  I felt like I had been hit by a train.  I actually sat in the parking lot for fifteen minutes exhausted before I could drive.  It is hard to explain, but holding that difficult of a position makes your muscles all tense up.  Holding your muscles all over your body tight like that for over an hour is absolutely exhausting, and everything ends up being sore.  Imagine you get one of those night time cramps in your calve or foot that cause you to jump out of bed and stretch it out, but you have to lay perfectly still instead.  My body just hurt.  I drove to Preston's apartment, where I was kitty sitting for the night while he was away, and immediately laid down and fell asleep for an hour.

Since Friday, I've done a little more research on IMRT which has helped in my understanding of how the machines encircling me actually work as compared to 3D radiation.  It has also brought up more questions and a few more fears.  Honestly, lying on that table wasn't just physically painful--it was scary.  Having all of this equipment move all around you, come in close to you, move back out from you, and move in every direction is intimidating and scary.  It brings everything to reality as you realize these machines are going to be administering radiation into your body.  All I can say is I thought radiation was going to be laying still, but comfortably, on a table and being run through a CAT scan machine.  I was completely wrong.  So far I really don't like the two sessions I've gone through.  Kalib assured me that when they are actually running the program to administer the radiation, it should be about twenty minutes shorter than what we had just simulated.  I hope so.  I am going to try to do some back strengthening exercises as well as work on stretching my back to see if it will help relieve the soreness and cramping.  Last time I sang songs inside my head and tried to displace myself to being at Apache Lake just to keep my mind off my body and the intimidating machines as they encircled me.

I was lucky enough to get the treatments scheduled at the times I requested.  Monday treatment will be late in the afternoon so I can work in person here at my office until noon then head to Mesa.  Tuesday through Friday treatments will be early mornings so I can get back to my Aunt Mary's where we are staying and get to work.  Plus, Fridays I'll be on the road home early.  So most weeks we will be  staying in Mesa four nights and back home over the weekend for three nights.  If all goes as anticipated, my 30 treatments will be over Sept. 24th, which means our Celebration Day is Getting Closer.

Vacation, "DePORTation" and Preparing for Radiation......

7/31/13--Wednesday--Day 291--The Last Mile

Today was "dePORTation" day--the day they removed my port; in addition, it was Radiation Mapping day--the day they took the scans and all the measurement to develop my radiation plan.  And while I've been anxiously awaiting this day, tonight I'm a mixed up jumble of emotions.  Part of it, I'm sure, is from the anesthesia, and part of it is from the anxiety that comes with starting the next new leg of the race.

We purposely delayed the radiation mapping until after our California trip so I didn't have to go on vacation with tape markers on me.  I was glad.  We had a wonderful, and much needed, family vacation in California.  We left the afternoon of Thursday, Aug. 18th and returned that Monday.  So while it was a short trip, it was perfect.  After picking up Preston and Yuri, Preston's girlfriend, in Phoenix, we made it to our hotel in Anaheim by 10 PM.  Brooklyn flew in and took the shuttle to the hotel.  Though the airlines lost her luggage, we managed the night and the first day knowing it would probably show up, which it did by Friday evening.  We slept in Friday morning and made it to Disneyland around 10 AM taking advantage of the hotel shuttle.  I was hoping to walk through the park, but after walking from the shuttle stop to the main gate, it was obvious I didn't have the strength or endurance to walk.  It was frustrating, however, a few days before the trip, Brooklyn had injured her ankle bad enough to have to visit Urgent Care.  The doctor told her she had a severe sprang which ran up into her calf, and he instructed her not to walk more than absolutely necessary.  He gave her a brace but recommended a wheelchair in the parks, so we decided Brooklyn and I both would rent wheelchairs.  While it was work for Greg and Preston to push us, they did end up benefiting as I also obtained a pass from guest services which kept us from waiting in lines.  I was so grateful that Disney was willing to help with the pass as I would have been miserable without it.  While I had a good time being there, my endurance was super low.  I had just finished week two after my final chemo, which is the week with the most fatigue.  Without the pass, I definitely would not have been able to enjoy much of the park at all.  In fact, before sunset, I was exhausted.  And, believe it or not, it was cold in July, and since I am always cold anyway, I was chilled.  Greg saw the exhaustion in my face and decided it was time to be done for the day.  Yuri and Preston stayed in the park while Greg maneuvered two of us in wheelchairs to the front gate.  I pushed Brooklyn while Greg pushed me, so technically Greg pushed us both while I steered Brooklyn.  We were quite the site but we managed.  Saturday went about the same as we visited California Adventure followed by Sunday at Universal Studios.  Each park let us skip the lines so we were able to get through the rides before my endurance gave out.  By Sunday night I was truly exhausted and super glad we were heading home Monday morning.  And, to make the trip even better, Brooklyn was driving home with us as she found a way to come home for another four weeks.  Of course that meant five of us riding home in the Prius, but it was well worth it.  It had been a much needed vacation, our first since New York in October when we first learned I had cancer.  In fact, as we drove to Phoenix, we realized it was our first trip to Mesa for something other than cancer.  It was really nice to get away.

After coming home Monday, we went back to Mesa Thursday for my final visit with Dr. Byrum, my breast surgeon.  After six months, her job is finished and she turns cases over to medical oncologists, Dr. C. in my case.  Dr. Byrum did have one more duty--to remove my port.  She told me we could either do it before I started radiation or it would have to wait until after radiation was over.  I definitely wanted it out before radiation started so we began working on scheduling it for the next week.  After several attempts, we were finally able to schedule surgery to remove my port in the morning today, and my radiation mapping appointment for the afternoon today.

We stayed at my Aunt Mary's last night since we had to be at the hospital at 6 AM this morning.  After checking in at Banner Hospital, the same place I had my other surgeries, we made our way up to the very familiar surgical area on the second floor.  Once again, we were cared for by outstanding personnel.  I can't tell you how wonderful the staff of this hospital is and always has been.  They show genuine care and concern for their patients and families.  Despite knowing I was in good hands and that this was a simple procedure, I couldn't help from being nervous.  It was weird.  There was nothing to be nervous about.  This was a simple procedure.  But this was the fourth time I had been in the surgery area in eight months and I guess it was getting to me a little bit.

Bonnie, my nurse, had a little difficulty finding my vein for my IV.  That was hard to believe because I have always had great veins.  That's one reason giving blood has always been super easy.  But she said chemotherapy can be very hard on veins and make them hard to access.  Great--another great perk of chemo.  She was able to access a vein and start the IV.  Then Jeremy for anesthesiology came in.  He was super nice and explained he would only be putting me into a twilight sleep rather than under general anesthesia, which was good.  I told him just make sure I didn't wake up.  He gave me what he called "margaritas for breakfast" which made my nervousness suddenly disappear as he rolled me into the surgery room.  I was feeling really good and much more relaxed as I visited with Dr. Bryum and Melissa, her assistant before Jeremy gave me the stronger medicine which put me to sleep.  In a flash I was back awake and rolling into the recovery room.  There were no stitches this time, only glue.  That is interesting.  Hopefully that will help the scar heal nicer.  In an hour or so we were released and headed to IHOP for some breakfast.

 When we returned to the cancer center, I was super tired falling asleep on Greg's shoulder as we waited for the appointment in radiation.  Sue, Dr. Grade's assistant, saw us and took us back into an exam room early.  She let me lay on the table, covered me in warm blankets, and turned the bright lights off while we waited.  I immediately fell asleep for what seemed like an hour.  When she came back in, I felt so much better.  She talked to us about radiation and some of the potential side effects.  As she explained things, it actually seemed really easy.  I guess in comparison to what I've been through, it is really easy.  She dispelled a lot of the myths we had heard, so that was a relief.  She also explained how they figure out how much radiation to give a person.  The mapping they would be doing today would give them measurements on my body and the organs in it through a CAT scan.  The computer would calculate the amount of radiation my body would need to radiate the breast tissue without penetrating my other organs like my lungs.  It would then divide that amount of radiation up into 30 fractional segments.  This way each treatment would give me one of those fractional dosages.  In the end, I would have all of the prescribed radiation, but given in safe doses.

After we discussed radiation, Sue took me back to change into a gown and wait for the technician.  My wait was short before I was led into the room with the CAT scan machine.  First they started by placing me on a sort of beanbag foam bead filled pad which was on top of the hard bench of the CAT scan machine.  They positioned my right arm above my head and held the pad close around my sides while another machine began sucking the air out of the pad.  This formed the foam beads in the pad around my body creating a hard mold of my body.  This is what they would use each time I come in to place my body in the same position each time.  At that point, Dr. Grade and another technician came in.  As they talked about the treatment, I asked about the mammary gland tumor that was there on the PET scan and would the radiation cover that area.  She assured me it would.  Then Dr. Grade mentioned a new type of radiation treatment and if my insurance would approve it, it would take half the time.  At first I thought that meant less than six weeks, but then she clarified and said no, it meant less time on the table during each treatment.  The tech told me with the areas they were having to cover on me, the breast, the sentinel lymph area, the axillary lymph area and the mammary gland area, each treatment would take about an hour on the table. If my insurance would approve the new method, it would only be about 20 minutes on the table.  They checked with my insurance and the new method was approved so they removed the mold they had just made, put both of my arms above my head, and made a new mold.  This was followed by placing wires in all the areas they were targeting.  And finally they moving me through the CAT scan machine multiple times as they took measurements.

The simulation was really challenging.  It was hard to keep both of my arms up, my head turned sideways with my chin up, my right side propped up, and hold my breath on and off while maintaining that position for almost an hour.  By the time we were finished, my neck, arms, and back were screaming.  When we were almost finished, the tech used permanent marker and made marks in about five places then covered them with waterproof tape.  This is what they do instead of tattooing.  The tape will stay on the whole six weeks, so that will be interesting.   If the marks come off, we have to go through this whole mapping process again, which wouldn't be good.  While it is waterproof tape and can hold up to showers, I'm not allowed to swim anymore or soak in water.  Plus, the chlorine or salt in pools will irritate the skin while getting radiation, so I guess my summer of swimming is over.  The whole process took about 2 and a half hours and then we headed home.

I was glad my port was out, but it was hurting by the time we were driving home.  I was glad we were starting the radiation process, as it is the final leg of the race, but the mapping had been harder to endure than I expected.  I have a very high pain tolerance, but laying there with my arms stretched out above my head, my head turned, and my chin up being perfectly still for that long was painful.  My arms and back ached and my right arm was swollen.  Sue had confirmed what we had heard from Dr. Byrum the week before.  The radiation was most likely going to make my lymphedema worse and it would most likely be permanent.  My arm was swollen from the lymphedema already and by the time the mapping was done, it was even more swollen.  These taped marks on my body for six weeks seemed odd and a little scary.  I hope I can keep them on.  We were also told that they really usually take five to ten business days to develop the radiation plan.  Plus, Dr. Grade said the new method is a lot more work up front, but worth it for the patient.  Now I don't know if they will be ready for me to start next Tuesday.  Once the plan is ready, they have the MD Anderson in Houston review it and approve it.  After that they will call me to start, so honestly, at this point, I have no idea when I will start, other than sometime in the next two weeks.  Okay, so that's it for the complaining.  In reality, everything today was good.  My port is out, my radiation plan has been started, and we are on our way to being finished.  Once I start radiation, I will only have six weeks of treatment left and my life will be back to semi-normal.  I am so grateful for the quality of care I continue to receive, for the support from friends and family I continue to have, and for the progress I continue to make.  And while emotionally I sometimes feel like I am on a roller coaster, I am glad we are finally getting to The Last Mile of this race.

Hairy Scary--Going to Work with No Cap........

7/17/13--Wednesday--Day 277--It's Just A Hair Thing.

As women, the way we look at ourselves physically seems to revolve a lot around either our weight or our hair.  The thought of losing our hair seems unimaginable, at least it was to me.  I remember the hours we spent before I lost my hair trying on wigs to get the perfect one that looked just like my real hair.  It was perfect and I was sure I was going to wear it any time I left the house after I lost my hair so everything would stay normal.  Then, after surgeries, hospital stays, chemo, and hair loss, hair just seems to lose its significance.

Like many others I've heard of, I wore my wig about three times and that was it.  Lots of people have asked me why.  This is really what it is for me.  Once I lost my hair, I had to look in the mirror every morning and every night.  I had to come to terms with what I saw.  I had to be okay with what I was now, knowing it was temporary, but it was what it was.  Every time I put the wig on, it was a constant reminder of what I used to look like, and what I no longer looked like, and what I wish I still looked like.  I became an emotional wreck every time I put it on my head.  You see, it puts in that mirror what you used to look like and you get all excited because you feel "pretty" again.  But the down side is, you feel even uglier when it come off.

One night Greg and I went out to dinner with me wearing the wig.  I felt normal again.  No one around me knew anything and I looked great.  But then, I had to come home and take it off.  As soon as I took it off, and my bald head emerged, I cried all over again.  Each time I put my wig on and then took it off, it was like losing my hair all over again.  It was the one weakness that really got to me.  It was a constant, in-my-face reminder of what pretty hair I used to have and then a sudden jerk back into reality of what I no longer had.  So from that point on, I decided, emotionally, wearing the wig was a bad idea for me.

Instead of a wig, I embraced the idea of creating a whole new look for me.  I bought super cute scarfs and hat all matching my outfits--thank goodness for the Boutique of Hope and Rita!  At first, it was fun to take pictures and send them to my far-away friends each morning.  Hearing back from them lifted my spirits and reassured me that I had created a cute look.  My friends will never know the confidence they helped me build with those text messages.  This look was different than who I used to be, and different than who I may be in the future, but it was who I am now.  It was nice to feel good about who I was at that time rather than focusing on who I used to be or wanted to be.  It didn't take long before I felt "pretty" again.  The cute outfits with matching accessories and matching hats or scarfs made me smile and feel good about how I looked.  I have a nice collection now and have felt very comfortable with my looks.

But I mentioned in my last blog, a week before my last chemo treatment, my hair and eyelashes started to grow somewhat rapidly.  Once I received my last chemo treatment, it stopped, but I didn't lose what had grown.  Just in the last few days, it has started growing once again.  A question kept running through my head, "When will I feel comfortable not wearing a scarf or hat?"  That is a tough questions.  Do you wait until your hair grows long enough to fully cover your head?  When do you take people to the next shock level of seeing you?

Living in Arizona, in July, it is HOT.  Not warm or sort of hot, but downright HOT.  I had started sweating under my hats.  Since I wasn't comfortable showing my bald head, I couldn't take my cap off and wipe my head in front of people, especially at work.  Plus, we were heading to the lake for the weekend.  Up until now, I haven't posted many, if any, picture of myself without a cap of some kind.  But at the lake, how was that going to work?  So as I was packing for the lake trip, I decided to take a cap, but also to try to be brave and not wear it.  If I could get a little sun on my super white head, maybe it would look better.  If it was tan, maybe I would feel better about going without a hat.  I didn't wear a hat at the lake at all.  Greg posted several pictures of us on the lake and it was nice to have friends comment on how good we looked.  It was easier to face it once he posted pictures.  It was actually very liberating not having to worry about a hat all the time.  I just enjoyed my time with my naked head.

After building my confidence over the weekend, Monday morning I woke up determined to just make the switch.  I was going to go to work for the first time with no scarf or cap.  I got ready and headed downstairs.  Greg was really happy I decided to go without a cap, "You look beautiful," he told me reassuringly.  I left the house totally confident and a little excited, but as I got closer to work, my body filled with anxiety.  I called Greg in tears telling him I was turning around to come get my cap.  "You look great.  You'll be fine.  Go.  I'm locking the doors so you can't come back."  I laughed through the tears that were now streaming down my face.  How was I going to do this?  I sat in the parking lot for what seemed like forever.  I just couldn't go inside.  What was I going to say to everyone?  It was going to be a shock to everyone.  After about ten minutes, just as I was deciding to start the car and go back home, a co-worker, Ann, pulled up and got out of her car.  Without even thinking, I jumped out of my car knowing if I could just go inside with someone, it would be easier.  "I'm going for the bald look," I said with a smile.  Ann was so nice.  I confessed that I was scared to go inside alone, so I was glad she had come along.  We walked in together talking as we went.  As I approached the doorway of the tech shop, I joked with the guys telling them to get ready to see me bald because I was going for the capless look.  They were super sweet and joked back with me making me feel much better.  Throughout the morning as different members from the building came in and out of my office, I made a joke each time partly because I was nervous and partly to help break the ice of an awkward situation.  After about the fourth interaction, I was okay.  I had done it.  I was comfortable seeing people with a naked head.  It was a nice relief not to feel like I had to wear a cap.  It was another HUGE step in being okay with who I am now, no matter what I looked like.

So for the last three days, I've gone to work, into meetings with vendors, even out to lunch without anything covering my head other than the soft fuzzy layer of gray and black that is emerging from my scalp.  I SO wish it wasn't showing so much gray.  Everyone said it would come back black and curly, which I was excited about.  Maybe as it fills in more, more black will come and cover the gray.  But honestly, if it doesn't, it will be okay.  As scary as it was,  I'm glad I've overcome this hurdle and realized, It's Just A Hair Thing!

Final Chemo Was The Most Challenging Of All.......

7/14/13--Sunday--Day 274--What A Stormy End, But The Sun Has Come Out.

I want to start this evening by paying tribute to you, the 150-190 loyal readers of this blog, who have supported me by reading my posts and sharing my story.  Thank you for following my story through this blog as well as sharing it with others.  It is so comforting to know that blogging about my experiences and feelings in dealing with breast cancer has truly helped people understand what I have gone through, and even more importantly, it has truly helped others who are going through it as well.  That is so encouraging because I know I'm making something good out of this bad thing that has happend to me.  That helps me so much and I believe I am a stronger person because of this blog and your support through reading it so thank you!

I'm sorry I didn't post about my last chemo until now.  Honestly, it was a really rough journey and until it passed, I just didn't want to complain about it.  Greg kept encouraging me to blog, but I just felt so horrible, and I didn't want to talk about it at all.  Interestingly, I was really dreading this last treatment.  Everyone kept saying, "Piece of cake.  It's your last one.  You can do this," but that's really like saying, "No problem.  You only have to run through the fire one more time.  You got this."  I think the more people said it, the more frustrated I became.  Treatment three was so hard. I just didn't want to do it again, final time or not.  And sure enough, treatment three paled in comparison to treatment four.  In fact, today marks day four of week two in the last chemo cycle and yesterday was finally the first day where I actually felt human again.  Treatment four, my final round of of Cytoxan, Adriamycin, and 5-FU, took me down hard and made for a very long and challenging first week of final chemo.

It all started with my final chemo being scheduled for Wednesday, July 3rd since the cancer center would be closed for July 4th on Thursday.  We drove over that morning to find the lab absolutely packed.  Like me, I'm sure many of their Thursday patients were trying to squeeze into Wednesday because of the holiday.  We started in the lab with Heather accessing my port.  Unfortunately, that meant that not only was Cheryl going to be gone for my final treatment, but Heather was working lab that day so wouldn't be doing my infusion either.  I was disappointed, but Heather was super nice and set me up with Traci for infusion.  My port was cranky, as always, but this time it was clogged.  Heather had to do the Rotor Rutor thing again, which meant putting a special solution in my port to eat away the gunky stuff so it would flow.  That would throw us behind on getting lab results before we met with Dr. C., so we decided to have someone draw my labs from my arm while my port was "cooking".  I guess that was good since that will be the way they draw my labs shortly anyways.  Once chemo is over, there is no real reason to leave my port in, so soon my port will be removed and I'll go back to having labs drawn from my arm during my doctors visits.

It all worked out and before I knew it, we were up on the second floor meeting with Dr. C.  Big questions for this visit included, "Why the heck was my hair suddenly growing?"  Now I know when people think about cancer patients losing their hair, they think only of head hair, eye lashes, and eye brows.  Keep in mind I lost absolutely all hair anywhere on my body.  I lost all my arm and leg hair, all facial hair, I even lost all my nose hair.  Now that was a funny one.  I kept showing people my new bar trick--when I would pinch my nostrils together, they would stick until I pulled them apart.  It was funny because you never really know the important role something as insignificant as nose hair plays until you lose it.  But suddenly, during week three following treatment three, all my hair started growing.  My head started feeling like a soft Q-Tip, I had fuzz all over my face, and I actually picked up a razor for the first time in months and shaved the little stubbles that showed on my legs.  I was elated with what looked like hundreds of lower eyelashes that had started popping out, and encouraged as the inside thicker areas of my eyebrows started emerging as well.  But if hair wasn't supposed to grow until chemo was over, how the heck was it growing so much now?  And, the more important question, was it going to all fall out again after my final chemo four and have to start all over again?  The answer--Dr. C. said hair is just so unpredictable and there really wasn't an explanation or prediction.  So, the hair mystery began.

While the new hair growth was great news, chemo had to get one last punch in for my final treatment.  I showed Dr. C. one of my toenails that the previous day had just started squirting out puss.  Keep in mind, my feet are still mostly numb so I never felt pain or irritation.  I just suddenly felt wetness between my big toe and the next one and looked down to find puss.  After examining it, she put me on an antibiotic and told me there was a good chance I would lose that toenail and maybe others.  Then she reassured me that toenail loss is not unusual with chemo.  Really?  In the last chemo treatment and just as everything is starting to rejuvenate, to regrow, and I'm going to lose toenails?  I actually had to laugh.  While it really wasn't funny, but more irritating and infuriating, I really did just have to laugh.  It was just so ironic, so anticlimactic, so minuscule that it was actually funny.  Whatever.  At this point, really?  What did it matter?  I've lost just about everything other "pretty part" on my body.  Of course I needed to lose toenails too.  I was also frustrated with myself though.  I had stopped doing artificial nails when I first started chemo after being advised by the doctor that they really do put you at risk for infection.  I had never had pedicures or had my toenails done so I figured I would substitute getting pedicures to help me have a least one part on my body still represent some form of feminine.  I had started having my toenails done (Greg too to show is support for me--but that's another story, lol) just before my surgery in January.  Cheyanne, a friend who grew up with Preston, has been coming to our house to do our toenails throughout this whole ordeal.  I knew everything was more clean and sterile since I wasn't going to a place where hundreds of people get their feet done.  Cheyanne had been doing gel nails in different styles to represent breast cancer.  I had had mine done only three times since January. It seems like this last time may have caused the problem, or maybe it didn't and it would have happened anyways, who know.  All I know is now toenail loss was pretty imminent.  Oh well, another story to tell.

Other answers Dr. C. was able to provide included Dr. Byrum, my breast surgeon, would be in charge of taking my port out.  We will see her at the end of July and learn more about when that will be scheduled.  Also, Dr. C. won't see me again until radiation is over so sometime the week of September 18th.  Instead, I will see Dr. Grade every week through radiation.  Finally, I asked if we were doing tumor markers for ovarian cancer, why had we not already started tumor markers for breast cancer?  Dr. C. said there are no tumor markers for breast cancer.  I was surprised.  I guess mammograms and scans are the only way to really watch for breast tumors and I would be getting those about every six months.  So that was it.  With that we were headed upstairs for the final infusion.

Before heading up to the third floor, I went in to the Boutique of Hope to see my friend Rita.  She had been so wonderful helping with hats and scarfs and I had grown to just adore her.  I was disappointed to find her not there--she only works Thursdays--so I'll have to see her on my next doctors visit.  So my Thursday friends all seemed to be gone for the day.  Cheryl was on vacation, my friend Heather who was the doctors receptionist, was on vacation, Rita from the gift shop didn't work Wednesdays, and I would soon find out my two favorite volunteers, Sue and Kim, also didn't work Wednesdays.....hmmm I was missing celebrating with some of my favorite people who made me smile.

Up on the infusion floor, everyone was super busy as well.  While we waited to be called back, Margo, one of our favorite nurses from my hospital stay, was working calling patients back.  We hadn't seen Margo since my surgery.  Our friends, Mike and Suzie, who had stayed at the hospital so much with us, had come for my last chemo.  Margo instantly recognized the four of us sitting there and we were delighted to see her.  It was like everything was full-circle.  What started with Margo and a long hospital stay was ending with my last chemo and seeing her again.  That made us all smile as we stopped and chatted with her for a bit.  I had become friends with so many of the nurses there.  Bubbly Carri-Ann, the movie star nurse who was filmed during one of my visits.  Sarah, the former Navy submarine nurse who first loved Greg's chair that he brought to every chemo.  Haley, who always took my vitals and took us to the infusion station.  Sue and Kim, the two ladies who volunteer, always making sure every patient had food and drinks.  Fred, the pharmacy tech who always delivered the medicines to the nurses--I always requested he make mine strawberry flavored and always got a smile from him.  There were just so many wonderful, caring, smiling people who work in infusion and make something that can be very intimidating, depressing, and scary seem so much easier.  I can't tell you how much I appreciate every single person up there.

I settled in to Traci's station and once we got started, everything ran like clockwork.  As I sat there and watch each of the medications run drop by drop down from the IV bag into the tube and slowly make it's way into my body, I thought about the long, treacherous journey chemotherapy had been.  I dreaded the week to come, knowing what these drugs were about to do to my body.  I knew what was coming--the red flashes, the nausea, the fatigue.  Three more weeks and I was done.  Wow, that sounded amazing.

My dad joined us just as we started infusion.  I was so glad he was able to be there.  Besides Greg, my dad has been my biggest supporter.  He has held my hand, stayed by my side, read every post, and heard my cries, my fears and my joys.  I wanted him to be with us to celebrate this ending.

Just as the last bit of the last medicine was finishing, the great anticipated celebration started to form.  Heather came up from the lab and 15 other smiling nurses formed a loving circle around us.  To the tune of the Oscar Mayer wiener song, they sang, "Our patients have the cutest S M I L E's, Our patients have the sweetest H E A R T's.  We love to see you every day, but if you ask us then we'll say.....Ring your bell go out the door, cuz no more chemo anymore!"  What a perfect send off.  What a perfect way to feel loved and celebrated.  What a perfect ending to five months--22 weeks--153 days of chemo.  It was just perfect.

After tearful hugs and many thank you's, we left the infusion floor, for what I hope is the very last time in my life, other than to visit the wonderful people up there.  We exchanged e-mails with Heather with promises to keep in touch and headed to Texas Roadhouse with Greg and I, my dad, Mike and Suzie, and Preston, who had made it up to chemo to join the celebration.

After a celebration dinner, we spent the night in Mesa and a relaxing morning July 4th sleeping in and being lazy.  My dad, Greg, Preston, Yuri and I attended my cousin, Sean, and his beautiful bride, Cedar's wedding that evening.  It was a good place to be.  We celebrated my chemo ending, and a new couple's blissful beginnings.  And while the day also marked one year from when we lost my mother, being together as a family in celebration helped us focus on moving forward from all the tragedies this last year has brought.

We traveled home after the wedding, and though it was late, it was really nice to sleep in our own bed and wake up to a relaxing weekend.  I knew the steroids would help me through Thursday, Friday and Saturday and this time Sunday would be the "come down" day.  What I didn't expect was for the next eight days, all of the bad reactions I've described before coming on so much stronger than before.  My red flashes lasted the first six days instead of three and happened so much more often.  The diarrhea was constant and exhausting.  I had more nausea than ever, but the pills helped each time.  What was incredibly stronger than ever was the amount of severe fatigue and overall feeling of yuckiness.  I just felt awful.  Many days that first week I cried, which I really haven't done much of through this whole thing.  Greg was so patient, as always.  Each morning I struggled to get ready, and then Greg drove me to work.  At lunch he would come to pick me up, and with my feet dragging, he would bring me home where I would sleep in the recliner trying to gather enough strength to go back for the afternoon.  I can proudly say, as crappy as I was feeling, I didn't miss a day of work.  I definitely could have stayed home that first week, as bad as I was feeling, but I knew that would not do anyone any good.  It was better to trudge on and keep my mind busy and I had so many important projects at work.  Each evening Greg would come pick me up and tears would fill my eyes on the way home.  He would help me inside to the recliner where I would cry until I fell asleep for the first two or three hours of the evening.  But then I would wake feeling better emotionally and somewhat physically.  All I could think of was how I couldn't wait to be normal again.  Day after day I saw no improvement and I just wanted to feel better, feel normal, and be done with all of this.

As Wednesday came and the first week ended, I felt slightly better, but not as good as I had felt in the past.  I went to bed frustrated and wondering if I was ever going to feel better again.  For several week we had planned a lake trip for the upcoming weekend--the end of week two--because it was the only plausible weekend left when we could go to the lake.  While I knew I would be most fatigued and most susceptible to infection that week, we also knew it was the only other overnight lake trip we could see fitting in this season.  We have only been to the lake once for a day trip, and once for a one night trip this whole season.  I so wanted to go, but I knew if I didn't feel better Thursday, the trip would have to be canceled.  We planned to go up Friday morning with Mike and Suzie, and Preston was going to meet us there.  Suzie was covering most of the food and I knew everyone would pitch in and help, so if my energy level wasn't up, I would just relax and recover.  Apache Lake is my absolute favorite place in the world to be.  It is so inspiring, so rejuvenating, and so relaxing and as anxious, uptight, frustrated, and sick as I had been, I just really wanted to be there.

I was so thankful when I woke up Thursday morning feeling better.  I actually drove to work myself, which was encouraging.  At lunch, I came home, but after putting a few things together for the lake trip and then eating, severe fatigue struck again.  I rested in the recliner, and canceled my afternoon meeting.   I was frustrated once again.  Why was this so hard?  I slept for about 45 minutes before returning to work.  I worked the afternoon, but by the time I got home, I had no energy to pack.  Mike and Suzie had something come up and cancelled on us, so if we were going to keep our lake plan, it would just be Greg, Preston and me.  As I sat in the recliner, something just told me to plan to go and that everything would work out.  Sure enough, Friday morning I felt human again for the first time in nine days.  I was so happy and so ready to just escape.  We invited friends from Phoenix, Paul and Diane, to join us at the lake and they were super excited and agreed to come up Saturday.  I took the morning slow making a new food plan but we were still on the road before noon.  As we pulled in to Apache Lake, we enjoyed a drenching rain shower and light show and then set up camp.   Greg and I had the evening alone as Preston wouldn't be coming until Saturday as well.  All of the pressure, stress, anxiety, and frustration escaped as we sat on shore and took in the majesty of the surroundings of Upper Burnt Corral.  We were completely alone on the beach.  It was amazing that no other person was there.  It was just like it was supposed to be.  Saturday morning, I finally felt human again.  I had strength, energy, and encouragement.  My spirits were up and we had an amazing day with Preston and Paul and Diane.  Late that evening after dinner, I had a small wave of diarrea and fatigue set in, but I just laid down and enjoyed the rest of the evening from the bed.  Sunday we spend another great day on the lake, despite my first toenail actually falling off.  Electrical tape kept the second one on while I actually had enough strength to wake surf for the first time in a year.  We packed up and left around two, came home and unpacked, and after a short rest in the recliner, I feel better physically and emotionally than I have in weeks.  It's over.  And while it was a really rough ride, it was a great way to end it at the lake.

So chemo four, the final chemo, definitely was the most challenging of them all.  I was physically exhausted and sick, mentally broken down, and very discouraged as the effects were more severe and more long-lasting than any of the previous chemos.  And that makes sense.  My body is done.  It has been beaten up with these poisons and had its fill.  I couldn't be happier that this part of the journey is over.  So next weekend brings our trip to California to celebrate Preston's 21st birthday.   And a sudden surprise, Brooklyn, who was flying in to California to meet us, is actually going to drive back home with us after the trip and spend another four weeks home.  She'll use her return flight to fly back in mid August just before we head there to move her into the dorms.  I'm a little worried about the California trip--the heat, the humidity, the sun, the lines and the people.  I am going to call guest services at the parks and see if there is a pass I might be able to get to help with the lines as I don't think I'll have the energy to stand in hour plus long lines.  If not, I'll find a nice air conditioned place to hang out while the others enjoy the rides.  Last year when we were in Orlando and I had just had my foot surgery, the parks were very accommodating for us so I am hoping they will be in California as well.  Some have been concerned about me making the trip, but like everything else, cancer has taken enough from me.  I'm not going to give up anything to it that I don't have to.  Besides, how many sons want to spend their 21st birthday celebrating with family?  I'm not missing this, that's for sure.

So I have around a 20 day break from this crazy race before we start the final leg of radiation.  And while phase two of chemo brought a huge, dark, scary storm, it appears the sun had finally come out again.