Category: Chemotherapy

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My Big Toe Feels SOOOOO Much Better!

I’m so glad I’m not working this week! It is a full-time job just keeping up with my doctors’ visits. Further, every time I see someone they give me something else to do…or take.

I started the day off with a dental cleaning. Funny enough, I got lost. I know…Tim is shaking his head if he is reading this. I went down the right road; I just didn’t go far enough. Funny how things look so different when you have been out of town for a few weeks. At any rate…everything looks great! I do have some inflammation beneath my bridge, so she showed me how to clean it without the expensive of a water pick. If you have any ideas on a good water pick, please let me know! I also told her about the osteoarthritis in my right TMJ that showed up in my MRI. This is where I had pain a couple of years ago, went to a dental oncologist (yes, they have those specialists as well), who ruled out cancer mets in the jaw. If ever you get a scan, you will learn all kinds of things about your body you never knew existed.

“But I thought this post was about your toe?” You asked. Yes, I do chase rabbits a bit, but not so fast lately since my big toe has been in such pain (😂). Where was I? Oh yeah…the toe. One of the lovely side-effects of chemo is nail problems. That includes all 20 nails…not just a few. Some people lose their nails, but I have not lost them yet. I do have very brittle nails, and my fingernails split down the middle. And my toes get infected as the nails lift just a bit when stubbed, letting water in. I have become good friends with my podiatrist over the past several years with various problems related to my feet, toes in particular.

I won’t go into all the gross details, but my right big toe has been so sore lately. Apparently I had a deeply imbedded ingrown toenail. I have to tell you it does not feel good–correction–it HURTS–when you have an already sore toe and the doctor has to dig it out. 😲 I felt almost immediate relief after he was finished though, and I can actually sleep without the sheets hurting my big toe. More medicine, more processes to do, and another possible solution – open-toe sandals. Fortunately we are living in Florida for another month!

Á la prochaine…until next time…

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Back in Texas

This trip is on my own. Tim is staying in Florida where he hopes to get lots of work done while I am gone. I am sure he will ride to the church very early in the morning, as is his habit, and work late as well.

Monday morning I left Sebastian at 4:00 AM, with a driver from the church who does this as a ministry…he drives people to the airport. It was a lovely ride and I felt so blessed to have him take me especially so early in the morning! The plane arrived early and picked up my rental (upgraded to a Mercedes! Woo Hoot!). I drove to MDAnderson in The Woodlands just in time for my oncology appointment at 10:00 Central time. This was the first of five doctor’s visits this week–not because they think something else is wrong–because I am cramming all my appointments into one week while I am in town. He scheduled all my scans and ensured we are up-to-date on everything. Routine visit…not much to report.

I got to see two of my grand-babies. I took Elizabeth on some errands, and we took Paige while Gabe stayed at home with Daddy. It was so good to see those smiling faces when I arrived! They were fighting over who got to be held by Nana. They love to see me, and my heart was full. 🤗

It’s good to be home, in my own bed.

Á la prochaine…until next time.

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Eye, Eye, Doctor

My left eye assaulted me with hot red agony and tearing up for nearly four months as we moved toward the Christmas holiday. It only got slightly better after three visits to my optometrist, with several rounds of steroids and antibiotics. “It’s not infected,” was his final assessment. It’s just inflamed, swollen, runny, and red. Unsure about why it is not getting better with the extensive treatment, I asked about my breast cancer.

Could this be metastasis? Providentially, he just had a conversation with someone about breast cancer metastasizing to the eye, which did raise an eyebrow for concern. It didn’t present like typical metastasis. Usually a tumor pressed on the optic nerve causing a sudden change in vision. My vision has been relatively stable, with the exception of tearful blurriness. After a few more tests and listening to my concerns, he referred me to a specialist to diagnose and rule out metastasis.

Dr. Singh is a six-figure corneal and external disease specialist in the Houston area, whose compassion to help people drew him into this field. Nearly every doctor in the greater Houston area refers patients to him for special concerns, so when you go to his office you know you will have a long wait. He did my cataract surgery back in 2016, and took care of my dry eyes about two years ago. I have confidence in his expertise, but I always take something to do, as I know I’ll be in for at least two episodes of Andy Griffith and two more Friends while I sit. Fortunately, he has an office in The Woodlands, just 15 minutes from our house.

On the last working day of the year, Dr. Singh examined my eyes with close scrutiny. After ruling out possible breast cancer metastasis (yay!), he looked up Herceptin and Perjeta to determine any possible side effects of my infusions. My tear duct is completely closed, resulting in the tears draining down my face. The chemo also causes this, apparently. It seems like I have multiple side effects that are more of an annoyance than anything, but I’ll take it to remain stable. We’ll just add one more to the list.

At the end of the day, we ended up with his magic medicine, a special compounded eye drop, not covered by insurance, requiring a trip downtown to an exclusive compounding pharmacy. We enjoyed a pleasant ride through Bellaire, and other wealthy areas in Houston. The pharmacy also contained a gift shop notably placed for affluent shoppers.

After less than one week on the magic drops, my eye is looking much better! I think we have finally found the solution to the immediate problem. I will follow-up when I’m in town two weeks from now, as there is a concern this could continue to surface. Hopefully no more procedures will be needed, which will yet be determined.

Á la prochaine…until next time.

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Seven Years Ago Today…

the metastatic breast cancer journey banner

Seven years ago today, on 12/12/12, my family doctor sat me in her office and uttered those four words I will never forget: “You have breast cancer.” Four words that changed my life forever. I didn’t have the slightest clue exactly what it would look like, or how long it would affect me. I knew it was bad, but once you have the diagnosis you just press on with the treatment. That’s when I started this blog. That’s when all my friends started making a daily commitment to pray for me. That’s when my husband became a caregiver. That’s when my daughter was a freshman in high school and my son was an ROTC cadet in college. That’s when I met all the oncologists, surgeons, specialists, nurses and others on the team who would become my closest allies for the rest of my life.

Seven years have flown by in some ways, and dragged on in other ways. As I look back I am somewhat thankful I didn’t have a clue. In some ways naïvety is like comfort food. The less you know, the less you have to worry. I took it one step at a time, and continue to do so. Here’s what I do know…fighting cancer is a LOT of work. Don’t be naïve in thinking it will be easy. If you know someone who has been diagnosed with this dreadful disease, understand they are dealing with a lot. They may not even know all the ins and outs of the fight. I put together a brief recap of the past seven years. I don’t know, maybe it’s the seven-year itch. I thought it might be helpful to read the context.

12/12/12 – Diagnosed with breast cancer. Staged by the end of the year. Stage 3B Triple Positive Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Cancer was in the right breast (9 cm) and several lymph notes. Treatment would begin next year, then surgery, followed by more treatment.

2013 – Port was surgically installed in January. Six months of chemotherapy (yeah, I lost my hair).  Radical, modified right mastectomy in July. Followed by thirty-three days of radiation. Finish out the year with infusions of Herceptin. I was deemed “cancer free.” They removed my port at the end of the year.

2014 – The Year of Reconstruction (several surgeries over several months to complete). Only God can make a real boob, but my plastic surgeon holds a close second. My hair was growing back. My mom passed away from melanoma while I was recovering from my DIEP Flap. It was a really hard year.

2015 – Back to life. Cancer is behind us, and we can move on. A few follow-up visits and I will be home free.  I was only inconvenienced by taking a pill every day (Tamoxifen) to decrease chance of reoccurrence, a bit of neuropathy, and some hot flashes, but I felt it was worth it. Life seemed to be getting back to “normal” again.

My oncologist moved to another facility and I was seeing the PA until they filled the slot. By the end of the year, I started noticing some pain under my left ribcage. PA said it must be muscular, since the pain would come and go. She didn’t do any X-rays or other scans at that time. Hmmm…

2016 – We moved houses this year, and while we were in between homes we figured if we were going to live in a hotel while waiting for our house to close, we might as well live in a hotel on the beach…the Gold Coast beach that is! We took a trip to Australia to see our friends and once again enjoy our “second home.” That was a nice reprieve.

I was noticeably sleeping a lot. Of course, we had just been on a long flight overseas, and we did move into a new house. One tends to overlook these things under such circumstances. I also continued to have pain on the left side off and on. In October, I went to my GYN for my annual check-up and she said, “Let’s do an X-Ray,” which discovered a mass on my ribcage. It was pressing against the lung, so they conducted a lung biopsy at MD Anderson a few days before Christmas. I remember the scheduler trying to talk me into waiting “in case something goes wrong,” but I insisted on getting it done. I got a new oncologist, and I really like him. I told him he could never leave as long as I live (which I hope is a very long time).

Diagnosed Stage 4 MBC (Metastatic Breast Cancer) just before Christmas. Future tests showed metastasis in several locations: 7 cm mass on ribs, lesions in spine, skull, liver, lungs. This time, we are here for “treatment,” and it will never be for a “cure.” While the oncologist was reluctant to answer the time question, the PA gave me 6-18 months. But God is not a God of the human calendar!

2017 – Port was surgically installed so we could start the year with another round of chemotherapy infusions (yes, I lost my hair…again), Herceptin and Perjeta for HER2+ every three weeks for life, as well as a different little daily pill for the hormone receptor (Anastrozole). By the end of the year, or shortly thereafter, all the spots in my bones, liver, and lungs have gone away. My body is stable. We will continue on maintenance biotherapy (infusions of Herceptin and Perjeta) every three weeks to keep it that way.

In addition to the treatment and staging scans, I have CT scans, bone scans, and an echocardiogram every three months. I also have a monthly shot to strengthen my bones (Xgeva). This was later switched to a 15-minute infusion of Zometa, which I only have to do every three months and they can align with my other infusions. They also take blood every time I walk into the building, probably gallons by now. Doctor visits align with all the scans.

Lymphedema seems to be getting worse since starting the new chemo treatment. My right arm is about three times the size of my left arm. I wear a compression sleeve 24/7.

One of the side effects they do not always tell you about is cataracts. Well, I ended up getting cataract surgery in both eyes in July of this year as well. The good news is, I can see 20/20! I just need to wear readers to see up close. New lenses were definitely worth the inconvenience.

2018 – Continue with maintenance meds. Toward the middle of the year, I started feeling dizzy. By December, I was unable to walk a straight line. My body was still stable, but the brain and body are treated independently as it pertains to cancer. MRI of the brain showed two lesions–brain metastasis in the cerebellum–enough to cause dizziness, but small enough to treat with targeted radiation (Gamma Knife). They added a neurosurgeon to my team of experts.

2019 – We rang in the new year with a big ol’ zap to the brain. MRI guided radiation (Gamma Knife) took place at the MD Anderson downtown location. There were three little spots; not just two. They zapped all three spots, and we all felt good about the prognosis. We took a picture of me just after they installed the “crown,” but I never showed it to anyone. I looked like Frankenstein.

In addition to all the maintenance medicine, doctor’s visits, and body scans, I added another radiation specialist and MRI of the brain every three months as well. The remainder of the year showed a decrease, then a disappearance of all three lesions. In addition, my body remained stable, so my oncologist started scanning my body every 4-5 months instead of every three. (I still have to get echos every 3 months.)

MD Anderson opened a new building in The Woodlands this year. When it is completely up and running, they will be infusing more patients than the main campus downtown. Yeah, let that one sink in for a few!

And that brings us to today! It is December 12th, 2019, exactly seven years since my first diagnosis. I am much more knowledgeable, much more clued-in, and after all of this, all I can say is “whew!” I recall the various hairstyles, short hair, long hair, no hair. I now have shoulder length hair.  As I wrote each phrase of this journey I recalled how many hours and weeks it took to accomplish these tasks; it seems so simple as I read it, but it was quite complex. I am so glad that much in the past! Now I can focus on staying healthy and staying stable. I am praising God for giving me the strength to make it through the past seven years.

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I continue to work full-time as a university professor. I teach doctoral learners online, with some travel to meet my learners face-to-face. Providentially, I stepped down from my role as faculty chair (I had 50+ faculty reporting to me from 2012-2016). This happened just three or four months before I was diagnosed with Stage 4 MBC. God knew!  My faculty schedule is more flexible, and I can work around my medical schedule.

Every quarter I look forward to the end of the term. And now, I am happy to see the end of another year. I enjoy my job, but it’s getting harder and harder to balance the demands of a busy job with my treatment and doctors and scans and etc. Tomorrow is the last day of my university’s academic term, and I will finish grading all of my classes within the next few days. It’s that time of year when I am so thankful to be finished! Then, I can relax and enjoy the holidays and the rest of the year.

Aside, over the past few months my left eye has been red, swollen, and inflamed. I have been to the optometrist multiple times, and he has tried multiple rounds of eye drops to no avail. He is referring me to an eye specialist to rule out metastasis.  One thing I know is this: when you have MBC, they always want to rule out cancer if there is an ongoing issue. I’ll see him after Christmas, but my prayer warriors are already on it.

2020 – I don’t know what the future holds, but I choose to live each day to the fullest. I do know we have some big plans for the next year. God is starting a new ministry in us, and we know He is not finished with me yet. 🙂 More on that next year!

Á la prochaine…until next time!

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From Texas to Florida and Back Again

When we were asked to go to Florida for the months of November through January, I said, “Those are the best months of the year to be in Florida! Why not?” Of course we had to ask God if it was okay, and He confirmed this was the place as He had a special assignment for us. I have felt such a sense of peace about this decision from the git-go. It is definitely a God-thing.

We packed the car and drove the distance just before Thanksgiving. Long story shortened…my husband (and I) accepted a short-term assignment in Vero Beach, Florida. This is a joint effort between Texas and Florida Ministries of the Church of God (Anderson, Indiana) to help a large church in crisis. Tim is the “Bridge-Interim Pastor” for Pathway Church, formerly known as the First Church of God, in Vero Beach, Florida. They have been through some leadership issues and are in between pastors. They have lost members due to the crisis. Their interim pastor wasn’t able to come until after winter, so they needed someone to help fulfill the recommendations of their recent consultation and fill the gap. Tim was a good choice because the Texas ministry slows down this time of year, and this is what he does with churches all over the state of Texas. It’s a great fit for this assignment.

But what about chemo? Doctor’s visits? How will all that work? The church was most appreciative of the opportunity to have a state administrator serve during this time. They agreed to our conditions. They found us a house in Sebastian, with a garage and everything. I will travel back and forth to Texas every three weeks for treatment and scans or doctor’s visits as needed. Because it is one week out of three, I am scheduling everything during the week I am home. Sometimes Tim will go with me, and sometimes he won’t. We may fly or we may drive, depending on the circumstance. We will take the bike to Florida so we have it to ride, and it gives us two vehicles in each state. (My bike will remain in Texas.) We will be in Florida every Sunday as Tim is preaching, and they will live stream his sermons. While all the details are not yet determined, one thing is sure…I will see the grandkids while I am home!

Á la prochaine…until next time.

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A Dry Eye for Education

Ghandi once said, “Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” We do know how to live! And education is one of my core values.

I consider myself a lifelong learner, and I quite enjoy sharing the knowledge I have with others. I went to the eye doctor this morning and learned something about the oil that is produced by a gland I can’t pronounce. He showed me the video where he tried to express mine, and it was  ineffective. This contributes to my dry eye condition. I didn’t even know the Meibomian Gland existed until today. Our bodies are so amazing. So many intricacies! I wondered if this was somehow related to my cancer, yet I have had dry eyes for many years.

A young apprentice was also learning, trained up by the female assistant who interviewed me about my history. “Modified, radical, right mastectomy” rolled off my tongue, along with chemotherapy, radiation, reconstruction, and other medical details. They both shared an interest in my story, followed by the apprentice demonstrating his lack of knowledge as he shared his Grandma had the “worse kind of cancer,” where they had to surgically remove her breast.  I didn’t fault him. Many people do not know what a mastectomy is, or do not understand when I tell them I was diagnosed with “Stage IV, Metastatic Breast Cancer.” I probably would have asked the same thing when I was his age, untethered from chemo and care.

I’m trying the eye mask which contains tiny crystals which, when warmed, serve to express the glands. I’ll keep you posted on its effectiveness!

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Today is also chemo day.

Sometimes friends and acquaintances will ask the question posed by both my nurse and the optometrist’s assistant, “how many more infusions?” Or they will ask if I am done with treatment. Education follows, as well as my acknowledgement of the many women who are living 10, 15, or 25+ years with MBC.

I am a lifer. While my body is “stable,” and the scans do not currently detect this horrible disease in organs or brain, I will never be deemed by the doctors “cancer free.” I will never again ring the bell I heard tolling at the clinic earlier today. I will hook up to the machine and my veins will drink its fluid every three weeks…for the rest of my life.

I don’t say this to get sympathy, or pity. My eyes are dry. There’s no harm in asking, if you don’t mind the education.

Á la prochaine…until next time.

 

 

 

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Chemo, TPA, and a shot in the belly

I was supposed to get my infusion last week, but I was running a fever.  After just getting over a two-week long battle with a cold, I woke up with yet another sore throat on Friday.  The doctor said I needed to wait for chemo. The Nurse Practitioner gave me some antibiotics and steroid medicine to clear up my head.  That was some powerful medicine;  I had trouble sleeping one night because of it.  Not to mention things were a little hectic over the weekend with our family.  Drama…That’s all I’m going to say about that.

There was drama on the highway this morning as well.  Cars came to a screeching stop, and Tim had to veer onto the shoulder. Crazy traffic! That started us off behind schedule. Drama in the vein highway followed.  Once again the nurse had some trouble getting good blood return. This has happened a few times over the past year or so. She put in a TPA which lasted about 30 minutes, and then it was fine. I was happy not to be stuck in the arm with a needle, as she was willing to wait to see if we could use the port. Once the familiar sounds of the machine started whirring while pumping chemo into my port, I was relieved to get back on track.  My radar elevates whenever that crops up. If something happens to my port, they won’t let me leave until it is resolved (which could mean surgically removing it).  One of the many possible inconveniences with this disease that I have learned to accept.

I did get stuck with a needle after all, a small injection in the belly.  The stars aligned and I was able to get it on the same day as chemo.  Xgeva keeps my bones from breaking, so I gladly receive it.  I have read some horror stories by women in my MBC support group.  I feel like I am one of the “lucky” ones, as mine is currently stable and under control. The cancer is in places that have not yet caused me to lose my ability to walk, run, ride the motorcycle, dance (Zumba!) and simply enjoy life. Yes, I have back pain that nags me throughout the day, and yes, I have to go to treatment more often than I would like, but I have so many things to be grateful for.

What are you grateful for today?

Á la prochaine…until next time.

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Gamma Knife Update and a Bit Nostalgic

I realized I had not updated my blog since the Gamma Knife treatment. That first week was interesting. I was swollen across my face and looked like I had been in a brawl. My eyelids were screaming at me. I hibernated to avoid terrifying the neighbors. The swelling went away about a week later.  I’m still sleeping on two pillows because I feel a little pressure around the pin sites when my head is not elevated. I’m also waiting to go back downtown for the follow-up MRI to see if it worked. I think it worked. In the meantime, I have noticed some improvements. All last year I was feeling increasingly dizzy. I would hunt for the wall to support me when I first woke up, the world spinning around me. Now…no more dizziness! I had one day when I felt a little dizzy for a few minutes, but I can sense a significant difference. Maybe it’s all in my head (pun intended LOL), but I think the Gamma Knife made the difference. I thank the Lord daily for the treatment options available to me, keeping my body stable and going.

Today is chemo day. I came yesterday to get my monthly shot of Xgeva, and today I’m here for my infusion of Herceptin and Perjeta. My yesterday nurse asked why I didn’t move the shot to today and save a trip.  Duh! Why didn’t I think of that? That would have been a good move. But, it’s okay. I don’t mind. It gave me a reason to get out of the house on a cold, wintery day.

The nurses here are so kind and helpful. They did use my bloodwork from yesterday so I didn’t have to get poked again today. At least, that’s what I reasoned until a few minutes before my appointment when I realized I had not put the numbing cream on my port. Yeah, I do have to get poked, just not in the arm. Yet another silly blonde moment.  The cream really helps, and apparently I didn’t have it on long enough today–ouch–lesson learned….

Every time I come for chemo, I get a different nurse. I was reminded today that I have a one in twelve chance of getting the same one. I’m pretty sure I have run through all twelve of them by now, as we know each other by name.  It’s ironic because when I first started treatment in 2013, I had the same nurse several times in a row. Sometimes the lottery works out that way. I thought she was my own personal nurse until I got someone else. “Where’s Cathy?” I asked. That’s when I learned how the system actually works. I’ve had Cathy several times since then, but not today.

It is encouraging when I have an opportunity to converse with the nurses about life. Many of them are about my age, and we have similar life circumstances.  Today, my nurse and I collaborated on the joys of “raising” our young adult “children.” Feeling a bit nostalgic I don’t think we will ever quit worrying about our kids, regardless of chronology.  Now that they have families of their own, we have even more people to worry about. If you have little ones, enjoy the vexing while they are young. It is only temporary. Play with them. Love them. Teach them manners. Let them mess up the house, and then show them how to clean it up. Read to them. Bathe them. Laugh and cry with them. Say no to them, and say it firmly. Hug them and take good care of them. Discipline them. Don’t spoil them, but give them what they need. Don’t let the devil delude you into believing things will get better when…they are out of diapers…they go to school…they grow up…they move out…they have a family of their own…when…when…when. Don’t wait for life to pass you by while you wait for it to get easier. Life only gets more complicated with each passing moment. The future is inevitable and it will be here in the blink of an eye. Embrace whatever present is standing in front of you. It’s called the present because it is a gift. Unwrap it and live life today to abundance and overflowing with joy.

Jesus said, “A thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so they may have life. I want them to have it in the fullest possible way.” ~John 10:10 (NIRV)

Á la prochaine…until next time…

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Christmas Chemo

Today is chemo day. It is also the exact date 6 years ago when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer (12/12/12).  Six years…wow. Time flies when you’re having … wait … what is that saying again?

I brought my nurse a blue mitten cookie from Panera Bread and she gave me a big hug. It warmed my heart like a mitten warms the hands. I don’t think we can hug our caregivers enough. They need to know we appreciate the work they do. I know it’s a small gesture, but I hope it makes her day.

As soon as I arrived, another nurse came scurrying into my room, in a bit of a panic, looking for barf bags. Yep, that’s what he said. Twice. Folks, this may be TMI, but these little rooms are not very soundproof; they are only closed by a thin curtain. I feel bad for the guy, really. My heart went out to him. No one should have to go through this. But, let’s just say, I am glad I brought my earbuds today or I might have also needed one of those bags. I’m listening to Christmas music on Pandora while getting my treatment. Francesca Battistelli has such a beautiful voice. Frankly, I could sit here and listen to her all day. Ahh. Much better than the alternative noises resounding in the hallway.

When I finish getting chemo, my nurse will leave the port accessed as I have my tri-monthly scans all day tomorrow. There is something comforting in knowing how to work the system. I called ahead and got an order to leave it accessed.  Now I won’t have to get poked with an IV tomorrow, risking another blown vein.  Again…comfort.

Even though it is time consuming, I am at peace knowing the juice going into my veins is keeping the cancer at bay. I fully expect to hear everything is stable after my scans tomorrow as well. When I spoke with the bone scan technician, she was so happy to hear my port will be accessed. That will save time. The scans are set for 9:00, 2:00, and 5:00, but they usually try to do them closer together when I arrive. Hopefully I won’t be here another whole day.

I got my hair colored this morning before chemo, so it has already been a busy day. Thanks to Tiffany for her willing spirit to try something different; she applied the HairPrint that I usually do at home. It’s an all natural product, but a bit messy when I do it.  I wanted my hair to look pretty for tonight’s annual Christmas party for the Breast Friends support group, which is where I’ll be heading as soon as I finish my treatment. Maybe I’ll see some of you there!

Á la prochaine … until next time…

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Chemo, a Shot, and Florida-Bound

BCBannerMets

This morning is interrupted by chemo day, my routine every three weeks. Usually this starts by giving blood first thing, working for a couple of hours at Panera, and then back for chemo. I brought my nurse some chocolate chippers from Panera, and this put a smile on her face. There was enough to share, so I think several people were happy. They do so much for us; I like to give them something in return.

Technically, my treatment is considered “biotherapy” for the HER2+ cancer cells; but it does require an infusion that takes about 2-3 hours from start to finish (after the labs are drawn).

I can taste it today. It tastes a bit metallic. A few more sips from my hot tea do the trick at least temporarily.

I just learned from my nurse that even though they draw labs every time, there isn’t really have any requirements on my blood work to get the Perjeta and Herceptin. I just have to get echos every three months to ensure my heart is strong.

My body is stable, and the lesions are no longer visible (except two teeny, tiny spots on the brain), so it’s worth a couple of hours every three weeks.

I’m in a corner room, which is only separated from other patients by a thin, drawn curtain. It is my least favorite room in this suite since it is not as private, but today has been fairly interesting eves dropping on the conversations of my fellow patients. The first patient was only here for a few minutes to get an injection. She is looking for a labradoodle, and her breeder brought in pictures of her new puppies.  That brought some excitement to the air.  The next patient, who is getting chemo while I am writing this blog, is apparently using the cold cap.  If you’ve never heard of this, it is a pretty cool (pun intended) invention.  Cancer patients can save their hair by the use of this cap while receiving chemo.

Beeping interrupts my train of thought as the nurse comes in to turn off the machine. One down, one to go. I’m also getting my Xgeva injection today. For some reason this one sometimes gets overlooked on my schedule, so I have to ask about it. I’m “supposed” to get this shot once a month to help strengthen my bones. Xgeva does have a prerequisite – calcium and phosphorus levels. I don’t understand it all, but they checked my blood and everything is find. The last shot was September 19th, so the nurse will give me one today.  Frankly, I’m glad to save a trip since it doesn’t always align with chemo day.

After my Herceptin is finished, and I get my shot, we will unplug and I will be on my way. Tim and I are packed and leaving for Florida as soon as we can. I’m taking some books in case anyone wants one at a huge discount. First-come, first-serve!

We are heading to our undergraduate alma mater – Warner University – for their Homecoming 50th anniversary celebration. In addition, Dr. Darr is being honored for his retirement after 40 years. He was leading the music program when I was there, and just retired at the end of last year. I will sing in the special alumni choir that has been put together for this celebration. I think there are almost 100 people in the choir.

Aside, in case you didn’t know, my undergraduate degree is in music and youth ministry. Attending school at Warner and singing in the groups transformed this painfully shy little girl into a confident young lady.  I used the skills I learned to lead worship for many years. I owe a lot to this place. Further, I met my lifelong companion there, and we have been together for 33 years.

I can’t wait to see everyone! I wonder if I will recognize people, or if they will recognize me…it’s been a loooong time.

Á la prochaine…until next time!

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