Category: Diagnosis

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Colon Cancer Runs in my Family

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I prepped on Thursday (I already blogged about that fun process 🙄), and I had a colonoscopy yesterday 😳. The doctor also did an endoscopy (a scan of the stomach and esophagus.) More on the results in a minute. But first…

Public Service Announcement. If you are over 50, and you have never gotten a colonoscopy, NOW is the time to do it. The prep is awful. I can attest to that! It’s 24 hours of liquid diet including a total colon cleanse. I imagine this is probably why most people don’t get one. When will I have the time to do that? They ask. Or, they think it’s too expensive (insurance will cover it 👍.) And, you can’t drive yourself home. You can get a DUI for that. Trade off with someone you know. Drive them to get their colonoscopy.

Regardless of the inconvenience, a colonoscopy is the best way to prevent colon cancer. You won’t feel any symptoms until you have cancer and it is so far along it may or may not be treatable. You don’t know what’s lurking in your system until it has been scoped. It is much better to prevent cancer than to deal with it. Believe me, I know about dealing with cancer!

If you have a family history of colon cancer, you should probably start getting a colonoscopy even before you turn 50. Maybe as early as 40, they are now recommending. My grandfather died from colon cancer, my mother had lots of polyps, and there are others in the family who have had bowel resections as well as other colon related issues. I make sure when it’s time, I get my body checked for this one.

I waited until I was 50. The doctor found a huge polyp during my first colonoscopy, and another one a year later. We don’t know how long the big one had been growing, but fortunately we caught it at the “pre-cancerous” stage. If I had waited, I could have added colon cancer to my litany of medical problems.

After a clear scan, he finally gave me the 5-year approval, which landed us to the present. The last thing I remember before the procedure was the nurse saying, “have a nice time at the beach,” and then I woke up.

Results. I would like to say I am totally free from polyps, or any other colon related issues. However, he found another large polyp in my colon 😫, as well as some spots in the esophagus that he will continue to watch. He took several biopsies, which will come back in a week or ten days. He was unable to remove the polyp as it is in a colon fold, so he referred me to a surgeon to remove that section of my colon. Yep, I’m having yet another body part removed soon. They can do it with a small incision, apparently.

I don’t know what all of this means as of yet, but I guess I’ll know more when I see the surgeon. He wants to wait until the biopsies come back so we know more on what we are dealing with. I’m not worried, but I do wish my family history was a bit less tarnished with cancer. It’s a horrible disease.

My husband is one of the lucky ones. He has clean scans, and gets to repeat in five or ten years. I pray you are also one of the lucky ones.

I get to repeat this again in another year. Oh the joy…🙄🙄

À la prochaine…see you next time.

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Back on Track

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Twenty days have passed since my positive covid test, so they let me back in the building at MD Anderson. I’m back on track with treatment. We had to reload the Herceptin since it’s been more than four weeks. But, I just learned today, the Perjeta doesn’t have to be reloaded unless it has been more than six weeks. Yay! Usually, the drips are 30 minutes each. But this time it was 30 minutes for Perjeta and 90 minutes for Herceptin. That was enough time for us to conduct a research interview without interruption.

That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

À la prochaine…see you next time!

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No Longer Employed

It’s official! I am no longer employed. (Insert Fanfare and clashing symbols.) Thus ends the last decade and chapter of my life.

I’m calling it “early retirement,” since that’s how it feels. I have previously blogged about being disabled yet not always feeling disabled, and taking time off for self-care. You may have read some of those. To recap, I have not been working as a full-time faculty this entire year due to my metastatic breast cancer diagnosis. I did work for three years from 2016-2019 while undergoing treatment, but I found I just couldn’t keep up the same pace I used to do. Workloads were increasing as well as demands, and there was no reprieve in sight. My body was constantly feeling stressed and needing a break.

Honestly, it’s a full-time job just keeping up with my doctors and scans and treatment. Some weeks I have three or four visits in a row. And while other weeks I have none, brain fog sets in or my back hurts or I get tired and just need a nap. I don’t typically complain about it, but it is reality. We decided it is better for me to spend the energy I have with the hubby, doing ministry, playing with the grandkids, and enjoying life rather than grading papers. The older I get, the more I realize the importance of spending time with the important people in my life.

“At twenty-one, so many things appear … permanent.”

Orson Welles

Through our 35 years of marriage, my husband and I have learned to value change and transition in life together. We began the process of downsizing last year in preparation for this moment. We moved to a smaller house and paid off debt. I filed for disability at the beginning of this year, which progressed from short-term to long-term to SSDI (Social Security Disability Income). Our income has drastically decreased, but we are making it. We have stepped out in faith to begin a new ministry, and we know God will take care of us. He always does!

Aside, long-term disability insurance is well worth it. If your employer does not pay for it but provides it as an option, take it! If you never use it, you are blessed. But if you need it, you will feel doubly blessed!

FMLA ran out in March, but my company kept me as an employee on an ADA accommodation in case I was able to come back. They wanted me to come back, but I don’t see how I could. It has been an emotional process, honestly. One spends a lifetime developing an identity, career, and sense of self. Admitting I have a terminal illness and will not go back to work has been a bit daunting. Yet, I know how important it is to take care of myself. I imagine the questions I have been asking are very similar to the a retiree’s experience, so I consider myself retired….

🤔🤔 What do I do now?? 🤔🤔

You’ve probably been our Airstream videos…so that’s one thing. 😁

In retrospect, I left my job at just the right time. God’s timing is always perfect, and I don’t know why I sometimes fail to listen better. He knew what He was doing when He prompted us to downsize and stop working in January. He knew the plans He had in store for me, plans to give me hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11)!

He also knew the pandemic would have been a challenge to navigate as well! In the last few months, as rumors turned into reality my employer started downsizing. One might think online education companies would be booming during a pandemic, but apparently people are not enrolling at the same rate because they are not working. It seems every change in these “unprecedented times” results in a very large snowball affecting many more people in its path. My university has gone through multiple changes — even more since the beginning of this year — which means heavier and heavier faculty workloads amongst other things that concern me. They started downsizing.

My separation from the company is voluntary. I’d love to tell you all about it, but I am bound by a confidentiality clause: “Unless required to do so by subpoena or as otherwise required by law, you agree not to disseminate or disclose the fact of or terms of this Agreement, the discussions leading to this Agreement, or any subsidiary undertakings required by this Agreement, except to immediate family, government agencies, legal counsel, or tax advisers as may become necessary.”

🤔🤔🤔 Hmmmm. It didn’t take long to decide. I would have been terminated anyway, due to my FMLA running out, so this was kinda a “no brainer.” I’d rather leave voluntarily. Suffice it to say, my full-time career permanently ended yesterday. Permanent sounds so…final. Perhaps my full-time job has ended, but I will never cease to learn and grow.

“We are by nature observers, and thereby learners. That is our permanent state.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

October 16th. My mother who is now in Heaven would have been 80 years old on my last day of employment. It was her birthday. Ironic how important dates seem to intersect across one’s lifespan.

I feel blessed to have worked for a company over the past eleven years that provides good benefits, in addition to working for previous employers who provided retirement benefits. As I said before, God is good and He will take care of me and my family. If there is anything I learned from my mother, it is to have faith in God. He will supply all your needs.

This may sound a bit strange, but in some ways I consider myself “lucky” to have this diagnosis (as opposed to alternative options). I feel pretty good overall (always subject to change, of course). I generally have strength and energy to do things I love. I get to spend time with my family, compose music, go on bike rides, write blogs, take walks, learn French, write books, travel, draw, enjoy nature, check off my bucket list, and do things I want to do. More importantly, I am looking forward to pursuing deeper meaning and purpose by listening to what God wants. I wish for the final years of my life to glorify the Lord, serve Him, and point others to Him…whatever I do. I may be no longer employed, but I will do the Lord’s work for the rest of my life.

“Whatever you say or do should be done in the name of the Lord Jesus, as you give thanks to God the Father because of him.”

Colossians 3:17 CEV

Á la prochaine…until next time…

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New Lesions?

There always seems to be an underlying reminder that cancer is still in my body. I have Stage IV, Metastatic Breast Cancer (terminal), with mets to the bones, liver, lungs, and brain. The brain, liver and lungs are clear (praise God!), and my bones have been stable for quite a while. But last week’s MRI of the brain indicated some “growth” in a lesion on my left front of the skull. It’s behind my left eye.

I got calls from my oncologist today, twice, and he’s still waiting to hear back from the radiologist. I love my oncologist as he is so diligent about finding information and giving it to me. He doesn’t sit on his laurels waiting for information. He seeks it out until we know what we know. Here is what we now know:

  1. The brain is clear. No new lesions, and the old ones are gone.
  2. I have mets to the bones. When first diagnosed (2016), it was in my ribs, spine, and skull, but these tumors and lesions have either disappeared or stabilized for quite some time.
  3. I also had mets to the liver, lungs, and brain, which have also disappeared and stabilized over the past couple of years.
  4. There is a change in a tiny (1cm) bone lesion we never knew existed. It is in the front left part of my skull, but none of the reports prior to this one seem to indicate it was ever there, yet there is mention that it grew since October of last year.
  5. There is another lesion showing up in the right front part of my skull.
  6. All other skull lesions are unchanged.
  7. The radiologist will review all of my pictures for the past year or so and see when these frontal lesions first showed up, and hopefully provide us with ore information.
  8. I am scheduled to have a bone scan on February 3rd. The bone scan will tell us whether it is activity or a result of treatment.
  9. He has scheduled for some additional blood work on February 3rd to check my tumor markers. That should provide us more information on whether it is further metastasis.
  10. I am already being treated, so at this point he doesn’t think we will change anything regarding treatment, but we need to know what we are dealing with.

Here’s what we don’t know, and hopefully will find out from the radiologist after he looks at the sequence of pictures more closely.

  1. We don’t know whether I will need additional treatment or tests besides those already scheduled.
  2. We don’t know yet when the lesion first appeared.
  3. We don’t know if my left eye issues could be related to the lesion in my skull. It is directly behind my left eye.
  4. We don’t know if this is cancerous activity (increase in metastasis), or a result of treatment showing up on the scans, or how fast it is growing if it is metastasis.

I’ll keep you posted as soon as I hear more. I am not worried, and my doctor is not worried about it either. We will keep praising God, pressing on, living life, and deal with whatever we learn along the way.

Á la prochaine…until next time!

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Seven Years Ago Today…

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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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Gamma Knife

Today was a big day. Our drive downtown was fairly uneventful. The traffic was lighter than usual; I imagine many folks are taking off work for the Christmas holiday weekend, and school is out for the winter break.  We valeted the car and got to my appointment about 30 minutes early. This is my first visit to the brain and spine center, but we have been to the main building before. If you have never been downtown Houston to the MDAnderson center, it is like a city all of its own. I remember the first visit here six years ago, when I was going through all the initial staging. I saw a sign to the aquarium, and I thought they had an actual aquarium here. Turns out, that is the name of one of their cafes. (Egg on face.) But, in my defense, it IS a very large place.

As we sat in the waiting room playing games on our iPads and listening to Property Brothers in the background, I asked Tim if he had any questions. He quipped, “will it kill much of the brain? Or better yet, will it restore any of the brain?” Yep, that’s my hubby.

All joking aside, we spent the whole day learning about this next phase of my cancer journey, the Gamma Knife procedure, and what it entails. I did break down and cry at one point as it is a bit overwhelming. But, thankfully, the wave of emotion didn’t last long. The nurse (Tina) was really sweet as she talked about the process and handed me a tissue.

So much for the “one and done” approach we had naively imagined. I should know better. Nothing is quick and easy when you get involved with cancer treatment at MDAnderson, or anywhere for that matter. The main campus is known for even longer waits. Today was no exception. After a thirty minute wait (an hour really, but we were 30 minutes early), Tina escorted us into a room she “stole,” because the others which belonged to my doctor were full. She took my vitals, described the Gamma Knife process, and discussed possible date options.  She also informed us of a YouTube video explaining everything MDA does with this treatment. We really liked her.  She was down-to-earth and truthful about the wait times as well.

Next, we were visited by the Physicians Assistant.  She was also very sweet and knowledgeable. Another explanation and some tests of strength and balance. Tim is my levity as he likened my walk across the room to the DUI test.  Not that I would know…fortunately.

Thirdly, we were visited by our very tall radiation oncologist, Dr. McGovern, who will follow me through all of the Gamma Knife procedures, now and later if needed.  Most likely there will be more; of course, no one is willing to predict the future. She explained how Gamma Knife actually works. It’s quite interesting, actually. The machine has 192 Cobalt beams that intersect at the exact location of the lesion. By itself, each beam is relatively harmless. But when they intersect, they send a combined large dose of radiation for what I consider an explosion into the lesion which “nukes” them. The table on which I will lay moves me into position so the beams intersect at the exact right location.  In this respect, a head frame is imperative (more on that in a minute). The frame prevents me from moving my head even a mm to zap the wrong spot in the brain. Each lesion takes about 15 minutes, so the entire procedure will be about an hour. This is just an estimate until we get the final MRI the day before the procedure.

In addition to a new radiation oncologist, I now have my very own neurosurgeon. “Is there any specialist I have not seen?” I wondered. Apparently, this is also required when you get the Gamma Knife.  I was fortunate Dr. Ferguson was available to see me today, so I don’t have to come back another day.  Initially they said 3:00, but we came back after lunch and I got a call saying to come on up. That was a real blessing! Lunch, by the way was delicious. We had crepes at Sweet Paris downtown.

Dr. Ferguson is the exact opposite in stature to Dr. McGovern. I believe she said she is West Indian; Tim missed that part of the conversation as he left the room to go find his Diet Pepsi which he left in the waiting room (and I’m the one with brain issues LOL). Funny thing is, he couldn’t remember which room I was in, so he opened the wrong door. Another doctor had to help him out. He opened our office room door and said this gentleman was looking for a good-looking wife, and since I was the best looking in the hallway would I take him. Yeah, I guess so.

Anyway, I digressed.

Dr. Ferguson asked if I wanted to see the pictures from my latest scan, and of course we said yes. The spots are very tiny, but I could see them as well.  To do this very precise procedure, one has to wear an aluminum frame, which I mentioned earlier. From hereon, I will dub it my “bedazzling crown.” I may not be a monarch, but I sense this crown will represent victory and triumph, (as it does for the royals), and represents power over this awful disease. Wearing it will enable me to feel victorious. I say it is bedazzling because I prefer to feel like I will be wearing something beautiful over a medical devise, for one. Also, when I think of the radiation beams attacking the lesions, I imagine a big firework display going off inside my head. THAT is bedazzling.

One responsibility of the neurosurgeon is to attach the crown to my head. Basically, they screw it in place. Do you want to hear more? I didn’t…feel free to stop reading. She is also now connected to me in the event I ever need brain surgery. Wow. I know some people who have had brain surgery, but I never thought I would think of that for me.

History.  All five professionals seen today took note of my history.  It’s amazing how they can summarize six years of treatment in a manner of minutes. Since 2012… Chemotherapy, mastectomy, radiation therapy, continued Herceptin through year one, reconstruction, and Tamoxifen until the MBC reoccurrence in 2016. 2017 started with more chemotherapy, Herceptin and Perjecta every three weeks for maintenance, with daily doses of Arimadex and a shot of Xgeva every month.

In January of this year we discovered two tiny spots in the brain. My medical oncologist sent me for an MRI after Tim astutely noticed I was unbalanced and a bit more fatigued.  These have been watched regularly, with no growth until the last scan. They are apparently growing at a snail’s pace, yet now there are three.

Treatment.  Mostly what we heard today was good news. It’s easier to treat these lesions when they are small, and there is a less than 5% chance of brain damage to the surrounding areas, much less than treating larger lesions. I also learned that the MRI scans I have been receiving take larger slices than the MRI they will do at MDAnderson. The day before my procedure, I will go in for another MRI, bloodwork, and training by the nurse. They will access my port so I don’t have to get an IV. The thinner slices on the MRI will uncover any other possible lesions, which will all be treated at the same time with the Gamma Knife.

The day of the treatment sounds like an exhausting day. While many people choose to work the day after, I am hoping to get this done over the break. Then I can rest before going back to work. I have to fast after midnight, and arrive early in the morning.  They will install my crown, do another MRI, and wait for my treatment time. I’m sure I’m missing some steps, but one thing I remember is that I will sit around and wait with my crown attached to my head until it is my turn for the Gamma Knife. They do three per day, so I could be first, second, or third. There is no specific time frame. They will bring me food, but otherwise I will sit and wait. During the treatment I can listen to music. Afterward, they will watch me for an hour and then I can go home.  We are hoping for an appointment on January 2nd, which means all the pre-treatment will be done on December 31st, since they are closed on New Year’s Day. Looks like we will get to see fireworks two days in a row.

We learned a lot — more than I was bargaining for.  We are on information overload once again.  It was a bit daunting. However, regardless of how we may feel at times, I know it’s going to be okay. God is on my side, and He is watching over me through this whole process.  This song by the Piano Guys always gives me a pick-me-up.

A 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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Who will take care of me?

I just realized it has been three months since my last blog. And it was the week of Residency, which is this week as well.  What are the odds…Perhaps my quantitative friends can help figure that one out.

I had my chemo and XGeva this morning. My nurse was rushing like a bandit because she knew I was hoping to get out early. I got in early, about 30 minutes. That’s usually unheard of.  Unfortunately we can’t rush the chemo. Drip, drip, drip. It takes at least an hour regardless of how much we try to force it.  Then there is the preparation, and the flush in between, and after, and the Heparin. All in all, it takes a solid 90 minutes even if the stars align.

I’m sitting at Panera waiting for my hubby to join me. I was rushing to get out of chemo because he had a doctor’s appointment, and I wanted to be there.  My nurse could sense the urgency, as I don’t usually ask them to hurry up.  This is not your usual, ho-hum, mundane visit to the doctor. He’s been having symptoms. Headaches and such.  His doctor ordered a brain scan. They found “something.”  Today’s visit with the neurologist would help determine what they found. Unfortunately, he made it to the doctor before my last drip, so I’m waiting for him to tell me the results.

It’s always hard to wait for results from a scan, test, or other medical procedure, but I have learned how to be patient during the waiting.  Endurance produces character (Romans 5:4).  Last week I had a moment. Sometimes we joke about death – it may sound morbid but it’s our way of dealing with life with cancer. In the midst of laughing I had a sad thought. If something happened to him, who will take care of me? Shake it off…it was only a momentary lapse from the usual positivity we embrace.

He’s here…………….

Praise God my hubby came bearing good news! The spots on the brain scan, which were confirmed by the neurologist, are like age spots on your skin. (Ha! Despite his boyish face and blond hair, I knew he was aging.)  The doc says there is no concern. They ruled out all the biggies like MS, stroke, blockage, etc. In fact, it is likely the headaches created the spots. (I didn’t know headaches could do that.)  He does have some stress in his life, as any caregiver can relate, which may be contributing to the symptoms. The doctor recommended watching his cholesterol and blood pressure. Tim told me this as he was salting his apple.

Basically, the doctor ordered my hubby to de-stress and decompress.  Sounds like it is time for another ride.

À la prochaine…until next time.

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Brain Mets

Today was a good day. I started off with Physical Therapy doing strength training after Breast Cancer. I have unlimited PT visits with my insurance, so I have been getting help on the lymphadema, scar tissue, and now I feel like I have my own Personal Trainer to help me get stronger. I felt a little queazy at one point of our workout, but my blood pressure was fine so we kept going. I was reminded of my 30s when I was going to a gym, working out, pressing my full body weight with my legs, and lifting 25 pound weights during body pump. Now in my fifties I could hear the Hefty commercial calling me, “wimpy, wimpy, wimpy,” as I looked at the 1 pound weights gripped in my hands…and hard work!  We have a ways to go, but I’m determined to get stronger.

The main reason I’m writing is because I had a visit with my radiation oncologist this afternoon. I love her. She’s a great doctor, and very knowledgeable.  She said the two very tiny spots the MRI found on my brain are only detectable on one set of slices, but not the other two (they have to triangulate to do any treatment). She also reassured that brain mets are very slow growing, unlike the aggressive tumors we’ve seen in other parts of my body.  And since they are so tiny, she is not concerned. Due to the longevity of life in women with breast cancer (her words), they zap them as needed.  It is likely I will have to go in and do this from time to time. The phrase “longevity of life” was music to my ears. I like thinking about living, and enjoying life.

Radiation to zap brain lesions (a/k/a brain mets, a/k/a/ brain metastasis) does not have any side effects. And for now, the tiny spots are not causing any symptoms either. Repeat the MRI in about 6 weeks, then see if we need to do anything else at that point.

She went over the possible treatment options for when/if the time arrives (I immediately turned down the Gamma Knife, which is downtown).  Fortunately, I can be treated in The Woodlands (Yeah!). It only takes three trips to zap them, so it’s not nearly as big of an ordeal as when I got radiation on the surgical scar (I had 33 daily rounds, if you recall). There is also a possibility this is not even brain mets, and the spots may “disappear” by the time I get another scan. So, for that we are praying! I believe in miracles, and I’m thankful I have a doctor who does as well.

On another note, tomorrow I have an appointment with a dental oncologist–I didn’t know there was such a thing–as the bone scan showed some “inflammation” in the right TMJ. For this I do have to go downtown.

Otherwise, all my CT scans looked good.  The liver, which you recall always had spots on every scan, is “unremarkable,” along with the spleen, pancreas, and my lungs also look great.  I still have cancer in the bones, but it isn’t spreading.  Everything is “stable.”

 

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