Wednesday, April 30, 2008

4/30/2008: My Core

I've reached a very important pinnacle in my life … one that I am finally able to express.

I spent time this week reconnecting with a dear friend of mine. I have changed so much internally over the last three months, yet I have not actually been able to wrap my head around it and truly express it, until he and I spoke. He has always been the kind of person who simply "gets" me and understands me to the core of the person I am. He never passes judgment, or points out fault … he embraces me for the person I am, totally and completely. It was one of the most profound conversations I have had in a long time.

Having cancer has been the greatest gift. I do not wish for a moment that I was not faced with this. I have been taken on a spiritual journey that has been challenging, satisfying, eye-opening, scary, profound, clarifying and cleansing. I am renewed. I have started to take a really hard look at my life, past the surface of the day-to-day conversations and routines, to truly see how I can continue my growth work and enrich my life. I want and deserve better than what I am currently settling for … we all do.

My dear friend has also been on a spiritual journey over the past few months that has changed him. I am so incredibly happy for him. I was in awe of the peacefulness he embodied and the balance he had acquired in his mind, body and soul. It was so nice to truly open myself up to him with no reservation and in the most honest of ways share my inner thoughts and feelings. So often we close ourselves and operate in this unfulfilling, surfaced world that leads to internal isolation, negativity, resentment and lack of realization and accomplishment.

I have said it before, and I mean it, this experience does not define me and I refuse to look at it in a negative way. I choose to invest my time in bettering myself through life's challenges, helping others, cherishing my fulfilling relationships, eliminating negativity and embracing life to the fullest.

My friend told me "The real core of you is vibrant and rock-solid – you really must have been some kind of warrior in a former life because you certainly are one now." My oncologist calls me Bionic Woman and told me that my Dad being a Marine must have rubbed off on me. My Uncle Ron calls me his Real Trooper. I don't think these are all coincidences. I am a fighter and beating cancer is just the beginning. I have learned the act of patience. I have embraced not being able to control this situation, only my mindset. I have faced my vulnerability and handed myself over to God to guide me. I have never liked me this much before … and it can only get better with a new set of boobs. Haha.

In all seriousness, I challenge you to take a look at your core and start your growth work today. Who is more important than you? Why are we so scared to truly look deep inside ourselves? Demand more from life and eliminate negativity ... free yourself. Make yourself your top priority and make this day one of a new you.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

4/27/2008: Farting in the Tub

"You know when you fart in the bathtub …" I asked Melanie (the head doctor at my oncologist's office). She was trying so hard not to laugh as my dad smirked and rolled his eyes. "… that's the feeling I have in my knees and ankles." Melanie said, "Hmm, well, that's not good."

I met with Melanie this Friday during my weekly Herceptin treatment. I always have to meet with my oncologist, Dr. Heyer or Melanie the week following my chemotherapy to report back my side effects, how I am feeling and any changes in my reactions.

I explained how different this round was and that the side effects came later in the week lasted a shorter amount of time. I also have had pretty severe nausea the past two rounds, which I previously never had. Although I have never thrown up, it certainly makes me not want to eat. Melanie explained that the chemo builds up in the body and it could be just now that my body is saying "NOOOOOOOO!" and getting nauseous. As long as it can be managed with medication, the show goes on. So basically, I just have to suck it up and deal with it. The "farting" knees and ankles however is fluid building up in my joints due to the Taxotere (one of the ingredients in my chemo recipe). Not fun! Melanie asked me to watch this and report back if it did not subside or grew worse.

Surprisingly, my blood work came back and was worse than usual. The white blood cells (immunity) were in a good range; however, my red blood cells had dropped considerably. They were already low, meaning that I am anemic, but now I am even worse. They said they would check it again next Friday in hopes it had improved, but the only number they really care about is the white blood count. I never understood how people with anemia feel, but basically my organs are not getting the oxygen they need and it makes me feel wiped out. Ugggh!

I FINALLY HAVE A TIMELINE!!! I am so excited! Once chemo is over on May 30, I will have my PETscan on 6/16, meet with Dr. Heyer to review my PETscan on 6/19 or 6/20, then have my appointments with my surgeon, Dr. Mason, and the plastic surgeon around 6/23. Melanie said surgery can happen within days of that meeting … it is just up to the surgeons. YAY! Looks like June is going to be a super busy month, but I am ready for it. I cannot wait to get my new boobs. I just want all of this to be over so I can move on with my life and take a much needed vacation.

Friday, April 25, 2008

4/25/2008: Moved to Tears

Ever heard the phrase "moved to tears"? I am the kind of person who is genuinely touched by things ... the smallest, yet most significant of kindnesses. I see the way a man looks at a woman and is captivated by her every word and feel my throat tighten. I hear the passion in Irish music and cannot help but feel my soul come to life. I receive gestures of love and compassion and am moved beyond words. This is primarily why I found myself crying the other evening to a complete stranger.

In the evenings after dinner and before Wheel of Fortune (right up there with Milano cookies and frappuccinos) if the weather is nice and I feel strong enough, I take a walk around my neighborhood. The fresh air is invigorating and I love seeing all my neighbors out with their young children and dogs. It makes me think of my sweet Carly Anne and how much she loved this time of year. Her little nose would twitch like a bunny as she would smell all of the looming flowers.

This particular evening I was in my black yoga pants, a gray hoodie, my black flip-flops and my pink breast cancer ball cap that Michael gave me. I didn't even bother to throw on a bra figuring I looked rough enough that no one would bother talking to me. I was wrong. I was concluding my walk when one of my neighbors who I have never spoken to before pulled into her driveway and waved to me. She gestured to me in a way that I knew she wanted to speak with me. She is probably in her early thirties with the cutest blonde bob I have ever seen. She told me that she was so happy to see me. I had to think for a moment if perhaps we already knew one another and tried desperately to figure out her name. Once she gathered herself she explained that she has seen me walk each evening and hadn't seen me the last few days and was worried. She told me that she can tell when I am not feeling well by the way I walk. She continued by expressing how much she admired me and how she couldn't believe how beautiful I am close up. She was a blunt woman, but her words were so genuine and refreshing. (Although a bit stalker-ish, here was this woman who I had never spoken to, or shared my story with, yet I had touched her life from a distance.) And as though we were old friends she gave me a hug. I was shocked, overwhelmed and incredibly touched. I started crying ...

I never came out and told her that I have cancer, although I didn't need to. I don't know if she has had experience with cancer, or why she felt the need to say all those warm words, all I know is ... I needed to hear them. For some reason we were put in a position where our lives were supposed to intersect that evening and she had these thoughts and feelings she needed to convey.

And without missing a beat, she asked if she could see my head. What an odd request, I thought. I removed my hat. She asked if she could touch my head. Again, I thought "this is strange." So, I, of course, said "sure." (I guess that is how pregnant women feel when random people feel their bellies.) She apologized in advance for her curiosity and hoped not to offend me. I assured her that it would take a lot to do so and I felt privileged to be able to share my experience with others to help them better understand cancer. The questions kept coming, especially about my port. I showed it to her and she was astonished that it was all INSIDE my body. Most people think it is like an IV that is on the outside. I took her hand and placed it on my chest where my port lies. I have done this with many people now. (Here is what a mediport looks like) We talked for maybe twenty minutes and I was just so moved by the kind words of someone who I didn't even know. I can only imagine what our show-and-tell will entail after I have my implants put in. Haha.

Please don't ever hesitate to ask me a question. I will talk about almost anything with you. I want this to be an open experience where we can learn together. There are no secrets ... I promise to be as open and honest as I possibly can. I have heard just about everything from "What size boobs do you want?" to "Did you lose ALL your hair?" and even "Has your sex life changed?" I know some of my friends have tried to be cautious of what they say around me, specifically when complaining about their hair and boobs. Trust me, I am not like that and, like I said, it will take A LOT to offend me. Cancer doesn't make people more sensitive, or kill our humor ... promise!

Thursday, April 24, 2008

4/24/2008: I Hate Cancer

I have finally decided that I hate cancer. I know hate is a strong word and that you should only use it when you mean it ... and I DO mean it. It is one thing for me to be sick and suffering over these past couple months, but now I have been touched by stories of the people who read my website. Please know how much it means to me that you have shared your stories. I shall cherish your thoughts and feelings and keep them close to my heart always. When I get e-mails from my friend Kandi (who types to me while her baby sleeps in her lap) who now throws up every Thursday out of anxiety of her upcoming treatment I become so angry and my eyes swell with tears. I don't care what cancer does to me, but I want it to leave everyone else alone. I don't want to see anyone go through this ... I don't think I can possibly bare it. It needs to stop. And maybe you are following my story because you know me, or feel a connection having known someone who had cancer. Or perhaps you don't even know me at all, but have followed my journey and feel like we are friends having a conversation through my written word. Regardless of why you come to my website, you must know this ... you are not safe from cancer.

Before I was told the news that I had cancer, I knew of one person who had fought cancer ... my aunt. I remember it being winter and her coming over for the holidays. She seemed tired and weak, and we knew she had on a wig, but she still had such a glorious spirit about her. That was my knowledge of cancer and I am ashamed that I did not understand more of the severity of it at the time. Cancer is a word like pneumonia, or the flu ... everyone throws it around and yeah, people get it, but they get better, right? Wrong. And yeah it is horrible for people that have it, but I have no history of it in my family, so I am safe, right? Wrong. I always thought cancer was a disease older people got, so why should I worry about it? Thank God I am in touch with my body and knew that the lump under my armpit was not normal. Thank God I pushed my doctors to do testing to find out why I was so sick last fall. Thank God I found my cancer when I did before it made its way into my bones and blood. Others have not been so lucky.

Cancer stats for young adults aged 15-39 in the US ...
- annual diagnosis: 68,000
- percent increase since 1977: 100%
- annual deaths: 10,000
- improvement in 5-year remission since 1977: ~0
- current national efforts to change this: 1 ()
Bitter irony that young adults raise money for cancer research with charities that don't actually benefit them: priceless.

My friend has asked me to come on her radio show April 30 to talk about my journey and try to help bring awareness to others. (I will post the details of the show when I have them so you all can tune in.) Please don't read by website and not see yourself as a statistic. I am not just some random girl who was dealt a crappy hand of cards. I am one in eight women who will battle breast cancer in her lifetime. Encourage the women in your life (of all ages) to please be in touch with their bodies and do their exams. Life is much too precious and we need to find a cure for our daughters and granddaughters. Please, please find a way to help and don't see this as just another cause that won't effect you, because if you have more than eight girl friends ... I can assure you it will. And that's why I hate cancer!

Monday, April 21, 2008

4/21/2008: White Dove

I lay on my belly in my bathtub last night. I tried standing in the shower, but my little legs shook too much, so I opted for a bath. (You should see my nasty bruises from my fall down the stairs at work last week. Eeek!) I played with my hair that had fallen out on the side of my tub. I made about five hearts from my dark blonde locks before I ran out. I really do miss my hair today. (Yes, my hair grows back in between treatments, and then I have to watch it fall out all over again.)

For some reason this treatment (round four) has been different than the others. Some side effects kicked in quickly and I was not as fatigued at the onset. I said several times this weekend, "I cannot believe I have cancer." Is the fact that I have cancer just now setting in? I have no emotion towards it, meaning I am not upset or angry … just annoyed and frustrated at being slowed down. Just when I thought I had escaped the wrath of the chemotherapy side effects, they hit last night. My fingers are not cooperating and are swollen today. I have to really concentrate just to open a container. My gums are swollen and my mouth is raw and peeling … I have no taste at all. This is the first time that I have no appetite. (Don't fret … I promise to keep eating.) Just walking from my bedroom to my kitchen leaves me exhausted. I hate feeling this way. My senses are working hard. I can actually hear my blood pumping in my ears. Besides the fatigue (which is the lamest word to describe this sensation), the heightened senses are a close second to my least favorite thing in the world.

My mastectomy won't even happen until the end of June and already the nightmares have begun. I keep dreaming that I wake up and have size 'I' boobs. I tell the doctor that this is not what I wanted and they assure me that I look "so good." I need to stop watching plastic surgery shows on TV, I think. Haha! Once chemotherapy treatment is over (May 30), I will have to wait a few weeks then have my PETscan redone. (Chemo can cause false negatives and positives if the PETscan is done too close to your treatment.) Then I will meet with the surgeon and plastic surgeon. They have to do surgery within 3 to 4 weeks after my last treatment. They want to wait a little so my strength can get back up, but not too long in case there are any cancer gremlins (Sarah's term) still left, because they will start growing again. When I meet with Melanie (head nurse at my Oncologist's office) this Friday I plan to try and nail down some dates. They usually just tell me to be patient and get through chemotherapy first, but you all know me … I want a plan and to have this whole thing organized into a neat little package.

I have a white dove that has been coming to spend time with me over the past few weeks outside my bedroom window. I was getting some sun at my parent's house this weekend after treatment and my beautiful dove landed not even a foot from me in the grass. I cannot believe she found me. She cocked her head and cooed at me. We chatted for a bit and off she went. I did not see her yesterday, which saddened me greatly; however, this morning when I was probably feeling my worst I heard a coo outside my window. When I opened my blinds my little white dove sat perched on the back of my balcony chair … as close as she could get to my window. She was not frightened by my opening the blinds. She is glorious and for some reason puts me at such ease.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

4/19/2008: Round Four

Round four of chemotherapy has been my best one so far! My nurses hooked me up and drew my blood first. My blood work came back better than it has any of the other times. I am still anemic, but my number was much better. And my white blood count (immunity) is higher than they expected, which means my body is making itself better on its own.

My nurses gave me my pre-meds (steroid for allergic reaction and another medication for nausea) which they always do as a precaution, then an IV of Benedryl. By the time my company got there (Aunt Patty and Ashley) my speech was slurred and mid-sentence I would forget what I was talking about. My guests were patient with me and understood that I was just dopey from the medication. They changed the order of my chemotherapy medications this time, however. They started with Herception, then Taxotere, since I have had allergic reactions to them in the past and wanted to give them to me following the Benedryl. Lastly, they gave me the Carboplatin. I had no allergic reactions, or any issues at all for that matter. The nurses also confirmed how great my MRI results were that I got back last week. This just lifted my spirits even more!

When I got home I was not my typical sleepy, cranky self. I laid out in my parents front yard and sunbathed. (Don't worry my nervous Nellie's, I asked my nurses for permission and wore sunblock to protect myself.) It felt so good getting some ray. I found myself in great spirits yesterday and pretty spunky. By dinner time I started having my typical side effects that I usually don't get until Monday (sensitivity with my hearing and sight, crankiness from starting to feel slowed down, numbness in my fingers and arms, shaky legs, etc.) ... two days ahead of schedule. Last chemo treatment my side effects came one day in advance, this time I am two days ahead of schedule. I am hoping this means that I will feel better sooner, too. Wouldn't that be nice for a change!?

All in all, I am doing better than I have with all my other treatments. I actually feel pretty good. Maybe I will layout a little this afternoon and try to sweat out some of this icky medicine. Sounds like a good plan of action to me.

Thank you all for your texts, e-mails, phone calls and gifts. It means the world to me. Four treatments down and only two to go. YAY!

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

4/16/2008: The Stairwell

Laying at the bottom of the staircase this morning, sprawled out on my back, I thought about the conversation I had with my Mom earlier this week. I wonder how this journey will change me.

I sat in traffic for two hours this morning trying to get to work for a 9:00 meeting. There were three accidents on the toll road, so I did not arrive at my office until 9:15 and was rushing to get to the conference room to meet with my boss and VP. I took my pre-chemotherapy medication (uppers) this morning, so I was sweating and shaking, in addition to my heightened anxiety. As I was rushing down the stairs with my laptop, BlackBerry, frappuccino and notebook, my right heel slipped into the cuff of my left pant leg and I found myself tumbling in slow motion. I fell down the flight of stairs and my frappuccino bottle smashed into the concrete floor. My left shoulder and head hit on impact. (Yes, my left side is where I had the hockey puck-sized tumor removed and my port placed under my skin into my artery.) There was a man in the stairwell above me who was cleaning. He ran down to see what had happened. He was staring at me, not out of concern, but in another way that I didn't like. I realized that my wig had fallen off and was laying against the wall. There I was completely vulnerable and this man who didn't know my story was looking at me in disgust ... like I was a total freak. He finally managed to ask if I was okay. I said yes and to leave me alone, please.

I laid back down looking up at the stacked rows of stairs above me. I was choking back tears and contemplating telling this stranger (who stayed there staring at me for what seemed like an eternity) my story, not because he cared, but because I felt that I needed to defend myself. I said "screw him" in my mind and realized that I had nothing to defend. I already see the changes that my Mom told me would happen. I have been so conflicted and confused for the last couple years about life in general. What do I want and deserve? What is the right path for me? The clarity is just around the corner ... I can feel it now more than ever. My mother told me that this experience would make me stronger and perhaps make me into that woman that I longed to be. A woman who knew what she deserved out of life and refused to settle. A woman who had crawled through the trenches of life, lived to tell about it, thus loved unconditionally and whole-heartedly and lived every day to the fullest. I believe I already had those qualities, although they needed some dusting off. This experience is an opportunity to be shoved in the right direction, the path of becoming the woman I have always wanted to be and had the ability to become.

I picked myself up off the ground, dusted off my black slacks, said "have a good one" with a smile to the ignorant man in the stairwell, scooped up my wig and shook it off and carried it down the hall to the bathroom as my heels clicked loudly along the marble floor. I stood up as tall as I possibly could and smiled. Yes, I, Jennifer Kwiatek walked down the hallway bald in my office building and didn't care. I have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of what is happening to me. I never asked for this. And with that, I can say that my Mom was right in her theory. I am becoming a better, more vibrant woman and I have to admit that I wish I could have met her sooner. I really like her!

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

4/15/2008: Anxiety Returns

My heart is racing out of my chest. I am dizzy, nauseous and have broken out in a cold sweat. Oh God, I think I may not be able to make it to the bathroom before I get sick.

The anxiety of having chemo again this Friday is more than I can bear. Apparently feeling this way is normal according to my sisters in cancer who are going through treatment as well. The nightmares, insomnia, night sweats, lack of appetite and nausea all set in Sunday. I hadn't experienced nausea this bad until now. I am completely drained from the anxiety. I obviously try to keep my worries to a minimum with positive thinking, wine and yoga (ahem, and Milano cookies), but there is no way to ignore how horrible chemo makes you feel. You just don't understand it unless you have experienced it. It is like nothing else in this world and the word horrible doesn't even come close to describing it. I dread it each time it creeps closer and closer, but there is no escaping it. I just continue to suck it up and move through the motions despite the fact that each time they place the thick needle into my port (and I tell my Daddy to please look away) I am choking back the tears. I am embarrassed, annoyed, frustrated and just so ready to take back my life. I am starting to forget what it felt like to not be on medication all the time and to actually have a day where I feel amazing. I just want to be normal again ... and soon. I constantly imagine myself during treatment and testing somewhere else laying on a beach, warm and feeling vibrant once again. I long for that day more than you can imagine.

Despite the negatives, I have to remember how lucky I am that my MRI came back as well as it did. This means they don't have to prolong treatment or switch my regimen. Lord knows I can only handle so much. I knew in my heart that treatment was working, but to have that confirmation was exactly what I needed. I cannot believe that this Friday is round four of chemo. (I will be 2/3 of the way done.) Time has flown by so fast, especially between the last round and this one.

I have finally been able to start exercising daily, which always makes me feel better. The problem is I get back on a schedule right before I am laid out by chemo again. My poor little body just wants some consistency. In due time, right? I know ... I believe it, too. It's time to cradle my head in my hands, take a deep breath, wipe the beads of sweat on my brow and just push through these last three rounds of treatment. If I squint hard enough, I can start to see a glimpse of light at the end of this tunnel. Can you see it too?

4/15/2008: Anxiety Returns

My heart is racing out of my chest. I am dizzy, nauseous and have broken out in a cold sweat. Oh God, I think I may not be able to make it to the bathroom before I get sick.

The anxiety of having chemo again this Friday is more than I can bear. Apparently feeling this way is normal according to my sisters in cancer who are going through treatment as well. The nightmares, insomnia, night sweats, lack of appetite and nausea all set in Sunday. I hadn't experienced nausea this bad until now. I am completely drained from the anxiety. I obviously try to keep my worries to a minimum with positive thinking, wine and yoga (ahem, and Milano cookies), but there is no way to ignore how horrible chemo makes you feel. You just don't understand it unless you have experienced it. It is like nothing else in this world and the word horrible doesn't even come close to describing it. I dread it each time it creeps closer and closer, but there is no escaping it. I just continue to suck it up and move through the motions despite the fact that each time they place the thick needle into my port (and I tell my Daddy to please look away) I am choking back the tears. I am embarrassed, annoyed, frustrated and just so ready to take back my life. I am starting to forget what it felt like to not be on medication all the time and to actually have a day where I feel amazing. I just want to be normal again ... and soon. I constantly imagine myself during treatment and testing somewhere else laying on a beach, warm and feeling vibrant once again. I long for that day more than you can imagine.

Despite the negatives, I have to remember how lucky I am that my MRI came back as well as it did. This means they don't have to prolong treatment or switch my regimen. Lord knows I can only handle so much. I knew in my heart that treatment was working, but to have that confirmation was exactly what I needed. I cannot believe that this Friday is round four of chemo. (I will be 2/3 of the way done.) Time has flown by so fast, especially between the last round and this one.

I have finally been able to start exercising daily, which always makes me feel better. The problem is I get back on a schedule right before I am laid out by chemo again. My poor little body just wants some consistency. In due time, right? I know ... I believe it, too. It's time to cradle my head in my hands, take a deep breath, wipe the beads of sweat on my brow and just push through these last three rounds of treatment. If I squint hard enough, I can start to see a glimpse of light at the end of this tunnel. Can you see it too?

Saturday, April 12, 2008

4/12/2008: Amazing News

What a crazy week. I had my MRI on Wednesday and it went better than my first one back in January. They had to use a special machine because of my port. A breast MRI is really uncomfortable. You have to lay face down on the MRI table with your boobs poking through these two holes and you have a cushion for your face similar to when you have a massage. The technicians pull at your boobs to make sure they are inside the holes. There is a bar that presses against your sternum as you lay there with your arms extended over your head. Then they move you around the table and the machine makes the most horrible noises that are SO loud. Then they give you an IV that makes you taste metal in your mouth and makes you feel like you just peed yourself. I wasn't on the table correctly so my nurse just grabbed the bed sheet and pulled it. I cracked up. She said, well you are so tiny I will just drag you where I want you. The good thing is, the technicians all are amazing. They said when I get my new boobs to come back and show them off. I love those ladies. Dad and I went to lunch afterwards and when I came back to pick up my pictures they told me they had to redo a couple of shots. Boo!

I had my Herceptin treatment today and it was pretty rough. I was only a couple of minutes into my treatment when my chest started tightening and I couldn't breath. The nurse came in and cut off the medicine, put me on saline and then gave me a shot of Benedryl. Now I am totally exhausted, but at least I can breathe now. They waited about 20 minutes then started the Herceptin again. I asked my nurse to check with my oncologist, Dr. Heyer, about my MRI results. She came back and said, "All of your lymph nodes have shrunk." YAY!

Once my appointment was over I went to MRI of Reston and requested a report of my MRI. I'm sneaky! The report has a lot of biological mumbo jumbo that I don't understand. (So I reviewed it with my friend Andrew who knows all about this stuff.) The report says everything is stable or decreased. The MRI still saw the fluid under my incision and said it had decreased from 48 x 35 mm to 30 x 22mm. One lymph node went from 50 mm to 23 mm and the other 15 mm to 12 mm. The area of tissue diseased inside my left breast went from 16 x 7 mm to 10 x 6 mm. And no new lymphadenopathy is evident! (That basically means there is nothing new.)

The report did say, "More prominent geographic enhancement with some abnormal kinetics in the upper-outer left breast compared with prior study. The remainder of the breast parenchyma in both breasts is generally stable. This area could represent neoplasm." Andrew said not to focus on that or worry. He said technically a neoplasm is a precancerous lesion or tumor ... but just because it wasn't there before doesn't mean anything. He also said maybe a few of my "hot spots" (cancer cells) all grouped together to hide from the chemo ... but neoplasms are generally really small. If this was a huge issue I think my oncologist would have said something to my nurse.

So all in all, amazing news. This means chemotherapy is working and the cancer is being killed. This time next week I will be 2/3 of the way through treatment. YAY!

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

4/8/2008: Think Positive

I have been in a bit of a funk the last few days and I am not a hundred percent sure why. I had a great appointment with my oncologist Dr. Heyer on Friday. This weekend I attended the Cookie Lee Fundraiser in my honor hosted by Shana English, which was so much fun and just an amazing event. Additionally, some old friends and people that I care very deeply for have come back into my life, which I feel so blessed. So, I am perplexed by my own funk. It's hard to explain, but I shall try …

Anyone who knows me will tell you that my greatest fault is that I am not a patient woman. I am finding this process to be very testing. Perhaps I have been challenged with cancer and treatment in order to work on that aspect of my personality. Being halfway through treatment is a great milestone, but occasionally my mind will slip into the negative realm and I think, "Only halfway? That means I have to go through what I have already been through again." Then I quickly snap myself out of that thought process. No glass half empty for me! I have to stay in the right mind frame or this thing will suck me under.

I have always been someone who liked the way I look and my body. I never really have experienced being self conscious of my looks or went through any phase like that. I have always appreciated what God gave me, although there were times I thought bigger boobs would be nice. (I didn't want to go through all this to get them though. Be careful what you wish for.)

I had a "moment" Sunday morning that I have never experienced before. I took a shower and after drying off I stood looking at myself in the mirror. I don't love my body the way I used to and that saddens me. I hate my port more than anything. It looks like a quarter-sized zit on my chest. It just pokes out under my skin and looks disgusting. I hate my scars. I have one that is about two inches under my armpit and one that is about an inch on my chest where they inserted the port. And I guess I will have even more when I have my bilateral mastectomy in June. Makes me sad. Because I am so fatigued with chemotherapy treatments I am unable to be as active as I was before cancer, so I have put on four pounds. (I know … a whopping 103. Geez!) I don't mind the weight … I am more upset by my loss of muscle and not being as tone as I would like. And I am barely hanging on to my eyebrows and eyelashes that continue to thin. I find myself admiring people's hair a lot more than I ever used to. A lady stopped me in the Harris Teeter parking lot last week to ask me where I get my hair done. I said, "Sorry, this is a wig." I swear I will never curse a bad hair day again. Ugh … I am just annoyed!

It is hard to feel sexy and beautiful when you are going through treatment. Obviously, the most important thing is to kill the cancer. The little things that I have started to notice about my physical appearance I am aware that are things that only I notice and no one else really does. The bottom line is I need to keep remembering that all of this is just temporary and in the scheme of things this is only a couple months of my entire life. I will not let it define me or try and suck me under again.

Think positive, think positive, think positive … sometimes even I need to remind myself!

Sunday, April 6, 2008

4/6/2008: The Baby Grape

I was washing my red grapes today and the tears ran down my dry, peeling cheeks … I cannot remember ever appreciating things in my life like I do now, or being this fulfilled and happy.

I had my Herceptin treatment today that I have every Friday. Earlier this week I had some upper respiratory problems, so prior to getting treatment, my nurse Jessi had to get approval from my oncologist, Dr. Heyer, to continue the Herceptin. The nurses checked my oxygen and listened to my chest. Everything was great … even my blood work. I was told the rustling in my chest was most likely allergies and that the show could go on.

Dad and I sat during treatment and shared our favorite recipes as we watched the Cooking Network. Today was a good day and I was just beaming about the meeting I had this morning, my interview with Hannah from the Gannetteer yesterday, dinner with Dan who just returned from Egypt, time spent with Drew and the other events from the week. I know it cannot be easy for my Daddy to watch his little girl go through all this, but he still manages to give me a smile when those beautiful green eyes swell. When he gets to that point he offers me a Frappuccino or Ginger Ale that he always seems to have stashed away for my treatments. That's Daddy's cure for all ... he knows that a Frappuccino is the key to my heart.

Dr. Heyer came to visit me during my treatment, which was a pleasant surprise. He asked about the respiratory issues and how I was coping with my third round of chemotherapy. We talked and joked for awhile and Dr. Heyer asked how my incision was from where I had the hockey puck-sized lymph node removed mid-January. I told him other than some toughness along the actual incision I felt nothing unusual. He said he wanted to do an exam of the area and my breast after treatment. He said if nothing was there he didn't see a reason to do midway testing. I started pouting and he told me I could talk him into anything. He agreed to an MRI this Wednesday at noon. YAY! This will tell us how well the chemotherapy is working. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for great results.

After my treatment I went back to an examination room and undressed for my exam. Dr. Heyer came in and the first thing he asked me was "How's Dad holding up?" (Are you trying to make me cry, Heyer? Sheesh.) He said, "It must be so hard for your parents. I couldn't imagine my baby going through this. (I was choking back the tears.) Dr. Heyer felt around my incision then looked at me. He said "I don't believe this. Your lymph nodes have completely shrunk and feel normal. I really don't believe you've improved this much already." I just beamed. I could not hide my excitement. He completed the breast exam and said "I am very, VERY pleased." He said in addition to my lymph nodes shrinking, my blood work, weight, side effects … everything has been just extraordinary. Typically, they have to adjust treatment and change regimens with patients, but I have just been a stellar patient. (Again, I think Milano cookies have something to do with it.) He did his usual threatening of taking away my BlackBerry during office visits and I joked back with him to just try. He's an amazing doctor.

I left Daddy with a hug and a kiss, went to the grocery store and came home. Washing my grapes I reflected on the day and how truly blessed I am. I got to the last grape in the bag … it was the baby. I giggled a little remembering growing up when Daddy would go grocery shopping on the weekends and come home and wash the grapes like I do now. He would yell for me to come into the kitchen. He would tell me that he had found a "Jennifer-sized grape" … the baby. He always saved them for me. The tears rolled down my face holding the Jennifer-sized grape in my hand and marveling at how much I love my friends and family and how truly blessed I am. Today was such a good day.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

4/1/2008: Side Effects

HAPPY APRIL 1st! A new month means I am just that much closer to being healthy!!!
Well, it appears that I survived round three of chemotherapy and am now halfway to the finish line. Lord knows I did not get there without some stumbling and even some dark times along my path. I am just thrilled to actually get to a milestone. YAY!

This treatment has been different then the first two. The severity of the side effects happened sooner, meaning Sunday instead of Monday, and seem to be leaving my body much quicker. My friend Andrew and I seem to believe that it is because all the cancer is dead, so the medication can leave my body a day early. I know, it might seem crazy, but I have to believe this is all working, right? I swear I have never sweated so much in my entire life. First, my body is exhausted so any physical effort causes me to sweat, like brushing my teeth. Second, I think I am sweating out all the medication. Mixing uppers and downers cannot be good for the body. Poor little body needs a vacation!

I am having the same normal aggravations as I typically do after chemotherapy. My body is moving in slow motion. My fingers don't work well … I have little to no feeling in them. My legs shake horribly when I stand. I have frequent muscle spasms. My senses are heightened, especially my hearing. I do not love my morning doves that perch on my balcony these days. My skin is dry and peeling, my mouth sore and swollen … basically, I look REALLY hot. Haha. I don't even care … I just want this all to be over.

Unfortunately, since my side effects came a day sooner, my family had to experience the chemo trance on Sunday that I can typically hide pretty well from them. My Mom urged me to call the doctor, but I explained that what she was seeing was normal. No words can begin to describe the expression of helplessness my family felt just watching me in my daze. Unless you have been through it, how do you begin to understand it? The life is literally sucked right out of your body and every movement takes excruciating effort and precision. But still I am blessed. I can only imagine this is just a fraction of what someone with a physical disability must face every moment of every day. Tomorrow I shall wake up with a little more mobility and life will resume with more clarity. Today, my body is not cooperating and common noises are painful, but life goes on … as will I.