8/6/09: Practicing My Poker Face

The past few weeks it has been a challenge to keep my poker face. I notice that I am having trouble eating, sleeping and controling my emotions. Just this week I became very biting in conversations with two people close to me – annoying and confusing them. I try so hard to control what I am feeling, or express it in a coherent way, but I never seem to get it right.

I have a friend who battled testicular cancer over the past month. He is athletic, vibrant, young and successful – but not safe from cancer. I met him the night he was diagnosed and talked with him until the early hours of the morning while he suffered from insomnia leading up to the beginning of his radiation. He had surgery and three weeks of radiation and is healing beautifully. He still is baffled by the fact that he had cancer. I told him that would never go away.

Two other friends I met via my blog while going through treatment have both been diagnosed again with cancer. One friend has colorectal cancer and recently they found nodules that were abnormal. He has started chemotherapy again. And my dear girlfriend who kicked cancer’s butt and was growing out the most beautiful brunette locks found another lump. Despite aggressive chemotherapy and a bilateral mastectomy – residual cancer remained in her body. She will undergo radiation and then additional chemotherapy. She is one of the most amazing women I know. As I listened to her news over the phone I wrapped my other arm tightly around my heaving torso. I listened to her complain about having a new scar and not being able to wear slutty tops anymore and how she was going to be sad if she had to “shave her mullet and start from scratch.” We grasp to those things which are easiest for us to wrap our thoughts around – unfortunately this isn’t something that can be wrapped neatly with a bow placed on top. She continues to say that she has three reasons for doing all this again – her husband and two beautiful children. She is such a beautiful person.

I ache for my friends, but selfishly I fear for my own future. It is easy for me to block out pieces of the last nineteen months and blend in with all the other almost-30-somethings. You can’t see my scars and my short bob (now filled with sunkissed red highlights) does not show evidence of ever having had chemotherapy. I look normal – but I am far from it. I survived breast cancer as a 26 year old and I continue to deal with the physical and psychological scars. I am still anemic, my arm swells from lymphadema, my nails are still discolored and brittle, any injuries take SO much longer to heal, my left breast has a dent, my tastebuds are different – but I am alive and no longer look sick.

Tomorrow I will have a PETScan. It has been four months since my last one and I am extremely nervous considering the recent news of my friends. I continue to think positively, because that’s all I know how to do, but it doesn’t change the fact that the fear still exists. Just because I look healthy, doesn’t mean that this is over for me. My journey continues ...

7/23/2008: Drive Home

Driving home my mother and I sat in silence watching the sun pulse through the tree line as the roads were winding closer and closer to my front door. I knew exactly what would happen if I tried to speak. I could already feel the lump swelling in my throat. How do you properly thank someone for taking on your fight along with your pain, fears and insecurities as though they were her own and devoting her life to your caretaking? I don't know that it is truly possible. I had stayed with my parents for twenty days following surgery and they drove me to every doctors appointment, participated in my pity parties, made sure I ate well, cleaned my wounds, encouraged naptime, took care of my condo, dried my tears, told me when I needed to slow down and endlessly cheered me on, even when I could see the pain in their eyes.

Life works in mysterious ways and I continue to be amazed with how mine unfolds. I wanted so desperately to have normalcy and jump back into my life, but there was also a part of me that wanted to curl up in the safety of my parents lap and not have to think, or worry anymore. I want them to wrap their arms around me, tell me it is all going to be okay and protect me from the darkness. Someone very close to me who had cancer mid-life told me that despite being an adult, she still desperately desired being close to her mother during her journey. I don't think we ever grow out of wanting our parents to make it all better.

Despite the conflicted emotions, I did return to my normal life on Sunday. My parents prepped my condo for my return by filling my refrigerator with groceries and cleaning it from top to bottom. Monday I went back to work fulltime and had my first expander fill. I have seen several of my friends already and although I thought I had missed out on so much over the course of two weeks, I really hadn't. My hair is about an inch long on my head and is BLACK! My eyebrows and eyelashes are coming back in also and are itchy. I have lost five pounds and am using the exercises suggested by my plastic surgeon to regain some mobility in my arms, especially on my left side where they removed the lymph nodes. I have now returned to my regularly scheduled program.

I have one more fill next week, and then I will begin radiation. Radiation lasts for six weeks and I will have to go five times a week. I met with my radiologist, Dr. Jefferson Moulds, last week for the first time. He is a brilliant doctor who used to work at Georgetown. He told me how pleased he was with my chemotherapy regimen and how well my surgery went. Since he is a radiologist of oncology he was able to speak about several different aspects of my treatment and I was blown away by his knowledge. Radiation will start early August. I cannot wait to get started and cross one more piece of the journey off my list.

That drive home in the car with my mother, I reflected on the last six months of my life and how far I have come. My girlfriend Shana told me weeks ago that I have been given a second opportunity at life and that didn't really sink in until this weekend. I have the chance to reinvent myself and work towards being happy and hugely successful in all aspects of my life. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so anymore. The fact that I am now in remission completely blows my mind. I don't think I could have done it without my family and friends constantly thinking about me, tirelessly supporting me and praying for my health and strength. I want to thank my family for their endless sacrifice. I realize now that besides me, my caretakers truly take on the most difficult part of this journey. Despite the helplessness and exhaustion we feel, we continue learning, living and loving. It is a growth process that has changed us all forever.

7/15/2008: Hate List

I haven't written in a couple of days because I have been an emotional wreck … to say the least. It's much safer to write a happy blog then to open myself up and become vulnerable with airing my difficult and insecure days. But I promised you from the beginning that I would be honest with you and I intend to stick to my word. So, I welcome you all to my pity party. (No need for presents at this occasion.)

I was diagnosed with cancer back in January and for six months I have been fighting like hell for my life … FOR MY LIFE. (It still doesn't resonate completely with me.) Cancer is the second leading cause of death in the United States and I kicked its butt in six months. Part of me is exhausted and the other part is still trying to grasp the fact that I had cancer. Several years ago I went through a horrible personal ordeal. For those of you who know me, you remember this well. Driving to my parent's house that night, I remember being on the phone with my mother and screaming through my tears, "Things like this don't happen to someone like me." I know that probably sounds like the most diva comment anyone can possibly make. You must understand, though, that I take great pride in who I am, my accomplishments and the way I live my life. However, hardships and diseases do not discriminate. I know now, that I was being prepared to take on the hardest fight of my life … cancer.

For the past two days I have been crying hysterically, venting to my family, avoiding friends and visitors, refusing to leave the house … and just all around being a real joy. (For the record, I have called myself a brat several times, and my parents told me that I deserve to have bad days, too. Otherwise, I wouldn't be normal, especially with what I have been through.) I have said several times to my Mom (while venting) to "add" certain things to my "list" of complaints. Finally, today she told me that she believed I should truly make a written list of the things that I claim to hate. So, here it is … (Prepare yourself!)

List of Things I Hate

Cancer (Did you expect anything else? The week I had my mastectomy two women who are friends of friends were diagnosed with breast cancer. They are both under the age of 35. Cancer will always top my "hate" list for the remainder of my life.)

Bad Hair Days (This includes eyelashes and eyebrows, too, since those have thinned considerably. I hate that my hair is not growing faster. I also hate the fact that ADULTS stare at me in public. Children, however, don't seem to care. Just another reason why I adore children.)

Dreaded Drains (I started out with five and am now down to two that are being extremely stubborn. They stick out from under my armpits and are extremely uncomfortable. I am unable to sleep on my side because of them and my muscle aches from sleeping on my back for two weeks. Not to mention, the bulbs at the ends of the drains hang at my stomach and make me look pregnant. I blame them for my dependence and cannot wait to get them out and reclaim my life. I hate them.)

Losing "The Girls" (My mastectomy was actually much easier than I initially presumed. The physical healing is cake, but the psychological impact is only cut out for the true varsity players. I like to think that I am pretty tough, but this has certainly been a huge challenge and one that will continue to be for some time. I wonder if I will ever be normal again.)

Potential Suitors (I know I am going to regret putting this on the list, but so be it. It's my party. Short term: How do I even engage with a guy with C-A-N-C-E-R written across my forehead? My boobs are currently "under construction," so physically I am not comfortable or confident … um, so how does THAT work? Even if I can keep the C-card off the table, as soon as things escalate to a more "romantic" level, there will come a time where I will need to interject that information about my body. Long term: Having had cancer, I would assume most guys would consider me a "high risk investment." I certainly cannot imagine that my medical history would really be all that appealing. And forget about discussing having a family, because I am currently in menopause and who knows if my fertility will ever return and even so, I wouldn't be able to try until I am 32 and off hormone therapy. Whew! Yeah … I sound incredibly appealing and like a real attractive option for a long term investment. Who am I kidding!?)

The Comparison (Please don't take this the wrong way. I love my friends, family and sisters in survival dearly, but my situation is not like everyone else's who has cancer. I am only 26-years-old. I didn't have a boyfriend or husband by my side supporting me and telling me that I was beautiful and he would be there for me when it was over. I mean, there wasn't someone there who saw my boobs before and after and still loved me, regardless. Nor did I have the opportunity to have children or even freeze eggs because my cancer was too aggressive and they needed to start chemotherapy immediately. So, NO, my situation is very unique and no one knows how horrible it was to go through it missing those key ingredients. It was beyond devastating and continues to be.)

Body Issues (This is going to sound egotistical, but I don't intend for it to be. I have always liked my body and been pleased for the most part with the way I look. However, cancer, and especially chemotherapy, did things to my body and confidence level that even I am too embarrassed to admit. When I started treatment I weighed 99 pounds. Because of the steroids and lack of exercise during chemo I gained almost ten pounds. Again, I know this sounds trivial, but for someone who loved her yoga and palates regimen and took pride in her tone body, this is a difficult reality. My clothes don't fit the way they used to and I hate that. Additionally, chemotherapy did a real number on my skin, and I swear I look years older. I foresee many emergency facials in my near future to get my skin back to glowing and smooth again.)

My Lifestyle (I have been told that I have to "take it easy" now that I have had surgery. Um, do these people know who I am!? I am trying not to scratch my eyes out lying low and recovering for three weeks at my parent's house. I am on my Blackberry every minute of my waking hours starving for normalcy. I have to see a physical therapist in order to regain strength and feeling in my left arm. It will probably take close to six months before I am fully healed internally … not to mention emotionally and psychologically. Lord, give my patience.)

The Timeline (I honestly feel like Humpty Dumpty and it is literally taking FOREVER for the doctors and surgeons to put me back together again. I have never claimed to be a patient woman and this whole ordeal is truly taking much too long. I like to believe that I live every day to the fullest and I typically pack my schedule tight and this cancer does NOT fit in nicely. It is irritating to the point of tears.)

I could honestly continue "the list" and I intend to, but I thought I would at least share some of my current headaches with you all. After all, you have made the decision to join my journey for the good, bad and bald and I made a promise to you to share it all.

Before this party ends and I retreat to lick my wounds, you must know that despite my "hate list" I know how very blessed I am. I know that I have beat cancer and now have a second chance at life. I understand that my hair will grow and I will feel it lightly dancing across my shoulders once again. I will lose weight and complain of achy, over-worked muscles. Happily ever after still exists and if I should be so luckily, so does my prince charming (who will love my new boobs). The pesky tubes will most likely come out this week and my life will jump back into action. I will soon forget the peaceful afternoons on my parent's back porch where I cursed the sky and felt the surge of panic thinking that I had been standing still and missing out on two weeks of living. How could I have wrestled with my list and done personal growth without this valuable time? This list is how I feel in the moment and represents some of the things I think about on a daily basis. The "hate list" unfortunately (or fortunately) is a part of my journey and overall growth. Welcome to my remission … it may not be as physically taxing, but it will test me nonetheless.

7/14/2008: Remission

My ears were ringing. My oncologist's mouth continued to move, but the buzzing was enough to cast over his words. The heat rose from somewhere in my back and I felt it surge quickly to my face. Clutching my jaw tightly I tried desperately not to cry. Did I just hear him correctly? I took a deep breath and interrupted my doctor. "I apologize, but I am trying not to cry. You have no idea what wonderful news that is," I managed to say as my voice cracked.

I am cancer free and officially in remission. Let me write that again simply to gloat. (After all I have been through, I deserve it!) I am cancer free and officially in remission. Can you believe it? I can't.

My mother and I visited my plastic surgeon's office for the second time this week to have another drain pulled. I had three drains pulled this week and only two left. Once they are all removed I can begin radiation and have my expanders filled. Hopefully next week the two remaining drains will be ready to be removed and I can continue my journey. At this point, I just really want a freaking shower.

After that appointment, we went to my oncologist's office to review the pathology report from surgery. The report showed that my surgeon removed thirteen lymph nodes from my left armpit and four still had residual cancer. The tissue removed from the breasts had no remaining cancer. Dr. Heyer explained that the chemotherapy was partially successful in that it got rid of the cancer in some areas and shrunk the lymph nodes considerably, but not completely. We discussed next steps, which consist of radiation for six weeks, Herceptin treatments every three weeks until February 2009 (one year), and five years of hormone therapy as a preventative measure to ensure that the cancer does not come back.

Once we had discussed some of my next steps, I asked Dr. Heyer, "So when am I officially in remission?" He responded, "Now." Obviously, I was elated and extremely thrown off by his response. He explained that the cancer is completely gone now from the chemotherapy and surgery. The radiation, Herceptin treatments and hormone therapy are preventative measures to eradicate any microscopic "leftovers" and ensure continued health. As far as he is concerned "our work here is done," however the journey is far from over.

I ended our appointment by unzipping my top and showing Dr. Heyer my new breasts. He looked at them and said, "Dr. Gottlieb does great work, but you need to lose those drains," … implying that the drains weren't particularly attractive. We all laughed. I zipped my top back up and we exited his office.

Mom and I met Dad back in Gainesville at our favorite restaurant called El Tio's. I find it interesting that our evening ended at the same restaurant that Dad celebrated his retirement and that we frequent on birthdays, holidays and special occasions. I could not have thought of a better place to enjoy my exciting news. Mom said, "Tonight you owe God a BIG thank you." Indeed I do. I am incredibly thankful and blessed.

7/8/2008: Pain Sets In

Is it possible to have a day that you feel absolutely miraculous followed by a day that just the effort of breathing leaves you frozen and wincing? Unfortunately it is possible and this is how my last two days have progressed.

Monday was one of the best days I have had during my recovery. I woke in the morning in good spirits. I was, however, without my parents since they took our new puppy, Abagail Marie to the vet for a meet and greet. Their absence threw me into a full-on panic attack. I realize how dependent I have become on them in so many ways. Once they arrived home, my mother and I drove to my plastic surgeon's office at Reston Hospital to have my dressings changed over my drains. The ride was a little rough for me, but I clutched my pink pillow to my chest and yelped over a couple of big bumps. On arrival, to my surprise, Candi (my doctor's assistant) told me that although it has not even been a week since my surgery, two of my drains were below 30cc and could be removed. This consisted of taking a deep breath once she counted to three and then blowing out as she yanked the tubes free from my skin. It was not painful, but very uncomfortable. I wasn't sure what to expect and my anxiety was at an all-time high, but I figured if I could survive 18 weeks of chemotherapy, I could handle tubes being pulled out of my skin. They placed band aids over the holes left by the tubes and sent me on my way. (Today the holes are the size of a pen top.) Two tubes down and three to go now … yay!

Today was the worst day since my surgery. I started weaning myself off of my pain pills simply because I hate taking them. Then I spent the majority of the night sleeping on my left side. When I woke up at 4:00am I could barely take a breath or move. I took half a Percacet and went back to bed. When I awoke again at 7:30am the pain was excruciating along the base of my left breast. I called my Mom into my room and sobbed and whimpered hysterically. (The look of helplessness on her face just crushed me. She barely ate the rest of the day.) I took a full pill which didn't even seem to take the edge off the pain. I couldn't find a comfortable position. I didn't want to eat because I was nauseous from the severe pain.

The worst part was, my poor friend Andrew spent the day with me and I was definitely not fun to hangout with. We had plans to venture out of the house and possibly see and movie, and instead he was stuck laying on the couch playing with Abagail and watching Animal Planet. He didn't complain a bit though, because he is just that good of a guy.

Was the pain due to the removal of the two tubes the day before? The bumpy ride to the hospital? Sleeping on my left side? The new camisole I wore to bed with less support? Cutting back on my pain medication? Ugggh … whatever the culprit, the pain was beyond agonizing. I upped the pain pills to two, took a muscle relaxer, a warm sponge bath, ate a little dinner and the excruciating pressure and pain became much more manageable.

I have to keep reminding myself that my body has been through a major surgery and I will have both good days and bad days. Hopefully more good then bad though. My spirits are high and my nurses are shocked at how quickly my body is healing itself. I think it's due to the walks with Abagail, my multi-vitamin, being in good physical shape and lots and LOTS of vitamin C. (Apparently vitamin C is known for helping skin and tissue.) You just wait … I will be back to myself in no time. Please keep the warm thoughts, love and prayers coming. My family and I are incredibly grateful for all of your endless support.

7/5/2008: Recovery Begins

My dearest friends, today is the first day I feel well enough to write. The last five days I have endured anxiety attacks, severe muscle spasms, intense pain, leaking tubes and draining pumps ... I have been beyond frustrated. However, it was the constant e-mails, phone calls, text messages, flowers and fruit baskets that have given me the strength to continue my fight. Thank you to all of you who have reached out in some way to support me. Please know that it has made all the difference in pulling me out of my darkest moments.

My mother and I have been a team the last five days. She has once again stepped forward as my rock. She sleeps outside my room in a sleeping bag and if I dare make a peep she is by my side. She has constantly been on "drain check" to empty them as they get full. She has given me daily sponge baths and even today shampooed my ever growing dark hair. She sat with me and helped as we changed my dried and bloody gauze pads to replace them with clean ones. Today I was able to remove a wire that stuck into both of my breasts administering pain medication. Once I had pull them both out of my skin, I sat on the toilet and sobbed. Mom gently took a tissue, wiped the tears and said "I know baby. It sucks." It is all so overwhelming at times, although I do my very best not to complain.

I had another first today. I finally went poop. I know, insignificant to most, but since I hadn't gone since Tuesday this was a HUGE accomplishment. I yelled the good news from the bathroom and both my brother and mother praised me like a new puppy. It was hilarious and we all had a good laugh about it.

Speaking of a new puppy ... this week we also welcomed Miss Abagail Marie into our home, which has made recovery so much more manageable. This has probably added more complications for my parents, but it is great for me. Haha! She is a year old Yorkshire terrier weighing only four pounds. She follows me everywhere I go and has become my little companion through my healing process. We even take daily walks, which helps ensure that I do not get an upper respiratory infection. She is an absolute doll and the impact she has made on me during this time in my life is one that I cannot explain. We love her so dearly.

My spirits are high and I am pleased that my body is getting stronger each day. My drains are collecting less fluid which means they can come out sooner. So far, everything is going according to plan. I will call my plastic surgeon first thing Monday morning and hopefully go in for a follow up and possibly have one of the drains removed for good.

Typing is making my muscles strain some, so I must end this note here, but please know that your warm wishes, prayers, kindness, thoughtfulness and support have truly worked. Now that I am feeling better, I am definitely up for visitors so please feel free to stop by and visit if you would like. I'd love some "entertainment."

7/3/2008: Mastectomy

Written by my mother, Judi Kwiatek:

Tuesday, July 1 was perhaps one of the worst days of my life. When Jennifer was diagnosed with Breast Cancer I never realized the steps that needed to be taken to lead us to July 1. We knew she needed a bi-lateral mastectomy and lymph node surgery, but it was always in the distance. Work and things at home kept me busy and my mind away from it all, but only for a time being. Tuesday was a nightmare for me. Jennifer and I made a promise to not cry until it was all over, but when they began to slowly wheel her to surgery, I completely lost control and the nearest person to me to grab and hold me back was my sister. I think had she not been my sister I would have "beat her up", but instead I cried and screamed and simply could not breathe for quite a while.

Surgery lasted about 4 1/2 hours and then another hour in recovery. She arrived off the elevator to her floor at Virginia Hospital Center in great spirits asking for a cheeseburger and how wonderful her breasts looked. She remained in good spirits and I stayed the night with her. She was uncomfortable, but never in severe pain. Sleep escaped her (so naturally it did me as well) and finally at about three in the morning she asked for a sleeping pill. We slept only until five o'clock. As the day went on she made the decision to come home the next day (she had the option to remain a second). The trip home was horrible as we were driving from Arlington to Gainesville in semi-rush hour traffic and terribly bumpy roads. She cried and clutched a blanket the entire trip home and we could not pull into the driveway as it was too bumpy. She settled in and was able to finally sleep.

Every four hours is spent emptying the five drains she has coming from her breast and under her left arm. This has not been a challenge, but keeping her pain at a bearable level has been. She is not really in pain, but tremendously sore.

Today was the day to call the general surgeon Dr. Kenneth Mason, as he said he might have the pathology report. Bright and early the phone call was made and finally this afternoon about 6:00 he called. His report was as such: There was NO cancer found in either breast, although out of the 13 lymph nodes removed from the left arm, four had residual cancer. He indicated that the testing of the tissue and cells was not complete nor had they found the primary source, but he seemed confident that information would come once all the testing was completed. It appears, at present, that Jennifer has escaped Lymphadema in the left arm which is a blessing. She will still need to be fitted for a "sleeve" that she will need to wear when she travels on an airplane.

Thanks to each and everyone of you who have kept her in your thoughts and prayers and have kept our family in your thoughts as well. Her journey is by far not over, but Joe, Joey and I continue the path with her and our thoughts are with the many women who are being diagnosed daily with this terrible disease. Just today Jennifer heard from a friend that her best friend was diagnosed TODAY! This is horrible and must be stopped. We must find out what is making our young women sick. These seemingly healthy women are being diagnosed with breast cancer and the vast majority are under the age of 35. Is it the antibiotics being fed to the animals? Perhaps the radiation of chicken and eggs? Have we become too clean? Something to think about as I am off to take care of my precious Jennifer.

6/30/2008: Weekend at the Beach

Hot sand billowing up between my toes made me smile. The warmth of the sun upon my face lifted my heart. The cool breeze trickling over my skin made my pores stand at attention. And the sound of the waves crashing, married with the giggles of children left me peaceful. A weekend at the beach was exactly what I needed to regroup for the next phase of my journey.

It appears that my oncologist was right … he strongly encouraged me to take some time before surgery and get away. This was just what the doctor ordered! Don't get me wrong … it wasn't all G-rated for goodness sake. The weekend consisted of swimsuit malfunctions on the beach, losing credit cards, cell phones in the cooler, doing the robot, plenty of interesting storytelling, hugs when I broke into tears, 'Napoleon Dynamite'-style tetherball, getting knocked over and scraped up by waves, beach yoga, joining the lifeguards in their run, feeding Herman and Simone (our seagulls), walking like an Egyptian and plenty of other memories that will always be held near and dear to my heart. Friday night I danced non-stop with Rita and Annalisa for almost four hours to the tunes of the '80s at Rusty Rudder in Dewey Beach. Then Saturday morning I could barely walk. This poor body had very little exercise throughout chemotherapy. Even today my tummy aches from the weekend full of laughter.

Tomorrow is the BIG DAY … surgery. Quite frankly, I have mixed emotions. I have already said goodbye to "the girls" and am confident that the surgery will go well; however, it is the days that follow surgery that I dread. This will be my last blog for awhile, but my best friend Kere and my Mom will be keeping you all informed on my progress until I can type again. I promise I will write as soon as I am able to. I will be at my parents' house for the next three to four weeks and would LOVE some company to keep me "entertained." Please call me or my parents to see if I am up for visitors before stopping by. Just don't be offended if I don't get too dolled up for you. Haha!

People have been asking what they can do for me, and now I have an answer … please keep my family and me in your thoughts and prayers over the next couple of weeks. This is the second hurdle of my journey and one that I need your help to overcome. This is difficult emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually for me and I really need your help to summon all the strength possible to get through this battle. I want to thank you in advance for your love, devotion, selflessness, compassion, understanding and endless thoughtfulness. It means so much more to me than you know.

6/25/2008: Ode to the Girls

"Girls," you've known for several months that we would eventually need to have this talk. You have been there for me through thick and thin (literally) and now you have made me quite ill, for which I feel extremely hurt and betrayed. We haven't always gotten along, but I have always taken good care of you and dressed you in the prettiest of garments. I even allowed you to be the star of several Halloween and late-night outfits. In the last five years or so, I really feel like our relationship has matured and that I started to accept you and embrace your small, yet adorable nature. Isn't it ironic that it's when we start getting along that you stab me in the back? (Well, technically, the stabbing happened under my left armpit.) This is why we need to end our relationship and part ways for good.

I think maybe I put too much pressure on you in the past and that's why you made me so very sick. I remember in fifth grade being so jealous of my bestfriend Mehgan's boobs that I cursed you "girls" and covered you with tissues. I wonder if Mom and Dad ever realized why we needed to buy Kleenex more often in those days. I even named you Wayne and Garth after my favorite party-time movie 'Wayne's World,' don't you remember? Can you recall the day when I ran home crying from the pool in middle school when a girl sang, "Roses are red, violets are black, your chest is as flat as my back?" What a dumb girl, violets are blue! I cursed you then too, "girls" and wished that you would grow faster. I know I was demanding, but you didn't need to be this extreme in getting back at me.

I have said many things over the past five months that were out of pure fear, frustration and exhaustion. One comment was that I would rather go through 18 more weeks of chemotherapy then lose you "girls." First of all, that is ridiculous, because chemotherapy is pure hell. Second, no offense, but you "girls" made me sick and I am actually looking forward to an "upgrade." I know we have had some special moments over the years and, yes, even some chats in the mirror over the past couple of months, but it is time to finally part ways. You have hurt me deeply and for that I cannot forgive you. I will move on with my life as a healthy and strong woman and I will find a better pair of "girls." You, however, will be tortured for making me sick by being dissected into tiny little pieces.

Goodbye "Wayne and Garth," "Barbie and Stacy," "Laverne and Shirley," "Thelma and Louise," "chi chis," "taa taas," "my girls." I'm sad things had to end this way, but I will be better off without you. I need to take care of me now and I realize that you are only holding me back from being healthy and happy.

Jennifer's "Girls"
December 19, 1981 -- July 1, 2008
Here rests my "girls"
Once perky and plump
Replaced by a health new pair
That runneth over my cup.

6/19/2008: Big Little Victory

Today I met with my oncologist (Dr. David Heyer) to review my PETscan and go over the recommended strategy post-chemotherapy. The PETscan showed that the cancer is GONE except for one tiny lymph node under my left armpit. My oncologist was extremely pleased with the way my body and the cancer responded to the aggressive chemotherapy regimen. He explained that during the operation my surgeon (Dr. Kenneth Mason) would remove all of the breast tissue along with the lymph nodes under my left armpit. He said, "We're going to get it all. You're going to be fine."

This is just the reassurance I needed to hear from my medical team as I am still struggling mentally and emotionally with the thought of losing my breasts. I had the same problem prior to chemotherapy, but I think in time I will make peace with the decision I have made. This is not the simplest path, but it is the one I have chosen and will need to embrace it over the next week. I seek clarity and peace in the coming days. Perhaps my trip to the beach next weekend with my friends will give me just that. Right now, my nightmares and 3 AM panic attacks consume me. Somewhere and somehow, I must strike a balance.

My oncologist said I will begin radiation a month following surgery. Radiation is Monday through Friday and lasts six weeks. This is shorter than I originally thought, so I was pleased to hear the news. Once that is over, I will most likely have to go on a hormone regimen, which does not make me happy. Dr. Heyer said he didn't want to review those options just yet. I need to continue celebrating little victories and taking baby steps. These times that I feel darkness and a sense of defeat, I listen to the CD my friend Sarah made me. There is a song on there called 'Little Victories' by Matthew Nathanson. It helps me gather my strength.

Although I know the purpose of all of this is to get healthy, I am concerned about my future in wanting to one day have a family. Chemotherapy threw me into early menopause and Dr. Heyer told me this morning that some women don't bounce back and remain there permanently. With my young age and the chemotherapy drugs they used, I run a better chance of resuming a normal "cycle." I find it ironic that I am now praying (begging and pleading) for my period to return. Who would have thought a year ago that I would have been praying for my period? Life is such a quirky thing!

So now I ask for your help in praying for a successful surgery, NO lymphedema (1 in 20 women develop this from having a mastectomy) and for my period to return. I know, I am being quite demanding these days, but I sure would appreciate all the help I can get. I need you in order to make it through this second phase of my journey.

This week, I will try and focus on my great PETscan results, which according to my friend Andrew "is quite a BIG 'little victory.'"

6/13/2008: B or C?

"Hi, can I talk to you for a second?" I asked nervously. The beautiful brunette with bronze, sun-kissed skin propped herself up on her elbows as the sweat ran down her tummy and stopped at her belly button. She was probably the most stunning young woman I have ever seen and I had been debating whether or not to speak to her all afternoon while I sat in the comatose heat at my condo's pool.

I spent my Sunday afternoon doing something I never thought I would. I went to the pool, despite the crippling heat, and did a bit of "window shopping." I know it sounds ridiculous and even slightly perverted, but looking at balloons filled with liquid really doesn't give me a sense of what I want my new breasts to look like. Do I want to be a B or C? Round or tear-drop? Saline or silicone? I feel like this is the one choice in this whole journey that I actually get to make for ME. No one else has a say (unless I ask for opinions) and I can have anything I want. It's exciting.

Luckily, one of my closest girlfriends, Marisa, has been investing time in doing my research for me. She found out that silicone is actually the recommended choice for women who have reconstruction done because they are now FDA approved to be incredibly safe. Another plus is that they are gel-filled so they give you a much more natural look and feel without any rippling (which can happen due to the thin layer of tissue and skin that is left over after the mastectomy). She also found two websites that you can enter your height and weight and see women's breast of all different sizes on your body type. AMAZING! How else am I supposed to know what I want without seeing actual breasts on my body type? My lovely friend, who I am so bless to have in my life, has taken my worry and anxiety away by doing this research and helping me find "the perfect girls" for me. Thank you, Sweets!

"Sure thing," said the beautiful brunette. "I don't want this to be awkward or to offend you in anyway ..." I responded. With that opening her boyfriend quickly sat up in his chair and looked at me defensively. Great, I thought to myself. "... My name is Jennifer and I am battling breast cancer." Both of their faces turned sullen. "I am preparing for breast surgery and don't know what I want, but I love your boobs." As though he had created them himself, her boyfriend sat up a little taller and looked so incredibly proud. Typical male reaction, I thought. A smile came across her face and she thanked me for the compliment. She said she was a C, but recently they have gotten bigger and she could even fit into some D-cups. Hmm ... a little bigger than what I was anticipating. Obviously I need to pay better attention to the boobs in my life. I thanked her and apologized again if I made her uncomfortable. She said, "No, not at all. I'm happy to help."

I spoke to two other women at the pool that day, approaching them as though I was inquiring about needing a tissue. One woman was a small B and the other a full B/small C. I felt like Goldilocks that afternoon searching for the perfect porridge. My beautiful brunette friend was too big, the small B was too small and the full B/small C looked just right. The good news is, I have time to think about it and continue my "window shopping" and research. So beware while sunbathing, because if I am in your vicinity I may approach you and inquire about your lovely girls.

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.

2/21/2008: Follow-Up

I honestly could not be happier today! Dad and I just came from my follow-up meeting with my oncologist, Dr. David Heyer. He is incredible and has worked with my surgeon, Dr. Kenneth Mason for many many years. I have such a great team of doctors at Reston Hospital really working in my best interest. They love me as though I am their daughter ... I can tell.

Dr. Heyer is so pleased at how well I am doing with my first chemotherapy treatment. My cold/sinus infection is clearing up and my strength is returning. My nurse Melanie ran up and hugged me when I walked in the door. Dr. Heyer shared with me some very exciting news!!! Apparently, last week there was a cancer convention where radiologists, surgeons and oncologists from all over the country gathered to discuss treatments, case studies and new techniques. They used ME as their case study. They basically pulled all my test results, images, etc. and work-shopped what to do with me. How cool is that!? They debated whether to do more biopsies, whether the mastectomy was necessary and even if I should be on the 5-year hormone treatment (which I could possibly not need once chemotherapy is done and they redo my tests). YAY!

Dr. Heyer expressed that he wants to fight one battle at a time because my course may change depending on how I respond to treatment. I was bombarding him with questions, obviously! So, for now we continue on the chemotherapy treatments every 3 weeks (ending May 30) with herceptin each week for a year. He said that the herceptin regimen may change, too. It could be anywhere from nine months to two years. Test results will give them more information to gage their treatment.

Once chemotherapy is done (May 30 ... can you tell that's my benchmark?), I redo my MRI and PETscan. That will determine if the treatment worked and killed the stupid cancer. Both Dr. Heyer and Dr. Mason are in agreement that I should still have the mastectomy. Within 3 to 4 weeks (no later) after my last treatment I will have a mastectomy with reconstruction at the same time. (I go to sleep with boobs and wake up with even better ones!) They don't want to wait too long for surgery because any microscopic cancer cells not killed through chemo may start growing again. Little bastards! The tissue and lymph nodes removed through the mastectomy will be dissected to determine whether there are any residual cells. Hopefully it will all be dead and gone!!! Within those 3 to 4 weeks after chemotherapy, I have to have my tests redone, meet with the surgeon and plastic surgeon, meet with a genetics specialist and start seeing the radiologist to set a radiation schedule. Whew ... lot's to do, but very exciting benchmarks, indeed. I need those goals in order to keep my sanity, or what's left of it, anyways.

Dr. Heyer said the genetics test will show if I carry the breast cancer gene. That will determine whether I am more likely to have cancer in the right breast down the road. This will answer the question, should I have a double mastectomy in June as a preventive measure or just a single? He believes it is highly unlikely that it will move to the right breast ... without the gene 1-2% chance and with the gene 10-15% chance. If I were to have breast cancer again, he feels that we would catch it soon enough (now that I will have testing every 3 months) that I could bypass chemo and just do radiation again. Obviously, we are thinking way down the road and dealing with a lot of "what ifs" ... but still VERY promising news none the less.

I really feel GREAT today and I am visualizing the medication killing my little insect-looking cancer cells (like Aunt Mary Ann told me to). My port has healed enough now that I have started working out again, which has proved to be a huge stress/anxiety reducer. The main thing to pray for now is that this regimen they have me on is doing its job and kicking this cancer's butt. Please keep the prayers coming, visualize my cancer being killed ... I still have a big fight ahead of me yet and I could use all your help.

2/7/2008: The Whirlwind

This week has been quite a whirlwind. My heart hurts deeply.

I went into the hospital Wednesday afternoon for a simple outpatient procedure where they were going to put in the port for my treatment. The port was put in successfully. When I woke up after the procedure I could not take a deep breath. I just sobbed and screamed in pain and my surgeon sat holding my hand and wiping off my smeared mascara. It was the most unbearable thing I have ever experienced. My surgeon gave me pain medicine to knock me out. An x-ray was taken immediately because my surgeon was concerned that he had accidentally punctured my lung. My lung was fine, however upon placing the port and pulling out the catheter, blood flooded into my chest cavity. I am OK now, but was on serious pain medication until about 1 am Thursday morning. They took another x-ray in the morning and then released me. My surgeon and nurses were amazing.

I met with the oncologist this afternoon with my parents. The PET-scan showed "hot spots" (cancer) in the lymph nodes under my armpit, in the center of my chest and also slightly in my sixth rib that also lies under the infected area. The good news is that it all appears to be around the left breast and has not entered the blood stream and spread to my bone marrow or organs. Also, we were told that I am HER2-positive. This is also a good thing, because there is an antibody that they can give me that kills this aggressive protein.

My oncologist wants for me to have two more tests. I have a bone scan scheduled for Monday and a heart scan scheduled for Wednesday. I start chemotherapy on Friday, Feb 15. I will be on a regiment of three medications: taxotere, carboplatin and herceptin. I will get all three at the same time. The first two (taxotere, carboplatin) are the chemotherapy and I will get them once every 3 weeks for 18 weeks. The last medication (herceptin) is for HER2-positive protein and I will take that for an entire year. Once chemotheraphy is over (18 weeks), I will have a mastectomy and reconstruction of the left breast (I go to sleep with breasts and wake up with breasts), then continue with the herceptin and start radiation of that left breast. Once all of that is finished, I may go on a hormone regiment for five years since I was estrogen positive in order to keep the cancer cells from coming back. Is your head swirling? Mine sure is!

My spirits are low and I am exhausted from Wednesday night and the severe pain I endured. My poor parents had to experience all that and I know it broke their hearts to see me in that much pain. Please keep me and my family in your prayers. I am off to rest.