The Eyes Have It

So, who knew that cancer could impact your vision!? I certainly didn’t until this morning.

I visited a new eye doctor today and expected to be treated like cattle … after all; this is The Eye Center that always has those iLASIK advertisements on HOT99.5.

With my new VSP insurance in-hand and a recommendation from my friend Kelli, I decided after two years of no eye exams to try a new practice and doctor. Diem Nguyen, O.D. was simply amazing. She spent time discussing my medical history with me and the side effects related to the chemotherapy, radiation, and the medication I am now on called Tamoxifen.

She did a normal exam, checked my contacts and vision, but then she did a medical exam of my retina. Apparently, a side effect of Tamoxifen is damage to the retina. She said that my vision was still 20/20 (with my contacts), nothing had changed, and my retina looked healthy. However, unlike a non-cancer person, I should have my yearly exam, but also a medical exam (covered by health insurance, not eye insurance), and have x-rays of my retina done. This way, they can compare over the years to make sure my retina is not compromised from the medication.

I will be going back to visit Diem Nguyen, O.D. next week to pick up my contacts and have x-rays of my retina done. She tells me that it doesn’t hurt and all they do is put drops in my eyes, but after several years of procedures and surgeries I still get a bit anxious. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

The good news is that I am a great candidate for LASIK surgery! It’s something I have thought of a lot over the last few years and perhaps it’s something I’ll have done in the next year or so. Makes me nervous (although everything does these days), but it’s something fun to consider doing for myself.

xo,
Jen

I Hereby Adhere to No Funny Business

So here’s the latest … after consults with both my women’s physician Dr. Ivey-Crowe and my oncologist, Dr. David Heyer, I am going to start taking a prenatal vitamin. (I’ll wait a moment to let the awww’s and squeals of my loving friends run their course.)

Now before you get all baby-crazy on me and start monogramming onesies (love you, Kere!) the purpose for this is for three reasons:

1. My body is lacking some vital nutrients from going through chemotherapy, so I take a lot of pills (multivitamin, C, iron, probiotics, etc.). Taking a prenatal vitamin will boost my vitamin and iron intake. Probiotics should help my digestive track resume balance since I suffer from horrible IBS attacks and nausea nowadays.
2. It should make my hair, skin and nails look amazing for my wedding day. Let’s be honest, that’s reason enough.
3. And lastly, IF I decide after two years to try and have children I will have given myself the best possible chance by getting really healthy with vitamins, nutrition and exercise. I will do my part as best I can and God-willing, Matt and I will have a family in the future. If not, we will do a lot of babysitting for our amazing friends.

My oncologist, Dr. Heyer made sure that I was aware that I am his for two more years; meaning that I need to stay on the Tamoxifen for a full five years. I assured him that there would be no funny business. 

(I think my mother has timed it all out that between coming off of the Tamoxifen at age 32 and my next surgery around the age of 40, I could comfortably have two children. At which point she will be retired and can provide daycare. You have to love the optimism of my family.)

So between both of my doctors and a little bit of research I have decided to try Trimedisyn. The reason for this is because it is all natural and has all the ingredients that I am missing. I’m going to sound like a spokesperson for a second, but most prenatal vitamins have increased folic acid, calcium and iron. Trimedisyn is packed with 19 other essential vitamins and minerals, 10 probiotics, CoQ10, DHA, ginger root, inositol, and choline. Ginger root eliminates morning sickness, but also nausea that typically accompanies both IBS and iron supplements. And after reading some reviews women are reporting their asthma and allergies significantly improving or disappearing completely. *fingers crossed*

I’ll keep you posted on how the Trimedisyn works.

Love After Cancer

Matt: “Are we going to be together forever?”

As we walked down the quaint streets of Killarney, Ireland Matt and I chatted while enjoying the street- lamp lit scenes of historic statues and a beautiful, old cathedral built back in the 1300s.

me: “I sure hope so.”

Although I had to admit, his weird nervous behavior and biting attitude was concerning over the last few days and the fact that he wouldn’t give me his jacket on the bus when I was cold was just plain strange. I was a bit aggravated with him to say the least.

Matt: “Why don’t we make it official?”

Matt had stopped walking and I felt the hand he was holding pull me back.
I turned and saw Matt on bended knee.

me: “Are you kidding?”

About a month earlier Matt had gotten down on his knee in the kitchen of our home which set my heart racing. Since Matt is over a foot taller than I am, he occasionally will get down on his knees to hug me in a joking manner, so I figured this was another one of those silly moments. Since I had just kissed a statue of Johnny O'Leary (renowned Irish accordion player in Killarney) and sang Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ to a statue of Jesus, I figured this funny gesture made perfect sense for us.

Matt: “No. Will you marry me?”

Matt pulled the little square box from his jacket pocket and opened it to reveal my mother’s engagement ring. It just so happened at that very moment an old Irish man drove by seeing Matt’s proposal. He continued circling until he saw that I responded, “Of course” and hugged Matt. The old man began honking his horn wildly and giving us repeated thumbs-ups.

We walked a little ways and once the proposal set in and I asked to sit on a bench outside a row of shops and pubs.

me: “You know, I did this before once and it didn’t go so well.”
Matt: “I know.”
me: “So, I’m sorry if I didn’t respond right …”
Matt: “Jennifer, relax. We are still just Matt and Jen. Nothing has changed other than I have given you a ring promising you that I will always love you. We will go home at the end of the week to our little condo with our little dog … we are still the same people.”
me: “I know. But, you know I’m really sick …”
Matt: “Jennifer, I know. Whether I have 2 years with you or 20, it’s more time than I would have without you. You are perfectly imperfect and I want to be with you.”
I began crying … the anxiety melted away.
me: “I know you know all these things, but I hope you understand I just needed to say that.”
Matt: “OK. Is everything OK now?”
me: “Yes. Let’s go find a pub and celebrate.”

Being Awakened at 30

Me: “Matt, I just want to say something that I’m thinking without judgment or any insinuation. OK?”
Matt: “Um, OK.”
Me: “I’m turning 30 this year.”
Matt: “WHAT? You’re going to be 30?”
Jen: *smiles* “I’m trying to be serious. Just let me get this out.”
Matt: “You’re no fun. OK.”
Jen: “I just realized that I am only on my Tamoxifen for another two years.”
Matt: “I didn’t know you were a Tamoxipro.”
Jen: “Tamoxifen. It’s an estrogen suppressor … a pill I take every night.”
Matt: “Um, OK. So that’s a good thing, right?”
Jen: “Just let me finish … it’s both good and bad. It means that, if we want, we could try to have children in two years when I’m 32. Not that I am implying that we have to …”
Matt: “I get it, Jennifer, you don’t have to peddle.”
Jen: “… OK, well, it also means that the chances of a reoccurrence are greater. It also means that I need to talk to my oncologist about other proactive treatments. I don’t know how to feel about going off the medicine. I guess mixed.”
Matt: “Well, if you want to try and have children we can always try and if you don’t that’s OK, too. If you still want a family, there are plenty of babies that need a loving home. We’ll do what’s best for us when the time comes.”
Jen: “I just can’t believe it’s been three years. I guess it just surprised me when I started thinking about turning 30 and what that meant treatment-wise.”
Matt: “I understand.”
Jen: “That’s all I wanted to say. No insinuations, OK? We just better travel our hearts out the next two years.”

I remember shortly after I was diagnosed with cancer my oncologist told me that there was no time to waste freezing my eggs because the cancer was too aggressive. We needed to start chemo within the week. I was sad and angry. My mother said to me, “Are you upset because the chances of you having children are slim, or because something is being taken away from you?” Such a wise woman. At the time I lashed out at her in anger rambling about always wanting to be a mother, but looking back I know it is because I was being told that I couldn’t have something. I was infuriated. I hadn’t even thought of having a family, but someone telling me I couldn’t (or that the chances were significantly less) enraged me.

This is such a weird statement to make, but it wasn’t until Matt and I decided to raise our puppy, Jasper that a strange maternal feeling swept over me. (I don’t mean to compare my dog to your children—I know logically the two are significantly different, however it was an emotion and instinct I was not accustomed to feeling.) I don’t know what the next few years hold for me, or what my body is even capable of at this point. I do, however, know how strong my spirit is and I am open-minded to the possibility of happily ever after … and even a family.

My Crippled State of Mind

The pain shot from the outside of my left breast up to my shoulder as I pulled myself out of bed. My breath escaped me. I cranked up the heating pad and laid back down in bed. My tears soaked my hair to my cheeks and left tiny puddles on my pillow case. Jasper became anxious and whimpered running over to lick my face. My little peanut knows me all too well. He’s seen this time and time again.

Some people’s joints act up when the weather changes in an arthritic-nature. When the air pressure changes drastically, I collect fluid where my lymph nodes have been removed and swell to the point of excruciating, piercing pain. The fluid is pleuratic in nature and will move from my lower back, to my breast and then my shoulder and then move again—all up-and-down my left side.

I managed to pull myself together and stepped into the bathroom. I stood facing the mirror in my long-sleeved white Alpha Omicron Pi Alumni shirt that my parents bought me for Christmas and my underwear. I lifted my shirt and looked at my chest to see if I noticed anything different. Running my finger tips along the edge of my left breast I winced in pain. I needed a second opinion.

Matt was sitting in the office writing a paper for class. I approached him saying, “Matt, can you to do me a favor and look at my boobs?” He turned and faced me smiling a little deviously and responded, “Is this a trick question?” After Matt reassured me that the redness was just a result of the heating pad, I laid back in bed with Jasper. It didn’t take long for my jaw to lock and the rush of anxiety to come over me again. I began to shake and Jasper whimpered softly tucking his nose beneath my neck. 

Matt came into the bedroom sensing something was wrong, catching me in a panic attack. This caused me to cry even harder.

“I’m scared.”

“Jennifer, take a step back and don’t jump to conclusions. This happens once in awhile, you know what it is.”

“But it’s miserable.”

“I know, but it’s going to be ok.”

“I’m mentally crippled. I don’t want to be like this the rest of my life.”

“Babe, it’s all going to be ok. Trust me. Just relax.”

Sure enough, just a day later the pain and swelling has subsided. Life has resumed as normal. But I know when the weather changes again I will spiral into my crippled state of mind. My good friend Stephanie put it best in a message to me, “Just because the “cancer” is gone doesn’t mean the cancer is gone.” I still can’t seem to escape it.

My Safety Blanket

Jennifer: I am trying to find a place to donate my wigs.
It is a really hard thing for me to part with them.
I want them to go to a cancer patient.
Matt: That’s good.
Why don’t we take a trip to a hospital and do it in person or something?
Would that mean more?
Or be more meaningful?
Jennifer: Um, well, there was a "wig bin" at my oncology office.
I may contact them and see if they know of any patients that are having financial issues or who are having a difficult time finding a wig.
Matt: Yea
That works too.
Jennifer: I don't know.
I am just weird about it.
I feel like if I get rid of them the cancer will come back.
Matt: No baby.
That’s not true.
Jennifer: I know in my head that it's not true, but I can’t help but feel this horrible anxiety about giving them away.
They were like a safety blanket for so long.
It was like they hid the sickness and I could be normal.
And if I get rid of them my hair will fall out again and I won’t have my disguise.
Matt: Yea.
Everything is going to be ok baby :)

… and to this day I make the effort to research homes for my beautiful wigs, but I still find a reason not to part with them. They continue to keep me safe.

I have cancer again, don’t I?

Toni: Deep breath, Jennifer. I am telling you that I’m 99% sure this is NOT cancer. This is what we call folliculitis. It is basically an infected pore where a hair is.
me: It sounds like cancer. But my lymph node…
Toni: Yes, the infection has backed up into your lymph node and that’s why it is swollen. Use some hot compresses over the next few days and I’ll give you an antibiotic to take if it does not go away.
me: But what if it’s cancer. (*tears started pouring down my eyes*)
Toni: Jennifer, look at me. I will not lie to you. It is NOT cancer. (*Toni wrapped her arms around me and let me cry while having a panic attack.*)

I blushed and glanced down at the ground in embarrassment as I finished telling my oncologist, Dr. Heyer about my hysterical visit to my primary care doctor, Toni Nelson. Right before I left for Stone Harbor over Memorial Day weekend I found a dime-sized swollen lymph node on my leg and demanded an emergency appointment.

Dr. Heyer looked at me with sympathetic and honest eyes and said, “Do you want to know if this feeling and reaction ever go away?”
I nodded.
“It never goes away, Jennifer. I have patients that have been in remission for decades who come into the office with a bump, scar tissue or other anomaly on their body and their knee-jerk reaction is always cancer.”
“I don’t want to always have this reaction.”
“Jennifer, it’s normal. Now the anxiety you feel when waiting for test results will get easier over time …”
Doubtful, I thought to myself.
“… but the other reaction won’t. And that’s ok. That’s why we are here. If you ever want me to just look or check out something you are concerned about, you can always pop in here. We understand and, believe it or not, it happens often.”
“Well, at least I know I’m not the only crazy patient with in grown hairs.”
Dr. Heyer smiled in a very non-judgmental way, which I appreciated at the moment.

My exam ended with Dr. Heyer believing that I had no need for any imaging since I seemed to be in superb physical health and no oncology appointments for six months. What am I going to do with all my free time!?