October 20, 2016

So Tom has this "bet" he's dreamed up with me: If the Cubs win the World Series this year, we're both going to go get Cubs tattoos. He reminds me of it a lot, with the Cubs in the playoffs.
When I learned that I would get tattoos as part of the preparation for my radiation treatment, I had a plan to text Tom and tell him after I'd gotten them, just to surprise him. Yeah, my tattoos would be teeny dots, but they'd still count, right?
Jeff and I met my radiation oncologist last Friday, and I had a planning session scheduled for Wednesday. I'd meet the technicians who would be working with me, and they'd do some CT scans so the doctor could plan the course of treatment. And I'd get those tattoos. My appointment was scheduled over the lunch hour, so I could feel cool and brave all afternoon. Another mile marker on the road to being done!
The radiation techs were really nice, and everything went well. They kept a running commentary up about what they were doing and why as they used markers to mark spots on my sternum, ribs and chest that will help them position me correctly for my treatments.
The tech who did the tattoos - a needle stick with a drop of ink - warned me when she was going to do the needle stick, and I think I joked about needles not scaring me anymore.
I don't remember for sure, because when she made the first mark, I freaked out. I couldn't catch my breath, and then I was sitting up on the CT scanner table, gasping and crying and just generally coming unhinged. The other tech came into the room and it took them both to calm me down. I still can't remember everything about it. I don't think I was scared, because really, what was there to be scared of? I was embarrassed and ashamed; I don't think I've ever felt so vulnerable in my life.
(Writing this a day later is still making me uncomfortable.)
Somehow, I got it back together (I should say the techs got me put back together, because I remember feeling absolutely helpless) and the tech was able to finish the tattoos and finish up the appointment. Both of the techs were so kind and told me everything was OK, but man, did I feel pathetic. I got in my car and, instead of driving back to work, went to the park to look at the ducks and geese and try and calm down. At this point, my head hurt and I'm sure my eyes were red and I looked like hell, so I went ahead and cried a little more. (As I drove back to work later, I was thankful for probably the first time that I don't have any eyelashes - I would have been a mascara-d mess.)
I got back to work - thankfully, no one asked me about my appointment - and went home. I never did text Tom about my tattoos.
I thought that writing this down might help me process what happened, but it's really only made me uncomfortable and kind of upset again. I don't know what that outburst was about, and I kind of dread going in for my first treatment next Wednesday. Will the techs be wary of me, ready for a freakout for no reason? Will I feel like I do now - on the verge of tears just remembering what happened?
This weekend is Cornell's homecoming. Jen and I will go out there - she's thinking about going there next year - and I'll meet up with a bunch of my Delphi sisters. We've had a running Messenger thread going for a few days now about crashing a Delt party, getting together for drinks, etc. One of my friends who will be there had cancer 10 years ago. Another Delphi sister (who can't be there this weekend) has Stage IV breast cancer. So we'll be talking about cancer, I'm sure, and how badass we are for beating it. I'm not a badass. Right now, I feel beaten.

2016: The Year My Luck Ran Out

2016: The Year My Luck Ran Out

By Sarah A. Rogers

As part of the FHN marketing team, I write a lot of health-related things. I can tell you the warning signs of a heart attack or stroke; what the difference is between a nurse practitioner, a physician, and a physician assistant; and I’ve been known to lecture my family about antibiotic overuse. 

So I am pretty familiar with Walk-In Wednesdays, FHN’s “open invitation” for women who need a mammogram. When I turned 45, I walked in for a baseline mammogram. 

With no family history of cancer, a mammogram was more of a “cross off my to-do list” event, and after all, I could hardly write about taking care of your health if I wasn’t doing so myself!

So it made me nervous when I got a call to come in for a retest and an ultrasound. I comforted myself with the statistics – the nurse who called me assured me that the vast majority of callbacks on mammograms turned out to be nothing to worry about. 

Online, I found that, according to the American College of Radiology, for every 1,000 women who have a screening mammogram, 100 will be called back for another look, and 61 will find nothing wrong after their follow-up imaging. The odds were in my favor!

I was relieved when the radiologist came in after my ultrasound to inform me that I was fine. My future mammogram appointments, thanks to the spot on my left breast that brought me in for further testing, would include an ultrasound so my healthcare team could keep an eye on that spot.

I felt kind of lucky, actually – no nervous waiting for the “all clear” call for me; I would talk to the radiologist in person after each ultrasound. I was kind of like a mammogram VIP. 

My luck ran out early this year. Another spot had developed, and after a mammogram and ultrasound, the radiologist recommended a biopsy. 

The odds were still in my favor – in fact, as the American Cancer Society informed me online, in bold print, most biopsy results are not cancer. 

I’d like to say that I was in that “most” group, but then, I wouldn’t be writing about having breast cancer, would I? 

The biopsy found triple-negative breast cancer. That’s about all I remember from when my surgeon told me and my husband that I had breast cancer. I remember thinking “I’m going to have to look that up.”

My type of cancer, I would find out, is called triple-negative because it’s ER, PR and HER2 negative, which means it lacks the hormone “receptors” that fuel most breast cancers; estrogen and progesterone receptors and human epidermal growth factor receptor 2.

That’s a lot of medical jargon there, isn’t it? I’m pretty good with medical-ese, and I already felt confused. (Mind you, I was looking up this information on my phone on the way home from our appointment with the surgeon.)

Before long, my medical team expanded to include a medical oncologist, who talked with me about genetic testing – if I had the BRCA mutation, the team’s recommendation for surgery could change from lumpectomy to mastectomy – and the near-certainty that I would undergo chemotherapy. 

Since my diagnosis in March, I’ve undergone surgery that included a lumpectomy and the removal of some lymph nodes to see if the cancer had spread. I’ve gone through eight rounds of chemotherapy, and I have a second surgery to remove (and biopsy) a different spot on my other breast. After that, my team will expand to include a radiation oncologist when I undergo radiation therapy.

I have felt awful, like someone pulled the plug out of my life and everything good had just drained out. I have gotten sick on a family vacation, and had to cancel plans with friends and family. I have “chemo brain,” which makes my memory fuzzy and has robbed me of my concentration and what seems like half of my vocabulary.  My fingers and toes are an odd combination of numb and super-sensitive, and sometimes feel like they’re being attacked with needles.

I have told my family, my friends and coworkers that I have cancer, and they have supported me, offered help, and cheered me on. When my hair started falling out, my husband shaved my head while I sat covered in sheets in our living room because I was afraid our dog wouldn’t recognize me without hair. When I posted a photo of me, bald, on Facebook, one of my friends commented simply “New glasses? Cute!”

Though my luck in health ran out this year, I still feel pretty lucky. My breast cancer was detected early and I put up a good fight, and I believe I’m on my way to being well. 

The earlier cancer is found, the better your odds for recovery. So even if luck isn’t on your side, getting regular screening mammograms can make sure that time is on your side. 

October 1, 2016

So, the biopsy found lobular carcinoma in situ, or LCIS, in my right breast. Sounds bad, but it's actually good news. It's considered basically high-risk for developing into "real" cancer - but it's not something that requires treatment. (Plus, theoretically, they cut all of it out of me.) So I will move on to radiation therapy for just my left side.
The surgery went really well - I felt a little sore, but really can't even claim it was bad enough to be "pain." And people were really surprised to see me back at work on Monday. (I was surprised to see me back at work on Monday, after seeing 3 really good bands - and Tom! - Sunday night in Madison.)
I'm going to have to get the disability/working thing in order, but I'm stalling until after I talk to the radiation oncologist here in Freeport. I have an appointment Oct. 14. I'm still tired out and my brain feels kind of "fried" after everything - it's hard to concentrate on anything for too long.
But before that next appointment, Jeff and I are going to Panama City Beach. It's a birthday present for the both of us. He REALLY needs to get away from work - he has been working ridiculous hours all summer long, and they seem to be only getting longer. So I was glad for an excuse to get him away from there.
Today, in fact, he's down in Sterling, cramming in a bunch of work before we leave tomorrow. I can't complain, though - he's coming home early enough for us to get up to Madison to see the Wombats tonight. We've had a hectic week - the Mowglis on Sunday, Car Seat Headrest on Tuesday, Frank Turner at the Codfish Hollow Barnstormers in Maquoketa, Iowa on Thursday, and then tonight. The show is sold out, and it's a small place - it will feel good to start our vacation jumping up and down with a bunch of college students to a good band.
Before I left for vacation, I got a bunch of stuff posted on FHN's Facebook page about breast cancer awareness - it's pink month. Each year, we do a bunch of stories for The Journal-Standard's pink breast cancer awareness section, and I had a feeling that this year, my boss would ask me to do something first-person. I was against the idea at first - because really, talking about my boobs to the general public?!? But I went ahead and did it, and it's OK. I'm not sure when it will be published, but I think I will include it here on the blog at some point.
My hair is growing back, slowly. I'm still pretty bald. I ordered some fall-ish hats, because the tan one I've been wearing all summer isn't going to look good with sweaters.
All summer long, I've been wearing Skechers with no socks, and I've finally gotten used to how my numb/not numb toes feel in those shoes. We had some pretty chilly weather this week, and I've had to get out socks and real shoes, which has been really irritating. I'm going to have to look for some soft socks and looser shoes, I think.
I've lost about 20 pounds over the summer - a combination of feeling crappy through the chemotherapy and not being able to really taste anything. So I'm feeling good about dressing for fall. I've been buying band t-shirts at some concerts, and I'm thinking I want to wear concert t-shirts and jeans with an interesting cardigan for cooler weather. I'm a "creative" at work, after all, and I like wearing a reminder of the fun we have. It's like the "when I am old I shall wear purple" poem, only with concert t-shirts. =)