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Posts Tagged ‘Dana-Farber’

Back to (Radiation) Reality

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, Decisions, Denial, hair, radiation, recovery, work, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 10, 2012| Leave a Comment »

For about two weeks life was almost normal – no treatments (just visits to the hospital), work five days a week, some of the chemo side effects fading and my hair (slowly) growing back. I felt myself slipping back into the good old denial and fooling myself that cancer doesn’t exist in my life. But starting tomorrow, it’s a new reality: radiation.

Just like with the chemo, it’s been a bit of a crash course in radiation. I admit I haven’t exactly been paying as much attention as perhaps I should have (part of the denial thing), but now I’m cramming. The folks in Radiation Oncology at Dana-Farber are – like everyone I’ve encountered at Dana-Farber and Brigham and Women’s – great. They talk and walk you through it all so even those of us who aren’t too medically inclined have a clue what’s happening. I had the mapping session where they figured out the treatment field (on me) and gave me six tiny tattoos to help them correctly position me at each appointment. Then on Friday I had the dry run, where they took x-rays to make sure they got the mapping right, and walked me through what will happen for each of my next 25 visits.

Radiation Therapy (From the Breast Radiation Guidelines sheet from Dana-Farber): Radiation therapy is a painless treatment, similar to an x-ray. It uses high-energy x-rays to damage the DNA of cancer cells so that they are unable to repair themselves. Radiation also affects normal, healthy cells. Unlike cancer cells, normal cells are able to recover from radiation damage.

So starting tomorrow, Monday-Friday for 25 days (except Christmas and New Year’s Day) I’ll end my work day by running over to Dana-Farber for radiation. Several friends have given me tips on getting through it, and I am hoping to sail through. Then reinflation, a few months of rest, surgery for the implants, nipples, more tattooing, and then…

Tamoxifen. You may have heard the news last week: the results of a big study were just revealed and it determined that 10 years of tamoxifen is better for life expectancy than five years. Of course. That’s just my luck – just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse! So frustrating…

But at the check-up with my oncologist Friday (well, substitute oncologist, as mine just had a baby – her first, yay!), she said that I shouldn’t worry too much about it right now. A lot happens in the medical field in five years, and by the time my five are up, who knows what the recommendation will be. With my luck it will be to take it forever, but whatever. We’ll see.

There is some good news. I get to have the port taken out of my arm soon, which will be wonderful. And the best news of all: I ran today. Well, that was preceded by some not great news. I asked the oncologist when the numbness and tingling in my feet, legs and fingers will stop and she said it could be six months, a year or even never (although that’s rare). I had been waiting for my feet at least to be normal before getting back to running, since I’m such a klutz anyway. But there’s no way I’m waiting that long – I can’t stand being this out of shape, and want my clothes to fit right again. So this morning I went for my first run in practically forever.

I actually cried (happy tears of course) as I walked into the cool air in my running gear. It felt so good to get back out there! Of course, that only lasted a short time. It was like I’ve never run before. I was only doing 1:1 intervals and I was hurting by the time I hit a mile. I only did one more because I had a pain in my side and felt like I was going to throw up. (So pathetic how out of shape I am…) But I was proud I didn’t fall and two miles is better than none. It’s a start.

And tomorrow – uh, today, as I just realized it’s after midnight – is another start. Radiation. And it will be fine. I got through chemo just fine and I can get through this.

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Thankful

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, connections, family, hair, Home, Planning, prayer, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 22, 2012| 4 Comments »

There are countless things to be thankful for every single day. And when bad things happen to you, it just gives more opportunity for the good things to shine through. While we should continually be saying ‘thank you,’ Thanksgiving provides us all the perfect platform. So here is just a very small sampling of the many, many things I am thankful for…

  • that I am here to be able to say thank you
  • early detection
  • my crazy, loving, unbelievable family here, in Florida (Tennessee), West Virginia, etc.
  • Nicholas George Tull Atwood – and that there is only one of him! 😉
  • friends – old and new, close and distant, who provide distractions (whether big like Nashville or small like WWF), make you laugh, let you cry, take you to Outback, join you at chemo or just wish they could
  • long walks and talks, planning sessions and Pinkberry
  • people who stick by your side, even when they are going through so much themselves and it’s not easy for them to do so
  • people who tell you what they think, even when they know it’s not what you want to hear
  • cards, e-mails, texts, facebook posts, calls just because
  • hand made cards and crafts by (and hugs from) children who love you and just want to help make you feel better – and do!
  • little boys who have pink birthday cakes
  • Dana-farber, the Jimmy Fund and Brigham and Women’s
  • doctors, nurses, researchers and all healthcare workers who not only treat you but care
  • organizations like the American Cancer Society, Susan G. Komen, Bright Pink, Gloria Gemma and so many others that raise awareness and funds for research, and help people with cancer in countless ways including to feel better about themselves
  • that I live now, when cancer is not an automatic death sentence and treatments have come so far…
  • that side effects will fade, my hair will grow back and with a little effort when I get my energy back, I can lose the weight I’ve gained during treatment
  • Genzyme and the incredibly supportive people who work there
  • running friends who inspire and encourage me
  • music, movies and books you can escape into
  • Boston, the best city for practically everything – at least the best city for me, now – wouldn’t want to be anywhere else
  • Cape Cod, the ocean, the healing power of just being by the water
  • that I was born an optimist
  • that people love me even when I’m the Wicked Witch
  • that every day is a new opportunity to start over
  • all the people who have added me to their prayer lists around the world, and all the people who don’t know me but pray for me, send me positive vibes or simply wish me well

I could go on and on and on – I know I’m leaving so much out! – but we all have friends, family and turkey to get to, so I will leave it at that… Happy Thanksgiving, all, and thank YOU for caring about me and my family and reading this blog. What are you thankful for?

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Done – but Not Really…

Posted in Cancer, chemotherapy, Decisions, hair, Planning, radiation, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 21, 2012| 4 Comments »

“Doesn’t your body know you’re done? Can’t it just be back to normal?” Tara and I mulled over how wonderful this would be as I laid on the couch following my nap. To just snap my fingers and be normal me again. Week 24 of chemo, week 12 of Taxol: done. Only it’s not the end I hoped for.

I know everyone wants me to be excited and to celebrate but I honestly don’t feel it at all. (Although I loved the congratulations card Tina gave me from my Goddaughters, including the Thanksgiving picture eight-year-old Nadia drew me that said “p.s. One thing I am thankful for is that you don’t have Taxol!”)

My body aches more than ever, the tingling and numbness in my feet and fingers has steadily increased and now I have phlebitis in my right arm. So in addition to starting radiation, I am heading back to physical therapy, too. Doesn’t seem like an end to me. I really wish I could be happy, but I’m not.

I did, though, appreciate how the nurse practitioner put it to me today. She said, “It’s just like you’re in a triathlon. You’ve made it through two huge parts: the surgery and the chemo. Now for the third part: radiation.” I liked the sound of that, but also can’t help thinking that it’s even more than that – then there is the implant surgery, which now won’t be until summer, then the two follow-up procedures to that, which brings us near the end of 2013. Then the five years of tamoxifen. As I said last time, it’s the never-ending saga. I need to just suck it up, accept it and stop whining about it – I’m getting sick of myself! And I will, I just have to get back on my feet and then I will start to feel better.

I think I just keep feeling like every time I take two steps forward, it’s followed by one step back. Like the pain that’s been growing in my arm the last couple weeks today turns out to be phlebitis and so I now need to add PT back into my regimen. At least it’s coinciding with being able to take ibuprofen again, now that the chemo is over! And then I was excited because I signed up for the Jingle Bell Run in mid-December thinking ‘Of course I can be running again a month after chemo!’ I didn’t realize how bad my feet and legs would get – and today the nurse said it probably won’t go away for a month, maybe more. So yet another race I paid for but won’t be able to run. (Note to self: no more signing up for races until I am actually fully back to running!!!)

I know I need to give my body time to rest and heal. I just get so impatient with it and simply want to be normal again. And look half as good as Giuliana Rancic.

Giuliana and Bill were on Katie today, as I was dozing on the couch. My ears perked up as I heard them start to talk about her breast cancer. I knew she had, like me, a double mastectomy. But, even though they said she had an aggressive form of breast cancer, instead of chemo and radiation she opted to go straight to the five years of tamoxifen. I don’t get it: why and how??? That certainly wasn’t presented to me, I thought as I looked at her beaming at me from the TV, looking so beautiful with her long dark hair. (Yes, that is jealousy you sense.) I just don’t get it – how can you go through that major surgery and not do the other things to lessen your chance of recurrence? I know it’s a personal choice, but I guess I never felt like there was really much of a ‘choice’ at all.

Jealousy will get you nowhere – and it’s not like I lost my hair so Giuliana could keep hers. And hey, my hair is starting to grow back – it almost covers my head, so soon I won’t look like a middle-age balding man anymore. The aches, pains, numbness and tingling will go away. I will be able to run again. I will lose all the weight I gained. Yes, radiation will have its own challenges, but they will be less than the chemo. If I made it through 24 weeks of that, I can make it through 25 sessions of this. And then I’ll be that much closer to the finish line… and maybe then I’ll feel like celebrating.

Update, 9 a.m., Nov. 21: It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do! I woke up with a new perspective and felt the need to update this post. As I just posted on Facebook, “Today I am thankful for mornings where you wake up with a new perspective! I feel better – more energized, determined and like my old self. Crappy cancer can’t change me!”

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