Radiation is an entirely different beast than the chemo. First off, it's run by a U of M branch, and is located in a little building behind the Professional building, where I'd been going every week for the last 5 months. I know how much I talked about the nurses and my Dr. Hazzi, and how warm and welcoming it was. To go through something so terrible, they truly made it OK. I didn't get that same feeling at the radiation center. Clinical is the word I'd use, though I've gotten over that since my 2 1/2 weeks of going.
I've been surprised to learn how scientific this whole process is. The doctor works with the physicist to map out your exact locations for the radiation. Because the cancer was in my left breast, it's an entirely different process with the radiation. Your heart needs to be protected, i.e., pulled away from your chest wall as much as possible. I've learned there are three things that can happen when you take in a deep breath: some people's heart doesn't move at all, for some it moves a little, and the most desired, in the case of radiating the left side, is for a person't heart to move a lot. I got lucky...my heart moves a lot. In this case, it pulls away from the area being radiated, and won't get hit with that magic ray gun of science that is ensuring my cancer stays away for good.
I had to do a simulation...they plug your nose, put a breathing device in your mouth much like someone who is scuba diving, and they, with computers and what-not, measure your body with your breathing. Take a deep breath...let it out slowly until the machine stops you...and you hold your breath until the machine allows you to breathe again. The simulation was about a 2 hour appointment...I started my radiation on the following Thursday, and use the breathing tube each time. It isn't easy, but it's definitely getting easier.
Each day that I go to radiation, I follow the same routine: wave to the lady at the front desk, and walk through the double doors to the area called the "women's lobby." Change into a backwards gown, with a frontwards gown put on over that, fully dressed from the waist down. Wait in the lobby (waiting room) with the other women who are all going through what I am. This has been the best part of radiation, talking with other women who are all dealing with cancer, too. Some didn't have to have chemo, others have had my exact regimen, and you can tell who's had chemo but who is wearing a wig or has what looks like a buzz cut. By the way, I'm the one with the buzz cut underneath the wig, some women don't bother with a wig and just sport their 1 inch strands...I don't have that kind of courage. I'll probably have at least 4 inches before I go without my "cranial prosthetic." One woman wears the compression garment on her arm for the lymphedema that sprang up after her surgery, but she still has a full head of hair. Another woman had a radical mastectomy, and is choosing to lose her other breast this summer, and have reconstructive surgery. She was a stage 3B, and it was in all 18 of her lymph nodes. 2 women drive 90 miles round trip, every day, for radiation. Another woman has been diagnosed with breast AND anal cancer...she finished radiation for her breast, and is now radiating the other end.... Honestly, meeting these women has given me another dose of gratitude. I'm so thankful to be where I am right now. I feel like I'm going to be a lucky one and be "one and done." That's my greatest wish, to never have to go through this again.
Anyway, my doctor is currently sick, so I'm seeing a different doctor each week for a skin inspection. They are looking at the changes, trying to prevent or treat the different responses that can occur. I've learned you can have a dry response, or a wet response. A dry response is like a bad sunburn, but your skin gets dry, can peel, and crack. A wet response is where the skin blisters, and the blisters weep. I've been told my skin is more likely to have a dry response. I'm putting a clear aloe vera gel on my skin at least twice a day, trying to head off either of those responses, and neither one sounds like something I want to deal with.
I'm told 3 weeks is the magic number when people begin to feel fatigued and the skin irritation is likely to develop. I'm technically in my third week, and so far, so good. I'm definitely looking more tan on my left area , but that's about it. Speaking of tan, during my second meeting with my doctor, I asked her if it would be OK if I went to the tanner...she about fell over. Told me in all the years she'd been doing this, no one had ever asked her that. I told her I'd put spf 30 on, cover the area being radiated... she told me she wished I'd wait until I was done. I told her OK.
My substitute doctor told me she didn't want me to use my tanning lotion, either... so for the last week, I'm looking pretty pale. Oh, well...only 3 1/2 more weeks of radiation. Florida the end of March. I guess I can wait that long. :)
Saturday, January 31, 2015
This was the first Christmas I can remember when I didn't drive myself crazy in the stores, looking for just the right present for each family member that I love. I shopped a whole lot online, made one out-of-town mall trip with Steve, and kind of had that attitude of "good enough," with the knowledge and hope that next year would be better. I even sent Steve out shopping with a list...he picked my dad out a shirt, my mom a crockpot, and gift cards for his parents...this was the first time in 21 years of marriage when I gave him that responsibility, and he totally rose to the occasion. I used gift bags for the majority of my wrapping, decorated the house in steps (one floor/room at a time), and really enjoyed our holiday decor more than any other year. We loved our tree so much this year that we kept it up until the second weekend of January.... That's never happened before!
My drain tube was killing me, though. It was extremely sore, and on the Sunday after Christmas, even though it was set to come out two days later, I couldn't stand it any more. It had kept me awake that Saturday night from the pain of every time I moved...I called the surgeon on-call, and he gave me permission to go to the ER to get it removed.
Keep in mind, this was the height of flu season. The hospital itself was full, they were using ER rooms to admit patients, and I had a wait of 3 1/2 hours before I got called back. There were people around me who were obviously very sick, some vomiting into little bowls, others in wheelchairs as they were too weak to walk in. It was a pretty depressing scene, and I hoped so much that I didn't catch anything while I was waiting. At least one of my former students was there with her sick little girl, and we yakked for about an hour. Anyway, they removed the drain tube, and it was the most liberating thing that I'd ever felt. It was awful to be so encumbered by that tube...showering was a pain, and I had to wear long tops, which I only had one, so I had to shop for a few more. Anyway, it was out, and that was great. When I went to see Dr. Frantzis for my follow-up appointment, he gave me a 6 month reprieve until I had to see him again. I was given a 2 week waiting period before I could take a bath or get in my hot tub...he warned me the "pruning" effect of the water could cause my incision site to split right open!
I think having that entire week off before my normal 2-week vacation at Christmas, giving me in essence 3 weeks to convalesce, was just right. I was ready to go back to work, healed enough to not have to have the bandages on, my sutures had magically disappeared, and my energy was returning. I started to feel like I was coming down with something, and by Wednesday night, I knew I was getting sick. Like a miracle, school was cancelled on Thursday. I laid on the couch with my upper respiratory sickness. It was cancelled on Friday. I was still sick. I was sick on Saturday, and feeling better by Sunday. When we went back to school on Monday, I was feeling much better. I didn't have to miss any days! I was so happy!
I've still got a lot of sick days banked...I think I still have like 35 or so...and I've tried really hard to not use any that aren't necessary. I started radiation...more about that in the next post.
My drain tube was killing me, though. It was extremely sore, and on the Sunday after Christmas, even though it was set to come out two days later, I couldn't stand it any more. It had kept me awake that Saturday night from the pain of every time I moved...I called the surgeon on-call, and he gave me permission to go to the ER to get it removed.
Keep in mind, this was the height of flu season. The hospital itself was full, they were using ER rooms to admit patients, and I had a wait of 3 1/2 hours before I got called back. There were people around me who were obviously very sick, some vomiting into little bowls, others in wheelchairs as they were too weak to walk in. It was a pretty depressing scene, and I hoped so much that I didn't catch anything while I was waiting. At least one of my former students was there with her sick little girl, and we yakked for about an hour. Anyway, they removed the drain tube, and it was the most liberating thing that I'd ever felt. It was awful to be so encumbered by that tube...showering was a pain, and I had to wear long tops, which I only had one, so I had to shop for a few more. Anyway, it was out, and that was great. When I went to see Dr. Frantzis for my follow-up appointment, he gave me a 6 month reprieve until I had to see him again. I was given a 2 week waiting period before I could take a bath or get in my hot tub...he warned me the "pruning" effect of the water could cause my incision site to split right open!
I think having that entire week off before my normal 2-week vacation at Christmas, giving me in essence 3 weeks to convalesce, was just right. I was ready to go back to work, healed enough to not have to have the bandages on, my sutures had magically disappeared, and my energy was returning. I started to feel like I was coming down with something, and by Wednesday night, I knew I was getting sick. Like a miracle, school was cancelled on Thursday. I laid on the couch with my upper respiratory sickness. It was cancelled on Friday. I was still sick. I was sick on Saturday, and feeling better by Sunday. When we went back to school on Monday, I was feeling much better. I didn't have to miss any days! I was so happy!
I've still got a lot of sick days banked...I think I still have like 35 or so...and I've tried really hard to not use any that aren't necessary. I started radiation...more about that in the next post.
I felt pretty good after my surgery. That week, after my shower 48 hours later, I tried to go out a little bit each day. My son's car, his 16th birthday present, was pretty much declared a total after a pot hole caused a strut tower to collapse...needing about a $4,000.00 repair, we were pretty sad. Drake drove his Grandpa Ray's car for a few days as he recovered from foot surgery. He drove Steve's car the week of my surgery, and Steve drove mine. However, it was pretty apparent that Drake would need a car. I have no idea how kids these days, who work and do sports all year round, go without one...I know I'd never be able to shuttle him to all of his places, or be without my own car if he borrowed mine.
Knowing Drake's car was not fit for sale to the public, I saw an ad from Dave's Jackson Nissan, saying they'd give a minimum $3,000.00 for your trade-in, as long as you picked something that was a minimum of $10,000.00 from their lot. Or, LOTS, as I learned later. On their Jackson website, there were a few cars I thought looked like they had potential. That Friday there had been enough ice to close all the local schools, but I didn't let a little ice, or a dangling drain tube coming out of my armpit, stop me from car shopping. I shoved the drain tube in my front pocket and put on a long shirt, had Steve drive and told Drake to come with us, we were going to find him a new car.
It was hard to really see the price tags because the ice was coating all the windows of the cars on the lot, but I quickly found out that the three cars I wanted to look at were at their different locations; one in Jonesville, the other two in Mason . We decided to drive up to Mason to have a look....
The Jackson dealership had called ahead, and they had one of the cars we were interested in, a red Chrysler 200, warming up for us. The black 200, when the door opened, smelled like cigarettes, so that one was out. A white Ford Fusion, which we test drove, was OK, but didn't really excite any of us, and had more miles than the red 200. The red 200 was really super nice...I rode in the back seat...I don't think anyone had ever sat back there. It was immaculate, no visible scratches or scuffs, and handled very well. While riding in the backseat of the car, my phone rang...it was Dr. Frantzis' office, giving me an update of the pathology report from my surgery. Of the 14 lymph nodes they had removed, and the tissue surrounding the areas where the tumors had been, there were ZERO CANCER CELLS detected! I'd had what they call a Complete Response to the chemo...it truly had KILLED MY CANCER, just like I'd been telling myself it was doing during those long five months of chemotherapy earlier... I'd gotten a miracle!!!
They let us drive that car back to Jackson to think about it some more. The good news gave that car a positive vibe, kind of like we'd gotten a sign to get that car...
Drake drove me home, as I was still taking narcotic pain pills and couldn't drive, Steve drove the prospective car, and we told them we'd think about it. The next day we went back to the dealership, Steve driving Drake's Grand Prix, to trade it in. We discussed the route he'd take ahead of time, as he didn't want to go more than 30 miles an hour...I followed him, and every time he went over a railroad track or a particularly bumpy part of road, he'd raise his arm, pumping his fist...you see, we were warned the other strut tower could collapse at any time. Well, the Grand Prix made it to Jackson Dave's, we made a deal, and Drake got his new car.
Looking back at the week post-surgery, I can't believe I had the energy I did to car shop.... Drake loves his new car, and I'm glad it all turned out. I don't think I was totally on my "game," like I'd normally have been...which means I would have looked for cars until I was satisfied I'd gotten the absolute best deal, but I think we got a great deal, and didn't have to worry about what to do with the Grand Prix. It turned out to be a win-win for all of us.
Knowing Drake's car was not fit for sale to the public, I saw an ad from Dave's Jackson Nissan, saying they'd give a minimum $3,000.00 for your trade-in, as long as you picked something that was a minimum of $10,000.00 from their lot. Or, LOTS, as I learned later. On their Jackson website, there were a few cars I thought looked like they had potential. That Friday there had been enough ice to close all the local schools, but I didn't let a little ice, or a dangling drain tube coming out of my armpit, stop me from car shopping. I shoved the drain tube in my front pocket and put on a long shirt, had Steve drive and told Drake to come with us, we were going to find him a new car.
It was hard to really see the price tags because the ice was coating all the windows of the cars on the lot, but I quickly found out that the three cars I wanted to look at were at their different locations; one in Jonesville, the other two in Mason . We decided to drive up to Mason to have a look....
The Jackson dealership had called ahead, and they had one of the cars we were interested in, a red Chrysler 200, warming up for us. The black 200, when the door opened, smelled like cigarettes, so that one was out. A white Ford Fusion, which we test drove, was OK, but didn't really excite any of us, and had more miles than the red 200. The red 200 was really super nice...I rode in the back seat...I don't think anyone had ever sat back there. It was immaculate, no visible scratches or scuffs, and handled very well. While riding in the backseat of the car, my phone rang...it was Dr. Frantzis' office, giving me an update of the pathology report from my surgery. Of the 14 lymph nodes they had removed, and the tissue surrounding the areas where the tumors had been, there were ZERO CANCER CELLS detected! I'd had what they call a Complete Response to the chemo...it truly had KILLED MY CANCER, just like I'd been telling myself it was doing during those long five months of chemotherapy earlier... I'd gotten a miracle!!!
They let us drive that car back to Jackson to think about it some more. The good news gave that car a positive vibe, kind of like we'd gotten a sign to get that car...
Drake drove me home, as I was still taking narcotic pain pills and couldn't drive, Steve drove the prospective car, and we told them we'd think about it. The next day we went back to the dealership, Steve driving Drake's Grand Prix, to trade it in. We discussed the route he'd take ahead of time, as he didn't want to go more than 30 miles an hour...I followed him, and every time he went over a railroad track or a particularly bumpy part of road, he'd raise his arm, pumping his fist...you see, we were warned the other strut tower could collapse at any time. Well, the Grand Prix made it to Jackson Dave's, we made a deal, and Drake got his new car.
Looking back at the week post-surgery, I can't believe I had the energy I did to car shop.... Drake loves his new car, and I'm glad it all turned out. I don't think I was totally on my "game," like I'd normally have been...which means I would have looked for cars until I was satisfied I'd gotten the absolute best deal, but I think we got a great deal, and didn't have to worry about what to do with the Grand Prix. It turned out to be a win-win for all of us.
Friday, January 30, 2015
I finished my chemo on November 25th, and it certainly was a great Thanksgiving. I was so grateful to have made it through the chemo...I was excited to have a few weeks feeling great, before I had my surgery. However, the joke was on me. Thanksgiving night I went to the casino with my parents, friend, and aunt. I started feeling pretty crappy...when I got home, I took my temperature and realized I had a fever. The magic number when you are a cancer patient is 100.5...they want you to call if it gets that, or higher. Well, for a few days, I monitored it, but it went higher...I ended up in the emergency room, where they checked me out fully, sent me home, and basically, found nothing wrong with me.
Later that week, I ended up calling Oncology...it had been several days since I'd had a fever, and went to see Dr. Trimble...he was the doctor on call while my Doctor was out of town. He was convinced I had an infection in my port. I had to come in the week before my surgery, 5 days a week, for IV antibiotics. The fever finally went away, the weekend before my surgery.
I had my surgery on a Monday...I learned that there is a procedure called a "double needle biopsy" which is done before a lumpectomy. A few hours before your surgery, you go to an ultrasound room, where they use the ultrasound machine to find your tumors. They then will mark them with a wire, placed in your breast with a needle, and a shooting of blue dye. My doctors had a problem...they couldn't find my tumors! They were actually both completely gone. One of my doctors called Dr. Frantzis to ask if he still wanted to perform my surgery, as they couldn't see any tumors. Dr. Frantzis said yes, use the little clips that had been dropped in last May as markers, and put the wires and dye inside. That procedure was the most painful part of all...the numbing agent didn't work that well, and I had to have two needles dropping wires put deep into my breast on two locations. One of my doctors spoke very broken English... I had a difficult time understanding him. But what was crystal clear were his words, over and over, "I so sorry I hurting you. I so sorry I hurting you," as he completed his procedure. I was wheeled back into my room to await my surgery.
My surgery was, in my eyes, extremely successful. While Dr. Frantzis claimed he removed a lot of tissue, my two incisions and stitches were menacing, but my breast was, in my eyes, completely normal looking. I would be able to wear normal bras. I would still have cleavage. I could wear tank tops and v-necks. I wouldn't need the "little filler" he thought I might need in my bra. And most importantly of all, he claimed to have "gotten it all." I went home the next day, after meeting with a physical therapist who took me through various exercises to stretch the muscle in my arm area, a drain tube hanging from my armpit and instructions on how to measure and empty my discharge. Told not to shower for 48 hours, I went home and vegged on the couch.
Later that week, I ended up calling Oncology...it had been several days since I'd had a fever, and went to see Dr. Trimble...he was the doctor on call while my Doctor was out of town. He was convinced I had an infection in my port. I had to come in the week before my surgery, 5 days a week, for IV antibiotics. The fever finally went away, the weekend before my surgery.
I had my surgery on a Monday...I learned that there is a procedure called a "double needle biopsy" which is done before a lumpectomy. A few hours before your surgery, you go to an ultrasound room, where they use the ultrasound machine to find your tumors. They then will mark them with a wire, placed in your breast with a needle, and a shooting of blue dye. My doctors had a problem...they couldn't find my tumors! They were actually both completely gone. One of my doctors called Dr. Frantzis to ask if he still wanted to perform my surgery, as they couldn't see any tumors. Dr. Frantzis said yes, use the little clips that had been dropped in last May as markers, and put the wires and dye inside. That procedure was the most painful part of all...the numbing agent didn't work that well, and I had to have two needles dropping wires put deep into my breast on two locations. One of my doctors spoke very broken English... I had a difficult time understanding him. But what was crystal clear were his words, over and over, "I so sorry I hurting you. I so sorry I hurting you," as he completed his procedure. I was wheeled back into my room to await my surgery.
My surgery was, in my eyes, extremely successful. While Dr. Frantzis claimed he removed a lot of tissue, my two incisions and stitches were menacing, but my breast was, in my eyes, completely normal looking. I would be able to wear normal bras. I would still have cleavage. I could wear tank tops and v-necks. I wouldn't need the "little filler" he thought I might need in my bra. And most importantly of all, he claimed to have "gotten it all." I went home the next day, after meeting with a physical therapist who took me through various exercises to stretch the muscle in my arm area, a drain tube hanging from my armpit and instructions on how to measure and empty my discharge. Told not to shower for 48 hours, I went home and vegged on the couch.
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