This week it's almost like there was too much going on in my head, that I couldn't sit down and write.  The phone calls from my doctors, with the news that 3 of 5 taken lymph nodes were positive for cancer.  Yesterday, I had the first test to determine if it has gone anywhere else in my body.  A CT scan.

But first, at 12:45, I had to report to the heart center at the hospital for my EKG reading.  They put in an IV, to insert some sort of dye to give an even clearer picture.  They knew I was going straight to Imaging for the CT scan, so made sure I had the right IV for that procedure as well...I trooped off to my next procedure, at 2:00, with an IV dangling from my hand.

I didn't know that I would have to drink this foul, obnoxious drink...1 and 1/2 bottles, to be exact.  Like a really bad, generic slim fast with a chalky after-taste.  I had a migraine coming on, and got permission during my EKG to swallow a migraine pill...so, slightly nauseous, I was told I had to get through the drinks in 20-25 minutes, because it had to sit inside you for about 40 minutes before the scan.  The tech even drew a line at the half-way mark of the second bottle.  "OK," I told myself.  "Just one and a half bottles.  You can do this."  And I did.  I learned if I plugged my nose, and swallowed twice before unplugging it, I only half felt like I was gonna hurl.  And I did it!   One and a half bottles, at the 25 minute deadline.

When my tech came to get me, she led me to the CT room, where I was given back my half empty bottle.  "Ok," she said to me.  "Now you've got to finish the rest of this."  What the hell????  "That's not gonna happen," I told her.  "I drank what she told me to.  I planned it in my head.  If I had been TOLD that I had to drink all of it, I maybe could have planned my thoughts around that.  I'm gonna be sick.  I almost threw up several times just getting that down.  Not gonna happen!"

She just looked at me, and asked me to try to drink what I could.  I was PISSED,  I don't know how else to explain it.  I've gone through this entire cancer thing, since my first initial visit with my doctor, wondering if something was wrong,  to learning I have breast cancer, to the knowledge I'm having chemo and going to lose my hair, to hearing only a few days ago that this shit is in my LYMPH and now may be somewhere else, and not once have I been ANGRY!  But this damn drink?  That seems so UNFAIR!!!  If they had only told me I had to drink the whole thing!!!!  Then I could have planned for it!!!!  Maybe Sharon, my breast cancer patient navigator was right.  We learn to control what we can, and even take comfort in, the things we can control.  This silly little thing...why did it make me so mad?

So, I choked down about 3 gulps, gagged, and got on the table.  Got my pictures.  And then apologized to the gracious technician for my yelling about the drink while she was leading me back to my husband.  But still...am I wrong to think, that if I had been forewarned about "drinking the rest when you get back there..."  That I may have behaved better, and not been so stressed.  It seems like such a minor thing.  But I think cancer patients....ok, me....will act and feel better if I know what to expect.  Like my hair.  I KNOW it's going to come out.  I've even been given a graphic picture of how it happens, not all at once, but strands on the pillow, pulled out in the brush, clumps in your hand, bald patches on your skull...isn't that better, knowing ahead of time, instead of just waking up one morning and being blindsided???  Like, WHAT THE HELL IS ON MY PILLOW???  Why did that happen?  See, I've been mentally preparing for that day for a month.  Like the day I went wig shopping....I took control.  And this week, when I put both wigs on, and tried to "style" them....and put on my yellow bandana from my "sunshine" basket from my friends at work, and wore that around the house for a while.  It's all in the mental preparation.  I CAN DO THIS.  Like my chemo informational visit today, that I'm getting ready to go to.  It's all about being prepared, getting the knowledge, and putting myself in a certain mind-frame to cope.  It's also about one day at a time.  Getting through one "thing" at a time.  And that's about all I can do right now.

Just don't ask me to swallow more than I felt  I was promised. :)

Yesterday was very dark.  I don't mean there was no sunshine, because actually, the weather was totally gorgeous, a picture-perfect summer day.  I mean, it was dark in my head.

I got a call in the morning from Dr. Frantzis, my surgeon, to let me know the pathology report from my surgery on Monday.  Apparently, he removed five lymph nodes, and three of those nodes tested positive for cancer.  I guess that also means that two of those nodes were cancer-free, but that isn't what I heard.  It's what I expected, but still, getting the news from my doctor's mouth...not his nurse, not an office worker, but the doctor himself, weighted those words even more significantly.  He let me know that now the oncologist would be running additional tests, like a bone scan and a CT scan, but still, this changes nothing with my treatment...and he was glad I chose to do chemo first.  He also said he thought I was still at stage 2...

I swear, less than a half hour later, the phone rang again, with "Allegiance" showing up in the caller ID once again.  This time, it was Dr.. Hazzi, my oncologist.  He wanted me to know he had my full pathology report, and wanted me to get scheduled with the bone scan and CT scan.  He reiterated Dr. Frantzis, in that this changed nothing with my treatment.  A few minutes later, one of the girls from his office called to schedule those additional procedures.  It took a few back and forth calls to get the times right...so on Tuesday, after my echo cardio gram, I go straight to another part of the hospital to get my CT scan.  On Wed. I go for my chemotherapy info visit.  On Thurs. the 17th, two days after my first chemo treatment, at 8:45 in the morning I get some sort of injection, leave, and come back a few hours later for a bone scan.  Honestly, it's a great thing I'm on "vacation" because I don't know when I'd find the time to work.

Like I said, I was in a dark place.  I tried sitting in the sunshine, but all I wanted to do was lay down and watch tv, which I alternated with little naps.  Then the bouquet of flowers came from my sister in law...so beautiful.  Then the package in the mail came from my friend Lisa...a little bear with the pink ribbon on it, to find the cure...and some self tanner....people know I like my glow...and a card from my cousin's wife with an encouraging greeting...by this time, I was back in the sun, trying to snap out of my funk.  Still sore from my surgery, kinda foggy, and depressed, I talked Steve into going for a ride with me.  Maybe getting out of the house, in a car (hadn't been out since Monday) with the windows down would cheer me up?  Not so much.  I went back to bed, where I tossed and turned most of the night.

This morning I feel a little bit better.  I do realize how well I've taken all this news, from the very beginning, with only a few incidents of crying and self-pity.  I'm trying to be better than that, I guess, whatever that means.  Cancer happens to people every day, and I'm not special, though people constantly tell me they feel bad it's happened to me because I'm such a "good person."  Whatever that means.  I asked someone, why do you think I'm such a good person?  And they said, "you're not a murderer or a drug dealer getting little kids hooked on drugs.  They should be the ones getting cancer."  That is true.  I've never killed anyone or sold or taken drugs.....but still...there are a lot of people out there who get cancer every day...and I've got a fighting chance.  Imagine the people who are diagnosed with a disease for which there is NO CURE...a few years ago I was having some really weird side effects from my migraine medication, and I was being tested for MS...a different migraine pill took care of those symptoms, but still, that was scary...and a few years before that I was tested for something called pulmonary Hypertension...the only cure for that is a full lung/heart transplant...so glad I was suffering from anxiety, and needed some Xanax...either of those two diagnoses would have been more devastating and life changing than breast cancer...hopefully this will be a really ugly, sad, and hard chapter of my life, no matter what those additional tests may find, but only a chapter...not the rest of the book.

Today I was pretty surprised at how tired and sore I still was from my surgery on Monday...I think it might be some lingering effects from the anesthesia.  I took a shower this morning, and that small thing nearly wiped me out.  Also, I have very little range of motion in my right arm, and struggled with the simple task of washing my hair, and then drying off my body.  I knew I couldn't handle my blow dryer, so my husband  Steve dried my hair for me.

A friend and co-worker came by with the most thoughtful gift...every person I work with either donated, or shopped, for something yellow to "bring a little sunshine into my life."  A beautiful gift basket filled with towels, candy, lottery tickets, note cards...even a yellow bandana that I'm sure I will be able to wear shortly.  Thank you so much to Denise, Esther, Janie, Jim, Joy, Karen, Paul, and Sabrena, who delivered the gift to my doorstep.  It meant so much to me, you have no idea.

I also got a card in the mail and phone call from a friend of mine who teaches in the district, and a phone call from my sister-in-law.   A visit from my mom and dad in the evening pretty much summed up my day, still recovering from a surgical procedure two days ago.  I hope tomorrow I feel more like myself...but truthfully, every time I feel that hard circular port inserted under my skin on my chest, it feels like something Agent Scully from the X-Files might have had in the back of her neck...both alien, other worldly, and yet, life-changing.  While Scully was an alien abductee, I'm one of those left behind...my medical experiments won't be conducted on a spaceship, but on the third floor af the Allegiance Professional Building in less than two weeks.  Unlike Agent Scully, who was convinced her experiments were hurting her, I have to believe my procedures are being done to help me.

Someone asked me if I've gotten any statistics...and I know what they mean, what is my percentage of beating this and surviving?  Truthfully, I haven't been given any such thing.  I haven't even been given the stage of my cancer.  Maybe I don't want to know.  Would it change the fact of me going through treatment if my percentage of survival was below 50%?  Below 30%?  A slim chance?  I don't think it would.  I think as a "warrior," you have to be willing to fight, no matter what the odds.  That's probably why I love the casino so much, I'm not afraid to gamble.  And my mantra has always been, "Go big, or go home."  This is probably the most important bet I've ever made....

Yesterday I had my first surgery...I had my port installed on the right side of my chest, and lymph nodes removed on my right.  The port is put in to receive the chemotherapy infusions.   I'm heavily bandaged on both sides, and can't shower until tomorrow because I can't get the dressings wet,  I'm still a little weak and tired, but am happy to be home.

There are so many different people who work in a hospital setting!  And it seems that every person who helped me yesterday was so friendly and introduced themselves and mentioned how long they had been working their job.  Maybe it's a requirement for their job?  I don't know, but I liked it.  Even one of the transporters who took me and my bed to nuclear medicine mentioned this was her very first day,..however the girl who was with her assured me that it wasn't HER first day, so I shouldn't be concerned...

Nuclear medicine was a real treat.  Have you ever had a shot?  In the arm?  The rear end?  I've even had shots in my foot...but this was by far the worst...2 shots right into my breast.  With  no numbing medicine.  It hurt really bad!  Then I had to lay on a table while they took a picture that lasted for 5 minutes.  Then I went back to pre- op and waited to be taken to surgery.

My surgeon was running late, and my anesthesiologist ended  leaving, and another doctor took over for him.  I let them know how I get nauseous after surgery, so they gave me a patch behind my ear, and 2 kinds of intravenous drugs to help prevent it...so I was a little surprised to wake up and still feel like I wanted to throw up.  They wouldn't let me go home until I didn't feel sick any more, and it took a few hours before the nausea subsided.

I won't get pathology reports until Thursday or Friday...of course, it is a holiday weekend, so I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out to be next week for definitive results.  My surgeon told my family my choice of starting chemo first is probably the best decision, because my lymph nodes looked very suspicious...that was the same phrasing used by the doctor who did my biopsy, so I won't be surprised if I'm told it is in my lymph.  Right now I'm just vegging out, taking it easy, and living each day one day at a time.  I'm doing ok.

I think I mentioned earlier how great my family doctor is, and how I always feel like she has all the time in the world for me.  Picture this: it's 8:30 on a Saturday night, and my phone rings.  My caller I.D. has my doctor's last name on it...."Hello, Dr. Legere.  What are you doing working on a Saturday night?"  She called me at home...from her own home...on a weekend night...just to see how I was doing.  I wonder how many doctors have that kind of relationship with their patients?  Where they care about them as a person, and are truly concerned for their emotional well being.  She wanted to make sure I liked my oncologist, surgeon, and was holding up ok.  She wanted to make sure I had enough Xanax to get me through this ordeal... She is truly a great person, and I feel very lucky she is my doctor.

This morning Steve and I went for a bike ride.  I rode 14 miles, and am totally feeling every mile right now.  Normally, I'd take a couple of ibuprofen to deal with the muscle aches, but I can't have any because of my surgery on Monday.  We had a great morning on our biikes, and every time I do something "normal," I feel more normal.  Like going out for dinner last night.  Or running the vacuum cleaner.  Or washing my car.  Or going to the grocery store.  Maybe that is the key to getting through this whole situation...try to continue on like everything is normal.

I guess support can come in many ways... I've witnessed it on Facebook.  With phone calls and hugs from friends.  With a visit from my mother in law yesterday morning.  With a good natured argument with my father last night that turned to laughter, and my mom said something like "There's the Kim  we know!"  And right this minute Drake is watching Twilight: Breaking Dawn with me...I think he senses I'd like his company.  Earlier this evening he read my blogs, looked at my Facebook page, and we had a really nice talk.  Normal for Drake has been baseball...he plays on 3 teams, and plays almost every day.  He also works a few nights a week as a waiter at the China House, and stays busy with friends.  Steve thinks staying busy has kept Drake's mind occupied... I agree, staying busy can be good.  But today, I just wanted to veg out for a little bit, lay on the couch,, and watch movies.  They can be a nice distraction, too.

I can't get over how many offers of support I've received in the last few days from so many people...sharing my diagnosis on Facebook, I believe, was the right decision for me.  Offers of meals brought to my home, rides to treatments (I'm pretty sure after the first one I'll be able to drive myself), even help getting wigs and hair pieces....so unbelievable is the generosity of my Facebook "friends."  That is what I am witnessing...true friendship.

Yesterday, after watching my son Drake play baseball at Adrian College, was a day of talking on the phone.  I talked to my Aunt Susie about my condition.  I talked to my admitting nurse about pre-op instructions, medications, and concerns.  I talked to my mom.  And I talked to my sister-in-law Mary, who surprised me once again, in a good way, about changes going on in her life.

Last night after the phone calls my mom called back and asked me to go to the movies...an excellent distraction, to be sure.  "What are we going to see?"  I wondered.  Near the end of this past school year one of my senior boys started really hounding me about reading a book that he loved, and it was going to be a movie that was being released this summer, too.  "Ok, what's the book?"  I asked him.  "I' ll consider it since you love it so much."  He told me it was called "A Fault in Our.Stars."  About teenagers in love.  And cancer.  After listening to my student go on and on about that book and movie, it sounded amazing.   Then, I got my own diagnosis....  So, My mom and I went to see Jersey Boys....not the kid with cancer movie...too close to home.  And it was a pretty good movie, too.

My girlfriend called me while I was driving to the movie, the one who promised me her fabulous "Las Vegas" wig, saying she wanted to bring it over...when I got home from the movie, she had brought me a gift.  The wig, of course.  And self tanner (because she understands my need for the golden glow).  And a hat.  I put that wig on....and my husband loved it!  And I didn't hate it!  In fact, I kind of liked it!  And I took a picture of myself in that new hairpiece...which by the way has streaks of red in it!...and sent her that picture.  Thank you Gidget, for being such a great friend.  Thank you, everyone, for your support. Thank you, mom, for buying my movie ticket.  I had a really nice evening.

Truthfully, I felt better leaving the oncologist's office yesterday than anticipating the visit.... Even though sitting in the waiting room of a practice called "hematology and oncology" was the
last place I pictured myself sitting, among many various people in different stages of sickness, I was ready to just get things rolling!  My husband Steve looked at me and said, "this is surreal, isn't it.  Feels a lot more real now."  I could only agree.  He's been such a great sport...

The girl who checked me in asked me where I teach, and when I said Norhwest Alternative, she mentioned a boy's name...I said he used to be my former student, and I just loved him.  She said that was her older brother, and was my name Kim?  "Oh, he just loved you.  He used to talk about you all of the time.  Your school saved him."  We spoke a little more about her brother, and the last time I saw him was at Yukon Jack's bar out in Hanover, watching his family's band perform.  That band happened to be her entire family, and she was pretty happy I remembered that detail...What a great reminder of why I love my job, but also of why I have been having work nightmares...worrying that the quality of education I'll be able to give my kids will suffer during my illness...I want to help "save" them all....

Anyway, I was checked in, weighed (I swear, don't they just keep that information on a master computer somewhere so every place you go you don't have to step on that stupid scale?) , measured, had my blood pressure and pulse taken, and had my finger pricked with a blood draw that I learn is to be my routine for every single  visit during chemotherapy.  I visited with the doctor's assistant, then waited for my doctor to arrive.  I was told I had an entire hour's block of time with my doctor, I might  not need it all, but it was mine if I wanted it.  I felt absolutely like there was no rush, exactly how I feel with my own family doctor, Dr. Legere.

He was a very kind and gentle man, foreign but easily understood.  I also got to meet Sharon, my patient navigator, as she stayed with me my entire visit.  She's the one I had many questions for on the phone, and it was great to meet her in person.  I was examined physically, and spent that hour learning about my cancer (triple negative...not caused by hormones), the possible stages (will learn more after my surgery on Monday where they do a procedure called sentinel lymph node...hope I said that right), talking about my chemotherapy regimen, and answering more of my questions.  Yes, I can swim in a lake.  Yes, I can go in my hot tub, as long as it's not too hot.  Yes, I can take a bath ("you must like water" he said).  Yes, I can ride a bike.  Yes, I can be with my pets, change the cat box, and even go to a casino.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes..I felt more hopeful than I had in a while, worrying about the things I COULDN'T do, now I had a minute to think about all the things I could do.

After my visit, I had to go to scheduling...I'm having an EKG to make sure my heart can withstand the chemo,  blood work, and an info visit for about an hour and a half before actually starting the chemo...any of my questions unasked will be answered then.  Finally, I got a tour of the "infusion" room, where people were actually undergoing chemotherapy while we walked through.  There were only a few people in the spacious room, and their backs were to me so they could overlook a magnificently landscaped area with a waterfall...it was actually quite beautiful, but it was explained to me that it was near the end of the day and most people had already finished their treatments....I digested the fact that on July 15, that would be me, sitting in that lazy boy, staring out the window at the beautiful waterfall, as that was the date chosen to begin my chemo.

I'm planning on getting a spectacular tattoo to commemorate my kicking cancer' s ass.... Maybe a waterfall should be part of that design?