Red Umbrella-Wavering

I try, with this blog, to hold myself to my blog promises.  To follow up with posts that I say I will write soon.  I made one of those promises to myself and to you with regard to my surgery and a post-surgery update.  It isn't easy to put it all into words, the highs and the lows, the elation and the fears, the known and the unknown.  It's taken far too long to sit down in front of the computer to put it into words.  I need to get this post behind me.  

Where to start...

The surgery was deemed a success.  My breast tissue was removed.  The old scar from my lumpectomy was excised.  To see if the cancer had spread, my sentinel lymph nodes (the first one out from each breast) were removed along with several more on my left and cancerous side.  As I opted for reconstruction, expanders were placed under my pectoral muscles in preparation for stretching muscle and skin to accommodate permanent implants down the road.  

The pain is not nearly as bad as I anticipated.  I braced myself for the worst.  It was tolerable right from the get-go.  That was a pleasant and very welcome surprise.

What was not pleasant or welcome was the recurrence of cancer in the original site.  A 6 cm mass was found, and while not solid cancer, it was back.  Yes, lumps had reappeared both during chemo and in the months that followed.  Each time, radiologists examined the lumps and declared them benign.  

I still feel sick at the thought of WM and my parents being ushered from the waiting room into a consultation room, my surgeon ready to deliver the crushing blow.  He knew what was coming.  We'd been here many times before with little Sophie and I, for the first time, was not there to hold his hand and wipe away the tears all the while whispering and crooning, 'It's OK.  We're strong & we'll get through this.'  I am so sorry, Love.  So very sorry.  Since then, there have been scans and consultations and a change in oncologists.  Each time, the plan changes a little bit more. 

The PET scan last week was negative in all the normal places breast cancer would spread to.  However, there was one odd spot that lit up on my neck near my thyroid.  A CT will be done tomorrow to investigate that further.  What could it be?  Well, at this point, that is unknown.  Yes, the aforementioned unknowns...  I have a special loathing for both the 'unknowns' and the 'wait and sees'.  It's a hatred like no other.  

My plastic surgeon feels I'm doing 'remarkably well.'  The incisions are healing as they should be.  He has actually allowed me to lift slightly more than the prescribed 10 pound limit, something that lifts this troubled mama's heart.  It means I can pick up and hold Maxwell on my own.  I return to his office Thursday to have the drains removed and to receive my first fill.  

My oncologist has a new plan, one that involves both systemic and localized treatment.  It begins with 12 weeks of Taxol.  Yes, I'll be back in the infusion suite every Friday from November 9 through January 25.  UGH.  Chemo.  (If there is a plus side to this, it's that my cancer is very fast growing and chemo has been shown to be more effective on the fast growing cancer than on the slow growing cancer.)  The idea behind more chemo is to destroy every last little bit of cancer that could possibly be hiding in my body.  While the PET didn't show any, there could still be micro mets lurking in a dark corner.  This should take care of them.  Following chemo, will be radiation to target the area that was specifically affected.  And, as my cancer is hormone fed (estrogen positive), measures will be taken to suppress my estrogen production.  Let's not feed the beast, right?  Tamoxifen will be prescribed.  Perhaps there will be shots given to shut down my ovaries.  Perhaps they will be removed altogether.  That part of the plan has not been settled upon yet.

My boobs.  Well, I affectionately call them my Frankenboobs now.  There are three inch wide incisions right in the middle of each one.  They are bloody and covered in steri-strips.  If you think having your nipples show through your shirt is embarrassing, try these.  It looks like I have caterpillars in my bra.  No joke.  One day, I will show you.  Yes, I feel it is important.  Look at The Scar Project.  Please click on those words.  Yes, click on over to that link.  Just don't forget to come back and finish reading my post.

That's the why and the how.  

I waver between fierce determination that I can do this again and that we'll get it right this time and wondering who I pissed off or why our family can't seem to catch a break.  I hug my kids a little tighter and kiss them with even more frequency.  My patience has grown and my temper diminished.  I am slowly learning that it is OK to let others do things for me. It is humbling to accept help.  I have a new appreciation for WM and my parents who have taken up residence in our guest room with the intention of staying until Thanksgiving maybe longer.  They help with everything.  I hardly lift a finger.  I am blessed by friends, dear sweet friends, who have filled our freezer with meal after meal, who spend the afternoon loving on my kids so I can go to the doctor, who answer the phone before the first ring ends with 'What can I do for you?' rather than a simple hello.  And the prayers and some not so kind words that have been offered up to Him, they bring me peace and fill my heart to its very brim.  Yes, there are a few who have been shouting just as much as they've been praying.  Keep it up.  Please.

Just before my surgery, we spent an afternoon with Mandy Birdwell, a very talented local photographer.  For the first time EVER we had professional photos taken of us.  She did an amazing job capturing the essence of our family.  I obsessively checked my inbox from the minute I got home from the hospital, eagerly awaiting the images.  Before our photos were uploaded to her site for viewing, she sent the following video, a reminder that I can carry with me for those moments when my resolve starts to waver.  As I cannot write a post without including at least one photo, here she is in action.  And just below the image is a link to the slideshow she put together.  

Strength Video:  Click Here.

It's pure emotion and I just love it.  

Red Umbrella-I'm Done!!

Technically, this post is a week past due.  A week and two days past due to be precise.  On Friday, July 13, I sat in the chemo chair for the last time (pre-baby for sure, but hopefully for good!!).  See these faces?  Yep, that's pretty much how they looked thru the entire three-hour process.  We're ecstatic!  

I wasn't home post-chemo for more than 10 minutes when a knock at the door revealed this:

I know.  Beautiful, aren't they!!??!!  WM surprised me with a dozen sunflowers (my absolute favorite) for each round of chemo.  Six dozen sunflowers!!!  That man spoils me rotten.  Rotten!!  My two helpers were quick to get the stems cut and the blooms into vases.  They were strewn about the house all week.  Never before have I had flowers in practically every room in the house.  Even Channing selected a blossom to put on the dresser in his room.  

So, what now?  Well, I do have an appointment at the end of August to talk to my surgeon, Dr. O'Leary with regard to my double mastectomy.  When, with a newborn and a preschooler, is that going to be 'convenient'?  [Ahem.]  After the little guy's arrival, I will finally have the MRI that most cancer patients would have started their course of care with.  That is, at this point, all I know.  


Can I be honest?  I think I'm going to miss being bald.  Really.  I liked it.  My hair never did totally fall out.  It was just impossibly thin & gross.  I shaved my head every few days with an electric razor.  I burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles the night before my last chemo, having one of those 'never in my lifetime...' moments.  I was shaving my head in preparation to go out for dinner with WM & his family.  Shaving.  My.  Head.  for a date of sorts.  You know, like putting on make-up and jewelry.  I found it hysterical.  


A special thanks to my sister, Sarah, & her husband, Jesse, who let us crash their dinner the other night so that post-meal, Sarah could take a couple of pictures for me.  I needed a red umbrella shot for this post.  She captured it just perfectly-a little umbrella, a lotta belly.

As 'my' song goes, I'm gonna be OK so let it rain!!

Red Umbrella-Over the Hump

I just checked.  It's been well over a month since a Red Umbrella post appeared on this blog. A month!!  I think this picture about sums it up:

It's gone by in a blur.  I'm now more than halfway done with chemo.  I'll admit it is beginning to wear on me.  A pattern is beginning to emerge.  Treatment = instant reflux.  Food, even water, bounces up and down my innards like some sort of crazed express elevator.  Ever been on the Tower of Terror at Disney's MGM Studios?  Yeah.  It's sort of like that.  It makes sleeping, even sleeping while sitting up, difficult.  Sleep becomes an elusive friend.  At night, my dry mouth glues itself shut and I wake, choking.  No matter how much water I drink I. Don't.  Feel.  Hydrated.  

A week after treatment, the reflux is more under control, but the nausea and the fatigue sets in.  Taking a shower becomes a monumental task.  After 5 or so days of feeling like I'm newly pregnant again and, at times, overwhelmingly exhausted, it's over.  I feel almost normal.  

I'm not complaining.  I'm sharing.  I want others to be able to learn from this experience of mine.  There aren't many resources for pregnant women going through chemo.  This could all be so much worse.  I get that.  I am grateful it is not.

Baby Flynn continues to take it all in stride.  I am amazed.  I am awed.  I cannot wait to hold this little miracle of ours.  As with chemo, we're on the downward slope, being past the halfway point.  

Channing's been busy preparing for the Big Arrival.  He practices on his doll.  The clothes are changed frequently to allow for diaper changes and baths.  His baby is bottled and burped.  And loved.  

My oh my, how this wee one is loved.  It's a sign of what's to come and it makes this mama so very, very proud.  

Red Umbrella-Chemo Round II

Yesterday, it was back to the infusion center for round two of my chemo.  It was rather uneventful.  My labs looked great.  The routine was the same.  I didn't even bother to bring the camera.  Although, I could have taken a lovely photo of Hali, my nurse, holding out my rainbow colored assortment of popsicles.  I think I ate one of every color while she injected two of the three drugs into my IV.


To clear the chemo cobwebs, we went for a post-dinner walk at the nature preserve down the street.  Dusk was falling quickly upon us as we arrived, the redwing blackbirds greeting us with a chorus of song.  

Channing threw sticks and rocks off the bridge.  He ran excitedly along the path through the tall grass and managed to talk WM into a shoulder ride or two.

We returned to the car as the sun started to dip below the trees, refreshed and ready for bed.  

Red Umbrella-One & Done

For the record, my mother-in-law is a bad, bad influence on me.  We're talking B-A-D.  She has this habit of piling all sorts of crazy projects onto her own plate at the 11th hour and has been known to pull all-nighters before heading to the airport on vacation just to ensure she's got a carry-on filled with the likes of embroidered fingertip towels for the hostess, crayon caddies for the grandkids, embroidered t-shirts for the same grandkids, embroidered travel blankets for overseas flights.  I'm sure you get the gist.


She has rubbed off on me.  Yesterday, I found myself, Kathy & Channing in tow, anxiously awaiting the door of Quilt Cove in Eagan to open promptly at 10 am.  I'd started a chemo quilt a while back and was less than pleased with the results.  Less than 24 hours before the first round was to begin, I was on a mission to make a new one.  

Channing managed to find the bin of toys at the Quilt Cove and had half of it emptied onto the floor in the twenty minutes we were in the store.  No complaints here though.  We were happy he was so well entertained.

We were in and out of the store in no time flat.  10:29 and we were already back on Cliff Road making a bee line for home.  We had a couple of visitors as we cut and pieced and sewed.  Those visitors were put to work.  Maxine helped lay out the blocks.  Leanne helped rip out mistakes.  

Did I mention that when you do the crazy things Kath does, she more than willing to participate?  Not one eyelash was batted when I requested she be at our house by 9am sharp and declared I was making a new chemo quilt.  She gave up her entire day to help cut, piece and sew this lovely quilt all the while washing dishes, helping with laundry and entertaining Channing.  

Around 11 PM, I called it a night, leaving WM working at the dining room table.  He attended to his client's needs  all the while keeping a frantically sewing Kathy company.  She was hand sewing the binding onto the quilt as fast as her fingers would fly.  At 2 AM, I heard the ding of the alarm system.  The house was suddenly still.  It was done!  


Channing tried it out this morning.  He snuggled in it watching a movie while WM & I got dressed and packed our bags to head to MN Oncology.  Filled with extra Channing love, it was the last thing we grabbed as we headed out the door.

Round one is now done.  Aside from having a difficult IV placement, it went well.  Emily & Liz, my nurses, were wonderful.  Informative, reassuring, attentive.  All the things you want in your chemo nurse.  When Emily reviewed my labs with us, she noted that the indicator for my immune system shows it is highly functioning.  That's a definite plus.  She also told me the red chemo drug would turn my pee color.  It did.  I laughed out loud as I flushed the toilet in the chemo suite.  

Now, we wait for the dust to settle, to see how my body reacts and hope, of course, for the absolute best.  For those of you who have been blessing us with your prayers, keep them coming!  

Red Umbrella-A Leap of Faith

Yesterday, we found ourselves at MN Oncology meeting with Dr. Gesme, my oncologist.  WM literally drove all night (from NM to MN) with Aunt Kris to be at the appointment with me.  In one hand, I had a list of questions from Angie (what a blessing to have a pediatrician who dabbles in oncology for a friend), and in the other hand, an equally long list of concerns of our own.


He patiently and thoroughly addressed each one as I flung them about in rapid fire.  Diet.  Secondary cancer for the baby.  Delaying my treatment to the second trimester.  He didn't bat an eye when he suggested one chemo cocktail and I asked why not another.  


Questions answered, we now have a plan.  Chemo begins March 30.  It will be a full day.  There's 'chemo class' to start with, detailing the ins and outs of chemotherapy including a tour of the chemo lounge as I am choosing to call it.  Makes it sound nice and swanky, doesn't it?  Are you thinking leather club chairs and fancy cocktails paired with bites that seem almost too artful to eat?  Yes, almost.  After class, I have my initial labs, a quick meeting with Dr. Gesme for any last minute questions and then it's time for my first infusion.  In total, it should take about three hours.  Thankfully, the schedule worked to allow WM to go with me.  It is his intention to go to all of my treatments.  Have I told you how lucky I am to have him by my side through all of this?  Truly, I am blessed.  


If I am fortunate enough to have good blood counts and no delays due to colds or illness, my last infusion will come 15 weeks after my first.  I will then be 31 weeks pregnant.  I like that I have wiggle room.  If there are delays, there is still plenty of time for my body to rebuild itself before Baby arrives provided he/she doesn't make an unexpected and early appearance.


So there you have it.  The plan.  


I'm glad I have my trusty red umbrella to hold onto.  It's quite the leap of faith allowing someone to pour what is in essence poison into your pregnant body.  Hopefully, this umbrella of mine will have a Marry Poppins effect.  Once I leap, I'll find myself floating down gracefully, bag in hand, as I have places to go and plenty of things to do.

Red Umbrella-An Update & Too Much Fun

I have yet to figure out how best to communicate health updates with everyone via FreshPicked.  Do I pick a day each week and share the previous week's news?  Do I post updates as things happen?  What to do...what to do...


Today, I'll share what's happened since my last post.  I imagine as time passes and this all really starts to unfold, a routine will sort itself out.  


On the baby front, my numbers are looking good, and I'm feeling great.  Last Monday, my HCG level needed to be 500.  It was 772.  By Thursday, it should have been close to 2000.  It was close enough to my target of 4000 that the labs for this week were cancelled.  Yea!  My progesterone level was a very healthy 26.4.  This is probably all mumbo jumbo to you, but bottom line is that Baby Flynn is doing well.  Very well to date.  Our first ultrasound is scheduled for next week, we'll find out just how many babies are cooking in there and get a more accurate due date.  If you ask Channing, there are FIVE babies in there.  FIVE.  He has five growing in his belly too.  Four Sophies and one Kendra.  


On the cancer front, my genetics tests came back normal.  I am not genetically predisposed to breast cancer nor are any of my sisters.  Hooray!  


I had a visit with Dr. O'Leary this morning.  He confirmed that the wound from my lumpectomy is healing quite well.  The excess tape has been removed, and the stray bits and pieces of the stitches previously poking through my skin have all been trimmed off.  Yea!  My margins were good.  .7 to 1 cm around the invasive cancer.  He did find non-invasive cancer within the margin and advised that if my pregnancy were taken out of the equation, he'd go back in and remove more tissue to get a larger clean margin in that area.  However, between our baby and the long term plan, he feels it is best to leave things alone for now.  If we did nothing, it would dramatically increase my odds of recurrence within the next two years.  We have plans though, big plans, once Baby Flynn arrives.  We did discuss the 'when' part of the plan.  He didn't want to discuss future surgery at all.  I told him I have to know what's coming down the pipeline.  The timing of my next surgery all depends on how my body responds to the chemo and what they find with scans and other tests once Baby Flynn is here.  Only time will tell.  My next appointment is Monday.  Michael & I will meet with my oncologist, Dr. Gesme, to discuss chemotherapy.  


As I'm rereading the above, the voice in my head changes from my own to that of the teacher in any and every Charlie Brown television special, 'wha...wha...wha...'.  Either are truly better than the sound of my actual voice currently.  I can speak in no more than a whisper thanks to this nasty cold that will not go away.  


Channing thought for a minute he found my voice underneath the bed covers this morning, reaching under and pulling out a fist-full of 'something'.  He promptly shoved it into my mouth.  The look of disbelief and disappointment on his face when my voice didn't immediately start to work was priceless.  He patted my cheek, 'It's OK, Mommy.'  Sweet, sweet boy.


He's been having lots of fun as of late with a red umbrella that magically appeared on our doorstep.  I discovered it as we pulled out of the driveway yesterday morning.  It was there, leaning against the door, in the shelter of our porch.  From a distance, it looked like it had a note tied to it.  Closer inspection revealed it did not.  Given the style of the umbrella and the thoughtfulness of the gesture, I had my ideas as to who the mysterious benefactor was.  After a quick email, my suspicion was confirmed.  Maxine!  It was Maxine!!  This beautiful, red umbrella, physical confirmation of the love and support of the friends and family rooting for us in this battle, has become the source of all kinds of crazy fun for Channing.  


It's for hiding.

It's for twirling.

It's for marching.

And because Maxine has a soft spot for Channing in her heart the size of the Grand Canyon, I can also share that it's been used for seeking shelter while peeing.  

These things.  These are the things that are going to lift our hearts and our spirits with joy and with love and get us through the times in the coming months, sure to come, that are filled with fear and fatigue and all sorts of other ickiness.  

As I said before and will continue to say in the days ahead.  Let it rain!

Red Umbrella

In the past week and a half, I have learned two things, two very important and monumental things.  One:  I am pregnant.  This new life that grows within me is too new to be talking about, yet it is already woven so tightly into this story that keeping the news to myself would be like telling a half-truth.  I am barely four weeks pregnant.  I’m sure you’re wondering to yourself why in the world I would share this news so soon.  After miscarrying twins in July, WM & I’d agreed to keep the news quiet and close the next time around.  Well, next time around is here, and you already know.  I.  Am.  Pregnant. 

Not just pregnant, but over the moon with excitement.  That part’s important as you read on.  Very important.

I have breast cancer.  It’s stage II invasive ductal carcinoma to be precise.  What?  How?  Truthfully, I am still reeling a bit from the news and how quickly everything has moved.  In summary, I’ve had two biopsies, one for my breast and one for my lymph nodes.  The first, obviously, did not have the results I would have liked.  The second, came back clean.  Good news as that suggests the cancer has not spread elsewhere in my body.

I had a lumpectomy on Thursday.  The cancer was successfully removed.  The margin was large and clean.  Well, for the most part.  There was some non-invasive cancer that appeared a little closer to the edge of the margin than the doctor would have liked.  In the grand scheme of things, it amounts to nothing.

The grand scheme of things?  Well, with being pregnant, it unfolds something like this:

I start with a lumpectomy.  Chemotherapy will begin with my second trimester.  Apparently, you can do chemo when you’re pregnant.  Who knew?  Certainly not me.  Chemo will continue until I’m 32 weeks pregnant.  Baby Flynn is due mid-September.  I am uncertain at this time how close to full-term I will deliver.  Per Doctor O’Leary, my surgeon at the cancer center, ‘once the dust settles’, we will deal with the rest.  That means a double mastectomy and reconstruction. 

Shocked?  You’re not the only one.

I can tell you this with absolute certainty.  I can do this.  It is my goal to do so with dignity and grace.  How do I know I can do this?  I am filled less with fear and more with fierce resolve.  WM is my rock.  This past year has proven that ten times over.  There is no one-NO ONE- I would choose to travel this road with but him.  WC is my reason.  In the early days after losing Sophie, he was my reason for getting out of bed each day.   I do not want to miss out on one second of his wild and precious life.  He is the reason I will fight this disease even on the days when I find that the fight is tougher than I ever imagined.  Our baby is fuel for my fire.  What better motivation than a wee one yet to come into the world?  That, and I have a bitty angel in my corner.  Sophie’s looking out for this mama.  She is indeed. 

I need to share just one last thing.  I don’t like pink.  Ironic isn’t it?  Anything and everything having to do with breast cancer is emblazoned with the color that to me is like nails on a chalk board.  With the exception of one or two shades, pink makes my skin crawl.

Since, the moment, Dr. O’Leary delivered the news, one song has been running through my head over and over and over and over.  Red Umbrella.  Faith Hill.  I begin this battle in conjunction with my own one-woman campaign.  I already made myself a shirt.  I will wear it with great determination.  Please note, pink is distinctly absent from the design.

So let it rain, it’s pourin’ all around me

Let it fall, it aint’ gonna drown me

After all I’m gonna be okay, so let it rain

Faith  Hill