Ring That Bell!!

Sixteen treatments in the bag!  No more ill-fitting johnnies and wonky bathrobes, no more flying spaceships aiming laser beams at my chest, no more terrible daytime TV in the waiting room.  No more name, birthdate, area of treatment quizzes and gallons of hand sanitizer turning my hands into alligator skin. 

But, more importantly, no more nasty cancer cells sneaking through my body looking for an opportunity to make trouble.  We've nailed those bad guys once and for all!

I was so lucky to have a wonderful staff every day who were professional, compassionate and, dare I say it, fun!  We laughed at the absurdity of the situation, me clinging to the handlebars above my head while they rubber-banded my feet together to keep me from moving after they lined me up under the crosshairs of the radiation spitter-outer (a technical term, I'm sure).  

To further ensure the success of my treatments I invoked the spirit of  Wonder Woman.  Each day I put on my special slippers

and said a prayer that the radiation was hunting down those rascally cancer cells and destroying them completely.  For my final day, and the sublime experience of ringing the celebration bell, I decided to go full out,  busting out my Wonder Woman Halloween costume.  The staff seemed to enjoy the experience as much as I did.

Even the doctor who came in to do my final exam seemed impressed with my sartorial choice.  Before he checked me over he wanted me to model my cape.  I have a feeling he hasn't had too many patients show up in superhero garb for their radiology treatments.

SO...what's next?  Tomorrow I begin taking a little pill with a very big name.  Anastrozole will inhibit the production of estrogen and prevent cancer cells from using that to fuel their growth.  I can expect to be on that for five years with interim checkups, mammograms and blood tests.  My surgeon and oncologist will stay connected, monitoring my  progress closely.  Just let those nasty cancer cells TRY to make a comeback!  We'll be ready for them with guns a-blazing.

One chapter of this strange journey ends and it's on to the next one.  2020 has been a year of strangeness, and obviously not just for me.  The lessons of the past few months have been profound. I now cherish each day with a new sense of joy and anticipation. Nothing is guaranteed. Family and friends are the true jewels in our lives and need to be treasured. Worrying never changes tomorrow.  It only makes today miserable.

We are most certainly in uncharted territory as we wait to see the ultimate impact of this terrible scourge making its way to every corner of the world.  The only true weapons we have are common sense, a shared mission of compassion, and faith in the technological expertise of the medical community working so hard to get ahead of this crisis.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring...but let's make the most of today!!

(And remember to schedule those Mammograms once this craziness is over!!!)

   

The True Heroes of this Crisis Wear Scrubs

This is week three of Radiation treatments for my breast cancer.  To date, I've had twelve of my scheduled sixteen sessions.  In the perfect "just my luck" scenario, this time period has also coincided with the ramp up of the Covid-19 debacle seizing the world by the cojones throat.  Radiation causes me to be immuno-suppressed, no small consideration as this virus makes its way through the general population.  I am also in one of the more vulnerable age categories, 40's 50's whatever... Lucky me.

For the most part, its impact on me has been minimal.  I am blessed with a devoted husband who gleefully shops the senior hour at the grocery store, plans and executes delicious meals and drives me to my radiation therapy.  But there is where things have been getting weirder and weirder.  Here is a chronology of the experience.

Day One:  We show up, walk into the facility together, figure out my barcode scan-in process [actually, he does...I stand there trying to figure out where the scanner IS],  and then separate at the door to the treatment area.  He sits in the waiting room just outside the area, reads his book and chats with the receptionist.  I go in, change into the always-attractive and fashion forward johnny and robe, wait in the inner waiting room furnished with stacks of great magazines that are actually from THIS year, am called in, give my name, birthdate and area of treatment and spend a few short minutes under the rotating buzzing mini-spaceship.  End of appointment.

Day Two: Pretty much the same, although Brendan opts to wait in the Solarium just inside the door where he can read a book, or work on the giant jigsaw puzzle on the table and chat with other family members waiting. He opts to read and not chat. My routine is the same.

Day Five: Signs appear stating that family members are no longer allowed in the building and must wait in the car. No big deal; this eliminates the chat issue. [Yeah, he's the introvert to my extrovert.] 

Day Six: Multiple large signs appear requiring the use of the hand sanitizer pumps before entering any doorway.  Because of an earlier doctor's appointment nearby, Brendan and I opt to bring some sandwiches and eat in the cafeteria, which closes to the public the following day.

Day Seven: Signs are revised to include using sanitizer pumps AFTER leaving any doorway.

Day Eight:  The magazines in the inner waiting room have disappeared and chairs are moved further apart.  A separate area for patients with face masks is walled off.

Day Nine:  In addition to the usual questions about my name, birthdate and treatment area, I have to use every hand sanitizer pump between the front door and the treatment table (a total of five) and affirm that I do not have a cough, a fever or shortness of breath.

Day Ten:  The pre-treatment "quiz" is amended to add the question whether I have been in contact with anyone who has tested positive for Covid-19.

Day Eleven:  Driving up to the facility requires taking a certain route indicated by staff with red "airport tarmac" wands, stopping at two checkpoints to answer the health questions [at both checkpoints] and receiving a "check-in" sticker.  Brendan is given a designated area to park while he waits.

Day Twelve: Another checkpoint is added inside the facility to screen all people walking in, directing them to the correct destination and ensuring all hand sanitizers are being used.  All staff in the facility are wearing medical masks.  

Through all of this, the staff have retained their wonderfully cheerful attitudes, despite being "challenged" at times, usually by an older patient who is clearly frightened by all of this protocol.  Granted, my appointments have been in the morning; heaven only knows how long their patience could hold out over a long day of treatments and irritable patients.  They are truly heroes to go through all of this. It can't be easy, for sure.

These doctors, nurses, technicians and administrators cannot  "shelter in place".  Instead they must stay on the job to work with patients, some severely immuno-compromised and in desperate need of the therapies the center offers to keep them alive while also potentially exposing them to a deadly virus.  Then these staff members return to their families praying that they are not conveying anything harmful home.  It is truly a delicate balance. 

Today there was a brief power outage as I waited to go in for my treatment.  The technicians and nurse on duty stayed calm, checked to make sure we were all ok [it got VERY dark for a few moments], assured us that there would be only a minor delay while the equipment rebooted and carried on.  Their professional demeanor soothed a lot of nerves, including mine!  

I feel fortunate to be as healthy as I am.  With only four more radiation sessions left I feel significantly fatigued [two pages of a book and I am down for the count] but have otherwise had no adverse effects.  The stories I hear from others in the waiting area:  four hour round trip drives every day, multiple cancer sites in advanced stages, debilitating side effects from concurrent chemo treatments...all give me a profound sense of gratitude for my situation and the caring professionals in whose hands I have been placed.

It's ALL going to be ok in the end.  Everything.  We just need to be patient, use common sense and keep our sense of humor.

  
Addendum:  This is a family fight and this is my sister Betsy, 
a Nurse Practicioner on the front lines in Florida.  I am SO very proud of her and all of her fellow health care workers!

What a difference a year makes!☘️

A year ago today I was in Dublin watching the St. Patrick's Day parade and enjoying Irish coffee and Guinness with friends and  a huge crowd of strangers.  This year I am in house quarantine and leaving the house only to get daily doses of radiation. Who woulda thunk it?

Life has been turned upside down for everyone by the Corona Virus. No St Patrick Day parades ANYWHERE, people worried about scoring enough hand sanitizer and toilet paper (not sure why that one became such a critical issue) to see them through the foreseeable future.  Restaurants, bars, bowling alleys, movie theaters, schools, coffee shops...all closed with patrons and staff alike worried about their futures. Families are separated, vacations cancelled, hospitals bracing for the worst. It is truly a surreal environment. 

Yet, in the midst of it all, Spring is still arriving.  The unmistakable sights of green shoots pushing through the ground, vee formations of geese heading north and robins foraging for worms on softened lawns verify that.  Nature moves on, following patterns established long before humans arrived to complicate things.  That gives me hope for our earth, despite the dire predictions for its future.

I have completed seven doses of radiation, with nine more to go.  So far the process has been relatively easy.  I arrive a few minutes early, change into those most fashionable of gowns and robes and await the summons into the radiation room.  I have added my own personal good luck charm to the wardrobe, a special pair of slipper socks: 

These have earned me the nickname "Wonder Woman" from the staff, who think they are magic.  This has been a tough time for them since they have to be exceptionally vigilant and cautious, working with such a high risk population. They have implemented some additional precautions including requiring patients to use EVERY hand sanitizing station between the front door and the radiation room, five in total.  Anyone with a cough is issued a mask and someone with a fever or severe shortness of breath is requested to cancel.  Today I saw a man sent home with breathing issues.  He drives over an hour each day for his treatment and has months of treatments ahead of him. There are many patients like that in the 30+ people that each of the two radiation rooms handle each day.  I feel very fortunate to be as healthy as I am and to only have a twenty minute drive for this short episode in my life. As many of you have assured me, "I've got this!"

With so many of us hunkered down for the duration and not used to keeping ourselves busy, it's a good idea to think creatively.  Thanks to a facebook post from my friend Moira, I  found this listing from an Australian company.  I thought it was a brilliant list.  But, then I again, I am easily amused.  Take a look:

You can go to the website listed at the bottom and request a PDF version with hotlinks.  Not every idea appeals to everyone, of course (I leave anything to do with the kitchen to Mr. B, my master chef!) but there are some ideas that I would not have thought of.  There is no reason to mope around the house, lamenting the current situation and this list proves it.

My sister Betsy, a nurse and a mom, also offers some great advice. (Yeah, she's the one we "tortured" as a child but she turned out fantastic despite that experience!)  She says, "This social distancing and self quarantine does not mean you can’t go outside. You all need to go out and experience nature - a walk, hike, stroll, boat trip - anything to get you outside. You can’t stay inside watching the news all day. Mother nature has alot to teach us. Turn off the TV, go outside. Wipe the doorknob as you leave." 

Also, don't forget about your neighbors.  Check in on anyone alone (via email, phone, note on their door or hand signals through the windows).  This is a great time to learn FaceTime or VideoCalling to stay in touch.  Let's take care of each other!

SO, Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!  Grab your favorite beverage, lift it high and say SLAINTE!  It means "Health" in Gaelic and will ward off all the Corona Virus nasties...guaranteed!!   

Oh...and don't forget to WASH YOUR HANDS!!!

And AWAAAAAAY We Go!

Day One is in the books. No nervousness, just a sense of relief that this wagon is on the move again!  I wore my lucky socks so I knew all would go well.

The Radiation Team was ready for me with warm blankets (Gawd, I LOVE those warm blankets) and I assumed my position on the platform.  The crew aligned the machinery with my tattoos, chanting some mysterious numbers which I assume were the settings and then it was time to let 'er rip!  The music playing was YMCA and they cautioned me not to dance, as much as I may want to.  I told them not to worry as I clearly do not have a gift for that activity and wouldn't want to embarass myself anymore than I already have. (I could have added that it is a little difficult to feel the urge to boogie when you are lying under a mini-spaceship with your boobs exposed to the world.) In just a few minutes it was over and time to rejoin humanity.  

BUT FIRST: Mondays are check-in days so I met with a nurse who went over skin care and a doctor who just stopped in to say hello and see if I had any questions. I assume future Mondays will include a check of the radiation site but since it was Day One, there was nothing to see. I asked him about the breathing debacle and, basically, if I was a mutant of some kind for not being able to hyperinflate my lungs.  He laughed (sort of) and said that it had been a long shot from the outset and they didn't really expect that I would have been able to hit the mark but wanted to give it a try. That made me feel better, but also a little annoyed that they were setting me up that way.  Oh well, water under the bridge at this point. 

Time to get dressed and head out to the lounge where Brendan was waiting.  He was reading but also eavesdropping on an older couple who were engaged in a heated argument over  a huge jigsaw puzzle that was on the table.  "That piece DOES NOT go there"..."It's the ONLY place it can go"...."The colors don't match"..."What do you know, you're colorblind"...We couldn't get out of there fast enough, hoping that isn't us in another ten years.

I did run into a bit of a roadblock trying to follow the nurse's skin care orders.  She instructed me to purchase Fruit of the Earth clear Aloe Vera gel with no alcohol to apply to my skin twice daily.  It turns out  that is a basic ingredient in homemade hand sanitizer and with everyone in panic mode over the Corona Virus and no commercial hand sanitizer available, there is no Aloe Vera gel to be had. Yikes!  Every drugstore and grocery chain is out and even Amazon is backordered.  Whole foods had a dinky little tube of some other brand with a hefty price tag but I bought it anyway.  Later I found some of the "good stuff" on...drum roll... EBAY!

It will arrive next week (hopefully).  Timing is everything in this world, and, as usual, mine sucks!  C'mon people, just wash your hands WELL  and you'll be fine! That has been proven to be much more effective than hand sanitizers!

Now put the Aloe Vera gel back on the shelf, back away and head for the soap aisle.  My fellow radiation buddies and I thank you in advance!

So, one treatment down, fifteen more to go.  Thankfully the trip is only a twenty minute commute but we both will be glad when it's over.  I think even Brendan's car is getting a little bored with the trip.  But it will all be worth it in the end if it zaps any and all nasty little cancer boogers, sending them to cancer hell FOR GOOD!  It will be nice to get my life back again!  

I saw this and couldn't resist:

   Don't forget those mammograms, Ladies!! They save lives!!

About that breathing thing? Totally Overrated!

Crisis over.  Situation returned to normal (at least normal for me).  The new protocol uses different coordinates to avoid my heart area and any need to become a human balloon.  I am beyond grateful to the amazing staff who worked out the new settings and dodged that bullet for me.  This morning's session was relaxed as they did new scans and took the necessary readings so I can begin the actual radiation on Monday morning.  I can almost say I am looking forward to it but, more accurately, I am looking forward to getting it started because the sooner it starts, the sooner it ends. There will be sixteen sessions, every weekday (M-F) until March 30.  Once done, it will be a terrific way to celebrate Spring, a season of new beginnings and hope.

The chart above describes my aspirations for this next stage perfectly. The superpowers have already been arriving in the form of the army of supporters who have seen me through this so far.  You all know who you are and I could bear-hug every one of you!  

After my last ("I'm a failure at breathing yada yada yada") post there was a huge outpouring of encouragement, support and positive energy in the form of emails, texts, and facebook posts.  But to REALLY prevent me from wallowing in a giant tub of "poor me" pudding, my youngest sister Betsy sent this along:

                                      

Our family motto has always been "Tease and Be Teased: Dish it out but get ready to have it come right back in spades!"  Of all of my siblings (two sisters, one brother), Betsy has the most right to payback.  As the youngest she endured over-the-top harassment at our hands. We would pull her cute little baby toes until the joints cracked. [To this day she claims her current size 11 shoe size is a direct result.]  She was our entertainment at the family dinner table as kids when we would signal her to fart on command and she would dutifully comply, much to our parents frustration, since the actual signaller was rarely identified. We awarded her extra points if we were having dinner guests, thus escalating the parental flashpoint. Countless dinners went unfinished as we were ALL banished to our rooms, giggling uncontrollably as we left the dining room.

So I particularly enjoyed this cartoon and laughed until the tears were running down my face. Well played, Betsy!! It also helped me get perspective on the issue.  This was NOT going to be an insurmountable obstacle, not when I have come this far.  And it wasn't.  It's now resolved and I'm ready for the job at hand.

And about those superpowers...I'm thinking of revising my planned tattoo when this is all over.  Something along these lines might be pretty cool:  

Cancer, you've messed with the WRONG sister! And I've got an army of supporters to back me up on that!!!

Every day can't be a banner day in this journey...but it still sucks

There are some days when the stars align perfectly, the toast lands jelly side up, all the traffic lights turn green as you approach, all is right with the world. 

Today was not one of those days.  In true roller coaster mode, fresh from my joy of yesterday's test results, I discovered the universe has a sense of humor and loves a good smackdown to put me back in my place.

The radiation site is on the left side very close to my heart. In order to minimize any risk I need to be able to hyperinflate my lungs to increase the distance between the two.  No problem...I breathe every day...a lot.  I'm not a smoker, have no respiratory issues, am in relatively good shape so it would be a piece of cake.  Or so I thought.

Ok, so who flunks breathing?  This goober, that's who! My first radiation treatment was scheduled for this afternoon.  I was very excited to get this process going and move on.

I showed up for my appointment early, followed directions for which way to put on the johnny and the robe (side comment: SOMEBODY please design a new version of these horrors with ties that make sense, please!) and headed into the room with all of the space age machinery. I was pleasantly greeted by three lovely technicians who were obviously doing their best to make me comfortable.  They positioned me on the table and told me not to move.  I didn't.  Next they told me that they need to scan my breathing using a catscan and x-ray process. They began their instructions: Take a deep breath and hold it.  More. More. Ok, breathe.  Let's try again.  And again.  And again.  And again. Something's not right. Finally, they told me they will have to consult with the doctor/physicist to come up with another plan. WTF?  In other words, I failed.  I felt like a complete idiot.  This should have been a no-brainer.  Of all of the hurdles in this process, I never saw this one coming. The technicians were very kind, assuring me that I am not the first one they have had with this issue but I still felt like the kid who has to have the training wheels put back on her bike while everyone else gets to move on to the ten-speeds.  They get to move on to chapter books and I am handed a coloring book and some jumbo crayons.  Sheesh, talk about failing Life 101!

The worst part was the walk of shame out to the waiting room to tell Brendan the news.  He looked at me like I was speaking some foreign language.  Yes, dear, I flunked BREATHING, that thing we all do without even thinking about it.  To be fair, he was very supportive, as usual, but I have to think he was thinking different thoughts than the soothing ones he expressed.

Friday morning at 9:30 I will go back and they will try the new plan developed just for me, the breathing idiot.  And then Monday, hopefully, the sixteen days of treatment begins. Another delay in this interminable nightmare.  I know it will be insignificant in the end but right now it feels like a brick wall right in the middle of the path placed there by no one other than ME and my uncooperative lungs.

This is Restaurant Week in Maine, a chance for restaurants to showcase a special price fixed menu.  We had planned to go out tonight to celebrate the start of the Radiation process.  We went anyway, to a lovely restaurant called Eighteen95 in an old armory downtown.  But instead of having a celebratory beer, I chose a Margarita to assuage my feelings of dissapointment and give myself a little self-pitying buzz.  It was still a great meal.

And all will be right again, come Friday, I know (but I am practicing holding my breath just in case!)

A Great Day!

Today the Oncotype DX score FINALLY arrived. We met with Dr. Inhorn, my oncologist who came in smiling (a good sign) and announced, "Good News".  We held our breath as he said, "you scored a nine."  As both Brendan and I exhaled, Dr. Inhorn could see just how relieved we were. He reiterated that there would be no chemo, a huge relief not just because of that ordeal but because it would delay radiation for three months, stretching out this whole surreal experience to nearly eight months! He knew that my first radiation treatment is scheduled for tomorrow so we knew the results had come just in time.  Danielle, his medical assistant turned out to be the true hero.  She was the one who made call after call to the insurance company (the "villains" in this saga) to convince them that these results were critical and needed to be released before radiation starts.  I think she wore them down to the point that they approved them just to keep her from calling again...God Bless Her! She deserves a superhero cape in my opinion!

So now I move on to sixteen days of radiation, ending in late March. I then begin taking Anastrozole, an estrogen inhibitor, effective because my tumors were positive for estrogen receptors. The treatment plan calls for five years of this medication with six month checkups. Side effects can be significant but we'll cross that bridge when I come to it.  Joint and Muscle pain is the chief one that Dr. Inhorn mentioned so I need to get back into my walking/gym routine. [Hello, rowing machine, my good friend...I've missed you 🚣‍♀️ .] It's also time to load up my phone with some good books from Audible and get back to my morning walks🚶‍♀️on the Back Cove.  Now if we can just convince Mother Nature to hold off on the blizzards for a few more weeks, I'll be golden! Brendan is excited because he heard "hiking" somewhere in that discussion and is already fantasizing about dragging me up his bucket list of mountains. Those will be interesting blog posts unless he learns to read map contour lines better. I don't enjoy steep elevation hiking (and my knees go into full-on protest mode) so our past mountain hiking history is a bit checkered, replete with crying jags and four letter words [all mine, I'll admit.]  

So Nine is my new lucky number. I googled it and found some great things about it:

🔹Nine is the number of magic. 🔮🐇🎩

🔹Nine is a sacred number. 🙏🏻🗿🕍

🔹Nine is the number of completion and fulfillment.🧘‍♀️🏆🥇

🔹Nine is a symbol of wisdom and good leadership.👑🦉🏛

🔹Nine is the number of heaven.👼🌌🎚

All true for me...Plus Nine is my birth month ♎️

So the signs look promising!  Full speed ahead to a cure...and damn the torpedos!

Maybe if I ever do get that tattoo, it will be 

Thanks again to everyone sending their cosmic well-wishes to insure that low number...it WORKED!💜

Oh...and don't forget about those mammograms, ladies! ❤️