H&P #9

Summer is flying by, especially when you keep track by my three-week timeline of treatments.  Nothing much to report today.
Dr. F did prescribe a new drug to try to see if it can give me some relief from my allergic reaction to what we can only assume is in response to my maintenance drugs.  The reaction was especially annoying this cycle.  Here's a reminder of the ugly, itchy, red bumps.

On a positive note, my hair has grown enough that I was able to get some highlights and a haircut!  I also realized it's been awhile since I last posted the photos!

April-May

June-July 3

It's summer, and I'm kicking cancer's butt in shorts and sandals.  Seeing my 4th of July toes reminds me how grateful I am to live in this country and to have the availability of doctors and care that I do.  I am very blessed!

























Because of vacation, I won't be back until August, which will be my last treatment until school starts again!  Slow down, SUMMER!!!!

H&P #8...Take Two

I recently spoke at a local women's conference.  My topic was, "How to Find Silver Linings in Even the Darkest Skies."  This was right up my alley, as this very idea has become one of my mottos in life.  During my first cancer battle, I made a goal to become more grateful and to notice and give gratitude for even the smallest blessings.  I also began learning to follow the phrase, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade."  I used to think that finding the silver linings in life was synonymous with making lemonade out of lemons, but I now see at least two major differences.   

First, when certain trials hit, it can seem nearly impossible to turn the sour into sweet.  As my sister-in-law so clearly explained once, "when a truckload of lemons is dumped on you unexpectedly, it's hard enough to just dig your way out and find air to breathe.  How can you possibly start making lemonade, if you are so overwhelmed by being trapped in a pile of lemons that you can't even get to the kitchen?"  I loved this new take on the lemons to lemonade concept.  She's right.  Certain trials are so overwhelming that just surviving in the midst of them is the most a person can do.  When you are doing your best to not become completely consumed by the lemons of life, but you still have no "lemonade" to show for your efforts, is it possible that you might still be making the best of a bad situation?  Yes!  It is quite possible, indeed!  

Often, optimism during the most difficult times is not as simple as just taking the bad and making something good out of it.  Making lemonade out of the lemons of life is not a simple one-step process.  It takes time.  Finding silver linings---staying humble and full of gratitude, even during trials---is something that can be done in the meantime.  It is possible to take life's lemons and be grateful that they aren't heavier, or be happy that the lemons' yellow hue is reminisicent of the brightness of the sun, that you know how you got your lemons, that you have a bag to help carry the lemons, or that someone has come by to help.  Even if you can't turn the sour points of life into lemonade right away,  you can learn how to recognize blessings and slowly work your way to the kitchen, or at least dig out, breathe, and start carrying the lemons you've been given.

Another difference, you're not always going to be able to turn your lemons into lemonade.  Sometimes, you will always be stuck with lemons.  You might have sugar, a juicer, a pitcher, and other necessities required to change this sour fruit into a refreshingly sweet beverage, but there are certain lemons that will always stay lemons.  How can a person make sweetness out of sour if the sour never goes away?  It is possible to find the sweetness in life even if your lemons never change to lemonade?  Yes!  

Lemons themselves have other uses than just lemonade.  Use lemons with water, or to accompany and flavor seafood.  The zest can give a brightness to many dishes.  Lemons can aid in cleaning.  These are only a few ways to use a lemon that don't involve lemonade.  When you are unable to change your trials, there are still ways to find joy in life.  You might have to learn how to keep on living, keep on finding the things for which you can be grateful, even when the bitterness of life doesn't change to sweet.  

Both "lemons to lemonade" and "silver linings" teach optimism amidst trials.  The thing we forget to notice is that we might never taste the lemonade in this life, and we might never truly see a sky without dark clouds.  The truest gratitude and most positive outlook is to learn to understand that even when there seems to be no hope, there is always hope.  Even when trials seem unbearable, there is a way made that you may bear them.  Even if all we can see is darkness, there is always light.  Sometimes, faith in that Light is the only thing that can help us weather the storms.  

I will never be able to rid my life of cancer.  Unfortunately, cancer is a lemon that I won't ever be able to make completely sweet.  However, I'm able to use this platform to inspire others, to share my experiences, and to be a voice for believing in miracles.  Even though I can't turn all of these lemons into lemonade, I can bring sweetness into my life and the lives of others.

Silver linings are those moments of tender mercy when we are able to see the light through the storm, when we are given glimpses of the great love God has for each of us.  Some of life's storms are never over.   Some of life's lemons cannot turn to lemonade.  However, if we keep pressing on, we know that it is possible to survive, even through the storms and even though some lemons will always just been lemons.  It is possible to have faith that even when we can't calm the storm or sweeten the sour, there is One who can and does in small and simple ways.  Instead of trying to change the trials that are guaranteed to accompany mortality, is is our job to find the blessings that accompany the challenges.  Often, knowing that we are loved, that we are constantly blessed, and that there is a chance that things could change is all it takes to keep going one more day.             

Herceptin & Perjeta #8......Take One

I was supposed to have a treatment today. I got up and got my boys ready and packed to go to a friend's house. I drove to the Cancer Center and waited for my turn. I chose my chair and made myself comfortable. Then, I was told that there was a mistake and someone forgot to order my Perjeta. 

So....now we get to turn around and try this all again on Friday. They told me I could bring the boys, but thankfully, my friend offered to watch them again.  

Best laid plans. 

Leave it to Fleener--H&P #7

Back at it again.  

Coming back from Hawaii has been hard. Just returning to life away from the beach is less than perfect, but in the week we came home, I had chemo, cub scouts pinewood derby (kill me now), child-made plumbing issues, a child who choked on a rock and required the heimlich, a women's conference speech to prepare and give, all with many LOONG days of work for Stephen, which put me as mostly a single parent.  In the last few weeks, there have been a wave of end-of-year school activities, a quick, 3-day trip out of town, a dermatologist appoint, the usual soccer practices and games, as well as an attempt to rearrange and deep clean my house.  Basically, I feel like I've barely been keeping my head above water, so it's been difficult to even think about updating this blog (or our family one, for that matter.)  

If there's one thing I've learned about fighting cancer, it's that life most certainly does not slow down to accommodate that fight.  We have to step up and meet it, realizing that there will be things that will fall aside or slip through the cracks.  It's true that no one can do everything, but somehow all the important things get done. 

I met with Dr. Fleener today.  She was excited that I'm still in remission (and somewhat annoyed that the reports said, only "stable."  Cancer patients need to hear that they are in remission. )  My ECHO is still normal, as well.  At this point, she is very happy with how I have responded to chemo and how I am still remaining "stable."  It's hard to believe I'm coming up on a year since this all came back again!  But, she is positive that I'll make it to a year this time, and that's a BIG milestone for metastatic disease.  She was describing several of her other patients that are in similar situations as I am.  There really isn't a lot of information available on the use of Herceptin and Perjeta beyond three years, and she has several patients beyond that stage.  These are meant for use with lifelong maintenance, but most of those "life-long" timetables don't last beyond a few years.  It's fun being somewhat of a lab rat, but comforting that I'm not her only rat!  You just never know what's around the corner!  

I never dreamed I'd have cancer at age 33.  

I thought my battle was behind me when I reached my first year in remission.

I certainly never expected to have to start fighting again so soon since the last battle.  

However, I'm still here.  I'm still fighting.  I still matter, and life goes on.  

Yes, there are hard days.  There are times when I fear.  There are times when I am sad and angry and questioning.   I get nervous about aches and pains that pop up and question when cancer's storm cloud will actually begin storming once more.  There are days when I cry long, heavy tears, weeping for the unknown, for my family, for how long we have before they will have to go on without me, for this burden we all carry at all.  When I do have these days, I then get even more upset at myself for allowing the fear and doubts to creep in and overtake the peace and comfort that has blessed my life many times before.  Guilt over shrinking can make the pain that much more difficult.  

Then, I come across words that must have been written just for me:  

    

EMBRACE THE LIFE YOU HAVE.  I would rather be known for doing as much good with the time I have been given than for only grieving what could have been.  If I could go back, surely I would choose to not have cancer.  However, if that meant having to deal with some other tragedy, one for which I was even less prepared, I'm not sure I would make a trade.   Who knows why we must walk these difficult paths.  Who knows if there were choices in the past that led us to these exact points in the future.  All we can know if that we can embrace each moment, trust that every day of life is truly a gift, one in which we are expected to do and become better than we were the day before.  

As Dr. Fleener counseled me:  "You never know what the next summer [or month, season, etc.] will bring.  So, play this summer.  Soak it all in.  Do as much as you feel up to doing."  That pretty much sums up how I plan to embrace my life in the coming months.  

Still kicking'!  

PET Scan

I was not looking forward to this round of scans AT ALL.  I cried.  I complained.  I did not want to go!  I was especially not looking forward to the 24-hour diet of ONLY lean protein and green veggies.  And by "only," I mean...ONLY.  No juice, no toast, no potatoes.  No rice, pasta, or tortillas.  Avoid all sugar, all fruits, all fruit juices, raisins, beats, cantaloupe, cereal, breads, carrots, corn, kidney beans, pretzels, chips, granola, oatmeal, pasta, peas, yams, sodas, etc.  Only drink water.  Even though I was not happy about my limited food choices, I did it.  Then, in the 23rd hour, I received a phone call explaining that the PET scans were broken.  They thought a power outage had fried the computer motherboard.  Regardless of the issue, I would not be having my scheduled scans.  "Go have a glass of wine.  Eat some ice cream," the tech told me.  Well, that would have been information useful to me BEFORE I'd gone through the diet to almost the full amount.  There was no telling when the repairs would be complete, so she would call back to reschedule.

Thankfully, the machines were back up and I was able to get the first appointment of Thursday morning, May 5.  And, because I'd already eaten breakfast that day, I would not have to go another 24 hours of the diet!

That morning, I got up and going early, got Evan to a friend's house, so he would s

till get to school on time, and headed to the appointment.  I was there before the chemo nurses, but was still able to convince the tech to let me ask one of the nurses to access my port, even though we were cutting it close on time.

Once I had port access, I got the dose of radioactive isotopes and waited for them to make their way through my body.

Then, I was in and out, without a problem!

That stuff makes me tired, but gets out of my system fairly quickly by drinking lots of water and eliminating it that way.

Stephen told me he ran into Dr. Fleener at lunch that day.  "I haven't seen you forever!" she told him.  When she asked how things were going, Stephen told her that I was really worried about these scans. She then assured him that she would make a point to get the results THAT DAY.  "Have Melodee call the office by 4:30, if she hasn't heard from us."  What a relief it is to have a doctor that goes above and beyond.

While I was waiting to pick up kids from school, the office called to tell me the results.

"Your results are stable."  was how it was explained.

A little unsure about that terminology, I asked, "That's good, right?"

"Yes!  It means there is no evidence of disease. "


With a sigh of relief, I hung up the phone.  I'm now able to breath a little easier for another 3-4 months!  

Paper cranes

A few months ago, I received a box from a friend and fellow breast cancer survivor.  It was filled with colorful paper cranes along with the book, "Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes."  I read the book that day, tearfully understanding its message of both sadness and hope, feeling deep gratitude for this gift of time and love.  When I was diagnosed again, my friend started folding these cranes for me, praying they would help me again reach remission.  

I've had these cranes as a tangible sign of the love and the power of a support system for those with cancer, as well as for those experiencing any other trial.  After reaching remission, I wanted to pass it forward, but wasn't sure how.  

After thinking for months, I finally had an idea.  

I placed the thousand paper cranes in a large jar and brought them to chemo with me.  As I placed the jar down on the front desk, I told the story and explained that I have made it to remission, and now I want to share that comfort, love, and peace with others.  I invited fellow patients to take as many cranes home with them, as a reminder of the power of positive thinking and the hope that can come through the support of others.  

One of the social workers typed up the story and the invitation while I was in treatment.  

I was so happy at how many people took cranes home with them that day, and several fellow patients came by to say how much that small gift meant and what a blessing this was to them on a day when they were needing a little something.



Maybe each time I come, I can bring a few more cranes to fill up the jar, and this small act of kindness can live on!

Leave it to Fleener--H&P #6

I'm still running on Hawaii time, so it was more difficult than ever to make my appointment with Dr. Fleener today.  It's already time to schedule another PET scan as well as an echo, so I'll be doing that as soon as my treatment is complete.  Dr. F asked how I've been and if there has been anything worrisome.  I still have the rash, which seemed to have been worse this time around, just in time for a Hawaiian cruise and swimsuit season.  I also had her look at a suspicious mole on my back, which had grown and was painful-one I hadn't noticed until Hawaii.  She doesn't think it's cancerous, but is going to send me to a dermatologist, just to make sure.  "You'll probably want to have it removed, anyway, because it's getting caught on your bra and is bleeding a little.  Derm will say, 'Fleener sent you for this?  What about this rash you have going on?'".  Speaking of the rash, it still is not life-threatening, not enough to discontinue treatments, but if my scans come back normal, then she might try reducing one of the drugs by 15% to see if that helps, then upping it back to normal and reducing the other drug by 15%.  If none of that works, I'll just go back to full doses of both drugs and continue with a higher dose of Benadryl and a full amount of grin-and-bear-it.  
Dr. Fleener then asked, "other than the rash, is there anything else concerning?"
I just told her for some reason I've been really emotional about these scans, probably a combination of worry and a little nervousness about the unknowns of my time in this death sentence we call life.  In addition to the anxiety over the results, I've also been pondering this trip to Hawaii and how it is somewhere I've wanted to visit foor over thirty years.  I was finally getting to cross off a major bucket-list item, but who knows how many more?   I've also been nostalgic about my family and how quickly the boys are growing and how fast things can change.  Those little moments in life, as well as big milestones, are ones I want to cherish, even more now than before I had cancer, and especially more now that I've been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.  And, I don't know how many  more of them I'll get to see.  

Yes, also perhaps my faith has wavered a little.  The realist in me keeps wanting to return, to remind myself that it's crazy to believe that I'll make it to 60, 50, or even 40, or that I could perhaps someday hold a grandchild in my arms, or even watch all of my children graduate college....or middle school...or Kindergarten.  The realist in me wants me to prepare myself for the chance that I might not, and to be prepared for the scans to come back positive.  My emotions have been on edge, and just talking about it or thinking about it brings on tears.   So, maybe it's the looming scans.  Or, as Dr. Fleener reminded me, "It could be that you've been on your period for A MONTH!!!!!!"  Oh, yeah.  I guess that could have something to do with it.  

When the fear looms its ugly head, I have to go back to remembering that I have this moment.  And the next one.  And those.  I remind myself to deal with life in the day-to-day, planning for the future, but reaching it one minute at a time.  You can only eat an elephant one bite at a time.  

One thing I am grateful for is the effects of this last chemo are wearing off.  My hair is growing, my strength is returning, and I am starting to feel normal.  The last visible sign of chemo, the thinning and changing of my fingernails, has almost grown out, as well.  At some points in the regrowth process my nails would become infected and painful.  The nails were so thin that they couldn't grow out without getting caught and torn.   Somedays, nearly every finger was covered with a band-aid, in order to allow some to heal and also to shield those that were still painful from coming in contact with almost anything unprotected.  

Here's what a few of them looked like in the process: 

         

And, all the bandages!

I look to those pictures, just a few weeks ago, and see how much has changed and how much more my nails have grown, so much so that you can hardly tell there was every anything wrong.

And, just when I start to worry about my scans and the possibility of cancer returning, I'm blessed by being able to meet another breast cancer survivor.  Not any survivor:  a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor, going on 13 years in remission.

Maybe I will get to pick out lei for the boys to wear at their graduations, after all!

Still kicking cancer, one day at a time!

Another one done!  Aloha!