Upswing

In addition to making appointments with new doctors yesterday, I also got the following test results:

Brain MRI - normal (apart from enormous brain! Super-genius, you know)
Breast MRI - no evidence of malignancy in right breast (yay!) and axillary lymph nodes on left side (under arm) are NOT enlarged

Of course, I'm anxious to get going, but it's nice to get some good news for a change!

Getting my strength back

I haven't been able to work for days.

I get up, I pack Sam's lunch, I take him to daycare.
I come home, chat with my designer for a bit, and answer a few emails.
I sprawl out on the couch, tune to Investigation Discovery, and pop up every 20 minutes for another snack.

By about 2 pm, I'm feeling restless, so I go out for a walk.
As I'm walking, I feel as though I'm running away from something.

Today, I finally reached my primary care doctor, who conferred with Dave's primary care doctor and came up with a new surgeon and a new oncologist for me to see. I scheduled appointments. And now the waiting starts all over again.

There's absolutely nothing for me to do the rest of this week. Now I just need to see if I can get my head together enough to do a little work.

Turbulence

If you want to make me cry, talk about babies.

The predominant emotion I'm feeling right now is bewilderment tempered with exhaustion. The best metaphor I can think of is what happens when they land a fighter jet on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Did you know there isn't actually enough room to land an airplane on an aircraft carrier? They manage it with old-fashioned brute force. The plane is equipped with a hook that comes down at landing time. The pilot has to position the plane so that the hook catches on a metal cable stretched across the deck of the aircraft carrier. This hook and cable system is what stops the plane from falling off the end of the deck and crashing into the ocean.

The most fascinating thing about this system is that, at the instant the pilot touches down, he also hits the throttle full-force. That's because, if he misses the hook, he needs every bit of power to successfully take off again. If he waits until he knows he's missed the cable, he'll crash. So the cable has to work against, not only his velocity as he glides in for a landing, but also the full force of an attempted take-off.

This is exactly how I feel. Everything I'm doing right now is full throttle, until it isn't. And just like the pilot, I'm at the mercy of all these forces: the cable, the hook, the ship, the plane, the thrusters. It's hell on the pilot, and it's hell on the guys on deck who help catch him.

Yesterday morning, I went to see the reproductive endocrinologist. He said, "I think we can freeze some embryos before you start treatment." I saw the nurse and the finance lady. I requested test results to be sent to the fertility place. I made an appointment for an ultrasound this morning. I was ready to go...until the hook caught me.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to see the oncologist. He said it would be a very bad idea to introduce all those hormones when I've got estrogen receptor positive cancer. He frowned when he said it. The breast surgeon said, "It would be best if you left this behind you for now. You are young. There's a good chance your ovaries will come back."

Why don't they ever shut up? Just tell me no, then move on. Because you know the more you talk about it, the more I'm going to cry, right? How can you not know that? So finally I wave my hands in the air and cry out, "Please stop talking about babies now, because you guys are making me cry!" And that was it.

There are more stories from yesterday. I have stories about incompetant surgeons and useless oncologists, but I'll have to leave those for another day. One jerky landing at a time, please.

Fun Day

Fun day with my boys.

Dave, Sam and I left pretty early (does 11 am count as early?) to check out the Clark's Elioak Petting Farm in Ellicott City. It was cute and kitschy - perfect for a 2 year old. They have a lot of the stuff from Enchanted Forest there, so that was kind of fun, or will be for my parents when I show them the pictures.

Sam really liked petting and feeding the goats, donkeys and horses, but mostly he was interested in the chickens, who were somewhat less interested in him. Sam feasted on the chicken nuggets I brought along (could that be why the chickens were skittish?), and then we wandered around the fairy tale stuff.

I asked Sam if he knew the story of Humpty Dumpty and he said "Yes!" I didn't quite believe him because I don't remember ever telling him that story, so I said, "Oh yeah? Tell me!" And he said, "Humpty and the wall and he fell down!" Which was basically the gist, I guess, although I have no idea where he picked that up.

On the way home, we stopped at the grocery story to pick up a few things for Danny's birthday dinner. He requested a curried cranberry chicken dish that we all love. (Sam scarfed down all his chicken, then said, "Woah! Chicken HOT!" before gulping down his lemonade). This was followed by the inevitable birthday cake.

Tomorrow, we're looking forward to going to the pool with Auntie K!

Short 'do

Even though we're still up in the air about what treatment will look like and when it will start, I decided to go ahead and cut my hair short (quite short, for me!). I told my hairdresser that I wanted to "transition to bald gracefully."

Speaking of hairdressers, it's funny to say "my hairdresser," because I bounce around a lot. I'm really, really bad about getting my hair cut. I just don't like to spend the time or the money, so I usually go at least a month too long in between haircuts.

I was walking around Chevy Chase yesterday after I picked up my MRI films and I thought about popping into one of the expensive salons down there to see if they could fit me in. (Probably wouldn't have been tough - they were all empty). I thought, in a twisted way that only I could think it, that if I had to lose my hair, I might as well have a really fantastic, really expensive haircut right beforehand.

In the end, I opted for Victoria, who has given me my top three haircuts of all time, and works at In Salon in Aspen Hill near my old house. I like Victoria a lot, but I feel bad about going to see her because I only show up every 4 months and by then she's kind of forgotten who I am and we have to do the whole "how many kids do you have?" thing, and anyway my hair's a rat's nest and she deserves better. But when it came to this I thought, she's the one.

Turns out that was the right choice. "When it starts to come out, if it does," she said, "call me and I'll take the rest off for you. No charge."

So here it is. Tell me it's gorgeous, please:

Oh, but first I'll tell you that it wasn't that traumatic, getting all that hair cut off. We cut it once, decided it was still too long, and then cut it again. I think I look a little like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club. I'll take that, so feel free to repeat it back to me if you like.

Since I'm apparently obsessing over my looks in the post, I'd also like to announce that I'm getting an eye exam on August 6 so I can order new contacts. Because the only thing I can think of that's worse than being bald is being bald and wearing glasses. Yeah, that's silly.

Sad, and happy birthday

First the good news. Today is Danny's birthday. He's 22 today. I can't believe I've been his step-mom for 9 years. It's been so fun to see him grow from a 13 year old kid into a grown man with a girlfriend and a bachelor's degree and a job (or three). He may be headed to Villanova for his master's this fall, but he's still all arms and legs, and he's still my boy.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed today. I had my breast MRI this morning. It wasn't too bad, as MRIs go, but every time I'm presented with a form to shove my breasts through, I think about Mr. Garner, my sixth grade phys. ed. teacher, and how he made me wear the chest protector with the little boobie cups sewn in when I played goalie in our lacrosse unit. So that kind of freaks me out.

The tech told me over and over again that it was very important that I hold still during the test. Well, crikey! I have to hold still for half an hour? Uh, that I can do. When she pulled me out of the MRI, I tried to de-droolify myself as discreetly as possible. The tech was gracious.

Now I'm hanging out in my second Panera Bread of the day. I have to leave in a few minutes to go to acupuncture, where I will be expected to lay on another table for about an hour. Unless Diane learned something new on her retreat last week, there will be no breast forms (thank god).

Later on, I have to go back to the radiology place to pick up my films. I'm going to take the metro this time, because parking in Chevy Chase is a huge pain in the ass. I HATE DC area parking garages. But that's a tirade for another day.

I'm losing yet another whole day to this cancer thing, and it's kind of bumming me out. Work can wait...I can deal with that. It's just that it's another reminder of how much life my has changed in a just a few weeks. I hate that I have to deal with this every single day. I'm looking forward to having the plan worked out so I can get my treatments and go home and do my thing in between, even if I have to feel sick and lose my hair and everything else that goes along with it. I'm pretty sure I'll regret that statement later, but for now, it feels right.

An interesting turn of events

So Dave and I called our oncologist friend Dr. Greg yesterday, and he threw up some red flags. Actually, it'd be more accurate to say that I could hear Greg's mouth hanging open on the other end of the phone. Why chemo first? Why mastectomy? Why three choices for chemo with no recommendation? He had me convinced that the second opinion would not be a mere formality in my case. He gave me the name and number of a breast cancer specialist he knows at George Washington University.

I called Dr. Seigel and left a message for the woman who handles his schedule. Then I called back and asked to speak to Dr. Seigel directly. I didn't think in a million years he'd come to the phone. I figured his nurse would come on and say he was with a patient, and then I'd say I just wanted to call to introduce myself, and I already left a message with the scheduler. I was doing an end run, and I was pretty sure I would get my hand slapped for it, but this is how things are done with a big insurer like Kaiser, so I'm used to it.

To my surprise, I got Dr. Seigel.

I told him that Greg Reaman suggested I call and that I wanted to introduce myself. He asked me a few facts about my case. I don't know if his mouth was hanging open, but he definitely wanted to see me. In fact, he wanted me to bring all my films and meet with one of his colleagues, who is a breast surgeon. In fact, maybe we could work it out so we could all sit down together. He told me he would walk right down and communicate all this to his scheduler, and lo!, this actually happened.

I was impressed. And excited. I have options again.

I realized later on that, when I went to see the Kaiser oncologist on Monday, all I wanted her to do was say "Here's what we're going to do. Let's start this afternoon." But she didn't do that. She wanted me to do the heavy lifting. And what happens when you do heavy lifting? You get muscles. Won't she be thrilled?

I'm seeing Drs. Teal and Seigel on Monday afternoon. Who knows? Maybe once they see the films and examine me they'll say the Kaiser docs were right. And that's fine, because I was resigned to that anyway. But what if they have a better plan? That idea is so exciting, I'm practically holding my breath.

Hard day

Ann is having a hard day today.

My fibromyalgia is leaving my back, only to move to my head. And I got my period. So basically all I want to do is eat and sleep. I'm going through the motions of working, because maybe I can scrounge together a couple bucks worth of productivity.

Dave went to the dentist today, and when he got back, he set about mowing the lawn, so I didn't even realize he was home. (Oh, that was our mower?) I guess we're going to call oncologist-Greg when he comes inside, and then maybe we'll go out and get a snack. Because sooner or later you might as well give up the illusion that you're actually accomplishing something.

I'm been straddling the fence on telling certain people about the cancer thing. In the early days, Dave said "The more people who can support us the better," and I believe that, which is why I posted to facebook and started this blog. But clients...er...not all of them. Not the new ones. Not the ones I think might freak. Not the ones whose projects are late for this very reason. Because that's not who I am.

Being super-marketing-girl is hard work.

Chemo

Chemo starts in 2 weeks.

The oncologist was terribly clinical, but that was mostly okay because people warned me she would be. She doesn't want to make a call, of course. She presented three different possible drug combinations we could use, explained some of the possible long-term side-effects of each (such as heart failure, kidney failure, and liver failure) and then left it to me to decide. "Nothing unusual about this cancer," she said, implying that any one of them would work as well as the others, within certain mathematical tolerances, of course.

When I asked about fertility, she said, "Well, you're looking at 6 or 7 years of treatment, and by then you'll be 40. You already have one child, so you don't really need to worry about it. I mean, I would be more concerned if you didn't have any children." As if having one child is some kind of consolation when faced with the prospect of being unable to have another, even though that's what you've always, always planned. She seem surprised when I started crying.

Oh well. Pick up and move on. "Call your GYN for more guidance on this," she said, which was fine with me because I like by gynecologist a hell of a lot more.

I typed up an email outlining the options and sent it over to Carville (my superstar biochemist cousin) and Katherine (my superstar hospital based psychologist sister) and Dave (my superstar attorney husband with the ex-boss whose husband is an oncologist) and I'll wait for their input.

And there are more tests. Echocardiogram (because one of the drugs I'm definitely getting can cause heart failure) and a bone scan to make sure this ache in my back isn't really a metastasis. Oh, and a quickie procedure to get the mediport inserted so I don't have to suffer bruised arms for the next year. And then chemo.

I'm numb. Let's go.

Waiting...

So I'm kind of bummed out today.

I guess it's because I'm in lag time. The five days between when they took the biopsies and when they came back were hell. But last week, there was a flurry of activity - appointments to make, people to call, things to do. That all stopped Wednesday, and I've been in a holding pattern ever since.

I'm a control freak. And I feel out of control. I need something to do, because when I'm still I swear I can feel the cancer growing. Yeah, that sounds crazy, and it probably is. I just want to get started.

Tomorrow, Brain MRI. (Yep, on a Sunday). Monday, oncologist. Then we can get this party started. (Right?)

What's next?

I've been working on all my big plans for a while now. For example, I've been on this weight loss crusade. After being overweight my whole life, I finally decided to really lose the weight and make it stick. I don't really know what distinctions I made that helped me get here, but once I made them, the weight loss thing got easy and here I am 3 months later and 35 pounds lighter.

I also have this idea for a business - kind of an offshoot of my marketing business - and I got really serious about making that happen. The novel was next on my list.

And then all of this.

I've started to get some answers from my doctors about what will happen, and mercifully this has taken me out of disaster-mode, but about a quarter inch to the left of disaster-mode is crisis-mode, where I am now. I am hyper-focused on whatever is right in front of me. Sunday, Brain MRI. Monday, Oncologist. Get the treatment plan. Send it to Dave's friend the oncologist for review. Send it to my cousin the super-star biochemist for his review. And then?

And then start chemo I guess. Not sure when, but probably soon. Probably next week. Get some scarfs. And then?

Then is where my to-do list ends, because after that I have no clue. I'll go to my treatments, however often they are. I'll keep working because I have to, and frankly, because I want to. I'll write here to keep sane.

I got tagged on a facebook meme, "The Threes of Me." One of the questions is this:

What are the three things you're most looking forward to?

I got stuck on this one. I could only think of one. It was this:

Being alive on my son's third birthday.

A viable goal, to be sure, but one that wasn't on my radar two weeks ago.

So how's Ann?

Ann is 33 years old.
Ann is typing on her laptop in bed.
Ann needs a shower.
Ann has breast cancer.

I never thought (never ever) that I would have breast cancer. You see, I had plans, and this wasn't one of them. Another baby, a couple of new business ideas, and growing old with Dave - I was thinking along those lines.

About a month ago, I noticed blood in my bra. Just a tiny little spot. "That's weird," I thought.

The next day, I thought, "Hmm...that's definitely weird."

The day after that, I thought, "Is that the same spot from yesterday?"

Always tiny, always easy to dismiss. Until one day, when my toddler and I were wrestling and I knew that last tackle hurt more than it should have, and I checked and found a shiny-wet blood stain the size of a nickel in my bra.

Okay, gross. TMI, you say. But I thought I had an infection. That's probably what you would have thought too. But you would have been wrong. Because I have breast cancer.

The next day, I was in my doctor's office. Looking back, I think she knew right away, but mercifully, she didn't let on. Two days after that, I was getting my first mammogram. (Did I mention I'm 33?) Then I had an ultrasound, and it seemed to take an awful long time. I wondered why all of this had to spoil my happy memories of the ultrasound room. The radiologist came in. She wanted to look in real time. That's when I started to think maybe this wasn't an infection after all.

I have a tumor at 10 o'clock. I have nasty, uneven microcalcifications sprinkled all through my breast like jimmies. I have cancer in my lymph node. I'm learning a lot of big and/or funny-sounding words.

Before the biopsies came back, I cried. I cried all the time. I had to run from the room when my husband brought my son home because his little two-year-old face set me off. I cried in the shower, which made me feel dirtier.

Now I know I have cancer. Now I'm immersed in the minutia. Is it estrogen positive? (yes) Is it HER2 positive? (yes) When will I have the mastectomy? (...)

Meeting with the oncologist on Monday. She'll fill in the few remaining blanks. Then I'll know what will happen to me. One thing is already determined.

I'm going to kick this cancer's ass.