BUENO

Hola amigos! Ok, it's not really fair for me to write anything in spanish, as the place we stayed in Puerto Vallarta was almost exclusively US/Canadian, and I kind of feel guilty about going to a different country and pretty much experiencing none of the culture... but hey.
We had a great time on vacation, largely due to the fact that we had over three times as many adults as kids... Definitely the way to travel with small children. With the minor exception of alexander getting sick and puking on us on the plane ride home, it was near perfect. We really enjoyed the pool (Liam is a true water baby) and racing the waves in and out on the beach. A highlight was the whale watching tour where we actually saw multiple whales breaching up out of the water all around us... a truly spectacular spectacle. How something so huge could hurl itself out of the water like that, or, even more befuddling, why (I like to think it's for the shear joy of it) is a mystery that makes me smile at the thought. Alexander was literally quivering with excitement. How cool that little-kid-spirit is contagious!
For a few days there (and now still), breast cancer wasn't the first thing that hit me in the morning, or the last thing I tried to force out of my head before I fell asleep. For the next few days at least, I'll be the one with the strangely distributed sections of sunburn (e.g., the triangle on my ankle) that I somehow missed with the sunscreen, rather than the bruises on my arm from the blood draws. And during the next few months, when I'm feeling icky, I can think of those incredible whales that can project themselves into the sky just for the splash, and that will help, I think.
Dad thinks we should make this an annual event... so for the next many many years to come, as we're sitting on the beach, we can reflect back on this first February Family Trip, and this situation, which seems so all-encompassing now, will be just a footnote-- and more importantly, another reason to enjoy being with my family that much more.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

We leave for the much anticipated trip to Mexico tomorrow morning... sun, beach, whale watching (alexander is obsessed with sea mammals) and fun with the whole family (thank god the rest of them are coming otherwise we'd never be able to deal with all the "kid crap" between just the two of us). This trip is even more amazing to me because I booked the tickets less than an hour before I found out my diagnosis. I doubt we would have tried to schedule something after finding out, but it turned out to be perfect timing. Yeah for small (and large) blessings.
Speaking of which, I have (count 'em) NO doctor's appointments scheduled for next week (first time since early January). I met with the oncologist of choice today, and WE HAVE A PLAN:
I will start "dose dense" chemo March 6th... it will continue for 8 rounds every 2 weeks, so there will be plenty of opportunity to sign up to be my "chemo buddy" and accompany me to treatment. (The chairs are really nice and they have good snacks...).
I will get a port (likely in above my collar bone) the day I start chemo so I don't wreck my veins from too many injections (thereby preserving them for my recreational IV drug habit). Today I got prescriptions for 4 different kinds of anti-nausea medicines and a wig (it's considered a "prosthesis").
Bring it on. (but first, vacation...)

Mom update: For those of you who have been asking, no my mom has not gone back to the autobody shop, and no she's not in jail (yet)-- maybe they'll extradite her?

FINDING CHEMO

I'm back from a relaxing weekend up in the mountains where I proved that lifting liam, while "legal," has its consequences. That's ok. It's worth it.
Friday saw me receiving a radioactive boob woman power booster with a bone scan, EKG, ecocardiogram and chest xray. All of these tests (along with a lot of blood work drawn earlier) were to establish a baseline for the chemo, and to check off all of the prerequisites to potentially join a drug trial.
My next step is to select an oncologist, chemo regimen and schedule. I have met with 2 oncologists-- You'll be happy to hear (I was) that the second one I met with didn't agree with the metastasis risk calculated in the "SMI" as discussed earlier, but also had a lower efficacy percentage for chemotherapy... We didn't get into specific numbers, which is good, but the result was the same: The most aggressive chemo is my best option, and statistics help define the path, but don't determine the outcome.
Both doctors recommended the "dose dense" AC (Adromycan/Cytoxan) every 2 weeks x 4 rounds [You have to love the prospect of getting injected with something that has the name "toxan" included] + Taxol every 2 weeks x 4 rounds (16 weeks total). From what I understand the "dose dense" (before they did it once every three weeks) potentially is better at killing cancer, but not for the faint of heart (literally) as there is small risk of congestive heart failure... but very small for young, healthy folks (yeah! finally, something good about being so young!).
Drug trials: I have the options of entering the "NSABP B-38" (catchy name, no?) research study in which I would be randomized into one of three arms: 1) the option listed above; 2) the option listed above plus the trial drug Gamzor; or 3) the three drugs included in option 1) given all together (TAC) once every 3 weeks for 6 rounds. We were told that option 3) is considered equivalent to 1) and is preferred by about 35% of doctors (but neither of the ones I talked to). I originally thought "what the heck" about the drug trial, until the oncologist last week said the TAC option is more toxic (hence the 3 weeks between I guess), a fact conveniently left out by the first oncologist. Hmmm.
I also may have the option of joining a different trial that includes option 1) plus a drug called Avartin (sorry if I'm spelling these wrong, but I can't read the doctors writing) The Av drug is not a chemo drug, but a new type of approach that has been shown to enhance the success of chemo drugs with few side effects. It would be great if I could get in this trial, but it's a question of timing, and I'm not sure it will work out. Could I get the Av drug without the trial? Not really, because it hasn't been shown to be effective yet (hence the trial) and costs $150,000.
Speaking of drug costs, the Neulasta injections that I will be getting (at least every round) to increase my white blood cell counts cost over $6,000 per injection. From what I understand, while people who are un/underinsured can get the chemo drugs, they can't get the Neulasta.
So tomorrow I meet with Dr. Data (oncologist #1) again to go over all of the lab tests. Dr. Data has the advantage of the best reputation and a sole focus on breast cancer (to the point he's known as "Dr. Breast"-- how's that for a title to impress people at college reunions?) However, right now I'm leaning toward the other doctor, for several reasons: She seemed more realistic about the side effects, I think she sees me as a person rather than a piece of data, she didn't dismiss ideas that weren't her first choice out of hand, and her office is within walking distance of my house. But again, we learned different (and useful) things from both doctors, to the point that either way I'm confident I'll be getting great care.
Mostly I'm just ready to get things scheduled and move onto this next step.
But first, I get to go to MEXICO :)

IT'S ALL ABOUT ME...

...notsomuch. Yesterday I actually had a not blog-worthy day. Got up at 4 with Liam, dealt with a grumpy x, went to work all day, came home, ate dinner, and went to bed. Isn't that great?
Today we had another oncologist appointment, which I will describe later, but today I thought I'd write about something DIFFERENT than me & bc for a (welcome) change:

My mom's car was stolen on halloween. They found it wrecked about a week later and it's been in the body shop ever since. As is common, she received TERRIBLE customer service from the body shop-- they never got back to her and made tons of false promises about when it would be ready. (The original estimate was 1.5 weeks). A few days ago (3 months later), her car was finally done. When she arrived, the body shop guy told her she needed to sign all the paperwork and pay the deductible. Before she followed him into the office, she asked for the keys so she could check out her car-- and proceeded to get in and drive away. The body shop guy has left her tons of increasingly frantic messages.
She says she'll get back to him in a few months!

As my friend told me after hearing this story, "At least you come by it honestly." :)

LOVE/LIAM IS IN THE AIR

Happy Valentine's Day!
I have been cleared to pick up Liam :) In an unanticipated happy twist of fate, his non-chub (we were worried that he was too skinny for awhile) puts him below the 20 pound limit. Woo hoo!
The follow up surgeon appointment went well today. The bandages are off and all is looking good. She told me that arm pain is normal, which immediately made it hurt less. She said it due to aggravating the nerve, and that Advil won't work, but I will seek the advice of another doctor who is a bigger believer in better living through chemistry. She said I will be feeling much better by 6 weeks, and back to myself in 3-6 months (minus the chemo, of course). Skiing is out for the season (anyone need a 4-pass?) but I'm good to go swimming in mexico. Mostly I'm just thrilled to be back in action with the little guy.

Tonight we had the best valentine's day treat. A daycare bud of Liam's mom brought us an incredible dinner... apricot glazed chicken and roasted potatoes, salad... she made special breaded baked chicken for xander and home made baby food for liam, plus an amazing icecream cake that was so pretty I took a picture. Unreal! We have seen each other in daycare over the past few months, but mostly just to say hello-- I continue to be bowled over by the kindness and generosity of new & old friends alike.


Jim & I (microwavers that we are) are in awe of this delivery, especially considering that this woman is a lawyer and has a 6 month old. How does she do it? (It's all we can do to make fish sticks).
While closing my eyes to fully savor another yummy bite I told Jim, "You married the wrong woman."
"I know." he replied.
Eyes now popped open, I scolded him "You better tell me something good about me right now!"
"You have great hair," he responded.

God, I love that man.

I think the fact that he would say that combined with the fact that I found it hilarious is one of the (many) reasons we're married.
Cheers!

THE ROAD AHEAD

Today was my first day back to work in almost 2 weeks. I was psyched to go.
I have considered the strangeness of having colleagues with whom I do try to maintain a level of professionalism reading my innermost thoughts and fears. How weird to have people that I work with (some of whom I've never met in person, since most of the people with whom I work are not local) KNOW me in such a way, especially when I don't know much about them. But what the heck (note that I'm not swearing today, so I must be in a better mood)... It seems to be working for me to go with the "maximize positive vibes through openness" policy, so I'm going to go with it. Besides, I've received more than a few supportive and bolstering emails from people that I never would've presumed to bug with all this information. My approach was confirmed today when I went back to the office... so many heartfelt "glad to have you back"s that made me even happier to be back-- and how nice to know that I didn't have to explain everything multiple times. That anyone who wants to, already KNOWS-- so we can just move on to the fun stuff, like talking about our family trip to Mexico next week, or all the crazy trouble their kids got into over the weekend.
So, in the spirit of keeping all interested in the loop, here's my schedule for the next few weeks (complete with subtitles):

Tues 2/14: Follow-up appointment with surgeon (e.g., Why is my arm still hurting, & Please give me the ok to pick up my kid)
Thurs 2/16: 2nd opinion ocologist appointment (e.g., Lets talk options, NOT statistics)
Fri 2/17: Slew of all day pre-chemo tests/exams (e.g., Radioactive Boob Woman power booster, & Tested as a Lab Rat)
Fri-Sun: up to the mountains (e.g., Just call me Bode... just kidding dad)
Mon 2/20: 1st opinion oncologist follow-up (e.g., Let's get this show on the road) after which (I think?) I will have a much better idea of schedule/duration & which drug trial I'll actually be in (if any).
Thurs 2/23(Jim's bday)- Mon 2/27: Puerto Vallarta Mexico with jim, x, liam, mom, dad, t, lisa & jarod (e.g., X sees a Whale in Person)

Hair update: The other day I had the bright (if delayed) idea that I should shave off all of my hair and donate it to Locks of Love, a non-profit organization who provides hair pieces to kids suffering from medical hair loss. When I asked a friend about this idea, she asked me (I'm not making this up):
"Is your hair virgin?" To which I replied, baffled, "Well, I have 2 kids."
Turns out that won't exempt me, as she meant no dye or highlights. (Yes, apparently, I do have "virgin hair" unlike almost of all my (women) friends.) Who knew that my lack-of-style would actually turn out to be a good thing? The program requires 10" minimum-- which I thought wouldn't work, but turns out, when you start from the top (or bottom?) my hair ranges from about 10 to 17 inches. The things you learn. Anyway, the idea makes me happy.

In other amusing news, the other day Alexander tripped and hit his eye on a log. (stay with me for the amusing part) He got a really impressive scraped up black eye ("He looks like he's been in a fight" says my dad) that has been bugging him for the past few days. Yesterday when I told him to stop picking/rubbing at it he asked me "Mommy, can I go to the doctor and get it out?"
Oh, if only it were that easy :)

BELOW THE BELT

Today I went for a walk with my dad because he wanted to talk to me. Before we set off he had me lift a weight (with my right arm) and had me guess how much it weighed. I saw it, I told him, 6.6 pounds. On our walk he talked about how I have been joking about my (and this is the technical term) "Might As Well Eat Crap" theory-- that since I'll be poisoning my body to rid it of all evil, I might as well eat whatever I want in the meantime, since I'll be purging myself anyway. He wanted to make sure that I was kidding (I was-- sort of) and told me that he has been thinking a lot about nutrition. How the books say that exercise and being "at the right weight" is a major factor in reducing recurrence. (I know this. I read the books to.) He didn't want me to wait until 6 months from now to start "living the clean life", and potentially end up starting from further away from where I am now. He generously offered to help me find and pay for a nutrionist, because, as most of us know first hand, wanting to eat well and knowing how to/finding the time/effort to do so are often in different galaxies.
And then he said (and this is where I lost it) something like I felt how heavy that weight was, and it is hard for my body to carry that weight on it up and down the stairs. Alexander is 35 pounds. I am acutely aware of how very "heavy" that amount of weight is, and I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about how frustrating/difficult it is to carry twice that up the stairs when I carry X up to go to sleep. I know that I am hardly in the minority in my concern/torment about this issue.
"I know you are trying to help me," I told him, on the verge of hysterics, "but I wouldn't want to be called fat on my best day, and this is not my best day. I've got a lot going on in the next few months, and it's all I can do to face what's coming, let alone count calories."
Today I am as upset/sad as I have been so far. I don't really understand why this would upset me more than say, oh, being told I have a higher than I had anticipated chance of the cancer metastisizing in the next few years. I know that my dad is just trying to help and protect me, and being at a good weight is something he's really good at, and he just wants to share that with me. I have no doubt he has nothing but the very best of intentions.
It's just such a sensitive subject. Not just the overweight thing, (although that's a doozy). More importantly for me right now it's just, I don't know, the compounding losses. This morning some sweet soul (or likely two with the initials R&R) left doughnuts on our porch. What a fantastic treat for a lazy sunday morning! I want to enjoy these for the wonderful love-wrapped-in-sugar gift they are, not be banned from them as something poisonous. (Luckily I ate one before I went on the walk-- YUM). I didn't want to give up breastfeeding. I don't want to think about how heavy the things are that I'm lifting, or make sure I never get blood pressure taken from my left arm. I don't want to have to think about every single thing I eat and drink. I don't want to wait for test results every 6 months for the rest of my life. I don't even want to see how cute I will look with really short hair (note that I grew my hair out when I was 15 because everyone thought I was a boy). I really really don't want to be so scared.
Wah wah wah. Whiney as a walrus?
I do so truly believe that all will be well. But there is grief in this journey.
And today I'm just sad.

THE GOOD, THE BAD, & THE UGLY

I went to the "goldenhands" of oncologists yesterday. Honestly, I was dreading the appointment because pretty much all appointment of late have resulted in those "WHAA?!!" realizations, and although I've wrapped my mind around the fact that I will definitely be getting chemo, and have even joked about being sick and bald, I hadn't really thought about what exactly that would entail for me over the next six months, other than it couldn't be that much worse than being pregnant, right? (minus the bald thing). In any event, another firehose education with some mixed results.
The Not So Good: Remember that "now I'm cancer free" concept? Again, I was smoking something, according to the "Sedlacek Metastictic Index/SMI" (Sedlacek is the doctor) that uses tumor characteristics to quantify the risk of 10 year metastasis with local therapy alone... (Metastisis means the cancer spreads to the bones/lungs/liver. At this point, they can't do much about it when it gets to that.)
2% risk for each 1mm up to 100mm --> 20%
1.5% risk for each 1mm of tumor from 10 to 35mm --> 30% (Note that I had thought my tumor was around 2cm (20mm), turns out it was more like 3cm, but I still need to clarify this with the surgeon-- how could all of the scans been so far off?)
8% for each lymph node in 1-3LN+ patients --> 8% (remember that negative/positive node thing, turns out I count as positive in at least 1, darn)
adverse pronostic factors:
ER negative (check)
PR negative (check)
HER2/nue positive (I'm negative-- yippee! but double edged sword, they actually have this new miracle drug that treats this really well)
High Ki-67 and/or %S-phase (e.g., aggressive tumor) (check)
Multiple total risk by 2.5X for 3 adverse prognostic factors. 58% x 2.5 = >100%
...if the cumulative risk of metastasis at 10 years is greater that 100% than take 58% of the 10 year risk to determine 5 year risk = 84%
Well, shit.
(Note that I almost NEVER swear, to the point that my mom even offered me money to say the "S Word" at one point, but if there was ever an appropriate time...)
Bottom line: I REALLY REALLY need chemotherapy. According to the doctors index, there is certainly that lurking cell somewhere within me. The good news is that chemo works well and with it will reduce the chance of metastasis by 75% (this is the number he threw out). My immediate translation of that probably-not-so-scientific analysis is that I have a 1 in 4 chance of getting terminal cancer in the next 10 years. There, I said it. Worse fears confirmed.
I repeat-- Well, shit.
As an engineer, my inclination is to latch onto these numbers as something concrete and real. I want to do more research to determine with more confidence (note that although this is a straightforward formula, I have not seen risk quantified like this in any of the other books I've read, which puts it more into the "rule of thumb" rather than "absolute fact" world.) That 75% reduction due to chemo he threw out there plagues me... Where did that come from? Is he overestimating because he's biased? How is success (still don't like "survival rate" terminology) affected by age, health, and a billion other factors? (Not the least of which-- (maybe the most?) is attitude and support network?)
Ultimately though, IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER.
It doesn't matter if it's 99% or 1%. It does me (and everyone else around me) no good to dwell on negative possibilities. All that matters is what I can do. And I will do everything I possibly can-- I will get the most aggressive chemo they can offer me (but that's nothing new, and that's where the good news comes in, see below.) I will amp up the healthy lifestyle-- eat right, and exercise (this step alone will likely benefit my entire family in the long run more than if this never would've happened) and whatever else comes up. I know this all sounds trite, and I can't deny that I'm having a hard time right now... heck, I still can't pick up my kids for goodness sake... but I will get there.
I guess it comes down to the question of would you change anything in your life if you knew you were going to die in the next 10 years?
My initial reactions is-- not really.
Now, how cool is that?!
The Good: Dr. SMI laid out several different chemotherapy paths that are appropriate for someone in my situation. From my appointment with the other oncologist, I "knew" I would need 8 rounds of chemo, likely one dose every 3 weeks (3x8 = 24 weeks = 6 months). What we learned from Dr. SMI is that there is a new "dose dense" method where the 8 rounds are given every 2 weeks. (16 weeks) There is an alternative where a different group of chemicals is given every 3 weeks, but for 6 rounds (18 weeks). More importantly, he said the anti-nausea drugs are such that only 50% of patients get sick, and if I am in the sick half, the first go-round will be the worst as they can change doses so that it gets better every time. Most importantly, I will get this drug called "Neulasta" that will increase my white blood counts enough that I won't have to worry so much about infection-- e.g., we don't have to chose between taking the kids out of daycare and banning them from being around me. He said that I would be sick for only a day or two after each treatment-- That for four months, compared to being miserable sick, and worse, in danger of infection, for 6 months is fantastic! (again, it's all so relative).
The Ugly: I'm definitely going to lose my hair. Probably by mid-March I will be bald. Something that I'd never really thought about before alexander was born was head shape. I have been surprised at how many (and there have been a lot) people have complimented alexander on this quality, as in "my, what a beautifully shaped head he has!" (I did not know this was a cosmetic feature of interest, but hey). I have always maintained that this feature comes from ME, since in every other sense xander is a mini-jim. Now I get to prove it :)

p.s. If you're reading this PLEASE post a comment/send me an email etc. I wasn't kidding about that feedback thing. I need you guys.

SHOCK & AWE

As I wrote earlier, I had less than 10 hours of vacation/sick time accrued due to maternity leave over the summer and Liam being in the hospital around Christmas. Although I was not worried that I would lose my job by taking time off for surgery/treatment, I have to admit that the idea of taking a lot of unpaid leave, although possible, made the prospect of taking the recommended 2 weeks off after surgery and god knows what after treatments start daunting.
In any event, I ultimately decided to take advantage of my company's paid-time-off donation program-- where people can donate their vacation time into my sick-time account. I was quite hesitant to do this because a big part of me felt it was like panhandling. Ultimately, though, I did it, in the spirit of admitting that in this case I do actually need help, and the recognition that I would be more likely to take (likely needed) time off if I had some banked.
In any event, I checked with HR today to see if I had enough time to take off the remainder of the week (turns out those doctors aren't really kidding around with those post-surgery recommendations)...
So far (since Friday) people have donated over 260 hours (6+ weeks) of their time to my account. Note that this is not sick time. They've donated time they could be on vacation so that I can stay home and get better. I am humbled by and in awe of this. I asked the HR rep if I can have a list of names so I can write thank you notes, but she said I can't.
All I can do, I guess, is hope that some of you are reading this... I hope you know what a difference your generosity makes to me, especially today, when I was feeling particularly ineffectual and like the road ahead may be a bit too long for me to handle. I want the sweet neighbor who just dropped off another incredible dinner to understand that us being able to just sit down to dinner without the hassle of preparing anything makes it easier for us to relax and enjoy another (less) hectic evening with the kids. Our friend who took the car today to get the oil changed should know that jim will be that much less stressed knowing that he doesn't have to find nonexistent time to do that particularly nagging chore. I want people who have sent cards to know that they are all stuck up on the wall in the kitchen and they brighten every day. And you should know that when I can't sleep I come downstairs and read your comments and emails. They fortify and encourage me during particularly scary times.
My mother-in-law keeps reminding me that "it takes a village"-- and we are lucky enough to have one to help on days like yesterday, when both kids were sick and needed to stay home from school. Lucky, lucky me. Thanks to the Internet, I've gone global.
Thank you for everything. It makes all the difference.

20 POUNDS BY TUESDAY

So I called the doctor today to see if she was, I don't know, maybe kidding about the lifting restriction. Because, you see, I really am physically capable of lifting heavy objects (e.g., a crying baby) it just hurts some (not unbearable). I have almost normal range of motion in my arm/shoulder. At this point, it's just fairly sore/swollen (TMI Alert: and I have a multi-colored breast, to enhance my radioactive boob persona, I suppose) enough to keep me awake at night, or wake me up if I roll over, but again, not really that bad. It turns out that apparently yes, I can indeed greatly hinder my long term recovery by lifting heavy things (particularly squirmy ones), BUT the good news is she said I could lift "20 pound in 2 weeks"-- so even impatient me can make it until Tuesday, right?
There is also a good possibility that Jim and I both may gain 20 pounds by Tuesday. We have received so many wonderful meals that when one of my friends asked another friend what they could do for us she recommended getting us a deep freezer :) All this food is a special treat because Jim and I, although many things, are not exactly chefs (more like "assemblers/microwavers" on the best of days) so not having to prepare anything and get to eat great food is fantastic. I feel fortunate I had the surgery before the chemo so I actually get a chance to enjoy it :)

WHO NODES?

How quickly we fall into jargonland... Just think, less than a month ago I didn't even know what a node was, let alone care if it was positive or negative... to clarify, "nodes" refer to lymph nodes. From my (limited) understanding, this is the first place that breast cancer cells spread to (typically the ones under the armpit), and the extent to which and number of nodes that are affected help to "stage" or define the extent of the disease and spread. "Node negative" means that there has been no spread to the lymph nodes and the cancer likely hasn't spread. "Node Positive" means that one or more nodes has tested positive for cancer.
During surgery, they identified and did initial testing on my "sentinel" nodes-- the lymph nodes that the dye/radioactive tracer injected into the tumor were shown to travel to first. If these are negative, there is a high probability (>95%) that the cancer has not spread anywhere else. Typically this also means that a full auxiliary node (i.e., all the nodes under the armpit) dissection/removal is not necessary-- which is what I had hoped for initially, because it's a less invasive surgery with fewer long-term effects. However, the PET scan showed enough potential abnormalities that the surgeon opted ahead of time to do the full auxiliary dissection (which turned out to be 9 nodes removed from me-- it's different for everyone, isn't that odd?... I think the average is something like 15)
The "on-site" sentinel node tests showed that my nodes were negative, indicating that the cancer had not spread anywhere, which is why I was so happy. However, the on-site testing catches everything about 80% of the time. Further pathology found some "micrometastese" (0.3mm) and a few random cancer cells in my sentinel lymph nodes, and (I'm fairly sure about this but not certain) nothing in the other lymph nodes. So basically I'm somewhere between positive and negative... (Node neutral?) The good news about this is that even though it was there, it's not much... and more importantly, I didn't have to make the hard decision about whether or not to go back into surgery and get the rest of my lymph nodes removed/tested-- because even though they are negative, I wouldn't have known that for sure.
I asked the Doctor if she would consider me "cancer free" since the tumor and the lymph nodes have been removed. She told me: "I can't say you're cancer free until you're dead-- and not necessarily from cancer." I appreciate her candor, but I have to admit that that statement has kept me up a night or two thinking about that rogue cell hiding somewhere in my body. But everyone has that same risk. Not everyone has a PET scan that shows an all-clear everywhere else, and even better, not everyone is going to get chemotherapy with the intention of hunting down and knocking out any (hopefully nonexistent) rogue cell. So there.

BACK FROM EXILE

I'm back from my self-imposed exile to the mountains. No email, no web access-- I kinda felt like I was letting everyone down by being out of touch for so long, but nothing to be done. I was only going to stay until Sunday, but after Jim came up with the boys on Sat and I had my first quality time with them since the surgery I realized I was better off away from them. I can't take care of my kids and it sucks. Picture, if you will, baby boy on the floor crying for his mommy hands outstretched reaching for her to pick him up and she can't do it. Next scene: rambunctious almost-3 year old preparing to jump from the couch into mom's lap, dad zooms in, warning in a I'm-not-messing-around voice "don't touch her!" (exit sad almost-3-year old, stage left). I feel like it's worse when I'm around because Jim (who has more superpowers than Radioactive Boob Woman and Superman put together) is trying to take care of them and make sure I don't do something stupid and hurt myself, which is a valid fear.
Speaking of doing stupid things, that label that says "Do Not Drink Alcoholic Beverages" on the drug container is NOT KIDDING. Yesterday morning was the last time I needed Vicoden. 8+ hours later we went out to dinner. I had a margarhita with (a big) dinner, thinking "what the heck, done breastfeeding and off the meds..." After dinner my friends were looking around a store when I felt really miserable and my vision started to tunnel. "Something's wrong." I told them, right before I almost passed out and they carry/led me out into the fresh air ("don't grab her left side" always-thinking pam says). Quick recovery, thank goodness, but apparently my party-hearty days are still off in the horizon.
In better news, I have discovered Sudoku-- a fun/addictive logic puzzle-- I'm really optimistic I will be better at it once I'm less fuzzy-brained.
Told you I am an optimist.

WHO CARES ABOUT NODES WHEN YOU'VE GOT THE KING OF SQUIRM?

I went back home to my "real life" last night. Not before my mom fixed up all of my dressings and helped give me a shower. We were joking about how much it was like when I give X a bath-- helping to put on my clothes and washing my hair (at least I didn't whine about it). Moms never stop being Moms like that, I guess.
I arrived home to tons of cards, lots of food, beautiful flowers, and a tree on my front porch. How awesome are my friends?
The Dr. called soon after I got back to report on the pathology. They got the whole tumor, clean margins. But they did find a little spreading in the lymph nodes. Again, upsetting, but I'm not sure that it changes anything, other than it's really good they took out the lymph nodes to begin with because otherwise I might've had to go back into surgery. They confirmed it's an agressive type of cancer that will definitely require chemotherapy, but I knew that. I think I can say I'm cancer free now? (but I'm scared to jinx myself)
So great to see the little guys. Nothing like a full body happy squirm from a 9 month old to lift the spirits... and X, with all of his words and stories and random burst into dance moves...
X: "Mommy are you sick?"
C: "Not really. Just got that bump out and now I'm a little tired and sore."
X: "Do you want it back?"
C: "Not so much."
I can hold Liam, but not lift/shift him, which is really limiting considering he's the king of squirm, but it was enough to just see them. Wow are they tiring though, and I wasn't even doing anything. (Yes, mom and dad, you were right that I should stay away for a bit).
This morning I get to go get that drain out (YEAH!! faster than I'd anticipated) and this afternoon my friends are coming in from the east coast and we're going up to the mountains for a trip that's been planned since the summer. No skiing for me, but I can watch movies with a mountain view, right?
I've used up almost all of the pain pills, so I'm assuming I won't need them much anymore... Maybe I will go snowshoing this weekend?
(just kidding dad)

NOTES FROM THE OTHER SIDE

Almost 36 hours post surgery and I'm feeling... I don't know... weepy? I would've described myself as chipper until maybe last night, but I guess all the drugs cycling in/out of my system have hijacked my happy thoughts. I'm not sad or pessimistic or anything. Just weepy and tired and sore. Like a campbell's soup commercial would make me burst into tears.
I've been staying at my Mom's (she even let me stay in her bed... now there's true parental devotion for you) and I almost feel like I'm on a different planet, but I don't know that I could've handled the commotion that is our household just yet. I was thinking I'd go by daycare today to see the little guys, but I guess I'm not quite up for it yet. It's so hard for me to allow myself this time to not feel ok, especially since everything went so well, but I need to give myself a break. (Easier said than done)
In any event, everything went as planned the day of the surgery. In the morning I was commenting to jim that it would be the last time in awhile that I would be able to lie on my left side. "You should give me a backrub then," he suggested. Good thinking :) He also offered to make me eggs and steamed milk, which would've been a really nice offer except I was prohibited from eating anything after midnight the night before. At least he kept me chuckling.
About 9 I got wheeled over (now I know what the kids in the strollers feel like!) to the breast center where in about 3 minutes the dr. inserted a needle, a wire, and then a radioactive injection into el lumpo. So added to my increased superpowers, I could also pickup radiowaves there for awhile... The wire was a surprise to me, (didn't hurt or anything) and was put there to help the dr. with locating the mass. My mom, dad, jim and I hung out in the preop room (very nice)for a few hours until the anetheisiologist came in to discuss all of the risks-- we were confused about the risk of retinal scratching and the dr. thought it was amusing that we would be discussing that rather than the risk of, oh, death. A quick checkin with the surgeon ("ok if I play Coldplay?"-- now that comment confused my parents) then wheeled off.
I had to take off my glasses, so couldn't see anything, and that made it easier (softer?) somehow. Down we went through several series of double doors from the patient preop where we started to what seemed to be more and more industrial areas. Ladies with big trashbins scooting out of our way, gaggles of drs scooting by discussing a party planned for the weekend. I half expected to see some guy welding in the corner or something. Then into the operating room. What seemed like 20 people around hooking things up, shifting me around, putting massage boots on my legs to prevent blood clots (those were cool) a guy in a mask confirming it was my left breast, right? Then shooting me up with something that made me feel like I had had 3 margaritas (allright!) the dr. holding my hand, looking at me with reassuring eyes... "it will all be fine..." Coldplay in the background... then...
Wake up Carolyn.
squint at the clock. After 4pm. That's late. can't... open... eyes... try again...
first thought: I don't feel too bad. second thought: how did they get these clothes (supertight bra) on me? third thought: they weren't kidding about the sore throat. Dr there. "Were they negative?" I ask. "Yes" she smiles. "Fantastic." I mumble. sweet relief washes over me.
Jim in the room (they weren't expecting to be able to see me so soon, but I guess I stabilized really quickly) "Hey bright eyes" he say.
Not for long, as the percaset starts to kick in. I was on my way to my mom's in less than an hour. Blurry drive home. Up a lot that night, but not too painful. Just awake.
So glad to read all of your messages. Jim said some of you got me a tree. Makes me smile just to think about that.
Time for more drugs and more 24 (this is a good show to watch on drugs, it seems) Jack is trying to stop the virus. I'm trying to stop being weepy.
We've all got our own battles, I suppose.