I’ll make this one a shorty seeing as how it’s five minutes to 2 a.m. and I have to get up at 7 a.m. to do this breast cancer strides walk. Hope talked me into it. I’m not one for getting up this early unless there are killer yard sales or there’re two feet of fresh snow at the resorts. The mountains in Utah aren’t open yet (that’ll come in Nov.) and it’s too cold for garage sales. I think it was guilt that motivates me. After Hope’s piece on Fox13 (see link in my FB posts), I received a few emails calling me an ‘inspiration’. Huh? I’m just doing what I’m told and trying to ignore the fact that I have a life-threatening disease. I finished round three of chemo a week ago and am just fine thank you! Halfway through treatment now. Was a tad queasy last Saturday but that had more to do with lack of sleep and then doing nothing but sit around the house all day. By Monday, I was climbing and jumping on my Stair Master. The past two days have been spent researching the possiblity of doing radiation concurrent with chemo instead of waiting until chemo was done before starting 6 weeks of radiation (which, btw, would mean really f*^king up Christmas and January). I figured since I was handling chemo so well, I could take the extra punch. None of the doctors in Utah seem to be up on this little time saver so I’ve had to Google like mad and contact cancer hospitals outside of the state. And here I thought the Huntsman Center was state of the art! After my research it seems that not only is CMF/radiation together viable but it may increase the longterm survival rate by 10 %. Plus, it keeps me from dragging my treatment into the next health insurance calendar year. Any sane person wouldn’t think twice. The side effects? They tell me my boob might not look as nice. Anyone out there can attest or deny this claim?The stuff I’ve read so far says there’s no difference in looks at the 3 year point. You might be wondering how the twins are holding up at this point. Still small and perky. You can barely tell I had surgery. The scar blends in and there’s no divet from the chunk of tumor they removed. Thank you, Dr. Neumeyer! Ryan can even squeeze them now and there’s no pain or difference in touch between left and right. If it weren’t for my head I could be ‘normal’ again. My head though constantly takes me on walks where I wonder if there will ever be a time in the future that I can say to someone, “I had cancer” instead of “I have cancer”. It’s a strange thing to feel like this disease will stick with you longer than family.

Ok, so now I’m a posterchild for Fox 13?? My friend Hope decided that since I’m the only person she knows with breast cancer, I should talk on camera. Hmmm. It took a while for me to say OK. Not because I don’t think I have a worthy story but I wasn’t sure if I wanted my agent, my ‘outside’ friends, those who don’t know me but will, to know. Cancer is an extremely inconvenient disease. It may not be debilitating at the moment for me but it interrupts my life flow. It turns what was once easy (humming along day to day) into something difficult and it pisses me off. I really don’t want to come across as bitter, angry, spoiled or negative. Hope said I was great. A great interview. Of course I was. Broadcast is my thing. It’s the message I worry about. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. The piece is set to air before the Cancer Walk on Oct. 9.
As for the rest of my life. Peace has resumed. I’m back from San Diego which turned out to be much less of a vacation than I had hoped. Sage was like the fricking Energizer Bunny and I had no one to hand her off to. It was all me. No daycare, no sitter, no friends. My parents just shook their heads and turned away. That doesn’t mean I was disappointed in them. Hell, if I was in a room where a kid was acting like Sage, I would love to walk away. It’s just that I couldn’t and she wore me down. Which in turn stressed me out because damn it I’m supposed to be doing what I can to get better. Stress does the opposite.
I also made the terrible error in judgment thinking that it would be fun to share a room with my daughter. Next time, she goes someplace else. At least then I will get enough sleep to handle the stress of the day.
I came home to some killer fall Park City weather. It’s 83 outside with a cool breeze and vibrantly blue skies at 5:45 p.m. I lifted today and tomorrow I’ll try to hike or climb. Best to enjoy the weather before it gets rainy and muddy.

My public voice strikes again. My sister this time. We’ve been ‘defriended’ on FB and I say “Good Riddance!’ She’s such a phony and a hypocrite. That makes my victim tally up to three. My brother, my ex-best friend Kristen and now Julie. Tee Hee. Perhaps I’m in denial of this loss or perhaps I feel good about cleaning house. Ding Dong, the witches are dead.

Everyone complains that airing your laundry in a public forum is inappropriate and wrong. It should be handled in a personal and private forum. But where do you go when the relationship is fucked anyway, there’s no ‘repairing’ and you simply need to vent? You want the world to hear your side, and (maybe) side with you? I love being able to blog. Sure, some things stay private in my journal but others find a happy little home in my blog or on FB because just maybe someone out there can relate.

Julie was a super bitch last night and she shut down any hope of reasonable communication. For two nights in a row, not only did she open a door in my parents’ house, setting off an alarm warning and effectively waking my three year old at 6 a.m., but she refused to turn on the AC to prevent this from happening on yet another night. She slept on the couch in the living room, Sage and I were in the spare room.  There would be no need to open the door, if we used the AC. No need for me to try to get cool air into our room via a window that offered no breeze, tons of traffic sounds from I-5 and stickiness from the heat and humidity here in San Diego. She wouldn’t listen. She blocked the AC controller like a 13 year old little bitch trying to boss things the way she always did. I was on my last nerve with only 5 hours of sleep at night to de-stress because of her selfishness. She had the luxury of falling back asleep. I had the task of dealing with a toddler that would rather jump on me and the bed than close her eyes again.

We yelled at each other for a bit; she said using a blanket was unhealthy (yes, she is insanely stupid when she wants things her way) and that had my parents wanted the AC on at night they would have set it to go on. Of course, what were her excuses when the exact thing happened in Palm Springs two years ago when it was 100 degrees at night, the parents were no where in sight and she still refused to turn on the AC and use a blanket? Ryan and I sweated like pigs and prayed she’d leave early. She did and we could rest in comfort.

I called Ryan today and told him what happened. He sided with me and said he couldn’t understand why she has a problem with blankets. That it is much easier to stay warm than cool-off in the middle of the night. Maybe I should have just vented to him instead of the world but I was furious. She pushed all of those childhood buttons where she was the dictator and torturer of all siblings in the home. My clothes couldn’t be in the closet, my bath supplies couldn’t cross a line in the bathroom, I couldn’t use the phone if she wanted it quiet. Absolutely EVERYTHING had to be her way or there was screeching and hell to pay when I whacked her and she tattled to my parents. That’s it. All I could do was hit her because she was incapable of rationale thought and perspective. The blow ALWAYS felt delicious. Of course, then I’d be punished but it was always worth hitting her again when the sitch resurfaced. So Facebook was my way of hitting her. :). I really did feel like slapping the shit out of her last night but I’m an adult and a mother. Instead, I posted a note on her wall calling her a bitch that couldn’t use a F*^king blanket and would rather make others suffer. I knew it would piss her off and also that she could delete it. If I could have texted her instead of Fbng I would have. I was looking for the fastest jab not the most public. She doesn’t text.

This morning were things ever so quiet. Mission accomplished. She was so mad she wasn’t speaking to anyone. Not even my parents. Sage slept till 9 a.m.! When I entered, we didn’t say a word. I can’t remember who finally spoke but when it did it was about how FB was an inappropriate forum. I told her I was sorry but I was angry. There was no communicating with her. I actually thought she was on her ‘puter when I posted but apparently she didn’t see it until this morning and was horrified that her friends and business contacts might see it. Ahhh, poor, baby. She didn’t accept my apology and announced she would not be my ‘friend’. She didn’t own one single thing about last night. No apology on her end. Same old immature bullshit. For someone that claims to be enlightened by Buddha, she is one hell of a hypocrite.

Parents are now on my case about my use of my blog and FB.

So here’s my solution. I’m moving my blog to this new location where no family can read and judge my thoughts for all eternity. If friends don’t like something I said, they can either talk to me or not but at least I won’t have the constant judging and cursing that family seems justified in dishing- even long after a post is published.

It’s midnight and I’m scratching my head. I must have missed something right? I know that movies and the WE Channel often exaggerate but after three hours of chemo at Hunstman today the only thing I feel is relieved and suspicious; also a bit anxious because I know CMF can’t be this innocuous.
That’s what Dr. Ward prescribed. A cocktail of cyclophosphamide, methotrexate and fluorouracil, which is also known as 5FU (my dad said that one used to be used to grow hair!). Ward choose this path because of the less severe side effects- a strong chance of hair thinning but not falling out, no neuropathy (loss of feeling in toes and fingers which can be permanent in some people), less nausea, no bone pain. Like a walk in the park, right? Both Ward and his assistant Rosie reassured me that given my age, physical conditioning and vitals, I was going to be one of the lucky ones who sailed through this pricky business.
I can’t be easily convinced, however, especially not after meeting with 12 women at the Image Reborn cancer retreat who hosted a little show and tell of chemo horror. You would have had to physically walk over and lift my jaw off the floor to get me to shut my mouth. But what can you do? You go in with all of the ‘what ifs’, hope they won’t come true and you jump in. I wanted to get in the race. For three weeks now I’ve had thoughts of ‘treatment’ keeping me up at night. I thought after last week, my labs, my appointment for today, that I was all set…..until I wound up with bronchitis. Sage is sick too and Ryan’s coming down with it.
Of course they would postpone my treatment. No such (bad?) luck! We were still a go. They made the call because I didn’t have a fever or chills and was seemingly on the mend. We’ll see what happens now.
Nausea and anti-nausea prescriptions in one hand, turkey sandwich and fries in the other, I marched down to the infusion room. I couldn’t have asked for a better seat than the forest green leather Lazy Boy, Chair 10. Tucked back in the corner, I was away from the other chemo patients and their small talk, close to the toilet and the snacks with a closeup view of the construction going on outside the hospital (better than having to face the nurses station for three hours).
Nurse KOD (seriously, because there are three Karen’s on deck) gently stroked my right hand and told me how much she was going to like my vein. Interview With a Vampire briefly skipping through my brain. She told it was perfect for the IVs, should go the six session distance (every three weeks) without imploding and safe bet I wouldn’t need a chest port for the infusion. A port is a thin plastic tube which is inserted under the skin into a vein near the collarbone (central line) to feed the drugs straight to your heart. Cancer patients love their ports because there’s less vein poking and pain at each session. But with three weeks in between each dosing I’d rather take the needle than have a baby carrot sized scar on my chest.
At this point, I insisted on an Antivan- anti-anxiety chewable to relieve dizziness a strong possibility for me when I’m jammed with a needle for an extended period of time. After the initial ah ah ah crescendo that turned a few heads, the needle was in and I felt nothing more. First drip the anti-illness drugs; then the 5FU which can cause cotton mouth and cold sores. (I’m directed to suck on ice chips to hibernate my mouth and make it less susceptible.) Next, methotrexate which will turn my pee yellow (how about purple? I ask, that would be more interesting.) I’m told to flush twice after every potty break to keep any of these toxic secretions from jumping onto skin. Even Ryan must wear a condom or wash immediately after sex. He asked me if I minded him visiting a hooker. I also have to be super duper careful about catching even a tiny cold so I told him hookers will have to wait until after chemo.
My white cells will go down and down and down the further into treatment. Not a good time to get sick. I worry about this the most because I get colds easier than catching infield flies.
Cyclophosphamide (Cytoxan) came last. Ths one seems to be the biggest Pac Man of blood cells- good and bad- and the one that leaves you most at risk for leukemia, bladder cancer and menopause. Oh joy. I’m supposed to feel the effects in 7-10 days. This is worse than waiting for BAR results!
The whole process today wasn’t the least bit scary. There were so many nurses and aides talking at me, I never had a moment to fear. Then Ryan popped in after work to sit with me. He also got the crash course on chemo. My mom Skyped in and I showed her around the room, my IV and Ryan waved hello. Two hours later I was done. I walked out, perfectly capable of driving home (but I didn’t have to).
We picked up Sage, went out to dinner then hung out and watched TV- nothing special really. After we got the girl in bed, we talked for a bit about other people, the stock market, needing to clean the house but nothing about today and what we went through. I guess it’s best to internalize for a while. Just take it all in and let it settle. Today was a big deal. On the outside, it didn’t seem anything more than routine and on the inside I don’t feel these drugs killing my little guys yet. But it was a big deal. I’m “in treatment”, I’m “undergoing chemo”, I’m “surviving”. That’s all heavy shit. That’s not what my life is set up to process. Drama yes, heavy shit no. I’m heading off to dream land now before I get weepy but not without nausea meds by the bedside just in case.
At the same time, hurling that 10-pound burrito from Loco Lizard tonight might not be such a bad idea…..

Some of my friends are figuring out ways to handle this too. The one in the earlier blog who ate my food instead of bringing me some decided to distance herself rather than step up. A friend in need is a friend to weed I guess. Ryan’s folks sent a daisy bouquet mixed in with lemons (ie referencing lemonade when life hands you lemons very cute.) Another friend has offered to stuff my freezer with homemade ziti. I’m thinking right around that Day 7 is perfect.
And many many thanks to my ski buddy Louie who rearranged his schedule this morning to drive me to Huntsman. I’m not usually in the habit of asking for big favors that require more than a phone call so I honestly appreciate the effort everyone makes in whatever way they can. Now if I only knew someone who loved to do laundry…..:)