Better Me Than Them... But Still No Fair!

Anthony and I watched a comedian on dvd last night and it made for a good laugh. He had this bit on there about how he hates going to the gym because he doesn't actually like to work out. The basic gist was that he goes and stands on the treadmill and watches The Food Network then picks up some McDonalds on his way home. I laughed because I can definitely relate!

But after the dvd was over and I was getting ready for bed and prepping for chemo today, this comedic bit was churning in my head and I was feeling pretty angry about it. It makes me mad that I have tried to take care of my health - I workout regularly, I eat decently (I say as I am snacking on Chex Mix), I'm mentally and emotionally stable and have healthy relationships. This summer when I signed up for Life Insurance (yeah, just in time, huh?) I was totally patting myself on the back for having a perfect blood report and even low cholesterol! So what gives?

There are so many health issues out there that are strongly tied to lifestyle. But this breast cancer stuff is aggravatingly unfair! Despite all I can do (and there are a zillion ideas out there) it might still come back to get me. Do I change my diet? Go chemical free? Get rid of my cell phone? Unplug my microwave? Take this or that herb or supplement? Move to a small farm in Wyoming 20 miles from anyone with no TV, computer or phone and eat only homegrown crops? I'm not about to go that far, but it's so aggravating that there is no obvious answer to fix this problem and doubly aggravating that I've been doing all the basic healthy things my whole life and yet it still got me! Stupid, stupid cancer!

My mind won't let me wander too far in a pity party though (at least not today). One thing I have thought of many times since this started is that I would so much rather have the disease be upon me than upon one of my little children. I don't necessarily think I "signed up" in heaven to take this instead of them, but I do know that I can have panic-attacks when my kiddos are sick (the first time A ever bonked his head I was nearly hyperventilating). If I have to fear for someone's well-being and life, I'd rather it be mine. Furthermore, in the wake of a tragedy like the Connecticut shootings, I am reminded once again that I'm still here! It may be scary sometimes, but at least for right now I am still here. I can still cuddle with my kids and spread a little cheer and love to someone else. I may not always be great at that, but I want to be.

At this moment Chemo Round 6 is on tap. I'm tired, cold and jittery right now, but can't quite fall asleep. If I follow my pattern, I'll go home in a couple hours, sleep until 5, wake up feeling fine but buzzy in my head, stay up until 2am and then get back into my regular routine.

On Service

MM (Metastatic Musings) welcomes Anthony Johnson as a guest author. Anthony is a regular reader and assistant editor of MM. In addition to being the husband of MM's primary author, he enjoys pina coladas, long walks on the beach, and getting caught in the rain.

P. and his wife C. solemnly approached the Johnson's front door, trying to be as respectful as possible.

"I hope we're not waking her up by coming over right now. She's probably completely wiped out by the chemo treatments." C. said.

P. held a casserole dish full of lasagna and C. a bowl of salad for the Johnsons. P. approached the door and rang the doorbell. "When does the hair usually start to fall out?"

"I don't know. Man, that's gotta be tough! The nausea. And all the surgeries. And she's got to be ultra paranoid about germs because if she gets an infection, it's pretty much lights out."

The conversation put them both in a pretty somber mood. They stood at the front door, waiting, thinking about their own mortality, reminding themselves of how fragile life is.

They waited.

And they waited.

"I thought she said she'd be home for us to drop the dinner off."

"Hmm. Well, we can come back later."

Just as they were about leave they heard the skid of tires. Heidi zipped into the driveway. She jumped out and said,"Oh, hey you guys, I completely spaced that you were coming to bring over dinner." She pulled a baby out of a car seat, then went to the trunk as the other two kids streamed out of the car. In a moment she had three grocery bags in her left hand, a baby on her hip, an additional grocery bag in her right hand, and keys between her teeth. "Shanks so much for doing zhis. I really appreciate it." She came to the door, rearranged her bags, deftly dropped the keys into a free hand, unlocked the door and pushed it open with a free hip.

"Hi Heidi. Uh, so... how are you feeling?" P. asked, surprised at the entrance.

"Well, the kids were hellians at the grocery store. I'm still recovering from that, but otherwise, I can't really complain."

They chatted for a few minutes in the house before Heidi looked at the time and exclaimed, "Dang! I'm already late for my yoga class, and I've still got to go drop off the kids at the babysitters." Heidi thanked them again and then started her pile-kids-into-the-car process. As P. and C. were leaving, they looked at each other.

"Well, how did service feel?"

"Good. Although for some reason I thought it would be more... I don't know, more... weighty."

That is a partially fictional tale. The true part is that we have had so much of an outpouring of love and support from so many people. From church, from family, from work, from friends. We really do appreciate it so much.

Yet, oh the plethora of emotions that come with being served! First, there is a part of us that feels guilty, maybe a little embarrassed, because at this point Heidi is doing so well. The chemo treatments have gone great, essentially without a hitch, and other than being a little tired on the day of, Heidi doesn't really feel much different than if she were going about her normal life. So if we're getting so much sympathy and help and support from everyone, shouldn't we have something to show for it? Don't we need to carry our weight in suffering, in nausea and tiredness and blah-ness, in order to deserve all the help we're getting?

Then there's the feeling of wanting to ration the help. If Heidi's doing so well right now, maybe we should put off some of the help now so that if/when the tough parts do come, we won't have spent all of our tokens. If we allow ourselves to be served so much now, while Heidi's still "normal", are we just burning everyone out? When she's actually throwing up and not doing well, will they exclaim "I made you dinner while you were out on the town, missie! Make your own dinner this time!"

Then there's the realization that service requires two parties, namely those serving and those being served, and service will break down if either of those parties is not cooperative. Have you ever tried to serve someone who just will not be served? Isn't it so frustrating?

Service is a wonderful thing, precisely because it endows blessings on both those being served and those serving. Yet especially in our LDS culture we emphasize serving others so much more than being served by others, that sometimes we can get this impression that serving others is the "higher" virtue. So understandably we get an abundance of willing servers and a dearth of those willing to be served. And yet it takes two willing parties.

Having been in that situation of wanting to serve someone who is uncooperative in being served, Heidi and I resolved awhile back that we would not be those people, so hard to serve. So, again, we are so grateful for your help and support, and we will continue to welcome it. We just hope that you aren't put off by Heidi's good health. Part of the blessing that Heidi gets from all this is just in knowing that people are thinking about her, and that is needed whether or not she can make her own dinner. And we love the visits.

My Thoughts: 1 Year Left

It's 12-12-12. At 12:12 today I'll be celebrating with a chemo party. Go chemo, go!

I've been having a hard time writing this post. Sometimes I get a little overly excited by my own “new” ideas and then I feel like I have a lot to say. But as I read and re-read the wonderful comments and emails I've received on this topic, I realize that each of you already knows exactly what you would and should do with your life if you were facing death. For most of us, discovering those insights is largely a matter of pausing long enough to think about it. In truth, I'd love to write this post by cutting and pasting from your responses. Yet, I personally find it uplifting and inspiring to hear the insights of others in the context of their personal life story. Those universal truths may not be “unique”, but they are very special in the life of the individual who has freshly discovered them. And when I connect with someone who is sharing their experiences and insights with me they are also very special to me. So with the understanding that what I write is not unique or new, I will attempt to share a piece of my personal story with you, hoping that it will be a reminder to all of us of what we already know...

When my mom got sick with her final round of cancer back in March I became kind of obsessed with trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with “the rest of my life.” I was 33 and my mom was 60. I could see that her time was slipping away and I felt like mine was too. I kept telling Anthony that I felt like my life was half over, but I didn't know what I was supposed to do with the second half. He tried to console me and suggested that I go on a vacation or find a good hobby.

The month before my mom passed away I expressed the same concern to her – that I felt like my life was half over and “what should I do with my next 30 years?!” My mother, knowing the over-planning type-A personality that I am, counseled me to not look quite so far down the road, but to just take it a few years at a time. Later that night, as I was praying about my question and my mom's advice, the idea came to me, “Are you being refined by the experiences you are having?” I realized that I am. Slowly, but surely I feel like I am improving as a person. I may have had some of my “plans” come to pass (like a college degree and having my own family), but I could never have planned on the experiences and the people that have come into my life and changed me for the better.

Still, I continued to wrestle with this question. Vacations and hobbies and waiting for the kids to get in school so I could have spare time circled in my brain, but failed to feel meaningful. What was I supposed to do with my life?!

Then my mom died. And I felt like I was picked up by a freight train and propelled along a speeding and wondrous journey. Physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally I was experiencing so much so quickly I could hardly keep up. I found my cancer two weeks later and the bulleting train discovered warp-drive. In fact, it was so overwhelming for me that the muscles in my back locked-up to the point that it was difficult to walk (or even sit or sleep). (Actually, I'm still trying to recover my full mobility, though it's mostly there now). Following the encouragement of a friend, I spent a few of my sleepless nights recording some degree of the experience. It's way too stream-of-consciousness to plop it all down on this blog, but the point is that these past few months have been crazy difficult and strangely wonderful.

Now here it is only 3 months after that conversation with my mom and these days I really hope that my life is only half over and that I really do have 30 more years of learning and growing ahead of me! And now I have no choice but to take it just a few years at a time. But in facing death, I discovered the answer to my question: What am I supposed to do with my life?

As I said before, my answer is not unique, it is not mind-blowing. It is something we all strive for, but too often get distracted from. It is the same answer that lies at the heart of all the thoughts and comments that I have received from all of you on this topic. It is simply this: To Love Without Fear. Those are the words that came into my mind, but I've heard it expressed a few other ways recently: “Live life with gratitude and love”, “I have been placed on this earth to learn how to love people”, “I would do those things that allow me to love”, “I would record my love”; or to quote my favorite play, Les Miserables, “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

That is the wisdom. The practice of love comes in dozens of small and often challenging ways. I've loved your ideas - and thank you for sharing them - and have integrated them into my own list of ideas:

• Leaving love notes and videos for your kids
• Making a blanket or scrapbook or other keepsake for your kids
• Going on a special vacation with your spouse
• Leaving love notes for your spouse
• “Getting things in order” like your will, insurance papers, bank accounts and passwords (without losing too much time to it)
• Writing your personal history
• Recording your testimony
• Writing, reading or sharing the history of your parents and grandparents. Especially those who have preceded you in death. Wouldn't it be nice to know them when you meet them in heaven?
• Giving up obsessions with housekeeping, facebook, blog reading, TV watching, etc to actually focus on your children and spouse and be present in the moment. I think those things have their place: Housekeeping – as one friend put it – is a (sometimes mundane) way of serving and loving your family; facebook and blogs give us a chance to uplift and encourage each other; and it can be bonding and relaxing to share a fun TV show with your spouse or kids. But... I have found myself sometimes chewing out my rowdy kids because they were distracting me from posting something on the computer... and the subject of my post?... How cute and wonderful my kids are! Sometimes we lose focus.
• Using right now to build up your child's confidence about whatever they are doing (someone else can harp on their stick-figure drawings, but only you can convince them of your unconditional love).
• Saying “I love you” more often to more people.
• Reconciling any ill relationships (as much as the other person will allow it), because there is no time left to do this when a person is dying.
• Doing fun, unique things to create memories (like family vacations, or small family outings)
• Creating and fostering traditions that will last in your family's lives after you are gone and will remind them of you.
• Putting less on your “to-do” list so you can be open and receptive to “to-do”-ing what's truly important each day.
• Making sure you are prepared to meet God. That one opens up ALL the rest of the love you can hope to give and it is the quest of a lifetime. But even if you feel pretty good on that point, consider when was the last time you actually checked in on that one?
• Living life as normally as possible (why else did God give us life in this manner), but with more gratitude and more joy.
• Finally, doing all of this stuff (even I have to make specific goals and deadlines to work on these things and I am highly motivated right now).

And if you have 15 or more years to go?

• Make a HABIT out of all of the above!
  • If you keep a blog or a journal – awesome! Anthony pointed out to me that even if I didn't have any time left to do anything, thanks to my 6-year-old blog, my kids already have lots to read about me, our family and my love for them. That's such a comforting thought.
  • Be sure you have regular installments about each child's personality and why you love them (birthdays are perfect times for this). And regular installments about your spouse and why you love them (anniversaries are perfect for this).

Ok, I have to end this post with a confession. There is a comment I get quite often, both verbally and in emails, and I have to admit it makes me cringe and laugh at the same time. It is some form of, “Wow, you are so brave.” I cringe because I am reminded of the seriousness of my condition. I laugh because I honestly feel like I'm going to be around to hear that comment for a long time! Yes, it is brave to go through cancer treatments and yes it is definitely brave to wrestle with your own mortality, but my dear friends, we are ALL going to die. When is a better time to wrestle with my mortality? When I'm 90? When I'm rolling end-over-end in a freeway collision? I'd rather have time to appreciate and make use of my time rather than lose my life suddenly. Maybe I'm not the brave one, maybe I'm the lucky one.

I've Still Got It

My hair that is. I went and CHOPPED my hair off because I was GUARANTEED to have it fall out. Then I find out that with my lower-dose once-a-week treatments my hair will just thin out instead. With my thick crop that probably means I'll just have normal hair by the end of this.

So I was pretty nervous about getting my hair cut. I haven't cut my hair shorter than mid-neck length since I was in Jr. High. But I figured it had to be done. I have to confess, I woke up the morning of my planned hair cut and felt quite anxious about the whole thing. This was 2 weeks before chemo started. Somehow the haircut made the cancer feel very real and very scary.

Now for a cute story. I was also nervous about my haircut because my adorable son is very attached to my hair. Stroking hair is for A as thumb-sucking is for my daughter R. It soothes him. I often lay down by him at bedtime telling him stories while he plays with my hair. I was concerned that getting my hair cut might feel like a personal affront to him. I was also worried that it might make my cancer real and scary to him. He is keenly aware of the fact that Grandma just died from cancer and the major visible sign of it was that she lost her hair. My poor boy. My poor me.

But as with anything scary (and with encouragement from family and friends), I just kept moving forward.

Me and my older sister (my "twin") right before.

The big reveal!

When I got home from the haircut I was definitely unsure of having my hair be SO SHORT. After years and years of longish hair, I didn't look like "me" anymore. It felt fun to try something new, but could I really pull off short hair?

A was upstairs playing with his legos and came downstairs.

Me (trying to be casual): "Hey buddy. Having fun upstairs?"

A (without a hesitation): "Wow mom! You look so beautiful!" Followed by a big hug.

That was all I needed. If anyone has an honest opinion to give of my hair, it is A. And HE loves it. And therefore so do I. Furthermore my loving husband tells me at least once a day some variation on, "You're beautiful" and "I love your hair like this."

Four weeks later I'm still getting used to it. I'm using a ton less shampoo now and my styling time has dropped from 30 minutes to 30 seconds and I no longer put my hair in a ponytail everyday (because 30 minutes is too long). And you know what? Thanks to the love of my boys, I do feel beautiful!

For fun, here I am (with Marisa) trying on wigs at the wig store. Can you guess which one I chose?

One more comparison. Headshots (taken by my dear friend Amy of Tilt Photography) in October (before I knew a had cancer) and November (after 2 chemo treatments).

Look! Long hair or short... I'm still smiling! Maybe even a little more than before.


PS. I'm still going to write a reply to my previous post, but I have been focused this week on making personalized Christmas gifts for my kids. I finished last night, hooray! (Just in time for today's chemo treatment.) I have a lot to say on that post and want to take time to write it thoughtfully. In the mean time, you should read some of the comments I received on the last two posts - they are very insightful. My friends, thanks for your input, I have loved receiving of you and learning so so much.

PSS. I love discovering a good laugh - especially these days. Check out this very funny blog post that had me chuckling last night.

I'm Still Waiting...

I've received some great comments and a few lengthy emails from some of you about how you'd prioritize your last year of life, but I'd love to hear more! I have been pleasantly surprised to see where my thoughts match up and where they differ. I have learned a lot! So before I post my thoughts, I thought I'd request (beg?) one more time for your insights into life and death. Go ahead, I'm waiting.

Your Thoughts: 1 Year Left

Of the 12 presets available on my radio, 8 are set to light rock, 1 to oldies and 3 to country. I guess that's my way of confessing I like country music (which probably isn't necessary considering where I live). Even though there are quite a few country music songs I enjoy, there are also quite a few I roll my eyes at and change the station. One of those songs is Tim McGraw's "Live Like You Were Dying". I've always perceived it as some songwriter's artificial attempt to see how many people he could get to cry. So when that dumb song comes on, I inevitably pick a new preset.

The day after I found out I had cancer in my bones, I was driving home alone from somewhere when that song came on. This time I listened. And it turns out, I was wrong. It's not artificially constructed. There's actually a lot of truth in those lyrics. It really does change your life to find out your life may soon be over. It's something I didn't relate to until I was faced with it myself. I drove around the block a few times until the song played out and then pulled into my driveway a sobbing mess.

So here's my question for you. Suppose you found out that you had limited time left in life. Suppose you were given the news today that you only had a year to live. Take a minute to make a list of what you would do with the last year of your life. What are you doing now that you would drop? What would you want to "get in order"? Would you vacation? Do something dangerous? Get something off your chest? Make changes in your relationships? Leave something behind? What and who would you prioritize?

Now just for fun, suppose you were told that you have 15 years left, but only 15 years. How does your list change? With 15 years to go what adjustments would you make to how you are living your life right now? What things are you already doing that you would hold onto more fervently?

Now either by comment or by email, please share your thoughts with me. I'll post my list on my next post.

This Thanksgiving when you make your gratitude list, don't forget to appreciate your precious gift of time.

Chemo Round 2 Update

I still have little to complain about, but Thursday turned out to be an adventure! Thanks again to wonderful people taking my kids ALL day - Julie, Amy, Joyce and Savannah!

Here's the brief update. Everything seemed great Thursday morning - Austin went to school, my girls to playgroup, Anthony to work. I got up to get breakfast and fainted, followed by the chills, followed by a high fever (102). Fevers and cancer are never a good combination. My dad rushed down to take care of me. Although I felt chilled to bone and hot to the touch I was otherwise ok. The doc checked me out and thought I might possibly have pneumonia so I was sent to the hospital for chest xrays. While there I fainted again. But we got the xrays and I got home (thank goodness I wasn't driving myself). My xrays came out clear - no pneumonia. My fever was down to 99ish by the time I went to bed. Phew.

The rest of the weekend was relatively uneventful except for a bit of fatigue and nausea. But I made it to church again today so I'm feeling delighted at how well I'm doing! I think this reaction came as a result of getting a different drug on Wed which I'll only get every 4 weeks. Here's hoping that this next round of chemo won't produce a similar bad Thursday seeing as how all the doctors will be out of the office eating turkey. And I'd kind of like to enjoy my own turkey dinner too. Fingers crossed.

Chemo Round 2

Thanks to Diane, Linnie and Julie who helped watch my kids today while I did this:

I wore my Star Trek shirt today. With pins in my knees and a port in my chest I feel like I am turning into a Borg after all.

Round 2 of chemo went pretty smoothly. It's a long process to get through the whole thing. The first 1.5 hours is prep stuff - drawing blood to check my white blood cell counts and such and then meeting with the doc to check on how I'm feeling (and a lot of waiting around during all that). Then the infusion part is about 3.5 hours with 4 different bags of meds they pump in - bone strengthener, Benadryl, steroid, then Taxol. This time the Benadryl beat the steroid and I ended up sleeping in the chair for about 2 hours while the chemo dripped in. Not a bad way to do it. I started to have a reaction to the chemo again so they put it on a super slow drip again. That part of the infusion would typically take 1 hour but it took me 2. But that's fine. My babysitters were wonderfully flexible and I didn't throw up so life is good. I was still very exhausted when we got home and took another 2 hour nap. Now I'm feeling the buzzy steroid feeling in my chest and head again, but I'm sure it will pass by morning. No nausea or pain so far. Fingers crossed that those won't hit!

I also found out today that with this particular chemo I may not completely loose my hair. It will just thin out over the course of the next 3 months. With my thick hair I may just end up looking "normal" :o). But that also means that I get to shed everywhere like a cat. I might just shave it anyway if it gets too annoying.

Doctor of Hope

I just have to throw out a public THANK YOU to Dr. T (even though she doesn't read my blog). Dr. T is my surgeon and she has been instrumental in building my hope for the future. I have had 4 interactions with her (which is actually a lot in the course of 6 weeks) and each time she has built me up. That there's a good doc.

What did she do? How does a doctor build a patient's hope?

My first appointment was early in this process, back when all I knew was that I had stage 2 breast cancer. I was plenty worried about a "stage 2" diagnosis and concerned about my long-term chances. She came into the room and almost the first words out of her mouth were, "This is very curable" and "You can fight this thing." We talked about the options and the statistics and I left that meeting feeling like a boxer eager to get in the ring.

A week later, in meeting with a different doctor, I got the result that my cancer was already in my bones. That doctor did a good job delivering that tough news and I was actually very impressed with how it was handled. But, I was scared out of my mind. I came home and cried for an hour.

The next day I called Dr. T's office to order a copy of my medical records. After her nurse got those pulled out for me she said, "Actually, Dr. T is standing right here and she'd like to talk to you." She got on the phone and told me how sorry she was about the bad news and that she wasn't able to deliver it herself as the medical report had arrived at her office all of 10 minutes before I met with the second doctor. She then told me that she "just wanted to give me a hug through the phone" and tell me I still had a lot of reasons to have hope. A bone metastasis was very favorable to a lung or liver metastasis.  Plus my cancer is estrogen positive which means we can fight it long-term with hormone therapy, which she had seen great results with first-hand. She encouraged me to continue on the course of doing chemotherapy first and told me I was going to see the existing tumors shrink and that would give me a lot of encouragement. She told me to hang in there. I hung up from that conversation and cried, this time tears of relief. I felt like the sun had come out from behind the clouds. From that conversation I found the confidence to believe that I would live to raise to my children.

I saw Dr. T again today for a follow up visit for my port surgery. Strange... I didn't even pay a co-pay today. I wonder if this visit was even on the books? It was a short visit and we hardly even talked about my port. Instead she wanted to see how I was doing. She was encouraged at how well I handled my first round of chemo and thought maybe I'd have a pretty easy go of it. She told me to call for anything and gave me a hug before she left. Again, I was renewed in mind and spirit.

There are certain people who are in a position to do an especial amount of good for another. When in a health crisis, who knows better how things will turn out than your doctor? And when your doctor radiates confident hope in your future it's impossible not to believe it.

Thank you Dr. T. You have given me hope.

A Functional(?) Body

We took the kids to the dinosaur museum tonight. It's familiar territory to them so they feel free to run ahead of us to their favorite places (like the water/sand table). I was struggling to keep up with my little crew because I was having a lot of muscle tension in my shoulders and I was limping on my bum right leg. As I hobbled around the corner into the Sand Table room I nearly stumbled over R. She looked up at me and pointed to an 8-year-old girl in a wheelchair across the room. "Look Mom. She can't use her legs." Then R ran off to play.

I was momentarily stunned. For the past several weeks I've been pretty good at focusing on my gratitude that I am still alive. I'm still here and still loving my family! But I forgot to appreciate how lucky I am to have such a functional body. I may have cancer, but I have two working legs and I can walk on my own power. I have two working arms and I can pickup up and carry my baby. I have two working eyes and I can see my children's faces. I have two working ears and I can have long late-night conversations with my husband. I have an undamaged brain (sometimes debatable :o) that allows me to think, feel, and communicate clearly. I think of my mom who fought through cancer and how she continued to have the full use of her body up until the very end (though it got weaker during her chemo rounds). Of all the diseases to be struck with, I think I still have a lot to be grateful for.

Not only am I grateful to still have my life, I'm grateful to have this wonderful working body to go through life with!

Antsy

It's Thursday night and I feel antsy. I wonder a lot how much more time I have on this Earth. I figure the odds are that I've got at least a couple years, but it's amazing how fast a couple years can go. I want to be ready to die when the time comes. For me that means leaving behind stories of my life so that my children will know about me and hopefully learn from me even if I'm not here to tell my stories myself. It also means leaving behind love notes for my family and friends. It also means deepening all those relationships I care so much about, but that I have not taken time for because I always thought I had all the time in the world. My life BEFORE cancer was spent cleaning and organizing my house. Now my priorities are different. But it's still hard to find the time for these important things in the midst of caring for 3 young children (even though they're a major part of those important things!). So I'm feeling antsy about whether or not it's going to get done. Days can fly by and my health may decline and a couple years could disappear before I know it.

Chemo Round 1

So I started chemo today. I think most everyone that knows me has found out the news now thanks to Facebook. I should've taken a picture of me sitting in my little recliner hooked up to the IV. Next time, I guess. The chemo session went well. Took about 5 hours all told, but it should go faster in future weeks as we get the routine down. They first pumped me full of a bag of Benadryl which just about had me completely knocked out (I wish!). Then they pumped me full of a Steroid that perked me right back up again. Then I started on the chemo drip. They warned me to flag them down if I had any reactions to the med. About 10 minutes in I was hit by a wave of feeling flushed, nauseated and short of breath. Anthony raised his hand and 3 nurses ran over and turned off the machine, handed me a barf bag and gave me oxygen. I recovered almost as fast as I got ill! They were great. So they pumped another bag of Steroids in and had me wait 30 minutes, then started the chemo drip again at half the speed and this time we got through it all. So far today I am feeling fine. I feel buzzy in my head and chest, which might be all the steroid, but otherwise just as normal as I felt this morning. But tomorrow and Friday are more likely to be the harder days, so we'll see. During all this Anthony and I attempted to watch The Avengers, but with all the interruptions we only made it through half the movie. We also met a nice couple there, our age, Rayna and Mark, who live close by. I find it very helpful to talk to other people about their experiences. It's just nice to know there are a lot of us going through all this together and this cancer patient community (past and present) has a natural way of reaching out to each other. It's actually very cool.

The Fight Begins

I am 34 years old, I have 3 children ages 6, 4 and 1, and I have stage 4 breast cancer. This is my first diagnosis - I never had a round with "breast cancer only". It has metastasized to my bones, which I am told is favorable to other possible locations like lungs or liver. My mother had breast cancer for 14 years that was metastasized to her liver for the last 8 years. She passed away in September, 2 weeks before my own journey with cancer began. After a month of tests and doctor visits and receiving bad news after bad news, I finally am starting Taxol treatments. I am just at the beginning of my fight.

But I feel compelled to record my journey. Right after we got the "Stage 4" news, my husband found this blog http://michigoose-longtermbcsurvivor.blogspot.com/ of a lady who has lived with breast cancer in her bones for 14 years and is still going. She was diagnosed at age 34 when her daughter was only 2. She is an inspiration to me. I have every intention of living to raise my children into their adulthood. In fact I have every intention of being around when my grandchildren are born. Since I am following in my mother's footsteps, I intend to live to the same age she did which was 61. So why not start a blog now? Maybe 14 or 20 years from now I will be an inspiration to someone just starting their own cancer fight.