Scan Results + Dr. Coolio + H#71

 The waiting for results is over, but sometimes getting past the waiting place for one thing doesn't change the overall level of concern.  After a longer than normal wait this morning, I FINALLY learned about my CT scans from last week.  

Today's results were not terrible, but were also less than impressive.  

I had scans on my brain, my chest, and my abdominal/pelvic regions.  In some places, the chemo cocktail I'm currently taking has been keeping the beast at bay.  In others, there are little additions of baby spots or new causes for concern.

Dr. Cole wonders if taking time off to fight infection could have complicated the projected program more than expected.  

Who really knows, especially because this cocktail was only approved THIS YEAR? (We ALL know  about this year.)  There is just not enough information about all the side effects and life expectancy for me to keep moving forward with the pills with absolute faith.  I've also been anxious about all the changes we have had to make in just a few months: the extra pauses, the changes in doses, and what seemed to be more extensive side effects to me than what I read about in the initial reports.  Plus, I think the scan results show that the current plan of pills could not be counted on to kill my kind of cancer in the near future.  

Dr. Cole presented me with another decision to make:  Keep the status quo and stay with the pills, or   switch back to chemotherapy via infusion.  I considered that all the other times I've been given treatment, from the very beginning, up until now,  They  have been in two forms: radiation or infusion.  Up until now, those treatments have killed off my cancer, like weed spray kills off destructive plants.  (I realize that doctors have not been able to sustain these former massacres over the long haul, but these pills can't even conquer the battle of 2020.)

After my appointment, I did have an infusion of Herceptin, number 71.  (For those keeping track, I did not blog about the 70th dose of Herceptin, which happened when I was feeling all the dark feelings.). 

Dr. Cole is double-checking my medical history to confirm that the new chemotherapy she is suggesting I start is one that I have not already received.  No matter which one is chosen, her new plan is to switch to a weekly delivery.  Every three weeks would most likely be too strong for one dose, and my body seems to be less able to handle big doses of this poison.  Having a weaker dose, more often seems to have the better outlook.   

I find myself in another waiting place, one in which I do have more knowledge to work with than I had before today.  Now I'm waiting to find out a new poison projection for my future.  

For now, I am off the pills and back to hoping and moving forward with faith in God's plan for my life.  I know that I am here to reach hearts, lift hopes and teach about my trials.  As long as I am able to fight for this mission, I will keep kicking the cancer back.  

(I also had to obtain a doctor's note to be able to schedule an appointment with my new dentist.  Thanks, insurance.)

Scan Time

 I had another set of CT scans scheduled for Monday.  Then, I received a letter from our new insurance on Friday, announcing that they were denying said scan, giving me no time (weekend only) to work it all out.    

On Monday, I called the clinic at their earliest time to inquire.

Notes were made and nurses would call me back.

My idea of nurses calling back seems to be different than theirs.  

I finally had to call THE NURSES back, after giving them several hours to respond to my request about whether or not I should even waste time coming down to the clinic (because I was NOT going to have scans done on a new insurance, with no promise of any of it being covered.) Monday was not scheduled an appointment with Dr. Cole or any infusions.  It was simply for accessing my port, drawing labs, time for drinking the delicious shake prior to scans, and scans.  The scans that insurance did NOT want me to burden them over.  

Minutes ticked on and on with still no callback.  It was time to either drive to the clinic or skip it all.  I still didn't have a simple, straight answer on whether or not to ac.  I decided to take the leap and go.  At least I could see whether or not it was time for another blood transfusion.

I checked in and no one was exactly clear on my plan for the day.  They had me sit in the waiting room and wait for further instructions.

Within minutes of following orders, my imaging Guardian Angel, Lance, appeared before me.  He works downstairs in a completely different part of the building, but happened to be right where I needed him to be. Instead of passing the buck and relying on someone else to call back or find out my insurance questions, he returned downstairs, gathered information, and gave me clear instructions.  Soon, my port was accessed and I was waiting for a scan, which HAD been approved!  And, Lance did it all with a smile and without me needing to pull any cancer cards at all.  (Good, because I might be running low on stock of those babies!)

All my peeps in Imaging were killing it that day: (I truly apologize for not remembering all the names, but......chemo brain?  They all played an important role for me that Monday, as I was starting to lose my mind and my confidence in health care in general.  There was The Manager, who heard about me and my day from Lance, who described what had been going on with insurance and that I wasn't hearing much from the cancer clinic.   I love The Front Desk Angel who used to be a little coarse, but has softened with me, through kindness and care about her day and her story.  She now knows my story and actually understands that my body does NOT need a pregnancy test BECAUSE I HAVE NO OVARIES, among other friendly and understanding comments about prepping for the scans and that she would have me wait a few minutes longer, so Lance could be back from lunch, rather than someone I didn't know.  (It's amazing how kindness can change people,  especially when dealing with different races and the current difficulties of these trying times.)

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Soon, Lance was back early from lunch and ready to take me back to the scan room.  

His "work wife," Suzie, (another favorite) was also there.  I got settled into the machine, had brain, abdomen/pelvis and chest scans with and without contrast, and a few minutes later, it was time to pull out the needle from my port and head home to finally eat!  

The hardest part of so many things is all of the unknown.  Today, I it was unknown whether or not this appointment would happen.  Now, I have an unknown that I cannot do anything about.  The waiting part.  Waiting for results.  

I know about the waiting part, as I've experienced it MANY times before.  I guess it's not so bad this week because I'm living the break week from one of the chemo pills, the meanest one.  

I plan on sleeping well, getting stuff done, and thinking good thoughts about these scan results.  

P.S. Later in the day, the oncology nurses FINALLY responded to my messages and apologized for not being more on top of things.  I guess I'll forgive them and keep fighting.   

Pink Sunsets

 A few years ago, I spoke with the daughter of a fellow breast cancer support group member about her company's project for breast cancer survivors. It was unlike anything I had ever come across during this battle.  This company, Mei/Co Dance, a dance company, uses their art to bring peace and hope to breast cancer patients and survivors.  

A few years ago, Meggie, the daughter of my friend and the owner of the company, called to record my story and put it together with music and choreography.  Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the performance, due to my health and our moving away from Houston, Texas.  However, Meggie later called to share that several audience members had commented on the strength and powerful messages and feelings they experienced during that dance.  One woman, in particular, was so moved because she felt a great connection to her own life, as she had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer.  Meggie also sent videos of the dancers practicing for the performance and expressing positive messages and prayers to me for being such an inspiration.  That all warmed my heart and made me even more dissapointed that I was unable be there on the actual night.   

A few months ago, I was contacted by Meggie, out of the blue.  She let me know about the company's move to the DFW area, amazingly the area in which I now live!  Meggie also informed me that they were working with a few other local dance companies on a fall performance.  "Can we use your story?" and "Will you be able to attend?," she asked.   Knowing that this performance would be held in my backyard made it so much easier to envision FINALLY being able to see the tribute en vivo.

Before this night, I had only had virtual contact with any other members of the company.  I had never met any of them in person, but had only seen some pictures and videos and heard their voices.  I managed to convince Stephen to accompany me, knowing that Meggie was saving two seats for us.  

We arrived to the address of the event.  Originally, I imagined a venue at some performing arts center, but arrived to a stunning home with an enormous backyard.  (Luckily I checked on the style of dress beforehand!). An impressive stage had been constructed, along with all the fancy lighting and sound equipment.  I met a fellow member of Meggie's company first, and then met Meggie's family.  Finally, we were set up and ready for the performance to begin.  

The heads of all the companies took turns introducing their performances as well as their overall missions.  I hadn't before realized how driven they all were by the power and peace and hope and faith in God.  I was touched by spirit of the Lord that I felt from the start.  I was humbled when Meggie introduced me and explained how honored she was to have me there.  She even summarized my story and how it related to the dance called "Pink Sunsets."

My dance was the second to last one on the program. Right before it began, Meggie and another member of the company moved my chair to the front and center of the stage, so I wouldn't miss a moment.  I felt like a celebrity.    How grateful I am for this company and their work.  

I was moved by my dance.  I saw the theatrical part of my story through their movement and use of the props.  This dance was choreographed, based on my story about telling my children to remember the pink sunsets, especially when I'm gone.  I've reminded them that I would be looking down and watching over them, and the pink sunsets would help them remember.  The dance focused a bit on me learning to dance in the rain during the fight, after a second diagnosis, but Meggie really wanted to focus on my boys and how they know my love through things I've left behind and the signs of my love along the way.

  As if my emotions had not been impacted enough by the performance, afterwards, Meggie handed me flowers and a card from the entire company.  Then, each member introduced themself and spoke about what an honor it was to create this dance, and I could not stop the happy tears.  Meggie asked if they could pray over me, and that led to even more happy tears.  It was lovely.

Finally, it was time to go.   As we were saying our goodbyes and heading to the car, we passed a group of dancers from another company as they worked to pack up the stage.  One guy stopped me and added his thoughts and feelings about my dance and how inspired and touched he felt and spoke about wanting to jump into our circle of prayer in order to be lifted up in the spirit and light of what seemed to be around us all.  To that, another member of his company chimed in and agreed.  

It was all so different than any other show Stephen and I have attended in the past.  And that was perfectly fine for today.  I needed this comfort and spiritual/emotional uplift, and I am so grateful to have been a part of this memorable evening.