H&P #54 + Appt with Dr. Coolio

After feeling sickly on the car ride up to chemo three weeks ago, I decided it was important for me to pack a barf bag in my purse in case of possible future vomit emergencies.  

Who knew I needed to take one with me to the bathroom?

I discovered for myself the necessity of carrying this disposable medical provision on my person at all times.  This morning, I threw up Dr. Pepper-coated cream cheese and bagel chunks all over myself while I was in the bathtub.  

It was the first school day in our new house, and I was making sure the boys all had bikes and a way to get back in the house after school in case I was still at chemo.  I also was up and out of bed and on the move early in order to get to my appointment on time.  I should not have been doing so much all over the house so soon after waking.  I know my body better than that.  Walking back and forth and up and down stairs, plus eating breakfast before 9:00 is not the best choice for me.

  

I got the kids to school--everyone fed and dressed and brushed and tooth-brushed and socked and shoed and snack-packed and backpacked and helmeted.  We discussed the new bike path to school and checked keys for re-entry.  Having survived the morning, it was now my turn to get going.  

I grabbed a bagel and realized that three bags of frozen fruit had been left on the counter all night.  They missed the trip to the freezer, being hidden behind one of the many moving boxes.  Luckily, they could make it this morning.  I moved quickly to get them to their destination.   Strawberries and peaches? Check.  Blueberries?  Would have been safe and sound next to their counterparts except for two holes in the bottom of the bag.  As I moved them toward the freezer, thawed blueberry juice spilled all over my new kitchen!  Rugs, countertops, wood flooring, cabinet doors, and even one pink slipper were all caught in the crossfire.  

This mess could not wait.  I had no idea what that juice would do to any of those surfaces, but I have read the message of caution on those boxes of store made blueberry muffin mix about blueberries staining.  I had to get to work before any possible stains set in.  What I thought would have been plenty of time before my own departure was then shortened by 20 minutes of cleaning.  

I still had to bathe, shave my legs--which is why I chose bath vs. shower--eat breakfast, plus dressing and makeup-ing.  I was just at that moment of perfect water temperature and height level when I felt the nausea coming on.  Soon after, I felt like the outcome was definitely going to be food coming out the in pipe.  There was no escaping it.  Between all the chemo and pregnancy vomit, I know myself.  Some nausea can be fought with deep, calming breaths or medicine.   In some instances, that food and acid is finding an exit point, no matter what I do.  This time, it was going to be the latter.  

I had two options:  1) jumping out of that already-shortened soak time and sprinting staggering toward the WC or 2) just letting it happen head-on into that beautiful, bath-bombed water.  Option one would take time, as I maneuvered my broken body over the tub wall, grabbed a towel, and attempted not to slip on any wet tile, all the while hoping I would actually make it to the toilet safely.  Option two?  Gross, plus another bath.  Well, as fate would have it, my decision for me.  I'm actually glad Mother Nature chose her own bath bomb, as draining and cleaning a tub was much easier than what I would have faced otherwise.  

Another 15 minutes of cleaning and re-cleaning and re-cleaning ME, and I knew I was going to be late.  But, I was bathed and MOSTLY ready.  Then, I couldn't find a bra, which had been in a dresser being used in one of the boys' rooms.  A trip upstairs and a quick search, and I was ready.  Then, I couldn't find my backpack, the one with all my treatment supplies + computer.  I even remembered as we were moving into our new house to put it in a "safe spot," one where I would be sure to spot it before chemo.   A few minutes later, we were off, and only ended up being five minutes late.  

I had time to breath and laugh on the way here and my blood pressure stayed just fine.  (101/72). I even lost a few pounds from all that stepping and stair-climbing over the weekend's move.  You would think I've dealt with this kind of thing a time or two!  

And, I still made it here (mostly) on time, complete with pink wig and a smile, ready to BTHOC!  Even the nurses noticed the turnaround.  "The real you is here!"  

When hard times come, and they will, remember that you can get through them.  Like that old saying goes, "Blueberry juice + bagel vomit happens."  Or something like that.  

Keep on kickin' and beatin' that cancer.  

H&P #53 + Dr. Coolio

Last Tuesday, I showed up for my regularly scheduled chemo + doctor appointment.  

I received the good news that my bone scan results showed no new growth and nothing to worry about for now!  

I received the bad news that somewhere along the scheduling line someone skipped a week and I couldn't have my chemo.  

Here I am, a week and a day later, here for treatment.  I am also quite nauseous and off my game today.  One of the nurses even asked me where the "normal Cooper" is.  Maybe you need your wig and tutu, she suggested.   Nope.  Just Zofran.  

New shoes, a surprise from Stephen will help, too!

I've been pondering on my brain troubles lately.  As cancer tries to keep creeping into my cranium, I become even more aware of what an asset this brain of mine has been.  One of my great talents used to be intelligence and the ability to remember and recall information.  I have always been grateful for being blessed with those abilities and being able to use them to teach others.  

These days, I realize that it's a good thing that I used to be smart.  Radiation on my brain has taken its toll and knocked me down several points on the IQ scale.  I'm glad I had a few points to lose.  It is quite frustrating to have lost so much of what used to come naturally-memorized information, facts, words themselves.  Thankfully, my kids still know it's hard to get one past Mommy, which might not last too many years longer.  

 I was blessed by God with a keen and alert mind for most of my life.  Who knew that I would need extra in this area to be able to keep up as cancer tries to take over? Maybe God knew that I would need an excess of brain power early on in order to continue to be able to grasp some sense of intelligence now that my brain has been fried.  I had some smarts to spare, and I still have a sense of humor in this whole thing!   

H&P 52 + Blood Work

Chemo the day after brain radiation.  I'm pooped!  The wig didn't stay on long after the photos, thanks to a massive headache.  

However, the smile stayed---I have a fun visitor!!!  

And, spring is in the air!  

Happy Spring + another chemo down!  

Gamma Knife

Yesterday was a LONG day.  

My friend cheerfully offered to drive me downtown, with an arrival time of 6:45am.

I was quickly called in for my MRI.  {They take one the morning of treatment, to confirm the location for radiation.}

Before the scan, I got to change into the lovely paper scrubs.  I laughed because the last time I wore these, the hospital only had XXL.  M is a much better fit.  Also, last week marked my FOURTH FIRST pony tail!!!  {All the times I've had to grow out my hair enough to make a tiny ponytail.  Too bad I had to take it out for the rest of the day into order to have an accurate scan and radiation.}

I had the MRI.  Then, they made me a new mask.  The first time, it felt like paper mâché.  This time, the mask was put into what I like to call a medical toaster oven, heated up until it began to melt, then placed over my face and molded to my features.  Then, they did a quick CT with the mask on, to map out with the MRI for even more precision.  

Then, I waited my turn.  All the other patients there for treatment went with the Frankenstein metal bars screwed into their heads.  They all looked out of it and drugged.  I'm glad I chose the mask.  

I waited and waited, but I had a room and a bed and a tv.  The Price is Right was one.  

I also snacked on cranberry juice and pretzels.  

Then, it was time to begin.  The mask was SOOOOO tight, tighter than when it was molded.  I felt like I was being suffocated.  I couldn't move my lips to speak, so I gave a thumbs up or down to the questions. I could open one eye, which I forced myself to keep open, looking at the blue sky ceiling tiles and talking to myself to keep me awake.  Still and awake---that's what I promised.  However, I was now told that instead of 30 minutes, it would take 48 minutes.  I was up for the challenge.

I keep singing Adele songs that I requested in the background and giving myself pep talks on not moving and staying awake.

Much sooner that I thought, I was being unlocked!  The nurse said that it didn't take 48 minutes because I did so well and they never had to wake me up or readjust me!

I was taken back to my room and Dr. Wardak stopped in.
I told him "I promised you I wouldn't move or fall asleep, and I kept my promise!"
He responded, "You did.  You did great.  We didn't have to stop the procedure and readjust you at all. I'm really happy with how it went.  I think we got those two spots.  I'll just see you again in 3 months!"

I felt like a model patient, keep my word on not moving or falling asleep.  And, for any of you who know about me + sleep, it was a HUGE task to accomplish!

They wouldn't take a photo while I was strapped in, but I got to keep the mask.  You can see how tight it was, so much that it left the waffle print on my face!

No worrying about my brain for another three months!  

Dr. Wardak

Before this most recent MRI of the brain, we had the REALLY bad MRI of the brain.  That was the one Stephen cried after seeing, the one that gave me that six-twelve months to live diagnosis.  

This time, there are two spots that have grown.  Last year, these spots were smaller than a mm and had not grown.  Now, they are around 3mm.  

I have the option of targeted, gamma knife, radiation.  When the nurse first started explaining this procedure, he told me I would have a metal bar screwed into my forehead.  

"What was that??" I asked.

He then pointed up to his forehead, demonstrating where this bar and screws would go--through my skin and into the actual bone of my skull.

"We'll give you medicine to numb you and calm you.  Have you heard of Versed?"

"A time or two." {Stephen uses this drug all the time on patients.}

At this point, I was just thinking about how I'd look as Frankenstein.

Then, Dr. Wardak came in to explain more.  

He showed me the spots they were targeting for radiation.

He also talked about another option than the metal bar and screws.

I could have a mask molded to my face and head, which would be clipped in tightly to the machine.

"Yes, please.  That sounds like a better option."

"You have to PROMISE me that you will stay still and not fall asleep if you have the mask.  You'll have to stay perfectly still for the whole time, about 15 minutes on each spot."

"I promise.  Give me the mask"

I left not knowing when my procedure would take place, as it takes up to two weeks to get approval from insurance, but here's the next big adventure with cancer.  

Keep beating the hell out of it.  

H&P #51 + Zometa + Appointment with Dr. Cole (Results)

I've been thinking a lot about scars, the evidence of experience.  

Scars can be a reminder of something traumatic, the proof of injury or pain.  They corroborate stories of heroism, accidents, survival, or something miraculous, like bringing new life into this world.  Then, there are those hidden or unseen scars, those buried in an emotional place, and perhaps not as easy to share.  Over the years, I've collected all kinds of scars, some visible to all, some hidden behind the pain of heartbreak or tears.  

My personal war on cancer has left me with a long list of evidence of the experience.  Between the hair loss/hair regrowth, steroid weight changes, the physical illness and weakness, the disabling (at times) pain, the radiation tattoos, the port scars, needle entry holes, the fake belly button, the fake nipples, and the huge abdominal scar along the point of harvesting tissue for the fake breasts, I have plenty of proof of multiple battles.  All the physical scars probably have emotional ones to go with them.  Being on the front line of battle for this many years has been stormy and frightening, but hasn't been all bad.  

Some of my breast cancer battle wounds are proof of what I have learned and overcome.  I decided early on in the process that I was going to stand strong and "not shrink" from this fight.  There have been times when my strength was taken and the pain seemed nearly unbearable, but those were the moments when I truly learned to put hope and faith in God.  I have come out on the other side, free from pain or having the ability to bear what's put on my shoulders, often beating the odds and seeing miracles.  I have learned to value all levels of difficulties, from the smallest frustrations to the largest fights, knowing that sometimes, getting out of bed might be the evidence of winning the day.  

Over the years, it has been incredible to see glimpses of proof of how my example has helped others to survive their own battles-cancer or otherwise.  I constantly strive to find the positive, whether in a simple smile or 'howdy' or the joy of an ombre purple wig named Katy (and all her friend-wigs).  I have come to see that I have scars, but they are not to bring me down.  I can choose to hate looking at my fake belly button or ugly belly scar and hate my body for not being able to fight off cancer, or I can be reminded of all I've survived and that I've come through this journey for a reason, maybe many reasons.  I have learned and continue to learn through this trial.  I think everyone has scars through unique journeys, so we all can inspire and share the testimony of overcoming.  

I am often asked how I'm able to smile and feel joy or why I don't look sick, having "Stage IV Cancer."  It's a choice.  I could stay in bed and stop fighting and just wait to die, but I don't do that.  I choose to fight as long as I am able.  I'm hoping to leave evidence of my journey, perhaps even something to further research that might benefit cancer patients in the future. I'm hoping to leave evidence for my children, proving that they, too, can do hard things.  I hope they will be able to look at their own scars and realize that they have survived great things.  I hope they never give up hope and faith, even when more scars are bound to happen.  Even though there will be more battle wounds and more storms to face, I am hoping that they know that they are never alone.  They can look at my scars and realize that they have no reason to make excuses to shrink from their storms.  They can think about being a survivor, even when the story seems to have a less than perfect ending.  And, if my scars don't give that hope and evidence, I'm hoping they will see that my faith has been in Christ, who has helped me to have the strength to do all the things I've done, the One whose scars in His hands and feet give the most evidence of hope and faith and overcoming all.  

Today, I got results from my scans.  My CT came out great.  There was no change or evidence of growth.  My MRI of my brain was less than great.  The two lesions that we've been watching, (I'm going to think of them as battle scars). have grown.  They were less than 1mm in size and are now 2-3mm, about the size of a grain of rice.  I'm going to see Dr. Wardak again.  Dr. Cole hopes that he will be able to do some targeted radiation, just on those scars, and be able to clear that right up.  I am feeling fine about this new development.  I have an incurable disease.  New battles will pop up.  I will keep fighting them until I can't, and even then I know I will have survived the journey because I never gave up and never let fear overtake my hope and faith.  I am a survivor.

I have the scars to prove it.  

After my infusion, I decided to try to spread a little happiness to other patients by giving out some "Seeds of Happiness," my aunt had collected.  

My crazy friend took a video of it.  Here's a little clip:

Scans

My latest round of scans was due this month.  I just LOVE all the *delicious vanilla shakes* and IV sticks.  Actually, I don't enjoy them at all.

Thankfully, the body scans all came back in remission.