I really wish the title was a lead in to a great story about playing baseball, hitting what looked like a game championship wining home run only to have it snatched away by a leaping leftfielder who reached above the fence to pluck the ball and my heroic moment out of the sky. Unfortunately, there was no baseball playing and no great story. The feelings in my story are much the same though.

Five years ago today my life was irreversibly changed when my doctor walked into the room and said, “I’m afraid we didn’t get good news.” Just last year at this time I remember thinking that next year would be the year to celebrate because five is the magic number for cancer survivors. If you can make it to five years cancer free without recurrence, your odds for survival are great. I’m starting to wonder if I was ever cancer free during any of that time. I feel robbed.

Even in the shadow of recurrence last October, reaching five years is indeed something to celebrate. It just doesn’t feel like it. There is a blemish on that record and celebrating five years feels like cheating. All day long my heart has been heavy with tears easy to surface. I am proud of how I have handled the cards cancer has dealt me, but today, and only today, I hate that I have to play this game at all.

Labels: milestones, Recurrence

Chemo went out with a, well, not a wimper, more like a bang. It was the toughest treatment to date, but it is in the past. The only part of it that remains is anemia, hand and foot pain, and cankles. Hopefully all of those will be distant memories soon too.

Labels: Scan Results, Signs, Treatment

Sometimes I don't feel like I have cancer or going through treatment. And then I realize that ache in my back is a side effect and not over-exertion, though if you knew my schedule you would not rule out over-exertion. I can't decide if this feeling is good or bad. Do I need to be miserable to know that the drugs are working? I can't use the term miserable, but each treatment seems to gain in intensity just enough to make me dread the next one. The last treatment was high in the aches and pains which always pairs nicely with sleepless nights from the steroids. I guess overall, not feeling miserable certainly makes living through this a bit more bearable.

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When things get really painful, physically or emotionally, I set the alarm on my phone for five minutes. I can do anything for five minutes. If I am achy, I know it will get better soon. I give myself five minutes to feel it and then I move on and do what I have to do. If I am feeling the emotional brunt of things, I give myself five minutes to feel sorry for myself and move on. I simply can't wallow in negativity or give in to dark feelings, but I have to allow myself time to acknowledge my feelings and then I have to let it go.

Surprisingly I developed this trick from my sister, Joyce. Whenever I don't want to clean, she always tell me to set a timer for fifteen minutes and see just how much I can do in fifteen minutes. After fifteen minutes, it seems you have gotten into a rhythm and keep cleaning. It really works whether you are cleaning house or cleaning your psyche.

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Overheard in the Infusion Room a.k.a. Chemo Lounge

Nurse 1: The IV alarm keeps going off when he moves his arm
Nurse 2: Want me to change it?
Nurse 1: No, he doesn't have much time left.
Patient: I don't? The doctor didn't mention that to me.

(I know, not many of you will find mortality humor enjoyable, but it was a very funny moment.)

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I'm still having the heart shape phenomena follow me. Blister on my foot...you guessed...heart shaped!

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OMG! A very sweet, sweet bloggy friend sent me gift -- a buff! I lurve it! In fact I sleep in the buff, work out in the buff, go for walks in the buff, and more! I love to be in the buff! (What would life be without the double entendre?) It is THE one most comfortable thing I have discovered in this whole long cancer process. Thank you sweet survivor sistah!

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I have two more treatments ahead of me. I am two-thirds, 67%, almost done. In fact in about a month I will be having my last treatment. God help me, the time can't pass soon enough. It seems to be taking forever this time around and the thought of things progressively intensifying does weigh heavy at times. But with each treatment that passes and each time I rebound from the side effects, I feel empowered. I realize how strong I am, how many amazing people are sharing this burden with me, and that together we still have plenty of fight to carry me through.

Labels: internet friends, Recurrence, Treatment

The last several weeks have brought highs and lows on the cancer journey. All remains relatively well with my health. I have now hit the halfway mark on chemo treatments: three down and three to go. The side effects seem to arrive earlier and earlier each time and get progressively more difficult, but I carry on knowing that each time the side effects eventually subside and my life remains relatively normal. Well, as relatively normal as life can be when you are bald.

I was recently contacted by Seth Derek Aronson who, unfortunately, knows a lot about cancer treatment and complimentary treatments as a result caring for someone who lost her battle to this disease. Seth is working on a documentary, Killing Cancer: The “Walk Through Fire” Project. You can view a trailer here.

The information on complimentary treatments on his web site truly made me re-evaluate my perspective on cancer treatment. The truth is that many complimentary treatments seem so simple and readily available and don’t seem vigorous enough because we have had traditional medicine so ingrained into our understanding of cancer treatment. One doesn’t have to replace the other. In fact, they should be added to the arsenal of traditional treatment. More important than anything I learned from his web site was the one thing that Seth wrote to me: “Remember to truly believe in your healing - doing so can make all the difference.” This has really stayed with me. In fact, I truly believe in my healing 100%. The release or the “high” (for lack of a better term) that I feel from believing in my healing must free up energy that my body can use to focus on healing and using the traditional medicine more efficiently. I have to thank Seth because it has, as he said, made all the difference thus far.

Even though I am inspired and feeling well, cancer never fails to destroy lives. My friend, Lori, a two-time survivor was just diagnosed with extensive metastases and her prognosis is not good. Each time this happens my heart breaks into a million pieces. I am so tired of watching friends fall to this disease. I am tired of this disease having any power or control in anyone’s life. What is it going to take? With the millions and billions that are thrown at cancer research, what have we missed? It is so hard to keep fighting an endless battle.

I don’t want to end on a depressing note here. I don’t allow myself to wallow in the low points. It simply doesn’t do me any good. Oddly enough, something I continue to see keeps inspiring me. You see it all started with the hat. When the hair came off I started wearing a beret with hair attached (You know, it’s a look. What can I say?). I wanted to dress up the beret so I looked for a sparkly small pin and all I could find in the size I wanted was a red heart shaped pin. It worked for me. Then, when I looked at my scalp one day, I noticed the hair (I shaved it but a fine layer remained) had worn off the top of my head in the shape of a heart. A few days later I spilled something and looked down and the stain was distinctly in the shape of a heart. Then I took a photograph and happened to get a reflection on it. Yep, you guessed it – in the shape of a heart. It has happened time and time again. And it isn’t an abstract heart shape. It is clear as can be. I think the universe is sending me a message that either I need more love in my life or that I need to be aware of the love that fills my life. Either way, it can’t be bad to reminded of love because we all know that love heals.

Labels: Recurrence, Spreading the love, Tratment

The first chemo is now a memory, which, thankfully, I still have until the "chemo brain" kicks in. One week out and I would say the side effects this time were manageable so far. I'm doing okay.

Things to look forward to:

• Energy returning :)
• Hair falling out in about another eight days or so :(
• Next chemo in two more weeks :(

It's not all bad. I can handle it. Thanks for all the prayers and support. It made all the difference.

I have not shared any news for a while because I have had no news to share. Somehow talking (or writing) about the lack of information left me uneasy as if I would jinx myself if I said too much or verbalized how I felt about all the possible outcomes. The original plan was to wait four weeks after surgery, have a PET scan, complete my staging, and proceed with chemo. Of course plans are made to be broken, or rearranged, or designed with a plan B in mind and everything changed. In the midst of all this I was trying to wrap up the term for two classes I was teaching (yes, I know two at the same time) along with maintaining my regular job, my sanity, and my health. Thank you to everyone who left messages, sent email, or called for updates (or provided great egret information – you have convinced me -- Jan, Erin, Kathy-- it was indeed a sign!).

I was feeling fine after surgery and the post-surgery infection/seroma. In fact, I have not felt better physically in years. I was unable to complete the PET scan due to a largely unexplainable suddeen spike in blood sugar. In order to move forward with completing my staging, we opted to combine chest, abdomen, and pelvic CT scans with a bone scan. The CT scans were already completed and all negative. The only thing standing between me and a stage IV diagnosis was a bone scan. I completed the bone scan and consumed my time focusing on regulating my blood sugar which would prohibit the start of chemo until under control. I spent time walking, daily visits to the gym, walking, Pilates, walking, exercise DVD’s, walking, cleaning up an already relatively clean and sugar free diet, taking regular blood tests, and did I mention walking? It hasn’t been easy, but the numbers are dropping. Did that distract you? It almost distracted me, but the worry over the results of the bone scan kept resurfacing no matter how far I walked or how many calories I did not consume.

Finally on Christmas Eve at 3:00 p.m. as I was about to leave work (Isn’t it nice to know your public servants are there to serve you on Christmas Eve? Some of us at least.) and head over to my make a traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner for my sisters when my doctor called with the results. I didn’t quite hear what she said.

“Negative?” I said, questioning her.

“Yes, Jeannette, your bone scan was negative. You are not stage IV.”

“Negative,” I said once more trying to convince myself that I heard it correctly.

Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds and shone like a spotlight directly on me while the angels sang, the trumpets sounded, and the creatures of the forest stopped to applaud and cheer. Or at least the screenplay in my head played out that way. Seriously, can’t you picture the hyenas laughing? The meerkats standing tall and looking in my direction? The lions roaring with approval? Yes, in my head the world stood still, but it wasn’t about me, rather, it was about God’s blessings and having many, many prayers answered.

In an otherwise dreary Christmas Eve that had me melancholy and missing my mom on the very first Christmas without her, these results were my very own Christmas miracle . . . or perhaps a message from my mom letting me know she’s still watching over me. Chemo starts soon (or as soon as I can keep my blood sugar regulated). I’ll keep you posted, but for now, join me while I continue to bask in the glory of my Christmas miracle.

Labels: cancer stage, gratitude, holidays, Recurrence

The last ten days or so have been a crazy whirlwind. It started with a visit to my oncologist to set a plan of action. You know the routine…surgery, chemo, radiation, blah, blah, blah… It wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to spend an afternoon, but I’d rather move things along and leave no stone unturned rather than postpone or delay this process. My sister came along with me for moral support (she won’t let me out of her sight or drive myself to any appointments…she’s the greatest).

As we were approaching my house I saw a very large white bird (I wanted to say huge or gigantic, but didn’t want to be too dramatic) fly right in front of my house. It literally made a path in front of my house, across the door, and then it swooped up to perch on the roof of the neighbor across the street where we quickly captured it on our cell phone cameras. It looked like an egret or perhaps a crane. Either one are completely out of place in my neighborhood as there are no lakes in the nearby vicinity. I have never seen such a thing and this bizarre appearance leads me to believe it is a sign of some sort. What message do egrets bring? Perhaps it is a crane which, incidentally, is a symbol of peace.

Three days later I had surgery while my sisters and several friends held vigil waited patiently held a party in the waiting room (a cast of characters the hospital has likely never experienced). Out of eleven nodes removed, three were cancerous and quite large. My underarm feels a lot emptier. I also had a port inserted for the chemo. Based on recent scans, it appears the cancer was contained to that area and this total removal gives me a great chance at beating this once again. The chemo and radiation will only improve those odds. I’m not looking forward to it, but I know I can do this and move forward, once again, cancer free.

This recurrence certainly has made me think about the treatment choices I made the first time around. I was very aggressive to give myself the best chances at survival. Even though the cancer was small, it was extensive invasive lobular carcinoma which gave me a high contralateral recurrence rate (recurrence in the unaffected breast). I had dense dose chemo and a bilateral mastectomy. It was supposed to make my recurrence probability about 4 percent. I made those choices for all the right reasons and none of those choices made this cancer return. All I can say is ….. no egrets.

Labels: cancer, Recurrence

When I started this blog in 2004, I was on a mission to educate myself, my family, and anyone who would listen (or read) about the challenges of a breast cancer diagnosis. In my heart I always believed it would be a triumphant story with a happy ending. Then when I was “done” with treatment and all things breast cancer, it would be time to end my blog and move on with my life.

Along the way I have learned there is no “done” when it comes to cancer. It is an ugly, dark rain cloud that follows you no matter how fast you try to run away. It lurks above casting a shadow of doubt and darkness. After four years as a survivor I learned the secret to moving on was not running from the clouds, but learning to dance in the rain. There is no escaping the cloud, but you can take the wisdom you have gained, let go of the doubt and darkness so you can embrace life by defiantly dancing in spite of the rain.

So I began to move forward toward the five-year goal of survivorship. I felt myself shedding the cocoon, my arms and legs unfurling, the dance beginning, and then at a regular check-up, we found a new lump. Quite a large lump. Today I found out it is indeed cancer. No matter how hard I try to keep dancing, my feet, as well as my heart, are heavy and my arms motionless. I know the music is there, but I can’t hear it. I feel only constant drops of rain hitting with such force it pits my skin.

With slow, burdensome steps, I will continue to dance. It’s a different rhythm, familiar yet unknown, and I trod along.

Labels: moving on after cancer, Recurrence

So where do I begin after all this time? I have tried to write, but words eluded me. Maybe they were there all along always surfacing no matter how hard I tried to submerse them time after time. The last eight months have been the most challenging and perhaps the most touching I have experienced in my lifetime.

In January, after several years of declining health and increasing medical issues, my mom was given just a couple of days to live. What followed was a poignant procession of good-byes, visits from family and friends, and one of the biggest displays of obstinance I have likely ever seen. Always stubborn, Mom decided to prove the doctor wrong and recover from immediate danger. She was determined to do two things: go back to church and hold her first great grandchild.

Just before Easter, she swore she felt well enough to go to church. Even the doctor said if she wanted to go there was no point in stopping her. On Easter Sunday she made her triumphant return to Church to be received with hugs, kisses, and well wishes from her friends. Then on Mother’s Day she held 9-day old little Anthony Joseph in her arms. It was both joyful and heartbreaking to see them together. Having met both goals, days later she slipped peacefully from this world to the next. She had a beautiful sending off, surrounded by love. It was a joyous celebration of a life well lived, dedicated to her family and service to others.

What’s left is an aching hole in my heart that seems may never heal. I still feel as though I am in slow motion, as if walking through pudding. I still want to pick up the phone and call her. I still want to see the excitement from my doggies when they hear me ask, “Who wants to go see Grandma?” I still want to feel her warm embrace or see her rosary beads expertly gliding through her fingers. I still want to feel the safety and warmth that only a mother’s love provides.

I have many happy and wonderful memories that are beginning to surface and life is getting back to routine. Maybe someday I’ll be beyond the pain and rather than tell you about her death, I’ll tell you about her life, the incredible mother and role model she was, and all the wonderful ways she always let me know I was loved.

Ti voglio bene, Mama. Ti voglio bene.

Labels: family

For some reason I can’t shake the idea of life imitating art in the last few weeks. Do you remember the movie, Moonstruck? Think back twenty years…

Johnny Cammareri (played by Danny Aiello) must leave his fiancé, Loretta Castorini (played by Cher), to visit his dying mother in Sicily. He arrives to find people holding prayerful vigil over her frail body. Miraculously, the mother makes a recovery now that her son has come to visit.

After a stream of visits from family, friends, nuns, priests, puppies, and neighbors, my mother’s condition has improved for now and we are grateful for this time we have had together as a family. It has been quite a rollercoaster that seemingly has no end, but for now things are somewhat stable. Although things remain emotionally difficult, the physical and medical needs are being addressed at home.

Unfortunately, none of us have enjoyed a steamy encounter with one of the Cammareri brothers, we have felt the love from all the prayers and well wishes from friends and family both near and far. Thank you so much for your support and continued prayers.

Labels: family, gratitude