So Far So Good

Well 2010 started out challenging but is shaping up nicely, so far.  After subjecting myself to foot surgery only 3 days after finishing my last radiation treatment, I ended up being mostly sedentary until about 2 weeks ago.  I had pins in toes on BOTH feet. Ugh.  What was I thinking?  I couldn't drive, and could only hobble about for the entire six weeks wearing these dorky shoe/boots.  I was fortunate in that my work let me work from home that entire time.  I am very much a home-body, so it didn't bother me at first, but after about 3 weeks I was getting very antsy.

I only have two pairs of shoes I can wear so far, but I can walk.  Prior to my surgery, I was doing regular walks; averaging about 2 - 3 miles a day, 5 days a week.  I went from that to ZERO in a week.  I started up walking again only a few days after the pins were out.  I moved slow, but I started.  Each day I was able to hobble faster and faster.  Now I can go about 1.5 miles before my feet swell up such that my shoes get too tight.  In only about 15 days, I'm about 80%.  I am hoping to get the flexibility back so I can actually start running.  We'll see :)

I am determined to lose the pounds I gained sitting on my duff, so I'm consuming inordinate amounts of vegetables and very lean meats; very low fat, no carbs, and no sugars.  Hopefully the weight will come off OK. It sure does get harder the older one gets.  I'm determined to keep working on my eating habits and minimizing those that contribute to cancer (sugar is a big no-no).

Regarding the cancer?  Well, I have to go back in again in March and have a baseline mammogram.  I then visit my oncologist quarterly for this year and probably 1/2 yearly next year.  They'll do blood tests to make sure the cancer hasn't spread elsewhere and that I'm still good to go (I'm believing I'm going to be just fine). 

I can't express enough how much everyone's support, prayers, cards, phone calls, emails, and hugs have all meant.  I don't now how anyone could get through a cancer diagnosis, or any other debilitating disease, without the support of family and friends.  I met several while doing radiation - they had no one.  My heart goes out to them.

As a result of seeing those lonely souls, I determined to find a way to help them.  I don't know quite how I'll find the right vehicle to do that, but I'm going to be searching.  My first order of action, now that I can walk, is to contact the cancer center here where I was a patient.  I know there are several volunteer groups that work with cancer patients.  I hope to get that activity started within the next 60 days. (Goals are a good thing to have.)

Thank you everyone for listening to my fears and helping me through the struggle of last fall.  I couldn't have done it without you.

Love Tons,

Kat

Happy To Be Alive

I may be kicking myself this time next week; of course, I won’t be able to kick anything given my feet will be in special hard-soled boots/shoes healing up from some much needed surgery. However, there was a method to my madness in scheduling my foot surgery so soon after the culmination of my radiation treatments. I figure that since I will not be very ambulatory, I will be forced to relax, sit on my tukas (yes, it’s a real word) and heal up, in every sense of the word. With two weeks off for the Christmas break, my natural tendency is to fill each day to the brim with post-Christmas shopping, chores, projects, and other things. I tend to return to work after the new year – exhausted. Well, not this year.



I haven’t written much these last several weeks mainly because I’m just trying to keep myself together by taking each day at a time. Wake up at 5:30 a.m., start work from my home office by 6:00 a.m. then take off at 7:30 for my radiation treatment session, then either head back home to work the remainder of the day or head in to the office (Tuesday’s and Thursday’s). James accompanies me about 2 days a week; for sure on Friday’s as that is/was the main doctor visit each week. I am so glad to have had his support for those visits, even though he would just sit in the lobby. He wanted to come every day, but I talked him out of it. So sweet to offer.



Most visits to the radiation oncology center are uneventful. I go in, change into my hospital gown and wait in the women’s waiting area with several others for my name to be called. I read magazines or occasionally stare at the puzzle table hoping to find the key piece before it’s my turn to burn. At some point, the technician comes and gets me, walking me into this vault-like room with a huge machine with a narrow table in the center. It takes several minutes to position me properly then proceed to take two x-rays (sometimes four). Then the technicians come back in to make some adjustments, then leave again. I lay there with my eyes closed and hear the slamming of the 2 foot thick door. Then comes the whine of the machine being moved into position, pause, and then the high-pitched sound that signifies the start of the radiation beam. After another pause, and the swoosh of the heavy door opening, the technicians enter again and switch a plate over the “eye” of the machine and then they march out again for another blast. I get two 30 second blasts of radiation each day. Once a week they take extra x-rays and a photo and I have a consult with the Radiation Oncologist (the doctor). The last five days were my “boost” days. They attach a special adapter onto the machine that gets the beam nearly right onto the scar area and concentrated right on that spot instead of the larger field of the previous weeks.



I’ve met some amazing women during my 6 ½ weeks there. Some are clearly dying, others, like me, going through a shorter and less invasive treatment plan. I feel very thankful every day that we caught this cancer in its early stages.



My last day of radiation treatment was Tuesday, December 15, 2009. It was to have been Monday the 14th, but on the previous Friday, the machine was broken and it meant I had to tack another day onto my treatment calendar. It was a bummer. I will say that I felt like a kid when I walked out of there on Tuesday. I almost danced a jig on my way out to the car. It felt like a huge weight had lifted off of my shoulders. The daily trips in were certainly a schedule nightmare, but the continual frying of the skin also took its toll. I’m happy to be done. I’m happy to finally be on the mend and hopefully getting my energy back. I’m happy to that my skin can finally heal and stop hurting. I’m happy to have finished before Christmas. I’m just plain happy to be alive.



A dear friend, Brenda Frank, gave me a helium-filled pink breast cancer balloon a few days before I started my treatments. I’ve had it flying from my upstairs banister from day 1. It had been my secret hope that it would remain aloft for the duration of my treatment, kind of like my secret hope to stay up and filled with hope throughout. I wasn’t so sure it would make it this last week as it began to sag and dip down lower and lower. But make it, it did. Even today, two days later, it still flies above my living room proudly. Now I’ve adjusted my goal to see if it will make it until Christmas. Hopeful, I know, but it just might make it; thank you Brenda, for the constant reminder to keep my head up, my hope up, and my chin up.

It's Been One Week

One week has past since the awful diagnosis.

I had my lumpectomy and lymph node biopsy yesterday and I am happy to report that the preliminary lymph node biopsy came out clear. They send it out right in the middle of the surgery for pathologists to take a look so that the surgeon could remove more if needed, right then and there. There are additional tests they'll be doing on the node as well as the other tissue they removed. I won't have the results on that for about a week or so. From there they'll be able to tell me what stage of cancer I'm in: stages 1 to 4. I am calling on my friends and family to believe this is in stage 1. I believe we caught it early enough. The ongoing care for stage 1 is a much easier road to travel. I am also very glad I did not opt for a full mastectomy.

I made it home by around 2:30. We had to stop for a bite to eat since I hadn't been allowed to eat. I was starved. I spent the afternoon in bed of course. The hospital has a cancer care nurse who supplied James with a bag full of books, pamphlets, and two miniature pillows. I snorted when I saw them and said "what in the heck would I want with those!" Well within a few moments of settling down in bed, I realized exactly what they were for. I needed a tiny pillow to rest between my arm and my side so they wouldn't touch. Smart lady! I've had that little pillow with me ever since; tucked up under my arm, keeping my icy pouch company.

I've been getting flowers, beautiful cards, wonderful emails and notes on FB and this blog. I couldn't ask for a better bunch of friends and family. I am truly thankful for the outpouring. I can't imagine people having to go through the fearful journey alone. I can't imagine it particularly if someone were in the advanced stages where the treatments nearly kill you.

Today I will rest, read and paw through the material I got at the hospital. I haven't decided if I'll try to work tomorrow or not. I think it will largely depend on my pain levels and how tired I get. It is not a busy day, so I may be able to simply catch up on email and work on one small item I've got on my plate. Nothing strenuous of course. I promise!

Thank you everyone for your prayers and comfort.

Hugs!