Home Alone - Sunday, September 27, 2009

For the first time in this trial, I missed church on a Sunday. I thought it best not to go out in the rain until there was a 24 hour break in the fever, assuring me the infection had cleared. Actually, the naturopath, my nurse friend, and my sister felt that way and I decided to listen to them. Unfortunately, although my temperature was normal in the morning, it rose to 99.4 degrees in the afternoon. Then it dropped to 98.8 later. By ten o’clock, however, it decreased to 98.2 degrees. Now, all I need is 24 hours of normal temperature in order to go back to work. I do not like missing work time at all, as you may have guessed. I am also a little "stir crazy" as I have not set foot outside my apartment since Friday afternoon and only then to throw out the trash.

Side Effects and Fever - Saturday, September 26, 2009

Saturday, I awoke with muscle aches but my temperature was normal. The naturopath advised me to take it easy this weekend and to wait until 24 hours after the fever broke in order to re-join the human race. She believed the muscle aches were a combination of the side-effects of Taxotere and the remains of the virus I had apparently contracted. I was determined not to let the symptoms stop me from cleaning my apartment so, in spite of the pain which made it difficult to stand, I cleaned my apartment, did laundry, and ironed my clothes. Then I rested. However, by nightfall the temperature returned to 99.6 degrees, which was discouraging.

Fever Continues - Friday, September 25, 2009

Gratefully, my temperature was 99 degrees in the morning. I stayed home and rested although I wanted to go to work. Quite frankly, I think the staff would have run me out of the store if I had appeared in the doorway. The naturopath called in the afternoon and gave me a list of recommendations. She also said that I should call the oncologist if the fever went to 101.5 or 102 degrees. I was so relieved. Through the afternoon my temperature remained at 99 and then it went down to 98.8 before I went to bed.

Fever - Thursday, September 24, 2009

I felt fine all day until late afternoon about the time I started food shopping, my Thursday afternoon ritual. All of a sudden, I felt achy and chilled. I wondered if it was a side-effect of the Taxotere, because the doctor had said that this particular drug can cause muscle aches. I arrived home feeling worse and kept trying to decide whether or not to go to church that night. At the last minute, and rather reluctantly, I stayed home. Later, I realized it was for the best. When my sister came home from church she had the brilliant idea to take my temperature. It was 100.5 degrees. The doctor had sternly warned me to call him if I ever developed a temperature that high. I called my nurse friend, Marge, who told me to take two Tylenol and check it again in 45 minutes. When I did, my temperature had risen to 101 degrees. I went to bed determined to call the naturopath in the morning before I called the oncologist because I knew he was going to give me an antibiotic. That was something I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Fourth Treatment - Wednesday - September 23, 2009

The day of my fourth chemo treatment was somewhat uneventful except for the usual frenzied attempt to leave the store on time. Mike accompanied me to the appointment, which was a blessing. The oncologist began by asking me if I was planning to do radiation. I am always puzzled by his asking me whether or not I am going to follow the protocol he prescribed, but he explained by saying that he never tries to say anything is mandatory. Somehow I seem to feel as though it is. After going over the list of side-effects I had experienced, he told me that I was far ahead of most people and that I was doing excellently. "So you’ll be here in three weeks?", he said. "Yes, I will." I answered somewhat amused that he seemed unsure that I will finish the treatments. Maybe it is because he knows how resistant I am to any drug.

After my appointment with the doctor it was time for the treatment. Mike and I waited for another patient to finish so I could get one of the semi-private cubby holes the office provides. We were sitting there talking while waiting for my blood work to return. (Chemo lowers your blood levels, so they always take blood to determine whether or not the levels are high enough to take the next treatment.) Mike happened to make a comment about the TV in the room. I answered that I liked the semi-private rooms because I did not have to listen to a TV. All of a sudden the TV set in the next cubby hole became very loud. We were both annoyed by it so Mike peered around the corner then came back and sat down. "She looks about 120 years old," he whispered, "And I don’t feel right about asking her to turn it down." We were laughing about it when suddenly the volume was lowered drastically and we were both relieved.

My blood levels were very good so they started the treatment. As usual, when I have someone with me I fight sleep until the last possible moment. Mike saw how drowsy I was and encouraged me to rest. The next thing I knew the chemo was finished and I was able to go home.

Beginnings of Neuropathy - Tuesday, September 8, 2009

In the middle of the night, I awakened and went to the bathroom. I noticed that the tips of my fingers felt painful as though they were swollen and yet they were not. It hurt to use them. I wondered about it as I went back to bed. Fortunately, I was going to the naturopath that morning and could speak with her about it. I told her about the chemical burns and the finger pain. She explained that although the two drugs I am on, Taxotere and Cytoxan, do not cause nerve damage, she was concerned that this might be the beginnings of it. So she prescribed two supplements and aloe vera for the chemical burns. After about 24 hours, the nerve pain began to subside. Thank God!

Labor Day - Monday, September 7, 2009

I woke up with the same thoughts that were plaguing me last night and unloaded them on my poor, beleaguered sister. I hate unloading on her like that, but I was feeling overwhelmed with anger and disappointment that lingered through the morning.

I went to work and Mark, the Sales Manager, asked me how I was doing. I told him I felt as though I wanted to rip off someone’s head. He asked me "why" and I told him about the attitude I felt my family and friends had while I am experiencing major hair loss, chemical burns on my hands, and a twitching eye, and that is only after three treatments. God only knows what fun lies in store. I said that if one more person told me I was doing well, I could easily lambast them. I needed to seek God for help with my attitude, which I did throughout the morning. Finally, by late afternoon, I had calmed down somewhat and apologized for about the 12th time to my sister for taxing her patience and endurance. Then we went out to dinner that evening.

Angry Thoughts - Sunday, September 6, 2009

A conversation I had with a friend today really troubled me. I feel as though my family and friends feel "safe" about my outcome because I decided to follow the chemo/radiation protocol. The problem is that, while they might feel safe, I am in the midst of a raging battle and I am still questioning at times if this protocol was the best choice. There is nothing that can be done about it now though. I can only finish what I started and do everything possible to deal with the after effects later. At times I am angry because I feel Western medicine is, in many ways, a failure and no one seems to be listening, at least no one closest to me. I feel as though if I express my opinion, I will be viewed as a "wild-eyed radical." The truth is, I keep questioning why allopathic or traditional medicine does not research the deeper roots of disease. I believe that because of this and because of the philosophy that approaches healing from a "separate body parts" rather than the "whole person" view point, allopathic medicine can never cure illness. Remember, the operative word is "cure." I did not say that western medicine has not done good for society.

New Side-Effects - Thursday, September 3, 2009

While at church, I noticed that my right hand felt as though it had cuts on the side of it. I could not tell what was wrong. The next morning, what I termed a chemical burn appeared in several places on my hands. This caused me some alarm, but I did not want to call the oncologist knowing he would want to give me another drug. By Friday, my hands looked worse, especially the right one, and the only thing I knew to do was put cream on it throughout the day. Thankfully, it did not hurt, but it looked horrible.

Third Treatment - Wednesday, September 2, 2009

My third chemo appointment was today. During the course of that time, the doctor explained that chemo leaves your body in a few days which was news to me. He also explained that although the chemo was gone in a few days, its damaging effects were far reaching. More joyous news.

I then gave the doctor an article chronicling Dr. Burzynsky's cutting-edge alternative treatments in Houston, TX. He promised to read it fully later. I so want to influence this man to at least incorporate alternative or complementary medicine into his protocols. I truly believe this would greatly increase his effectiveness and success with his patients. There has to be some way to accomplish this.

After our appointment I was ready for chemo. My blood levels were excellent even though I had not taken the Neulasta shot. So we proceeded with the treatment. I again kept kicking the chair as the restlessness settled in on me from the Benadryl. About a half hour or so later, I was able to fall asleep. I do not know how much time elapsed but I finally heard the nurse say "You’re done". My friend, Janet, who had accompanied me to the appointment, drove me home and that night I conked.

Rock Bottom - Monday, August 31, 2009

I have only discussed the subject of feeling useless with one other cancer survivor to date so I am not sure whether this feeling is common or not. All I know is that I found myself feeling useless over and over again during this time. It is not that I have been rendered completely helpless, it is just that, at the moment, I cannot do all the things I want to do. When you are accustomed to helping people, assisting at your church, or producing your share at work, the idea of not being fully operational is difficult, to say the least. As time has gone by, the feelings of uselessness became more pronounced until today when I think I hit rock bottom. While exercising this morning, I found myself crying uncontrollably about it. It was then that I made a decision that somehow I would find a way to help others even during this time and announced it to God, the angels, and whoever else might care to listen. I think one has to make a decision first before you can actually move toward action. This is the reason for this blog. It is not because I have "diarrhea of the mouth" (a term my sister is fond of using for those who talk too much.) It is so that in sharing what I am going through and how I feel at the time, someone who is about to walk through the same fire, or has a loved one who is, can understand the feelings one may have in a situation like this.

Something to Thank God For - Friday, August 28, 2009

The oncologist called today and reported that both the bone and the CT scans were negative. That means the cancer had not spread to other parts of my body!! Thanks be to God!

The Scans - Wednesday, August 26, 2009

In order to prepare for the side-effects of the radiation, etc., involved in the tests, I started taking a particular amino acid supplement one week ahead of time. Then the day of the bone/CT scans came. Have you ever heard of a "day of infamy?" It started out normal enough. My friend, Marilyn, and I arrived ahead of time because she does not appreciate my desire to arrive exactly on the hour. That said, we approached the desk where the CT scan was to be performed only to be told to first go upstairs to the unit that would run the bone scan. This is where I was injected with radioactive material. The technician told me to drink 16 ounces of water every hour for the following three hours until the bone scan would be performed in order to improve the test results. Then we were directed back downstairs for the CT scan. For some reason, the technician had not understood when I told him that I was having another scan. So when it finally dawned on him that the next test was a CT scan, he changed the orders he gave me and said NOT to drink anything until after the CT scan was finished.


The next phase involved drinking two containers (I think they were both 16 ounces) of barium, then waiting 90 minutes to do the CT scan. When that was finished, I could take the test. A strange feeling started in my abdomen about that time. I kept wondering why my digestive system was so active. After about a half hour, I was released to have some lunch, then check in for the bone scan. In the hospital cafeteria, I saw the first technician and told him that I had only been able to drink about eight ounces of water so far, much less than he wanted. He seemed to think the test would still turn out well. After lunch, my friend and I walked back to the waiting room for the bone scan and the activity in my abdomen reached an all time high. My friend read the look on my face and asked what was wrong. I told her I was having colitis-like symptoms and was wondering if they were delayed side-effects from the last chemo treatment. She looked at me strangely and said, "Hello, how much barium did you drink?" I had honestly not made the connection because this was not supposed to be a Lower GI test. About that time the technician appeared and reassured me that if I needed to use the bathroom anytime during the hour long bone scan, I could. Easier said than done. First, he told me to climb up on a raised table, then he placed a strap around my waist including my arms so they could not move. Then he taped my feet together with duct tape. I felt like Nell in a Rocky and Bullwinkle episode. The worst thing about it was that every time he positioned the scanner over another body part, he left the room for seven to ten minutes depending on how much time was required. I do not know where he went, but believe it or not, that was the time the barium would act up in my colon. I lay there each time for what seemed like an eternity praying desperately, "Oh, God, help me, help me. Please help me!" over and over again. Then things would calm down inside and the technician would re-appear, re-position the scanner, leave, and my colon would activate all over again. I did not think I would last the hour, but finally the test was done and I was unstrapped and raced toward the bathroom.

When we left the hospital and headed home, the barium was still active. The problem was that I was scheduled to conduct a very important meeting at work about a half hour later. I called my boss and tried to discreetly explain the situation. Thankfully, he is a compassionate man and let me postpone the appointment until the next day. I went home and tried to forget there was a world outside the walls of my apartment. I was also determined NEVER to take either of those tests again.

Stomach Issues - Monday, August 17, 2009

Shortly after awakening, I had pains in the abdomen that I tried to ignore, which became progressively worse as the day wore on. I had no clue what to do and did not want to call the doctor’s office. So I asked Mark, the Sales Manager where I work, what he thought. He suggested ginger and gave me a few of his capsules. It pushed the pain away quite effectively although the pain somewhat lingered. I asked him later for a few extra capsules and took them later that evening. The pain did not return. Thank God!!!

Second Chemo Treatment - Wednesday, August 12, 2009

My second chemo treatment arrived and I was ready to tell the doctor emphatically that I was not taking the Neulasta shot. After reviewing the side-effects I had experienced and being re-assured that the natural supplement I was taking could keep my blood levels up to par, the oncologist agreed not to force the issue. However, not until after he strictly warned me several times to be particularly careful about contact with others from the 7th through the 10th days after treatment. These are the days when blood levels typically drop to the lowest point for chemo patients, making them very susceptible to infection. I also had to solemnly promise to call him immediately if I developed a temperature of 100.5 degrees or higher.

It was during this visit that he dropped a bomb on me. He told me that he wanted me to have a bone scan and a CT scan done in order to determine whether or not cancer had spread to other parts of my body. I asked him what that would mean. Would they inject me with radioactive material or dye or would I be subjected to radiation? He answered, "Yes" to all three. It was then that I lost my composure. I tried not to, but I could not remain calm. Fortunately, the doctor told me that he wanted to know what was troubling me. So, I did not hold back what I had been feeling for quite some time. I asked him if, when my parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems become exhausted and physiological symptoms appear, why would he not look for the reason behind the exhaustion? Why would he instead continue to load my body with materials that would put a continual burden on my immune system making it even harder to fight any reoccurrence of cancer? I told him I felt like I was in a Star Wars scene trying desperately to fight off laser beams from every direction. What followed was a very interesting conversation with the doctor in which he admitted the many problems of western medicine. He ended the conversation with a statement that greatly surprised me. He told me that he always wanted to learn more and that I could learn from him and he could learn from me. I was amazed that any doctor would say such a thing to me and somewhat humbled by it. What he lacks in years of experience he certainly makes up for in openness of mind, a quality I greatly need in a doctor. I am glad he is my oncologist, although I do not think I want to admit that to him. It seems somehow wrong to appreciate the person who is ordering toxic chemicals to be put into one’s body. Do not ask me to be logical at this point. I simply can not be.

So, I agreed to the scans and asked him to give me a deadline or I would probably put off the tests forever. I promised I would do them before the next treatment.

The Search For Hair - Saturday, August 8, 2009

After a semi-frantic search, I finally found a wig that looked like my hair which gave me some sense of security. By the way, I found out that manufacturers title their wig styles by female names. My wig’s name is "Abby." Although I was glad to have found "Abby", I was determined not to wear her until the very last minute. I know from talking to several women about this subject that everyone faces it differently. For me, the longer I could wear my own hair, the better. So every day for weeks, I arrived at work and ask several people how I looked. Would I freak out a customer because of the hair loss? Several staff, especially Marilyn, were kind enough to daily inspect my head and give me their honest feedback.

At the same time as the hair loss, a strange phenomenon occurred. It seemed the more hair volume I lost and the redder it became (a reaction between the Thymuskin hair treatment and the Henna I was using to color it) the more compliments I received from the male staff and the customers, both male and female. This lasted for weeks and sometimes amused me. So, I would cry every morning and evening as I fixed or washed my hair and about a half of a bucket worth came out, then I would arrive at work and be complimented on how great it looked. It really made me wonder. One day, I think I received the sweetest compliment from Brian. He sincerely told me that I had such a beautiful face that even if I became bald I would still look great. I knew he was not due for a raise in pay anytime soon, so I believed him.

There were times that I could find humor in the situation though. One particular day, I walked into the store yelling "bald-o-meter, bald-o-meter." I need someone to tell me how bald my head looks today. Marilyn laughed and said, "Give me that head!", as she grabbed my shoulders to see if all the bald spots were covered. Another day, I had a sudden burst of inspiration. I told Marilyn we could invent a new game for people going through chemo. She looked at me quizzically wondering what I was about to say. I told her that we could make a game called "Where’s Baldo?" and that chemo patients could look for the bald-headed person in the pictures. We both laughed hysterically. Every one who heard the idea thought it would sell. Please excuse my macabre sense of humor, but you have to find humor somewhere when you are in my position.

The Horror Continues - Friday, August 7, 2009

On Friday, I called the naturopath to see if there was something natural I could take to stop the hair loss. I had started on a shampoo/treatment we sell designed to preserve hair for chemo patients. However, the shampoo was supposed to be started two weeks prior to chemo and I, not knowing about the time requirement, had purchased the kit only the night before the first treatment. The naturopath suggested a supplement which I immediately purchased, but my hair kept falling out.

Hair Loss Begins - Wednesday, August 5, 2009

On the morning of the 14th day after chemo, I noticed as I brushed my hair that a more than normal amount fell out. I was so alarmed that I checked my chemo patient folder for the list of side effects only to find confirmation that on the 14th day, severe hair loss begins. I cannot describe adequately how panic stricken I was that morning.
I arrived at work only to burst into tears once inside the door. I do not know how I made it through the department head meeting that day without crying. Lea, who is also a beautician, offered to take me shopping for a wig. She took me to a beauty supply store after work where I tried on several. They all looked extremely fake. I was even more discouraged.
Each day, more gobs of hair fell from my head. One night, as I wet my hair in the shower in order to wash it, so much came out in the water flow that it felt like a blanket of fur had dropped on my shoulders. It was an indescribably horrible feeling. From that day on, I decided to wash my hair over the tub first then take a shower because it was so hard to keep my hair from going down the drain while washing it and crying at the same time.

The Pain Continues - Monday, July 27, 2009

Although the pain was decreasing a little each day, by Monday morning, I knew I had to call the oncologist's office. I learned from the nurse practitioner that what I thought was muscle pain was actually bone pain and that is why resting did not alleviate it. She told me to take ibuprofen or Motrin in conjunction with the Claritin every few hours in order to find relief. They also informed me that the pain could last a week or two. Generally speaking, I have a high threshold for pain. Most people who know me are aware of this, but having to stand one hour in our vitamin aisle was bringing me to tears. So, I called the naturopath as well. She told that some of her patients had to stay in bed because the pain was so intense. She also said that because I was taking Marrowplus, a natural product which would protect my white blood cells, I was within my rights to refuse the shot. It was then that I decided not to take it again with the stipulation that if my blood counts were below normal at the time of chemo, I would reconsider. However, by Thursday afternoon, one week after the shot had been administered, I noticed the bone pain had subsided. What a relief, thank God!!!

First Side Effects - Friday, July 24, 2009

Friday morning I awoke feeling as though someone had beaten my entire body. No matter what I did that morning, nothing seemed to help. The doctor had suggested Claritin in case I experienced side-effects from the shot but I did not want to start taking more drugs to combat side-effects, so I promised my nurse friend that I would take some Tylenol instead. It did not help at all. I did manage to work all day which was a feat considering how I felt. By Saturday morning, I relented and took the Claritin. It did very little, if anything, to ease the pain. I went to my hairdresser's that morning but was moving so slowly that I felt like an eighty-five year old rather than my present age. (No, I am not telling.) Saturday afternoon, I rested for several hours, but rest did nothing to ease the pain. Sunday was just as hard. Added to this, on Sunday morning all of a sudden I felt as though I was going to either faint or throw up at the same time. My poor sister rushed to my side and told me my arms felt "clammy." I had her bring me some Umeboshi plum paste which is very alkalizing and after a few minutes the feelings passed and I was able to attend church, although it took me longer to get there. I wondered what else could happen.

First Treatment - Wednesday, July 22, 2009

I want to first mention that one of the major blessings through all this has been the number of people who have volunteered to take me to doctors’ appointments, treatments, surgery, etc. Their kindness amazes me. My sister, Fran, accompanied me the first time. I met with the doctor before the chemo treatment, and told him that I wanted to go with the TC protocol. He said that would be fine. After seeing him, I went into the treatment rooms and chose a semi-private cubby hole. There were nurses hovering around me the whole time explaining how the treatment would go, what would be done, what the side effects were, and that I should have purchased a wig by now. They even brought a woman over to me who was completely bald to show me her head and talk about her wig. I did not have the heart to tell them how unhelpful this was.

Fran told me afterwards that I looked mad at the nurses, and actually I was angry at all the garbage I would have to deal with and the toxins that would be placed in my body. It was overwhelming to say the least. First, they drew blood and had it checked by the lab immediately to make sure my blood levels were in good enough condition for the treatment. Then they administered a cocktail of steroids to help with any allergic reactions along with an anti-nausea medication. Next, came the Benadryl, but I am not sure why. Finally, they administered the Taxotere and then separately, the Cytoxan. The Benadryl made me sleepy but restless. As soon as I began to relax, I had the intense urge to kick the chair. It took a while to calm down. I slept most of the time while listening to my GoBible (the bible on Ipod). Finally, the three hours were over, and I was able to go home. My eyes felt fuzzy, and I had a headache, but I had survived. That night I rested and had pea soup in an effort to alkalize my system because chemo is very acidifying to the body.

The doctor had also mentioned that he wanted me to take a shot called Neulasta. It is given to chemo patients in order to force white blood cells to develop rapidly in the bone marrow. This is done as a preemptive measure because chemo attacks white blood cells. He told me some possible side-effects could be muscle soreness. I had great misgivings but decided to take the shot any way. It was a decision I would very soon regret. It had to be administered 24 hours after the chemo treatment. My friend, Marge, the nurse, agreed to administer it at my house which saved me a trip back to the doctor’s office the next day.

Port Installation - Monday, July 20,2009

The day of the port was challenging. My friend, Mike, drove me which was a great blessing since I was not allowed to drive myself or return to work afterwards. I understand now why the restrictions. I arrived at the proper department on time and was given a plethora of instructions and a mind-boggling amount of information about the procedure by the attending nurse and the physician’s assistant. Then the physician’s assistant showed me the port they were going to surgically implant in my body. It was a triangular object about an inch wide and a half inch thick. It also had a thin tube attached to it, about a foot long. I was shocked at the size. The physician’s assistant explained that the port would go up underneath my left clavicle. They would make an incision above my clavicle where the tube would be inserted so that it could be placed inside a large vein. They both explained that the port would be visible through my skin because of my thin frame. So now I felt like a Borg from Star Trek. They then put me on "twilight" in the operating room and began the procedure. When it was finished, I was half in and half out, it was like being in a daze or zombie-like state. They waited until I was stable and then released me. Mike drove me home and walked with me up the three flights of steps to my apartment. At one point, I leaned over to get something, and I almost passed out. I made my way to the couch. Mike stayed to make sure I was okay and then left for work. I then had to stay very still with my eyes shut in order not to throw up. This sensation lasted a number of hours.

Unfortunately, I could not rest because every 20 minutes I had to put ice on and off. Later, I somehow managed to make lunch and eat. The day went by quickly. At night before dinner time, I received a phone call from the oncologist. He promptly informed me that he was surprised that I had decided to do chemo. He then told me that he was considering a more aggressive protocol and wanted me to make a decision as to which I would prefer. Would I choose Taxotere/Cytoxan aka (TC) which is less aggressive and has fewer side-effects or Adriamycyn/Taxol/Cytoxan aka AC, a more toxic protocol with more side effects. Not only was I still trying to recoup from the procedure of the day, but the whole idea of deciding between the two protocols added to my stress. I felt like an emotional wreck. Added to that, the idea of a doctor asking me which protocol I preferred was a bit unnerving. At that point I wondered if he knew what he was doing. (Later I realized he did.)

The next day I called my friend, Marge, the oncologist Ph.D. nurse and asked her opinion. She e-mailed a nurse friend of hers who works in an oncologist’s office. The nurse’s counsel was that both protocols were reasonable. However, due to the fact that the AC protocol has been known to produce cardiac side effects, and there is a family history of heart problems, the TC approach would be less problematic. I was immensely relieved and felt more confidant about my original decision.

Preparation Time - Tuesday, July 14, 2009

In the weeks before the operation, a naturopath happened to call and introduce herself to me. She works in our local area once a month. Since she refers many of her patients to our store she wanted to become more familiar with our products and so requested a store tour. I agreed to meet with her a week later. I was especially impressed by her training at Bastyr, a naturopathic college in Washington state, which included learning about the interaction between drugs and herbs. During the tour she mentioned that she treats many patients battling cancer. I asked for some business cards. After I made the decision to do chemotherapy I remembered her and decided to call. I made an appointment for one week before chemo would start in order to get a head start preparing my body for the treatments ahead. She tailored the program I was already on by reducing some supplements that would have interferred with the chemo. She also added some products that would protect the specific body systems chemo attacks most. I started on the program as soon as possible, grateful that I had some concrete direction.

Day of Decision - Friday, July 10, 2009

Three days later I saw the “unholistic” oncologist. That was altogether a different experience. This doctor explained the five different troubling things about my pathology report. He also gave me in percentage points the survival rate with and without surgery, chemo and radiation. He spent an hour with me and answered all my questions. He also told me that if I decided to do chemo I would need a port (a device implanted into the chest in order to dispense drugs into a large vein) installed several days prior and that I needed to start chemo within five to six weeks of the operation in order for the protocol to be more effective. He recommended four cycles of chemo, six weeks of radiation.

I told him that if I decided to do chemo, I would walk through it with a naturopath. He said that was fine and that I should just tell him what I would be taking, and if he knew anything about it, he would address it. He said many of his patients used “complementary” medicine. That was one of the deciding factors for me in terms of choosing him as my oncologist. His attitude was completely different from the first opinion.
Even so, I felt as though I were in a whirlwind. I knew my family and friends were afraid I was not going to choose chemo. Some acquaintances and friends from the health food industry were so opposed to it that I felt as though I was letting them down. I was absolutely opposed and revolted by the thought of putting toxins in my body. I did not believe it was a cure yet I felt as though I had no choice because of the progress of the tumor. I repeatedly found myself angry over the choice I had to make. Although I appreciated the concern and input of family and friends, this was my decision to make because I was the one who would feel the long-term effects of the treatment. A day or two later, I went for a walk praying the whole time. I found myself suddenly coming to a point of decision. I told the Lord that I would do the chemo and the radiation then detox my body immediately afterwards. After the walk, I prayed some more. I told the Lord I was still having a difficult time trusting Him for protection while allowing the doctors to put toxins in my body. I asked the Lord if there was a scripture that spoke to this situation. The whole time I was praying out loud I was thinking inside that there was no such scripture in the bible. I no sooner finished the prayer than Daniel 3 came to mind, the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-Nego in the fiery furnace. I remembered they came out of the fiery furnace without harm to their bodies, their hair was not singed and they did not smell like smoke. Having worked in a smoke-damaged store for six months, I knew how impossible that was, naturally speaking. I was still opposed to the idea of chemo but realized God was promising me complete protection if I stood on His Word. The turmoil in my heart died down considerably. The next step was to schedule the installment of the port and coordinate that with my first chemo appointment.

First Opinion - Tuesday, July 7, 2009

One day while talking with my chiropractor, who had had bladder cancer twenty-three years ago, he recommended an oncologist who had cared for his father years ago. He was under the impression that this oncologist had a holistic viewpoint. I made an appointment with this doctor and the one my surgeon had recommended. It happened that I saw the “holistic”, or so I thought, oncologist first. Not only was he not holistic but he also displayed disdain towards my alternative medicine beliefs. He recommended radiation then chemo and sternly warned me not to take so much as a vitamin during the time of treatment. He never explained anything to me but kept referring to my lab reports as though I would understand the “why’s” behind his protocol. I left his office in tears. I have no idea how I got to work except by the grace of God. I could barely pray because I did not know what to say. When I walked into work, it took all the strength within me to walk into the back room and get to my office without falling apart. I felt as though I was in a plastic bubble. I could not communicate with the people around me, and they could not reach me. I was aware of all the normal sights and sounds around me, people talking about their lives, what they were going to be doing that weekend, etc, but I could not communicate with them. I felt trapped inside a windowless and doorless room. Marilyn asked me how things went, and I fell apart. I told her everything the oncologist had said. At that point, I felt hopeless, as though I had received a death sentence. Marilyn tried to console me, but nothing helped. Later, I walked into the vitamin aisle to stock product and tried to think and pray. However, I was having great difficulty concentrating. Later, Mike arrived at work and asked me about the appointment. I fell apart again. He too tried to console me, but I was inconsolable. Later that day, I attended our management team meeting. Again, I had a difficult time trying to concentrate on the agenda and refrain from crying.

Recommendations - Monday, June 22, 2009

In the days following the operation, the tests performed on the tumor revealed that the cancer was, indeed, invasive ductile carcinoma - stage two because there was a micro-metastasis to one lymph node. It was classified as a triple negative tumor, which means estrogen, progesterone, and herceptin receptor negative. It also meant that the tumor was more aggressive than a “positive” one. In short, this meant chemotherapy as a protocol.

I think that this was the worst blow of all, even beyond the original diagnosis, because it meant having to allow highly toxic chemicals to be put in my body. In the follow-up visit with my surgeon, he explained in detail what they had found and what the different protocols might be. He must have read the look on my face accurately. Afterwards, he put his arm around my shoulder and told me not to worry. Even though this was a surprise, they would get me through it. He also said he would try to find me an oncologist who understood nutrition. To tell you the truth, I do not think there is one but the level of respect he showed for my belief system, even though it is not one he espouses, blessed me. So he gave me the name of a group of oncologists near the hospital that he liked.

Coping with Hair Loss - Friday, September 18, 2009

No matter how hard I have tried to become used to the idea of looking like a concentration camp victim, it still shocks me every morning when I look in the mirror. It is so difficult to fathom looking this way for another six plus months. Please understand that I am grateful that I still have hair all over my head. It is just that I kind of resemble my dad. He had that little "flip top" look men often wear if you can picture what I mean. I remember that it used to take him ten minutes to fuss with his "do" every day. He began by taking a boxer's stance in front of the bathroom mirror and vigorously rubbing some kind of home-made concoction into his scalp. Then he would smack his head a number of times. (I think to get the circulation going - I never had the guts to ask.) The finale occurred when he would ceremoniously comb the hair around his head then give three swift strokes to the "flip-over" part on top. Lastly, he would nod his head at me and smile as if to say, "Now I am ready to face the world." It always amazed me that it took longer for him to complete this process than it took for me to comb my hair. However, now I understand. When you have so little to work with it is extremely important to make sure you get the look just right.

Surgery Day - Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The day finally came and at about 6:15 a.m. we left for the hospital. On the way, I called a dear friend and my former pastor asking for prayer. They are the only two people I would call that early. We arrived on time, registered as required, then sat and waited to be called. I thought I would go to the bathroom just in case they would not let me once the process began only to find that my name had been called in the interim and that the registration clerk was impatiently looking for me. Then it was off to the “Nuclear” area for the Sentinel Node biopsy. This is when you are injected with radioactive material (I am not sure if it is dye or not) in order to detect whether or not cancer has invaded the lymph nodes surrounding the breast. As the surgeon and I walked to the procedure room he told me that although he knew I had mixed emotions about the operation, he believed I was doing the right thing. I told him that “mixed” was not the word to describe how I felt.

Next, I was escorted to a small room where a procedure was performed to mark the area of cancer with two wires. I had no idea what that entailed until I was in the middle of the process. It was just as well. I do not think I would have wanted to understand what would happen ahead of time. Thank God, they gave me local anesthesia first. Then the procedure began by putting my breast in the mammogram machine. While I was “stuck” in there, the doctor inserted two wires on either side of the tumor with enough tissue in between to ensure they would be cutting out all the cancer. I was praising God in my mind because at that point I really needed His help in order not to scream at the top of my lungs. I felt somewhat like I was the object of a ghoulish experiment. The nurse then taped a styrofoam cup to my breast because the wires were protruding from my skin and she did not want them to puncture my arm, or perhaps get stuck in my gown. I walked back into the waiting area and cried. My sister, not knowing the details of what had just happened, asked why I was crying. I could barely speak. Now, I can laugh at the thought of having a styrofoam cup taped to me but at that point laughing was the farthest thing from my mind. Then the time came for the operation. I was placed on a gurney and whisked down to the pre-op prep room where nurses, doctors and I do not know who else, fluttered around me asking questions, giving instructions and checking my vitals. After this, I was wheeled into the freezing cold operating room. I remember being transferred to the surgical table then hearing the anesthesiologist say, “Good bye.” The next thing I knew I was somewhat awake and trying to determine my surroundings when the surgeon leaned over me and told me that they had discovered the cancer had invaded another area. I was too groggy to respond.

They wheeled me up to the room I would inhabit that night and my sister arrived to sit with me. I was made aware that the surgeon had inserted a drainage tube inside my body that hung from my right side. As the anesthesia wore off, the pain in my right arm increased greatly. It was difficult to move because of it.
As the hours passed, I mused more and more over the surgeon’s words in the operating room. I was terribly disappointed and needed some REAL answers. I think in those weeks that followed I could have torn someone’s head off for trying to offer me some “pat” explanation for the results of the operation. So no one did.

Cancer Discovery April - June 2009

In April, I discovered an unusual lump in my body and as soon as possible called my doctor. One week later, after two mammograms and an ultrasound, I received a diagnosis of ductile carcinoma insitu, or dcis for short. In laymen’s terms, this is non-invasive breast cancer. During a conference with my doctor of fifteen plus years, I was informed that the only course of treatment she could recommend was mastectomy. I immediately requested a three-week sabbatical as I found myself unwillingly submerged into a foreign world of second opinions, MRI’s, Ultrasound’s, genetic testing, and alternative therapies. My diet, which had been undergoing steady adjustments since my arrival at Martindale’s, also became severely restricted. My normal life became a whirlwind of emotions, life-changing decisions, doctors' visits and tests, tests, tests.

My friends urged me to obtain a second opinion to which I originally gave minimal thought because I so trusted the skill of my long-time attending surgeon. I am so grateful that I listened. The doctor recommended to me had been voted best in the Philadelphia area about eight out of the past ten years. He took about an hour to explain to me all the different options I had with this diagnosis and best of all he said he believed he could SAVE MY BREAST. He also gave me two extra weeks before surgery was required which gave me extra time to use alternative therapies. This made the decision for me. I also want to mention that his bedside manner gave new meaning to the term. I wish I could adopt him as my dad.

So I returned to work in the interim on a reduced work schedule after undergoing all the preliminary tests and setting a date for surgery. The next three weeks I felt as though I did not have one minute to myself between work, the alternative therapies, taking care of my house and most important, my prayer time. These were days that required my complete focus against an unseen enemy – some alien thing growing in my body. It is hard to describe the emotions one feels at such a time. It is nearly impossible to fully process as well as convey what it feels like to hear one, then two, then three medical professionals tell you that you could die in the prime of your life. I had walked through this same trauma with my oldest sister who died at the very young age of 35. However, I learned in just a few short days of receiving the diagnosis that whether or not one faces this type of situation with a loved one, it is a totally different prospect when you are the one with that diagnosis. It is an understatement to say that this kind of situation really puts your life into perspective. Although I have never believed I would do anything other than live until my late eighties like my parents, I still had to respect the fact that in some ways I was facing my own mortality. And, believe me, it changes you forever.

Some may wonder what it feels like to face major surgery for something like cancer. I can only say that, for me, life was too busy to really think about it. Then June 15th arrived. That was the day the surgeon agreed to examine me to see if the alternative therapies had produced the desired result in order to avoid surgery. His answer, after palpating the area, was that the tumor was still there and that I should report to the hospital on schedule. Even so, I was still hopeful that there would be some evidence of death within the tumor.

Chiropractic Visit - Friday, September 11, 2009

I think I have lost all forms of dignity and decorum as of today. There is something about losing most of your hair that does this to you. Here is a prime example - I had an appointment with my chiropractor today and wore my wig (Abby) because my hair is now too thin to go "au naturel" at work. (I was going to work right afterwards.) I told him that if he needed me to I would take the wig off so he could perform the cranial work he usually does on me. When the time came I pulled the wig off while lying on my back on his chiropractic table. I did not know where to put it so I laid it on my stomach. And then I thought what a strange scene this would be if someone were to walk in the door. I said to him, "Does this happen often?" laughing almost to tears and motioning to the wig on my lap. "No, not usually." he said rather matter of factly while trying to unlace my shoe strings in order to adjust my left foot. Somehow what made me cry uncontrollably has now become at times a source of comedic relief.