This is my story, as told on the One_in_Eight blog. I've put it here in chronological order, to make it easier to read. Please feel free to share my story with anyone that you think it might help, and please feel free to e-mail me.

Thanks,

One_in_Eight

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. To help promote awareness, Oprah had a show on yesterday where they followed 3 women through their experiences. It was a good show; "a 60 minute cry" as one of my friends put it. 

The women they used were all young, all under the age of 40. The first was shown going through chemotherapy. The second had found out she was pregnant the day after she was diagnosed with cancer. The third shared her experience of going through a mastectomy. Interspersed throughout was tapes of other patients giving snippets of what they had been through. One of the most moving (for me) was the woman who was crying because she was through with her treatment. It was also pointed out that all three had found the lumps themselves (!), not through a mammogram.

Like I said, it was a good show but being an hour long, it couldn't go into a lot of detail. Face it - Oprah was going for the emotional factor, not the educational one. For example, the third woman who had the mastectomy - they focused on the day of the surgery. What they didn't show was the decisions leading up to the mastectomy, such as lumpectomy versus mastectomy, taking one breast versus taking both, reconstruction options, and so on. They didn't explain the importance of the lymph node dissection. They didn't show the aftermath of the surgery, such as dealing with the drains placed in your body, or the emotional upheaval of seeing your body cut open and sewn back together.

It was a good show, but it left me wanting. Wanting to share my own experiences of surviving through diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, and now radiation. Wanting to share my feelings, my emotions, and how I decided I would not let cancer rule my life. This will be my story.

~~~

The Discovery

A little background about myself. I'm 36, with a two year old daughter, married for eleven years. My husband and I have a successful small business that allows us to work from home. Things are sailing along - what can go wrong?

It's our ritual that when we hear Babydoll stirring on the baby monitor, one of us will get her and bring her to our bed. That way, Darlin and I can drag ourselves into the land of the living while Babydoll entertains us with fascinating songs about itsy bitty spiders. She loves to laugh and tickle, and say "Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and Bakey", which is rather amusing.

So one morning - February 1^st to be exact - she's tickling me and climbing over me, and she hits a spot. Ow. That doesn't quite feel right. And I put my hand on my breast, and there it is. A lump. Flat. About the size of a quarter.

I got up and walked around to Darlin's side of the bed and climbed in. "Feel this." Our eyes met. We knew.

I called for a doctor's appointment. Very Cheerful Woman answered. How can they be so cheery at 7:30 in the morning? "What can we do for YOU today?" "I found a lump in my breast." Silence. Then Very Cheerful Woman became All Business Woman. "We have an appointment at 10:30. I'm sorry that I can't get you in sooner." Sorry? I'm thrilled it's today. I thought I was going to have to wait all weekend before seeing anyone.

Our appointment was with a Physician's Assistant. Very sweet, very southern. Again, when she asked why I was there, she turned all business. She examined my breast - poked, prodded, and announced "The nipple is bleeding." Wha?? I looked down, and blood was dripping from my nipple.

Now, I breastfed Babydoll, so I'm used to weird things dripping out of my breasts, but this was RED. It wasn't natural. 

"I'll have to refer you for a mammogram, but the I'm sure the soonest I can get you in is next week." So, here comes that long weekend. "And I'm going to go ahead and set up a referral for the surgeon." What? Surgeon? This is happening too fast.

How did this happen? I regularly do breast self-examinations. I have a Master's in Health Education, so I've taught other women how to do BSE's. How did this big-ass lump just suddenly appear on my chest? 

~~~

To see what's inside

The next Friday, Darlin drives me to the clinic where I'll have the mammogram. Of course, he wasn't allowed to go to the inner waiting room with me. Instead, I got to wait with a bunch of women sitting in hospital gowns for their turn to get their breast smushed.

Looking around, it was easy to pick the ones that were there for their normal mammogram test - the ones reading magazines the ones looking impatient because they want to get to work. Then there were the rest of us; the ones chewing on our fingernails, looking scared. "Why are you here?" the woman next to me asks. "I found a lump." "You're so young." Yes, I am, I think. The technician calls my name.

I go in and show the technician my lump. She takes several shots, then notes that my nipple is bleeding again. She disappears for a while, then comes back and takes more angles. What's going on?

There's no lump on the mammogram. WHAT? But the thing is friggin' huge! How could it not show up on the mammogram? The tech then explains to me that because of my age, mammograms probably would not be able to pick up the lump through the breast tissue. Once you turn 40, your breast tissue becomes more fatty, which makes it easier to see abnormalities.

Then they take me in for an ultrasound. The technician here is chatty Kathy. I'm trying not to cry. She sees the lump and goes over it several times with the ultrasound wand, measuring, taking pictures.

I get dressed, and the ultrasound tech brings out a piece of paper that says, yes I do indeed have an abnormality and should see a surgeon. "When do I get to talk to the radiologist?" "Well, she's busy. Look, you got a lump, you know it's a lump, you've already got an appointment with the surgeon on Monday."

"Yeah, but can you tell me anything about the lump?"

"Well, the doctor is supposed to do that."

"But the radiologist isn't going to talk to me, and I won't see the surgeon until Monday. Can't you at least tell me if it looked like it had fluid in it?" (If it's fluid-filled, it's more likely to be "just" a cyst.)

"Um, no it wasn't fluid."

"oh."

"But it didn't look completely solid, either - to me."

"oh?" (fibroid?)

"You're just going to have to wait and talk to the doctor on Monday."

I'm changing my mantra from "I'm not going to be worried until there's something to worry about" to "If I expect the worst, maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised."

~~~

Momma said there would be days like this

I just went to have my port flushed. The scenario should be that they stick a needle in the port in my arm and send two syringes of saline through, just to wash out any crap that might be accumulating in the line. It didn't quite work that way. They missed the port and sent the saline straight into my arm (not the vein), creating a pretty cool water balloon affect. Except that it was ON MY ARM! That's probably the closest I've ever come to throwing up through all of my experience as a pin cushion. The swelling is gone now - just some nice bruises to remind me of what a fine day it's been.

~~~

The Biopsy

My next appointment was on Monday with the surgeon, Dr. M. He kinda looks like Dr. Green from ER and has a wonderful bedside manner. He explained to me that the ultrasound did show the tumor (oh, so we've gone from lump to tumor, eh?) to be very suspicious, and he wanted to do a biopsy.

So, I lay back on the table, and expose my breast once again. He gives me a local anesthetic into the tumor. He makes a small cut with a scalpel. He then sticks the biopsy needle into the tumor. This needle is hollow on the inside, so it's like taking a soil sample. He pulls out a "plug" of tumor and drops it into a jar with some sort of liquid. He does this two more times. It hurts like hell, despite the anesthetic.

Darlin is trying to keep me from watching, tries to get me to focus on him, actually starts some of the breathing/relaxation exercises that we learned in our birthing classes. It makes me smile that he is trying so hard.

Dr. M finishes with what he is doing. Obviously, he can't make a diagnosis without a pathology report, but he didn't like what he saw. He starts throwing around the "cancer" word; we know that we're being prepared.

He wants to meet on Friday to discuss removing the tumor. Regardless of whether or not it's cancerous, it needs to be removed. So when will we find out what the pathology report has to say? Wednesday, before our next meeting. He tells us that he can schedule a meeting to discuss the report, or he can just call me at home. Would I mind taking a call like that?

Heh. Would I mind taking a call like that? Well, it would be easier than getting all worked up, driving to the doctor's office. I would be in my own home, where I could absorb any shock. I agree to let him call me Wednesday afternoon.

He gives me a hug on the way out. I told you he had a great bedside manner.

~~~

The Phone Call

The doctor said he would call me Wednesday afternoon when he got the pathology report from the biopsy. Darlin had to go out of town, so our Business Partner was going to come over in the afternoon to be with me. My plan was to put the doctor on the speaker phone so that BizPart could listen too, making sure that I got all the information correct. I had a list of questions to ask, all written down with spaces in between to write the answers. See how professional I was being about the whole situation?

But, of course, things never work out the way you plan. I was counting on the doctor calling in the afternoon, but in the morning, there was mass chaos. I had contractors painting the inside of our house. I had a man that was supposed to come fix our pinball machine. (yeah, we're geeks) And Babydoll had such a bad diaper rash that her doctor suggested keeping her home from daycare and letting her run around without a diaper.

Then the phone rang. "Hi, this is Dr. M. We got your pathology report back. Is it OK if I tell you about it over the phone? You said I could call you." "Um, OK" (frantically looking for my list of questions - where did it go??? OK, something, anything to write on!)

"Well, the tumor is cancerous, and it is malignant." (Deep breath, keep it together) "It's what is known as infiltrating ductal carcinoma. It's poorly differentiated."

"That's good right? It can't keep itself together?"

"No, that's actually bad. You want a cancer that's going to form a solid tumor."

"Oh." Hey, who's that coming up the driveway - oh, shit it's the pinball repair guy. Hand over mouthpiece, "Hey, Painter, go talk to Pinball Guy." (Fortunately, Painter is into pinball games himself and can talk turkey with repairman.)

"Because you're so young," the doctor continues, "it's probable that it’s spread faster. According to the biopsy, there is possible lymphatic invasion."

OK, I know what that means - it might have spread to other parts of my body.

In the meantime, WonderDog is going crazy that there is ANOTHER strange man in the house, and Babydoll, still without diaper, is concerned that someone is playing with her daddy's toy, and keeps trying to tell me about it.

I keep walking to different parts of the house, trying to pay attention to what the doctor is saying, but the only thing that runs through my mind is "Ohmigawd, I have cancer."

"I want you to talk to the breast education counselor at the hospital. Can I tell her it's OK to call you?" "Um, sure." (Ohmigawd, I have cancer.)

And then I accidentally stepped on Babydoll's foot. Oh, the scream. "OK, doc, I gotta go - we'll talk on Friday." Fuck me. Take care of Babydoll. Deal with Pinball Guy and Painter. (Ohmigawd, I have cancer.)

Call BizPart. "Come get me NOW." "Are you OK?" "NO! I have fucking cancer." "Be there in 15 minutes." I slather Babydoll's butt in Desitin and get her dressed. The phone rings. "Hi, this is Susan from the hospital. Dr. M. asked me to call you." (Wow, that was fast!) "Are you OK?" (NO! I have fucking cancer!) I'd like to set up an appointment to see you Friday before your appointment with Dr. M. Is that OK?" "OK"

BizPart walks in with OtherGoodFriend. "Get me out of here." They take me to a local restaurant. "What will you ladies have?" "One of every appetizer you have, and a bottle of wine." Eyebrows go up. BizPart speaks up "Better make that two bottles of wine." I've got good friends.

The rest of the day was a haze. When we got back from lunch, the painters had already gone, out of respect as I learned the next day. I paged Darlin, and he stepped out of a meeting so that I could tell him what was going on. I called my sister who I already had confided in, then called my mom and broke the news to her. That was the hardest. My dad is a cancer survivor, but had a really bad stroke last year due to a tumor at the base of the brain. My mom was devastated.

I was so tired, but the master bedroom was in shambles from the painting. BizPart made me a pallet on the couch, then waited till I fell asleep before leaving. Like I said, I have good friends.

What a day.

~~~

The Visit With the Counselor

I'm a member of an HMO. How scary is that to be told you have a serious disease and you have to play by their rules? But I gotta say - my HMO is GOOD! The doctors (except for the radiologist that I already discussed) all took a lot of time with me, and answered all my questions in a very straightforward way - even when they had to give me answers that I didn't want to hear.

And here I am, being referred to a counselor, er excuse me, breast health education specialist, at the local hospital. We met with her on Friday, two days after my phone call. She was a very caring woman, a very gushing woman. Darlin and I had trouble not to laugh out loud at times. She had never had breast cancer herself, but we got the impression that she wanted it badly - to make her more empathetic to the people she counseled, you see.

She was also very educational. I have a Master's in Health Education, and think I'm pretty savvy about women's health, but she took it to a whole new level. She explained the process that I was about to go through, the decisions that I would be facing. She tried to prepare us for the outcome of any surgery that I would undergo - I would come out looking like a Christmas tree. (Um, what?) Stitches everywhere looking like garland and JP drains looking like Christmas balls. Pretty. The hospital also offered support groups, exercise classes especially for breast cancer patients, and so on. We walked out of there knowing we had a support system if we needed it.

~~~

The Visit With the Surgeon

Disclaimer: Everything I decided over the next few weeks was based on my circumstances: my cancer, my history, my age, my doctor's recommendations. There are 15 different types of breast cancer, so there is not a set protocol on treatment.

After the visit with the counselor, we went to Dr. M's, the surgeon, office.

One of the issues was the size of the lump. The ultrasound had measured it at as 2x2.2x2.3 cm, right above my nipple. It was also poorly differentiated and infiltrating. Mastectomy looked like the right choice, as opposed to a lumpectomy. Plus, I didn't want to have to go through radiation. Don't ask me why, but I would rather have all my breast tissue removed than go through radiation. Oh, the irony.

Dr. M. then explained that I could have reconstruction done at the same time as the mastectomy, or wait, or not have it at all. But he wanted me to consult with a plastic surgeon to discuss those options. Okey-doke.

Then he dropped the bombshell. Had I thought about having BOTH breasts removed? No, actually I hadn't. Well, because of my (young) age, and because the cancer was aggressive, it was possible that I would have a higher chance of recurrence. Just something to think about.

You know what? I'm tired of thinking about boobies. I want to go to Disney World. And so we did.

~~~

The Visit with the Plastic Surgeon

When we got back from Disney, we had a consultation with the plastic surgeon, Dr. E. He offered three options: 1) No reconstruction at the time of the mastectomy; 2) a saline implant; and 3) the TRAM flap procedure.

The saline implant would require putting an expander under the skin. You gradually expand the tissue until a saline implant could be put in, later down the road.

The TRAM flap reconstruction would take tissue and muscle from my abdomen to rebuild the breast.

We discussed with the surgeon the type of symmetry that could be achieved if only one breast was removed versus removing both breasts.

~~~

The Decision

While we were at Disney World and afterwards, Darlin and I had some serious heart-to-heart's about what we should do. We had been reading like crazy, trying to find out everything we could. What were the statistics, what were the survival rates? Should one breast be removed, should both? What would it do to our sex life? How would it affect my sensuality if I had no feeling in my breasts?

Everyone had an opinion. Everyone shared what their mother/sister/aunt/friend-down-the-street had done. But the one word I kept hearing was "recurring". The cancer came back.

I had a mammogram done on my left breast, which showed nothing. However, this did not make me comfortable, since the mammogram had showed nothing on the right breast where the huge lump was. After the mammogram, I called the general surgeon's nurse.

"Can I just schedule some time to talk to him?" "Well, he's actually in his office right now. Would you like me to put you through?" "Yes, please." What she didn't know was that I was on my cell phone right down the hall, so I made my way to his office as we made the initial polite phone call patter.

Then I stepped into his office. Obviously, he was a bit surprised, but immediately he went from "professional, phone call consultation" attitude to "here's a woman who is fixing to lose it, I'd better be pretty compassionate" attitude. OK, doc, what should I do? And he laid out the pros and cons. OK, but what would you tell YOUR wife to do?          "Both."

We met with the plastic surgeon again. If I was going to have a double, how would the TRAM work? All of the abdominal tissue would be used. Since I had a healthy little gut from my pregnancy, my breast size would increase slightly. Ah, so I'm going to get a tummy tuck and a boob job, all at the same time. BONUS!

My Apologies

I realized from some of your concerned comments that the "journaling" voice that I've been using might make it appear that I'm currently going through this ordeal. I'm sorry to have misled you, but this actually took place in February and March.

It's like being pregnant. You hear about the wonderful feeling of a life growing in you. You hear about the morning sickness and the heartburn. But you don't get the nitty-gritty details, like how your feet grow and your gums bleed, and you have to drink nasty orange-Tang stuff for a glucose test. No, none of that's discussed until you're already pregnant and it's too late.

Same with going through cancer treatment. Like VeryModern said, they show you a bunch of women, and then they're suddenly dressed in white. (Wait a minute - I never got my white uniform!) They don't tell you the little details, like the MUGA heart scan, the CAT scan, peeing orange. "We're going to put a port in your arm." That doesn't sound too bad - except they forget to mention the 4-inch scar that it will leave.

So anyway, I apologize if I misled you into thinking this was currently happening. I'm writing this blog to help educate other people what it's like to go through the experience, and of course, to help me deal with my emotions. The next couple of sections dealing with my surgery are going to be especially hairy for me, but I hope that you guys also learn something.

Don't worry, it turns out OK. Now on with my story.

~~~

More About the TRAM Flap Procedure

The week before my surgery was filled with more doctors' appointments. Six, I think. Signing consultation forms, visiting the hospital (What to Expect When You're Expecting Surgery). A visit to my general MD to get an EKG to make sure my heart could withstand the surgery, a PAP smear and a prescription for Prozac (not to be taken until after my surgery - but I need it NOW!) And final consultations with Dr. M, the general surgeon, and Dr. E, the plastic surgeon.

Dr. M would be responsible for removing my breasts, which included all the tissue and nipples. Yeah, the nipples are considered breast tissue. Who knew.

Dr. E. would be responsible for the actual TRAM flap procedure. In our consultation with him, he went into more detail then what had been said before. You see, they give you this nice little brochure from the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, making it look like, well, nothing. You lay there with your arms over your head, and little arrows move around pieces of tissue and there you go.

But that's not quite the way it works, as Dr. E went on to explain to us in gruesome detail.

Warning - This is about to get gory.

When the general surgeon removes the breast tissue in the mastectomy, he leaves skin "pockets" in the breast for the plastic surgeon to fill.  The plastic surgeon cuts a section of your abdomen from above the belly button to the pubic bone. Since I was having a double mastectomy, this section will be divided in half. The resulting "flaps" are comprised of skin, tissue and muscle. Which muscle? The transverse rectus abdominis muscle. That's right - your "six pack" muscle. (Hmm, if I do sit-ups, will my boobs become firmer?)

These "flaps" (muscle, tissue, and skin) are tunneled under the chest wall and come up into the breast pockets left by the general surgeon. The plastic surgeon makes a mound with this tissue, creating the new breast. This is a good place to see a description of the TRAM procedure.

What about the giant gaping hole left in your abdomen? The top part of the skin is stretched down to the pubic bone and sewn up, leaving a scar similar to a c-section. Since all that tissue has been removed, you are literally given a "tummy tuck". Oh yeah - where your old belly button hole used to be? Gone. But you need a place for you umbilicus to come out, (why, I don't know), so they have to make a new hole, and another interesting scar to show your friends.

Hey, what about the nipples? Didn't you say they would be removed because they're considered breast tissue. Why yes. And once all the cancer treatment is finished, whether its chemo or radiation, or whatever, I can go back for more surgery (outpatient) where a nipple is created and then they TATTOO on the color!

(OK, admit it, this is why you're reading this blog - to get such useful information as how nipples are reconstructed.)

So, I'm in the middle of this discussion with Dr. E of how I'm going to be laid out and filleted like a Thanksgiving turkey, when my cell phone rings. It's my friend, J. I explain to her that I'm with the doctor, can I call her back. When Darlin and I get back to the car, we're both a bit numb and speechless. I'm on the verge of tears.

I call J. back, and tell her about my meeting with the doctor. Her father is a preacher, so she starts off the conversation, "My mom was talking to a woman in their congregation…" and I'm thinking I'm fixing to get some very uplifting words of encouragement "…and she says it was the worst pain she has ever been through." Um, what?!? "Yeah, she said it was the worst pain imaginable, but don't worry. WE'RE GOING TO GET YOU THROUGH THIS."

Nope, sorry, you are off the Friend's list. One thing about cancer - you start taking stock in what's really important in your life and throwing out a lot of old baggage and garbage. You, J., are not worth keeping.

~~~

Grossed Out

I'm still trying to write about the day of the surgery. It's very hard to explain how I felt like I was going to be splayed out, filleted, gutted...

I found this site that might help explain my fears. Warning - not for the faint of stomach.

~~~

Surgery Day

My mom came to town for the surgery. This was no little feat, because my dad is in a nursing home and she usually stays with him 24/7. But she called in some favors, people made sacrifices, and she flew to be with me. Did I mention I was the baby of the family? We actually had a couple of days before the surgery where we got to be normal, go shopping, play with Babydoll.

My doctor had given me some pills to take the night before the surgery, but instead, we invited a few close friends over, made a nice dinner, and had a couple of bottles of wine. I took a long hot bath, then snuggled in with Darlin. Who needs pills?

I have a notebook where I write down notes from my appointments, questions to ask the doctors, phone numbers to make appointments, what have you. The following is an entry made by mom, with my additional comments.

Arrived at [hospital] at 7:30 a.m.

The morning came very early, as mornings do. Biz Part came and picked up Babydoll and Wonderdog. Babydoll was going to daycare as normal, Wonderdog was going to stay at her place for a few days. Darlin, Mom and I were at the hospital by 7:30 am. Fill out paperwork, hurry up and wait. Finally they called me back. I changed into one of those fashionable frocks that they call a "gown", then waited some more.

[1-in-8] had barium injected into breast.

OK - slight educational tangent on sentinel nodes. The lymph nodes under your arms filter the lymph that carries waste from your breast tissue. If cancer cells are found in the lymph nodes, then it is possible that the cancer has spread to other parts of your body. That would be bad.

In the old days, they used to remove all the lymph nodes under the arm for dissection. However, that meant that you were missing a major part of your waste filtering system for your arm and upper body. So they developed a way of finding the lymph nodes that would most likely be affected by the cancer by injecting blue dye or radioactive material into the tumor, then seeing which nodes it seeped into. The surgeon would remove those nodes and see if they looked cancerous, then decide if more nodes should be removed.

I was injected with the blue dye and the radioactive material. I have to say it's always the little things, like the biopsy, and now the barium injection, that hurt the most. After the doctor finished numbing me, he went fishing for the tumor to inject, twisting this way and that. "That's going to leave a bruise" I thought to myself - then had to laugh. No, the skin would be gone, so no bruise.

Then to x-ray to see the nodes glowing. The tech was a very sweet guy, and told me that I had photogenic nodes. Had to laugh at that.

IV started.

And finally wheeled back to the waiting area where Darlin could be with me. They gave me some anti-stress pills (no wine here, dammitt). Mom came back to see me, and tried not to cry. Two of my girlfriends came to see me off, and say "goodbye" to my boobies. Heh! They also brought a survival pack for my mom and Darlin, with such intellectual readings as the National Enquirer and Star magazine. There were also snacks and bottled water, and lots of other fun goodies. How very thoughtful.

The nurse came and chased everyone but Darlin out. She took my vitals and started an IV. She took away my glasses, and the drugs were kicking in so I was in a nice, fuzzy place. "Now I'm going to have to shave you." What??? "I'm going to shave about an inch of your pubic hair. The doctor will draw a line here to help him line up the new hole for the belly button." Thank goodness for the drugs, because this was getting a bit bizarre.

Then Dr. E came in and opened up my gown. He drew circles, arrows, dotted lines on my breasts and abdomens. It looked like a football coach's diagram for the next play of the game. But it was actually a diagram for the general surgeon, showing him where the best place for cuts to be made to keep it cosmetically clean.

Came for her at 12:30 - Surgery actually started around 1:00 pm.

I was wheeled into the surgery room, and now I'm starting to get really nervous. Dr. M's nurse realizes this, and starts to ask me about my trip to Disney. Dr. M. comes in and makes some jokes - I don't remember what they are, but I remember he was trying to put me at ease. He also would not let the nurse strip me down until I was out - trying to give me a little dignity. Oh, god, here we go. They're fixing to knock me out for hours. I'm going to be laid out while they cut off parts of my body. They're going to take my internal organs and rearrange things. Oh, fuck, I've changed my mind. I don't want to do this. They're putting the mask on me, and it stinks like sterile plastic. How am I going to be able to wear this things for hours - it's horrible, please take it off. They tell me to count from 10 backwards: Ten, (no, no, no) Nine, (no, no, no) Eight…

3:30 - Dr. M. discussed her surgery with us. Took a little more tissue to be sure - took about 2/3 of her R. lymph nodes. 3 were inflamed. Up to pathology to determine if metastasized. Size of tumor left up to pathology - he took fatty tissue around tumor so he did not see size. Left breast sent to pathology, but didn't see anything. Pathology will take a couple of days.

At 3:30 reconstruction just started.

5:45 Dr. E. said reconstruction surgery went well. {1-in-8] did well. 4 drains in.

~~~

Tangent on Friends

Let's chat about what happens to your friends (and this includes family) when you have cancer. They get freaked out. They don't know how to act. So they act… weird.  Well, wouldn't you? How do you react when someone tells you they have a potentially life threatening disease?

Whateva said "I had no comforting words, I just sat there and listened. Nodded, shook my head, smiled, frowned and shrugged my shoulders.   I didn't want to say the wrong thing."

Perfect.

Another common response is to bring over lots of food. Seriously. Our two freezers were full of casseroles, lasagnas, and stews. Since this was happening around Valentine's/Easter, everyone that walked in the door had chocolate. If chocolate helps fight cancer, I'll be in remission for years.

I wrote about J., who called to tell me the procedure I was fixing to go through "caused the worst pain ever" for a friend of her mother's. I didn't need to hear that. At all. Although it did give me something to focus my emotions on besides my cancer, because I bitched about that for three days!

But then there were the friends who went above and beyond. The Good Friends.

L. and N. are women that I used to work with. When I told them at lunch that I had cancer, there was the immediate concern, but then it turned to curiosity. "Can you feel the lump? What does it feel like?" So we took a little field trip to the ladies room where they could feel the lump. Yeah, that might seem strange, but instead of being horrified, they were interested. I know that sounds weird, but it was comforting in a strange sort of way. These are also the women that brought the survival pack to the hospital - a bag filled with snacks and bottled water, the Star and National Enquirer, crossword puzzles, colors and coloring book for Babydoll, etc.

When I wrote about this before, Morgane said "I'm so glad they were able to help you because if anything like this happened to my friends I wouldn't know where to start but I'd want to do something. " Well, Morgane, it really is the little things like this that make a Good Friend.

J. and D. are another example. They would call on the weekend to say they were coming to pick up Babydoll. Sometimes it was just for a couple of hours, sometimes it was all weekend. I can't tell you how big of a help that was, especially after my surgery. Babydoll was full of energy and didn't really understand why Mommy couldn't get on the floor and play like normal. J. and D. also brought me a gift certificate to Victoria's Secret after my surgery. Think about that. Telling a woman that just had her breasts removed that she can still buy sexy underwear. That's a Good Friend.

My next door neighbor came over and helped me care for my drains when it looked like one was getting infected. I haven't talked about the drains yet, but trust me - this is a Good Friend.

And I have to make a special mention of VeryModern. She was one of the first people I told about my lump. She's the one that told me to yell "fuck you" at the needle, to cry, to "puke it up" (which is a blog in itself). E-mails, phone calls, cards, stories (yeah, I got VM stories that weren't even blogged!) Never once did she tell me I had to have good attitude - that's a Good Friend. Which is amazing, since I've never met her in real life.

Our Biz Partner went above and beyond. She was with Darlin and Mom throughout the whole surgery. After the surgery, she literally kept our household running, buying groceries, picking up Babydoll from daycare, taking her out to eat, cooking for us. She ran interference for us after the surgery - keeping people informed through phone calls and e-mails my progress. I think there was one point that she was actually going through our bills, helping Darlin stay on top of what needed to be paid. She's not just a Good Friend, she's a Great Friend.

So, in the spirit of being a Good Friend, I'm going to tell you - FlightsofWhimsy - that perhaps you shouldn't be reading my blog right now. While you're going through the "Do I/Don't I?" situation, you don't need to be reading words like "gruesome" and "gory". I'll be here to chat, vent, cry, answer whatever questions I can, but read *my story later. You've got your own story now.

~~~

Hospital Daze

Waking up in the recovery room. I asked the nurse "Should I be awake?" "Not if you don't want to, dear." Back asleep.

Moving, rolling - where am I going? Darlin holding my hand. "We're going to your room now." "Am I done?" "Yeah." Back asleep.

Waking up - the nurse introducing herself. "I have to check you every hour to make sure the flaps are taking OK. If they're not getting enough blood, the tissue will start to die." And she undoes my gown, and I look down and see my new breasts for the first time.

I hold back the scream.

She touches where the nipples used to be, where now there is just… skin. And bandages over surgery lines. And I can't feel her touching me. No sensation. But the pain - how can there be so much pain when there is no sensation?

She shows me the self-medication button. When I start to hurt, I should push the button. It's regulated, so there's no way I can overdose myself, but this way I won't have to wait for a nurse to bring me relief. I push the button; the pain eases.

I want to see more of myself. She helps me pull down the gown. The breasts are bigger than I expected. That's interesting. More surgical tape on the belly button and across the cut that goes from hip bone to hip bone. And there are 4 drains - one out of each breast, and one out of each hip.

And - what the?!?  I've been shaved - my pubic hair, I mean. In the pre-surgery, they shaved off the top part, but now it's ALL gone. Is this a sick joke? Then I start wondering, who's the lucky soul that gets THAT job? And I start giggling. (This medicine is some GOOD stuff!)

And I keep looking down. A catheter. Oh whee. But why is the fluid coming out BRIGHT GREEN? "Well, they injected blue dye into you for the sentinel node biopsy, right?" yeah… "The body has to get rid of it, and blue and yellow make - green!" It is very festive.

What's that on my legs? It's like a plastic sleeve that vibrates up and down my legs, to keep the circulation going. Interesting, but it's hot and uncomfortable.

My mom spends the night so that Darlin can go home and be with Babydoll. My mom has a lot of experience with hospitals, and gives me the plan. A lot of nurses like to come in and turn on the lights and make a big to-do, but if my mom pretends like she's asleep, they'll probably try to be less obtrusive. Let me get this straight - they don't mind waking up the patient just out of surgery, but they'll show respect to the mom sleeping in the spare chair? "Yep, you got it!" And so she did - when one of the techs came in to take my vitals, and turned on the overhead light, my mom made stirring noises, and the tech immediately turned it back off. "We don't want to wake her up - she's had a long day." Chuckle to myself.

~~~ 

Puking It Up

I made the comment that perhaps FlightsOfWhimsy shouldn't be reading my blog right now, while she deals with the her acceptance of the fact that she has cancer. Perhaps that should be reversed. Perhaps *I should not be reading HER blog right now.

What she's going through - the "pity party", the "I can't cry because I don't want to be weak", the "I'm trying to keep everything normal"…

Fortunately, I was already in mid-therapy with VeryModern. Yeah, she claims to be a space chick, but she's really a therapist in astrologer's clothing. In one phone call, she told me to "puke it up". In subsequent e-mails, she told me to "SPEW! Dump! Dump! Dump!" (She was going to pick up my cosmic trash. )

So, I sent her this e-mail:

I have cancer and I'm pissed as hell.

I have cancer and I'm scared as hell.

I have cancer and I hurt like hell.

I have cancer and some days I have good days. Deal with it when I have bad days.

I have cancer and I just want to cry.

Her reply:

Bravo! BRAVVVO!

Stage one "puke it up" complete. 

Keep it coming.

Do the because(s).

I have cancer and I'm pissed as hell. because ........

But I couldn't do it at that point. It took one sleepless night two months later for me to finally come to grips with some of my emotions. In an e-mail entitled, "It's 4:00 in the morning…", I wrote to her:

"[After a day of trying to do "normal" activities], it happened. The Wall. I hit it - hard. I had to go lay down because I had overexerted myself. Because no matter how hard I try to deny it, I have cancer, and my body is having to fight it.

That was when the Pity Party started. You know, the "Why ME? It's not FAIR!" Fortunately, it didn't last that long, because basically I hate myself when I do that. It's not fair, but it's something I have to deal with. So, Darlin sat me down on the couch with Babydoll, who was finally starting to wind down, and we watched some educational TV, like Rugrats or something.

Anyway, I realized that I never finished the exercise we started a coupla months ago. The one where I was supposed to add "because..."

I have cancer and I'm pissed as hell, because it has taken over my life. People look at me as "1_in_ 8, the Cancer Patient." It's invaded all aspects of my life - I gave up holding my daughter for almost 2 months, I can't work regularly, people look at me weird [because I'm bald]. I really have better things to do with my time.

I have cancer and I'm scared as hell because I'm afraid the chemo isn't really working and I'll wake up in a few years with cancer all over my body. I'm scared that I won't live to see Babydoll graduate, marry, have her own babies, walk on the moon, cure cancer... I'm scared because 75% of the women with my type of cancer survive 5 years - what if I'm in the minority?

I have cancer and I hurt like hell. The pain has diminished, but the scars are still very much there. So, I look like hell. And of course, during chemo, I feel like hell because I'm nauseous and can't sit up for long periods of time.

I have cancer and some days I have good days. Deal with it when I have bad days. Don't tell me "Attitude is everything." Well you know what? I have a booklet from the American Cancer Society that says "Attitude never cured cancer." Heh! So, now when I have my bad days, leave me alone.

I have cancer and I just want to cry. Because. Period.

Alright, wacko cancer patient signing off for the night. Base over.

Sometimes, you just gotta puke it up.

~~~

CT Scans

After talking to Dr. Y, the oncologist, I was scheduled for a CT scan. This was another "hold my breath" type of thing, because this scan would show if the cancer had indeed spread to any other areas of my body and started forming other tumors. We knew it had spread to one of the lymph nodes, but it looked like the lymph node had encapsulated the cancer, i.e., not allowed the cancer to spread.

I walked into the room where the CT machine was, and started looking around for the oh-so-fashionable hospital gown. It was habit - walk into a doctor's office and start stripping. "No need," said the Tech. "You get to keep your regular clothes on." Really? Cool. "Just take off your watch." Okey-doke.

She injected a radioactive dye into my bloodstream, then loaded me on the table. (Have you noticed that I'm getting injected with a lot of radioactive stuff to TREAT my cancer? How weird is that?) She put plastic oval ring around my feet to keep them from moving. I didn't know it yet, but I would become very familiar with that piece of blue plastic. Then she helped position my right arm over my head, which considering I just had major surgery under my arm, was a pretty amazing feat.

I had to lie still for about 10 minutes while the machine went over me, adjustments made, go over me again. "Take a deep breath and hold it…" Then it was over. Total time: about twenty minutes. Not a bad price to pay to find out that my other organs were clean.

~~~

I know that I keep linking to FlightsOfWhimsy, but you really should go read this.

 ~~~

PAS Ports

(Nope, not the kind you travel with…)

My oncologist suggested that since I would be treated with chemotherapy that perhaps I should consider getting a port in my arm. A port is a titanium chamber with a silicone diaphragm, connected to a catheter. The chamber is sutured to the tissue inside your arm to hold it in place. The catheter is inserted into a vein in your arm that runs straight to the heart. This way, the chemo drugs that you are given are diluted into the blood stream immediately, instead of having to first travel up your arm, which because the medicine is so toxic, is rough on your arm veins.

So, I got to meet with Dr. M., the general surgeon, again. He showed me the type of port he would be inserting and explained the surgery, which would be outpatient. Then, of course, I got to sign all the usual consent forms.

On the morning of the surgery, I took the Valium that he had prescribed for me, and felt all warm and cozy for the surgery. His nurse is a fantastic lady who helped me get set up on the table and try to relax. I really think her sole purpose for being there was to keep my mind off of what was going on.

They set up a screen so that I could not see my arm, then he numbed the area where he would be working, about 2 inches above my elbow on the inside of my arm. With the Valium coursing through me, and the area numbed, I had no problem laying there knowing that he was tugging on veins, suctioning off blood, concentrating. His nurse was fluttering about, handing him surgical instruments, checking on me, telling me stories of the work she was doing on her house.

After about half an hour, I was getting a bit antsy. "Hey Doc, we're almost through, right?" "Well, no, I'm having trouble finding the vein." WHAT? He hasn't even put the catheter in the vein yet? About that time, I swear the Valium wore off, and I was no longer happy and cozy. I was panicked.

The nurse came over and held my other hand and explained what he was doing, using the fluoroscope to see where the catheter needed to be inserted. Fuckfuckfuck, this is no longer fun, I want out, please just give me my arm back, I'm ready to go home. "So, Nurse, what color did you say you were painting your living room?"

I can honestly say that was one of the worst experiences of my whole cancer ordeal.

Finally the catheter was in, the chamber was secured, my arm was stitched up. Then I had to go have a chest x-ray to verify the catheter was indeed in place.

So, now I have a 4-inch scar on the inside of my arm. If I wear short sleeves, it's plainly visible. There's a slight bulge under the skin that you can feel - great party trick for young kids. I can no longer have my blood pressure taken on that arm, because it might crush the catheter, and I can't have it taken on my right arm because of the lymph node removal, so now I have to have my blood pressure taken on my leg.

But now I was ready to start my chemotherapy.

Oh, and you know how I like gory pictures. Go here if you want to see what my surgery was like.

~~~

The First Rounds of Chemotherapy

We decided with my oncologist to go with the standard protocol, not a clinical trial. In my case, that meant I would receive 4 rounds of Adriamycn and Cytoxan (A/C) and 4 rounds of Taxol, possibly followed by radiation. A "round" is a dose that is given every three weeks, so 8 rounds of chemotherapy would take roughly six months.

My port was in place, so it was time to get started. The procedure was simple: I checked in, they took my vitals, then I saw the oncologist, Dr. Y. He did a quick exam, asked how I was feeling, then I was sent to the infusion center. This was a room with about 20 chairs lined up against the wall. They had curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Each chair had a table that could be raised to rest your arm on for the sticking, and then the chairs could recline to relax. Chemo could take a while.

They gave me my pre-meds - 5 pills I had to take to alleviate any nausea or other side effects while getting the chemo, then I had to wait 30 minutes for them to take effect. They stuck the needle into my port. This of course, was no normal needle - un uh. It was an inch long and bent, specially made for use with my port. Needless to say, I would never watch them putting it in. Then they flushed the line with saline and sucked back on the syringe, trying to get blood to suck back in. This was called "blood return" and verified that the catheter was open and ready for business.

I started sucking on ice chips. One of the most sensitive areas is the inside of your mouth, and mouth sores can be a problem. But if you suck on ice chips or a Popsicle, it closes off the blood vessels so the chemo isn't effectively delivered to that area. Hopefully my breast cancer will not recur in my mouth.

Then the nurse sat down with two HUGE syringes filled with the cytoxan, also known as the Red Devil. Sitting here thinking about it, I still get a metallic taste in my mouth and my stomach turns. The medicine was reddish in color and made me pee a nice tangerine color for days. Note: if you ever have to take this stuff, drinks lots of water - the faster you can flush it out of your system, the better. It gets in, does its killing spree, get it out.

After the cytoxan was administered through the syringes, then the adriamycin was given through a regular IV line.

All done. Really? That's it? I feel… normal. Let's go get lunch.

Then two hours later, the nausea. I never threw up, just felt nauseous. But taking the anti-nausea meds knocked me out, so I basically slept for 4 days. Then I woke up Friday morning, and… I'm fine. Yeah, really. I went to work. We sat out on the deck after work, having a glass of wine. And I was amazed. I had made it through my first round of chemo.

Two weeks later, I had to have a MUGA scan. C'mon, say it with me, you know you want to: "Mooo-ga". That adriamycin can be toxic to the heart muscle, leading to heart failure, so they do this scan to check the left ventricle of the heart to make sure everything is OK. Yeah, what doesn't kill you will cure you.

Once again, I was injected with a radioactive dye. This time, they drew blood out of my arm, injected the isotopes into the blood vial, then reinjected me with my radioactive blood. Ugh.

Then I was laid out on the machine, with that blue plastic to bind my feet, my arms put into holsters so they wouldn't move, and had to lay still for about, oh I don't know, 3 or 4 hours. OK, maybe it was 10 minutes, but when you're trying to lay perfectly still, it seems like forever.

Two weeks after receiving chemo is also called the "nadir". This is when my blood counts would be at the lowest. So, I had to go have blood work done to make sure they weren't too low, then I had to have blood work done the day before my chemo to make sure they were up enough to receive chemo. Have I mentioned how much I hate needles?

~~~

Musings of a Bald Woman

I knew that I was going to lose my hair; it was no big surprise. I had already been shopping and bought hats and bandanas - I was prepared! Oh, who am I kidding? I was sitting at my desk pulling out my hair by the handfuls - there's nothing that can truly prepare you for that.

I had read on the breast cancer newsgroups that it was easier for some people to go ahead and shave their heads instead of waiting for it to fall out. Besides, it was very messy - clogging up the drain in the shower, scattered all over my pillow, balled up in the hair brush… Yuck.

So, I made an appointment with my hairstylist, K. I asked for a time when it wouldn't be busy in the salon. I didn't need a lot of people around me while I was shaving my head, becoming a freak. Darlin went with me, and offered to have his head shaved, too. What a sweetie - but he's got a big head, so I thought he would look goofy.

When I got there, K. didn't want to do it. She thought I was making a mistake that I would regret. But one of the ladies that worked there was also a BC survivor and convinced her that it really was for the best. Since it was relatively empty at the salon, the other stylists gathered around for support and making suggestions. I just kept a big smile on my face and told K. to have fun with it. So she gave me a mohawk. Ah, remnants of my youth.

I was afraid of how Babydoll would handle it. I had warned her that morning that "Mommy's hair is going bye-bye. And Aunt Fluffy is coming in today." Trust me, she was more excited about Aunt Fluffy than my hair. When I picked her up from day care, she took off my hat, pat my head and said "Bye-bye Mommy's hair." And that was it. "Where's Aunt Fluffy?"

I could have worn a wig, but - ugh! Itchy, scratchy, middle of the summer - no thank you. I had talked to several people who said they only wore wigs to make their co-workers more comfortable, that their co-workers couldn't handle being around someone that looked like a sick cancer patient. Well, since my co-workers consist of Darlin and Biz Partner, that wasn't an issue. So I just stuck with hats and bandanas. Then it got to the point where I didn't worry about it at all.

And yes, it's not just the hair on your head. It's most of your body hair. I had to stop wearing my contacts, because without eyelashes, there was too much crap getting in my eyes. And the eyebrows - yeah, women look pretty good bald, but you just look alien without eyebrows.

The American Cancer Society offers a free class, Look Good, Feel Great to show cancer patients how to apply make-up, draw on eyebrows, creative uses of scarves… But I never got to take it, because it was always the same day as my chemo. That's OK, my glasses hid the fact that I didn't have eyebrows, and I don't wear much make-up anyway.

So what's it like being a bald woman? Free. You get away with a lot. Since I never looked "sick", people had to decide if I was bald on purpose. If I went into a convenience store in an "iffy" part of town, I could see people mentally thinking - "don't fuck with the bald woman - she's crazy." You know what? That's empowering.

Waiters started remembering me. Even at restaurants that I had frequented for years, but had always been the "anonymous" customer - suddenly, I was a "regular".

And then there were the other women. The ones who had been cancer survivors looked me in the eye and nodded. The ones who were scared that it might happen to them avoided eye contact. I felt at one time that I was being pitied - an emotion that I could not handle. VeryModern showed me how this was how the other woman was dealing with my illness. And then there were the other bald women. Few and far between in public, but when we found each other, it was a rush to talk details, compare treatments.

But you know what else? I soon forgot I was bald. It became just a way of life. Biz Partner and I would have a business lunch, then I would go into the bathroom and be like "Ohmigawd - I'm bald." I would go to pick up Babydoll at daycare, and the kids would just accept me as just another parent coming in. I wasn't the freak of nature that I had feared I would be.

It was a great summer 'do. No hair dryers, no styling gel. I liked it.

~~~

Chemo Part 2

The next round of A/C was very much like the first. Four days of sleeping, then wake up feeling fine. Wait two weeks for "nadir" where I would need to nap more than usual, then go for blood work the day before my next chemo. The blood work was to insure that my blood counts were high enough that I could take the next round of chemo. The phlebotomist got to know me very quickly, because I always wore one of my "fun" hats (usually Hawaiian print), and I always demanded a sticker, just like any other bratty kid. I liked the one that said "I threw a fit!" the best.

At the third round of chemo, Dr. Y was doing his normal exam - poking me, listening to my heart and lungs, tickling me under my arms (he claimed he was checking my lymph nodes). I let Dr. Y know that I had slept for four days again. He didn't like that, so adjusted my prescription to a different anti-nausea medicine and a steroid.  One thing about cancer, when they're not sticking you with needles, they're giving you more pills to take.

So, the third round of chemo was a bit more tolerable, and the fourth round was gravy. We had finally found the perfect match of anti-nausea and steroids where I was actually able to work that week. I do have to say that fourth round was the hardest to take, because like Pavlov's dogs, just thinking about that syringe of red medicine would cause the metallic taste in my mouth. It was all Darlin could do to drag me in for that last treatment.

Then three weeks later, I started my new cocktail - Taxol. Like the A/C, I would take this every 3 weeks, expecting the nadir at week two, and have to have blood work done the day before chemo. But to make things more fun, I had to take 5 steroid pills the night before and 5 steroid pills the morning of the treatment. They made it clear that if I forgot to take my pre-meds, I would not be treated. In addition, I had to be given a bag of Benadryl through an IV before I could start the Taxol. That took about 30 minutes to administer.

You see, Taxol is another nasty monster. Without the pre-meds and Benadryl, there is a strong chance of having an allergic reaction that could be fatal. Heh - again, what doesn't kill me will cure me.

Since this was my first time with the Taxol, the nurse sat with me for the first thirty minutes, watching for any type of reaction. I had to have my blood pressure constantly monitored through the whole treatment. The Taxol was in a huge glass IV bottle, like you would see in an old-timey surgery. It took several hours to administer, but because of the Benadryl, I slept through most of it.

Then I went home, and hey - no nausea! I went to work the next day, and picked up Babydoll afterwords. We sat on the deck, enjoying the evening. Darlin looked at me kinda funny and asked if I was OK. "Yeah, why?" "You're gritting your teeth." I realized that I was in pain, and took a couple of Tylenol. That's OK, still not too bad.

But about 2 a.m., I woke up clutching the bedsheets. ohfuck, ohfuck, ohfuck. My joints ached, my muscles were sore - how to explain this? It wasn't like I had worked out too hard. I was one raw nerve. Forget childbirth, this was excruciating! ohfuck, ohfuck, ohfuck. OK, take the prescribed pain pills, practice breathing and relaxation, ride the wave… And finally… relief.

I chased the pain most of the next day - the third day after my treatment. If I took the pain pills before the pain started, I was OK. But if I was trying to defeat the pain…

Three more rounds of Taxol, just like the first. It didn't take me long to figure out that the third day after each Taxol treatment would be the worst. I'm not usually a pill-popper - I would rather ride out a headache then take pills, but if I felt an achiness in the joints starting, I was heading for the medicine cabinet.

Another great side effect - the steroids I took as pre-meds? Yeah, they started bulking me up. I had already gained some weight after my diagnosis, but the steroids really did it to me. Feh.

So, on my next to last treatment - treatment #7 - I asked Dr. Y. about radiation. He had mentioned it before, but I didn't really want to do it. There's a small chance that being irradiated will cause other types of cancers besides the one you're being treated for. Since my father is a cancer survivor of two other types of cancer, I know that I'm at a higher risk.

"Hmm, I'll have to look at your chart again, but I don't think radiation will be necessary." One-in-eight does her happy dance.

For my eighth and final treatment, I went all out, wearing my funkiest Hawaiian shirt and my funnest Hawaiian print hat. Oh, yeah - Taxol is supposed to make your hair fall out - but mine was starting to GROW BACK! I was in a good mood - Bring it on! I can take this! This is my last treatment!

Then Dr. Y said "I've been reviewing your chart again, and I really think you should consider radiation." And the wind was knocked out of my sails. I was prepared mentally to be through with treatment, with cancer, and now you're saying "More"? I was crushed.

"No!" "What?"  "I don't want to!"

 ~~~

Have I mentioned how gentle Dr. Y is? He's got an amazing bedside manner. Once when he  was commenting on how good my blood counts were, he said "If I didn't know you were on chemo, I wouldn't be able to tell from looking at these numbers." "Well, Doc, are you sure this stuff is really working?" He lifted up my hat, looked me in the eye, and said gently "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

~~~

So, he took my outburst seriously. "OK, what if I refer you to the radiation oncologist and let him help you decide? He's a good man, and doesn't always agree with my referrals. He'll let you know whether or not you need to do this."

"OK." But I was still pouting, even as they gave me my "graduation certificate" for finishing my chemo treatments.

~~~

My New View on Life

I had this weird habit. Before I became a Xangan, spending all my time reading my SIR list, I would surf the local real estate sites. I was dreaming of the day we could upgrade from our cute, but tiny, 3 bedroom/2 bath ranch starter home to a magnificent palatial estate. I had a couple of criteria: safe neighborhood/good schools (goes without saying, right?), a guest room, and my OWN office.

When we moved into our little starter home, Darlin and I each had our own office, with a futon in my office for guests. Then Babydoll was born, and my office/guestroom became the nursery/guestroom. Yes, my guests loved to sleep on a futon in the same room as a baby that wakes up every four hours.

So, I searched and found houses. I would drag BizPartner to come look with me, but they were never the right house. Too tiny, too cookiecutter, too… blah.

Then one day, I found an interesting house. 1970's Contemporary - hmmm, never been a big fan of contemporary. Two stacked stone fireplaces - that's interesting, keep talking. One of them is in the finished basement, which also has a kitchenette. Really?! Two decks, one off the main kitchen, one off the living room - well, you know how I like my deck! Oh yeah, overlooking a lake (!). What?!? Where is this place? Three miles from my current location - no kidding. And the price - about 2/3 of what we had been looking at.

Psst - Hey, 1-in-8 - what are you doing? Hmm? What do you mean? You haven't mentioned cancer or breasts during this whole blog! What's up with that?  Well, I was continuing with my life.  Were you still going through treatment? Yeah, but that only took up a few days a week, every three weeks.

I dragged BizPart and Darlin to look at the house, something Darlin really hates, but I promised him lunch afterwards. And the weirdest thing happened. Wait, you went and met this real estate agent with your bald head? Yes. Now where was I?

We were looking at the ugly paneling and the dark wood trim (think Brady Bunch here), and the gawdawful wallpaper throughout, and the 1970's green formica countertops in the bathrooms. And then we looked at the view… I don't know - it would be a lot of work. And then we looked at the yard. Looked at the ugly fixtures. And then looked out the expanse of windows across the whole back of the house… And we realized this house was meant to be ours.

We thought about it a couple of weeks, viewed it a couple more times, then made an offer. Now you gotta understand, this house had been empty for a year and a half when we made the offer. And guess what? Another offer came in right ahead of ours! Outrageous! This was from a private e-mail to a friend of mine:

>[Bad business news], and we're in the midst of figuring out the legal repercussions.

>

> We were outbid on my house.

>

> Today I have cancer. I feel like crap.

>

> I'm going back to bed.

>

> Tomorrow can only be better.

AHA! So the cancer was getting you down! (Glaring at unseen voice) Re-read the e-mail, bonehead. EVRYTHING was getting me down. So, what happened?

They couldn't come to an agreement on the other offer, so they asked us if we were still interested. We were - this was meant to be our house. We closed three weeks later. A month later, we had the business all transferred to the new house, so we put our old house on the market. Three weeks later we were closing and moving our stuff.

So, within about 2 months, you had bought and sold 2 houses, moved a business, and moved your household? No way you were still on chemo.

Well, yeah, I was. We had to time everything around the chemo treatments. For instance, the moving day was scheduled the fourth day after my chemo, because we knew the third day after was my worst day. Not only that, but we were painting, stripping old wallpaper, replacing fixtures… We had a lot of help from Good Friends, especially BizPartner.

We hired our favorite contractors, the ones who were there when I got the call, to come help out. They rebuilt and fortified the two outside decks, and connected them with a catwalk, so we have decking on half of the house, giving us an amazing view of the lake. They knocked out a couple of walls and redid the master bath.

(Skeptically) And this whole time, you're still on treatment? Yeah, it was kinda cool that the contractors were there when I first found out about the cancer, and they were there to celebrate my last chemo treatment.

You're not a typical cancer patient, are you? AGGHHHHHH! (Stamps little foot really, really hard.) YES, I am a typical cancer patient. Just because I have cancer does not mean that I cannot go on living my life. In fact, I think that the cancer has given me a greater appreciation of enjoying the little things.

To me, there's nothing better than to run through the yard with the Wonderdog to chase the ducks.  To show Babydoll the egret that likes to hang out one of our docks. To sit with Darlin in front of the fireplace and know that this house was meant to be ours. And to sit on the deck and toast with my friends "Life does not suck!"

This is my new view on life.