Blazing Saddles

     We met with our Plastic Surgeons today.  You would have wanted to be a fly on that wall!  Think Mel Brooks History of the World, Part 1 meets Michael Jackson kissing Lisa Marie on stage…it was a train wreck in slow motion that you couldn't help but laugh (on the inside) and just pray the end was near.  

     After my baby covered all of her surgical options, and there are a lot of options, then she drilled the poor young surgical prodigy about what her expectations were, there’s a lot of those too! So after the info and niceties were exchanged, she was asked to disrobe and put on what was just barely more than a patch with a strap for her bottoms and a gown so the evaluations could take place.  Following hospital protocol, the doctor asked a female nurse to join us, then our primary Plastic Surgeon joined with a large Nikon…you can see where this is going.  She never saw it coming.  Five people in a small hospital room for several compromising pictures…I am certain this will rank as one of the highest most embarrassing moments of her life.  The good doctor covered what he expected of her to prepare for the surgery and I’m fairly confident she didn’t hear one word he said; it was time to go and she doesn’t like to wait. 

     We’ve gone through 16 weeks since our diagnose, 13 weeks since our first chemo, and this is our 12^th and final Taxol.  It was like most of our appointments; slow, late, and the waiting room is always packed.  Once we finished, we trudged home and went straight to bed.  Glad to be done, but not looking forward to what’s coming next.  And for good reason.  She had a really hard time bouncing back from this one.  The treatments have collectively amounted to a barrage of poison that is taking its toll on her.  But a cake walk compared to what we’d face next.

BRACA update

     We did get some good news, Amy tested negative for the BRACA test/gene. It wouldn’t have changed our predicament in the least, but it would have been nice to know why we were here in the first place. My wife has a new appreciation for all those beautiful souls a couple blocks away at Texas Children’s who have to go through the same and more. Not that any of those kids deserved to be there either. We’ll be spending some of our Christmas time there when the holidays roll around again. 

     With the 11^th of 12 treatments staring straight at us, we’re looking at the stats to see what our odds might look like if we call it good right here and just move on. The side effects are relentless and still getting worse. The smell of this place does something to her that’s difficult to explain.  It’s like letting out a bloodcurdling scream without saying a word. The feeling of being cornered, trapped, and isolated along with the anxiety, pain, and nausea makes for an experience most only see in war and, well, in cancer.  

     Two more… by the end of this day, one.

I still hate cancer!

Well, we’re back.  The good doctor offered to start us back on a lower dose to see how her body faired but Amy declined and asked for the full dose – we fully intend to see this through and take every opportunity to decrease our odds of ever coming back.  Good for her!  
     We met with our Genetics MD today.  A lot more is involved than what we were prepared for with this meeting.  The end result was we agreed to participate in the BRACA testing to see if we have the gene that predisposed her to cancer.  After all, there’s not a lot of people with breast cancer still in their 30’s so we were pretty much a given when we walked in.  And it would give us a little closure knowing what caused the derailment of our lives and dropped us flat in the middle of Cancerland…did I ever tell you how much I hate cancer?  
     We're at treatment number 10 with 2 more of the Taxol before we move onto to the triple combo regimen.  After we hit the lab on the 2d floor, we took off upstairs to get back on the chemo roller coaster and really thought it would be easier with the two week break.  We were wrong.

Treatments Postponed

     The New Year celebrations came and went.  We spent it on our back patio in our little corner of the golf course, watching the neighbors across the green ring in the new year with a large party that continued early into the morning.  We thought about all of the places we’d rather be and wondered when the pain was going to subside.  

     So on this Friday morning we met with our good doctor and after he examined Amy he decided to cancel what would have been our 10^th of 12 scheduled Taxol treatments and give her another week to recover.  The pain in her hands and feet are almost unbearable at times.  I woke up the night before and could hear what I thought was the dog wanting to go out; instead, it was Amy moaning in her sleep.  A sleep that only lasted a couple of hours and was interrupted by the pressure on her joints and back.  We were terrified to leave without our weekly treatment.  But as our Oncologist explained, if the treatments are worse than the sickness, some changes have to be made.  

     He didn’t have to tell us twice.  He was probably still writing notes in our chart when he noticed we were gone; I honestly couldn’t tell you, we didn’t wait around to see.

Happy New Year

     Sorry we haven’t written in quite a while.  We’ve had some major changes in our lives and access to the world wide web was limited.  Our 9^th infusion therapy went without a hitch, but the side effects are building faster than we wanted to admit.  Fatigue, nausea, and all the not so pretty sides of chemo are in full force now.  The two to three days down with four to five days up have switched to five to six days down and one or two up.  Amy’s spirits are good, but the pain just seems so much for her tired body to bear. 

     We do appreciate the calls and emails asking where we’ve been and how she’s doing.  So thank you for your prayers and words of encouragement.  Here’s my thought for the day and Happy New Year.  

Psalm 30:5 Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.

Christmas Eve, Eve

     Working our way through the beltway never seemed cathartic; the anxiety of going to treatment is not a soothing one, but traveling with less than two hours of sleep just seemed off even by our crazy standards.  This was my last night shift before the holidays and Amy also stayed up most of the night, unable to get any restful sleep with the constant thought of more chemo looming in her head.  The cold and rain only adding to this mornings dilemma.  We arrived safely at the Mays center, once again, only to be told we were at the wrong building.  This place is religious about taking their holidays off.  We took the u-turn of shame out of the parking lot and traveled a couple blocks back to the older center, the one we affectionately call "Big Brother." 
     We were informed that they were only running one hour behind...I will never miss this place.  After being called back, we lucked out and scored a choice room. One next to the restroom, next to the nurses station, big enough to have a regular size bed and recliner, and our nurse was in a great mood.  Our standards on what's a great day have changed drastically over that last couple of months.  By cancer standards, we're on track to a great day. 


Amy - 8th round chemo

      My pink warrior's strategy for her 8th round was to come in completely tore down and try to pass out.  I was already prepared for that plan and had acquired a blanket of my own.  So with the pre-meds started, I turned off all of the lights and she pulled the sheet over her eyes.  If I could have been granted a Christmas wish, sans no cancer, finding a cure for cancer, or winning the lotto, it would have been to get through this treatment without any pain.  My wife went into a deep sleep and only moved once or twice.  The nurse came in on schedule and would start and stop the meds with the port already connected and lined up.  Amy never heard her come and go, so when the alarm was sounding, she thought it was for the pre-meds completion.  She wasn't sure if she was still foggy from sleeping or if she really was done when I told her that is was after noon and we were finished.  She had slept throught the entire treatment and was ready leave.  Finally, something went our way.
     My baby was up, finished, and ready to eat.  While we were talking about being too tired to make it back to our part of town without stopping somewhere our nurse informed us that we were close to the Rice Village.  When our oldest son was very young, we used to go Main Street Theater and see the kid shows, shop, and eat great Italian food.  Parking is limited, but there's definitely no shortage of great Italian restaurants in this area.  On the corner of Times Blvd is the little place called Gugliani's Italian Cafe.  Their motto on the back of their shirts reads, "Don't eat until your full, eat until you're tired."  This is our kind of place!

     So with the chemo deeds done and our bellies full of Italian goodness, we journeyed home.  Our plan was to hug the kiddies before they took off into the neighborhood and we retreated into our regimen of recovery.  Tomorrow will be Christmas Eve and the spirit of Santa will hopefully fill our childrens hearts to content and maybe, just maybe, give my little Angel a moment where she can forget all about this not so wonderful place called Cancerland.    

What Cancer Cannot Do

     As Amy finishes her 7th round of chemo, we knew I wouldn't be able to be with her for all her treatments and still maintain my work schedule.  Knowing this upfront doesn't make it any easier.  The cell coverage is lousy inside the clinic rooms, as you'd expect, but every once in a while we're able to get a text through or a phone call will slip in.  I was pleasantly surprised when the call at work came through and I heard my baby's voice on the other end.

Ashton & Anthony on Lil' Blue

     Half in tears and half in laughter, she updated me on her progress, how she was feeling (legs aching, stomach cramping, anxious to get it all over), and also the condition of her mother who took my place today.  I could hear my sweet mother-in-law snoring in the background.  I suppose the thought of being in a quiet room with only a bed and chair was too much an opportunity to pass up...She has a lot on her plate and I pray I'm never sharing a bed with one of my children trudging down the same path.  Still, the sound of her "sawing logs" in the background was too funny to ignore.

Family time on the bay

Destin Beach, Florida

So we talked about what we normally talk about; anything not having to do with why we're here.  Trying to focus on better days isn't easy when you're not having a particularly good one.  I have yet to see anyone smile on the way in or out of this place.  Any yet, everyone seems to be friendly and kind.  All unwilling members into a club that welcomes folks from every walk of life...lucky us, huh?  We talk about happier times; enjoying the days in the sun, our only care is where to have our next meal and what time the next tour might be.  We remember our walks on the beach and wonder if the people who live here still appreciate the beauty of this place?  Crystal clear beaches and blue green waters.  All these beautiful places we can remember like we were there yesterday, trying hard to remember like it was just yesterday, as the blood pressure machine kicks on and drowns out her soft voice on the phone.  We're instantly pulled back into Cancerland and the seventeen more rounds we still have to endure - trying to count this one as done, even though it seems to take longer and longer on each visit.

     I try hard to keep reminding her that this time next year it will be over.  At least this portion of the treatment and we should be enjoying recovery with some hormone treatment and follow ups...ok, so it will never be completely over, but this too shall pass.  And we can manage this, we can survive this.  There is so much cancer really cannot do, and those things are truly worth fighting for.  I hate that my wife has to go through this; but if this is the cost of admission, we'll take two please.

What Cancer Cannot Do

Submitted by: constancelynn from scrapbook.com

Author: Unknown

Cancer is so limited...
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the Spirit.