‘Twas The Night Before Surgery . . .

What a weekend!   Tim had read a story in this week’s Arkansas Times about the south Little Rock taco trucks - mobile taquerias found off the streets in parking lots, with Mexican fare made right before your eyes.  It’s a real kick, a new twist on a dinner date.

Saturday began with a trip to Petit Jean Mountain to visit our friend Gerry and for the Arkansas Bountiful Festival, a celebration of Arkansas’ natural agricultural resources.  The highlight was the tomato tasting.  For those who worship the Arkansas tomato, this is the time to discover what type is really your favorite. We then drove down the mountain to the lovely town of Oppelo to enjoy our favorite cheeseburger at the Fina gas station.  Tim honestly believes that each burger takes 2 to 3 years off your life.  What we had not noticed before in this lovely little store is the tanning bed off a back room.  What more could you ask for – a fill-up of gas, a decadent cheeseburger and a suntan in 15 minutes. The day ended at the Jefferson-Jackson Dinner with James Carville as the guest speaker.  WOW!  That’s all I can say.

Sunday was spent at church, hanging out with Anna-Lee, visiting with friends, house chores and dinner at The Red Door.  I don’t think these encounters are accidents – like when you run into your friend Nancy at the restaurant.  Nancy just celebrated her successful mastectomy eleven years ago on July 15.  She was the perfect friend to run into tonight, to give me a real sense of ease.  She is a beautiful woman with a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye – the perfect role model for someone like me.  Thank you Nancy!

******************

Tomorrow is another big day.  It’s been five months since my diagnosis, and on that day I was told this surgery would be in my future.  It’s finally here and this is good. 

I’m confident that all will go well under the direction of the very brilliant Dr. Suzanne Klimberg. With thousands and thousands of women going through this surgery each year, this has unfortunately become a rather routine procedure. 

As for my mental state, I’m doing just fine. Honestly, I feel certain that enduring four months of chemotherapy, with all of its’ many side effects, has been the toughest part of this cancer journey.  Not only is this surgery necessary, I look at it two ways:  (1) surgery is the most expeditious way to rid my body of this very nasty cancer tissue, and (2) this is hopefully my ticket to no more chemotherapy. 

If you say a prayer in the morning, please ask God to give medical researchers the wisdom to find a cure for cancer, to heal us all.  I continue to be hopeful that one day soon we will witness the cure for cancer.  What a glorious day that will be. 

Surviving Cancer

Survive: To remain alive or in existence; to carry on despite hardships or trauma; to persevere.

Survivor: One who lives through affliction; one who outlives another.

In June, when Allyson and Jeff were setting up their Race for the Cure team in St. Louis, Allyson visited the race headquarters to pick up the t-shirts.  As most know, the Komen Race has two t-shirts – one for race participants, and a special shirt for survivors.  Allyson had ordered a t-shirt for me.  The volunteer asked, “Is your mother a survivor?”  Allyson told her not yet, that I was in the middle of chemotherapy and still fighting cancer.  The volunteer replied, “Well that makes her a survivor.”  I think my daughter was happy to hear that term. 

In the cancer community, “survivor” means someone who has received the diagnosis of a potentially fatal form of cancer and is therefore forced to face his or her own mortality.  To be a bit clearer, a cancer patient is defined as a survivor at the time of diagnosis, and remains a survivor until the end of life, no matter what the cause. 

There is far from universal agreement about the term “cancer survivor” – especially by those who have experienced the cancer themselves.  Some object to it, saying they are cured. Others say they are living with cancer. And still others prefer to put cancer behind them, and argue that being called a cancer survivor stigmatizes them. However, no alternative term has emerged, meaning the term “cancer survivor” seems here to stay.

The phrase “survivor” was actually coined in 1985 by Dr. Fitzhugh Mullan in an essay entitled, “The Seasons of Survival: Reflections of a Physician with Cancer.”  This essay was written ten years after the young physician’s own diagnosis with a deadly malignancy. Following the diagnosis he wrote,

“I was, in fact, surviving, struggling physically and mentally with the cancer, the therapy, and the large-scale disruption of my life. Survival, however, was not one condition, but many. It was desperate days of nausea and depression. It was elation at the birth of a daughter in the midst of the treatment. It was the anxiety of waiting for my monthly chest film to be taken and lying awake nights feeling for lymph nodes. … It was survival, an absolutely predictable but ill-defined condition that all cancer patients pass through as they struggle with their illness.” 

In the New England Journal of Medicine, Mullan described what he believed to be the three phases of cancer survivorship, or what he referred to as “the seasons of survival.”  They are (1) acute survivorship (diagnosis and treatment), (2) extended survivorship (post-treatment), and (3) permanent survivorship (long-term survivorship). 

In 2009, Dr. Kenneth Miller, director of the Lance Armstrong Foundation Cancer Survivorship Program, slightly revised Mullan’s definition of the seasons and expanded on the definition by adding another season that follows acute survivorship:

Transitional survivorship:  

The difficult time when celebration is blended with 

worry and loss as a patient pulls away from the treatment team. 

While all of these definitions make sense, seem quite logical.  But I’m convinced that survivorship is more of an attitude to keep on living, celebrating each day, finding all that is good around you, surrounding yourself with people who love you and help create a magic kingdom wherever you are.  It’s a determination to keep fighting, to remain focused on the treatment plan ahead, BUT mixing it all up with a good dose of fun people, life experiences and special moments. 

With surgery on Monday, I plan on spending this weekend living with reckless abandon, as they say.  I’ll ask Tim to drive me to Oppelo, AR, and maybe meet my friend Gerry for one of those luscious cheeseburgers at the Fina gas station.  Maybe I’ll get out a hairbrush (they make great microphones) and sing loudly to Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light (where are you Kim?), or Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody (Kate-are you around?).  Or as my friend Leslie suggests, maybe get on the phone with an old friend with our high school annuals, and read random signatures back and forth.   I might go shopping at the Mexican food store on Baseline Road and ask Anna-Lee and Tim to help me cook up a delicious dinner of Queso Flameado and Enchiladas Verdes . . . and who knows what else.  Maybe a movie, a fresh squeezed lemonade, or a cruise through the bookstore wearing my new false eyelashes.  What else can I come up with? 

Here are some poignant words from my new Senior Paster, Rev. Britt Skarda, in his weekly reflections:  We mortals have a tendency to approach life as a sequence of events, rather than a series of moments.  We schedule our time, set goals and rush toward personal achievement at breakneck speed.  And then, one day we wake up to find it’s all over.  In a deep and profound sense, each of us is in the process of moving—moving from this life to the ultimate life with God.  So, just for today, forget the sequence of events and, instead, enjoy the moment.

Enjoy your weekend.  Don’t just survive – LIVE EVERY MOMENT!   I’m going to live my weekend as if it were a festival or gala.  No weekend should be ordinary, especially this one.  

Inflammatory Breast Cancer & Radiation Therapy - The Post Surgery Game Plan

 I haven’t talked much about it since Tuesday, but I received more news.  The post-surgery game plan will be radiation therapy.  Oh well, the journey continues . . .

Inflammatory Breast Cancer has a very high chance of recurrence.   In fact, with the combined efforts of chemotherapy, surgery, radiation therapy and hormonal therapy, these treatments have resulted in approximately 30% of patients surviving more than 5 years without a cancer recurrence.  Not the most promising odds, but I’ve proven to myself that I can beat the odds, and I plan on doing it again. 

I don’t know much about radiation therapy except that it can cure.  And that’s all I need to know right now.  And I certainly know many great people who work at CARTI (Central Arkansas Radiation Therapy Institute) and I’m confident they will care for me well, just as they do all of their patients.  

Today, I’m going to be a broken record about Inflammatory Breast Cancer.  This will be my regular reminder about this nasty cancer that so few women know about, that sneaks up on us with little warning.  Read this, pay attention, cut and paste it and pass along to your mothers, sisters and friends. 

There is more than one kind of breast cancer.

• You don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer.  Inflammatory Breast Cancer usually grows in nests or sheets, rather than as a confined, solid tumor and therefore can be diffuse throughout the breast with no palpable mass.
• Typical symptoms of IBC include breast swelling, itching, warm to the touch, change in color of the breast (pink or red), nipple discharge or retraction, and breast pain (from a constant ache to stabbing pains). 
• Because the symptoms are similar to mastitis, a breast infection, doctors will oftentimes prescribe antibiotics. If a response to antibiotics is not apparent after a week, a biopsy should be performed.
• IBC is the most aggressive and accelerating type of breast cancer.  Because it has usually invaded the lymphatic system before diagnosis, IBC is typically diagnosed as Stage III breast cancer.  Unfortunately, it has often also metastasized to other areas, leading to a Stage IV cancer.  (There is no Stage V!). 
• Because Inflammatory Breast Cancer makes up only 1% of breast cancers, get your annual mammogram.  Mammograms are still a good way to detect the other breast cancers.  But if you experience any of the signs or symptoms listed above, make an appointment with your doctor immediately!
• Again, you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

 *************

I’ve always heard that what goes around, comes around.  In this instance, thank goodness!  

One of the proudest accomplishments in my public affairs career was the 1997 passage of the Arkansas Breast Cancer Act, which created Arkansas BreastCare.  This is a statewide program that provides much needed funds for low-income women to have mammography services, and diagnostic & treatment services when necessary.  Today over 150,000 free mammograms have been performed with almost 2,000 positive breast cancers diagnosed.  Hopefully most of these women are now survivors.  In addition, it has raised millions of dollars for breast cancer research at UAMS, benefiting breast cancer patients outside of Arkansas too.  UAMS is a premier breast cancer research facility, recognized by the Susan G. Komen Foundation with several national research grants.   

This past December I was proud to chair the committee that sought sponsorships for the annual CARTI Festival of Trees Gala.  Last year's Gala was a beautiful event honoring my dear friend, First Lady Ginger Beebe.  I learned much about the great work of CARTI and the positive outcomes for their patients.  Did you know that CARTI is one of only a handful of non-profit radiation treatment facilities in the nation, providing radiation treatment to all patients referred without regard for their ability to pay?  Unbelievable!  In addition, I was fortunate to work closely with some of their lovely and very competent staff.  Who knew that in the next year I would become a patient?  Lucky for me, I know I’ll be in good hands.  

Boobies, TaTas, Hooters – or Life

Today was another appointment at UAMS, the pre-op meeting with my surgeon, Dr. Suzanne Klimberg.  I’m convinced that almost anyone in Arkansas who keeps up on life knows the brilliant reputation of my surgeon.  I’ve known her for fifteen years as she raised the money to hire me to pass the Arkansas Breast Cancer Act in the mid-1990s.  I’ve been one of her fans since that time, and let’s hope she thinks half as much of me as she’ll be the one holding the knife on Monday.  Seriously, as I told her today, when I received the February phone call with my breast cancer diagnosis, I called my mother first, then Dr. Klimberg.  She is highly respected inside the breast surgical oncology field and her patients come from far and wide seeking her masterful surgery skills.  I’m just fortunate enough to live here in Little Rock where she practices. 

The pre-op meeting was what I expected – information about the surgery itself and what to expect during recuperation – pain control, approved activity, drains, home medication, etc.

It was today with Dr. Klimberg that I made a 180 degree turn around – I think I’m no longer scared of this upcoming surgery. 

This afternoon, I thought about my relationship with my boobs, and what is it that makes most women terribly terrified of this surgery.  What is it about the relationship we have with this part of our body?  What’s it all about?  Quite honestly, I’ve never been real attached to my breasts.  In fact, if someone were to give me the choice of keeping my TaTas or my eyelashes, it would definitely be a favorable vote for the eyelashes.  I really do miss my eyelashes right now! 

Reflecting on my teenage years, I quickly remembered middle school and a real creep of a boy in math class that used to make fun of my slow progress in the area of female maturity.  Yes, he was a real jerk whose terrible self can still haunt me from time to time, only because I can remember few people as horrible as he was.  (I sometimes wonder what kind of life he lives today – not that I’m hoping for anything but the best for he and his lovely family . . . HAHAHA!)  While some of the other girls in my grade were already sporting B- and C-cup bras, I was honestly wearing a training bra that I didn’t particularly need.  I’m certain my mother bought it for me just to meke me feel like the rest of the girls. 

Around that same time, my father had a friend who was a terrible jokester.  And today he is actually a good friend of mine, a colleague in the communications industry.  But during this time in my life he would say to me, “Ah Stacy, you’re a pirate’s dream, a sunken chest.” 

My mother had a small-chested friend who obviously felt a kinship to me, even during my young teenage years.  How could I forget the night she informed me that SHE was the President, and she was making me the Vice President of IBTC – the Itty Bitty Titty Committee?  I would have been horrified if not for the fact that I loved Miss Ila so very much. 

So goes the beginning of my relationship with my boobies.  Not so good, and it never got much better.  Nobody has ever confused me with Anna Nicole Smith or Dolly Parton.  

It was today, after many long weeks of grappling with the emotional side of this surgery, that I came to grips with the fact that I have never been loved or admired or held in high esteem because of the size of my chest.  In fact, it’s been quite the opposite.  Hopefully, for those who love me, ours has been an affair of friendship and laughter, carpools and mother-daughter adventures, political campaigns, antique road trips, cooking parties in my kitchen, out-of-the-park PR programs, and a passion to bring great education to all children. 

After Monday, my body may be different, but today I realized that it’s all going to be okay.  Let Boobies be bygones. Tata to the TaTas.  I’m feeling pretty darn good that I'm going to LIVE, and all the rest about life will be the same.  Here’s to LIFE, and I love it!  

Swim Out To Your Ship - Quick!

"Don't wait for your ship to come in; instead, swim out to it."

This was the quote on last Tuesday’s CJRW daily bulletin.  The ever-brilliant Sandy makes sure that at the end of my company’s electronic bulletin, there is something inspiring or informative to help begin the day with the right attitude.  Tuesday’s quote was especially meaningful as Monday night my cousin Lesli from San Antonio called by phone to visit.  Our conversation ended up being one of those very deep discussions about who is it that gets credit for my healing – is it my medical team or God?  Or, as this discussion went, “or is it both?” 

Cousin Leslie reminded me of a story in faith that goes something like this . . .

It had been raining for days and days, and a terrible flood had come over the land. The waters rose so high that one man was forced to climb onto the roof of his house to avoid the floodwaters, faithfully praying to God to save him.

As the waters rose higher and higher, a man in a rowboat appeared, and told him to get in. “No,” replied the man on the roof. “I have faith in the Lord, the Lord will save me.” So the man in the rowboat went away. The man on the roof prayed for God to save him.

The waters rose higher and higher, and suddenly a speedboat appeared. “Climb in!” shouted a man in the boat. “No,” replied the man on the roof. “I have faith in the Lord; the Lord will save me.” So the man in the speedboat went away. The man on the roof prayed even harder, knowing that God would save him.

The waters continued to rise. A helicopter appeared and over the loudspeaker, the pilot announced he would lower a rope to the man on the roof. “No,” replied the man on the roof. “I have faith in the Lord, the Lord will save me.” So the helicopter went away. The man on the roof prayed again for God to save him, steadfast in his faith.

The waters rose higher and higher, and eventually they rose so high that the man on the roof was washed away, and alas, the poor man drowned.

Upon arriving in heaven, the man marched straight over to God. “Heavenly Father,” he said, “I had faith in you, I prayed to you to save me, and yet you did nothing. Why?” God gave him a puzzled look, and replied “I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more did you expect than that?”

This story is one for great discussion. 

When we ask God for help, what is it that we are looking for?   Is it a burning bush or the parting of the river?  Is it our own personal cure, or is it strength and inner peace for whatever the future may hold?  Lesli and I talked about the need to accept His care in whatever form He sends our way –even if it’s two boats and a helicopter, or a team of brilliant doctors to care for all things medical about this nasty cancer.  Does God work through human gifts, like brilliant physicians?  In my opinion, ABSOLUTELY!  He works through all of us as we reach out to those in need.    

If we believe that God is in all things, we can understand that He can send us many avenues for spiritual growth too – such as new opportunities to deepen our faith, ministers and spiritual advisors who guide our hearts and souls, and loving family and friends who keep our spirits high and full of hope.  I’ve read the works of one woman who describes this cast of characters as “Earth Angels” – gifts from God that appear to us through fellow humans, especially when we need them the most.  I for one have been incredibly blessed by countless Earth Angels and will be forever grateful to them, and to God for sending them my way. 

I am definitely not an expert theologian.  But a few lessons I have learned along this journey:

·      Life is full of surprises - some good, some not so good. But each unexpected event that comes our way is actually a divine opportunity.

·      God does not will us with tragic life situations.  Instead, this is a part of life.  It is God’s Will for us to understand the intersection of faith and life, and then use challenging life circumstances as a way to seek His help and deepen our faith.

·      God’s greatest present to us is His presence.  The greatest gift we can give to ourselves is to listen and be still long enough so that we know what to do with it. 

·      God promises to help us through troubled times, but we must open our minds to ALL of the opportunities that come before us. 

 **********************

Today I learned that a dear friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer.  And tomorrow another friend will visit doctors at the Mayo Clinic seeking their medical expertise for his own rare form of cancer.  Is this an epidemic?  Tonight and tomorrow I will pray that both of my friends will soon find their own ship to get to the other side.  And I will continue to pray that one day there will be a cure for this terrible disease we call cancer.   

Stacy vs. The Wig – Round #2

Next Thursday I will have my photograph made.  It’s not something I voluntarily arranged for; instead, it’s one of those necessities.  Oh how I have fretted and worried over this.  What to do, what to wear?  A hat or a scarf or do I take another try at a wig?  Oh my goodness this is almost more than I can stand!  

While wearing hats has been somewhat of my cancer trademark, this photo will be published and I have not been able to convince myself that wearing a straw hat will make me look professional and somewhat normal.  I’m almost certain that I resorted to hats after the terrible debacle at the last wig store I visited.  I mean getting kicked out of a wig store was a rather traumatic experience.  I think my friend Mary Ruth even took tranquilizers for a few days after this dreadful encounter.  And I for sure have suffered from a wig phobia.  

With next Thursday only six days away, this morning I imposed a deadline of tomorrow at 5 pm to develop a plan to look more like a human woman.  And by 3:00 pm today, the plan was complete.  

I am now the happy owner of a fairly decent wig, and some eyelashes too – with many thanks to my forever friend Jan. 

The first thing we did was gather a few photographs of me with hair - a good idea since the wig ladies would have no frame of reference.  Then we drove to the wig store, Wig & Beauty Plus on McCain Boulevard, next door to Pet Smart.  What a delightful place and the ladies there were so very kind. 

Getting started in a wig shop is probably like taking beginner rodeo classes.  You have to have a few trial runs before you can lasso the prize.  We started with a few wigs that looked a little frightening – too long, too short, too curly, too many layers, too red, too many color shades, etc. etc.  I’m not sure why I’m not good at this – but I’m just not.  

Jan and I have been friends for 32 years.  She has seen me at my best, and at my worst.  She knows me sometimes better than I know myself.  And she certainly is in tune with my very expected and uneventful hair-styles over the last three decades.  My hair is flat and straight, never holds a curl, has multiple shades of brown and auburn (like a quilt), and just kind of sits there.  How do you describe that to the wig store lady?  So Jan diligently perused the hundreds and hundreds of wigs perched all over the store.  And then she found it – the magic wig.  The minute it went onto my head, we knew we had a winner!  It was almost me – but with hair again!!  We knew immediately we had the right one. 

Then the nice wig lady mentioned that she had some eyelashes for sale too.  Yippee!!  Not only did I want to buy them, I wanted to walk out the door wearing these lovely lashes..  She kindly obliged, put on the lash glue and within minutes I had eyelashes.  Oh my – how I love my new lashes.  If I may say so myself, they make this cancer patient look quite stunning! 

Tonight Jan and Randal and Tim and I are going out for dinner.  And I’m going to have hair all over my head!  Lots of it!  I will definitely make a toast to my dear friend Jan, good-looking wigs, very nice wig ladies and beautiful eyelashes too.  

A medical update following an afternoon at UAMS

With three weeks since my last and hopefully final chemotherapy, today I was scheduled for more lab work and a visit with Dr. Makhoul, my last visit with him before surgery. 

I just love this man!  The minute he walks into the examination room, his smile is over-the-top contagious.  When was the last time you spent 90 minutes with your physician to review your medical prognosis?  And we even leave his office with two large charts with drawings by the good doctor, feeling much like I’ve attended one of his classes at the Medical School.  Fortunately for me, Tim was with me and always seems to know the right questions to ask.  Heck, I didn’t even know that women produce both estrogen and progesterone, making it difficult ask an intelligent question when we got to this chapter. 

The new information we left with today:

• It is not likely that I am cancer free, and I said this in my news last week.  Last week’s truth was that the MRI could not detect any cancer in my breast or lymph node system.  However, today I learn that the likelihood of being completely cancer-free is only about 20 to 25%.  Oh well, it felt good for a while.  What Dr. Makhoul did say is that there will likely be residual tumors, and hopefully they will be very small in size. In his words, if there are any residual tumors that are less than 2 cm, this will not be a problem.  If surgery finds any residual tumors larger than 2 cm – well, this could be a problem that we’ll deal with at that time.  I’m betting on the more optimistic outcome. 
• Pathology reports from the surgery could take as long as a week to ten days.  And Dr. Makhoul will not be able to determine follow-up treatment until the pathology reports come back and my medical team meets to review.  I must be patient. 
• Today I began taking my new ORAL chemotherapy treatment – one pill each day for the next five years.  My new partner in the cancer fight is a little white tablet called Arimidex, a chemotherapy used to treat breast cancer in postmenopausal women.  Lucky for me I’ve had a hysterectomy and am able to take this very effective chemo pill, which provides a little bit higher rate for survival than some of the other drugs.  The down side is always the potential side effects – hot flashes, joint pain, nausea and vomiting, bone loss, weakness and fatigue, possible swelling/lymphedema, and an increased likelihood for osteoporosis.  Dr. Makhoul said that many of these side effects subside after three to four months, and most can be treated with some other drug.  Just what I need – more drugs. 
• And finally,  about my persistent leg pains . . . it seems that chemotherapy is no longer in my body, but there has likely been some chemo damage to my muscles, which is why I still have these pains.  Dr. Makhoul seemed optimistic that this was not a permanent problem, that it would eventually go away.  How long - nobody knows as each patient has their own timeline.  In the meantime, he has prescribed a muscle relaxer for me to take each night to help relieve the pain.  Yes, more drugs. 

WOW!  Today was sure filled with lots of new information – some good news, some not-so-good news.  But I’ll take residual tumors and chemo side effects any day of the week over large cancer sheets in my body.  No doubt.    

While in the infusion center having my lab work done, it was impossible to not notice a man about my age who was crying and vomiting off and on the entire duration of his chemo treatment.  I asked the nurse what was wrong.  She explained that some people are just not able to tolerate chemotherapy drugs as well as others.  I certainly felt lucky that my body was able to suck in all of this magic elixir, and I felt terribly sorry for this disheartened cancer patient who has more struggles ahead.  

My surgery is T-minus thirteen days and counting.  I’m already getting ready to get this next part of the journey moving forward and behind me. 

Finding Hope to Help Us Get to the Other Side

On March 18, one month after my own diagnosis, my childhood friend Elizabeth received the grave news that cancer has invaded her own body with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia.  Elizabeth is fighting the good fight, but is unfortunately not in the position to have anything “removed” like me since hers is a cancer of the blood cells that begins in the bone marrow.  Elizabeth is waiting for her next treatment, battling the perils of a low white blood cell count.  In her own online journal, she talks about my good news this week, and the good news of another woman she knows who has made it through her battle with ovarian cancer.  Elizabeth says in her journal, “So there is another example of hope that I too will make it to the "other side!'”  Elizabeth knows all about hope; she is an expert at it.  We continue to share our nuggets of hope as we take this unfortunate journey together. 

But her journal entry caused me to pause and think about “Hope” and “the other side”, especially for those with similar daunting challenges who are struggling to find a sliver of hope to get them through the day with a smile on their face. 

Hope . . . what is it really, and how do we find it?  Most people think of “Hope” as a wish or a sense of optimism . During times of struggle, Hope can become a belief in a positive outcome for one's life, a feeling that events will turn out for the best.  Whatever the definition, the Bible reminds us that a life without Hope loses its meaning. 

Amen!  As for me, I have learned to find hope in the daily musings of life and in the kindness of friends and strangers – the people and circumstances of life that have been around for my own existence, but definitely have taken on an entirely different perspective. 

• Hope found in new memories created with Allyson and Anna-Lee – everyday happenings like running errands or cooking dinner together, playful shenanigans we would never share with others and special memories like college and high school graduations. 
• Hope found with family who help me lovingly keep my life managed and moving forward with their extra hands, especially those days when energy is not on my side. 
• Hope found in friends and neighbors who stop by for a visit, who wrap me in love and good wishes, but who also help me keep my sense of humor with funny jokes about my baldheaded condition, my many headdresses or my “FALL RISK” status.
• Hope found in colleagues who continue to respect my mind and contributions, who keep me engaged in the challenge of work and community service.
• Hope found spending the day in the kitchen cooking an elaborate meal, even when I have no appetite.  As one friend said, “You have cancer.  Why are you cooking for the rest of us?”  Well, when I feel like it, cooking makes me feel good. 
• Hope found in looking through old photo albums, reconnecting with family and long-ago friends, listening to stories of times gone by.  
• Hope found in friends who pray with me, or send a lovely card or letter, stop by with dinner or a delicious loaf of bread, who deliver anti-oxidant foods for my health, who sneak banana popsicles into the hospital, plant my garden, find hats and scarves to help me feel pretty, feed my birds, or crochet for me a beautiful patchwork blanket or knit a prayer shawl. 
• Hope found in the physicians who are trained to care for my physical body, but who also feed my soul, give me a smile, share stories of survivors and encourage my spiritual battle. 
• Hope found in God, who says to me and you, “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” 

 A friend recently told me about her mother’s three-year battle with cancer.  What a challenging time this must be for her, and I’m hopeful that my own battle will not have such a long duration, or even longer.   But my friend is also concerned that her mother has quit living, has ceased to enjoy everyday life, instead spending her waking hours only focused on cancer.   I can understand that concern.  According to survival statistics, there are some cancers that provide very few rays of hope.  I remember my own doctor instructing me NOT to Google “Inflammatory Breast Cancer.”  She said, “you won’t find much good news on the Internet.”  A life focused on cancer might not look so hopeful. 

How people deal with life’s challenges are as unique as each one of us.  But for me, I think it’s healthy to keep living - to take a fast ride with a friend in their convertible, to pillage through the vegetables at the Farmer’s Market, to swim with no hair, to throw a dinner party or serve a meal at the local homeless shelter.  While some may call them distractions, I like to think of them as reminders that life is still good and moving ahead. 

So when the road to “the other side” seems frighteningly difficult and long, let’s all find hope by remembering that this road is plenty wide to have a cast of hundreds travel the distance with us.  Life shared with others has the remarkable ability to keep our spirits high, to give us a sense of purpose and hope for the good things that may come our way tomorrow.  And I’m certain that my own feelings of life and hope have likely attributed to my miraculous progress. 

Here’s to life, here's to Hope and here's to getting to "the other side." 

From Tough Beginnings to a Celebration of Life: Kicking Cancer’s Butt

For those of you who may not have known about my beginnings with this beast called Cancer, it all began for me in early February.  

I had not been feeling well since November, with several tests by general doctors and even a neurologist.  No physical reason could be found that would cause me to be so very tired and hinder full use of my right arm.  It was all very strange. 

In early February I noticed my right breast was inflamed and sore.  As women, we are told to do a monthly self-exam, check for lumps, and always have an annual mammogram.  We’re also told, “cancer doesn’t hurt.”  Well ladies, get ready to throw some of that out the window (the lumps and the hurting part).  

I had my mammogram in October – it was clear.  But the February problem was about inflammation and soreness in my breast – remember: “cancer doesn’t hurt.”  I quickly made myself an appointment with my OB/GYN, Dr. William Harrison.  Upon examination, he prescribed a round of antibiotics in the event I was suffering from a breast infection called Mastitis.  This was on a Thursday.  Dr. Harrison told me that if the infection and soreness had not subsided by Monday to call him back (a smart and aggressive doctor).  On Monday, there was no change.  Dr. Harrison quickly got me into the St. Vincent Breast Center the following day, on Tuesday, February 16th, where I had a mammogram (all clear), a breast MRI (suspicious area found), and then a needle biopsy. 

Every cancer survivor vividly remembers the exact moment when they “got the call.”  Mine was the following day - Wednesday, February 17^th, 11:00 am. 

“You have breast cancer.”

Those who know me well would agree that I have little patience when there are important things to be done.  By 1:00 pm, the brilliant Dr. Suzanne Klimberg of the UAMS Winthrop Rockefeller Cancer Institute had agreed to be my surgeon (Suzanne and I worked together from 1995 to 1997 to pass the Arkansas Breast Cancer Act).  And by 3:00 she had called and summoned me to her office:  “Come right away.  We have much work to do.”

By 5 pm, the news was grim.  With additional digital images, she discovered that I have a very rare and aggressive cancer called Inflammatory Breast Cancer.  Unlike most breast cancers, IBC does not present itself as a lump but rather as “sheets of cancer” and cannot be detected in a mammogram.  The cancer mass was too large for surgery.  Instead, chemo treatments would be required on the front end followed by surgery. 

From February 19th-25^th, I spent every day at UAMS either having tests, scans or my catheter port placed into my chest for chemotherapy treatment.  On February 26^th I met my brilliant oncologist, Dr. Issam Makhoul.  And here was the diagnosis:  Stage IIIB Inflammatory Breast Cancer, the size about 6 inches in diameter (information I have not shared on this blog until now), several lymph nodes also infected by the disease, 5-year survival rate of 25%, at best 40%.  This was certainly not a good diagnosis. 

After eight rounds of chemotherapy (Adriamycin and Taxol) and a host of other medical bumps and bruises along the way, yesterday's news could not have been any better.  Here is what I know. 

·      I had an MRI at 9:45 am Wednesday. 

·      At 2:09 pm the radiologist called – Dr. Robert Fincher, a good name that I will never forget.  Since when does the radiologist call you with a report?  I’ve NEVER talked to a radiologist as they are usually like “the man behind the green curtain.”  In Dr. Fincher’s words, “I wanted to call and tell you that I’ve seldom seen such an incredible response to chemotherapy treatment as yours.”

·      The radiology report says this:  There is no residual enhancing mass on the right breast following the chemotherapy treatment.  There has been complete resolution of the tumor at this time.  The pathologic lymph nodes seen in the right axilla on the 02/24/2010 examination are no longer present. 

In English:  The MRI shows no cancer cells. 

Dr. Makhoul then called at 2:45 pm. He was almost as giddy as me.  He said that eradication of the cancer is nothing short of a miracle.  To go from a 6” mass and cancer in the lymph nodes to N.E.D. (No Evidence of Disease) is very shocking.  He immediately gives me an A+ for the MRI results, and much hope for the future.  He says we couldn’t have had better results. 

While MRI scans are not always 100% accurate, they’re pretty darn close.  However, that also means that I’m still scheduled for a Double-M on July 19^the.  As Dr. Makhoul said, my breast tissue is obviously susceptible to cancer and will require removal and a pathology analysis.  In addition, the surgery increases my chances for full recovery.  But more good news – if my tissue specimens come back cancer-free, Dr. Makhoul is going to make me “The Queen.”  I would rather enjoy being the Queen, I tell him. He closes our call by telling me that we’ve made a fabulous team, both of us doing great at our assigned jobs.

There are times in life when there is no explanation for why something happens.  This is one of those times.  This miracle certainly required a brilliant and talented medical team, one that I have been blessed to have.  But I will never disregard the spiritual aspects of this battle – the family and friends who kept my spirits high, the many prayers and much love, the colleagues who lessoned my burden and gave me time to heal, and the purposeful way of life with attention to my physical and mental health.  Maybe more can be explained one day.   For now, I’m simply in awe. 

While the battle is not over and there is more to be done, this is the best news I could have had.  It certainly makes the future challenges easier to overcome.  In the meantime, I am grateful and hopeful like I’ve never been in my entire life.  As Allyson said by phone from St. Louis, “Mom, this is the greatest day of our lives.”  She might be right.

Lessons learned:

Not all breast cancers come in lumps. 

Modern medicine can be amazing. 

The love of God, family and friends is extraordinarily powerful. 

Life is good, especially if you want it to be. 

You CAN kick cancer’s butt! 

The Best News in the World!!

WOOHOO!  According to Dr. Makhoul, I made an A+ on my scans/MRI today.  He says it's rather unbelievable but the radiologist says there are no signs of cancer - breasts, lymph system, ANYWHERE!  Because MRIs are not perfect, I will still have to have surgery with follow-up tests on tissue specimens.  But the news is fabulous!  As my doctor said, it is nothing short of a miracle.  More details later.  Thank you Dr. Makhoul, UAMS Rockefeller Cancer Institute, my family and friends, my dear cancer warriors and God!  Thank you, thank you!!  This is a good day.  I think I will celebrate by making popcorn and lemonade!