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!  

Mental Management & Sheila Rae, The Brave

Living with cancer is a test in mental management.  Tonight I came home in search of an old storybook I often read to my girls – a book that seemed quite appropriate for my mind on this particular day. 

In 1987, the year Allyson was born, children’s author Kevin Henkes published the book Sheila Rae, The Brave.  Both of my girls loved this story, and so many mothers pull it out for a good read when their children have an encounter with fear or uncertainty.  

In the story, Sheila is a very brave mouse, not afraid of anything.  She walks backwards with her eyes closed, steps on every crack on the sidewalk, and even rides her bike with her eyes closed and without hands.  She growls at stray dogs, bares her teeth at stray cats, and even ties up her classmate Wendell on the playground when he steals her jump rope.  “I am very brave,” said Sheila Rae, patting herself on the back. 

Until the day she wanders off into a neighborhood she is very unfamiliar with.  Sheila is very frightened in this strange place, not sure where to go, hears scary noises that sound like thunder and finally sits on a rock and cries for help. Louise, her little sister who Sheila has always called a scaredy-cat, helps her find the way home.

When they reached their own yard and the gate was closed behind them, Sheila Rae said, “Louise, you are brave.  You are fearless.”  

“We both are,” said Louise. And they walked backwards into the house with their eyes closed.

In the end, it was Sheila’s younger sister who taught her about bravery, and Sheila learns that it’s okay to be brave sometimes and less brave other times, especially when you find yourself in a place you’ve never been before. 

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

It has been four and one-half months since my cancer diagnosis.  During this time, I’ve had a battery of scans and imaging, a port surgically implanted into a vein in my chest, finished four chemotherapy treatments of Adriamycin, four treatments of Taxol, consumed an unknown number of steroids and antibiotics, taken 8 Neulesta injections in my stomach, and spent three days in the hospital fighting a fungus that took over my body.  All of this has resulted in lost hair, unbearable leg pains, neuropathy in my hands and feet, unfamiliar fatigue, mouth sores, battles with white blood cell counts and more. 

Without a doubt, all of this has been unfamiliar territory for me - a place that has been a bit scary at times.  Some days I even sat on my rock and cried for help.  But Sheila Rae, Dr. Sherman and others have taught me that it’s okay to admit the presence of fear and learn how to confront and wrestle it. 

I’ve also have been incredibly fortunate to have a long line of Louises by my side to lead me back home safely – family and friend who have wrapped me in love, a brilliant medical team who has cared for my body and soul, courageous survivors who have shared their journey, and my God who has given me the strength to accept whatever comes my way. 

Tomorrow is a big day with new scans and imaging to determine how well the chemotherapy has worked.  In my opinion, there is every reason to believe that the report will be good. But no matter what I find out, I feel brave.  I’m ready to growl at stray dogs, step on all the sidewalk cracks and tie up anyone who dares to steal my jump rope.  And when I come home, I’ll walk backwards into my house with my eyes closed.  And hopefully there will be a reason to also have a big smile on my face. 

“Do not fear, for I am with you.  Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. 

I will strengthen you.  Surely I will help you.  Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

            Isaiah 45:10

Weekend Ramblings About Life & the Positive Attitude

 A friend sends me this message: 

Life is not the way it's supposed to be. It is the way it is.

The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.

Many years ago - more than 25 - my late husband, an attorney, was contacted by a friend regarding a car accident that involved his teenage daughter.  The accident was a neighborhood fender-bender involving two cars.  There was very little damage to either car and nobody was carried away by ambulance.  Instead, insurance contact information was shared and both drivers drove away in their vehicles.  However, a few weeks later, Tim’s friend would be notified that the driver of the other car was suing for medical expenses and “pain and suffering.”  Tim’s response, which I will never forget:  “Who in the world honestly believes that God intended our time on this earth to be free from pain and suffering.” 

Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.  

~Voltaire

This week I read a story in tribute to Farrah Fawcett, who died a year ago of anal cancer.  The feature was an interview with Alana Stewart, Fawcett’s longtime friend and the woman who captured her on film for the documentary Farrah’s Story.  In the interview Stewart remembers Farrah’s attitude in her cancer battle. “Se was a fighter, and she usually won her battles.  Until the day before her death, Farrah always believed she would beat the cancer.”   

Attitudes are contagious.  Are yours worth catching? 

The annual No Worries Now prom is the brainchild of 20-year-old Fred Scarf, a Cornell University junior.  This one-of-a-kind senior prom event is hosted for teens who are facing life-threatening illnesses, an opportunity to celebrate their life and their youth in an environment of acceptance and camaraderie.  Scarf started the No Worries Now Foundation in 2006 to honor his best friend, Shiri Gumbiner.  Gumbiner passed away at the age of 16 from osteosarcoma. Scarf initially conceived an organization to raise funds for osteosarcoma research. But he quickly changed course, realizing he could better capture Gumbiner's spirit by providing teens with a much-needed break from their illness.  In his own words:  "Our proms don't give patients the opportunity to be normal; they give patients the opportunity to be themselves.  Our proms celebrate life and broadcast the message that we should celebrate who we are because life is precious."  

It's not what they take away from you that counts.  

It's what you do with what you have left.

Many years ago I was so fortunate to have Erica as a CJRW colleague.  And her contagious heart and spirit never went unnoticed, not to mention her fabulous PR instincts.  While her time at CJRW was not as long as I would have liked, Erica and I have remained friends all these years.  Now she is married, the mother of a precious daughter, and living in Searcy.  Several weeks ago she sent me some wonderful hats for my shocking skinhead, which I’ve had to guard from my youngest daughter Anna-Lee who really thinks they are cool.  And this last week she sends me this – a photograph of a sign she saw hanging on the wall at the local hospital’s oncology clinic.  How true this message is about the limitations of cancer, and one that all cancer patients can understand.  

This weekend I’m going to stay inside, out of the heat.  It’s a rather slow weekend, so I think I’ll spend it doing paint-by-numbers.  With many thanks to Brother Mike, Bonnie Nickol, Sarah Tennille and Ginger Beebe, I’ll spend my summer enjoying this long-lost craft for art idiots like me.  I’ve almost finished one with a few more to go.  Maybe I'll frame them and give them to Tim and family for Christmas gifts.  

Bishop Hicks will be preaching in the morning so I’ll make certain I get to church.  And one other thing . . .

Wednesday is my big day back at UAMS for scans and MRI imaging to find out if the chemotherapy treatments have worked.  I have every reason to believe that the news will be good.  All I need for the weekend are your good thoughts and prayers for Wednesday.  I’ll keep my attitude in the right place and hope you will send good thoughts my way. 

Thank you friends for helping me keep my spirits high.  

Trying to Look Good & Feel Better

Several of my Cancer Sisters have urged me to attend a workshop sponsored by the American Cancer Society called “Look Good . . . Feel Better.”  This two-hour workshop is held in hospitals and health clinics all over the country with one goal in mind – to help women with cancer look good, improve their self-esteem and manage their treatment and recovery with greater confidence. 

After completing sixteen weeks of eight very tough chemotherapy treatments, the truth is I look more like a very sick rat than a woman.  No hair on my head, a few sparse eyebrows, and about five to ten eyelashes holding on for dear life!  When you look like that, it’s very easy to find little reason to put on makeup, pamper yourself with a mani/pedicure and wearing dangly earrings seem to be an exercise in futility.  And anybody who has read this blog knows that wearing a wig has been one of my greatest challenges – and certainly not one that I’ve mastered.  After many weeks of little pampering, I was told that this class was the magic bullet in terms of makeup, wigs, scarves and most anything else having to do with physical vanity.  Decision made – this sick looking rat needed a little pampering. 

So, I scheduled myself to attend this glamour class yesterday at a healthcare facility here in Little Rock. 

Thanks to my chemo-brain, the minute I walked into the facility lobby, my mind would not allow me to recall the name of the class.  Nothing.  Nada.  I had no clue.  The nice lady working at the lobby desk greets me:

“Good morning.  Can I help you,” she said in a very friendly manner.

“Yes, I’m looking for . . . . “  and I stopped there.  I could not recall, I had no idea what to ask for.

This is a HUGE hospital, certainly prepared to offer me about a thousand different services.  I could have been there for who knows what.  And I knew what I was there to do.  But for the life of me, I could not think of the name. 

As I stood there speechless, looking much like a moron, the nice lady says to me, “Honey, are you trying to find the Look Good/Feel Better class?” 

OH MY GOSH!  HOW COULD SHE TELL?  OBVIOUSLY SHE THINKS THAT I COULD STAND A BETTER LOOK THAN WHAT I HAVE RIGHT NOW!  No doubt, But why not offer me a heart test or some lab work, an examination of my varicose veins, or directions to the room of a sick friend?  But NO – here I stood totally exposed in front of everyone for what it was I was in need of – a lotta bit of glamour. 

Eager to exit this crowded lobby, I simply said, “Yes, that’s what I’m looking for.” In her very friendly way, she directed me down the hall to where the class members had begun to gather.  Never before have I been so eager to exit a hospital lobby as quickly as I did yesterday. 

As I entered the classroom, I joined about twenty beautiful and courageous women, all of them with their own cancer journey – breast cancer, colon and lung cancer, a brain tumor and a few with lymphoma and leukemia.  Most of us were hairless; but without saying a word, only an exchange of glances, we all knew we were safe and accepted inside these four walls. 

After some brief introductions and an informative video, each of us received a nice tote bag filled with high-end glamour products donated by the cosmetic and fragrance industries – Estee Lauder, CHANEL, L’Oreal, Revlon, Elizabeth Arden, Bobbi Brown, Mary Kay, Avon and much more.  It was an unbelievable pile of glam-girl products – from foundation, concealer, powder, and blush, to eye shadows, eyebrow pencils, lip liners and lipsticks. 

The title of this program speaks for itself.  We spent the next two hours engaged in skin care, painting our faces and finding new ways to wear our different and temporary headdresses.  Twenty women, all strangers, who for two hours enjoyed spontaneous girl-fun.  And in the end, we definitely looked better, and we definitely felt better too.  Even my neighbor said to me yesterday afternoon, “I do believe you’re looking better and better every day.”  IT WORKED! 

What a wonderful service for women with cancer.  A longtime family friend (male) recently sent me a nice card.  Inside he simply signed, “Your hair will come back.  Mine never will.”  And that’s true.  Hopefully 100% of these chemotherapy effects are only temporary.  But to be a woman with no hair and no eyelashes is tough.  There is very little that feels pretty about having cancer. 

But with much thanks to the American Cancer Society, life is a bit better today.  In the event that you see a woman around town wearing a magic hat and looking rather glamorous . . . Well, it just might be me.  If you think about it, stop and say hello.  

Post-Chemo Update

It’s the craziest thing.  While the past two days have been absolute hell in terms of my muscle pains, my spirits are very high, certainly because I know that this is the last round of Taxol-induced pain I will ever have (I hope).  For that reason, Taxol Torture, especially in my legs, seems to be more bearable.   And I’m quite cognizant that this will go away soon, never to return.  Recently I have visited with several cancer survivors to discover that getting through Taxol treatment is quite a badge of honor, a real accomplishment.  Two of my friends have even told me that they were unable to complete the treatment.  So, I’ll wear my Taxol badge proudly and know that I was able to get through all four treatments, even though it was never easy. 

With the chemo treatments completed, I have begun a new regime to replenish the desired hair back on my body.  Dr. Makhoul is letting me take prenatal vitamins, loaded with folic acid, to help jump-start the hair on my head.  And “Aunt Shirley”, Mom’s lifelong high school friend and San Francisco roommate before they both married, sent me a product called Nue Lash for my eyes.  Between Nue Lash and Latisse, I’m hopeful to see my dark thick eyelashes return soon. 

We had big plans for this weekend, most especially dinner plans last night with my dear friend Jan, who celebrated another life birthday.  Unfortunately, the plan to cook a big Italian feast for she and her husband were postponed due to my pesky legs.  I’m thankful to friends who understand my situation and know that these days my plans are always very tentative. 

With the weather so hot, staying inside is a good thing.  College friend Sue sent me a gift card for Red Mango, a new frozen yogurt shop in the Heights.  This has meant a self-reward with a Red Mango treat each afternoon.  If you haven’t been, GO!  I’m especially fond of the Pomegranate yogurt with fresh blueberries.  But there is so much more on the menu including smoothies and parfaits.  Lucky for me it is only about 5 blocks from my house.  I think Red Mango and me are going to be close friends during this very hot summer.    Now all I need is to find a paint-by-numbers kit and life will be good.  Anybody seen any of those lately or did they finally quite making them?  Not sure why I’ve been struck by this bug but it sounds like fun and something to occupy my time.  I’ll be most happy when these steroids leave my body and I can read again. 

Here’s hoping that you and yours have a wonderful weekend!  I plan to do the same. 

Celebrating the Final Leg of Journey #1, and my Village of Supporters

For every journey there is the end of the road.  While my journey still has a few more roads to take, today I will finish one major leg.  For today marks my eighth and final chemotherapy treatment.  With my cancer diagnosis on February 17^th, and my inaugural chemo treatment on March 5^th, I will forever remember June 15^th as the day that marks 14 weeks of a challenging test of endurance.  Has it been the biggest test?  Probably not – but it’s certainly been intense.  But I’ve done it and I’m ready to move on to the next chapter – surgery on July 19^th. 

My improved prognosis would not be possible without Dr. Makhoul and Dr. Klimberg, and all the top-notch professionals at UAMS.  They have become my rock.  The happy smiles at each reception desk, the gentle hands of those in the infusion room, the brilliance (and hugs) of Dr. Makhoul, Nurse B’s motherly approach and support, Michelle’s forever smile (and cool shoes), and Dr. Klimberg’s mastery of her skill and constant monitoring of my progress.  I am one of the fortunate ones that have an insurance policy that allows me to seek treatment anywhere in the country.  But why would I leave my own hometown when we have one of the most skilled and successful cancer programs in the world.  Need I say more?  I trust my medical team with every bone in my body.

Family and friends, nearby and faraway, have successfully managed to keep my spirits intact, and oftentimes high, with prayers, home visits, cards, e-notes and touching letters, bird feeder fillings, books, hats and scarves, flowers and gardening support, treats and meals,Race for the Cure champs in Fayetteville and St. Louis, funny wigs and boxing gloves, cancer tips like Barramundi fish, Obama toys, cookbooks, candles and lotions, spiritual gifts, movies and music and much more.  It’s no big secret that I have long received my energy from working with people in challenging situations.  This beast called Cancer has delivered both - including my new dear friend Ellen, a nine-year IBC survivor who has been my inspiration all along the way.  I have loved every contact made and feel the love and support of so many.  What an incredible circle of friends I have.  How could you experience sadness or depression with so much love?

A special thanks to my family – Tim, Mom, Dad, Anna-Lee, Allyson, Aunt Alice and brother Mike.  It’s no great surprise, but they have been a remarkably supportive family.  Also my family of colleagues at CJRW has given me a sense of ease during this time.  The people you work with sure make a difference during times of crisis, and I will always feel fortunate to have been at CJRW during this ordeal. 

And along the way, God has been by my side, wrapping me in love and courage when I’ve needed it most.  When my white count plummeted, when the pain in my legs felt too much to handle, when reading became difficult, and the times when fear took over – God, and my medical team, have always been near.  

And although this may sound odd, I have to give credit to the powerful process of chemotherapy treatment.  While it provides some mighty tough side effects, it’s the magic elixir, the healer, the potion that gives hope for the cancer patient’s future.  Thank you Red Devil and Taxol for doing your job! 

Today is a good day.  While I won’t know the real verdict of the chemo treatments for several weeks, I have every reason to believe that great improvement has taken place.  As my friend and sister-in-breast-cancer Amy said this morning, I can now see light at the end of a long tunnel, and it feels good.  So, today I will celebrate the end of chapter one and my my good fortune to have such an incredible village of medical and spiritual supporters.  With many thanks . . .