The Latest, The Schedule, The Hair, The Beauty

The Latest
Sure enough, Monday came and I heard from the Wonderful Wizard of Mazj. I saw him yesterday and got the results of my PET/CT.

It is mostly good news. Great news, in fact.

There is no evidence of canser anywhere else in my body! The scan did stop at my knees, though, which I found curious. I guess all the important parts are canser free and no one's all that worried about a potential tibial tumor.

However, according to the report, there is a "subtle expansile possibly solid lesion measuring 26 mm on the left adnexa [ovary] with mild metabolic activity." It goes on to say that IF my BrCa gene test comes back positive or indeterminate, then there would be a 4% chance this is a "con synchronous adnexal neoplasm." I believe that's doctor for "Your ovary might be freaky, too." But I'm not giving this bit of info any worry time because a) the doctors don't seem to think it's a big deal, and b) even if it is a con synchronous adnexal neoplasm, all it amounts to is that they take my ovaries out too, and that means free birth control and no periods for the rest of my life!

Another oddity in the report is that, under the heading HEAD AND NECK, it states, "There is symmetric although dense activity of brain, which although symmetric may obscure space-occupying lesions of same." 

Hmmm.

Two things strike me about this:

1. My brain is symmetrically dense. The amount of concentration it took for me to mis-count 11 two-minute periods during the scan could explain that. In any case, everyone who has called me dense over the years will be glad to know they were right.
2. My dense brain could be hiding lesions, but they don't appear to be worried about it. There was only mild hypermetabolic activity there (meaning it didn't light up much), which I can take to mean that the two sides of my brain are equally dull and apparently made of black sludge . . . and that is a good thing.

There was a fun surprise waiting for us at Dr. Mazj's office: 

SCOOOOOOOBS!!

Nicole happened to be in the building getting follow up labs, and learned from the Taj Mahazj that I would be coming for an appointment shortly. She waited for us and we got to spend some time with her. She is such a superfine bundle of wisdom and zeal! 

Apparently there are no worries about my nick names being offensive to Dr. Mazj, because Nicole told him all about them and he loves them! Next time I see him I really am going to have to get a picture, especially of his laugh, which is wide mouthed and hilarious. He's such a fun guy (not to be confused with funghi). A caricature artist would have a blast with him.

I feel bad though, because evidently I got him in trouble. Remember how I said if I do my infusions up in Paradise then I lose Barbara for the period of time I'm not under the care of an Enloe doc? Well, this is what happened: Dave and I talked it over and we decided we should go with the Mazj's recommendation on where to do chemo, since he is in fact the chemo doctor. And we decided we should go with Dr. Schrader's recommendation on where to do breast surgery (UCSF instead of Stanford) since she is in fact the breast surgeon. We used this thing called logic to help us choose. Silly us for not thinking of the politics.

To my mind, choosing infusion in Paradise meant I would lose Barbara (my awesome nurse navigator) only for the period of time I'm getting chemo, and then I could pop back onto her docket when I'm back under Dr. Schrader's care. I had spoken so highly of Barbara to the Mazj that he gave her a call for the purpose of passing on the compliment and letting her know how appreciated she is. The Enloe Cancer Center director, a Dr. Baird, whom I know nothing about,  apparently viewed this as some sort of calculated steal, and he called the Mazj to chew him out. Wha?? 

The poor Mazj Man (pronounce the a in 'man' just like the a in 'Mazj,' like a Jamaica Man)! Trust me when I say there's not an unkind bone in this man's body. I find it wholly distasteful that there should be such a show of professional politics over something so seemingly petty. Although I suppose there are dollar signs to consider. But I'm not sure if that makes it more or less objectionable. ONWARD. 

The Schedule

As anticipated, the Mazj Man laid out a schedule for me that keeps me pretty busy for the next week or so. 

• Tomorrow they'll be doing an echo cardiogram to get a baseline of what my heart looks like before they infuse it with poison.
• On Friday I'll have a pelvic ultrasound to look at that pesky "subtle expansile possibly solid lesion" (we'll call it a SEPSL) on my left ovary. I probably won't be the only one facing pesky pelvic problems the day after Valentine's Day.
• On Monday I go to a chemo education consultation that is specific to me and my regimen.
• On Tuesday I'm having my port put in (this is a change from when it was previously scheduled). I know I showed you a picture of what a port looks like pre-placement in my last entry, but I thought it might be kind of gross and groovy to show you Nicole's post-removal port.

This lived inside the Scoobs for a year and a half.

• On Wednesday I get my first infusion of Adriamycin and Cytoxan (chemo meds), which I will repeat four times at two-week intervals. After that I will get eight cycles at two week intervals of Taxol, concurrent with weekly doses of Herceptin (the HER-2 fighter). The Herceptin will continue through and after surgery, for a total of a year.
• Thursday I will go in for a shot to boost my white blood cell count.

Keeping track of all of this is pretty major, but it goes on the family calendar with everything else. I took a screen shot of next week, and got a laugh out of the juxtaposition of events. Doot-do-doo. Jiu-jitsu, play practice, chemo, whatevs.

The Hair

Obviously one of the things I'm very curious about is when I can expect to be rocking the Sinead O'Connor look. Nicole says my hair has about two weeks to live. If you had two healthy weeks to live, wouldn't you do something crazy? I'm totally thinking about getting a hair style I would never otherwise choose, since there is no risk of having to live with it if I don't like it. Ordinarily when someone gets a bad or too-short haircut, you comfort them by cooing, "Don't worry. It'll grow back." In my case, if I don't like it you have my permission to say, in as sing-songy a voice as you can muster, "Don't worry. It'll fall out."

In fact, let's make it a contest. Vote for one of the following styles. Most votes wins it. Vote here, on Facebook, by email, whatever. I'll post pictures of the whole shebang.

Choice 1 - The Rainbow Connection

Choice 2 - The Sassy Mama

Choice 3 - The Good and Plenty

Nicole, are you in? (The Scoobs also happens to be a cosmetologist extraordinaire.) If so, are you free on Saturday? I'm totally serious. And I know that all of you are just SO jealous that you don't have canser to give you the courage to do something crazy like this. I can't wait!

The Beauty
Well, it's hard to go from that subject to this one, but I do want to get serious for a moment (then I promise I'll go back to being flip and irreverent). In response to my post titled "Confession, Monday-Monday, Rebellion, Gratitude," my friend Jeni Henrie, who is an anesthesiologist at Enloe, sent me the following message. I share it not because it says nice things about me, but because it says nice things about people who have cancer, and I feel very humbled and honored to be counted among them.

I would like to offer a few comments with the intent of debunking your debunking that you are amazing. Of course, all of us who are following what is going on with you know that you are suffering - that you are crying and tired and impatient and scared. But honestly, it makes you no less amazing.

The diagnosis of cancer is such a feared unknown for anyone that doesn't have it, that witnessing you turn into a fighter of the disease inspires awe and, yes, amazement that you carry on from day to day. I realize that you have no choice, but I have seen the transformative powers of cancer. Obviously, no one ever wishes for cancer, but it must give the bearer of the disease a better perspective of what life is about and worth than the average person possesses.

I believe this because I see and provide care for cancer patients. Yes, there is a distribution of behavior across any group of people, but in general, cancer patients are more kind and grateful than any other group.

Just today, I provided anesthesia for a woman to receive a mediport for chemotherapy who had stage three ovarian cancer. In the past month she has been diagnosed and has had her uterus, ovaries, and part of her colon removed. She's been able to eat nothing but beef broth for two weeks. She looked exhausted. As she was awakening from anesthesia she repeated again and again very groggily, 'You are angels. Thank you. You are angels. Thank you for being here for me on a Saturday.' Then she said, still very groggily and slurred and not really awake, 'One more step to kill these cancer cells.' As she was telling us again and again that we were angels, I was thinking, This is just my job. I would come in for a skin popping meth addict with an arm abscess too. Clearly, I wasn't the one who was behaving like an angel. She reminded me of you - her battle reminded me of your battle.

This woman was just a small reminder of what I have seen in the past in much bigger doses. I will never forget one woman for whom I provided anesthesia who had cancer. This woman had been down a long road with metastatic disease, and I do not believe she was expected to survive. With most patients who are having surgery for cancer I will say, "I'm sorry you are going through this." As I said that to her she stopped me and said something to the effect of, "No, you don't need to be sorry for this experience in my life. I can't tell you how wonderful it has been for me to meet the people I have met and to see the goodness that I have seen in them through the cancer treatment process. I would not change the experiences of the past years. I am grateful for them. Although I can't say exactly that I am grateful for cancer, without it I never would have known the wonderful people I now know." I wish I could remember her exact words. She was SO powerful.

I knew in that moment that her challenge had made her better and more fulfilled and more godly than she was before - and better than I could be without overcoming such a challenge . . . although I am certainly not ready to wish for a challenge like that.

So... you are going through this challenge, whether you wanted to or not, and you are therefore, amazing.

Thank you so much for your kind and wise words, Jeni.


One of the remarkable things about my still-short journey with canser is that my eyes have been opened to the goodness in others. MANY people have offered to help, and many already have helped in significant ways. Some I have already documented, and myriad go undocumented (you know who you are). But there is a new and shining example I want to report.

My sister Jamie and our mom have decided to go in together to fund a house helper/nanny for me. It is a HUGE boon for me of course. But it is also a boon to the helper, my niece Jacie, who is in college here in Chico and has been needing more work. Just in the few hours we've spent with Jacie already, we've gotten better acquainted, and Sophie has definitely fallen in love with her big girl cousin. Jacie babysat Sophie for me yesterday during my appointment, and when I got home there was a happy scrawl on the white board announcing, "Jacie + Sophie = BCF" (best cousins forever).

What an enormous blessing this arrangement is to all concerned, and I pray for blessings to be with my dear mom and sister for giving to us all in this way. I am humbled and grateful and delighted to be part of something that engenders such generosity and goodness and mercy and unity and joy.

In fact, my eyes have been opened to many blessings. I'll name just a handful:

• Last spring I lost my job with PUSD. It was a difficult blow at the time, but now seems a great blessing (imagine still having to prep classes and face freshmen every day considering the schedule I outlined above).
• Last summer, Dave and I gave serious consideration to having another child. But without any intentionality on our part, the desire simply and decisively left us (imagine if I were going through this pregnant).
• In the past, I have lamented our lack of employer-provided health insurance. At the risk of sounding entitled, I have to say we're better off without it. This incredible federal program---the Breast and Cervical Cancer Treatment Program---is absolutely comprehensive (imagine having co-pays and deductibles and percentages to meet in addition to the stress of canser, especially considering all the car problems that seem to have chosen now to befall us).
• Think about what a lucky type of canser I have. First of all, it is breast cancer, which is totally covered by the above mentioned program, while other cancers have no such resources. My canser's grade and aggressiveness mark it as dangerous, but therefore highly responsive to treatment, unlike some less aggressive varieties. Despite early fears to the contrary, and thanks to recent advancements in research, my canser's stage makes my prognosis very positive.
• I have learned things about myself that I would never otherwise know. I am not my breasts, most notably. I crave connection with others. I have found my passion for writing. I can be brave and vulnerable and (let's face it) hilarious.
• I have a difficulty that is teaching me and helping me to teach others. I taught the lesson in Young Women last Sunday on the topic of adversity. How cool is it that THIS is the handout that I was able to give to the girls?

It is my sincere hope that I can be the kind of canser patient that Jeni described: gracious and grateful, opening others' eyes to the goodness in the people that surround them. People rock!

Now, DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!