Shauna Wears Pink

Green Goddess

2011-09-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

It has now been more than a year since the passing of my dear friend Shannon Watson who lost her battle with breast cancer on April 16th, 2010. http://shannoniezzi.blogspot.com/
Shannon was one of the original members of the Pink Ribbon Cowgirls, the young survivor support group that I co-founded in 2006. http://pinkribbowncowgirls.org/
Shannon was told by her doctors that she would die young when she was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in 2007, but she was determined to prove them wrong and lived several years longer than predicted. I had the distinct honor and privilege to call her my friend and to participate with her in what she referred to as her “bucket list”. Shannon had the unenviable job of preparing her list at the tender age of 27. One of the items on her list was taking flying trapeze lessons, and I agreed to take them with her. I was terrified the entire time, but Shannon wasn’t. She sailed through the air without fear, much like she faced death. Shannon refused to give up, and fought so hard to live right up until the last hours of her life when she died in the arms of her husband at peace knowing that she had done everything she could to live a full life. Shannon was 29 years old when she died, and left behind a loving husband, a wonderful family, and hundreds of friends and acquaintances that where so touched and inspired by her courage and tenacity in the face of certain death. Among the many things that inspired and helped Shannon to live as long as she did was her commitment to be a Green Goddess. Shannon and I went through our original chemotherapy treatment at the same time back in 2005-2006, but less than 1 year out from treatment Shannon learned that her cancer had metastasized to her liver and bones – the dreaded Stage IV diagnosis. In case you are not familiar with breast cancer, Stage IV breast cancer is not curable. While there are fabulous new therapies that may prolong life for many years, it is eventually fatal. In the process of rallying around Shannon, we stumbled onto the sexy young spokesperson for cancer, Kris Carr, and her Crazy Sexy Cancer book. http://crazysexycancer.com/ Kris was also living with metastatic cancer, and had found a way to stop its progression through diet and lifestyle. What a concept? So we all eagerly adopted Kris’s Green Goddess diet (as Kris so fondly calls her followers) which essentially meant eating a raw vegan diet that is also free of gluten and all forms of sugar. We all became Green Goddesses for Shannon. Shannon also eagerly adopted this diet and kept it up until the end. It is my firm belief that this Green Goddess diet prolonged and enhanced the quality of Shannon’s life immensely. I have remained on a vegan (mostly raw and gluten free) diet for the past 5 years, and I believe that I too have seen enormous benefits from this way of life. In addition to getting back down to a lean and trim size 6 (same size that I was in college), I have enormous energy and stamina. My immune system is better than it has ever been, and my blood sugar levels stay incredibly consistent (I used to suffer from daily blood sugar lows). And last, but certainly not least, this way of eating significantly decreases my risk of a recurrence of my breast cancer (many, many studies have proven this fact out over and over again, DIET MATTERS!). So today I reaffirm my commitment as a Green Goddess not only for you, Shannon, but for myself (I know you are munching on some fabulous green thing up there and smiling down on me right now). I challenge anyone reading this blog to do the same. This is not a diet, but a wholesale lifestyle change. If that concept is too much for you, just make a commitment to add more green things to your life. Buy a juicer and add a daily green juice to your life (I promise you will thank me for it later)…..Love you Shannon….I think of you every day when I make my green juice. You continue to inspire me each and every day!

Shauna’s Favorite Green Juice:
1 head celery
2 cucumbers
1 head kale
1 stalk broccoli
Half a bunch of cilantro

Run everything through a juicer (I prefer a Breville Juice Fountain), and enjoy 32 ounces of pure green goodness! For those of you that need to work up to this amount of green goodness, I suggest adding in another cucumber or an apple or pear at first and only include half the head of kale…..once your pallet starts to get cleansed of sugar you can work your way back to my recipe.

Me and My Sis

2008-06-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

Most of you already know the story, but just to recap, in August of 2005, at the age of 33, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. One month later, at the age of 31, my sister Tamara was also diagnosed with breast cancer. Most of you know the rest of the story of how we went through chemotherapy, double mastectomies and multiple reconstruction surgeries. Today, two and half years later, we are healthy and strong again and believe that we are truly cancer survivors! We have always been close as sisters, but the cancer experience has brought us even closer. Not only do we share the same DNA, now we share the same experience of knowing what it is like to come face to face with our mortality. Life for both of us is mostly back to normal, but there are always those moments when we realize that life will never be the same as it was before the cancer. We have been forever changed by this cancer experience. Some days I embrace that fact and make plans to help other cancer survivors with their battles. Other days I curse the cancer and curse the day that I learned exactly what takes place during a mastectomy and the pain that follows or the fact that a port had to be placed inside my chest because the chemotherapy drugs I received were so poisonous that my normal arm veins could not handle them. Today is a good day….and my sister and I have decided to help others in this great battle against cancer. In celebration of our own battle and triumph over breast cancer we plan to ride our bicycles together across the state of Iowa the last week in July as part of RAGBRAI and Team Livestrong. We are proud to help raise funds for cancer research and awareness so that others faced with this disease may also be survivors!! For those of you that follow my blog, I plan to try to do blog entries along the route so that you can keep up with our progress across the state of Iowa.

If you wish to donate to the cause click here to see my personal Livestrong page.

https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=259771&supid=127641041

If for some reason this link is not live, just cut and paste it into your internet browser.

Thank you for supporting the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

Your contribution is greatly appreciated.

Vote “Yes” to End Cancer

2007-11-02T14:54:00.000-07:00

Next Tuesday, November 6^th Texans are voting on a historic amendment to the constitution of Texas which could put and end to cancer in our lifetime. Did you know that this year alone, more than 95,000 Texans will be diagnosed with cancer, and more than 37,000 Texans will lose their lives to the disease? Nearly 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women in Texas will develop cancer during their lifetime, and cancer costs Texans $30 billion a year in direct and indirect costs. Proposition 15 is a constitutional amendment which, if passed, will authorize up to $3 billion in state general revenue bonds to fund cancer research, prevention, early detection and control programs. Prop 15, if passed, will also establish the Cancer Prevention and Research Institute of Texas which will conduct research to prevent or cure cancer, support existing cancer research efforts in Texas, and implement the Texas Cancer Plan, a statewide blueprint for cancer prevention and control.

I know what you are saying, “Shouldn’t the federal government be taking this type of action?” Yes, it should, but for the last few years the federal government has instead cut millions of dollars from the budget previously allocated to research for finding cures for cancer. So, Lance Armstrong and other prominent cancer survivors in Texas have decided to take matters into their own hands to build a research facility in Texas with the stated goal of “Finding a Cure for Cancer In our Lifetime”.

Most of you already know my story, but I will take a few minutes to recap and explain why this Proposition is so important for all of us. I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 33 and my sister at the age of 31. Prior to our cancer diagnosis, no one in our family had ever had cancer……no parents, no grandparents, not even any aunts and uncles. Also, my sister and I have none of the risk factors for breast cancer. So what caused us to both to get cancer at such a young age? No one knows. There has simply not been enough research to clearly identify anything more than a few sketchy risk factors. My sister and I are not alone. Incidents of cancer keep increasing at an alarming rate, especially in younger individuals who where previously thought to be more immune to cancer. I don’t know about you, but I want to find out what on earth we are doing to give ourselves cancer. And, if my cancer should return, I want to make sure that drugs exist which can cure my cancer. And most importantly I want this all to happen in my lifetime. I do not want my 3 year old son to be at the same risk for cancer that I am! And if God forbid my son ever does get cancer, I want to make sure that drugs exist that can cure him.

So I urge you all to vote “yes” to Proposition 15. If not for yourself, then do it for your children. We have to end cancer now so that our children will have a future.

Please pass this along to anyone in Texas registered to vote and please, please get out and vote on November 6^th.

Feel Your Boobies!

2007-10-26T09:43:00.000-07:00

Recently through the young survivor group that I co-founded, I met another survivor whose breast cancer story runs parallel to mine through time, but unlike mine does not have a happy ending. Like me she gave birth to a beautiful baby 3 and half years ago. Like me she found a lump in her left breast while she was breast feeding her beautiful baby. Like me she went to her OBGYN for advice and was referred for a mammogram and ultra sound. That is where our stories diverge. The results of my ultrasound where very suspicion, so I went to a breast surgeon and was diagnosed with what turned out to be stage II breast cancer through a core biopsy of my breast (which left I pretty significant hole in my breast). My fellow survivor also went to a breast surgeon, but for some reason did not do a biopsy of the lump and was sent away with a “lets keep an eye on it” recommendation. During the same year that I underwent chemotherapy to blast the cancer out of every nook and cranny of my body, her cancer grew unchecked into stage IV cancer, metastasizing to her spine, shoulders, hips, liver and lungs. She was not diagnosed until she finally collapsed from the pain of the crushed vertebra that had been eaten away by the cancer in her spine. Breast cancer, unlike other cancers, cannot be truly cured once it has metastasized to other parts of the body. And even when the cancer is caught early before it has spread beyond the breast, breast cancer patients are never considered cured because it can always come back as metastatic cancer in another part of your body. Major advances have been made in medicines that can help keep the cancer at bay for long periods of time (even years), but eventually metastatic breast cancer is usually terminal. So while I will hopefully go on to live a long and healthy life and see my baby boy graduate from college, my fellow survivor will probably die from her breast cancer and leave her young child without a mother. So my message to everyone is one of vigilance. You, and only you, are responsible for your body and your health. When you feel something suspicious, get a mammogram, an MRI, a CT scan, a biopsy or whatever else it takes to get an answer as to exactly what that lump is in your breast. And don’t ever take no for an answer. If one doctor blows you off, find another. I have a number of T-shirts and stickers that I wear in public that say “Feel Your Boobies”. These usually attract a lot of attention, but the message on my T-shirt is deadly serious! Feel Your Boobies every day if that is what it takes. If you don’t want to feel them yourself than have your boyfriend, husband or lover do it for you. And if you find a lump, for God’s sake go find out what it is!!

http://www.feelyourboobies.com/

I am back in the saddle!

2007-10-23T09:40:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was the annual LiveStrong weekend in Austin, Texas benefiting the Lance Armstrong Foundation. The festivities included a 5K run on Saturday and a bike ride on Sunday through the beautiful Texas hill country both of which raised over $3 million for the Lance Armstrong Foundation. My husband and I have participated in the LiveStrong ride each year since its inception (formerly known as the Ride for the Roses) in memory of his mother who died of cancer when he was in his early twenties. In fact our relationship has been built on biking. My husband has been an avid biker his entire life, and we met when I was just beginning to bike. He taught me everything I know about biking and over the years we grew to be a great biking team. One of our favorites has always been riding 100 mile bike rides on a tandem bike (a bicycle built for two). With my husband’s expert bike handling skills up front and my strong legs in the back we made a great team. For the last two years I have been too weak or in too much pain to do the LiveStrong ride. However, this year was different, because I felt strong again. I am now 18 months out from my chemotherapy treatments and over a year out from my double mastectomy. Although I had not specifically trained to run a 5K and had not been on my road bike in over 4 years, I made a last minute decision to participate in the LiveStrong weekend this year. The Saturday 5K run went well, and I finished strong in about 31 minutes….still slow for me, but acceptable given that I had not trained. At the finish line the participants who are cancer survivors are diverted into a separate lane and handed a yellow rose as they run through. The girl handing out the rose took one look at me and told me that the roses where only for cancer survivors. I showed her the survivor sign on my back and she turned red and handed me a rose. Although I was momentarily offended, I took this as a compliment. What it ment to me was that I don’t look like a cancer survivor anymore. I have hair and a healthy glow and must have looked strong running through the finish line. On Sunday morning long before the sun came up my husband and I headed out to the bike ride with a borrowed tandem bike, a bike trailer to haul our 36 pound son, and a very sleepy 3 year old. We had a rocky start having blown the only bike tube we had for the bike trailer, but after borrowing another tube we jumped into the bike ride right behind Lance Armstrong and his entourage of famous supporters. I felt like a rock star the entire ride. Everyone that passed us could see the survivor sign on my back and had words of encouragement and something funny to say about the fact that we where hauling our son in the bike trailer behind us. We had intended to do a 60 mile ride, but found that hauling our 36 pound son plus another 15 pounds of gear in the trailer turned out to be more challenging than we had thought. We ended up doing the 45 mile loop and finishing strong just in time for lunch. Again, as we rolled across the finish line the girl handing out roses took one look at me and pulled back the rose. I finally got my rose, but not before I had to show my survivor sign to someone. I took it as a compliment again, realizing that I no longer look weak and frail like people expect a cancer survivor to look. The other thing I learned from the weekend was how important it is for survivors to participate in events like this. I was the inspiration for so many riders to get out there and raise money for the Lancer Armstrong Foundation. When they saw me riding, they realized that their efforts where not in vain and that the money they raised was going to help cancer survivors like me live long and healthy lives. It was a wonderful feeling to finally be back in the saddle!! And what could be better than pedaling up hills with my husband in front of me encouraging me to “keep pedaling” and my son behind me yelling “faster mommy, faster”? I felt healthy and strong again for the first time in a long time, long time!

Why, Why, Why?

2007-06-25T14:21:00.000-07:00

I thought I was done asking the question “Why” until last week when I learned that one of my friends and a fellow young breast cancer survivor was diagnosed with a metastasis of her breast cancer (i.e. her breast cancer has shown up in other organs of her body.) I held it together all day, but in the car on the way home I finally let myself break down. My son was in the car with me and kept asking me why I was sad. The only appropriate thing I could think of to say was “one of mommy’s friends is sick”. My mind just kept screaming why, why, why her? There is just no logical explanation as to why breast cancer reoccurs and metastasizes in one person, but not another. The research does show that breast cancer is more likely to be more aggressive and more advanced in younger women. However, that still does not answer the question of why the chemotherapy and hormone therapy seem to work for one person, but not the next……and more importantly did the chemotherapy and hormone therapy work for me? I know that my reaction to this situation is a bit irrational, but my fear of a recurrence of my own is very real. Over the next few days I began to freak out over every little potential ache or pain, thinking…”What is that?” “Is my cancer back?” “Is it in my bones?” For the last few months I have been plagued with bouts of bronchitis and asthma, so I called up my doctor to see if I needed a chest X-ray. He did not think I needed a chest X-ray, so I made an appointment with him to try to convince him that I need a PET Scan instead which would show any cancer in my body. Again, I know I am being a little irrational, but this is how I deal with my fear of a recurrence. It is the only way I know how to deal with it. I try to work out every day because I know that decreases my chance of a recurrence by 50%. I try to eat healthy organic foods because I know that pesticides contribute to breast cancer. I take my Tamoxifen (hormone therapy) every day, despite its unpleasant side effects. The problem is my friend did all these things too, so why her and not me? It’s almost as if the cancer has already determined what it is going to do and there is nothing I can do about it, but wait and see if it comes back. So, I reaffirm my pledge to continue to make sure that I live each day of my life to the fullest. Yesterday with my husband and son, I visited a local springs and waterfall. I eagerly climbed up a big rock to stand directly under the waterfall so that I could feel the ice cold spring water pour over my entire body and then I jumped off into the deep blue swimming hole below. I felt so alive! Right then and there, I promised myself that I would take more time out of my busy schedule to do things that make me feel that alive!

“Did you say tattoos?”

2007-06-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

The first time I visited with my plastic surgeon about my breast reconstruction process following my double mastectomy, he said that the final detail would be for me to get tattoos to recreate the color for my areolas. At the time I remember thinking I needed to get my ears checked, and asked “Did you say tattoos?” I had visions of showing up at a local tattoo parlor to be tattooed by a local tattoo artist with dreadlocks and a million tattoos on his body. As strange at it sounds, last week I completed the final step in my reconstruction by getting two tattoos, one on each of my areolas. Thankfully, my doctor has hired a registered nurse to perform the duties of the tattoo artists in a very clean and sterile medical office. When I first arrived at the office for my “tattooing” the nurse began to ask me all kinds of questions such as what color were my areolas pre-mastectomy and how big they were. I had to admit that I honestly had forgotten. Fortunately, my plastic surgeon had taken photographs, so she was able to print a nice colored photograph of my pre-mastectomy breasts. I had forgotten what they looked like, and was actually very surprised to realize that I actually prefer my post-mastectomy breasts. Yes, they are that good! Anyway, back to the task at had, together we picked out a color and she got right to work. I have to say that it was a little gross to watch, but luckily I could not feel a thing since I still do not have any sensation in my breasts. 10 minutes later I was bandaged and on my way out the door. The next day I was able to remove the bandages and take a look. They look great! They are the same color as before and seem to really complete the look of my new man-made breasts. In fact, in the locker room at my gym a couple women have asked who my plastic surgeon is, not knowing that I have reconstructed breasts, but instead thinking that I have had a boob job or a lift. In addition, I feel more confident at the gym. I used to cower a bit in the dressing room not completely confident in my newly reconstructed breasts. Now I am happy to show them off to any of the other women in the locker room. I can’t help but marvel at the miracle of modern medicine and realize how thankful I am that I have been put back together with such skill and competence.

My last surgery

2007-01-25T08:20:00.000-08:00

On January 18, 2007 my alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. It did not matter because I had been lying in bed awake since 4:30 a.m. My head had been swirling with questions for my surgeon and other little to dos I knew that I needed to try and remember but realized that I would likely forget during my three hour general anesthesia nap later that morning. I knew the drill all too well: no jewelry, no make-up, loose clothing, don’t take anything valuable to the hospital. By 7:45 a.m. we were checked into our pre-surgery room and waiting for the anesthesiologist and plastic surgeon to come by and visit. My son was safely home with a baby-sitter, still sleeping in his crib and oblivious to the fact that his mom was about to go under general anesthesia for the seventh time over the last year and half in order for my plastic surgeon to complete the final phase of the reconstruction of my breasts. After talking with my anesthesiologist long enough to assure myself that he was on top of his game and would not let me die on the operating table, I turned by attention to my plastic surgeon who had whipped out a marker and was drawing on my breasts and abdomen. First he drew an elliptical shape on my lower abdomen as a reference point for the skin he planned to cut off and use as skin graphs to re-create my areolas. He then put dots on my breasts where he planned to cut the skin to create the illusion of nipples and finally lines to indicate the incision he would make that would allow him to pull out the tissue expander implants under my chest muscle and replace them with nice soft silicon implants. Before long it was time to say good-by to my husband and take one last look at the picture I had brought of my son. I always feel a moment of panic as they wheel me down the hall away from my husband. That was soon replaced by the feeling that I had just drunk two margaritas as a sedative began to fill my veins. The next thing I remember was waking up to a blurry vision of my surgeon telling me that the surgery went well and that he had explained everything to my husband. As always I woke up cranky from my anesthesia. But unlike my last surgery, I had very little pain. I have no feeling in my breasts post mastectomy, so I could not even feel the incisions my surgeon had made in my chest. I had two drains coming out of me again to drain away any excess fluids created by the body due to the surgery. Also the incision on my abdomen for the skin graph was really sore, but not sore enough to keep me from going home after an hour in the recovery room. Five days after my surgery, my bandages where removed. I took a deep breath and then took a peek at the results. My silicon implants are an instant hit because they are so much more comfortable than the tissue expanders, and they look and feel much like real breasts. The nipples are pretty realistic, and the areolas look pretty life-like. I know that in time all my scars will heal and fade, but for now I still get a bit woozy every time I look at myself in the mirror. What upsets me is the sheer number of scars on my mere 35 year old body. I wonder what those scars will look like when I am 80. Then I realize that for the first time in a long time I am actually visualizing myself at the ripe old age of 80. That means that I finally believe that this ordeal is over. I feel like I have emerged from a long dark tunnel into the light and I can now see my life stretching out in front of me. I survived breast cancer and I plan to make the most of the rest of my life.

The Aftermath

2006-11-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

Lately I realize that my life has started to settle back into a normal beat, but that normalness leaves me feeling uneasy and restless. I have completed the “blow-up doll” phase of my reconstruction and I now await my next reconstruction surgery, scheduled for mid-January. So now finally after more than a year of treatment for breast cancer, I am left to deal with the “aftermath” of the last year of my life and to take an inventory of the things that “cancer” has taken from me. While I still mourn the loss of my breasts, as the pain of my surgery recedes in my memory I begin to adjust to the idea of life with reconstructed breasts. I am also growing found of my new size Ds. The loss of my hair was indeed temporary, and I am starting to feel confident in my new short hairdo. My body seems to be regaining its former strength, and while I still can’t run or bike yet, I am lifting weights twice a week and noticing my body respond quickly. The one thing I still dwell on a lot is the loss of my ability to have another baby. Yes, I know I have twelve frozen embryos which I will hopefully get to use one day. But that day seems like such a long way and away (4 years and six months to be exact), and there are no guarantees. What I am beginning to also realize is that this last year has taken a measurable toll on my mind and soul. I think the clinical term for what I am now experiencing is called “post traumatic stress syndrome”. The other day during drop-off at my son’s pre-school, I overheard other moms discussing the pros and cons of the latest music class offered at my son’s pre-school. While I know that I should care deeply about my son’s music education, I hear part of my brain screaming “who cares….1,500 people in America will dye today from cancer”. Last week in the corridors of my office I heard my colleagues discussing the results of the latest UT football game. Again, while I know how important football is in Texas, my mind screams, “why do we care so much about football when every three minutes a woman in this country will be told the devastating news that she has breast cancer”. So I find that I am having a hard time dealing with the every day normalness of life. I have no patients for the every day trivia of life, and many days I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. That weight comes from knowing that there is so much to be done to save others from the pain and trauma of cancer, yet my time to do something about it is so limited. This leaves me feeling alone, caught between wanting my life to return to normal and realizing that it will never be the same. Whether I like it or not my life has changed forever and I must accept the responsibility I now have as a survivor of cancer. So to make peace with myself, I try to carve-out a little piece of each day to do something to further the cause: sometimes I write or try to call a congressmen and women about the various pieces of legislation proposed for the funding of cancer research and cancer survivor programs; other days I spend time helping organize activities for the local group of breast cancer survivors which I helped co-found, the Pink Ribbon Cowgirls; then other days I simply reach out to my sister in Florida who is also dealing with the “aftermath” of breast cancer. I feel that if each day I can just do one thing to make things a little better for other cancer survivors, then it has been a good day. So I encourage everyone else to think about doing the same each day in your lives. Not everyone will have an opportunity to help a cancer survivor each day, but if everyone on this earth just spent a couple minutes each day to reach out and help someone in need this world would be such a better place.

Why I tell my story

2006-10-30T14:55:00.000-08:00

One year ago today, I ran a brush through my hair and half of it fell out in the sink. With my son sitting on my lap watching, my husband shaved the rest of my hair off. He then asked me to shave his head too promising that as long as I was bald he would be too. I know realize that it was that day one year ago when my hair fell out that I began to “Livestrong” in the words of Lance Armstrong and his army of cancer survivors. Up until that point I had only told very close family and friends that I had cancer. Once my hair fell out I had no choice but to begin to tell everyone what was happening to me and that I had breast cancer. Once I began to tell my story I slowly began to realize that just the simple act of telling my story makes a difference in this great battle we are fighting against cancer. My story and the story of every cancer survivor helps raise awareness of the national epidemic that we have on our hands. 1 in 3 women will get cancer in their lifetime and 1 in 2 men. Those are alarming statistics are what I believe qualifies as an epidemic. And although the death rate from cancer has gone down for the last few years for the first time in history, the new incidents of cancer continue to increase at an alarming rate. We lost less than 5,000 lives on that horrifying day on 9/11 five years ago, and our government has spent trillions of dollars securing us from another terrorist attack. This year in the United States, more than 1.3 million people will be diagnosed with cancer and the disease will kill nearly 600,000 Americans – more than 1,500 people a day. Yet this year despite the commitment of congress to provide an additional $7 billion for critical health and education programs, when these bills went through committee they were shortchanged by more than $2 billion in the Senate and almost $3 billion in the House. As a result, critical cancer research, early detection, and other programs are in danger of being severely under funded. It is unacceptable in my opinion that we are willing to spend trillions to secure our boarders, but we can not come up with $7 billion to continue to fund research to find a cure for cancer. I am angry and you should be too. I urge each of you to write to your congressman or women and tell them just that. The Livestrong organization has made this very easy with a pre-written electronic letter: http://www.livestrong.org. Join the advocacy team and click on "Take Action Now"

I was privileged to serve as a delegate to the first ever Livestrong summit this weekend. The speakers where inspiring and I learned so much about what the private sector is doing to accelerate research to find a cure for cancer and what other cancer survivors and those effected by cancer are doing to fill in the gaps to meet the needs of cancer patients and survivors. I came away from the weekend energized and reassured that the simple act of telling my story to the public does so much to raise awareness about the battle we are waging against cancer. Information and news about this weekend’s event, including an interview with me and several other delegates at the conference, can be found at: http://www.livestrong.org/site/apps/nl/content2.asp?c=jvKZLbMRIsG&b=2192101&ct=3214349

Also, below is a link to a 4-part story that was aired by a local news station in Austin for breast cancer awareness month. My story as a young survivor of breast cancer is told in Part 2, and other parts of my interview also appear in Part 1 and 4: http://keyetv.com/health/local_story_275121332.html

Have Wig, Will Work

2006-10-06T08:43:00.000-07:00

The question I seem to get asked most often these days is, “When do you plan to go back to work?” The question never ceases to surprise me, and my response is always, “I never stopped working.” The truth is I worked what would be considered full time hours, even for a lawyer, throughout my treatment for breast cancer. When I was first diagnosed and met with my oncologist I fully expected that he would tell me that I would be too sick to work in between chemotherapy treatments which are administered every three weeks. Instead he told me that he planned to work them around my schedule and that by doing them on Fridays I would have the weekend to recover. He also assured me that modern medicine had come a long way in its efforts to minimize the side-effects of chemotherapy such as nausea. He was partially right. For me the nausea was pretty de-habilitating for a few days after each treatment, but by Tuesday of the following week I could usually muster the strength to get out of bed, get dressed and drive myself to work. In fact, my work as a corporate attorney turned out to be my salvation. If I could just muster up the strength to get in front of my computer, then I could lose myself in whatever legal matter my clients sent my way. My work kept me from dwelling on the constant pain and never ending side-effects that comes with heavy doses of chemotherapy. Work also helped me feel like a normal person. I invested in a couple nice brown wigs that looked much like my pre-cancer hair. Once I put on my wig and headed out the door, no one was the wiser. I could anonymously make my way through the day without any of those “Poor You” looks that I always got when I did not wear a wig. I feel like my work as an attorney really kept me from sliding into a big “pity party”. I simply stayed too busy with my work and spending time with my son to dwell on how miserable I felt. So I am so thankful to the partners in my law firm and my clients for hanging in there with me this past year. It really has been my saving grace.

The Fog is Lifting

2006-09-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

Slowly but surely the fog that has been surrounding my life for the past year is lifting. I am starting to get out more, see people that I have not seen in a while, and what I am realizing is that I have been so focused on simply surviving this past year that I have not noticed changes that have gone on around me. I visit with people and realize that their lives have continued. While I realize that of course life does go on, I am sad that I have missed noticeable changes in the people around me. Friends have changed jobs, gotten pregnant and undergone a myriad of other changes that I barely noticed because I was so consumed with keeping my own head above water. This also applies to my immediate family, in particular my 2 year old son. During his second year of life, my life was a world-wind of surgeries, doctor visits and chemotherapy treatments. The other day he recited an entire book to me. I had to ask my husband if he had ever noticed that before. My husband of course had seen my son do it a number of times. Why was I so oblivious? Some days I wish with all my being that I could turn back time or at least suspend time so that I could re-live my son’s first steps, the first time he said “I love you, mommy”, the first time he sang a song to me…..because all these firsts are jumbled together in my foggy memory of the past year. My husband has tried to document as much as possible with pictures and digital video for which I am very grateful. However, it still stings to realize you can’t remember the exact day when your son took his first steps. By comparison, I can remember the exact day I was diagnosed with cancer, the day I began chemotherapy, and the day I lost my breasts. Why are these days etched in my memory so vividly, yet I can’t remember my son’s first steps? I am sure I will sort all this out in time and have even noticed that over the past few weeks many of my memories are starting to resurface little by little. Last night due to a skipped nap my son was so tired that he needed me to rock him to sleep which he had not requested for a number of months. While rocking him memories started to flood back into the forefront. I remembered that during the long months of chemotherapy one of the only things that completely relieved my mind from pain was to rock my son to sleep at night. Even after he had fallen asleep I would continue to rock him for a while before putting him in his crib because holding onto him gave me the strength I needed to face another chemotherapy treatment. These days when I spend time with my son and husband I catch myself trying to etch these special moments into my mind forever. As I put more time between me and my cancer I am starting to believe bit by bit that I will be around for many more years which will allow me to make many more memories with my friends and family.

The “Blow-Up Doll” phase of my treatment

2006-09-18T14:48:00.000-07:00

I am currently in what I refer to as the “blow-up doll” phase of my treatment. Every Monday morning I truck over to my plastic surgeon’s office for an expansion of my breast implants. The process takes less than 5 minutes, but is one of the most surreal things I have ever experienced. First my doctor uses a stud-finder, yes you read that correctly…a stud-finder, to locate the metal ports embedded under my chest muscle within my expandable breast implants. He then sticks a big needle into the port which I cannot feel at all since I no longer have nerve endings in my chest. Using the needle in the port he adds saline to the implant. At the first of our “blow-up doll” sessions he literally doubled the size of my breasts as my husband and I watched in amazement. He warned me that it would feel much like I had over-stretched a hamstring. He was correct in that I did indeed feel stretched, so stretched that I had a hard time breathing for a few minutes. I immediately reached for the ibuprofen in my bag, and after it kicked in I could breath almost normally. This week, with my sister looking on, my doctor again repeated the process…but this time with a little less saline. I watched in amazement as my boobs expanded even more. What a testament to modern medicine! Now only 5 short weeks after a double mastectomy, I have boobs even bigger than before my surgery. Granted they still look a little like a science project, but not bad for 5 weeks out of surgery. I still have two more of these “blow-up doll” sessions. Then I must maintain my over inflated status for 3 months in order to form a proper capsule under my chest muscle for my “real” implants. In January I will go back into surgery to have the expandable implants replaced with permanent silicon implants (which will be smaller and more natural looking), and then I will have a final surgery several months later to reconstruct my nipples. Anyway, in the words of my good friend Dan, “here’s to modern medicine and to blow up dolls”.

Life goes on

2006-09-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

Today is my 35^th birthday. I think back at the last year of my life and realize what a different person I am from the women I was a year ago. Yes, this past year has been rough. During the past 12 months I underwent 6 surgeries, 10 chemotherapy treatments, the loss of all my hair and the loss of both my breasts. To top it all off my younger sister went through the same thing. I know that I have not yet processed all that has happened, but I am certain that I will in time. Despite these trials and losses, I am grateful to breast cancer. It made me see the wonderful things in my life clearly for the first time. Before cancer, I felt like I was lost at sea. I had a loving husband, a great career, a healthy baby boy and good friends. However, I did not truly appreciate these things. I took them for granted. Getting cancer makes you realize that you cannot waste another minute of time taking things for granted….because you might not have that many more minutes. I feel like I was given a second chance in life, and I do not plan to waste it. Now I relish the moments I get to spend with my husband and 2 year old son. I soak them in and try to imprint them in my memory forever. Now I practice law, not for the status or money, but because I truly love helping my clients develop their entrepreneurial ideas into growing businesses. Now when I am lucky enough to spend time with friends, I truly appreciate the kindness and generosity of all those friends who have helped sustain me during this last year. And when I have extra time, I spend it trying to help other young breast cancer survivors through the same trials and losses. I tell my story so publicly because I hope that it will make each and everyone one of you pause for a moment and give thanks for all the wonderful things in your life and to promise yourself that you will never take those things for granted. So I am thankful for the last year of my life, and today on my 35^th birthday I reaffirm my pledge to make every moment count!

Being a mom with breast cancer

2006-09-05T13:52:00.000-07:00

One topic that I have not spent much time on in previous posts is my diminished role as a caregiver for my 2 year old son over the past year of treatment for breast cancer. I am fortunate in that my son has been attending a wonderful child development center since he was 2 months old. So when I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago, his life was not turned upside down as mine was. He continued to go to school each day and maintain the routine that he seemed to know and love so much. I would be at home reeling with nausea from a chemotherapy treatment, while he was safe at school enjoying his normal routines. So I consider myself to be very lucky in that he had a place to go each day where life was “normal”. However, as I have mentioned previously I did most of my chemotherapy treatments on a Friday which meant that I was pretty sick over the weekend when he was home from school. I always had a friend or family member around to help out on those weekends with caring for me and my son, but to be honest most of the work over the last year fell squarely on the shoulders of my husband. For over a year now he has been my caregiver as well as the primary caregiver for our son. Again, I consider myself incredibly lucky to have such a wonderfully devoted man as a husband and father to my son. But, I can’t help but feel incredibly guilty over what I view as the partial dereliction of my duties as a mother over the past year. For example, for the past almost 4 weeks since my double mastectomy surgery, I have not been able to pick-up or carry my son per the strict orders of my doctor. This has been very hard on both of us. Not only is it very sad for both my son and I, but it places an incredible burden on my husband since technically I can’t be left alone to supervise my own son. My son has been very cooperative at helping himself in and out of his crib with the use of a step-stool, and he can even get himself in and out of his car-seat and my SUV with a little coaxing from me. I try to compensate in every way that I can think of and do as much as I possibly can like supervising his bath-time and reading bed-time books. But, I still feel guilty. My son clearly loves me very much and even seems to understand at some level what I am going through…..he takes periodic breaks from jumping around the living room and couch to snuggle next to me, stroke my arms lovingly and shower me with big kisses and hugs. But when he is hurt, perceives danger or needs something, he has learned to go to his father for help. This makes perfectly logical sense since his father has been the one doing all those things for him over the past year, but it still bothers me that I have not been completely there for him as a mother should be. Again, I know I am so lucky to have such a wonderful husband as a father to my son. I am also thankful that my son seems unaffected by the past year. I know things will get better, and he will soon have his mom back. So I look forward to and dream of the day when I can again swing him around the living room and listen to him squeal with delight.

My Double Mastectomy

2006-08-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

On the morning of August 10, 2006 my alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. I had 30 minutes to dress, say my good-byes to my son and drive with my husband to the hospital to check-in for my double mastectomy. I dressed hurriedly and then spent the next 10 minutes gazing down into the crib at my sleeping 2 year old son. As tears streamed down my cheeks and onto his sleeping head, I prayed that I would see him again. What always scares me most about surgery is the possibility of never waking up from the anesthesia. General anesthesia is as close to death as it gets in my book, since you are entrusting your breathing and heart beat to another human being, the anesthesiologist, in my case for over 6 hours. While I waited for my husband to drive me to the hospital I finally allowed myself to be scared. I was scarred of the pain I knew I would feel when I woke up from surgery. I was scared of the shock and horror I knew I would experience when I saw what was left of my breasts after surgery, and first and foremost I was scared of never waking up from surgery. Once we got to the hospital things moved pretty fast. I knew the drill all to well having already had 5 surgeries over the last year. Soon I was saying my good-byes to my husband as they wheeled me down the hall to surgery. 7 hours later I awoke to excruciating pain. I felt like a semi-truck was sitting on top of my chest crushing my lungs into my spine. I always emerge from anesthesia immediately and pretty alert. Alarms kept going off alerting the nurses to the fact that I was no getting enough oxygen down into my lungs. They would instruct me to breath deep which was nearly impossible given that I felt like a semi-truck was sitting right on top of my lungs, so I crankily demanded more pain medication before I would comply with their requests to breath deeply. Finally after what seemed like hours my room was ready and I was wheeled into a private room where my mother and husband where waiting for me. I was so happy to see them, so happy to be alive, but very cranky about the amount of pain I was experiencing. My doctor finally ordered regular IV doses of a drug he promised was even stronger than morphine. The pain finally became manageable as long as I did not go too long between IV doses of very strong pain medication. My doctor also told me that I could go home from the hospital a day early if I was able to wean myself off of the IV injected pain killers. Determined to go home and see my little boy as soon as possible, I immediately started to try do just that. It was hard going, but finally about 24 hours after I awoke from surgery I walked out the front door of the hospital with my husband and went home to see my sweet little boy and be cared for by my loving mother. I still had four drains coming out of my body, draining away the extra blood and lymphatic fluid that my body seemed to be producing to fill up the space that was left by my removed breast tissue. There were so many tubes and drains coming out of me that I had to strap a fanny pack to my waist to carry everything around with me. Modern medicine has replaced bandages with super glue, so I had no bandages over my breasts….just stitches and super glue. Later that evening after returning home came the moment of truth when I allowed myself to look in the mirror for the first time. As I had suspected, I was horrified. Where I had once had nipples and areolas all that was left was a big jagged scare on each breast. My mastectomy included reconstruction as well which meant that under my chest muscles I already had expandable breast implants. My doctor had already put some saline in each of them so that I would not be totally flat, but compared to my breasts pre-surgery I am pretty much flat-chested. I know that this is not a permanent state of affairs, as my doctors plans to continue to inflate my breast implants until I am an appropriate size of my choosing. He will then replace those expandable implants with nice silicon implants that will feel more like real breasts. The final reconstruction surgery will involve taking a piece of skin from my lower abdomen for use as a skin graph to reconstruct my nipples and areolas. However, all this will take time….a another year to be exact. So I try to think positive and look forward to the day when I no longer look like a science project and instead have eternally perky, round boobs. It has been two weeks now, my drains have all been removed and the pain subsides a little more each day, so I am on the mend and oh so happy to be alive! Thank you to everyone who brought food, sent flowers and cards or sent warm thoughts and kind words my way.

The business of surviving

2006-07-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

Everyone warned me that the hardest part would be the weeks and months following chemotherapy, and they were right! I finished my last chemotherapy treatment on May 11th, and one would think that I would be gleeful with joy. Instead of celebrating all I could think was, “….what now?” During the long months of chemotherapy your body and mind are in battle mode. You fight through the pain every day, so when your body is no longer in any discernible pain you are not sure what to do. You let your guard down, and in many cases slip into depression. I was no exception. As I shared in my last blog entry I am opting to alter my original treatment plan to complete a mastectomy on both my breasts in lieu of radiation. My surgery is scheduled for August 10th. Even knowing that I was not completely done with my treatment plan, I still felt myself slipping into a mental fog. I could not rest easy until I knew the cancer was gone, so I insisted that my doctor order a full body PET scan. Thankfully the scan clearly showed that the chemotherapy had done its job and that I was indeed cancer-free! Again, shouldn’t I be joyous? But I am not. In my case, I felt compelled to take an inventory of my life and my body (or the remnants of it after a year of treatment for breast cancer). On the bright side my 2 year old son is happier than ever and does not even seem to notice that there was ever anything wrong with mommy. My husband, family and friends are as supportive as ever. My career seems to continue to flourish. For me the hardest part has been dealing with the current state of my mind, my body and my energy level. I used to run marathons, and now I can’t even run to the end of the block without stopping to gasp for air. I used to ride 100 mile bike rides and have energy leftover to party till the wee hours of the morning. Now, some days it takes all my energy to walk my son to the park and back. I insisted that my trainer test my muscle/fat content, and as I suspected the news was not good. Although I had maintained a fairly consistent weight throughout chemotherapy, I had lost over 10 pounds of muscle. In addition to my physical sort-comings I began having nightmares…vivid, graphic, violent nightmares. Possibly my brain processing things at a subconscious level, I don’t know? As I felt the depression creeping in I knew I had to do something. As a busy mom and partner in a law firm, I don’t have time for a pity party. I read recently that exercise is more effective at treating depression than anti-depression medications, so I tried it. I started exercising every day, no excuses. Slowly but surely I feel myself coming out of my fog. Each day I feel stronger both mentally and physically, and as an added bonus I see my muscles and body responding to the exercise in a very positive way. But by far the most important reason for me to exercise, is to prevent more breast cancer. The National Cancer Institute published a study recently indicating that strenuous exercise more than 4 hours per week can decrease a woman’s chances of breast cancer by up to 50%. I was astounded by that statistic. Exercise could have a bigger role in keeping me from getting more breast cancer than my chemotherapy. So my message to all you women out there is to start exercising! Make exercise a non-negotiable part of each day. Not only will it make you feel better, physically and emotionally, but it just might save your life!

The hardest decision I have ever made!

2006-06-16T16:09:00.000-07:00

One morning this week, after returning from a run, I found myself staring in my bathroom mirror at my naked breasts. What I was staring at were not really my breasts themselves, but the large circles drawn around each of my areolas with a sharpie. In a consultation with my surgeon the day before she had marked on my breasts in order to show me the area where she would make an incision to remove my breast tissue and part of my breast (i.e. the nipple and areola) as part of mastectomy surgery on each of my breasts. As I starred at the marks on my breast, my mind swirled as I tried to make sense out of the many, many conversations with doctors over the past two weeks. As I have mentioned in previous blog entries, the original treatment plan for me was to complete 7 weeks of daily radiation treatments following chemotherapy. Happily I am now finished with 8 grueling months of chemotherapy, so it is now time for me to compete the radiation treatment. However, since I began treatment for breast cancer my younger sister was also diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 31. So I decided that before I completed radiation that I should get some second opinions as to whether I should instead get a mastectomy. The standard treatment for breast cancer is either a lumpectomy with radiation or just a mastectomy. What I learned from talking to many, many doctors was that if I get a mastectomy now, I can forgo the radiation. So I have a decision to make. Do I now complete a mastectomy or just go forward and complete my original treatment plan by doing radiation? So over the past two weeks I have consulted with all of the top specialists in my area, and what I think I have learned is that if I were the only one in my family to have breast cancer then we could conclude that it was random and thus my original treatment plan would probably suffice. However, due to the fact that my sister also has breast cancer at a young age, to be safe we have to conclude that we have a genetic abnormality. We were both tested for the two known breast cancer genes and were negative. However, there are many other genes that are still unknown and there is also the possibility that we have a new genetic mutation. So the unanimous recommendation by every doctor that I consulted was that I be treated as if I do have a breast cancer gene. The standard treatment for women who develop breast cancer and test positive for the known breast cancer genes is a mastectomy of both breasts and removal of the ovaries. The ultimate decision is of course mine, but I am at a decision tree now. At this time I either have to do radiation or complete a bi-lateral mastectomy. As I stood there looking in the mirror at the marks where the surgeon would make her incision, I realized that I was terrified. Terrified of more pain, more surgery and of loosing my breast. But what I also realized was that what terrified me even more was not seeing my son grow-up. Although the numbers vary, my doctors informed me that by removing all of my breast tissue I decrease the odds of getting more breast cancer by 10-20%. They also told me that new studies were showing that when breast cancer comes back in young patients it is not good (i.e. mortality rates increase). So, looking in the mirror I knew what I had to do. Loosing both my breasts is such a small price to pay in order to increase the chance that I will see my son grow into a young man. Having made the decision; however, did not keep me from mourning my loss. I sat on my bathroom floor and cried for over an hour…..I was outraged at the unfairness of it all. But ultimately I feel good about the decision. The lesson in all this is to seek second opinions and realize that ultimately you have to drive your own treatment plan. I don’t think I would have gotten to this decision without persistently pointing out to all my caregivers that my medical records were not the end of my story. I insisted on providing my sister’s medical records to all my doctors and made sure they reviewed them. Once each doctor looked at the entire picture, they changed their treatment recommendation for me.

Strength from Friends and Family

2006-06-09T08:56:00.000-07:00

Enough cannot be said about the strength that I have taken from my friends and family throughout this past year. My sister of course has been a constant cheerleader for me, and our daily conversations are so helpful since we are making this long journey through beast cancer together. I cannot say thanks enough to all those who have brought food for me, helped care for my son, said prayers on my behalf and driven many miles in order to just sit with me while I suffer through chemotherapy treatments. My husband has been my constant rock. He has been by my side for every surgery, doctors appointment, and chemotherapy treatment. Being a self reliant woman, at first it was very difficult for me to admit that I might need help. But once I let go and allowed my friends and family in, I realized that asking for help was not a weakness. In fact, I soon realized that surrounding myself with such kindness and generosity proved to be a wonderful source of strength. My advise to others is to reach out to your friends and family. Admit that you cannot do this alone, and just ask for help. The kindness of others, even complete strangers, never ceases to amaze me. So to all those that have helped me this past year, please accept my eternal thanks and gratitude. You help provide me with the strength and the determination that I need to make it through each day.

My friend is gone

2006-05-22T11:02:00.000-07:00

Breast cancer has claimed yet another life. This time it was my friend. I will call her Mary for purposes of this blog. Mary found me one day in the infusion room of my cancer clinic. We were introduced by a mutual friend and proceeded to have one of the most lively and memorable conversations I have experienced. As we sat there for three hours receiving our infusions in back to back chairs we talked about all kinds of topics, from our treatments to the deeper meaning of life. Mary, whose cancer had metastasized into her skin, was in her fifties. However, despite our age difference she possessed a thirst for life that I found contagious. As I sat talking to Mary and as she elicited information and knowledge from me about my treatments and future goals and dreams, I realized that I was needed. I realized that breast cancer had happened to me for a reason, and that reason was to help other young women with breast cancer. As we talked the hours away while our chemotherapy drugs dripped intravenously into our veins, Mary made me realize that there was so much I could do….that I could put a voice to this disease and how it affects young women so uniquely. She set up lunch to introduce me to other young women from the Breast Cancer Resource Center, a wonderful organization mobilized to provide support and information to women with breast cancer of all ages, http://www.bcrc.org. The goal of the lunch was to get young women together to brainstorm about ways that the Breast Cancer Resource Center could reach out to the growing number of younger women diagnosed with breast cancer. From that lunch has grown a group of young women called the Pink Ribbon Cowgirls, a social network of younger breast cancer survivors. Mary, made that happen, despite the fact that she was experiencing the last months of her life. She left this life last week, and is hopefully in a better place now where she has beautiful skin and feels no pain. Despite our short time together, Mary and her words had a profound impact on me by awakening in me that person who will be a foot soldier in the battle against breast cancer. So in effect her legacy lives on through me.

LIVESTRONG Day – May 17, 2006

2006-05-17T08:49:00.000-07:00

Today May 17, 2006 is LIVESTRONG Day. Today is the day that Lance Armstrong has asked us to come together and raise a united voice in the fight against cancer. As I sit here today and think about the past 10 months…..my diagnosis at age 33 with stage II breast cancer, my younger sister’s subsequent diagnosis with breast cancer at age 31, the four surgeries to remove the cancer and preserve my fertility, the 8 months of grueling chemotherapy…..I realize that I have been living each and every one of those days by Lance’s motto to LIVESTRONG. Since my diagnosis with breast cancer on August 4, 2005, there has also not been a single day that has passed during which I have not asked the question “why?” “Why me? Why now?” I have finally realized that I may never know the answer to “why”. What I do know is that my life has been repurposed. I have been given an opportunity to use my voice and my energy to join others in not only fighting cancer, but in eradicating it as a cause of death in my generation. I want my son to grow up in a world free of cancer. Please join me on LIVESTRONG Day to pledge to use your voice to eradicate cancer during our lifetime.
Please take a moment from your day and send a letter to Congress in support of LIVESTRONG representatives on Capital Hill today. http://www.livestrong.org

Living life one day at a time

2006-05-16T13:47:00.000-07:00

Chemotherapy! I know that I should think of it as life saving medicine, but I just think of it as poison. The best way to describe the side effects is to think of having a massive hang-over for over a week. The first few days involve dehabilitating nausea, then I move on to two or three days of mind numbing fatigue. From there I develop a headache so intense that it hurts to even talk. After these effects wear off, I experience mouth sores and extreme intestinal upset. Then despite thousands of dollars of shots to encourage my body to increase its production of white and red blood cells, my white blood cell count usually plummets to dangerous levels putting me an serious risk of an infection from anyone and anything I encounter. But for me the worst side effect of all is the fog that descends upon my mind. It lingers each time for almost a week. Each day I awake and think, “This will be the day that I feel better”. This goes on for a number of days each as dark and foggy as the previous, as my body and mind fight to overcome the pain. Then one day I awake and the clouds part, the sun shines into my mind and I feel like shouting from the treetops, “I am alive, I am alive.” My husband and friends can always tell when this day comes because I start returning e-mails and voicemails with a vengeance, as if I have returned from a long journey. Then I will feel fine for two weeks, until have to go back to the clinic for another treatment. I so dread my treatments that I begin to experience nausea two hours before a scheduled treatment, and each time I open the door of my clinic a waive of nausea hits me in the face. I have trouble wearing clothes that I wore for a particular treatment because the mere sight of them almost makes me vomit. I know in time this will all pass, and the chemotherapy has probably saved my life. So I keep on putting one foot in front of the other, just focusing on the day at hand.

Who needs hair anyway!

2006-05-16T13:45:00.000-07:00

My doctor said it would happen, but I lived in denial for at least 10 days. I thought…”it won’t happen to me.” I will be that one person that does not lose their hair from chemotherapy. But it did happen just as predicted by my oncologist exactly 14 days after my first chemotherapy treatment. When I brushed my hair on day 12 after my first treatment, long strands began to come out. The next day even more came out in my brush and in the sink. Each morning I would wake up to a pillow full of hair. It was a weekend and we were at the beach, so I refused to face the fact that I was loosing my hair and simply put it up in a ponytail. However, the next morning, exactly 14 days after my chemotherapy treatment, I woke-up and realized that I had to wash it. I took it out of the ponytail and proceeded to brush it. Over half of the hair on my head came out in my hands and landed in the sink. My hair was officially falling out. I tearfully asked my husband to join me in the bathroom in order to shave the rest off. So with my son in my lap and tears streaming down my cheeks, my husband shaved off what was left of my hair. I will never forget the first time I looked in the mirror at my bald head. It took my breath away. Then, my husband did what was one of the most caring and compassionate things he has ever done for me. He asked me to shave his head too. He said that if I had to be bald, he would be too! I have adjusted to life without hair. In many respects it simplifies life…no more hair products or blow drying. Getting ready in the morning is a snap. What I miss most about my hair, however, is my anonymity. People are very polite and try not to stare, but I can often read their thoughts on their faces. They know I have cancer. Everyone equates female baldness with cancer. They look at me and they think …”wow, she is so young, if cancer could happen to her then it could happen to me.” I am a daily reminder to everyone around me that cancer knows no boundaries…that it can happen to anyone, of any race, sex or age.

Chemotherapy: What does not kill me will only make me stronger

2006-05-16T12:22:00.000-07:00

On Friday, October 14, 2005 with my now 14 month old son safely at school, my husband and I went to the cancer clinic for my first of 10 grueling chemotherapy treatments. The infusion room is a friendly place consisting of recliners, big screen TVs and lots of pillows and blankets. It looks like a comfy living room except for the IV polls next to each recliner. The chemotherapy treatments are not painful and are injected directly into big veins through the use of the port-a-catheter implanted in middle of my chest. The purpose of chemotherapy in my case is to kill off any possible cancer cells that living in my blood stream or that might have strayed off to other organs in my body. I would receive 6 treatments, three weeks apart, of a cocktail of drugs known as FEC (5-FU, Epirubicin, and Cytoxan). After that, I would receive an additional 4 treatments, also administered every three weeks, of a drug called Taxotere. I tried to think about the chemotherapy medicine positively, but I soon developed an almost violent reaction to the sight of the two tubes of red fluid (Epirubicin) that would cause me so much pain over the coming months. Overall my first treatment went pretty well. The medicine hit me immediately and within four hours of my treatment my living room began to spin around me, and I could barely stand up due to the waves of over-whelming nausea. The next day however I felt better and after receiving more IV drugs and more anti-nausea drugs I actually had the energy to play with my son. The next day my steroids kicked in full force and I called a friend to come over and help me clean out my entire closet. Steroids are administered in connect with chemotherapy to give the body some ammunition to fight off the damaging effects of the chemotherapy. However, Monday morning the steroids wore off and I could not get out of bed. No matter how hard I tried I could not bring myself to get up. Although still not up to snuff, on Tuesday I insisted on going back to work. I dragged myself to work the next few days until by Friday I finally felt like a human being again. My treatments were three weeks apart, so I had two weeks to feel like myself again. The one side effect that lingered were blood sugar crashes every hour or so. I went to a nutritionist who put me on a high protein low carb/glycemic index diet with instructions to eat every 2-3 hours. After a few days on the diet a felt like a new person.

My survival rate

2006-05-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

The single most important conversation I had with my oncologist was about my survival rate. After my surgeries and prior to starting chemotherapy we sat down with him to discuss the results of my two pathology reports (one from each surgery). He had input data regarding my exact type of cancer (from the cancer tissue found in my removed tumor) into a software program that analyzed the information along with my age and other statistics about me. The resulting report was very straight-forward, but startling to see in such black and white form. The report indicated that without further treatment, my survival rate for the next 10 years was 60%. In other words, I had an almost 50/50 chance of dying from my breast cancer during the next 10 years. However, if I completed chemotherapy and hormone therapy (i.e. put off having more children to complete a 5 year course of Tamoxifen) my survival rate increased to 80% per his report. In other words, my chances of dying in the next 10 years from breast cancer went down to only 20%. In the grand scheme of things these are probably not bad odds. My odds of getting hit by a bus tomorrow might be higher. However, something about seeing it in writing on that piece of paper was a big reality check for me. That day I vowed to never take another minute of time for granite. Time, I realized was the most precision thing I owned, and making wise choices with that time would become the most important goal in my life.

Saving my future children:

2006-04-09T13:52:00.000-07:00

One day after my breast tumor was removed in my first of two surgeries to remove cancer from my breast and lymph nodes, I began fertility treatments known as IVF (in vitro fertilization). Over the next two and half weeks I would give myself daily injections of very expensive fertility drugs that would eventually cause me to super ovulate 10 eggs at once which were harvested by my fertility doctor under twilight anesthesia. Those eggs would be put into a pietre dish and combined with my husband’s sperm. If the eggs fertilized, they would be immediately cryopreserved (i.e. frozen). The treatments were not without risk to me, and that risk was duly noted by my husband and doctors. You see my type of cancer is receptive to estrogen. That means that it responds and grows more rapidly with exposure to estrogen. The fertility treatments caused my estrogen to spike to very high levels during the 10 days that I injected myself with fertility drugs. However, after much discussion with my oncologist, we decided that due to the temporary duration of the estrogen spike, it was an acceptable risk to take in order to harvest and preserve some of my eggs. Unfortunately, only 3 of my 10 eggs properly fertilized with my husband’s sperm, leaving me with a less than a 30% chance of getting pregnant in the future using these frozen embryos. I was devastated. The thought of not having any more children seemed to crush my soul. Was it not enough that my cancer was taking away half of one of my breasts, all the lymph nodes (and the sensation under one of my arms), not to mention the temporary loss of all of my hair? After three of the darkest days in my life, I decided that I was not going to take this lying down. I was going to fight. I decided to fight for the lives of those unborn children that I knew were inside me. So I began to research again. I knew that I would have to put off my chemotherapy for a couple weeks if I were to try to do anything else to preserve my fertility. Also, I knew that spiking my estrogen posed an undefined risk to me. So, I went back to http://www.fertilehope.org/ and found the name of a doctor in New York that specializes in fertility treatments for cancer patients. In a phone consultation he told us that our best option was to repeat another IVF cycle prior to my chemotherapy. This time, however, he would put me on a drug called Letrazol that he had been using for a clinical trial. The Letrazol would suppress my estrogen during the IVF cycle. This was very exciting news. Even better news was that he could supervise the cycle by phone in coordination with my fertility doctor in Austin. So we began again after receiving approval from my oncologist that postponing chemotherapy did not pose any serious risk to my life. I again produced 10 eggs. However, this time 9 of the 10 were fertilized and frozen. That meant that I had a total of 12 frozen. I was joyful! My doctor assured me that I now had enough embryos for at least two pregnancies. Now I could face what lye ahead with a clear mind. So two days after surgery to harvest my second set of eggs, I began chemotherapy.

My breast surgeries:

2006-04-09T13:50:00.000-07:00

As I have alluded to in previous entries, I opted to simply have my tumor removed instead of my entire breast tissue. This procedure is called a lumpectomy. It is not an option for all breast cancer tumors and requires radiation to the effected area. However, the survival rates are the same as a full mastectomy. Approximately two weeks after my initial diagnosis I was wheeled into surgery for this procedure. At the time of the lumpectomy the surgeon also removed my sentinel lymph node. The sentinel lymph node is the one to which the cancer would move first if it had spread. It is determined by injecting radioactive dye around the cancer tumor prior to surgery. In my case the pathology report indicated that yes, my cancer had spread into that lymph node. It was still microscopic, but it was there. The report also indicated that my surgeon had not gotten a clean margin around my tumor. This meant that I had to have another surgery. My surgeon advised that he would go back into my incision and remove more skin and breast tissue in an attempt to get the rest of the cancer around my tumor. In this same surgery he would remove the remaining lymph nodes under my left arm so they could also be checked for cancer. Finally, he would insert something called a port-a-cath in my chest. The purpose of the port was to provide a safe place to inject the chemotherapy. A port is a permanent IV site under the skin which connects directly to one of the major veins running through my chest. It provides easy and safe access for the chemotherapy infusions which are too toxic and damaging to be injected into a small vein in the arm. So one week after my initial surgery I went back to the hospital for another surgery. Unlike my first surgery, this one really hurt. When I awoke I felt like I had been hit by a Mack truck. I was told that I now had two 5 inch incisions, one across my breast and one under my arm. In addition, I had a drain under my arm for the excess lymphatic fluid that would continue to drain from my body for the next week. My doctor advised me to stay in the hospital over night, but I insisted on going home. I wanted so badly to see my son and be reassured that life would go on and that I would survive this. His smile always seemed to provide the reassurance that I needed. At home my husband carefully cared for me, and within just days I was up and about and in fact insisted on going shopping with one of my friends just 4 days post surgery (tucking my drain up under the big blouse I had to wear to cover all my bandages). Also, we received very good news from the surgeon after this second surgery. My margins were now clean and none of my other lymph nodes contained cancer. Finally, the first piece of good news we had received since this ordeal began.

Preserving my fertility:

2006-04-09T13:40:00.000-07:00

After meeting with my surgeon and oncologist, my next stop was an appointment with the local fertility doctor. Since we had no trouble conceiving our son, my husband and I were unfamiliar with the world of fertility treatments and procedures. Also, unlike all the other medical issues surrounding my breast cancer, this one required direct involvement by my husband (I am sure you know where I am going with this). In these next few entries I am going to be completely honest and candidate about a subject that is deeply private and personal in hopes that this information will help other women make a decision about this very important subject before it is too late. You see, when you are diagnosed with breast cancer all your doctors are in a rush to get things done (as they should be). If you have surgery before chemotherapy it usually occurs within a couple weeks of your diagnosis with chemotherapy scheduled a few weeks later. Once you have chemotherapy it is too late. Your ovaries shut down during chemotherapy and may never work again. So you basically have a very small window in which do anything to preserve your fertility. Thus, if you don’t have the right information within days of your diagnosis, you may not be able to do anything about it. So in my case after gleaning every possible piece of information from my fertility doctor, he referred me to a wonderful website called http://www.fertilehope.org/. This website contains the absolute latest in fertility options for cancer patients, both pre and post chemotherapy. It also offers grants for those with financial need to cover the cost of the fertility treatments, because most insurance does not cover these treatments (even when you are doing the treatments due to cancer and not due to infertility). My husband and I knew we wanted more children, so we had to agree on the extent of the measures we were willing to take to preserve my fertility. After many thoughtful discussions we agreed that if we were to have more children, they would have to be our biological children (i.e. my egg and his sperm) and that I would bear the children (i.e. we would not use a surrogate). This was all very logical and made sense, but for me there was another aspect of this whole fertility business that drove me to investigate every possible option: All I could think about was the very toxic chemotherapy penetrating my ovaries and killing, one by one, my eggs (and what amounted to my future children). I admit this was not very logical and possibly irrational thinking on my part. The truth is: although the chemotherapy does damage your eggs, they do heal after a period of time. And if your body cooperates and starts ovulating again before your eggs are too old, you are back in business. However, I just could not stop myself from thinking about the chemotherapy in terms of killing my eggs and thus my future babies. Many nights I would cry myself to sleep thinking about it, and asking, “Why, why, why….why must I do something albeit life saving for me (i.e. the chemotherapy) that might kill my future children?”

My Sister has breast cancer too!

2006-03-23T08:23:00.000-08:00

Just as I was thinking my life could not get any worse, my younger sister called and said that she had breast cancer too. When I was diagnosed I called my sister and told her that she should go get a mammogram. She did so immediately, and low and behold she had not one but two lumps in her left breast. She too had a biopsy and sure enough she had the same invasive, ductal carcinoma cancer in her left breast that I had. Hers was at an earlier stage in that it had not spread into her lymph nodes. My sister’s breast cancer differed from mine slightly in that it was positive for the dreaded HER-2 receptor. Both of our cancers were estrogen and progesterone positive (ER and PR positive). So at the ages of 33 and 31, respectively, we were both diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. All I could think about was “How could this happen to us? Why, Why, Why?” Although I realized that my diagnosis had lead to an earlier diagnosis of my sister’s breast cancer and probably saved her life, I still felt somehow guilty and responsible for the pain that lay ahead for her. She was advised that she had no choice but to have a mastectomy of her left breast because she had two separate tumors in different quadrants of her breast, so after much thought and deliberation she elected to go ahead and do a double mastectomy to prevent any future breast cancer in the right breast. Luckily she would be one of the first to receive the new miracle drug, Herceptin, designed to directly target the HER-2 respecter in her cancer. She would also need to endure 2-3 months of grueling chemotherapy, followed like me with tamoxifen for at least 5 years. My sister having just been married for a couple months has no children. She, too, began to research the best options for her to preserve her fertility so that she could someday have children. Now that my sister had breast cancer, we had our own club of two. We had a built in support network. We began to consult each other almost daily on everything from our treatments to what type and color of wigs to buy, to the optimal time to shave your head to avoid the trauma of loosing it strand by strand.

Mobilizing for Battle:

2006-03-21T15:20:00.000-08:00

After receiving my diagnosis, my body and mind seemed to mobilize for battle. My days became a world-wind of doctor appointments. The whole thing seemed to almost take on a life of its own. After receiving the biopsy results we quickly met with an oncologist from the recommended group to find out my destiny. We discussed whether I would need a mastectomy or whether I could get away with a lumpectomy (just removing the tumor and not my entire breast). After looking me over he thought I would do well with a lumpectomy. I was all for retaining as much of my body as possible. He confirmed that I would need to undergo 6-8 months of chemotherapy followed by 6-8 weeks of radiation treatment to the effected breast. In addition, I would need to take a drug called tamoxifen for 5 years that would fight the cancer causing agents in the estrogen that my body naturally produces. He called it hormone therapy. He promised that I would be able to continue to work full time throughout the chemotherapy which he would administer on Friday afternoons (every three weeks) along with a hefty dose of anti-nausea medicine, steroids and a whole host of other drugs to counter-act the side-effects of the chemotherapy. He said that he had a drug to counter-act every side effect of chemotherapy, except one. I would loose my hair, all of it, within 2 weeks of my first treatment. In addition, I would likely stop ovulating maybe permanently. Even if my cycle came back for a few years, it was certain I would go into early menopause probably before the age of 40. Worst of all, I could not try to get pregnant for at least 5 years after I finished all my treatements. My husband and I had always planned to have at least one more child and in fact had planned to try for a second this year, so this last piece of information was particularly devastating to me. All I could ask myself was how could this be? My mind went into overdrive. I knew that there had been advances in the last few years regarding fertility treatments for cancer patients. I just knew I had heard that someplace, so I immediately went to work to figure out what could be done to preserve my ability to have another child. Something inside me refused to take no for an answer. So I prepared for battle..... not just to save my life but to save the lives of my unborn children.

Realizing that I am indeed mortal:

2006-03-21T14:27:00.000-08:00

So there I was 33 years old with breast cancer. I went through the gamete of emotions. My first order of business was to take a mental inventory of my life and decide if I was ready to die. Had I lived the kind of life that I was proud of? After much soul searching I decided that I had indeed had a great life. I decided that if I were to die of this disease, I could do it without regret….with one exception. I confessed tearfully to my husband that if I were to die now, my one regret would be not seeing my son grow into a man. Breast cancer unlike many other cancers has an incredibly high survival rate…upwards of 80% largely due to early detection. So what becomes critical is ones ability to live beyond the initial shock of realizing that yes “I am indeed mortal”. On a day to day basis most of us do not put much thought into our mortality. So to come face to face with your mortality in a split second and to face it again and again each day as you examine your bald head in the mirror is a big wake-up call. For me the best way to deal with this daily reality check is to constantly remind myself that everyone is mortal, not just me. The difference between me and everyone else (i.e. those not living with cancer), is that I am keenly aware of my mortality each and every moment of the day. I use this constant reminder of my morality to live each day to the fullest and end each day asking myself “If I were to die tomorrow would I have any regrets?”

My Breast Cancer Diagnosis:

2006-03-01T13:06:00.000-08:00

I will never forget the day my doctor uttered those horrifying words “I am sorry to tell you, but that is a cancer tumor that you have in your left breast”. I was 33 years old. The date was August 4, 2005. In a split second my life changed forever. I did not cry, but strained instead to listen to my doctor in an attempt to comprehend the magnitude of the situation. Meanwhile all I could think about was that I was too young to die. My mind, body and soul seemed to scream the thought over and over again. Finally, after seeing portions of my life flash before my eyes…..my beautiful wedding to my husband on a hilltop overlooking the ocean in Fiji, the birth of my beautiful son one year prior…..I was finally able to regain enough focus to ask what stage of cancer I had. My doctor said it was too early to tell, but I would eventually learn that I had Stage II cancer because my cancer and spread from my left breast into the lymph nodes under my arm. My doctor offered a few other sage words of advice and then recommended a local oncologist group. One piece of advice that he gave me would continue to ring true during the course of my treatment. My doctor encouraged me to remain in Austin for my treatment. He informed me that the protocols and treatment for most breast cancer is standardized throughout the United Statues. Thus, there was no need for me to go running off to MD Anderson and put myself and my family through months of stressful travel to Houston, when the oncologists in Austin would utilize the same protocols as MD Anderson. Nothing against MD Anderson of course which is a wonderful cancer treatment facility which provides services to those with special types of breast cancer or unusual circumstances surrounding their breast cancer such as diagnosis while pregnant. I kept asking myself "How at the age of 33 did I come to have breast cancer?". I came from a healthy family with no history of cancer. I am very healthy (aside from the breast cancer). I exercise regularly, eat well, and have regular check-ups. In fact it was I who first found the lump and had the initiative to go see my gynecologist. I had breast fed my son for 8 months during which time it is impossible to identify any type of lump in the breast. I had thought at one point in time that I felt one, but it was just impossible to tell due to the constant growth and shrinking of milk ducts. It was not until after I stopped breast feeding and things shrank back to their normal size that I realized that I did have a good sized lump that just did not seem to be going away. So finally one day I called my gynecologist and went in for an appointment. He told me that it was probably just a clogged milk duct and nothing to worry about, but he wrote me a script for an ultrasound anyway. I let that lay around on the seat of my car for a couple weeks and then finally decided to take it seriously and called and made an appointment at a local women’s imaging center all the while thinking: “There is no way I have any type of cancer, I am too young and too healthy. What are the odds?” When I finally went for the ultrasound what the technician and I both saw on the screen was alarming. There was indeed a big black spot in the middle of my breast. They quickly whisked me off for a mammogram and indicated that they were going to recommend a biopsy. My gynecologist called me within minutes of receiving the results and told me to make an appointment with a surgeon for a surgical biopsy. His nurse said that if I could not get in with the doctor they recommended that I should immediately see anyone else in the practice that was available. I slowly began to become alarmed. What scarred me was the fact that each new person that looked at my mammogram seemed to become increasingly concerned for me. So that is how I came to find myself lying on a surgeon’s exam table as he performed a needle and core biopsy of a very large lump in my breast on my son’s 1st birthday and what should have been a day of joy and celebration.