It's a gift to be free...of chemotherapy

4 bags of Cytoxan intravenously = $ très expensive

4 bags of Taxotere intravenously = $ très, très expensive

Never going back to Chemo =  Priceless

Last Wednesday Dr. Peacock served up my last helping of chemotherapy. Can you believe it?  Did it fly by for you? (I’ve heard that from a lot of you.) Well, truthfully, the last 12 weeks did not fly by for me. From my perspective, I’d have to say with all the nausea, sleeplessness, hairlessness, anxiety, and so on, August to December has passed pretty slowly.  I guess it’s sort of similar to how my kids feel like Christmas is SOOOO far away, but I feel like it is tomorrow and I will never get it all done. You can relate, right? The flip side of time passing slowly, though, is that I’ve had a chance to really absorb the outpouring of love, concern, thoughtfulness and generosity from so many people. 

So the truth is, it’s not over. There is that little surgery in February and the matter of re-growth of hair, working out, and getting healthy. And five years of the dream drug Tamoxifen. (The side effects are not that dreamy, but the effect on the rampant estrogen in my body is.) And so the rest of my life begins. You will not hear me complain. Well, some of you will, but not about being able to be here for what lies ahead.

This last treatment has been the hardest. I am still trying to shake the nausea six days out. I am worn out by noon and generally grumpy. (My family concurs.) Perhaps some of this is the result of the anti-climactic experience of reaching a goal that you have been completely focused on. I am thrilled chemo is over, but now the hard work begins emotionally. How to work this experience and new-found understanding of the fragility of health into my life? I am not at all a different person, but my life experience is vastly different now.

I have laughed with some of my friends about being told early on by several people that fighting breast cancer is “such an opportunity.”  Well....an opportunity is something you look forward to and seize. This cancer is not really the one I was looking for. As it turns out, cancer, for me, is really more of a wake-up call. A wake-up call to consider who I am, who God wants me to be, and what is important in life. Other people get their wake-up calls through a death, betrayal, or loss. I’ve gotten mine from cancer. 

Like many people who’ve had life changing experiences, this cancer is, I’m sure, one of those watershed events in my life that will shape my priorities, my attitude and and outlook. While I continue to pray for no more “opportunities” like breast cancer, I do pray for opportunities that will present themselves as a result of my breast cancer. I pray that this experience will shape my future and improve my clarity and focus. I pray for an outlook and attitude that brings joy to my life and to the lives of those I love and those I serve.

You know I love to plan, and I have plans for the next few months that make me really happy. I look forward to many trips and celebrations with friends and family of the long cancer-free life I have ahead of me. I am grateful I don’t have to rush back to full-time work and I intend to take full advantage of that huge gift.  Tis the season to be jolly and tis the season to give gifts. I have received more gifts this year than I will ever be able to give. I remain humbled and thankful on a daily basis. 

p.s. A quick note about the picture. This is our Christmas tree. This is our second Christmas tree. My sweet husband who has worked six days a week and ten hours a day since April, went out and got a tree on Sunday. After he put it up, much to his dismay I deemed it unacceptable and half-dead.  Without (too much of) a grumble, he took it out and got me another one on Monday. Maybe cancer is an opportunity .... to get everything you want for a minute or two! 

p.p.s. So let me just quickly say that WINE makes an excellent gift for everyone on your list (over the age of 21). The Wine Chap can work in any price range, make wonderful suggestions, wrap it beautifully, and give you a case discount. Just a thought!

Tally Ho-Ho-Ho!

Yes I am an anecdote

Over the last week I have done a lot of talking and reading about mammograms and screening for breast cancer. Of course being told by a US government task force that routine annual mammograms are not recommended for women under 50 who do not have risk factors can make people like me a little hot under the collar. (Go to http://www.ahrq.gov/clinic/uspstf09/breastcancer/brcanrs.htm for the full report.) I had no risk factors and my breast cancer was detected first at my annual mammogram at age 41. So, since I have created this little soapbox called a blog, let me just climb up on it and give you my opinion:

The fight against breast cancer does not benefit from this confusing message. In fact, the only beneficiaries of this type of thing, ultimately, are the insurance companies, who’ll take this recommendation and use it as justification to deny coverage for screening. The screening we have now is imperfect, so we need improved technology, not to abandon the technology. Early detection results in better lives for survivors, regardless of the statistics on survival. Early detection through mammography is a vital tool in this fight and should be improved, not thrown out.

Surely the richest, most powerful nation on earth can figure this out. Everyone I’ve talked to knows someone who was diagnosed in her 30’s or 40’s with breast cancer, many with routine mammograms. Yes, mammograms lead to many unnecessary ultrasounds, biopsies, and MRI’s - all expensive. But, sometimes a mammogram leads to a cure: an early diagnosis allows for aggressive treatment followed by a long, healthy, and productive life.  The kind of outcome I can expect does not mean we should reduce screening for young women. On the contrary, we should improve it.  Surely as Americans, we won’t settle for less.

Wigging Out: I am...and I’m not

I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, having taken a break between entries, but want to fill you in on happenings since the last treatment.

I recovered more quickly this time thanks to a change in several things: I did some serious protein and fiber loading ahead of time and also drank a good bit of acai juice, purported on the internet (where all the really reliable information is found, right?!) to have antioxidants capable of flushing your system clean of toxins including Cytoxan and Taxotere. Perhaps most importantly, I changed one of the anti-nausea medications from Compazine to Ativan. Yes, they are anti-anxiety drugs and yes, they also work for nausea by helping your brain tell your body to take a break. So, I was up and about much more quickly, enjoying the gorgeous colors and beautiful fall weather. Halloween was lots of fun with neighbors, and I fulfilled my lifelong dream of being a blonde, as you can see in the picture - I was a Go-Go girl one night and Cinderella the next. (And to all of my blonde friends, you do have more fun. Don’t try to tell us you don’t.)

Speaking of dressing up in wigs, this brings me to my main experience of the last two weeks: hair loss. Although I’d love to tell you I’m not bothered one iota by my chemo-induced hairless state, let’s be honest: not having hair is just not fun. There is a book about cancer called Any Day With Hair is a Good Day, and I totally get it. Hair loss is such an outward, visible expression of the disease and treatment and it’s practically impossible to hide. Now if you know Sheryl in Bellevue, you can just about hide it as well as anyone. She is an expert in her field and can produce a wig that totally matches your hair and its color, even if your color and texture has to be described as “formerly deep brown, now colored to cover the gray and, did I mention,straight as a board.” She is amazing. But wearing it gets old. It is itchy and hot and has a sort of “just out of the salon” puffy look to it.  I am getting used to it, as well as The Look I get when I go out wearing a scarf. I braved a grocery store outing last Saturday morning, children in tow, wearing a bandana and baseball cap, and in the car afterwards, one of my kids said, “Mom, the bag lady was staring at you.” Wow. I had noticed the sympathetic looks but turns out, my children did too. So, we are all adjusting to my new looks, both with scarf and with wig. 

Friday night, over dinner with some close friends, several of whom are doctors, discussing various crises and illnesses, one of them said, “You know, BK, there is more emotion around breast cancer than any other type of cancer. It’s really interesting.” Such an interesting comment. I have certainly seen and felt others’ emotions brought out by the disease - the sympathy, worry, and assurances of health and beauty that continue in spite of this cancer that has invaded my body in some mysterious way. Is this because, perhaps, we value health and beauty so much? “You look so good” has been a constant report from my friends. “So-and-so saw you at lunch/in the hook-up line/at the grocery and they just raved about how good you look!” All those adulations boost my confidence and help me feel good about just getting out there and not worrying about the hair and the rest of it so much. Maybe we all need some big change in our looks during our life to be reminded what makes us beautiful to others. And to remind us that we care way too much about how we look - our hair and figures and clothes and all that stuff. (I know certainly I do.) 

But even with all the confidence-boosting compliments, my hair loss is a big deal. And not just because of the physical change (which is huge), but because of the larger lesson for me: hair loss represents some kind of power struggle between cancer and me. And my takeaway? No matter how much cancer takes from me, it cannot win. Yes, it can make me cry and give me a few depressed days - maybe even some weeks in the future - but I will get through this and be here for a long, long time after the disease is gone. And maybe I’ll even be a blonde when my hair grows back. (Oh come on. A girl can dream, right?!)

So, Wednesday, 11/11, is round 3 and final round 4 is December 2nd. Thanks to you who are just unbelievably supportive of me, Richard, and the kids. We all feel the love.  

Ode to Joy: Halfway to the Finish Line

One of my greatest joys in life is my group of college friends. They are an amazing, loyal, gifted, smart, and hilarious bunch of women. And over the 20 years since our graduation from Vanderbilt, we have been in the thick of it, busy experiencing life and all that comes with it.  Many of them came to Nashville this past weekend, celebrating our reunion and the common thread of discussion seemed to be how many changes we’ve experienced in two decades: some of us have become more devout, some less; some of us are more liberal now, some more conservative. We have experienced tragedy, disappointment, loss, death, addiction, cancer, divorce. But really we have experienced more than our share of happiness and joy over the past 20 years. The eight women sitting in my living room drinking wine on Friday afternoon are are the exceptional mothers to 25 children. (Sorry Sally and Susan were not in town yet when this was taken!)

 One thing I love about these women I’m lucky enough to have as friends is that they take nothing for granted. They know they are the lucky ones and they are the most upbeat and uplifting people you can imagine. I love their exceptional ability to see past shortcomings and weaknesses, through to strengths and gifts. They love me thoroughly and completely for who I am, and not for the life I lead, or what I have accomplished or not accomplished. Our friendship is a priority and we never leave a get-together without a making plan for the next. We’ve spent hours talking about everything and nothing, the frivolous and the serious, and we don’t hold back. I have never left a weekend visit without laughing so hard I cried. We are indeed a mutual admiration society, and it is a gift I did not fully appreciate until now. 

One of these precious friends, Michelle, has been through this fight with breast cancer and she was also here this weekend, bearing gifts, scarves, advice and love. I will never be able to explain to her how much her support, information (just enough not to scare me to death) and love has carried me through. She is “that person” for me and I hope I can be “that person” to someone else.

And while I’m on the subject of life’s great joys, our family enjoyed a moment of pure amazement this weekend: Brown had a flag football game, in which he caught the ball and ran the length of the field for not just one, but two touchdowns! In previous games, he’d never even touched the ball. It was a great day; his grandparents from England were cheering on the sidelines. The temperature was absolutely freezing but I am pretty sure Brown never noticed. He has been walking on sunshine ever since - I am thrilled to see his confidence soar. 

So, my hair is falling out (not so joyful) and today I have the second of four chemo treatments. I am ready for rock bottom. But, as Michelle has said, it’s only up from here on out!  I’m glad I’ll be half way to the finish line by tonight.   

As as always, thank you to all of you who continue to feed us, pray for us, ferry my children around town and keep me in your thoughts. 

Love

BK

Plus ça change...

I have been trying to come up with what to post at this point in what we fondly now call “the situation” in my life. So many of you have encouraged me to just write about what is on my mind and what I am going through, so that’s precisely what I’m going to do: 

I am learning when you have the big C, you’re pretty much indulged on every level. I have my very own coterie of servants who treat me like a queen: “What do you want to eat? Don’t you look pretty! Don’t worry about calling me back,” goes the litany of reprieve I’ve been granted for the short term. The normal rules of decorum don’t apply at the moment and the only expectation, as far as my friends go, seems to be that I heal. (I’m sure I’m supposed to view this temporary bye as an opportunity, but cancer is no “opportunity.” Opportunistic, perhaps. But that’s a rant I’ll save for another day.) And for all the moments when I feel like I’m going to lose it - and believe me, there have been plenty - I’m doubly grateful that I am allowed space to process each part of this experience without the pressure of everyday obligations.

There is one notable exception, or three, rather, to this rule: my children. Their needs don’t take a back burner position in our household during this this cancer interruption. And while so much about me is changing (note photo of my new do), how I feel matters very little as long as their needs are met. Brown remains whiny as his older brother and younger sister seem to hold more sway on which movies they watch. Susanna is no less adamant about not wearing a bow in her hair and which shirt she wears just because I have cancer. And chemo has not motivated them to feel any more inclined to eat their green beans, or complain less when I insist that they do. I don’t mean they are insensitive to an underlying tension in the house, just that they seem able to ignore it and get over it, as long as it is not about them. Something else to be thankful for! (Jamie does not fall into this category, and I did write a big post about him but he would just “die” if I wrote about him, so I’ve spared my pre-teen the embarrassment of being included this post. I put it in the file to perhaps include in my book someday. Ha ha.) Some things are changing around here,  but many remain, in all the most important ways, the same.  They seem to be allowing some degree of normalcy to remain intact in the midst of the scary stuff.

Here is the treatment update: I had my first chemotherapy last Wednesday, Sept 30th. I will have my second October 21st, my third November 11th and my LAST December 2nd. It went just fine and I felt absolutely horrible for two days. Imagine the worst flu possible. Bad, but manageable for two days, exhausted for one, and ten times better on the sixth. I feel like an old person who needs to lie down for a rest after 30 minutes of activity. Who knew Facebook Scrabble could be so exhausting? But otherwise, I feel good. Had my hair cut short as you can see and liking its manageability and am getting used to the length. I wore my hair almost this short for 17 years (from age 22 to 39) but still getting used to it. 

And, speaking of which, hair is important. Let’s be honest. Losing the breasts God gave you (and giving up a healthy one voluntarily) is tough, but I will probably argue that the prospect of losing your hair is in some ways much tougher. So, more on this later when it really happens.  Please pray for my eyelashes. (I am only being a little facetious) I love them, and it is hard to admit to loving part of your body if you are a woman. I hope they stay with me. Or at the least, I hope they grow back if they fall out. 

In other news, the British invasion of my dear in-laws is next week. We are looking forward to Senior Chap and Granny’s arrival, and I know Richard cannot wait to show them the store. They have not seen the children in 14 months and they are excited! So if you stop by The Wine Chap (and please do), listen for some additional English accents. Cyril has been threatening to work a few hours, so we may take him up on it!

I do not need to tell you that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Have you seen enough pink yet? The Susan G Komen Race for the Cure is this Saturday, October 10th in Brentwood. Support your favorite team at the Komen Nashville website. (listed in my sidebar) I have supported the HoneyBears of course. Please feel free to leave a comment here about other teams running or walking. Ladies, commit to getting your annual mammogram. Nuf said.

Love,

BK

No Time Like the Present

First and foremost, a big congratulations to my precious sister and brother-in-law, Happy and Rob, who tied the knot in one of my favorite cities over the weekend. I am so thrilled for them!!!  More evidence for me that there is no time like the present to do what you want to do and go where your heart leads. Hooray for Hap! (the picture is with their two attendants, Delta and Bosco) 

And in keeping with this train of thought, this was the week that my conversations about chemo moved to the present tense. I met with my oncologist, Nancy Peacock, on Tuesday. I really like her and I think this is going to be important as we go forward with the poisoning part of my cancer treatment. I read somewhere that the treatment for breast cancer is “slash, burn, poison.”  This does not bring to mind sweetness and light does it? More like a scary harsh reality.

I am lucky to skip the burn part, I know, but I’m petrified of the effects of the poison. My answer? Carpe diem. Let’s just get it over with. So, I am. Starting next Wednesday, September 30th, I will receive Taxotere and Cytoxan four times over 12 weeks. And yes, I know what your are wondering. Yes, I will lose my hair. Not to mention all the other fun side effects. But barring infections, illness, or other unforeseen distractions, I will be finished by early December with the poison. 

I am feeling much better, now, from the surgery and am proceeding with the reconstruction phase of treatment. Without burdening you with TMI, I’m visiting my very cute plastic surgeon weekly for a bit to have my expanders gradually filled and stretched in preparation for my final surgery, hopefully in January. Wow! Although that seems like a long way away, 5 or 6 months is really just the blink of an eye in the big picture. I have already started to envision my life when my hair grows back and I am “whole” again. What will that life look like? How will I have changed? What will I have learned? I know some of this will become apparent to me as I continue on this journey.

One question I continue to ask is WHY? Why did this happen to me in the first place? If the medical community has become so good at detecting and “curing” breast cancer why can’t they figure out why 1 in 8 women will get it in their lifetime? And why is that number is growing? I believe that we will get some answers during my lifetime. Not just a cure, but a prevention. Will Susanna be able to simply get a vaccine to avoid this nightmare?  That would be amazing. 

In my recent surfing, and thanks to Facebook, I discovered ArmyofWomen.org. It is a partnership with the Dr. Susan Love Foundation and Avon to sign up a million women to help in breast cancer research. You can join the database and learn about various studies going on that you might qualify for. I love their tag line, “go beyond a cure.” At the end of the day, that’s what it’s really all about.  I encourage you to register as a volunteer, you never know who you might help in the future. 

I remain grateful to all of you who have me in your thoughts and prayers and appreciate  so much you who have reached out by mail, email, text, phone. I am humbled and overwhelmed at your generosity and thoughtfulness. 

So long for now. Talk soon!

Lymph nodes and Mommy Love

So thrilled to report that I just got the word from the pathology lab that the seven (!) sentinel nodes removed during surgery were all clear and benign. This explains why my underarm is so sore ... but is great news! They are still trying to determine the size of the actual tumor, as it was surrounded by a good bit of DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma in Situ), which I understand to be the pre-cursor to invasive carcinoma. Seems the path lab at Vanderbilt is a little busy (darn that Swine Flu), so even though almost two weeks was a while to wait for this news, I”ll take it!

The size of the tumor is important information for my oncologist as we determine my course of chemotherapy. I will let you all know more information as I get it. I will try and post here about once a week. Don’t want to bore you but also it is a good way to get the word out. You can subscribe to this blog by email so you don’t have to come back here to check it. Click through the link at the bottom of the blog and the next screen should have some choices on the right margin. Also, please don’t be shy if you have a thought to share in a comment. Or a topic to recommend. I would love to hear from you and would love to talk about whatever is on your mind. As they say, content is king. (I have now figured out how to set it so that anyone can comment. Hopefully I won't get any spammers or fruitcakes)

I have not said much here yet about the most important people in my life: my kids. I am sure those of you who have been faced with unexpected threats to your time here on earth can relate to this; but when the word cancer enters your life, your kids are the first people you think about. Sure, I felt sorry for myself for a second or two but my cares immediately shifted to my kids. Richard, yes, I worried about him, too. But let’s face it: he’s cute and has an accent and would find someone to drink wine and watch baseball with him if I were gone. He would heal. But the terrifying thought of leaving my kids without a mother reduces me to tears every time. I know you can relate. This is what keeps me up at night. (And thank you, Ambien. See previous post re: the miracle of modern phamacology.)

My mother was, and continues to be, a driving force in my life. I would be a different person if she had not raised me. I thank her for that but I also know it goes so much deeper. She is an inextricable part of me. I want that security and comfort and feeling of unconditional love for my own kids. My grandmother (Who is 90!How lucky am I?) left me a voice mail before my surgery that said, “I love you, Barbara Keith, and I would do anything for you.” I loved that message so much because I knew it was true, and I think it is the ultimate expression of a mother’s love: that we would do anything, anything at all for our children.

The fear of leaving motherless kids seems universal among the friends I talk to who have experienced serious illness. Initially my instinct was to protect my three completely. They were kept in the dark for a good month while Richard and I processed info, visited with doctors and developed the plan. I don’t regret this time we took. I think it was the right thing to do, especially for me because I needed to work through it myself first. They have learned the information slowly, but hopefully honestly and in a way that their variously aged brains can process.

Adriana, our babysitter/nanny and one of the true angels in my life, is training to be a Child Life Specialist and just happens to be reading How to Help Children Through a Parent’s Serious Illness by Kathleen McCue. Divine Intervention? Absolutely. This book came into our house at a perfect time and guided me through separate talks with each of my children at their level. The funniest was with Brown (7), who is going through a stage of typical middle child goofiness. He giggled through the whole “chat” but at one point said “Oh... is that what you have...breast cancer?” Although I had told him these words before, I think he was ready to really hear them. So I went through the age-appropriate thing about how “it’s not contagious, nothing you or I did caused it, etc. I am going to be just fine, so I don’t want you to worry and always talk to me if something’s bothering you.” His response? “Okay mommy,” as he rolled his eyes, giggled and went back to his fruit roll-up. He got up to leave the room, but paused at the door, came back, and gave me a big hug. Must have been his seven-year old way of acknowledging that what I said registered and reassuring me that he was okay. He won’t ever know the magnitude of the message he conveyed through his small gesture of genuine affection, but in that small moment, he told me he’s going to be okay. It is a mommy moment I hope I never, ever forget.

Interval Training

All is well here at Command Central on Chickering Court. As you have heard, my surgery was successful and I was attended to by some incredibly capable doctors and nurses at Vanderbilt. There were, as you can imagine, many nerve-wracking hours leading up to the surgery and frankly, much of it is a blur. I left the hospital 24 hours after my surgery started. Hard to believe, really, but I am so glad to have this first hurdle behind me.

The weekend post-surgery was difficult. It’s good to be at the 8 day mark recovering, not anticipating. I have spent the last few days being waited on hand and foot, every whim fulfilled. Starbucks? Smoothie King? Calypso? My wish is apparently the world’s command. I have been inundated with flowers, food, and words of encouragement, and I am eternally grateful.

There are a few things for which I am especially grateful: One is pain killers. No kidding! How could one have a modicum of sanity or rest without them? Another is the US Open. Perfect timing to have the welcome distraction of all-day fabulous tennis served up (I know...bad pun) with a new DVR in the bedroom. (Note earlier reference of wishes/commands.) What a godsend: Comcast On Demand. Too bad about my gal Melanie Oudin but she will have her moment someday I am sure. And, let me just say a word about my close family and friends. I remain in awe of their many talents: cooking, cleaning, hair styling, joke telling, message taking, errand running, shopping, communicating, PR, marketing, delegating, even blog editing. You get the picture. Most importantly, they have shed tears with me and protected me. Their loyalty and dedication to my comfort and recovery leaves me speechless. I will never be able to repay them.

Many of you know that over this past year I have really tried to get in shape. I’ve worked hard at working out often. Now, the truth is, I don’t like to run. I would really rather pull out my fingernails than get on the treadmill and run for 45 minutes straight. But, I have discovered I do like intervals. I can warm up for 10 minutes and then run ten 3-minute intervals before I cool down for 5 minutes. Those little spurts of speed and shorter challenges are conquerable and give me energy and time to recover for the next challenge. Maybe that is why I like working on commission instead of salary. Well, I take that back. I don’t always like it (and let’s face it, over the last few months it has been downright depressing), but I am more motivated by commission than salary. So, maybe that is a good way for me to view my treatment for breast cancer: I am going to get through this first interval. Surgery and about 4 weeks of recovery. That, I can comprehend.

I’m not ready, however, to think about or discuss the next intervals. Chemo, wigs, and nausea may all have a place in this training program, if you want to call it that, but I’m not going to run this race well if I try to absorb the whole of it in one breath. I know this about myself. I’m learning that too much information can be painful and scary, so I’ll let you know when I’m ready to move on to the next interval. The future can be scary, and I am resolved to just face today bravely, with confidence. I am sure this is a life-lesson from this seemingly random meaninglessness of cancer.

And so, some celebrating is in order. I hope you will toast me and my success and may I suggest where you might procure the toasting beverage of your choice? The Wine Chap, of course! (Remember, I promised plenty of shameless self-promotion along with updates on me. Would so hate to disappoint!)

That’s it for now. Thanks for tuning in!

BK

good news

This is just a quick note to tell everyone that the surgery was a great success.
The initial pathology shows the lymph nodes to be clear which is great news. Barbara keith should be home Friday pm.

Thanks to everyone for their good wishes. It is very comforting to know she was in so many peoples thoughts.

I can assure you BK will be writing a lot more soon!!!

Thanks again

Richard

Gratitude and Attitude: What One Woman is Packing for Her Quick Trip Through Cancerville.

Hello. Welcome to my blog. I’m new to this, so bear with me. I’m Barbara Keith. Not Barbara. BK to my friends. And yes I do go by both names. And here’s the deal: I have breast cancer. I am healthy. I am invincible. I am 42. (Just barely, by the way.) And yes, cancer stinks. (Plenty of you can attest to that.) And no one has been more shocked than I was just a few weeks ago to hear the news.
I have been thinking over this entry for a couple of weeks. I hope I can say what I need and want to say, and not bring you down or wear you out. I think you are probably reading this because you know me. You may know me really well, or just a little, or maybe you know somebody who knows me. That’s cool. I am glad you are here. Those of you who know me well know I am not shy. I don’t mind being center of attention and I am not a super private person, but going public and “putting it out there” about all this has been particularly hard. Moving out of Healthyville is a BIG leap. I have always lived there and never even been on a vacation to Cancerville. Now I am taking up residence, temporarily.

Here are the facts for those who are interested: I have a 1.8 cm. tumor surrounded by 2 cm of calcifications. It was discovered in a routine mammogram. And yes, I can feel it (and so have many many doctors in Nashville). But no, I didn’t know what I was looking for so I did not “palpate” it before I knew it was there. I have no family history of breast cancer whatsoever. If you know cancer-speak, my cancer is hormone positive and Her2Neu negative. This is good. Right now my cancer is being called a Stage 1. This could change once the pathology comes back after surgery. Hopefully it won’t. I will probably have chemo just because I have a borderline “intermediate” vs. “low” grade tumor. I am having a bilateral mastectomy by Dr. Ingrid Meszoely of the Vanderbilt Breast Center and reconstruction by Dr. Jason Wendel. Surgery is Thursday, September 3rd. Scary stuff, but these are the professionals and this is not their first rodeo. I have confidence in them and my case is straight forward. One nurse called it “generic” breast cancer. Love that. Never thought I was someone who wanted to be average...until now. And this is also a fact: I will be fine. I will be cured, and I will die of something besides breast cancer a very long time from now.

So what about the rest of it? How I am going to get from here to there? How did I get here in the first place? There is so much to say. This is, and will continue to be, my story. And I hope my story will help someone else who has to cope with this insidious disease.

I thought I had problems, issues, and “stuff” before that fateful Friday afternoon in July sitting with a radiologist who said, “You have a very worrying mass.” WHAT? Wait. Back up! Some of you know what it feels like to hear news like that. (I hope the rest of you never do.) You’re overwhelmed by this sudden urge to travel back in time and take back all the complaints and whining. You find yourself asking why all those small things (i.e. your formerly unblemished, perfect health record) went unappreciated? Fast forward through the next couple of weeks. It all seems like a blur now, but I can tell you those were the longest two weeks in history. There was a biopsy. There was an MRI. Then there was telling my parents. That was hard. Really hard. They would trade places with me in two seconds flat. I knew that before I told them, because it’s exactly what I would do for my own children if tables were turned, if I could.

And there is saintly Richard. I am deeply loved by Richard. He has been to every appointment (we have seen no fewer than 8 doctors), and he listens patiently to all of the ranting and raving and crying that punctuates his already-stressful 60 hour work weeks. We are grieving for the life we had, but we know, also, that we are lucky.

And then there are my friends, family, and frankly, even my acquaintances. The messages, the voice mails, the emails, the offers of help and comfort are simply overwhelming. It is humbling in a way that only people who have experienced this or something similar can understand. I will never be able to say thank you enough. The word gratitude has a taken on whole new dimension for me. Oprah is big on it, and now I know why: it fills up the hole created by uncertainty and waiting and an unknown future. So thanks. That’s all I can say.

I will try and post updates after Thursday in a timely manner. Feel free to post a comment or shoot me an email. I hope I will have enough to say to make this interesting reading.

That’s all I’ve got for now. All of you who follow along with me on this detour through Cancerville, thanks. It’s good to have you along for the ride.

BK

P.S. And if you’re going to follow my blog, beware of shameless plugs for the Wine Chap. Business is going well thanks to all of you but the season (the holiday season that is) will be here before we know it, and we hope you will toast it with delicious beverages from The Wine Chap! And don’t forget to tell your friends, too.

pps Thanks to a clever friend for the title of this entry. I cannot take credit!