The Final Countdown

OK, so its not quite that dramatic, but this chemo cycle has been a complete bitch.  The cumulative effect of six Triple Cocktails is rearing its ugly little alien head.  I've managed to sleep, drool, and sweat this week, and not much else.  I'll spare you the gory details.

Insomnia has been a thing this week ... maybe because I sleep most of the day.  Anyway, my faithful companion keeps me company at 0400, even if I have to bribe her with Ginger Snap Cookies (which incidentally, seem to be the only thing that doesn't make me feel like I ate an alien).

  

But the good news is this is the last round.  Just gotta get through this next week.  Keep swimming, keep swimming, keep swimming.   

28% Done!

First of all, I guess I should clear up any confusion caused by my last post.  No, I haven't given up on chemo and dragged the rest of the Norvell Pack on an epic road trip.  (Seriously people, have you ever known me to give up on anything?????).   The whole "I told Doug to hook up the RV" was more .... shall we say ..... aspirational.  Oh, there will be a road trip, and it will be freaking epic (think: mountains, beer, dogs, and an RV) .... it just isn't happening for a few months/years/somethings.

In other news, my heart issues seem to have stabilized.  I still get the flutters, racing, and helium-head, but I've learned to live with it.   Oh, and I figured out that if I (listen to the doctor and) stay away from caffeine, the heart stuff isn't as severe.  Yeah, that's right, Cancer - first you took my boobs, then my hair and wine, and now you're taking away my coffee too?  Cancer is such an asshole.

Today marked Week 15 of chemo.

Despite the giant tube sticking out of my chest, I'm actually having a good day!

Which went a lot better than Week 14......

Do you think the Barf Bag company would hire me as a promotional model???

Anyway, today I am 28.84% of the way done with chemo (according to the geteasysolution.com anyway .... y'all know I don't do math).  But the real news is that only ONE of those 37 remaining weeks is a Triple Cocktail ChemoPoison week!!  Next Friday marks my last dance with devil!  All the other drugs and surgeries in my future are just a good excuse to use the free internet at the hospital.

Happy Easter or Passover or Spring or whatever floats your boat this weekend.  Don't forget to stop for a few minutes every now and then, take a deep breath, and appreciate all the beautiful things.

 

 

My Kindred Spirit Woman

This.  All day long, this.

I just told Doug to hook up the RV.  We're hittin' the road!!!!!

Opening Day

99.9% of having cancer sucks.  But recovering from a nasty chemo in the hammock on Opening Day doesn't suck.  (Of course, it only lasted 2 innings before I was snoring away, but my Sox won anyway!)

Not Dead Yet!

We used to joke about this Monty Python scene all the time (well, usually only when Doug would crash his mountain bike....) - these days it seems appropriate just about every day.

No really - I'm really not dead yet - not even close, apparently.  After the little overnight hospital adventure in the last post, the docs did a few more high-tech tests.  I still have heart flutters and often can't catch my breath, but when the smart folks crunched all the data, it turns out I'm just fine.  My LVEF (that's Left Ventricular Ejection Fraction for you newbies) has decreased by 8%.  That's enough to warrant regular monitoring for the next year, but thankfully not enough to signal cardiotoxicity (which could mean stopping the chemo early or reducing the dose).  For chrissakes, I'm at mile 20 of the goddamned marathon, I am NOT going to quit before I get the coveted finishers medal!!! 😵

Other than that, its been a pretty good two weeks.  I was able to work a lot more than I have in the past, and actually had an appetite and some energy this week.  Not to sound too much like a hippie dippie love child, but I really think it may have something to do with the supplements I've started taking.  (Yes, mother, I asked my doctor - they're completely safe).   I'm currently taking 1500 mg/day of Spirulina (antioxidant and immune system booster); 1200 mg/day of CoQ10 (energy, heart function, brain function, and may fight recurrence of cancer); and 1000iu of good old Vitamin D (stops the growth of cancer cells).

Hippy Dippie Love Children after taking Spirulina & CoQ10

That's a wrap for tonight.  Long day in the ChemoPoison Torture Chair tomorrow - it's another 3-drug cocktail day.  The good news is that I get to start it with a massage, compliments of the Pain Management center at SAMMC.  I told you this place is amazing.

All expenses paid overnight stay at the luxury SAMMC!

Finally home from a somewhat scary but mostly annoying overnight stay at the hospital.  One of the potential side effects of the Herceptin is permanent heart damage, which, if not caught, could lead to congestive heart failure.  Given my family history of heart issues (even though the docs say I have the heart of an 18 year old) this was the one thing that really bothered me about starting this chemo regimen in the first place.  So, we've been pretty sensitive to looking for warning flags on that shore.

A few days after Triple-Cocktail #3, I had some heart flutters followed by wicked bad dizziness.  Docs did an EKG and ordered a bunch of tests for next week.  Well, yesterday, only about 24 hours after Triple-Cocktail #4, the same thing happened.  Doug insisted on bringing me to the ER.  The combination of having active heart palpitations, a bald head, and an "I'm a chemo patient" card got me moved right to the front of the line (well ahead of all the trainees complaining of sprained ankles and headaches).  By 3 pm, I had been all hooked up to wires, had another EKG, gave a few vials of blood, and seen no less than 3 different doctors, all of whom insisted that I be admitted at least overnight for observation.

So I spent the night in the hospital (no fancy city-view room this time), all hooked up to a constant heart electrofunctioning monitor, getting probed and prodded and measured every hour on the hour.  Of course, there weren't any more heart palpitations or dizziness, so nothing for them to catch with all their fancy monitoring equipment.  I bribed my way out of there this afternoon, promising to come back tomorrow for more fancy heart tests, and again on Wednesday to get fitted with another fancy heart monitor thingy.  Once again, I question the sanity in a treatment regimen that almost kills me in order to kill the thing that tried to kill me in the first place.

ChemoPoison Torture Chair

Spent my day strapped to the ChemoPoison Torture Chair.  Emptied both e-mail Inboxes, transcribed some notes, reviewed witness lists, wrote a memo about case strategy ideas, spent quality time with Best Husband in the World, and made my Chemo Nurse laugh her best infectious laugh on multiple occasions.  If only I could figure out a way to avoid the shitty journey to the edge of death that I'll be on for the next 10 days......😉

Keep Swimming

via GIPHY

Just finished Week 8 of this Chemo Adventure, and "keep swimming" pretty much sums up my goal for the next 8 weeks.  The effects of the chemo are getting stronger and lasting longer as the toxicity builds up in my beleaguered body.  I'm still thankful to wake up every morning, and grateful for all the wonderful people and blessings in my life.  But shit, most of the time, I'm just trying to muster enough energy to keep swimming.

The most persistent issue is fatigue.  Total body and mind tired.  Hell, you could put a top-of-the-line mountain bike and 50 miles of pump track in front of me most days, and I'd probably say "eh, whatever, I'm gonna go take a nap instead".  It's that bad.  

Then there's the burning nerve pain on the soles of my feet caused by the chemo.  Most of the time, its just an annoying burn, like my skin is on fire.  But if I go for a long walk, it's kinda like having a million sewing needles sticking up through my insoles with every step.  

Oh, and then there's my tastebuds.  Some of my Survivor Sisters say theirs just went dead.  Well, my special chemo cocktail makes my mouth taste like sour milk all the time.  Have you ever had coffee with sour milk?  Totally ruined coffee for me (I even walked right past a Dunkins in the airport and didn't order a single thing!).  The worst part - red wine is now unbearable.  I took a sip of Cabernet the other night and had to spit it out.  Me!!  Spit out wine!!!!!  I shit you not.

What else?  Oh yeah.  ***TMI ALERT***  There's also the burning pee.  Apparently a "very rare" side effect of the Herceptin is the joy of peeing barbed wire that's been soaked in battery acid and lit on fire.  (BTW...the Herceptin is the one I get to take until January.  Yay.)

Then there's the chemo-brain.  It's real, people.  Some days, there's just a fog that I can't see through.  Then there are the times I'll start to ask Doug something but by the time I get his attention, I've completely forgotten what I was going to say.  Every day, I try to do some research or write a motion for a case, but I just can't get past the words on the page to be able to process any of it.  So much for making any brilliant legal arguments in the near future.

via GIPHY

These are all just icing on the cake of the near-constant nausea, runny nose and eyes, spontaneous nosebleeds, bald itchy head, sore joints, aching muscles, and blisters inside my mouth.  That's the point of chemo, though, right?  They take you as close to death as they can, to kill the thing that tried to kill you in the first place.

But hey, my fingernails and toenails haven't turned black and fallen off (yet), as all the warnings promise.  I still have a few eyelashes left.  The fact that I've substituted unsweetened pomegranate juice for wine, and no longer eat anything enjoyable, means I won't have to fast for two weeks before my next Army weigh-in.  And Border Collies herding squirrels still makes me laugh so hard I cry.

The point, my friends, is not to complain.  Just sharing my reality .... and a gentle reminder that "when life gets you down, you know what you gotta do?  Just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming swimming swimming."
 

Carpe Diem

Half Way There!

Strapped to the ChemoPoison Torture Chair now .... but when this cocktail is finished, I'll be HALF-WAY DONE with the hard chemo!!  Woohoooooo!  Sounds like a cause for celebration - all of you need to go drink a bottle of wine for me, ok?

At least I get some work done while I'm stuck here!

The past week was great (no, really!).  The docs let me travel to Ft. Bragg for a court hearing, even though when this all started back in January, they were adamant that I would not be allowed to travel until May.  According to the oncologist, I have the blood work of an 18 year old (note he didn't say the "body" of an 18 year old.....), despite all the poison he's been pumping into me, so he let me travel. 

Doug came with me to make sure I listened to my body and didn't overdo it.  (Not sure why you all think I'm going to overdo it all the time....).  It was a successful trip.  Well, American Airlines did fail to transport our luggage, but in the grand scheme of things, that was a pretty minor blip.  

All geared up to resist all the germ-carriers on the flight!

It felt great to be back in the saddle in court.  I could have done without all the pity stares from the gallery, but I rocked the bald head and flat chest in my Army B's (semi-dress uniform we use for court hearings - no blinged up jacket, but skirt and heels required).  I even consumed a beer during a team dinner - and guess what??? - I lived to tell about it!  There's hope!!!!  😎

So, since that trip went so well, the doc is now inclined to let me go again, as long as the scheduling coincides with my ChemoPoison-related effects, and presumably if I continue to have the blood work of an 18 year old.  

The neat thing about feeling good during the last 10 days of a chemo cycle means I have something to look forward to during the purgatory of the first 10 days.  There's always a light at the end of the tunnel (and its not always an oncoming train).  So, as I sit here today, knowing that I probably won't emerge from under the Big Fuzzy Grey Blanket for the next week, it's OK because I'll eventually feel better (and maybe good enough for a therapeutic hoppy beverage during week 3).

If you're curious about what I was doing in court at Ft. Bragg, check out one of these articles:

Associated Press Article

New York Times OpEd

Well, at least I have my Halloween costume for next year.  Until then, I think I'll stick with Bald and Flat!!!  😏

Winning

I'm back, bitches!

Friday was tough.  Cried at chemo.  Yelled at Doug (I know, right??).  Hollered at the dog.  Threw myself a pity party for one Friday night.  And then went to bed, determined to wake up Saturday morning and win.

And I did.

I was so goddamned cheery Saturday morning, Doug asked if I had a fever.

And then even though it was cold and damp, and my joints were screaming, I walked 5 miles at a damned good pace.

Then I kept a lunch date with my Survivor Sister, even though it would have been easier to just stay under the blankets.  Turns out pizza and laughter is good for the body and the mind!

And you know what?  It worked.  I got my mojo back.

So f*ck you, Cancer.  F*ck you ChemoPoison.  You don't get to cramp my style.  This bitch is back, and I'm winning.

Round Two: Defeat

Not gonna lie ..... this was an awful week.  Last Friday was my second rodeo with the "triple cocktail" and it literally knocked me on my ass ..... all week.  Until today, I haven't done much else but sleep and sit around cursing my decision to do this chemo thing.  But then today I woke up and my head was a little clearer, my joints were a little more mobile, and life looked a little bit brighter.  

Of course, this is just in time to go get poisoned again tomorrow.  (The usual author of this blog, the annoyingly positive one, has stepped out for a bit .... she'll be back eventually)

Musings from the Middle of the Night

Sleep is a funny thing.  I can doze off mid-sentence in the middle of the day, but some nights, all cuddled under fuzzy blankets and puppies, I just stare at the dark ceiling.  What better time to blog?

Here are a few things I've learned this week.

1.  The nicer you are to everyone, the better your life is.  (just call me Captain Obvious).  Spending so much time in the hospital has really brought this front and center.  The nurses and doctors deal with sad people all day long.  Its pretty easy to make them laugh, or smile by giving a small compliment, or just tell them you appreciate them.  The way they light up when you do that makes you light up, too.  (Hey Dad, I guess you really weren't just flirting with those nurses all those years - you were actually on to something!!  Thanks for teaching me how to handle this journey with laughter and kindness.  I miss you!) 

2.  When eyelashes fall out, they don't fall straight down.  They ALWAYS fall into your eyeball.  Every time. 

3.  There's a hierarchy for military medical care.  Active Duty in Uniform are at the top of the heap.  Then Active Duty not in uniform, then dependents, then retirees.  Being in a higher category gets you appointments faster, cuts down on the line at the pharmacy, and sometimes improves the way you're generally treated.  This week, I discovered a new category - a Platinum Executive Level, so to speak.  Active Duty in Uniform and Bald.  I'm freaking royalty now. 

4.  Women in general are amazing.  Complete strangers on the street tell me I look beautiful.  Female employees and neighbors at the campground stop to ask how I'm feeling, every single day.  The other day, another bald woman in the grocery store put her arm around me and asked how I was doing (we then discussed which flavor of herbal tea best disguises the ever present chemo-funk taste.)  There's even gender bias from the dogs.  Sunday (female) is my shadow, my snuggler, my constant companion - she runs to the bathroom with me, curls up at my head when I'm napping, and is just generally nurturing.  Finn (male) runs around squeaking his toy and licking his nether-regions.  

5.  Nose hairs actually serve a purpose (other than to tell you when its in the single-digits during a New England Winter).  They catch snot.  Seriously.  Now that I don't have nose hairs, my nose runs ALL THE TIME.  Oh, and sometimes it bleeds, free-flow, without any little nose hairs to stop it.  (Which was amazing fun in the checkout line of the grocery store the other day ...... "clean up on aisle four!!!")

6.  My timing of this cancer thing was impeccable.  If I was healthy right now, I'd be spending all of my time and money on flying around the country to protest marches and volunteering with the ACLU, HRC, Innocence Project, Planned Parenthood, etc., and probably getting disciplined by the Army for doing so.  So its good that there's something holding me back.  (Oh, but just you wait, world.)

That's it for now.  I'll leave you with this adorable picture of how I woke up from my nap yesterday.  

Snuggler in Chief, Sunday

GI JEN

And this is what you get when you let your husband have access to your Blog!

Look Ma - NO HAIR!!!!!

I asked for a "high and tight".  I got "Ranger School".  Guess you get what you pay for..... ☺

As usual, we had fun doing it.  And ..... outdoor living means there's no mess to clean up!!!  Bonus!

\

Hair Watch, Day 3

There's this weird little milestone after starting chemo - when does my hair fall out?  Some people freak out about it, but I'm like "bring it on already!!" .... because every milestone gets me closer to declaring victory in this war (and, um, I'm gonna save a boatload on shampoo and razors!!)

Science says it should happen between week 2 and week 3 A.C.  (If you're curious about the why, there's a good explanation here).  

Thursday, I woke up and my scalp was on fire.  Like someone had taken a cheese grater and rubbed it all over my head while I was sleeping.  Then the itching started.  I looked like a dog with fleas.  Friday was the magical 2-week-A.C. mark, so my scalp was right on schedule.  

I itched and scratched my way through Friday (and another chemo infusion).  I stood in the shower staring at my shampoo-suds filled hands Friday night, expecting to see gobs of hair  ..... but nothing.  I studied my pillow Saturday morning and found a bunch of hair ...... but upon closer examination realized it was much longer than mine and white, which meant that either the dogs snuggled on my pillow or Doug had taken an older mistress with flowing white hair.  

Today, the fleas are worse and when I scratch, my hands come out with a pretty good amount of hair on them.  Once it starts coming out in clumps, I'll go for the G.I. Jane look, but I'm hanging on until then.

In other news, my friends are f**king awesome - look at my new scarf! I can't wait to wear it to the hospital next week!!!

 

  

Ginger! Ginger! Ginger!

Natural queasiness remedy?  Ginger.  Seriously, I'm hooked.  This stuff from GingerPeople is the best - low sugar, all natural and some varieties are organic.  It also kills the ever-present chemofunk taste in my mouth. Seriously - order some for the person in your life with motion sickness, morning sickness, chemo sickness, whatever.

Gratitude

Sure, that's the new buzzword, right?  Gratitude.  Everyone telling us we should be grateful, have more gratitude, wear t-shirts that remind us to be grateful ....  blah blah freaking blah.  

But stay with me for a minute.  Read this:

Indeed, this cuts to very heart of my definition of gratitude, which has two components. First, it’s an affirmation of goodness. We affirm that there are good things in the world, gifts and benefits we’ve received. This doesn’t mean that life is perfect; it doesn’t ignore complaints, burdens, and hassles. But when we look at life as a whole, gratitude encourages us to identify some amount of goodness in our life.

The second part of gratitude is figuring out where that goodness comes from. We recognize the sources of this goodness as being outside of ourselves. It didn’t stem from anything we necessarily did ourselves in which we might take pride. We can appreciate positive traits in ourselves, but I think true gratitude involves a humble dependence on others: We acknowledge that other people—or even higher powers, if you’re of a spiritual mindset—gave us many gifts, big and small, to help us achieve the goodness in our lives.

From "Why Gratitude is Good" by Dr. Robert Emmons, Dept of Psychology, UC Berkley.

Still there? (I promise I won't get all wonky on you ... hang in there)

Here's where I'm going with this.  The most overwhelming emotion I've experienced the past 2 months has been gratitude.  Pure, unadulterated, full-on, balls-to-the-wall gratitude.  I've known for at least the past ten years or so how damned lucky I am, but I don't think I really ever appreciated the full-tilt enormity of how lucky (charmed, blessed, gifted, whatevs) I really am.  Stare cancer in the face and it all becomes very very clear.  So, here's just a few of the things that I'm grateful for.

1.  Doug

Well this is kind of a no-brainer, right?  Everybody is thankful for their spouse (most of the time anyway).  But this is different.  From the day of the biopsy on, never for a second have I ever even had to think about not having his full support.  Never for a moment did I worry about whether he'd still love me if I didn't have boobs.  When the Army offered to move us to San Antonio (a city he previously vowed to NEVER live in), he forced me to accept it because it would be best for me and my health.  Of course he's taken care of me after the surgeries, and sat on long lines at the pharmacy to pick up my meds, and driven me around in horrible traffic so I can buy organic food, but that's not where my overwhelming gratitude lies.  It's the unwavering, unquestioned, full-tilt support. I simply cannot imagine going through this -- or any part of life -- without him.  

2.  Friends

Wow - you have all been amazing.  So many people checking on me, sending little text messages here and there, sending really thoughtful and useful packages.  And it didn't stop after the surgeries. I just got another text a few minutes ago asking how I was feeling today.  Knowing that you all are out there and thinking about me - I am just so grateful for all of you.  Check this out - last week a friend at Ft. Bragg emailed to tell me that she knew I was feeling lousy, so she was going to take off work early and go for a trail run for me.  A few hours later, she sent this picture and a description of her run.  Easiest run I've ever done!! :)

I am grateful for every single one of you.  I appreciate every single text, funny email, and facebook chat.  I am stronger every day because of you.

3.  The Army, Army Medicine, and Army Insurance

This is the trifecta of gratitude.  First of all, my bosses are letting me work from home, as much as I feel up to it. I can't imagine being as sick as I was after chemo and having to go to work anyway. I don't know how women who run their own businesses, or those who work hourly-jobs with no paid sick leave, or who work for unrelenting corporate monsters do it. I am so grateful to not have that stress, and I know I will heal faster because of it.  Second, the level of care I get from the Army doctors is just amazing. Because there's no money involved (i.e., they aren't worried about billing for every procedure or every "consult") they just do what's best for me and my health. The doctors are always available and so compassionate - they actually call me at home just to see how I'm doing. The third part is the insurance.  Being on Active Duty is as close to socialized medicine as you'll see in America.  I don't worry about whether anything is "covered". I don't need referrals.  There are no co-pays.  I get whatever the doctor says I need, without even thinking about how much it will cost, or whether we can afford it, or how long I have to wait for the insurance company to approve it. I know how rare this is, and I fully appreciate how goddamned lucky I am to be in this position. 

I might have cancer, but damnit, am I ever lucky.  

  

AC ("After Chemo") #1

AC ("After Chemotherapy") Days 1-5

That photo pretty much sums it up.  That's me under the grey blanket.  That's my over-protective guard-dog/care-taker who insists on having at least one paw touch me 24/7.  Neither of us moved much the first five days after the first chemo infusion.  I did manage to go for a few walks around the campground, but a slow little stroll would knock me out for another 2-hour drooly, sweaty slumber, so it was a wash.

But today, I'm feeling a little stronger.  I actually checked e-mail and made a few work phone calls.  Went for a walk.  Just in time for the next infusion on Friday.  

C Day One

Spent the last BC (before Chemo) day with my pack, hiking in the hills of South Texas, eating fantastic food (goat-cheese, walnut pesto, and honey-lemon glaze bruschetta anyone????), and enjoying one last Pale Ale up in Austin.  It was a fitting end to that chapter.  

Post-hike visit to ABGB (Austin Beer Garden Brewing), where $1 from every pint goes to dog rescue!

This morning was "C Zero Day" (which so far has been much less painful than Army Zero Day).  On the advice of a very wise woman who has conquered her own share of medical battles, I went for a run at o'dark thirty.  I certainly didn't set any PRs, but hell, I ran, so f**k you cancer!

O'Dark Thirty Run with my Best Buds .... I only got tangled in their leashes and ate pavement once!

My "C Bag" (thanks Kerri and Kate) was all packed with awesome stuff I've received from wonderful friends along this journey including a super-soft blanket, Tranquility natural oil, lots of natural lip balm, ginger-chew candies, and of course a big file of LexisNexis cases and my laptop for getting some goddamned work done while I"m strapped to this chair!  

Sunday took her post-run nap on my C bag.  I think I could almost fit her in there.....

  

Then it was off to the hospital (where they have free high-speed internet!!).  The nurses and docs here are all so wonderful.  We have our own little area with a chair for Doug, lots of plugs for computers, and a big window.  I guess if I'm going to be strapped to a chair for 4 hours, it might as well be comfortable.  

Life is Good.  'Nuff said.

Once they got me all hooked up, I settled right into work.  Hoping all those toxic drugs make my legal writing more forceful.  Watch out, government, I'm now on performance-enhancing drugs.  Fly that Jolly Roger!!  Arrrgh.

I'm actually working here, not blogging!

That's all for now.  No AC ("after-chemo") updates till tonight.  I just couldn't resist the temptation of free high-speed internet to upload some of these pics.  

Bring it.  

The "C word"

No, not cancer.  (Not the other C-word you're thinking of Meaghan Burnes.....).

Chemo.  Chemo is the C-word.  This may sound weird, but the whole "cancer" thing isn't that scary to me - it's more of a journey, an adventure, a learning experience.  Chemo, though ... that shit's a Walker that's got you cornered with only a stuffed teddy bear to defend yourself with.  (Sorry all you TWD non-fans .... I couldn't help it).

It took me a long time to agree to even do the recommended chemo.  After living the last 20 years of my life as a super-healthy, organic-eating, vegetable-growing, all-natural non-toxic almost-hippie, the idea of willingly dumping that many toxic chemicals into my body just didn't make sense.  (It still doesn't).  I read stuff.  I Googled everything.  I talked to doctors.  I read too many blogs.  I meditated (yes, really).  I drank wine (oh sure, you believe that one, but you question the meditation????). Whatever it took to make sense of it.  And in the end, there were no good answers.  The oncologists couldn't tell me "if you take these toxic chemicals, your cancer won't come back".  They also couldn't tell me "if you don't take these toxic chemicals, your cancer will come back."  So its all odds - a roll of the dice.

What I do know for sure is that the type of cancer I have is the type that comes back.  And when (if?) it comes back, its already Stage IV and a painful death sentence.  I also know that the chemo drugs will do a number on my heart, my veins, my brain, and the nerves in my feet and hands.  So, I may not ever again knock out 46 4000-footers in a single summer.  I may not ever again ride a 24-hour mountain bike race.  I may not ever argue that brilliant case in front of SCOTUS.  And for a little while on this journey, that meant to me that if I couldn't do all of that, then I didn't want to live.  If I can't mountain bike all day long; if I can't hike big huge mountains for days on end; if I can't run and do all the physical things the Army requires me to do .... well, then I'd rather just get cancer again and die.

But then I thought about the everyday things that make me happy.  Sitting outside the RV with Doug, talking about whatever legal theory has us in a tizzy that day.  Watching the pups get so much enjoyment out of chasing squirrels up a tree.  Talking to my mom on the phone, listening to her reminisce about silly things we did with my Dad. Watching the Red Sox win the World Series (c'mon, we're due!).  Sitting at an outdoor brewery in the sun, enjoying a good Pale Ale.  Making homemade bread and my Dad's marinara sauce and watching the friends I feed enjoy every bite of what I've made for them.  Scoring those little victories in my work - those that literally change a client's life and reinforce what we all know to be justice.  Those are the REAL things that make me smile; those are the things that bring me joy.  Mountains and singletrack are awesome, but its those little things every goddamned day that make me want to roll those dice and do whatever it takes to live another day (or a whole bunch of days).

Whew.  That was intense.  Did y'all pour yourselves another drink yet?  Go ahead, I'll wait ........

OK, about the chemo:

It'll be a 3-drug cocktail (I wonder if they use the term "cocktail" with everyone or just me to make it more appealing??).  6 total infusions, every 21 days for a total of 18 weeks.  (1) Taxotere; (2) Carboplatin; (3) Herceptin.  After the 18 weeks, I'll continue the Herceptin infusions every 21 days until I reach one year, (January 2018).  Then, there will be Tamoxifen for either 5 or 10 years (but that's just a pill, so we can easily depart on our Epic Road Trip to End All Road Trips!!)

You can read about all the awful side effects (and greed-driven pharmaceutical company crimes) at each of those links.  Personally, I don't want to dwell on that. You all know me - you know I'll do everything I can to stay healthy and ward off all that evil stuff, and if all else fails, I'll make Doug pour a beer through my IV port.  The hardest part will be not being able to travel or go out in public for the first 21 weeks while my body is struggling to survive with all that toxicity.  (Don't feel sorry for me going through this - direct your pity toward Doug and the pups for having to keep me entertained during 21 long weeks confined to the RV!)

To sum:  an old boss used to tell me to just "chop the wood in front of you".  In other words, don't worry about what's going to happen in 2 weeks or 2 years, just focus on that big ol' pile of stuff in front of you.  And in approximately 36 hours, the big old pile of stuff in front of me will be a bunch of poison injected directly into my jugular.  The big old pile of stuff in front of me is also trying to keep some level of fitness, ensuring my few remaining clients get the justice they deserve, and keeping my pack as happy as can be without the big mountains and singletrack and beer.  I'm up for this challenge.  Bring it.

The Devil is in the Details

*** Spoiler alert - this post contains TMI about my long lost boobies ***

Before I was diagnosed, I thought cancer was cancer.  Well, maybe I realized that elbow cancer was different from eyelid cancer, but I thought breast cancer was breast cancer.  Holy camole, was I wrong!  There are endless permutations of what kind of breast cancer one can have, and all of those permutations dictate details like your chance of survival, likelihood of recurrence, and what kind of treatment is recommended.

My tumor was:
- stage Ic
- 2 cm at its widest part (doesn't sound very big, but in cancer-lingo, its not tiny)
- ER+/PR+
- Her2+
- No evidence of it having spread to lymph nodes on either side
- Clean margins (expected, considering that they entire cut both boobs off)
- 5 of 9 on the Nottingham Histologic Scale (i.e., how "ugly" the cancer is)

I won't bore you with what that all means in English.  If you're interested, check out this link.  Bottom line is that:  (i) the ER/PR + means it will respond to hormone therapy like Tamoxifin; (ii) the Her2+ means it grows aggressively and has a higher likelihood of recurrence; and (iii) the existing tumor in the breast has been completely cut out, and there's no solid evidence that there are any other tumors anywhere else.

Insurance also paid for getting a full genetic screening.  If you know my family, you know the cancer cards are stacked against me, genetically speaking.  But, to my surprise, I had no gene mutations.  Which means this cancer was probably caused by exposure, not genetics.

So, you would think that since the margins were clean, and we caught it before it went to the lymph nodes, I would be able to avoid chemo.  Not quite.  The Her2+ means that its likely to come back, and if it does come back, it will grow wicked fast.  Also, because I don't have any breast tissue left, if it comes back, it will be metastatic in another organ.  So, the recommended course is to do a standard chemo regimen to clean out any stray cancer cells that might be floating around undetected.  That starts next week.  More details on that some other day.

See I told you the devil was in the details!




 

Laughter is awesome!

My insurance pays for two "breast prosthesis" and a "cranial prosthesis".  (That's fake boobies and a wig to normal people).  After a long morning of doctors and tests, I went for the fitting this afternoon.  Doug came with me.  Despite being way too sober for that kind of torture, it was actually fun!

The ladies at the shop were freaking awesome.  They certainly gauged their interactions by my mood.  The wig (uh, sorry, "cranial prosthesis") was first.  I am now a platinum blonde (with just the right amount of darker roots) in a very military-appropriate bob.  I tried the "California wavy" (way too old for that), the "spiky readhead" (way too scary) and the "soap opera 80's feather" (not slutty enough for that one).  Ended up with the boring AR-670-1 compliant bob.s  The silver lining here is that the last time I had that hairstyle (naturally) I spent a fortune every few weeks on highlights, trims and fancy products, and 45-minutes every morning with a flat iron.  To the extent I ever actually wear this one, its fully paid for and easy!!  Woo hooo!

Next was the fake booby fitting.  I had an option of being anything from an A to a DD.  Seriously.  I simply asked for "perky".  The first set the lady brought in made both Doug and I get the uncontrollable giggles .... especially when he said "be careful, you'll poke your eye out!!!".   There were so many options - soft, firm, lumpy, wide, narrow .... and the funniest - the ones made from little sand-like granules that you can wear while swimming.  WHO WEARS A FAKE BOOBIES WHEN SWIMMING?????

Anyhoo, after much laughter, we ended up with a whole bag full of goodies that I'll probably never wear.  But hey, insurance paid for it, so I might as well stock up for future "date nights" or something.

Filling in the Gaps

If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound?  If a mountain-biking JAG doesn't post anything to a blog in almost 6 years, did anything happen?

Yeah, stuff happened.  I returned from Afghanistan in January 2012 and we moved to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona.  I went for the job (Intelligence Law) but we fell in love with the area.  We spent 2+ wonderful years in the high desert mountains of southern Arizona, where we mountain biked and hiked, lost 3 cherished dogs and rescued 2 more, made lifelong friends, and found the one place on earth that could be a suitable substitute for retirement in the New Hampshire mountains.  In August 2014, I got out of the Army and we started an epic road trip across the country to return to my civilian litigation job with the Army in Washington DC.

Did we make it to DC???  (Do you know me????)  Of course we didn't make it to DC.  Somewhere around Kentucky, I started getting nostalgic for the Army.  By the time we hit West Virginia, I hatched a plan to get Doug drunk and tell him I wanted to go back in the Army.  In Pennsylvania, I called the Army and begged them to take me back.  It all worked ...... with the caveat that I had to go somewhere totally shitty for the next 2 years to make up for all the headaches I caused along the way.

So off to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri it was.  Yes, it is true that the only way to pronounce Missouri is MIS-ER-EY.  The only saving grace was the job.  I became a criminal defense attorney and eventually moved up to run the criminal defense office for Ft. Leonard Wood.  For everything we hated about Missouri, the job made up for it - I truly found my "calling" (for real this time!!!).  It was a long two years, with long hours and lots of weekends spent in the office, but hell, there wasn't anything else to do in MISERY anyway.

After "doing time" at Ft. Leonard Wood, I was given my pick of assignments for summer of 2016.  I picked ..... (drum roll please) ...... returning to Ft. Huachuca!  They needed a defense counsel, and we needed to be back to somewhere that wasn't miserable, and where our mountain bikes got dirty again.  Taking that job meant that I'll probably never again be promoted in the Army (two tours as a defense counsel is not good for your career; neither is two tours at a postage-stamp sized training installation) - but it was a risk we were willing to take in order to be happy again.  Life is just too damned short to be miserable for too long.

We were happy beyond words to be back in Arizona.  The mountains were as majestic as we remembered, and the singletrack was so so sweet.  The pups were happy to be running off leash and chasing lizards again.  When we left Ft. Leonard Wood, we sold everything we owned and moved into the RV full time, so we were living in the RV park right on post, literally AT the trailhead to singletrack up into the mountains.  Life could not have been better.  We were happy.  We were at home.  I loved my job.  Our mountain bikes were dirty again.  Our pups were content.  We had everything we ever wanted and were truly at peace.

And then I got diagnosed with breast cancer.  November 2016, while at Ft. Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas for work, I went to the doctor, just to get something checked, thinking it was truly nothing. Hell, I had just had a mammogram in April and it was fine.  (OK, the truth?  I only went to the doctor to shut Doug up, because he wouldn't stop hounding me about getting the weird lumpy thing checked out).  In the course of 3 hours, I had several doctors squeezing my boobs, a mammogram, a biopsy, and a lot of pitiful looks from doctors who assured me that it "didn't necessarily" mean it was cancer, but I should probably stick around town until the pathology results came back.  On 8 November (yes, election day) I got the call that every woman dreads:   Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.  So that night, as we sat in bed watching Donald Trump get elected as POTUS, we tried to absorb all the uncertainty and fear of it .... all of it.

And that's why I fired up this blog again.  This really is just another little adventure.  We'll get through it - maybe not in one piece, but we'll come out the other end at some point.  So why not share this little adventure too?  Stay tuned.