Back to the Jeannie bottle

I want to hop into my cozy I dream of Jeannie bottle and not come out until September 16th. Why the 16th? Radiation ends the 15th and we leave for Australia on the 17th. That will give me a day to pack and prepare for the trip.

I'm feeling mentally exhausted right now. My physical energy is fine but, this mental and emotional battle I've been waging all year is sapping my strength. At times, I am silent yet screaming in my head. I wonder if people can tell? The final straw, yes there seem to be several of said final straws, is that last night I realized that I'd lost most of my eyebrows and at least three-quarters of my precious eyelashes.

Before you say, but you are alive!, yes, I know that I'm alive. And, I am grateful. Truly, I am grateful for my wonderful boyfriend, friends and family. But, unless you've gone through this treatment and endured so many crappy side-effects, you cannot understand how upsetting it is when these very visible symbols that you are sick keep slapping you in the face. Kind of like the hot flash that is drenching the back of my tank top as I write this.

I'm like a Monet painting: look great from far away and then you focus and notice that the eyebrows are painted on like the Fairfax Hospital cafeteria lady, that there are about 10 eyelashes total between both eyes, that the hair is a wig and that there is a ugly beige sleeve and glove on my right arm and hand. And, possible sweat stains from a hot flash.

Mind you, it took 10 minutes to put on said eyebrows and individually apply mascara to the sparse, long spindly lashes. How did they fall out six weeks after chemotherapy? I made the grave error of going online to research this distressing issue and instead of finding an answer found some information that taxotere, one of the chemo drugs I was fed, can cause permanent hair loss. Fantastic.

Let's see, on a positive note: my arm looks the best today than it has in the seven weeks that I've been dealing with this lymphedema. Perhaps it is finally going to stabilize and allow me to continue increasing my exercise and walk around bare-armed.

So, Jeannie bottle, here I come. I'm tired of this daily battle and just want to go to sleep and wake up next month. Hopefully with some lashes, brows and hair.

Chemo Eve, Post Liver-biopsy.....a bit of a "day"

Shiny new Tang orange Lululemon bag packed:

Bamboo soft throw to snuggle into: check
New In Touch and In Style magazines: check
March by Geraldine Brooks: check
Ipod and Ipod with movies: check
Earphones (almost forgot!): check

Chemotherapy at 8am sharp. Pre-chemotherapy acupuncture at 7am. I've been trying not to freak out all day but, it has been a challenge. I started on the 3 days of steroids and that did not enhance my usual angelic patience while sitting in traffic on the 5 this morning. Compounding my stress: the liver biopsy yesterday may go down as the worst procedure to date.

There is a reason I didn't post last night. Residual pain and nausea from the "twilight" sedation and vicodin and the needles that entered into my right lower rib cage. The Amazing Angie drove down after training her clients in Hollywood to take me to the hospital. We left at 12:30. Admittance, more blood work, entry into a shared room with curtains between the patients. The doctor was supposed to do the procedure at 3pm but, didn't come to my partition until 4:22. So, I lay there in the bed, with an IV in my arm for over two hours waiting.

When he finally arrived, he went over to the man across the way saying hello to Mr. Petretti. I was a tad bit worried. I was yelling "Over here, Ms. Petretti over here!!" Finally, the nurse got him and we got down to business.

He confirmed Dr. K's concerns that he might not be able to see the spot on the CT scan and if so, we couldn't do the biopsy. I informed him that I was visualizing that as the case and that I'd prefer to skip the biopsy, thank you very much. I preferred to leave prior to him sampling some of my liver. Liver, liver, liver. With fava beans and a fine chianti. I need to banish that visual!

I was wheeled in for the CT scan without sedation. Ah, the novelty. No, my feet were not taped together like in the bone scan. No, my boobs did not have slots in which to rest. No, I wasn't injected with radioactive isotopes or dye. So far, so good.

Instead, I was face down with my arms overhead. It was very uncomfortable due to the 2nd lumpectomy 11 days ago. And, the lymph node incision. And, my artificial disc in my neck. To add insult to injury, the nurse stuffed little plastic tubes of oxygen up my nose. The piece de resistance was taping together my wrists over my head with an ace bandage. As I looked over at the tech team, two nurses and the doctor were watching me from behind a big glass window; let's just say I felt a little odd.

Oh yes, they told me to make sure not to move. Ummm, how would I? They also had a strap over my legs. Again, liver with fava beans and a fine chianti. Ick.

Dr. N came over and told me that he could do the biopsy. Bring on the twilight sedation. Not full anesthesia but, apparently it gives you amnesia. I haven't forgotten the indignities of the position but, I don't recall him sticking the biopsy needle into my back four times and taking small pieces of my precious LIVER out. I definitely felt it. And, I can still feel it. I got two vicodin afterwards and I wonder why I've felt sick and terrible all day? The biopsy spot hurts a lot.

No, we don't have the results yet. Dr. K told the path lab to page her when they arrive. I spoke to her today and I think she is incredible. Whoever told me that she was kind of "stern" missed out because she told me a semi-racy joke today. Hilarious. Maybe she feels comfortable with me. I trust her implicitly, which feels good on chemo eve.

I also had my post-op appointment and the margins were clear on the second lumpectomy and I don't see the surgical team for 6 months of so! Yay, my dance card is emptying out. If I just have to go to chemo every three weeks, it will seem like heaven. I should have my own reserved spot at Scripps after the last few months. I've literally been there almost every single day. How refreshing to have some time to myself again?

Let's see: positive and silver lining. Well, I was thrilled to receive the proofs from my Lululemon Ambassador shoot from last month. Yippee! Shooting at the break of dawn was definitely worth it. The light, the sky, the setting, the colors all turned out beautifully. It was a wonderful distraction yesterday to pore over looking for my favorites, knowing that soon I'll be up on the wall at the Lululemon Carlsbad! I look strong and healthy in all the photos. And my hair doesn't look half bad either. HA!

Also, feeling very grateful for the continued support from everyone. Please keep it coming. Believe it of not, I think I'm getting to the tough part. I think chemo will be a breeze after all the tests but, I'm not going to be happy to feel fatigued, sick and bald. I am not going to get very sick, I am going to teach as much as I can and I am going to get through this. June 24th is the last chemo date. Bring it on!

How to get FREE monthly housecleaning!

I'm signing up for free maid service. Imagine getting free maid service once a month! Someone to take care of those pesky baseboards, toilets and shower doors. It can be yours. Yes, for free. All you need to do is qualify for the free service.

Unfortunately, the criteria is chemotherapy.

And, that is my big announcement of the day. I am going to go through chemotherapy. I've said it. I've written it. It shall come to pass. Wow. I know tons of women have survived and thrived through treatment but, there is still a feeling of how can this be my path? Really? This is going to be three-quarters of 2010.

I am not doing it for the maid service.

What changed my mind? That there could be cells that broke away from the tumor that are too small to be picked up on any scan. That those cells are waiting to multiply. And, from what I understand, if I don't go through the chemo now and wait until later, it may be too late. I get it. I don't like it but, I get it.

I had a lot of plans, dreams and goals for this year. I blogged about them on January 1st. On January 2nd, I found the lump. This year is going to be very different than I anticipated. I was looking at this year as the time to truly grow my business, increase my private clientele to a point where I was thriving financially as well as professionally. I was hoping to film for ExerciseTV in early Spring, which may not happen now depending on my new schedule.

It is frustrating. I feel like my career was blossoming. And, for now, I've got to focus on just maintaining my class schedule, not grow it. For now. It is tough. It is scary financially. I'm scared that I'll lose opportunities. I already have.

On the other hand, I've been blown away by how generous, warm and caring everyone has been. Who knows if I'd ever experience this level of support otherwise? I knew that my immediate circle would be fantastic; that is why I have them in my life. Because they are all special, amazing people. But, those who I'm getting closer to due to this illness have shown me such unconditional support. An incredible silver lining.

I must discuss my two oncology appointments. I saw my physician Friday and went in for a second opinion this afternoon. Friday was brutal. Todd and I were there for over three hours. Both doctors gave me basically the same information. There is even a computer program where they can plug in age, tumor size, grade, and spread.

Recipe: 6 Rounds of Chemo every 3 Weeks. TAC. Or, the second doctor suggested just TC. 7 weeks of Radiation. 5 Days a Week. Followed by 5 YEARS of Tamoxofin. Hormone blockers. All with lots of side effects ranging from annoying to pretty darned scary.

I'm already exhausted from all the appointments, the tests, the phone calls, the waiting, the driving. Not to mention the pain I continue to experience. And, the hunger. I've got to fast for 6 hours tomorrow for my CT Scan. And, again Friday when I have my second surgery. I'll be driving to In-N-Out soon.

It has only been 7 weeks. I've got 7 months ahead of me. Unfathomable right now. I'll take some yogic wisdom and do my best to live in the present moment. And, try to remember that cancer is just part of my life. It cannot be all of it.

Still riding last night's high

I didn't sleep well last night. I think my brain and my heart continue to process the overwhelming gratitude I feel at the support I've received. My brain cannot slow down with all it is processing from my oncology meeting. The second opinion is tomorrow.

This morning was lovely. I attended my first yoga class since surgery with my dear friend Kirsten, and the Lulu ladies, Laura and Maddie. We anticipated a restorative class consisting of lying on the floor for an hour or so, covered in blankets, propped up by bolsters. Yummy. It turned out to be gentle yoga and there were a few down dogs. No down dog for me yet but, I was happy to see that each day the range of motion in my right arm and shoulder improves. I hope to lift it overhead by the end of the week. It just looks and feels like a shark bite. Missing chunk in my pectoral/shoulder girdle. Ugly.

On another note, I've been compiling a list of names and numbers of referrals. Specifically, other breast cancer survivors similar to me in age and situation. I haven't felt up to calling anyone yet. Until today.

I spoke with an incredible woman from Boulder. When I learned that she was 37 when she was diagnosed, after her return from her honeymoon in Kauai(one of my favorite places on earth), that she was a yoga instructor (same studio as one where I teach here) and that she was a rockstar 7 year survivor, I wanted to speak with her. I was especially intrigued about how she used her yoga: both teaching and practicing, to stay strong throughout her treatment. She'd helped my friend's mom with a Yoga for Survivors class.

Our discussion was great. And, what she shared really resonated with me. That you've got one chance to attack the cancer with every tool at your disposal. That time is now. She didn't want to look back and regret not trying everything. She used integrative medicine: ie nutrition, yoga, acupuncture and other holistic methods to keep her strong throughout surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation. Her story helped me tremendously. It helped settle some of the conflicts I've been experiencing regarding conventional chemotherapy treatment. Not that anybody wants chemo but, I didn't believe it would help me before and I'm shifting.

It is interesting how my views are progressing. Is it acceptance? Resignation? Fear? Kir and I were discussing wigs today. Todd and I discussed them the other night. Wow. Two weeks ago, I couldn't have fathomed that as a matter-of-fact discussion. I'm still leaning toward Tawny Kitaen....big hair. Why not? Lord knows I wasn't blessed with it. I don't think the Marylin wig is practical for everyday. Or ever.

Research and Risk/Benefit Ratios....getting technical

This photo is supposed to be upside down. A brilliant artist named Campbell Morin took the photo. Granted, Campell was missing her two front teeth and still measures her age in one digit but, genius knows no age limits! Thanks Angel Bear!

Today is the day I started getting serious about my research. I want to find as much credible information as possible before meeting with the medical oncologist on Friday. I also definitely will set up a second opinion. I'm compiling my list of questions for the doctor. I'd love to find someone who will tell me I don't have to have chemotherapy. Anyone?

A fantastic book: How to Prevent and Treat Cancer with Natural Medicine, by Dr. Michael Murray. After reading, I've tabbed the four most immediately pertinent chapters for Todd to review. And, numbered them in order of priority. With hot pink post-its. I am such a dork.

What is excellent about this resource is that it doesn't tell you to forgo conventional treatments such as surgery, chemo, radiation and drugs. Rather, it advises of how to best use nutrition, diet and natural supplements to boost your immune system, stay strong and complement other treatments. There are numerous studies on the greens, the antioxidants, etc.

There is no question that nutrition is paramount. Surgery helps. Medicine helps. Acupuncture helps. Healing work helps. Yoga helps. Prayer helps. Love helps. The resounding support that I've received definitely helps.

There is no single cure-all.

I am not convinced that Chemotherapy is The Cure. I am open to hearing the arguments pro and con. A 43 year old, very healthy, with Stage 2 cancer and spread to 1 lymph node. My individual prognosis.

I want statistics. What are the survival/recurrence rates if I do surgery and radiation only? What are they if I do surgery, radiation and chemotherapy? What about the hormone drugs? What if I do nothing else after the second surgery? What if I sell my car and travel for the next few months instead?

What are the success rates? Ratios? Side effects?

What is the risk/benefit ratio?

What are the long term effects to my immune system? This is a huge concern for me. Do I want to live an extra 5 years but, have a cold or infection every month? Or, would I rather live out the rest of my days healthy and strong? How is quality of life factored in?

Quality over quantity.

I'm finding that I straddle the natural and conventional theories and want to maximize the most from both. I'm not going to swallow an entire recommendation without questioning it. I'm not going to make my decision out of fear. I'm going to do this my way. There are no guarantees in any of this.

I cannot suppress my anxiety about work. When do I get to go back to teaching? And, how much more time will be sacrificed for treatment? It isn't just that if I don't work I don't get paid. I'm in the process of building my pilates clientele. This is all such an unwelcome interruption. A scary one. I'm sure it will be fine but, I cannot ignore the reality of it. I wish I had 10 hours of research or writing or consulting work to do from home in the meanwhile.

I want Drain Out so I can return to yoga and pilates. I cannot lift my right arm above shoulder-height and I'm having some sharp pain in my arm and underarm. You know, the numb one. How can it be numb and hurt too? Paradox.

Ending on a positive note: Happy Valentines Day! I got to spend a leisurely day with my Valentine. Watching the sunset over the Pacific with the man I love is such a gift.

1 leap forward, 2 steps back..Post-op

Okay, I'm trying to be positive because I was wishing, wishing, wishing that the remaining lymph nodes were clear and they are. Very pleased that it hasn't traveled further into my body. That means we caught it relatively early.

So, 1 node of 10 is positive. My sister had 8, so that gives me a benchmark. Her treatment was brutal--she is the strongest woman I know and survived but, it hurt every moment to see what she had to endure.

I thought that just one teeny, weeny, tiny, little node would mean no chemotherapy but, the doctor extinguished that hope and told me that:

1)It is still positive,
2)It still metastasized,
3)and that even though it didn't get far, she believes chemo will be in order.

Epiphany: once a lawyer, always a lawyer. I found myself bargaining with the doctor to avoid chemo. Again, I felt like I was in a movie observing myself as a third person. How many ways can Claire reframe the question until she gets the answer she wants? Believe me, I tried!! I did not get it.

We meet with the medical oncologist next week, who is the dictator of the "recipe" for further treatment. My best friend's mom Judy, who is like a second mom to me, has been incredibly helpful and supportive through this process, with an invaluable backround as an oncology nurse. She explained to me they make up a unique cocktail/recipe based on a variety of factors, not just the node. Another week of waiting....

I'm still going to do my best to learn if there are alternatives to that dreaded C. I'm still not sure that I am willing to go there. I don't know that I believe it is the true solution. I know it kills the cancer cells but, so many people I've seen go through it never have the same immune system again. I just see it as such a permanent poisoning of my entire system. But, I will listen to the oncologist with an open mind. As open as I am able. I am not ruling it out.

Again, let me emphasize that I am grateful that the cancer did not spread farther. But, I also need time to process what I call the two steps back. There is no black and white here. Shades of gray. And, I hope people can understand and respect the need to acknowledge and process the negative.

Because sometimes, things just suck. No silver lining. No false cheer. Optimism tempered by pragmatism? Who knows? Perhaps I'll be enlightened by the end of this process. Again, I cannot pretend that I am not disappointed about some of today's news. Here goes the venting:

When they did my lumpectomy, they took out margins of healthy tissue surrounding the tumor. Apparently, they have to go back in for a second surgery because there was not quite enough of a clear margin on the section of the lump where the "satellite" tumor was. So, they have to open me back up, go in and "shave off" a little more flesh. More anethesia, more surgery. Not happy about that at all. This will occur most likely in 2 weeks. Really??? All that for a centimeter and a half?

Even more annoying: this Drain is still in until at least Tuesday. I cannot teach until then. I cannot start any physical therapy on the arm that I cannot lift up beyond shoulder height until Drain is gone. I cannot wear anything that pulls over my head and my zipper/button front tops are very limited. The doctor suggested I put the Drain in a fanny pack and blouse my top out over it. Granted, she's only seen me in a hospital gown or she would know I don't own anything that would blouse out over a fanny pack. I am not buying new clothes to dress the Drain.

Also, I learned that my underarm will be permanently numb. And, they want me to wear a sleeve whenever I fly because of barometric pressure changes......not sure if that is forever too. Apparently, some nerves are "sacrificed" to take out the lymph nodes. I get to be fitted for said sleeve. Sure that will be interesting....a smartass friend sent me a website for DivaSleeves...nice.

So, back to the positive: it only spread to one node. My dear old friend Robert came by and did some healing energy work and I took a lovely peaceful nap with Jake. Todd's back and came to the appointment with me and I am very lucky to have his support. I got more amazing care packages: I am SPOILED. Love it. I now have a stuffed bunny and an angel bear watching out for me.

The Drain remains and the armpit is still hairy....maybe I can grow it long enough to do a combover if necessary down the road?