The Merits of the Case

Good, because it's the 15th of July. Do your monthly self-exam!

Posted by Kim at 03:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I find that all the exercise endorphins and the effects of a healthy diet and my joy at living are easily tempered by the sobering news that I have received in the past few weeks. One day a month or so ago a friend of mine called me to tell me that a mutual friend of ours, Rosemary, had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. The moment the words left her mouth I felt the world stop for a minute as I digested the news. Hearing those words brought me right back to the initial words and weeks of my own diagnosis…the confusion and depression and denial and fear. I called Rosemary immediately and have tried to pay it forward a little bit while she has gone through the initial surgeries and planning stages of her diagnosis. I feel so helpless though. I want to make it go away. I know what she’s up against, and I want her to not have to go through it.

Almost exactly one week later, my father called me one evening to tell me that a friend of his and my mom’s was diagnosed with breast cancer after an abnormal mammogram. Marilyn is exactly one week behind Rosemary in treatment so far. Talking to Marilyn about her diagnosis and treatment plan made me feel the same way I did in talking to Rosemary…it brought back some of the emotions that I experienced so clearly and I wished that I could somehow make it better for her.

When I was going through surgery and radiation and chemotherapy last year every single thing that happened seemed so dramatic and I thought that I would remember every detail forever. What I realized as I spoke with Rosemary and Marilyn was that some details have already become foggy. I can’t remember exact dates anymore, and in some instances I can’t remember what happened first and what happened second. I have looked back at my blog several times to refresh my memory, and I realize how thankful I am that I wrote everything down. This blog has become an important record for me.

And then two weeks ago my dad called me again to tell me that the other shoe had dropped for my cousin Jenny. I’ve written about Jenny before. She was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago and had been cancer free for almost four years. Jenny is only 35 years old and has two little girls, the oldest of whom is only a few months younger than Matthew. Jenny had breast cancer in her right breast and went through surgery, chemo, radiation, and then more surgery when she had a mastectomy followed by reconstructive surgery. And then she found another lump in her left breast. The good news, if there is any, is that this is not a recurrence of the same cancer, but a brand new primary tumor. That is “good news” because it means it is not a metastasis of the original cancer.

Last Tuesday she had another mastectomy on the left side, and will be starting chemo again in July. She found out this week that the cancer had not spread beyond the sentinel lymph node, which is also really good news. Jenny and I talked extensively before her surgery about everything that she is going through. Both of us expressed our dismay at the fact that it came back. (I know I just finished saying that it didn’t really come back, but that’s what it feels like nonetheless.) If you do everything they tell you to do and you work really hard at surviving, it’s not supposed to come back.

When my dad first told me about Jenny, I felt my stomach drop and the ground shift a little bit under my feet. When you have had cancer, you see, this is your very worst fear. Most cancer survivors don’t mention this part of it when you talk to them because it’s all about how well they are doing now. But it is always there. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about this possibility. The idea of cancer returning again colors every single thing that I do. When I watch one of my kids swimming in a swim team event or running down the field in soccer or football, when I celebrate their good grades or when I sit down to eat dinner with them or celebrate one of their birthdays, I also celebrate their lives and my life and the fact that I get to do those things with them. Even something as simple as grocery shopping or writing a paper for school or meeting a friend for drinks or taking a trip with Randy or going to work is a cause for celebration for me. I constantly note how happy I am to get to take advantage of these moments in life. And I think about how I need to live fully…in case the cancer comes back. It’s not that I live in constant fear so much as the fact that I try to take advantage of and fully appreciate each moment as it comes.

Hearing that Jenny found another lump meant that it could happen to me. She went through the same treatment that I did, and then some. She did everything the doctors told her to do. It’s simply not fair that she has to go through it all again. If you do what they tell you to do, it’s not supposed to come back. In talking to Jenny about all that is ahead of her, I realize how difficult it would be to face cancer treatments for a second time. On the one hand, you know what to expect so you are not facing the unknown. But on the other hand, you know what to expect and it is terrifying.

As I have struggled with my worries about Jenny, I have repeated my new philosophy of life to myself and to Randy and to anyone else who will listen. Drink the wine, I keep saying. Wear the clothes. Use the china. Don’t save them for a special occasion or for the “right” moment, because you might never get the chance. It would be a shame if I found another lump tomorrow because I purchased four bottles of really good wine two months ago and I haven’t opened even one bottle yet. What if I cross the street tomorrow and get hit by a bus and I never get a chance to wear those new shoes sitting in my closet? And isn’t it a shame that the lovely china I received as wedding gifts sits in my dining room hutch and only gets used for Thanksgiving and Christmas?

Jenny has a website here where she is writing about her journey this time around. I’d like to end this post with a personal message for Jenny:

Jenny, I am thinking about you and rooting for you, and so are every one of your family members here in Illinois. You fought this thing once and survived and thrived, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will harness all that Crum stubbornness and tenacity and do it again. Know that we are all cheering for you and that we stand ready to do whatever we can to help! We love you!

Posted by Kim at 11:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Despite appearances, I have not abandoned this blog. After Randy asked me if I had decided to stop writing, though, I thought maybe I should post an update.

In the last few weeks I’ve finished up the spring semester, taken a summer session class, and started work (which I wish I could write about because it is fascinating!). During that time I have also continued to train for the 3-Day in August and I ran my first 10K in May. Yes, that’s right; I ran 6.2 miles(!). Six months ago I would never have thought I would do something like that in a million years. Of course, “run” might be stretching it just a little bit, because I didn’t actually run the entire 6.2 miles. I walked 3 or 4 times for about a minute each time, but I crossed the finish line nonetheless. And it felt great! I had a my six month check up with my oncologist a couple of weeks ago and things still look “perfect” (his word). As far as I’m concerned, that’s a good assessment. Next week I will be seeing my radiation oncologist for what I think might be a one year post-radiation appointment. It’s difficult to believe that it has been that long since I went through radiation, but I think it has.

I still have a few lingering side-effects from my cancer journey last year and some of them may never go away. For example, I still have some numbness and nerve damage on my left side under my arm and along my back shoulder. I notice a significant difference in strength on the left side when I try to lift something over my head or out to the side…basically anything I need to use my shoulder muscles to do. I still have my port, which isn’t really a side-effect so much as something that is just kind of constantly there. I don’t think other people really notice it, but I see the line running into my neck and along my chest every single time I look in the mirror. My hair is still short and has remained really curly. It’s kind of amazing to me and I’m still getting used to having brand new hair. I spent my entire life learning how to wash, style, and live with my straight blonde hair and now I have to relearn everything I ever knew about my hair. But I’ll take it…short curly hair is way better than no hair any day!

One of the side-effects that I’ve written about before is the early onset of menopause. I knew that some women revert back to their regular cycles several months after chemotherapy, but when I got to six months I was beginning to wonder if I would be one of those women or if I would be one of those who were sent permanently into early menopause. I’m truly happy to report that I’m not and that I’ve gotten at least some reprieve. Hopefully it will be a good long time before I have to deal with hot flashes and hormone changes on a regular basis.

While I am celebrating my health and life every single morning these days, however, it seems that around each corner there are constant reminders of what we are all up against every day. I will write more about those reminders in a separate post.

Posted by Kim at 11:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

It's the 15th of June. Don't forget to Frisk the 15th!

Posted by Kim at 03:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As you can imagine, I’m all about reminding women to do a monthly self-exam these days. Every time I tell my story to someone new, I always end with an entreaty to be vigilant about doing self-exams.

I confess, however, that I am not doing them.

I hope that by admitting that here I will be forced to walk the walk, rather than just talk the talk. It can mean the difference between life and death, so why is it so hard for us to do it? For me, I think that it is fear as much as anything else. I don’t want to find another lump, because if I do there is a high probability that it will be more breast cancer. I think that subconsciously I hope that if I don’t know about it I won’t have to deal with it. It’s the ostrich approach, and it’s the wrong one.

I wasn’t so great about doing self-exams before I had breast cancer, for the same reason. I didn’t ever always think about it when it was convenient, and when I did remember to do it I always felt a little foolish. After all, how in the world was I supposed to know what to look for? And if I did find something, would I know what to do next? But mostly,I was afraid to find something.

But everything you read about breast cancer says that the early detection is the key, and I am living proof of that. I found the lump in my breast myself. Not because I did a breast self-exam (at the time that I found it, I hadn’t done one for 8 or 9 months), but because I was in the right position at the right moment and because my pajama top was bothering me. What if I had decided not to read that night? What if I hadn’t tried to adjust my top? Who knows when or if I would have discovered the lump. And maybe the next time I remembered to do a self-exam or to schedule a mammogram, my cancer—a very aggressive form of breast cancer—would have spread to another part of my body.

This thought scares me….does it scare you, too? I hope so. I hope it scares you enough to remember to do a self-exam tonight!

And for the record, when I did find something I suddenly knew what I was looking for and I knew what to do.

In order to help you and me remember to do this, I am going to steal a reminder from Mary at Almost Somewhat Positive. She has designated the 15th of each month as Frisk the 15th in order to remind women to do their self-exams. I will do my best to remind you to feel your boobies each month on the 15th by posting a reminder. Will you please remind me if I forget?

Keep in mind that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer, either. If you notice any abnormal changes in your breasts, call your doctor. And make sure that you also schedule an annual mammogram.

If you need a little help remembering, why not order a free waterproof breast self-exam card for your shower from Susan G. Komen for the Cure (one per household)? You can also print the information out on paper here.

Posted by Kim at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Today marks my first anniversary, although it’s not one that I ever planned on celebrating.

Today I have been cancer-free for one year.

Posted by Kim at 02:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Another semester is over and I am busy preparing for finals now. It feels much different than the end of last semester. When I was reviewing my notes in preparation for finals last semester, I didn’t even remember covering certain subjects. I’m sure it was a combination of the chemo and of having so much going on during the semester. This time it feels like the end of the semester normally does…I remember most of what we talked about, it’s just a matter of synthesizing it all into an outline that makes sense. I hope that the exams themselves will be easier for me than they were last semester, as well.

The beginning of this month marked six months since my last chemo treatment. For a long time, I found myself telling people, when it came up in conversation, that I had finished chemo on November 1st. Now, when it comes up, I tell people that my last treatment was six months ago. It is a subtle but interesting mental shift…kind of like when you move from telling people your child’s age in months to her age in years. In just a few days, I will be able be able to tell people that I have been cancer-free for one year. (I am counting from the day I had the lumpectomy since that is the day that it was actually removed.) In some ways it feels as if it has been years and years since I had cancer, and at the same time it seems all too recent.

I will be celebrating Mother’s Day this year by running in this race with my family and some friends of ours. I hope to make it our new family Mother’s Day tradition.

Posted by Kim at 03:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I have written before about how frequently I still think and talk about breast cancer. I am still dealing with several residual physical effects of chemotherapy, including, among others, menopause, weird nail issues, and nerve damage in my left arm and back. (All of which are minor, minor issues compared to chemo and cancer!) There are left-over emotional issues, as well. Every time I hear about a cancer diagnosis I find myself getting emotional about it, for example. And there are times when something unexpected triggers a very distinct, physical memory of chemo, which can be overwhelming sometimes.

I had one of those moments last week. I was getting ready to leave the house to go to school one morning and I decided to wear a bright fuchsia trench coat since it was such a beautiful day. I didn’t want to wear one of my dark scarves with the coat and I remembered that I had a scarf with all kinds of bright colors on it that I had worn on my head last summer. I ran upstairs, dug through the scarves hanging in the back of my closet, and pulled out the brightly colored one. As I began to unfold it to look at it, I was struck by my physical reaction to the colors, the pattern, and the feel of the scarf. Holding it made me feel almost nauseous, and I experienced a strong physical aversion to the scarf. I tried to tell myself that I was being silly, but I couldn’t overcome the feeling; I could hardly look at it. I knew there was no possible way I was going to be able to wear it, so I hung it back up and decided not to wear a scarf at all. It was a strange feeling because I have never had such a strong reaction to an article of clothing. (Other than when I find a pair of shoes that I must have, of course, but that’s a much more positive feeling!)

I have held on to my scarves and hats out of some kind of superstitious fear of a cancer recurrence, but I think that I am going to donate them somewhere because I need to get them out of my house. I am sure that I will never, ever wear them again unless I have to go through chemo again, and I can’t wait around for that to happen!

Posted by Kim at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

That’s about how long it has been since I first discovered a lump in my breast. As I wrote recently, just a few days after I found the lump I had breakfast with my kids, my parents, and my brother and his family following a local 5K/10K race in which my brother and my nephew ran. I had not seen a doctor yet, so I had not told anyone about it on that Sunday morning. I thought about it all morning, though; little did I know how ominous it would turn out to be.

Today—368 days later—I ran in that same 5K. While I didn’t set any records for the fastest time, I ran the whole thing. (Except for the moment when I had to stop to tie my shoe!) Today during breakfast, instead of thinking about my mortality and instead of feeling frightened about the ramifications of finding a lump in my breast, I thought about how lucky I am to be able to run and about how lucky I am to get to spend that kind of time with my family.

My world is a very different place than it was 368 days ago. In some ways, it is a darker and more difficult place. After all, the fear of a recurrence or metastasis is always lurking in the corner (and sometimes in the front) of my mind. In many ways, it is a better place. I am probably healthier right this minute than I have ever been before in my life. And I appreciate each day and each person in my life in more ways than I did a year ago. I can’t go so far as to say that having breast cancer was a good thing, but I’m still here, so it wasn’t the worst thing.

My brother and my kids all ran in the race this year, too. Despite the snow on the rooftops this morning and the balmy 32 degree temps (Hello, Chicago in April!), it was an exhilarating morning for all of us.

Next stop—the Y-Me Race to Empower on Mother’s Day!

Posted by Kim at 04:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

This is for those of you who have been curious about my hair. This was taken on Friday night at dinner with my friends Rachel and Gayle. I am about 5 1/2 months post-chemo.

Yes, it's curly! No, there is no gray! (Thank God for small favors!)

Posted by Kim at 02:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I have been writing more about my walking/race training and school recently than I have about breast cancer. To read this blog, you might think breast cancer is a distant memory for me now. It is far from that, however, and I still think about it a lot more than I want to. I talk about it a lot, too, both because I often run into someone who asks me how I’m doing and because it seems to come up in my conversation frequently these days. Sometimes those conversations happen in unexpected ways.

We live in the same town that Randy and I lived in while we were growing up. I never thought I’d end up living here, but it turns out to be a great place to raise kids, so here we are.

This used to be a relatively small rural community. When my family moved here in the late 70s the population was about 5,000. To get to our high school you had to traverse several country roads and then drive down a driveway surrounded by cornfields and cow pastures. This area is one of the fastest growing in the state, however, and now the population is around 30,000 and the high school is surrounded by hotels, malls, homes, and fast food restaurants. It doesn’t look much like it looked in 1979.

We moved back here right after Karly was born and just as area growth was starting to explode. One of the first commercial buildings to be built across the street from the high school was a Jewel grocery store. (For those of you who are not from Chicago, Jewel is a large grocery chain owned by the same company as Albertsons.) I remember very well when the store opened because it was just a couple of blocks from our house. If we lived in the city it would have been within walking distance. The store opened right around the time that Blake was born, about 14 years ago or so. I started shopping there when it opened and I shopped there almost exclusively for years despite the addition of a Dominicks, a Cub Foods, a Super Target, Super Wal-Mart and a Meijer in the same vicinity. We have since moved to a different house, but the Jewel is still pretty close. I haven’t frequented the store as much in the last couple of years because a new grocery store opened up in the area that has much better prices. However, I still stop in a couple of times a week to pick up fresh meat or produce or other last minute meal ingredients.

I made one of those last minute stops one day last week to pick up ingredients for dinner, including some fresh shrimp. I stopped at the butcher counter and placed my order and the woman behind the counter told me that she thought my hair was really cute. I have been getting lots of compliments on my short style recently, and I always laugh to myself at the fact that people think this is a choice that I have made. This time was no exception.

As I was standing there thinking about how shocked she would probably be if she knew why my hair was this short, she suddenly asked me, very pointedly, how I was feeling. I looked at her closely, and realized that she recognized me and that she knew exactly why my hair is this short. What is amazing about that is that I don’t know this woman except as an employee of Jewel who works behind the butcher counter. I don’t know her name or where she lives, and we have never met each other outside of the grocery store. I recognize her from the meat department, but I’m not sure if we have ever even spoken to one another before. I told her that I was feeling great and that I was surprised that she knew who I was. She assured me that she recognized me and that her heart had gone out to me when she saw me shopping in the store last year. (I knew that she was referring to my parade of scarves and hats.)

I was astounded that she recognized me and remembered me, and I told her again that I couldn’t believe that she knew who I was and then I found myself getting a little teary about it and I told her so. She told me that of course she knew me, and that she also knew that I had been shopping in the store since they opened. She said that she remembered when I used to come in with my babies who were probably not babies any more.

We talked for a few more seconds until my shrimp was wrapped and ready to go and then I continued shopping for the other items on my list. I found myself feeling a little emotional about the encounter for awhile afterward, though. I was so humbled last year by the outpouring of support that I received from my family and friends and classmates and teachers and doctors and nurses and strangers and from my blog readers and their families and friends—I am still humbled by it. I have said before that it was often the thing that got me through the hardest parts. Discovering that even a grocery store employee was watching me go through the experience and was rooting for me was surprising and touching and meant so much to me.

Cancer is awful in so many ways. It is hard and frightening and life-changing. It brings things into your life that you hope that you never have to experience. But it is a strange thing because it also brings amazing things into your life. I have frequently told people that sometimes having cancer made me feel like I got to observe my own funeral. People told me things about how they felt about me and my family that they might never have told me if I wasn’t dealing with breast cancer. I got to hear the kinds of things that they might say about me if they came to my funeral and I got to acknowledge, through their own words, the ways in which my life and the lives of other people have touched one another. I wish that everyone could experience this kind of affirmation, because it is powerful. As I have started to work my way out of the darkness of a cancer diagnosis and treatment, I find myself trying every day to tell people how I feel about them. I hope that I can always remember to stop and reflect on the ways in which people touch me and to tell them about it.

If I could give only one piece of advice to a friend or family member of a cancer fighter, it would be to tell them how you feel. Tell them what they mean to you and how much you care about them. Your love and friendship is powerful, incredible, healing stuff.

Posted by Kim at 05:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Last week I had a three-month post-treatment check up with my oncologist. I can’t believe it’s been three months since my last treatment. Sometimes it feels like it was just a couple of weeks ago, but most of the time it feels like it was a long, long time ago.

I was really nervous about the appointment, and my arrival in the office parking lot didn’t help. I couldn’t help thinking about all the time I spent traversing that same lot last year. It has many bad associations for me…of pain and nausea and fear and discomfort. As I sat in the waiting room before my appointment, I thought about all the women who are just now finding out that they have breast cancer—200,000 women this year…1 every 3 minutes. I thought about the fear of hearing those words and about the uncertainty of those first weeks and months after a breast cancer diagnosis. It is scary to think about going through it all again and as I sat there and waited to be called in for my appointment I fervently hoped that I would never have to.

My appointment went well, however, and I had nothing to worry about. The doctor asked how I was doing, performed a quick check up, and pronounced me “healthy.” I sat in a green vinyl chair in the treatment room, but only for a few moments as Patty flushed my port while I caught up with her and the other nurses in the office.

I have to go back again in six weeks to have my port flushed (which I have to have done every six weeks as long as I have it to prevent infection) and then again in three months for another check up. So far, so good.

Posted by Kim at 04:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

For several years now I have seen the advertisements and heard the news recaps about the Breast Cancer 3 Day walk. It crossed my mind that I would like to participate somehow, but I never took it any farther than that. This year, however, I have a new and compelling reason to do something.

This year I am a breast cancer survivor.

This year I am going to walk….because I can.

I have registered to walk in the Breast Cancer 3 Day in Chicago on August 8-10, 2008. As a walker, I have committed to raise $3000 by walking 60 miles over the course of those three days. The money raised during this event goes toward Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust. The money is used to fund breast cancer research, education, screening and treatment.

I ask you to join me in this very important fight by making a donation to sponsor my participation in the walk. You can do that by visiting this website and clicking on the link on that page underneath my picture. You can make a donation online or by printing out this form and mailing a check. Your donation is tax deductible. (You also have the option of making several smaller donations over time if that helps you to budget the expense.) Any amount will help, from $10.00 to $100.00 or more.

I would also like to invite any of you who are interested to walk. There are 14 Breast Cancer 3 Day walks all around the country. You can find a list of the locations here. If you want to be involved but you don’t want to walk, there are also many crew and volunteer opportunities available for each walk. There is more information about those opportunities here. If you would like to join my team, The Chest Nuts, and walk with me in Chicago, please let me know and I will send you the information about how to do that!

Thank you so much for your support!

Posted by Kim at 03:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The Chest Nuts!

That name won with 44.6% of the votes, so The Chest Nuts it is.

Thank you so much for your help in choosing!

The Final Counts
The Chest Nuts 44.6% 29

Simply the Breast 29.2% 19

Freshly Squeezed 26.2% 17

Posted by Kim at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

One of my college roommates, Courtney, sent me several e-mails last year over the course of my chemo treatments. In one of them she planted a seed that has since taken root and begun to grow. She asked if I was interested in walking in the Breast Cancer 3-Day this year. I said yes, and we have decided to move forward with that plan.

This past Saturday I attended a Get Started meeting and registered for the Chicago walk which takes place August 8-10, 2008. The walk covers 60 miles in 3 days and the money raised goes to Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust. I also signed up to be a team captain and so far Courtney, my sister Molly, and my friends Cheryl and Alison have agreed to be my teammates.

In the next few weeks I’ll be posting more information about the walk here, and I’ll be contacting many of you soon begging asking you to sponsor me in the walk. (Consider this fair warning!) I’d also like any of you who are interested to let me know if you would like to walk with us.

But today I need your help coming up with a name for the team! If you have a moment, take a look at the choices listed below and let me know what you think.

Posted by Kim at 06:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I snapped a couple of new hair regrowth progress pictures this morning and then decided that today was a good day to share the post-chemo images that you have been asking about. I previously took pictures 1 day post-chemo and then again 51 days post-chemo. Today is 86 days post-chemo. I haven’t looked at the 1 and 51 day pictures since I took them.

I added the 86 day pictures today and then looked at them all in order, side by side. These photos were supposed to chronicle the regrowth of my hair, but my reaction to them caught me totally off-guard.

I have spent the past month and a half feeling so great and so healthy, and every day I feel like I am recovering both physically and mentally from everything that I went through last year. Looking at these pictures, however, brought it all back. When I look at the photo of me with no makeup on that first day post-chemo it makes me cry. The picture makes me feel frightened to my very core about the idea of ever going back there again.

Every day, no matter how good I feel, there is always a tiny place in my heart that can’t forget about the cancer. That little place is constantly wondering if there are any cancer cells left in my body and if there are, how and where and when they might manifest themselves. That tiny place worries that maybe there is more cancer somewhere else. I am certain that these feelings are common to all cancer survivors—they are just part of the cancer package. And most of the time they don’t bother me. I plan to live my life fully and without undue worry as much as I possibly can. Looking at these pictures, however, pulls that tiny worry right to the very front of my mind. When I see these images of myself looking like this I feel everything that I went through—all the sadness and fear and grief and pain and weakness. While I am glad that I have documented the journey through photographs, I have a feeling that I won’t look back at them very often. Maybe it will get easier with time, but for now it isn’t something that I want to revisit.

At the same time, when I look at the picture of myself that I took this morning I can see how far I’ve come and how far I am from all that I experienced last year. That picture gives me great hope, because if I look like that 86 days after my last treatment then it can only get better from here.

Day 1 Post Chemo (November 2, 2007--No Makeup)

Day 1 Post Chemo (November 2, 2007--With Makeup)

Day 51 Post Chemo (December 22, 2007); This is the first day I was able to put mascara on my microscopic short little eyelashes!

Day 86 Post Chemo (January 26, 2008); The eventual color of my hair is anyone's guess. There are a lot of dark strands, but there are also a lot of blonde strands. (And they are all just as straight as they can be. So much for curly hair.) It looks like it is going to be very close to my regular untreated oh-so-lovely shade of dishwater blonde. If that's the case, as soon as I hit the 6-month safety mark I'll be at Suzy's house getting highlights!

Day 86 Post Chemo (January 26, 2008)

Posted by Kim at 10:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

As you may have noticed, the frequency of my posting has dropped off in the past couple of months. Part of that is due to the craziness of the holidays followed by a week of intensive school, but part of it is because I am at a point in my cancer journey where changes don’t happen every day. New news happens less often, thank goodness, and I no longer feel as if I need to journal every ache and pain. Mainly because I don’t have any aches and pains. I know that there are a lot of people still reading, however, and I want to keep writing. This means that I have to figure out what direction to take this blog and to come up with something new to write about. I will continue to update my progress, of course, but I hope there won’t be much more to write about other than the clean bills of health I will receive at each future doctor’s appointment and a documentation of the return of my locks.

One of the focuses of my life in the last nine months has been health. As you can imagine (or as you know if you’ve been down this road), a cancer diagnosis forces you to look at your health in a more critical way than you ever have before. One of the first questions I asked after my diagnosis was “why me?” The focus of the question was not “why is this happening to me?” but “why did I get cancer?” As a young, healthy woman, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was that made these cells proliferate in my body. Was it something I did? Was it something I didn’t do? Something I ate? Something I was exposed to? And the biggest question of all was—and still is—“what do I need to do to keep it from coming back?”

As part of the large amount of reading and research I have done about cancer, I couldn’t help but read about the many ways that food and exercise and environment affect the rate of cancer in any given population. There is a lot of information out there and much of it is confusing. Is red wine good for us or bad for us? Does exercise help prevent cancer or does it not make any difference in cancer rates? Do food additives cause cancer or is it just a completely random run of bad luck?

The American Cancer Society has said that women have a 1 in 3 chance and men have a 1 in 2 chance of developing some kind of cancer in their lifetimes. With statistics like that staring us in the face, my question is what can we do to lower our risk of developing cancer?

My plan is to share some of what I have learned. I will break it down a little at a time and share what I have found and what I am doing to prevent a recurrence. I don’t know if any of it makes a difference, but I feel as if I need to do whatever I can to prevent a recurrence of breast cancer or to prevent some other kind of cancer from developing. Improving my diet and my overall health makes me feel like I am being proactive and taking control whether or not that is true. And it certainly can't hurt.

Posted by Kim at 09:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

My trial practice intensive last week was, as the name implies, intense. The days flew by, but a lot of the time it felt like I was out of town. I didn’t spend much time at home and the time I was there was spent studying and getting ready for the next day. But it was a good way for me to take a class…one week of intense work and family disruption means I don’t have to take it spread out over an entire semester. And it was a great class.

The worst moment came on Monday night. I had been at school all day on Saturday, Sunday and Monday, and Monday was the first day back to school for the kids. On Monday night I went in to say goodnight to Matthew and he informed me that I had forgotten to pack his lunch that morning. I told him that I thought he was buying lunch on Monday, but he reminded me that actually he had planned to take his lunch that day. I asked him what he ate, and he told me that he just had some apple juice because he wasn’t able to get anything else. I felt awful and figured that probably clinched my loss of the Mother of the Year award. And it was only January 7th! Needless to say I made sure I had the whole lunch thing figured out for the rest of the week.

Regular classes started this week and while my schedule this semester is very manageable, the days I have classes are going to be pretty hectic. But no matter how hectic it gets, this semester is going to be very different from last semester. I have thought many times over the past couple of weeks about how appreciative I am to only have to handle classes and my regular daily life for the next few months without having to fit in chemotherapy and sick days.

During my trial practice class we had to wear suits to school every day. By the end of the week I was getting sick of trying to coordinate scarves with suits and of trying to look professional with the additional accessory on my head. I have been tired of wearing something on my head for a long time now, but I have needed to continue to cover my head for the sake of warmth. I wore a scarf to class on Tuesday, as usual, but when I got home that evening I took it off and decided that I am done with scarves. I have enough hair that I no longer look bald (although I don’t really have enough to keep my head warm yet) and I think it is high time to be finished with head coverings. So today, for the first time since I lost my hair, I spent the entire day at school with nothing on my head. Except hair, of course.

I will post pictures soon so you can see for yourself, but my hair is super, super short. To me, it looks more like post-cancer treatment hair than a fashion choice. But despite my interpretation of it, two separate people came up to me at school today and told me that it looked “cute.” I don’t think either of them realized how very, very happy I was to hear them say that or how good and normal and healthy it made me feel. It has been a long time since anyone said that my hair was cute! Another friend told me that she thought it looked like I was hip and cool and had made a conscious decision to wear my hair this way. I feel far from hip and cool these days, but I appreciate the sentiment and hope that I can pull it off while it’s growing out.

Last Friday, Randy and I went to dinner with friends at a restaurant that we all frequent. Our “regular” waitress waited on us and greeted us all warmly when she came to our table. After the initial hellos, she looked at me and said, enthusiastically, “Oh, look at your hair! It looks good! I should do that with mine!” I didn’t explain why my hair was this short, but instead told her that having it this short made it really easy to “do” in the morning. We all laughed about it after she left the table because it is quite funny that people think this is a deliberate hair style.

Now that I’ve completed yet another post about it, I have to say that I can’t believe how much I have written about hair in the past nine months. If you would have told me a year ago that I was going to be this obsessed with hair this year, I would never have believed you. Shoes…maybe. But hair?!

Posted by Kim at 08:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

A couple of weeks ago I received a review copy of another book, The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan. (The first link will take you to the book on Amazon.com, the second link to Corrigan’s website and a gorgeous picture of her and one of her daughters.) The book will be published in just a couple of days on January 8, 2008, and this is one that you might want to pre-order. I will be recommending it enthusiastically to all breast cancer patients who are mothers, to the people who love them, and to all women my age who have a parent dealing with cancer or another illness.

I haven’t mentioned it here before, but my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer at the beginning of last year. He’s doing well now, but the diagnosis gave us all a scare. My cancer diagnosis came just a few short months later and I remember thinking a lot about my roles as a daughter and a mother dealing with cancer…both my own and that of a parent. When the publicist sent me an e-mail describing this book, it sent a little wave of recognition right through me and I couldn’t wait to read it. Kelly Corrigan is the mother of young children and was diagnosed with breast cancer in her late 30s. Shortly after that, her father was diagnosed with cancer. Her book is about her experience in straddling what she calls “the middle place—that sliver of time when childhood and parenthood overlap.”

That introduction does not do the book justice, however. Corrigan is a very talented writer who finds the words to describe in detail what it is like to be a mother with cancer and to be a daughter whose beloved parent has cancer. She describes her own heartbreaking and yet hopeful experience, but she is also describing the emotions of all of us who have lived through one or both of these experiences, and she does it in a way that is humorous and poignant and lyrical and compelling.

I loved reading this book from the very first page. I found myself wanting to call Corrigan and invite her on a coffee date because she knows exactly what I have experienced in the last few months. As I read, I marked pages and underlined passages to come back to because there are moments when it is as if she is in my head, pulling the words right out. At times I felt as if I was in the middle of a Southern Baptist congregation, saying, “Yes! Sing it, sister!” as she struck some particularly perfect chord.

An example of her ability to capture the details of any given moment comes when she describes her inadvertent discovery of a lump in her breast, in many ways very much like my own inadvertent discovery. She was doing something else, just going along in the middle of her normal routine, when her hand brushed against her breast. It is a split second…such a tiny little moment in time and you can hardly wrap your mind around what your hand seems to telling it. Corrigan says, “I touch it once, pressing it lightly with the open palm of my hand, and then, after a flash of shock passes through me, I force my full attention to bathing the girls.” That sentence alone captures so much of what it is to go through this as a mother with children at home. You can’t stop and investigate, and you certainly can’t show your utter fear and terror. You can’t deal with it at that precise moment because you have to finish bath time and get everyone dressed and ready for bed and make sure teeth are brushed and stories are read and then there are children to be tucked in. Your kids need you…you are their mother. You are supposed to be strong and to know what to do and to be able to protect them from the bad things in the world. There is no room and no time for lumps.

Kelly Corrigan has quite a story to tell and she does it so well that I think this book would be a comfort to other mothers going through the same thing. She evokes a mother’s all-encompassing love of her children and how painful and poignant that love can feel when you find out you have cancer. At the same time, she describes how difficult it is to come to terms with a parent’s illness and how you can be a grown-up mom and a little girl all in the very same moment, switching roles almost from one breath to the next.

I give this book two thumbs up and five stars. It would make a wonderful New Year’s gift for a mother who has been diagnosed with cancer, whether that is yourself or someone you know. I wouldn’t limit my recommendation to cancer patients/survivors, though; it is so well-written and deals with so many universal emotions that I think any mother would enjoy it. I hope that we will hear more from Corrigan very soon.

Posted by Kim at 12:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I am reveling in my return to normalcy these days, and thankfully I have lots of things to revel in lately. I enjoyed every taste of wine and champagne and beer and cookies and lasagna and ham and candy and potatoes and garlic and all the other lovely holiday treats that crossed my palate throughout the past couple of weeks. I thought a lot about those days during chemo when I couldn’t taste a thing and I was thankful at every meal that I wasn’t going through treatment during the holidays. I am savoring everything that I love about good food more than ever before and hoping that all this gastronomical love doesn’t appear on my hips and thighs, as well.

Remember the tube of mascara I bought just before Christmas? It’s been opened and used. I have eyelashes that are long enough to put mascara on and they grow a little bit longer every day. I have eyebrows again, albeit thin ones, but the combination of brows and lashes means that I have been using less dramatic eye makeup lately and that feels great and so normal.

The hair on my head is still growing, of course. Not fast enough for me, but fast enough that my family has been amazed every time they have seen it over the past couple of weeks. I no longer need to keep my head covered in the house for warmth, though I still have to wear double layers on my head when I go outside. I might actually have to comb it soon, and I can’t wait.

The hair on my head is not the only hair that is growing, either. All the other hair is coming back. I even shaved my legs the other day. These seem like such small things, I know, but they make me feel like a girl and I’ve missed feeling that way.

Posted by Kim at 12:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

My plan is to spend some time cozying up with my computer today in order to get caught up with some posts that have been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of weeks. These holiday weeks have been a whirlwind of family and friends, visits and parties and lots and lots of cooking and eating, and have forced me to leave any writing by the wayside. Now I have four days of vacation left before school starts so hopefully I will have some time to get my thoughts on paper…or in this case, the screen...before it all starts over again.

I actually had time to write one sentence on December 27th…"I met with the radiation oncologist last week." He assessed my progress physically and we talked about how things were going. His diagnosis is that I am doing well and I am on track to see him again in six months. It felt strange to say goodbye and to know that I wouldn’t be back for such a long time. His office has been one of my favorites. Obviously I’m happy that I don’t have any medical reason to go back, but I will miss the doctor and nurses there nonetheless.

A week later I was scheduled for my post-treatment diagnostic mammogram. I scheduled it for mid-day on December 26th and in hindsight that was the right way to do it. I was so busy in the days leading up to the appointment that I hardly had time to think about it, which was good because I was much more nervous about it than I wanted to admit. I was afraid that it would hurt since my tumor site is still rather tender, but I was also terrified that they would see something else, that maybe there would still be cancer there. The last time I was in that office was right after I found the lump back in April and the news wasn’t good.

The nurse was kind and chatty and told me all about her ovarian cancer scare as she bustled around taking pictures. Her attitude put me into cocktail party conversation mode, so I didn’t have much of an opportunity to think about the last time I was in the same room. And it didn’t hurt any more than a regular mammogram. The worst part was that she had to keep taking some of the images over and over and over again because of the amount and depth of scar tissue in my breast. Apparently it is difficult for them to see what they need to see because of it, and this is something that I will always have to deal with.

Once it was over I left the hospital and put it all out of my mind. I knew there was nothing else to do but wait for the results and I didn’t want to spend my time worrying about what they might be. I didn’t have long to wait, however, because Patty from the oncologist’s office called me a day or two later to let me know that the results were good. There is no cancer indicated on the films. According to all the available technology of the day, I am truly cancer free. And I think that’s a great way to end the first post of a brand new year that I am hoping will bring nothing but clean scans, good health and blue skies.

Posted by Kim at 12:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

With kudos to Anne-Marie for finding it, here is a picture of weekly post-chemo hair regrowth as documented by Karin Stack.

I started to do something similar with my own regrowth, but as you can see from the 4th picture there's not much for the camera to catch yet. I can see it coming back, but you can't unless you're standing right next to me. I promise to document my own regrowth as it becomes visible to more than just me.

I can tell you that it feels like it is taking way. too. long. to come back!

Posted by Kim at 08:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This was my last week of classes this semester. Up next...finals.

On one hand this semester feels like it has been the fastest one yet. On the other hand it feels like it has lasted for a year.

I have begun reviewing some of my notes in order to start my outlines, and I am beginning to realize how much I must have had going on in my head during the last few months. I don’t even remember discussing some of the things I have written down. I’m not sure if that’s chemo brain, or just the fact that I had a lot on my plate throughout the semester. Either way, it looks like I have some ground to make up in the next couple of weeks to prepare for these tests.

I saw the oncologist on Monday and he said that I look “pretty much perfect.” I need to have a mammogram done in the next couple of weeks and then I won’t see him again until February. I’m really happy to get to take a break from medical procedures for a few weeks, but it’s a little bit scary to think of being “on my own.” He warned me that there’s a high probability that the radiologists will see “something” on my mammograms in the near future and that they will recommend a biopsy. He explained that this was mostly because I had the bracytherapy radiation. Since it is a relatively new procedure, my mammograms will look different to them and they will recommend a biopsy to evaluate those differences. He told me not to freak out when that happens. And I’m glad he warned me about it, because I would (will?) freak out.

I am still feeling better and better with each passing day. As a matter of fact, I mostly feel completely normal. And then I catch sight of myself in the mirror and realize that I still look very much like a cancer patient, even if I don’t really feel like one. It’s a strange place to be…looking sick but not feeling or being sick.

I am going to be attending a conference in Milwaukee this weekend and I talked to one of the conference organizers about it earlier in the week. After I hung up the phone, I realized that it may have been one of the first times in the past many months that I have talked to someone who doesn’t know me as a cancer patient. She has absolutely no idea that I don’t have any hair, that I have been through a kajillion medical procedures in the past few months, or that I have spent the past few months identifying myself as a cancer patient to just about everyone I talk to. It felt good not to have that as a part of my identity, even though the gig will be up when I arrive at the conference tomorrow night. What I’ve been through will be pretty obvious when they see the scarf and lack of hair/eyebrows/eyelashes!

Posted by Kim at 05:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I have been out and about more in recent weeks and as a result I have been running into people I know. I have been surprised by the number of people who, upon seeing that I look like I feel good, ask if I am “in remission.” And maybe that is an obvious thing to ask someone who has had cancer and is now better. I have found myself telling those people that I am not in remission exactly, but that I am instead currently cancer free.

The definition of remission is the temporary or permanent disappearance of disease. Complete remission means that there are no signs of the disease present in the body. Partial remission means that although there are some signs or symptoms of the disease, there has been a decrease in cancer cells. Often people think that if someone is in complete remission, they are cured and safe. However, while complete remission can signify that the cancer has been cured, there is always the possibility that it might come back. Based on those definitions, I suppose I would probably be officially labeled as someone whose cancer is in remission.

To me, though, the word remission makes it sound like the cancer is still there somewhere, lurking just behind the scenes and waiting to make a reappearance. I am sure that is why I automatically tell people that I am not in remission, but that I am cancer free. While that may not be technically correct, I am sticking with it because I prefer to think that, after everything that I have been through, there is no cancer left in my body.

Posted by Kim at 02:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

I have another thing to add to the very long list of things I am thankful for this season.

This morning I spoke with the doctor who did my genetic testing and found out that my test results came back as “no mutation identified.” In layperson’s terms, that’s a negative.

My breast cancer could have been caused by a gene. This result does not mean that it was not genetic. But it does mean that it was not caused by a gene that scientists can identify and test for as of today. That’s the best result I could have received.

For me, that means that the odds of me getting breast cancer again are lower than they would be if I carried the BRCA 1 or 2 genes. It means that for now I get to keep my breasts. It means that I really can close the book on this chapter and begin the work of moving on.

And I think I’m even happier about what it means for Karly. And my sister. And my cousins. And my mom. And my potential grandchildren.

Posted by Kim at 01:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

Today marks exactly two weeks from my last chemo treatment. Today would have been a treatment day, but I didn’t have to go back to the green vinyl chair. I didn’t have to get hooked up to an IV and watch the poison slowly drip into my veins. I won’t have to deal with pain and nausea this weekend or a slow recovery next week. There will be no more hair loss or mouth sores or constipation or inability to taste or painkillers or steroids or exhaustion.

It has taken all this time, but I think it is finally starting to sink in that I am done with chemo.

Posted by Kim at 08:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I keep getting a lot of questions about how I’m feeling and I realize that I haven’t talked much about that recently, so I thought I’d better post an update.

I am feeling good…much like myself most of the time (except for a few lingering side-effects such as neuropathy and a lack of hair, among others). I get tired very easily, however, and I have to remember that I am not actually back to “full strength” quite yet. It’s easy to forget that sometimes because I feel better and better each day, so I end up overdoing it if I’m not careful. My hair is growing, although I think calling it “hair” at this point might be stretching it. What hair I have is still very fine and light blond and only about 1/8 of an inch long. It’s still pretty sparse up there…you wouldn’t be able to see it unless you looked very carefully. But there’s more of it everyday and it is getting longer.

I had a doctor’s appointment on Monday for a CBC and all my counts were very low. They didn’t give me Neulasta after my last treatment because they didn’t need my counts to recover before another treatment, so I was on my own. Since the counts were so low on Monday, the doctor ordered a shot of Aranesp which helps to bring the platelet counts back up. That particular shot really hurts going in, so I wasn’t thrilled about it. I have to go back for another blood test next week and then I have a follow-up appointment with my oncologist the week after that.

I went to a yoga class today for the first time since my short-lived attempts at exercise when I first started chemo. I was a bit frustrated because I couldn’t hold the poses very long and I don’t have much strength in my arms or legs. The teacher was very kind, though, and told me afterward that she had modified the whole class just for me. Even without a full range of motion or much strength, it felt really great to move and was very relaxing.

This is all far from over, of course, but I feel like the world is slowly beginning to return to its normal orbit and I feel hopeful that things will soon all fall back into place.

Posted by Kim at 02:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Las Vegas was sunny and warm and as relaxing as we could make it. We spent a lot of time eating and sitting by the pool and a little time walking around. We had a couple of excellent meals, saw Kà (a Cirque de Soleil show) and stayed in two different hotels (that story to follow in another post). Neither Randy nor I are gamblers, so the extent of our gambling consisted of the $15.00 I lost within 3 minutes while sitting at a slot machine in the MGM casino waiting for Randy to pick up our show tickets. My legs held out for the limited walking around that we did, although my feet suffered a bit from the cute shoes I wore to the show and to the scholarship award ceremony.

Before we left, I threw my brunette wig in the suitcase thinking that I might want to wear it instead of a scarf if I dressed up for dinner. And indeed, when I got dressed on Wednesday night I decided that the scarves I had just didn’t work with the outfit I was wearing so I put the wig on. It was great to have hair for an evening, even if the wig itself drove me crazy all night. I spent a lot of the time worried about it slipping backward or forward and was so relieved when I was finally able to take it off that night. It was a strange experience to wear it since I have hardly worn a wig at all since I lost my hair. Apparently I have gotten used to people looking at me because I definitely noticed that they weren’t looking at me that night.

Every time I see this I think it’s a picture of Randy and my sister, Molly.

Randy and some chick he picked up in Vegas.

The award ceremony (or what I thought was going to be an award ceremony) was held at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino on Thursday night. I was told to be there at 7:30 p.m. and that my award would probably be presented around 9:00 p.m. that evening. Not knowing exactly what to expect, I dressed in one of my favorite lawyer uniforms complete with pearls, pumps and pantyhose.

Randy and I arrived at the Hard Rock early, so we snuck into Nobu for some champagne and sushi (which was amazing) and then sauntered over to the designated room around 7:00 p.m. or so. As soon as we got there I recognized Daniel Kovach, the man who runs CollegeScholarships.org, and introduced myself to him. We talked with him for a few minutes and got the run-down about what was going on during the evening.

With Daniel Kovach.

Continue reading "Las Vegas Recap" »

Posted by Kim at 04:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

I heard about Kris Carr’s book and documentary about her battle with a rare, incurable cancer (epithelioid hemangioendothelioma--yeah, I don't know how to pronounce it, either) a couple of months ago. I mentioned her in this post, and have since read her book, seen her movie, and last week I watched her on Oprah. Her story is amazing and fascinating, and she is truly inspirational in many ways. She was diagnosed at a very young age and has spent the last four years fighting for her life. She has explored medical procedures, diets, spirituality, and new age healing in her quest to live. Her message is positive and attractive—take control of cancer, don’t let it control you.

Because she was so young when she was diagnosed, she has had to deal with things that many older cancer patients don’t have to deal with, such as questions about whether she will ever get married or have children. One thing I have learned about dealing with a serious illness is how significant a patient’s age is in how they deal with the diagnosis. Each stage of our lives brings a completely different perspective to such a diagnosis.

I enjoyed Carr’s book and documentary and I think that there is a lot that cancer patients—and indeed, anyone—can get out of her work. Her message is universal in many ways and can be applied to many different situations. I would recommend this book to anyone who is facing a cancer diagnosis or some other serious illness or who knows someone who is. I want to stress that there is a lot I like about Carr, her book, and her website and that I have gotten a lot of great information from her work. The entire time I read the book and watched the documentary, however, I felt like it was directed at someone other than me. Her experience is informed and shaped by her youth in a way that makes it dramatically different from mine in many ways.

Continue reading "Crazy Sexy Cancer...Crazy Sexy Motherhood" »

Posted by Kim at 10:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It seems that the universe decided to give me a break this weekend, although I’m almost afraid to write that in case I jinx it. I seemed to have skipped right over Excruciating Pain this weekend and gone straight to Minor Aches and General Bad-Feeling. But general bad-feeling is so much better than pain. (The fact that the previous sentence makes sense is a good indication of what I’ve been through. It’s all relative.) Instead of feeling sorry for myself and willing the pain to go away, I spent a lot of time yesterday and today thinking about all the things on my list of things to do as soon as I feel better. That is a big change from previous weekends when I just thought about getting through the week and to the next treatment.

Next up: Vegas, baby!

Posted by Kim at 02:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

The contents of my medicine cabinet before cancer:

A sampling of the contents of my medicine cabinet, linen closet and cupboards today:

I'll be having a big "flush the drugs down the toilet" celebration as soon as possible!

Posted by Kim at 08:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

…of the chemo chapter, anyway. It’s not really the very end. I still have lots of doctor’s appointments in the future…check-ups and port flushes and blood tests, etc. But today was the last time that I will ever have to get hooked up to an IV to receive chemotherapy drugs. Hopefully for the rest of my very, very long life. I don’t feel as excited as I thought I might, but I do feel hopeful. I am hopeful that everything I have been through since April has been worth it, hopeful that all the cancer is gone from my body, hopeful that, barring any buses coming out of nowhere, I will make it to my 100th birthday. (And it's not the end of my blogging...I'm just getting