I have a sweet cat, Phoenix, who is a stress case especially when he’s scared or overstimulated. I’ve spent years working with veterinarians to lessen his anxiety, and I’ve got a pretty good routine with him plus some anti-anxiety meds on board, too. But there are just some days that are tougher for him than others.

Recently he was chewing on a plugged-in electrical cord; something he’s done for years - a sign that he’s uneasy. As soon as I notice this behavior, I distract him - a toy, a treat, second breakfast, petting, picking him out to look out a window together, but this time, as soon as I stopped interacting with him, he went right back to chewing on another plugged-in cord. During this latest electrical cord fixation, nothing I did was working, so I decided to head upstairs and lay down on our bed knowing Phoenix would follow - he tends be in close proximity of me most of the time. Right on my heels, he jumped up onto our bed, and as I settled down, so did he.

So as Phoenix and I laid on our bed, I starting wondering if the cord chewing was not so much about him but really more about me. Was he trying to tell me something? Maybe not literally, but I didn’t discount the possibility that he was picking up on my energy level - which on that day was anxious and agitated. And taking a cue from him, I decided to look inward. What was on my mind? What was bothering me?

For a good stretch of time, I’ve been trying to figure out how to manage my thoughts about cancer. Recently I was telling my oncology therapist about my on-going internal struggles with living with this new round of cancer. I described how I keep trying to tamp down my cancer thoughts because I don’t want to think about them “all the time.” But I can’t manage to do that because constantly trying to push down the thoughts means that ultimately I end up thinking about cancer more than I want.

When I finished explaining how I wanted to figure out a way to step away from cancer or not be faced with it “all the time,” she gently told me that she understood my desire to do what I was describing. She also recognized that it is very normal to want to wish that I could go back to life before cancer, to not think about it “all the time.” But in a situation like metastatic cancer or other life-changing diseases or situations, it’s just not possible to go back to life before ______. And then she suggested that instead of putting so much energy into making the thoughts go away, maybe I’d consider acceptance. Huh… Pause…. Process…. Wheels turning…

It’s not like the concept of acceptance is new to me, but I hadn’t thought about it related to cancer. Shouldn’t I fight against it? Wouldn’t acceptance mean giving in and giving up? But as we talked, I started to realize that acceptance might actually provide freedom and rest.

So after that session and then a few weeks of thinking about, trying to write about, and then trying it out, this is what I’ve got so far. Acceptance means knowing that I have cancer, and I cannot change or control that. It just is. As I’ve opened myself to the concept of acceptance, I am surprised by how much lighter I feel. I don’t feel as rushed and frenzied. I don’t feel like I’m wearing a gigantic clock around my neck listening to the loud ticking as it counts down time. Instead coming to terms with what cancer is and what I can do (or not do) about it, is causing me to refocus and prioritize. Energy that was being depleted by worry and anxiety is now channeled into more positive spaces. I like the idea of embracing the preciousness of life and how living makes me feel good. It means encouraging myself to do now rather than later, why not instead of why and today instead of some day.

I think it’s important to mention that because I’m working towards acceptance, I don’t take my diagnosis lightly; I’m not ignoring it. I still live with it everyday, and sometimes there are things that happen that are a bummer, but what seems to be changing is the prominence of anxiety-producing cancer thoughts. I feel more balanced, happier and light-hearted. And that feels really good for me!

I’m not mad - even after varied surgeries to reduce swelling from lymphedema in my right arm meant difficult recoveries leaving me with scars that need to be stretched and smoothed years after the initial surgeries. Even after reconstructive breast surgeries left me feeling less not more attractive. I’m not mad - after learning that my original breast cancer metastasized and showed up in the bone of my left femur/hip. Even after more radiation and more hormone therapy. I’m not mad - even though the targeted drug therapy (Ibrance) drops my white blood cell count and makes me quite tired all the time. I’m not mad - even though Stage IV cancer causes me to think more than I did before about end-of-life, life, living, not living.

I’m well aware that I have every right to be mad. I really know that. But that is simply not the way I’ve ever felt since hearing the life-changing words - “you have cancer,” both in 2007 and in 2021. I’ve tried really hard to will myself to feel mad, get mad, be mad. But I just haven’t been able to do it, to feel it, to be it. I’ve seen others get mad but nope, I can’t and don’t have the desire to get mad. I know that I could say “F-ck Cancer” a million times a day, scream at the top of my lungs, clench my fists and stomp - no one would think I was being irrational or unreasonable. I realize it empowers, feels good, is cathartic for many - it just hasn’t and isn’t a part of my experience. Maybe eventually it will be; maybe it won’t.

I’ve talked about it in therapy, wondered about it and have decided that it’s OK that I haven’t embraced that emotion. And it’s not like I’m in denial about my history related to cancer. My mind is processing, considering and thinking about cancer every day, many times a day. I’m reminded of it every time I see myself in the mirror - scars on my right arm, in my right arm pit, alongside, under and on my breasts, in the crease between my torso and left leg. Lately I’m reminded of it because my left outer hip is usually sore and tight - likely due how radiation affected the tissues around the tumor. I’m reminded at monthly appointments for bloodwork, check-ins with my doctor and prescription pick ups from the specialty pharmacy - because you just can’t get Ibrance from CVS or Walgreens. And PET scans every three to four months certainly remind me about cancer because it’s when I know if the existing tumor is active or if new spots have shown up elsewhere in my body because that’s a real possibility with the kind of cancer I have.

I have feelings, lots of them. Sometimes I’m sad and afraid. Sometimes I’m ambivalent; other times accepting. Sometimes I’m relieved and grateful. Sometimes I’m anxious. But mad just hasn’t been one of them, seriously.

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There are three drugs (Letrozole, Ibrance and Xgeva) that make up this part of my treatment. Letrozole, which I take everyday, is a hormone-suppressing drug, and because I have an estrogen-positve breast cancer that gets fuel to grow from estrogen, Letrozole decreases the estrogen available in my system. I’ve been on drugs like Letrozole in the past - Tamoxifen before menopause, Arimidex after. And because it complements Ibrance, described next, it’s why I take Letrozole.

Ibrance, is what I’d call the cancer drug because it “improves progression-free survival or the amount of time after the start of treatment the cancer does not grow substantially.” Its job was described to me like this - While Ibrance won’t make the tumor disappear, like a brake pedal on a car, it keeps its foot on the tumor so cancer growth won’t accelerate. Ibrance is administered orally in 28-day cycles, a pill a day for 21 days and then seven days of no pills. It is not considered a traditional form of chemotherapy, but is referred to as a targeted treatment/therapy.

The third drug I receive is a once-per-month-or-so injection of Xgeva. The role of this drug is to slow the overactive breakdown of bone due to busy cancer cells. It helps to keep the bone intact and run less of a risk of fracture(s) to the bone.

I mentioned earlier that I’m not doing chemotherapy this time around; instead I’m doing targeted therapy. Targeted therapy and chemotherapy are not exactly the same in the way they treat cancer. Targeted therapy treats specific parts of cancer cells affecting how they grow, divide and spread, and chemotherapy hits both cancer and healthy cells. But… if you put a list of possible side effects of targeted therapy next to possible side effects of chemotherapy, both have their share of side effects that range from mild to serious. In the end, for a person who’s experienced both types of treatment, it’s, in my opinion, a tomato/tomaaato situation.

Here’s a general breakdown of how drug treatment plays out for me. While I will not lose all my hair like I did on chemotherapy, on Ibrance/Letrozole my hair has thinned. I noticed more hair from my head coming off in my hands when I washed or styled my hair for the first few months of treatment, but thanks to a good haircut and long bangs, I’m the only one who really knows that I’ve got noticeably less hair at my temples where hair loss is most obvious. I still have eyelashes and eyebrows, and I’m glad for that - I lost those during chemotherapy. My eyelashes never did grow back to their original thickness and length after chemotherapy, but I have a full set. And it seems like my eyebrows are much less dense, so thank goodness again for bangs! They do the trick here, too, by covering my thinned eyebrows! I’ve also found products for thinning hair, eyelashes and eyebrows that I put on most days, and they seem to work to encourage hair growth.

As for the rest of my body, I don’t care so much about that. Hair has thinned or disappeared altogether - not much hair remains on my arms or trunk, and what hair I have on my legs is patchy at best. But because I can’t see without cheaters and quite frankly I don’t care all that much (or wear my cheaters in the shower), I don’t bother shaving my legs anymore. During both chemotherapy and now, I thought it was a perk of the drugs to speed up shower time by not having to grab for the razor!

Thankfully, on Ibrance, my finger and toenails are intact and continue to grow as normal - they were infected and fell off during chemotherapy. Aside from month one, I haven’t had to deal with nausea - that’s a win. I don’t remember mouth sores while on chemotherapy, but on Ibrance, I’ve had them pop up almost monthly - they’re not major, and I can manage them.

The side effect that is most bothersome is chronic fatigue. In the beginning, I would find myself pretty overwrought because I was so tired - forcing and pushing myself one day (or even one part of the day) and then cratering and crashing later. Coming to terms with this is a real challenge for me, but I’m learning to redefine my days and how I do my life. I’m more willing to let myself dose off when I feel the need. Sometimes that’s a 20-minute nap; other times it’s two, three hours of dead dog, out-for-the-count, loud snoring deep sleep. I’m aware that it’s what I need, and struggling to stay awake is just not a good look on me.

One of the most concerning and closely monitored side effects of Ibrance is low WBC counts (specifically low absolute neutrophil counts). Neutropenia is common and expected when on Ibrance, and it becomes a serious issue for patients because white blood cells are what fight infection, and if WBC counts are low, then a patient is likely to have difficulty fighting an infection, and that can be quite serious.

So as a reference - the normal absolute neutrophil range is between 1.5 and 8.0. I get my monthly blood work done on Day 1 of every 28-day cycle of Ibrance. Keep in mind that Day 1 is the day when my counts are at their highest during the cycle because I’ve just finished a week of being off of Ibrance for seven days after 21 days of being on it - and during those 21 days the counts are gradually decreasing.

The results from the blood draw serve as a guide for my new doctor, Dr. Shah (see informative and important video featuring her on Good Morning America here). Also quick side bar - you might be wondering why I haven’t mentioned Dr. Cristofanilli? He moved to the east coast shortly after he and I reconnected, he found I had a recurrence and created a treatment plan for me. He’s now out east working at Cornell.

Back on track… Dr. Shah (or on alternating appointments, Nisha - her nurse practitioner) takes a look at all the numbers of various things tested, but hones in on the absolute neutrophil count (ANC). That count can drive dosing of Ibrance suggesting it might be necessary to push pause on starting a new cycle for a week so that the count can recover a bit more. And remember the normal range of the absolute neutrophil count? Well my count historically (since being on Ibrance) hovers around 0.9/1.0 - always below the normal range - so it’s no surprise about occasional mouth sores, chronic fatigue and the need to be mindful and protective so as not to get sick.

Xgeva’s side effects are kind of on the back burner - there’s no real issues for me with the drug. There is heightened concern regarding osteonecrosis (breakdown of the jaw bone), so my dental care team take good care to be sure my teeth and jaw remain in good shape. But otherwise, not a big deal with Xgeva.

In the end, are the side effects do-able? The undercurrent of tiredness? Thinning hair? Mouth sores? The blood draws? The injections? I think so. These small but mighty drugs are fighting a battle on my behalf. And knowing this means I can and will adjust to make way for them to do their job.

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The appointment with Dr. Attar in orthopedics was rather uneventful. The bone was still very much intact - showing no sign of fracture, thus no surgical intervention needed. This meant I could get started with treatment of the tumor.

Soon after my appointment with Dr. Attar, I met with radiation oncology. As promised from Coincidences, I Think Not, Cy-Fair folks, this next part of the story may be fun for you…

As appointments go, you start out with a medical assistant. This person collects you from the waiting room, takes you to a room, checks your vitals, confirms your medications - standard stuff. After this person leaves, sometimes a nurse comes in and visits for a bit, gathers more information. At this particular appointment, a resident/intern came in to visit, learn about the me, gather history and so on before my radiation oncologist saw me to meet me and finalize my treatment plan.

Dr. Randall (resident) sat down across from me in the exam room and started chatting with me. He was polite, relaxed, friendly. He was curious to know how I ended up at Northwestern Medicine/Chicago. I told him that I was originally treated for cancer down at MDAnderson in Houston. He said he’d seen that on my records, and shared that he was from the Houston area. I asked where he was from, and at first, he responded like I’d probably not know the area. I told him that not only had I been treated in Houston, but my husband and I had lived in Houston for over 20 years, and I was very familiar with the city and surrounding suburbs.

Turns out he was from Cypress! Cypress, Texas! This cannot be! I started drilling down. I naturally assumed he’d gone to school within Cy-Fair ISD, and I was right! Turns out he graduated from CyWoods!!! And Cy-Fair people, you know what middle school feeds into CyWoods? That’s right! It’s Goodson Middle School! I was practically jumping out of my seat at this point - what are the chances?!

Barely able to contain myself, I asked, “When??? When did you go to Goodson??”

“Let’s see - 2006 to 2009,” he replied

“I canNOT believe this!!! I was your Director of Instruction when you were in middle school!!! I was working at Goodson when you were a student there!!!”

Both of our minds were blown! He recalled a few of his teachers, but I think he was drawing a blank because he, too, was stunned by our shared moment in time. We enjoyed and were amazed by the smallness of our world. I also considered the fact that here I was, asking if this was just a coincidence, and again, I decided, it was not. And now here I was sitting with Dr. James Randall, former Goodson Middle School student, and he along with Dr. Donnelly, my radiation oncologist, walked me through this phase of treatment

Radiation treatment has certainly changed since 2007. When I received radiation in the winter of 2007, I had 30 sessions (five days a week for six weeks). This time around I was scheduled for three treatments; that’s it. I couldn’t help wondering if because I would have 1/10th of the sessions I’d had in 2007, would I be getting 1/10th the radiation. The answer was no. Treatment in 2021 was more targeted and powerful, so very simplified, 3 was essentially the new 30.

Prepping for radiation was a fairly similar experience - a cradle was made for me that meant that each time I laid in it, I would lay in the exact same position. Fine tuning of the way I laid was done with three tattooed dots (as if someone took a blue ballpoint pen and made a little mark) near each hip bone and one in the center of my hips (below my waist). These dots would be reference points for lining up the beams of radiation. This was a big difference from 2007 when I had red, green and blue magic marker lines drawn all over the right side of my torso. This was kind of a challenge and a mess because I had to do my best to not wipe away the lines, and any clothing I wore was smudged red, green and blue. So three tiny tattooed dots were a big and welcome change to the process.

There was nothing to the actual radiation itself - couldn’t feel anything - an added bonus was that I wasn’t pressed between acrylic plates or contorted as I had been in 2007. And this time around, my skin was spared - no severe burning of the skin. It was a very easy, painless and quick part of 2021 cancer treatment.

Radiation was over and done so quickly, so as soon as I started, I was finishing. And as for my path crossing with Dr. Randall? He found me to say “good bye” on my last day of treatment. Turns out we were both finishing up in radiation oncology. I was on to medical oncology next, and he was starting a new rotation in a different department.

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Nothing really to write home about after this procedure. What tissue could be biopsied showed no signs of cancer (a relief), but just to be safe, going forward I would be monitored with regular CT scans. Between August of 2020 and August 2021, I had CT scans every three to four months, and each time results indicated stability - hilar lymph node remained the same size and the nodules waxed and waned in size and number.

In June of 2021, Nat and I moved from Houston to Chicago, and at some point shortly after arriving, I decided I should secure a local general practitioner at Northwestern Medicine (NW) due to proximity to where we live, a former Houston neighbor’s daughter happily practices at NM, and as a medical institution, it has a solid reputation. Nothing major to report from this August 6th appointment with my new doctor other than getting a tetanus shot in my left arm. A week later, I headed down to Houston for a recheck CT scan of my lungs. Assuming results would be same old, same old, I wasn’t feeling anxious, so when they did come in a few days later, I was a bit taken aback. Lymph nodes in my left arm pit were enlarged, and a biopsy of those nodes was recommended. Booooo!!!

How could this be? Was there a chance that the tetanus shot I had gotten a week before the CT scan might have caused the lymph nodes to be enlarged? Had cancer really come back? I wasn’t enthusiastic about hopping back on a plane, returning to MDAnderson and finding out - best case - that the lymph nodes were negative for cancer. I also considered - worst case - if the nodes were cancerous, I’d be shuttling back and forth between Chicago and Houston for on-going care. Also not a great scenario. So I decided to look to Northwestern Medicine for the recommended biopsy of the lymph nodes.

My first step in transferring healthcare up north was reaching out to a nurse navigator in the breast oncology department. While waiting to connect with her, I started looking around Northwestern Medicine’s website. Insert Elaine from Jerry Seinfeld yelling her iconic, “Get Out!" because when I pulled up the list of breast oncologists, I couldn’t believe my eyes!

There he was! Sitting there looking back at me! It was a picture of Dr. Cristofanilli, my former oncologist from MDAnderson who treated me back in 2007-08!!! How could this be? Destiny? Fate? Didn’t matter because there he was! I explained to Lynn, the nurse navigator, who he was to me, how I had lost track of him after he’d left MDAnderson in 2008, and how amazing it was that he was right in front of me on my computer screen! Lynn joined in my excitement and quickly secured an appointment for me with Dr. Cristofanilli. Almost 15 years had passed, and for someone who faced stage 3C cancer that many years ago, it’s a noteworthy number of years. It was even more meaningful to be alive and vibrant at that September 13th appointment as I waited for the man who was on the team of practitioners who saved my life back in 2007.

When Dr. Cristofanilli walked in the door of my exam room, he was as I’d remembered - kind, thoughtful, forward-thinking. After a few minutes of pleasantries, he got down to business. His approach to the next steps in figuring out the cause of the enlarged lymph nodes was deliberate and thorough. I am guessing that Dr. Cristofanilli suspected that cancer had recurred given that one of the spots it can show up is in the lymph nodes - and here I was with enlarged lymph nodes. I was scheduled for a PET scan (covering skull to thighs) the next week, and a mammogram, ultrasound and MRI a couple days after that.

The PET scan happened on a Monday, and early morning the Wednesday after, I was waiting to be called back for the first of that day’s appointments. As I was sitting by myself near a window overlooking downtown Chicago, an alert from the patient portal, MyChart, popped up on my phone screen. I knew right away that it was the results from the PET scan, so I logged in to my account and started reading.

Taking in the findings from top to bottom, the results unfolded like this. First paragraph (basically head area) - nothing - OK, fine; second paragraph (chest area) - hilar lymph node still stable and lymph nodes in left arm pit showed no cancerous activity - actually stating they were likely enlarged due to vaccine - OK, great; third paragraph (pelvis area) - nothing noted; fourth paragraph, and here’s when my heart sank… “a hypermetabolic lytic lesion in the left greater trochanter of the femur.” And a little further on, “suspicious for osseous metastasis…” It looked likely that cancer had settled into my upper left thigh bone.

It’s weird what you remember in moments like this. I remember how quiet I was; my breathing was steady. I remember texting Nat and saying that I thought I was in trouble. I talked on the phone. I remember sitting in the windowsill of the waiting area tucked away from where people periodically walked so I could quickly organize my thoughts. I reminded myself that nothing was definitive. I knew that there’d have to be more tests done to confirm - I’ve been down this road before. And on that day, the goal was to figure out what was going on with the lymph nodes. So one thing at a time…

The mammogram with ultrasound took a bit of time because I had more images taken than a normal yearly appointment - but not a big deal as far as appointments are concerned. The same was true for the ultrasound. In fact, I remember a doctor stopping in to see how things were going. She felt sure the lymph nodes in my arm pit were enlarged because of the tetanus shot I’d had before the CT scan. She also commented that now they needed to figure out what was going on in my thigh bone. Later that day I had an MRI - also not a big deal, except for the noise - the machine is loud!!

The lymph node biopsy the following week was a different story. I’m sure that past memories and the PET scan results collided during this procedure because I remember thinking that I couldn’t believe I was going through this again. Granted - it was difficult to get a core needle to a lymph node, and when it was finally reached, despite numbing medicine, the biopsy was sharp and biting. Tears fell from my eyes, and the team around me noticed it. They apologized for discomfort and reassured me that they were almost done, but what they didn’t know was it wasn’t just about the physical pain I was feeling. I was sad for a lot more than that. I was sad because I’d ever gotten cancer in the first place. I was sad because I didn’t want to hurt again, I didn’t want to be medicated again, I didn’t want to be a regular at the hospital again. I didn’t want to be thrust back to doing cancer again.

At the end of all the appointments Dr. Cristofanilli had ordered, the lymph node biopsy, PET scan, ultrasound and mammogram confirmed that there was no cancer in the lymph nodes or chest area - which is good news. But because the PET scan also lit up my upper left thigh bone, I ended up having to have a bone biopsy in November of 2021, and that, along with a liquid biopsy (blood work that showed tumor cells floating around) confirmed that my original 2007 breast cancer had metastasized to the bone. And this was/is not good news.

While I’m less than thrilled that I have metastatic breast cancer, I still marvel at how things unfolded for me from July to November of 2021 from choosing a GP based within Northwestern Medicine, to deciding to cancel my appointment in Houston and have the CT scan in Chicago, to pulling up NM’s breast oncology website and discovering Dr. Cristofanilli. I believe that things happened just as they were intended. Coincidences? I don’t think so.

A final note - as I moved into the next phase of care, there’s one more (little non-coincidence) moment that happened during the initial treatment of my tumor that I’ll save for another post. Cy-Fair friends - this will be a extra special for you!!!

Lisa

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By the time I stopped posting Carepages health updates back in 2010, I was consciously trying to think less about cancer. I really took to heart the nugget a chemotherapy nurse said back in 2007, paraphrasing - “Cancer doesn’t make up all of you; it’s only a part of your story. You’re so much more that this disease.” So I’ve tried to step away from cancer as much as I’ve been able over the years, but the truth is, at times, it’s challenging.

When sifting through my calendar and looking over my health records, I see that a lot of my time and energy has been devoted to cancer-related surgeries (hysterectomy, breast reconstructions, lymph channel bypass, lymph node transfer), serious infections (three hospitalizations for cellulitis in my right arm - the arm with chronic lymphedema), procedures (biopsies, bronchoscopy, ultrasounds, x-rays, CT scans, MRIs, PET scans), scares (uterine bleeding, nodules on lungs, enlarged lymph nodes), therapies (physical therapy, lymphatic drainage, acupuncture, massage, Reiki, yoga) and so on.

Despite this checkered health history, I’ve been determined to figure out how I was going to move forward, balance my ebbing and flowing energy, nurture my creativity, and stay engaged in life. Some of the highlights include traveling in and out of the country; organizing for friends, family and eventually clients; witnessing Ethan (my stepson) grow into a beautiful, happy and thriving adult (he’s pursuing a degree in education - and I believe he’s found his true passion). I’ve spent precious time with family and friends. We majorly renovated our Houston home twice (once because we wanted to, and another time because Hurricane Harvey caused us to). I fell head over heels in love with quilting (posts and pictures to come). I remain a doting guardian to between three and five cats - four at the present moment. We sold our Houston home during the pandemic and moved to Chicago and dove right into renovating our home here. I’m glad that I’ve put down in words a bit of what I’ve been up to - it’s good to be reminded that much of my time and energy has, indeed, been devoted to non-cancer related stuff. It feels quite satisfying.

Along the way, I’ve thought a lot about my original Carepages, and what I wanted to do with them. I eventually decided to post them on this platform (they’re backdated if you’d like to read them - the beginning is April 5, 2007). They are there as a record of a difficult time in my life. As hard as it was to push through that time, I was uplifted and remained so because of my family and friends - you’ll see evidence of that in their comments - one of the many ways I felt supported. To this day, I am grateful.

I’m not sure if I’m back to posting now because I want to pick up with the next part of my story, to share my quilts, pictures of my cats, rally the troops or simply stay in touch. Whatever the reason, because my heath is what kicked off my Carepages posts 15 years ago, I’ll make that my next post.

Lisa

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It’s been a year since I last posted to my Carepages – which is a good sign. I’m well into my third year of being cancer-free and am gearing up to walk in my fourth consecutive Houston Komen Race for the Cure!!!

Over this past year, I’ve learned that even after treatment concludes, learning to live beyond it can be challenging.

In my case, I know that a recurrence is always a possibility. In December of 2009 the quarterly blood test I was getting showed a more than normal level in breast-cancer specific antigens. X-rays and a PET scan followed, and before I knew it, I got a phone call from oncology telling me that a spot was found on my right lung. Luckily, it was determined that no malignancy was present, and from here on out, the not-so-reliable blood test is something I will no longer endure.

I know that I am also at an increased risk of developing uterine/endometrial cancer because I’m taking Tamoxifen (which I take to prevent a breast cancer recurrence). Between last August and this past March, I’ve had three uterine biopsies due to irregular spotting – a possible sign that cancer is present. Luckily, there's no cancer, and because I’m still young, it appears that my body is instead trying to “right” itself and shift back to a pre- menopausal state.

Additionally, I realize that the emotional post-cancer landscape is sprinkled with hills and valleys. To fully recuperate and recover from all that I had been through, I decided – with tremendous personal and professional support – to resign this past December from my job.

As much as I tried, I could not shake constant fatigue – which I believe was due to the fact that I was carrying unclaimed baggage from my experience with cancer. While I was quite transparent and forthcoming during the peak times of my diagnosis and treatment, I realize now that I was more detached from what I was going through than I thought. I believe that because I was thrust so quickly into the midst of cancer, I did what was needed to get through it – I was in survival mode. Clearly, there were times in the first year when I was surprised or scared or overwhelmed, but those moments were just that – brief blips on the radar that were overshadowed by the need to get through the cancer-treatment itinerary.

Over the last several months, I’ve been working hard at figuring out ALL my feelings about having had cancer and about what it all means to me. As I lay in savasana pose (which ironically translates to corpse or death pose) in yoga classes, I’ve dissolved into tears. I later learned that it’s entirely possible that my body is working through emotions that have been harbored in my body.

Before falling asleep one night a few months ago, suddenly I was saying to myself, “Holy S#@t, my body’s been through a lot!!!” It was as if at that very moment, I finally really “got” that surgery, chemo, radiation, etc. had wreaked havoc on my body.

More often than not, I find myself in conflict. I am irritated that for the rest of my life I will have to be mindful of my right arm so as not to cause unnecessary (and unwanted) swelling due to lymphedema (from lymph node dissection). In the same breath though, I consider the alternative and then count my lucky stars.

I feel sad that Nat and I were thrust into dealing with a catastrophic illness so early in our marriage. On the other hand, Nat and I know each other in ways I could not have predicted. We quickly attained a level of trust that is treasured.

Sometimes I find myself in “pusher” mode – pulled up by the bootstraps, dusted off and reminded that I can do anything, “Heck, I survived cancer!” Other times my nurturer steps forward and comforts me – especially when I feel grief-stricken, sad or uncomfortable.

I know that there’s more to surviving cancer than getting through the initial treatment and recovery. It’s about creating a new “normal,” putting the whole experience into perspective and taking time to heal.

I wish I could be convinced that I will never have a cancer do-over, but until a cure for this disease is found, I know there’s always a possibility.

Your continued support means a great deal to me. Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Lisa you are a special woman. L. B.

I am thanking God that you remain cancer free! Since your bout with cancer, I was diagnosed with breast lymphoma...went through chemo and radiation...lost my hair and all that "fun" stuff. :-) I, too, found out that I did not REALLY deal with the cancer until later. I am thrilled to remain cancer free however....nearly two years! Am happy to see that you are doing the Komen Race for the Cure. I did the cancer walk in Wisconsin Rapids for years before my actual diagnosis, but now it has even more meaning for me! God Bless...J. H.

How wonderful to hear from you! I am so glad to hear that you remain cancer free - God really does hear and answer our prayers! Continue to take care of yourself. Life is a journey and the way to go forward is one step at a time. Continued love and prayers are coming your way! Love ya! M.

I think of you so often, Lisa...especially during my time up north this summer in Iowa and Michigan :) Love ya, M.

Great recap of the year. You are so amazing... and you write SO well.. xxxxxx plr

You are a wonderful, open, brave lady. I read every word you wrote, and found it so thoughtful, gracious, honest. Well, I like that you are getting on with the task of living with *and* living past. I am glad you're practicing yoga, and glad to hear from you. Let me know when next you are in AA -- a coffee or a lunch or a something. Meantime, walk happy this 4th time around... you've earned it and then some. Love, m.

Hi there Dear Girl: It is so nice to hear from you. Glad to hear you are doing the Komen again. I am glad you feel that great. I am glad for your update. You are and have been in my prayers and I will continue to keep you there and any word from you will be so welcome. > This weekend they have a big Komen race in Wausau. I am sure it will make a big difference. You do such good work!!!! Take care of yourself and hope to see you sometime soon!!! Lots of Love and Prayers!!! A.S. (and U.JR too!!!)

I would like to taking writing classes from you! Thank you for you for letting us into your life in such a beautiful way. It is great to hear you are cancer free! A year after I had a baby pass away, I too broke down in a yoga class. What a humbling experience to say the least. It is so strange how our bodies store the grief that we cannot handle. Please also send our love to Nat and E. Love, S., J., L., M. and K.

I love my sister!!!

You are special. Dad

You are an amazing woman, Lisa. During this recuperative stage of learning about yourself, do consider writing a book regarding these experiences - in fact several books broken up in these various phases. They would not only help you heal, but definitely would allow other people going through similar stages to understand that they are not alone. Love you, D.

Lisa you are a brave and wonderful role model for cancer survivors and their families, thanks so much for you honest comments with love from M. and T.(cancer survivor)

Beautifully done ----- beautiful you!!! Mom

How I admire your wisdom and spirit. It's so good to know you are doing well, even with the continuing challenges of fatigue and coming to grips with what you have gone through with this illness. We are so happy to support you in your walk for the cure. Sending love, j. and k.

Hi Lisa. I am in tears reading this journal entry. You have summed up everything I've been feeling over the past couple of months with my breast cancer. I wish you continued health and happiness and most of all STRENGTH. Hopefully my final treatment will be January 2011 when I complete my Herceptin. My follow-up mammo from all of this is 12/1 the same day I was diagnosed last year. If all is ok, I am getting on the phone to plan our trip to Disney World that we had to cancel last year. Hugs to you and take care. S. G.

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Kelly and I walked this past Saturday’s 2008 Komen Houston Race for the Cure. What a difference a year has made for me.

Last year at this time, I was in the midst of breast cancer treatment. By October 2007’s Race for the Cure, I was well into chemotherapy (round three of FEC to be exact). I received treatment the Friday night before the Race and was lucky enough to side effect free on the morning of Race Day. With the amazing support of Team Millenbah and all of you, I walked and finished the 5K.

A year’s passed, and the 2008 Race for the Cure came under a different set of circumstances. The Tuesday before Race Day, I went in for another three-month visit at MD Anderson. My early morning appointment included an ultrasound of the right breast, the area where lymph nodes were removed, right side of my neck and the area between the breasts. ALL CLEAR!!! Afterwards, I had my blood drawn and analyzed. By 2:00 that afternoon, I was smiling with Nat and Dr. Cristofanilli after hearing that my blood work came back ALL CLEAR!!!

Kelly flew into town on Friday evening to walk with me on race day. Saturday morning we were up and out of the house by 6:30 and down to the event by 7:15. I’m glad we arrived early enough to watch the crowd build. By 8:50, Kelly and I started off among some 30,000 other participants. Even given that this past Saturday welcomed the largest turn out ever for a Houston Race for the Cure, I could not help but notice that the overall tone of the event was rather quiet (at least that was my impression). Of course there were many who smiled, laughed and celebrated, but there seemed to be an undercurrent of seriousness.

Could it be that the race against breast cancer has not yet been won? Could it be because there were survivors, like me, who were happy, grateful and relieved to BE at the race, and we were quietly thanking whoever needed to be thanked for our good health? Could it be that there were some determined to walk the event even though they were still in treatment and they were using whatever energy they had to make it to the finish line? Or could it be that others were quietly reflecting as they participated in memory of a mother, sister or wife?

I walked down the Survivor’s Lane at the finish line glad to be strong, healthy and alive. I am proud of my accomplishments - for finishing Saturday’s Race for the Cure and making my way through the rigors of breast cancer and its treatment.

Lots of love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

I'm proud of you girl. I know the race you have run over the past months has been the most important in your life so far. YOU ARE A SURVIVOR!!! I always knew you had a lot of spunk. Well done! Always know even though I haven't seen you for quite some time, you are so very present in my prayers. Love always, M. H.

Hurray! What a difference a year makes! Too bad that Nat couldn't celebrate with you and was home with a case of the awful awfuls! Congratulations, love to you both Prue and Ami

I am so proud of you! You are an inspiration to so many :)

Lisa, thanks for being such an inspiration. You Go Girl!

Your message made me cry.....with joy.... for your blessings!!

You need to write a book as you are an inspiration to all. Great news! D. T.

Dearest Lisa I am so thrilled for you and your family. You look beautiful and I'm assuming feel as good as you look. Wait until another year goes by and you feel even better than now. You put up with hell to get here. Bravo to you, your family & friends and your doctors. Love, E.

Dear Lisa, Kelly and All: So happy to hear from you again. We are so happy that all is going so well for you and this year you could do the race with a much lighter heart. Keep up the great attitude and we hope there are many, many more years of participation for you. Take care and it was so nice to see you this past Summer--you looked wonderful---hope to run into you again soon----Holidays are coming!! Our love and prayers to you!! A. S.

Your voice rings so clearly through your writing, and your joy and reflective questions bring tears to my eyes too. You have to write a book!

Dear Lisa I just wanted you to know I have followed your journals all through your illness and I cannot express how you touched me with your courage, strength and wisdom. Your faith in yourself and the medical staff was amazing. Your experience with cancer was a lesson in life. No one will be able to stand in your way ever because you are an amazing strong, gracious lady. You allowed us the chance to share your pain and showed us how to stand up in the mist of adversity . I am glad I finally took the time to write to express my feeling. May God's blessings continue to flow upon you. K. B.

We're proud of you too!!!!! Much Love, P. W.

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At the end of May, I had my LAST Zometa infusion, so today I went down to M.D. Anderson for another milestone visit; I got my port-a-cath removed!!!

I chose to be fully conscious for my port removal given that the procedure would be relatively quick and uncomplicated. I asked if I could watch the surgery, but my request was denied. Fortunately the physician’s assistant who did my procedure was good about talking me through everything she was doing.

Knowing that I’d be getting a few shots of Lidocaine prior to port removal and being very tired of needle sticks, I pre-empted the pain of the Lidocaine shots with a slathering of Emla (Lidocaine) cream. I’m glad I numbed my skin beforehand because I barely felt the shots. Once all the numbing was done, the spot where the port was initially placed was opened with a scalpel. A cauterizing wand was used to further open the area while it stopped blood vessels from leaking. Every so often, I’d get a whiff of burning skin/flesh, or I’d feel a twinge of pain or heat, but the smell quickly dissipated and pain was attended to with additional Lidocaine shots.

Within a few minutes after being opened up, I felt a tug and the catheter was pulled out of my vein. Pressure was applied to the area for a few minutes to stop any bleeding. After the catheter (a five inch long, thin, white tube) was out, the sutures that held the port in place were snipped. More tugging, more pressure, and in no time I gave birth to a thumb-sized port! Lastly a number of stitches closed me up, steri-strips were applied, and finally a pressure bandage was placed over the surgical site.

Thinking back on the day, I walked into today’s appointment only mildly excited. After all, my port was never a real intrusion in my day-to-day activities, so I didn’t think I would miss or notice the port being gone. I was, however, far more emotional than I expected after my port was taken out. It dawned on me that today really marked the end of a long, hard road.

I’ve encountered a life-threatening disease, marched into the thick of it and come out the other side alive and healthy. My life now is certainly more precious to me than before cancer. Of course I think about the possibility of recurrence from time to time, but I’ve already decided that I would, in a heartbeat, go through everything (surgery, chemo, radiation) again, given how life feels after cancer.

Throughout these last 15 or so months, I’ve thought a lot about what cancer means to me. It’s definitely scared me, saddened me and inconvenienced me. More than anything though I’ve reaped many, many gifts as a result of my cancer experience. My life is richer, fuller and happier. I’ve found that I’m a lot tougher than I ever imagined. I’ve learned greater patience with myself, and this once I-can-do-it-all-myself person has learned to receive help from others.

I knew from the beginning it was important for me to put my thoughts and experiences down in writing as a way to process what I was going through. It was also important for me to be talk, laugh and cry about having breast cancer. As a result, new relationships have formed and existing relationships have deepened. My life has been touched, encouraged and enriched by all of you. Notes, phone calls and hugs helped me remember that I was not alone through this experience. Thank you for being a part of my journey!

Lots of love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Wonderful Lisa: I am so happy for you. You have such a wonderful outlook. Know you will get to see your folks soon. Have a wonderful visit. Hope I get to see you when you come here. Take care and God Bless. Love, A.J.

Congratulations! Hey Lisa! Way to go! It made my morning to read your last update on getting your port removed :) I'm very happy for you - you are a real trooper.

Maybe we'll see each other in October. B. has been on me about signing us up for the next Race for the Cure in Houston since his sister got to do it:) God bless you, E. <><

What a Trip!
It certainly has been a long and winding road to this point in your life and I am so happy that you have shared the trip with all of us ! Love and hugs and happy dances -D.

Long journey Lisa You have travelled this long, 15-month road with such courage, dignity and grace! We have all learned from you. Thank you for being so open about your experiences and thoughts. Your postings have been a gift to all of us privileged to share them.
Love to you and Nat,
j. (Ann Arbor)

You are strong Lisa, We haven't met yet but I hope we will someday. In the event that cancer touches my life, I will remember your journey and the positive way you traveled it. It is so good to hear that you have grown happier and enjoy life even more now. Congratulations - J.

WONDERFUL NEWS!!! DEAR LISA AND FAMILY: HURRAH, HURRAH FOR THE GREAT NEWS!!! I AM THANKING THE GOOD LORD FOR ALL YOUR BLESSINGS AND WE ARE ALL SO VERY HAPPY TO HEAR THIS NEWS. THINGS ARE LOOKING SO WONDERFUL AND WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS UPDATE FOR A LONG TIME. KNOW THAT YOU WILL BE KEPT IN OUR PRAYERS AND WE THINK OF YOU OFTEN. HOPE TO RUN INTO YOU AROUND OUR NECK OF THE WOODS SOMEDAY SOON!!! TAKE CARE AND ENJOY YOUR WONDERFUL LIFE!!!! LOTS OF LOVE AND PRAYERS, S., J., M. AND D., TOO!!!!

Yeah! I am glad to hear that you are done with everything. It's always good to hear from you. Take care and stay in touch a well! Love ya, L.

Thank-you! Bravo Lisa! Thanks you for the effort of journaling your experience and sharing it with us. Our lives are richer for it. Many of us will draw on your experience when we need it. You are one courageous lady. I love your "look it straight in the eye" approach and your honesty. Thank you. Blessings. B. K.

You are a gift! I was out of town for a few days getting some R&R, and I kept thinking that I needed to call you when I got back. How delighted I was to see a posting from you! I have a lump in my throat from reading it! You are such a special person. You have moved me from your first posting to this posting, and every one in between. While I was out of town, I was thinking about how it was a little over a year ago that you, Kelly and I went to Round Top. I finally deleted those pictures out of my camera about 2 weeks ago. Every time I turned my camera on and used it, I always had a reminder of the strongest woman I know! Hugs to you and the family! M.

Go Girl Hey Lisa, it just seems like yesterday that this journey began. I am so happy for you and all that you have done. My aunt was recently diagnosed with breast cancer so I will be doing the walk again for both of you. I have told her about you several times. We are going to the beach next week for a reunion so I will have my laptop and find some free WiFi and let her read your logs. I still think you have the right to play your BC card and use your "Cancer Sucks" motto anytime. Don't worry, I will be up at GMS for some good laughs before school starts next Aug. Take care.

Bravo! Bravo, Lisa!!! And you have enriched our lives throughout. Thank you and stay well. Love, J.

Here is to you! And congratulations on another milestone. Your attitude throughout has been remarkable, your insights enlightening. I am so happy this is behind you, your port removal being the last step. Onward! love, K. N.

Dear Lisa Bravo and Hurrah! The port being removed is a tremendous step and your courage has been enlightening. I'm so proud of you and how you've endured and handled this darn cancer throughout the entire period. It is time for you to celebrate and enjoy your life, family and your future. May you have some time off from work and just enjoy. Love you, D.

You go girl! So glad to hear the good news. Your determination has paid off. With affection, B. and N.

Congratulations! I know getting that port out is a HUGE milestone! You are an inspiration to me.

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More good news!!! Last week Wednesday, I went in for my first mammogram since just about this time last year. After many, many slides taken of each breast, results came back and showed NO suspicious masses or calcifications. ALL CLEAR!

Shortly after my mammogram appointment, I met with Dr. Meric (my surgical oncologist) for a one-year follow up. She was happy with my recovery. I asked about my range of motion in my right arm. She had me raise my arm above my head, out to the side and stretched back as far as I could. Then she said, “Unless you’re planning on pursuing a career where you’ll need to flap your arms, I don’t think you need to be worried about your range of motion.” Seriously though, she recognized that my range of motion was excellent given the extent of the surgery I had undergone. She also let me know that I would probably always have slightly less range of motion in my right arm than my left.

After meeting with Dr. Meric, I met with my nutritionist, Danielle. I have been very frustrated with the amount of weight I’ve gained over the past year, so that was a big topic of conversation. I walked her through a typical day of food intake, explained that I was having a very difficult time exercising because by the end of the day, I’m pretty wiped out and shared that I had developed a sweet tooth like I’d never had before.

I didn’t need any new tools or diets from Danielle, but I hoped that she might be able to offer some insight into my body’s reaction to cancer treatment – surgery, chemotherapy drugs, radiation, Tamoxifen. Danielle validated my feelings of frustration with my change in weight and mentioned that she had worked with lots of other breast cancer patients who struggled with weight gain (it’s typical for breast cancer patients), craved sweets (probably the body looking for an energy boost due to fatigue) and experienced more pronounced fatigue. She encouraged a slow and steady approach and confirmed that I was headed in the right direction - I am tracking what I eat and am looking at ways to incorporate gentle exercise into my schedule.

The next day, I went in for a three-month follow up with Dr. Terrefe (my radiation oncologist). Dr. Terrefe was pleased with the results of my mammogram, the condition of my skin and my range of motion. She, too, was very satisfied with my recovery so far.

Tonight I finished up my 5th Zometa infusion, and won’t have to make my way back down to MDAnderson until the end of May – for my 6th and final Zometa treatment.

All in all, things are moving in the right direction for me, and that makes me very happy.

Lots of love to all – Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Great News Lisa!!! Kathy and I are both so pleased with your latest checkup. I talked to your dad last week and he said that you were heading over to Michigan to participate in a 5-K with Kelly. We are so happy for you and the progress that you have made. You are one tough cookie!! P. & K. M.

Two words...Red Meat!!!! That's what you need more of!!!! Just kidding! I'm so excited for you! Sounds like you guys are due for a big celebration! One year down and another hundred to go! Hugs!!!!

Woo hoo! Lisa I am so glad! I think of you and Nat often. It must be so nice to return to some sort of normalcy in your life (...although I'm not sure how normal you two ever were :) I hope to see you both soon. Love, G.

Way to Go! You're an amazing woman who has handled a really difficult situation with an incredible amount of dignity and grace. I am so proud to know you and call you my friend!

Great News! I am so glad to hear the update, I was thinking about you just yesterday. I am very happy that you are doing so well. Love, L.

Wonderful! Great news! Happy to read of your continued progress. Here's to a delightful, stress free summer. All my best, B.

One and counting! I am pleased to hear of your successful anniversary!!! And as far as the weight gain at least you have an excuse...ha! ha! Seriously, I hope you are doing well. I think of you often and wish the best for you and your family!

Hooray Dear Lise: So happy to hear the news about your progress. Think of you often. Saw the pictures from the race in Lansing and thought everyone looked great. Keep up the good work. Love, A. J.

Go Lisa!
G. and I are so happy that you're feeling better.

Hello I am so glad that you are doing better. You’re better and your BEST days are coming as well. S.

Wonderful news. Lisa, So glad to hear the good news and the "All Clear" declaration. What a journey this has been--and what an inspiration you have been to all of us who have followed along with you. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feeling along the way. With hugs from one of your Ann Arbor fan club, j. l.

What great news! What wonderful news. Doesn't get much better than that! You are a walking inspiration to all who come in contact with you. Knowing you has made me a better person. Congratulations on your fight! Love, M. and C.

Wonderful news, Lisa!!!! Dear Lisa and Family, I was so pleased to get the message you had an update and such super news too. You have been and will be on my "List" and we will keep you there for a long time. Keep up the good work and hope to hear from you again soon....LOTS OF LOVE AND PRAYERS, S., J., M. and D.----PS. try not to get too skinny!!! You have to have a little cushion, you know!!

Way to Go!! Lisa, the L./H. cousins are so thrilled for you that you have come out of this annus horribilis so well. We hope we will see you at Jon's wedding to forge new memories and move ahead and give you huge hugs of love. B. and L. H.

Great News! You are doing all the right things, Lisa. Exercise, proper eating, consulting with professionals. . . No wonder you had a clean scan! This is such terrific news. . . Hugs to you, C.

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I have news from my first three-month visit with my medical oncologist!!! The blood tests done yesterday indicate there is no cancer activity going on in my body. As best as I understand, these tests show the level of certain proteins (a.k.a tumor markers) in the blood. When there is an active tumor in the body, the tumor marker level elevates above normal; whereas a decreased tumor marker level indicates no cancer activity is likely. Since last August, my tumor markers have been steadily decreasing – which means today’s visit was a RELIEF!!!

So, I’ll continue a daily dose of Tamoxifen (an estrogen blocker) for the next five years and have only three more Zometa infusions. There should be no more interventions – other than Tamoxifen - unless my next three-month visit indicates an upward trend with my tumor markers.

I’m glad today’s appointment was positive. This means that I can continue on my present course of recapturing myself. My body has been through Hell, and I’m determined to feel like me again. I’m thrilled that I have the energy to make my way to the gym on a regular basis. With each step I take on the treadmill, I imagine I am that much farther away from cancer. And as a result, I feel stronger, steadier and more in control.

All in all, I feel pretty content.

Love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Happy Dance!!! Girl!!!!! I'm doing the happy dance right now in your honor. Since you can't see it, I'll send a few happy marks your way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hugs!!!!

Good to hear the news!!!! I'm lovin' it for ya!!! So happy to hear you are on the road to recovery!! lots of smiles:) love you, M.

walking You keep walking away from it child; just keep going in the direction you want. Happy for the news and joyful that you are beginning to feel yourself. T. joins me in sending our love. L.

Exercise is the best medicine! Speaking as someone who has exercised for 33 years, I am a firm believer in its many benefits. Good for you. . . for walking away from cancer. . . and understanding and taking advantage of the benefits of exercise on the body *and* the mind. Your news is the best, Lisa! C. (friend of Prue's)

Wonderful Lisa: I am so happy for you . You made my day . Not too often I hear good news. Keep up the good work. GOD BLESS. Hi Nat. Love, A. J.

Great news Thank you for keeping us updated on your progress. This is indeed very good news. Love to you three. M. & E.

Super news! What fantastic news! I know you are relieved and ready to embrace the rest of your life! I will continue prayers and well wishes, thank you God!

Such good news! What a relief for you, and congratulations! So glad to hear of your clean check-up and returning strength. Love & best wishes from (Nat's cousin) L. in Boston

Lisa Outstanding news! D. T.

Great news I look forward to seeing you in the gym and getting in the zone.

We Celebrate with You What wonderful news! Thanks for the Carepages update. We celebrate with you and are so happy to know that you are on the way to feeling well again! Love, A. A. and U. J.

Congratulations! What GREAT news! We are so happy for you and your family! Love S., J., L., K. and M. T. P.S. We hope to see you at Target again soon!

Hurrah Congratulations. What a great belated birthday gift this message is for Nat! We admire your spirit.

Lisa, Glad to get to you again!!!! Dear Lisa and All, I am so sorry I have not been in contact with you for such a long time....then my computer got sick and I finally got it back with new things to learn. Before this thing got infected, I could not log onto your Carepages for the life of me. It just would not let me in, even with all the correct information. I was getting very frustrated. Emailed Carepages, asking for my log-in data and I was doing it right, but still no entry. I got a new up-date message on my email and Lo and Behold.....here I am again....FINALLY. I had to go back to Oct. to catch up on all your updates....so sorry about all you've had to endure. Even if I didn't get a card off to you, I was still saying the "big ones" for you and all your family. You will be a permanent one on my "list" and I am so pleased that things are looking up for you. Keep plugging along and pretty soon you will be whizzing along, just like your old self. Hope you will be able to travel and maybe pay us a visit sometime....??? Would love to see you!!! Know you will always be in my prayers and we WILL keep that old cancer at bay. Take care of yourself!! Lots of Love and Prayers, A. S. and U. J., too!!

WooHoo I am so glad to hear that everything is good and you are feeling great! It's an awesome feeling to feel like you again. I hope it keeps getting even better. Love, L.

Woohoo! Glad to hear you are at the end of the tunnel and can see the light! Keep up the good work.

SUCH GREAT NEWS!!!!! So happy about this wonderful news. This latest update truly brightens the life of a dispirited New Yorker, otherwise morose and disgusted by the behavior of our now former state leader. Please keep writing to all of us, as your clarity, intelligence, wit, and bravery have resonated so powerfully in our lives. You have become important to our family as a symbol of strength and pride. Our deep respect and best wishes extends to Nat, who also has been a marvel of love and strength, and your many pals who have defined loving and caring friendship.

Great news Lisa !! It’s been a tough year but it’s all behind you now. Have a good spring and summer and enjoy it. You deserve it !! T. & S.

YEAH!!! Lisa (& Nat), Glad to hear you are getting good results. My love to you both and Ethan! Love, E. H.

Congratulations Lisa You have been through a lot during the last year. I am so glad that things are coming around for you and your family. I know how difficult this has been. I have had 3 friends in similar situations along with a brother. Say hi to your mom, dad, and Kelly when you see them. You have been in our thoughts and prayers since we first ran into your mom and dad and found out about your diagnosis. You have always been a special person to our family. Stay well. Love P. M.

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Before I close my eyes for the night, I wanted to post a quick note to let you know how I was feeling after that very rough day last Thursday. I finally warmed up, ended up sleeping pretty well, and by the following morning, I no longer ached all over. I even managed a full day at work on Friday.

I had no other issues with Zometa side effects over the weekend, and because my next infusion isn’t until mid-February, I’m looking forward to a break from cancer.

One thing I know I’ll look forward to doing during this “time off” is calling the woman who does my eyebrows. I remember one of the women I spoke to waiting for radiation one afternoon said that one day I’d look in the mirror and BAM! I’d have eyebrows again. And sure enough just over this weekend a whole bunch of dark eyebrow hair has sprouted! Go figure.

I’m not quite to the point where I can return to my hairdressers (although I’m hoping it will be only a matter of weeks), but I now have enough hair on my head that I’ve stopped wearing hats and scarves.

And because of this recent hair growth, I’m finally getting to the point where I like looking in the mirror because I can actually see my reflection coming back into focus. It was hard during chemo, even when I squinted really hard, to recognize myself without eyebrows, eyelashes or hair on the top of my head.

Simply said - I'm happy to see signs that my body is recuperating, regenerating and reviving!

Love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Wonderful news Wonderful news that your hair is growing again - a sign of the end of one process and the start of another one as your strength grows.

Lisa You look wonderful today! So sorry that you are having to experience all of this other terrible side-effects, and cannot imagine anyone showing the strength and fortitude that you have shown, and am SO glad that you are improving daily. What a thrill to actually. We are constantly rooting for you and keeping you in our prayers. D.

Whoopee!! So happy to hear things are so much better for you. You deserve some free time from all you have gone through. Think of you often. Take care and enjoy. A. J.

Spring Lisa, I have marveled at your ability to write these wonderfully insightful notes during this illness. Spring is just around the corner and you have definitely turned the corner in this illness. Spring brings rebirth and optimism and I wish all of these things for you and your family. Thank you for sharing yourself with all of us. We are all thinking healthy and happy thoughts for you. J.

Yippee Skippee!!! You have eyebrows! I'm soooooo excited! I'm also glad you warmed up! I don't suppose you want to take a trip to Alaska anytime soon? I'm also glad that you will have a 3 day weekend to celebrate all of the positive things going on! The following is for you. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Have a happy!!!!!! M.

Wonderful news! We were so happy to read this last update and know that you are feeling so much better and that your eyebrows and hair are reappearing! Love, A. A. and U. J.

Yay! Just a quick Yay! from California. I am glad you are starting to feel like yourself again and recognize yourself. I am really happy for you and still cheering for you from the West. -K.

Hi from Ann Arbor I had a good walk with Ami today at the rec center, and he told me of your progress and how well you are doing. That pleases me so much. Prue and Ami were wonderfully kind to me when I had Ovarian Cancer stage IV. Prue and friends even prepared Pesach for my family. I told Prue how much I enjoyed the photos of the marathon. Good luck to you. B. and M. L.

Hey Lisa I just wanted to stop in and say hey! It's good to see that your body is responding well to the treatment - hope you're plucking your uni-brow by now (If you had one to begin with of course : ))

We're doing a heck of a lot of work to get those doctors at the MD Anderson center some new equipment and research funding. Thus far we've raised over $165,000 - just this year! I just wanted to send my thoughts your way and let you know that you're an inspiration in my life.

So keep your chin up, you're almost there. D. E.
The Texas 4000 Team '08.

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As you know, I finished up my final radiation treatment last Thursday. Thank you for all the cheers of support! I admit that I wrapped things up in radiation oncology with mixed emotions. I was glad that my skin was going to get a much-needed rest, and I was looking forward to a break from the daily drives to the medical center. On the other hand, I was also guarded. I had a feeling that I wasn’t “done” yet. Unfortunately, my feelings were confirmed the following Tuesday during my medical oncology appointment.

What I expected to hear when I met with Dr. Cristofanilli was that I would begin a five-year regime of a daily, oral estrogen blocker called Tamoxifen. Although not totally thrilled to be tied to a drug for the next five years, I knew that my life wouldn’t be all too interrupted with this particular treatment.

What I wasn’t prepared to hear was a recommendation that for the next six months, in addition to Tamoxifen, I receive a once monthly infusion (like chemo was delivered) of a drug called Zometa.

Dr. Cristofanilli explained in the following way: Because I was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, there is a chance that cancerous cells migrated to my bone marrow. I was confused; I thought the bone marrow aspiration that I had before chemo ruled out micrometastasis to the bone. I learned that this is true, but there still is a good chance that because cancer spread into my lymph nodes, inactive cancer cells made their way elsewhere (probably to the bone marrow as that can be one of the first places cancer shows up after a diagnosis of breast cancer).

I couldn’t help but wonder about chemotherapy. I thought that was a system-wide treatment. Although also correct, apparently Taxol and FEC only wipe out the active cancer cells not the dormant ones. This is where the bisphosphonate, Zometa, comes in. The hope is that it will stomp out any lingering dormant cancer cells.

So yesterday afternoon, I found myself on the 8th floor of the Mays Clinic, again, getting my first of six, 15 minute infusions of Zometa. The good news is that my hair and nails will continue to grow, but there are possible side effects with Zometa including: flu-like symptoms, aching bones and joints, nausea and so on, much like the symptoms I had from the Neulasta shot I got during FEC.

I really thought I might sneak by without experiencing any of the side effects, especially because during treatment, last night and early this morning, I felt nothing. It wasn’t until I was about halfway to work today when I took a deep breath and felt pain in my ribs. By the time I peeled myself out of my car and was heading into school, I was walking more slowly than usual, and by mid-morning, I was turning out the light to my office and heading home. Chills and increased bone pain in my ribs and hips were nagging at me. Plus, I was exhausted.

When I got home I crawled into bed and luckily fell sound asleep for a couple of hours. After waking up this afternoon, I still struggled with aches and chills, so I cranked up the heat in the house, threw on extra clothes, took a couple Tylenol and covered up on the couch. Clearly, I had not escaped the side effects of Zometa. Additionally my I-am-not-out-of-the-woods-yet feeling was confirmed with the administration and very uncomfortable side effects of Zometa.

Here I am tonight; it's a little over 24 hours since I had my infusion, and I’m in bed laying under two wool blankets, a down comforter and two blankets still trying to warm up and get comfortable. My head is covered with a wool hat, and I’m wearing socks, leggings and two shirts. I’m hoping to fall asleep within moments of posting this note. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow morning, but I have wishes of waking in the morning pain-free and warm.

I’d like for my body to get a break – at least until my next Zometa treatment.

Love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Hang in there Lady! You've already proven you can do just about anything. Six months isn't insurmountable. I want to compliment you on the way you have taken this journey with dignity and grace!

Good Morning! You're always in my prayers! I admire your strength and positive attitude. Hang in there. Love you tons!

Hang in there Dear Lisa: We feel your pain and as always, salute your eloquent if brutal honesty. I can tell that for me and many of your readers, your words evoke waves of loving and healing thoughts being sent your way and I hope you feel and derive some comfort from them. This new treatment does NOT reflect new and bad news that something in your condition has changed--rather, the shock is due to a new level of understanding of what as been all along, apparently. While this distinction does not lessen the disappointment at putting off the timeframe to feeling better or take away from the immense discomfort, at least it is not due to any actual and ominous findings. Hang in there......

Bummer You continue in the D's prayers and positive thoughts. We admire your courage. Here is hoping for the best. You deserve it. B. and N.

Keep Warm Your message of trying to keep warm reminded me of the many warm thoughts and prayers that are coming to you right now at this very moment - I hope that you can feel a corporate anointing coming down on you from the top of your hairy head to the bottom of your stockinged feet. Know that we at Goodson are standing in the gap with you as you continue to fight the good fight with grace and valor. YOU ARE REMARKABLE!!

You can do it! You can do anything you set your mind to...I am a believer of that! Just look at the grade book issues...they were saying that there isn't a problem...you persisted...and now it looks like they fixed it when they came out yesterday!!!! YEAH!!! :)

My thoughts and prayers are with you... Know that P. and I are praying for and thinking of you...You probably have no idea the impression you made on me the first day I walked into Goodson to move my stuff (my gabiliion lamps) to my room. I was getting ready to sign out and a parent came in looking to speak to someone. I looked around the office and poked my head into your office and you were SO nice! You were obviously busy, but took the time to talk to me, to ask about me, where I came from, etc. That made a huge impression on me and I have the utmost respect for you as a co-worker and person. Hang in there---hope to see you before too long! :) Hugs, W. :)

A minor setback I'm sorry that you have to endure yet another treatment and one that you didn't expect. It’s amazing how we know our bodies and that instinct is worth cultivating; it will also tell you when you are successful in dealing with this disease. That is the good part.

Given a choice I suppose that I would rather be cold than hot. One can always add layers and you seem to have done that. But its not fun and it doesn't sound cozy. I hope that you awoke comfortable and rested with a normal body temperature. Hold on to the fact that your hair and nails will continue to grow. We send you the warmest of hugs and hope that the cats snuggled under the covers with you. There is nothing quite like body heat.

Goodson Grizzles Lisa We miss your smiling face. I can't imagine what you’re going through, but every time I see you around school, you always have a big smile. That really brightens up the day. You are continuously in my prayers and thoughts. --S. W.

Another prayer Lisa May God protect you and heal you. Come back to us soon :) M.

thoughts and prayers You are an incredible person and a wonderful coworker. You are in my thoughts and prayers. n. b.

Thinking of you This morning when I was driving to school, you popped into my head and the voice inside me told me to say a prayer for you. So I did. I know that it was God speaking to me because when I got the message yesterday about you going home and then reading your CarePages this morning, He knew that you needed lifting up. I know that you are tired, disappointed and discouraged. It is like that when we just want a trial OVER that we have been going through for awhile. Trials are our test. He watches over us every step of the way and He never gives us more than we can handle. You have done so well with all that you have been given to deal with and you someday will be a testimony to someone who will go through your exact situation. You can not be that if you do not get totally healed and that is what this treatment appears to be for. I have always heard that cancer generally moves about to places that we would not even expect. We get treated for the initial place of origin and it is way more important to get rid of it in the places that we do not know of because we want it gone; completely. Cancer is meant to break the body, not the spirit and you keep yours up. Your perseverance is going to be more important during this treatment than any other. And you will continue to have many of us here right along with you helping you and lifting you up to help you get over this hurdle so that you can once again embrace life to its fullest. Take care and know that I am praying to Him on your behalf:)

moved I am profoundly moved by your courage and acceptance of things as they are today. I will remember this and hope that by the time you read my note you feel warm and cozy. From B. K., a long time friend of Prue's

Thinking of you I found myself holding my breath as I read your posting. I recently heard someone say that change doesn't happen until a person feels uncomfortable. Can I say ENOUGH! for you!!!! You have cornered the market on that saying!!! I know the saying is referring to a person's emotional state, and you are right there with it all. I hope that you are resting and feeling better as I write this. million hugs! M.

Rest and recoup! You must have felt better to brave the Curriculum Council meeting. I didn't get a chance to talk to you, but I loved the new fuzz. I am praying that this new monthly treatment's side effects will not linger. I am always amazed at your resilience. I am believing that you are killing the cancer and healing your body. As always, I hope and pray for the best for you.

Thinking of you I'm so sorry you have to be made sick again in order to be well. I'm sure it is very hard. Our prayers, love and concern are with you. O. L.

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SHE DID IT!!!! CONGRATULATIONS LISA!!!!! You crossed the finish line!! YAHOOOOOOOO!!!!

Lisa has finished her last radiation treatment, crossed the last of 3 big hurdles and made her way to the finish line! It’s been a long run with highs and lows along the way but you did it!!

Thanks to everyone on Lisa’s support team for all of the encouragement, it’s meant so much to her family to be able to share in your support of Lisa. Take some time today and have a little celebration. I know I will.

Love you lots, Lisa. HUG HUG HUG Kelly

-MESSAGES-

Congratulations Happy New Year! Congratulations on completing radiation. What a fine job you have done marching along through this bad dream. Thank you for the inspiring writing. With love, B. and M.

Congratulations Way to go, Lisa! 2008 is going to be a great new year for you! Happy, Happy New Year! B.

Have a cup of joy Congrats on finishing up the radiation and the hurdles of the last nine months. Take a few minutes to sit and savor a cup of joy for this accomplishment. I am hoping 2008 is much calmer and peaceful for you. S.

Happy New Year You were on my mind throughout the holiday break, and I'm so happy for you that radiation is over. You are an inspiration to us all, and I'm praying that 2008 will be a healing and happy year for you, Nat and Ethan. Sending love,
V. L.

You go Girl! I think of you often and pray for you regularly. Happy new year to you and yours because 2008 is going to be incredible for you. You have fought the battles and won the war. Although my mother only met you once, she asks about you frequently and also lifts you up in prayer. Isn't it nice to know so many people care about you? As a wise woman (PH) always says, "Know you are loved." C.

Well Done! Mazel Tov! Glad to hear it's over. Just in time for a new and better year. Congrats, JR

Good job Congratulations: So happy it is over. Wishing you a happy, healthy 2008. Had a great time at your folks Christmas day. Take care. Love, A. J.

Hooray! Hooray, Lisa! Congratulations! Happy New Year!

Thought about you today The holidays have thrown off my days. Everyday I would wake up and ask myself, "Now which day is the 3rd?" I was so excited when I could wake up today and know that it was the 3rd. The good doctor thinks that you and Nat should get away again to recoup from all of the medical procedures!!!! a million hugs for my sunburned friend!!!! M.

Great News !! Way to go Lisa ! A perfect start for the New Year. S. and T. D.

We loved the photos Hi Lisa, We enjoyed the photographs of your running and in fact the wonderful family support running with you, too. We think that all of Prue's & Ami's exercises paid off. We know that you are doing well and hope that you are quickly completely back to yourself. Thanks for sharing the photos. Warmly, B. & M. L.

SCARF FREE! I loved seeing you in your office withOUT your headwear! Your hair looks great. I'm so glad to see you getting back to looking like you and feeling like you!

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I’m fried – both physically and emotionally. The area between my breasts, underneath my right breast (right where an under wire sits) and my right armpit is pretty much burned to a crisp. I vacillate between the intense desire to scratch like mad (which would only make matters worse) and pressing a cool hand on the “hot” spots. My skin, in the radiated areas, is thin and worn out so much so that in these last days of treatment, my radiation therapists have avoided pulling off adhesive tape that covers critical ink markings on my skin for fear of taking some of my skin along with the tape.

Thankfully, my last five days of treatment are just “boosts,” so my most damaged skin is no longer getting radiated. The “boost” (an electron beam) I receive for days 26 – 30 is delivered just to the tumor bed.

Prior to the start of this last phase of treatment, I had an appointment so that a new cradle could be made for me because instead of laying on my back as I did for the first 25 treatments, my last five require me to lay on my left side, right arm lifted and resting over my head. The cradle provides support so that I remain still. Additionally, during treatment a clear plastic paddle is pressed down on the right side of my breast/ribcage so that the tumor bed area is as flattened out as possible.

For the five or so minutes I’m in “boost” treatment, I sort of feel like I do when I go in for a mammogram – lots of pressure bearing down on a specific spot. My radiation therapists know this is uncomfortable and work as quickly as possible to position me and administer treatment, all the while talking to me in quiet voices and checking to be sure that I can “tolerate” the pressure of the plastic paddle as they push down until they’re satisfied with the treatment field.

What makes these last few treatments tolerable is knowing they only last a total of five minutes (a few minutes to position me and about 20 seconds of radiation); I’m only days away from being completely finished with radiation, and my most damaged areas of skin are exempt from getting “boosted;” therefore I can slather on Aquaphor to my heart’s and skin’s content!

I’m relieved that my final days of radiation have occurred while I’ve been on winter break. Throughout treatment I’ve been going to work and assumed that my increased fatigue was a result of balancing the final days of a very busy semester and daily treks to the medical center. When vacation got underway, however, instead of feeling more and more rested and refreshed, just the opposite seems to have happened. I’m more tired and worn out than I ever expected.

I suspect that the distance that I’ve traveled over the last nine months is catching up to me. My body has gone from surgery to chemotherapy and radiation at what feels like is well over a reasonable speed limit, and my brain is hung up at a rest stop way back somewhere around, “Ms. Millenbah, the biopsy results show evidence of cancerous cells.”

I’m really looking forward to mid-morning this coming Thursday when I walk away from my last radiation treatment. I will begin what I hope will be a much-needed break for my body and a chance for my head to finally catch up!

Lots of love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

The finish line Lisa- the finish line is in sight. Best wishes for a happy, healthy and peaceful 2008 to you, Nat and Ethan. C. S.

You're almost there. We're thinking of you as the new year approaches. You've been through so much in 2007. Here comes a better year. You need time to catch up with yourself and make sense out of this difficult experience. We hope you'll give yourself that time. Descriptions of the burns leave me speechless. You've got great fortitude. Please take care in ALL ways this coming month. Love to you and Nat and Ethan, E. and N.

Almost over I love reading the details of how it all works! I feel extra special, having been in to see the really huge room and the huge machine and the incredibly thick door that you walk in and out of.. It's really the 21st century...

You've been so strong and brave and funny and thoughtful through the whole horrible ordeal...... You are a role model for the rest who feel that it's not "if" but when it's going to be our turn.. much love, Prue and Ami

Only a few days to go!! You don't know me, Lisa, but I've posted a couple times before. I am a friend of Prue's. I think you so perfectly explained how your treatment has gone forward without your emotional self keeping up. Physically I would think radiation alone would be exhausting, but the emotional part is now catching up with your physical self. So be good to yourself. Rest -- and when you are up to it, maybe get a massage and a facial -- which can be great for your psyche as well as your body. Anyway, I am excited to know you are closing in on final days for treatment. Wonderful! C. S.

You are the real deal! I'm so glad that I knew you before cancer, but how blessed I've been to be able to know you during and after cancer!!!! You are the real deal!!!! You've been transparent with your village and because of that, we've laughed, cried and celebrated with you!!! It takes courage to lay all of your "body parts" out there for the world to know. When I was coming home from our time together the other night, I felt a wave of panic come over me. The closest thing I can compare it to is that feeling you had when chemo was almost over. I was feeling your journey to the core at that moment. I realized the security that chemo and radiation has offered. After all, when you are going to the "radiation resort" for your daily dose of sunburn how can those pesky cancer cells survive! The good news is that you have great doctors, a great family, and you've done your research. If you were a 12 stepper then I'd say you worked your program!!!!! a million hugs! M.

Person of the Year Lisa - you continue to give us all the most amazing insights into your process and progress. Your candor and wit are unparalleled in any one I have ever know before. This is especially amazing as I really only know you from these messages I get to share with other family and friends. Thank you for being Person of the Year as far as I am concerned. Happy 2008 and continued progress. Love from the NYC fan club.

Thinking of you I'm always amazed that you find the will to write what you go through! I guess it's what keeps you going..I'm not sure I could do it.(besides, my spelling/grammar is awful!) I'm looking forward to you being done with all of this & getting back to the important stuff...like going to Target, Starbucks, & walking girlfriend days.... Much love, M.

New Year I know that 2007 was a blur of pain and disappointment. I'm thankful to know you're almost done with all your treatments. I know that 2008 will be a welcome break for you. Happy New Year to you and your family. I'm sure all those thoughts and prayers have been moving you in the right direction.

New Year Here is to a New Year and a New You!!! Still thinking about you and wishing you well. Love, L.

walking away Well if anyone deserves to walk away tall it is you. Glad that the burned area is getting a rest and hope that you too will be able to experience some relaxation and an opportunity to build up your strength. Yes, it’s been hell and your poor body is saying, "what did I do?". Of course it is nothing that it or you did and both your mind and body deserve some respite. New Year 2008 is nearly here and we wish you and your wonderful and devoted family and faithful friends better health and peace of mind. We love you, L. and T.

Throw the razor away! One positive about radiation...now you don't have to shave your right armpit. Woohoo! Happy New Year, my friend. I am thrilled that this part of the journey is almost over and you will be able to relax and nurture yourself. The radiation sounds like a harrowing experience, and once again, I am so proud of you.
Remember, when you're ready, Santa Barbara is just a few hours away. You are welcome any time. I love you, C.

Here's to a new and different year, 2008
Lisa, I'm so glad to hear you are ending this horrible trek you have been on and which you have chronicled so thoughtfully for friends and family. As a school leader, I thought I'd let you know that today while I sat at our district office receiving donations from community members for their year end tax credit donations, the other three district employees and I shared how exhausted we had been before the holidays began and how we crashed and have done little but sleep since the chaos of Christmas on top of the semester came and went. And you, dear lady, have more reason to be exhausted than we three. Love to you and Nat and best wishes for a great 2008. See you at Jon's big weekend in LA in May. Is there a poem hiding here??

Lisa You are one tough cookie and I am FULL of respect for you and what you have accomplished this last year!

Thinking of you Thank you for sharing so much of this cancer experience with all of us. Your courage and strength is a special gift and we continue to learn from you. We trust that 2008 will be good to you, Nat and Ethan. With love j. and c. s.

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Six weeks have passed from the time when I last touched base, and since then, I’m steadily regaining my footing. Side effects from chemo are almost behind me – my digestive tract is in much better shape; nausea is a thing of the past, and my hair and fingernails are growing out. All in all, my body feels more like my own and less at the mercy of those wretched chemotherapy drugs!

With little time for a reprieve, however, I was thrust into my next leg of cancer treatment: radiation therapy. To my surprise, gearing up for radiation was almost more anxiety producing than grinding through surgery and chemotherapy.

I was relieved to know that I wasn’t the only person who felt this way. In my first couple of days in the women’s waiting room of radiation oncology, I overheard another woman expressing her anxiety about radiation. She mentioned that she wasn’t as nervous about chemo or surgery as she was about radiation. And to further give credibility to my feelings, it was only during radiation therapy that I was asked to be a part of a research study on the effects of radiation on stress levels.

Maybe the heightened sense of stress comes from knowing I wouldn’t feel radiation; I wouldn’t see it, smell it or taste it. I have a number of intersecting red and blue permanent magic marker lines drawn on the right side of my chest with strict instructions to keep those lines intact as best as possible (translation – no soap, lotion, scrubbing, etc. on this section of my body for six weeks).

Stress could also be associated with the sort of sci-fi ambiance of the treatment room. Upon first entering the room, I can’t help but get the chills. The temperature hovers in the 60’s because the big machine that delivers the radiation needs to stay cool. There’s a lone metal table underneath an arm that extends from the machine and green laser lights criss-cross the room from the ceiling and walls. Once positioned in a “cradle” made just for me, I am reminded to remain still while my radiation therapists exit the room and close the six-inch metal door behind them. I am reassured, however, that if I need anything, I can be seen and heard by a camera and intercom that hangs from the ceiling. Instead of talking to my therapists on the “other side,” I choose to listen to the jam box sitting on the counter nearby that is either emitting tunes from the disco era or those that ring in the holiday season.

After every couple of buzzes (I get nine “buzzes” at each visit), my therapists return to my side to change the position of the machine because a number of sites are “zapped” with either electron beams (to the lymph nodes between my breasts & the nodes on the right side of my neck) or photon beams (to the tumor bed). The entire session lasts between 15 (just radiation) and 30 minutes (every fifth treatment day I also have a series of x-rays taken).

Initially, the stress I felt came about, I think, because of the newness and intangibility of the treatment, but now that I’m more than half way through, the treatment has become routine and slightly tedious. I make my way down to MDAnderson every Monday – Friday (with the exception of Thanksgiving, Christmas Day and New Year’s Day). Time, as a result, is moving very quickly, and I oftentimes struggle to keep up. Given this pace, I have a good deal of energy for about eight to ten hours, but when early evening hits, I’m lucky to be coherent. My days seem to fall through my fingers, and I am often left feeling like I have accomplished less than I would have liked.

I am encouraged, though, because January 3rd, 2008 (my last day of radiation) is right around the corner. Soon this part of my cancer journey will be behind me, and I will be focused on what the new year will have in store for me.

Love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

missed you Sorry this was so stressful and I think most of us can understand the fear of radiation if not your particular reason for it. Think getting x-rayed while at the dentist who aims right between your eyes or on on your forehead. I always think that I will feel the rays penetrating but of course I don't. Still and all it gives me the willies.

January is so close and I speak for all of us who wish you a better New Year than what has past. I hope that in some way, when this is over, that you will continue to keep a journal if only for yourself because you express yourself so well and we feel honored to have had the inside scoop. One is often at a loss in communicating with someone who is ill and you have walked us through it step by step and made it easy and open. Sometimes I feel that we are just about sitting on your lap sharing your discomfort, pain and hope. I, for one, would have gladly given you my hair although I'm not sure that you are ready for silver just yet. T. and I send you much love and fond hopes for the New Year. You are in our thoughts and your courage ennobles those close to you. You will reign! L.

Glad you are slogging through successfully and patiently Lisa, you don't know me but I am a friend of your mother-in-law, Prue. She told me about your page, and your cancer a couple of months ago. So I've been following your pages and reading them each time there is an update. You are on my prayer list and I see you've made major steps forward in terms of dealing with this ordeal. Good for you! God bless you. . . I know you are doing better all the time. I can tell by your posts. So Go Girl!!!!!
Hugs, A Stranger that cares, C.

Here is to January 3 N. and I were delighted to hear that treatment is mostly done and life is normalizing. You have been very courageous. Love to Nat and Ethan.

January 3rd will have new meaning for all of us Dear Lisa--So glad to find the update this morning as we have been thinking about you and Nat. So glad that you are on the mend from chemo and almost done with the radiation. We pray for a happy and healthy New Year for you, Nat and Ethan. Love, A. A. and U. J.

YIPPEE! Thanks for the update. We've been waiting....

Even though I work with Lisa and see her everyday, I appreciate her insight in her writing. She's looking great and handling her situation as gracefully as a person could.

GOTTA LOVE THE LISA!

Almost there You're almost there. That is so wonderful. I also know how it can feel that though almost there, there is still a lot left. Know that you will be in our prayers and we're all cheering for you.

Gosh, it is so good to hear from you! Believe it or not, I have been thinking about you a lot lately. But alas, I am lazy by nature and failed to act on contacting you. It is very exciting to think that you will be finishing this part of your cancer journey soon. Hopefully you showed those bastard cells who's boss, and they will know better than bother you again! You continue inspire and amaze me. I am so fortunate that you are in my life!

Think of the upside! With that many radiation treatments, you are pretty much guaranteed to develop some kind of superpower! To make sure, you might want to sneak a spider or something else cool in with you next time.

I hope you, Nat and E. all have a great time over the holidays. G.

Best wishes for many healthy New Year's to come! I told Prue that we missed hearing from you so I was delighted to receive your latest news. We hope that January will fly by and that after your last radiation treatment you will be able to look forward to many wonderful, healthy and productive years--and come back to Ann Arbor to see us! Love to Nat, too. S. C.

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I would have thought that after my last round of chemotherapy I’d be on easy street. This, however, has not been the case. Nausea and fatigue from my last round lingered longer than all my previous chemos. Typically, I’d snap back to “normal” by the Wednesday after treatment, but by Friday I was still feeling sluggish. I also noticed that my mouth was dry, saliva was thick and my tongue was swollen and felt as if it had been sandpapered. Added to this, I mentioned at my last oncology visit that I felt like I might have developed (close your eyes if you’ve got a weak stomach) hemorrhoids. It was suggested that I try Preparation H and see if that might take care of the “problem.”

Well, it’s been a little over a week since my oncology appointment, and the “problem” got so bad today that I drove myself to the emergency room at M.D. Anderson. I figured that my system was going to continue working whether I was in excruciating pain or not, and because my symptoms were worsening by the WC visit, I needed help.

I arrived at the ER at 3:15ish; I checked in. I was called back to speak with the triage nurse. The nurse reassured me that I made the right decision to come down to the hospital, so that made me feel better. Shortly after giving my information, the phlebotomist called for blood work. After two attempts on my small and weakened veins, she managed to get the blood needed for testing. I admit, that by the second stab, I was in tears – frustrated because of the toll cancer and treatment has wreaked on my body.

On my way back to the waiting room, I got a warm blanket and settled into a book. It was a good thing that I wasn’t close to finishing my book because it wasn’t until 8:30 p.m. that I was called back to a room.

When I got into my room, I explained to my nurse my pains and concerns about my gastrointestinal tract. I wondered if this last round of chemo “did me in.” She didn’t disagree. She told me that my white blood counts were down to 0.6 (normal range is between 4.0 and 11.0), so there was reason to look more closely at what was going on with me. She also mentioned that because I was just about a week out from chemo that is was no surprise that my white blood count was low – it was probably at its lowest point before making a comeback to normal.

Next, Dr. H. came in fully expecting to find an (close your eyes again) external hemorrhoid, but instead did not. After careful consideration, he concluded it must be an (close your eyes) anal fissure. Yikes! Apparently, there is a tear inside my body, at the end of my digestive tract that is causing the extraordinary discomfort.

Dr. H. also told me that I was leukopenic (very low white blood cells), so he needed to be sure I didn’t have the beginnings of any infections in my system. This meant more blood needed to be drawn; I needed an antibiotic IV and a chest x-ray (to rule out any beginnings of pneumonia).

My nurse came back in and tried to search for a usable vein. After searching, she ended up using the same vein the phlebotomist used earlier – Ouch and no blood return. As she was talking to me, she mentioned that it would be nice if I had a port. “I have a port!!!! Can you use that to draw blood and do the IV??” The answer was, “yes.” Unfortunately, I didn’t have the port prepped with Lidocaine cream, and she missed the port pad by a hair, so I could feel the needle and the backside of the port. The good news is that my nurse called in back up, and the second try was a success.

By midnight, Dr. H. had stopped by with prescriptions and told me as soon as my IV was done, I could go home. It’s late, but I’m glad I wrote about today. It helped me wind down. I hope that from here on out I will be on the mend; it’s time for chemo drama to be done.

Lots of love to everyone, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Hang in there! Good Morning Friend! What an awful day/night you had! I'm very thankful that you went to the ER. As you rest today, don't forget about how much we (I'm speaking for your village) love and support you! A million hugs! M.

good deal Glad to hear you finished your last round of chemo! I get that you’re not quite as excited as you thought you might be but it's certainly a huge milestone nonetheless!!! Hang in there! J. S.

sending love and hugs! Dear Lisa, that last message was not at all what we hoped to hear and do hope you are feeling lots better now. Just got off the phone with M. and he said "make sure you greet Lisa for me and tell her I am rooting for her" Said I would and we are all hoping you are soon back to normal again. Take care of yourself!! Lots of Love and Prayers, A. S., U. J., M. and D., too

What a rough night! Sounds like you had quite a night. I hope the book was good because it doesn't sound like much else was! It is my hope that what you went through was the worst of it, and only better things are to come your way. Find comfort in knowing so many of us are thinking and praying for you daily. I wish I could carry some of your pain. Love, C.

Hi Lisa I wish I could say that I was sending you warm wishes from California but Santa Barbara is going through an early autumn (you may laugh but autumn last year did not hit until December). I wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you and keeping you in my prayers. I especially thought of you fighting cancer last week because I looked like a fighter myself. Somehow and I am still a little unsure how I pulled this off, I managed to get a black eye from running. It was definitely not an injury I expected. I didn't run into anything, I fell and I am okay and very thankful it wasn't worse, but I did look a lot like Rocky last week. All I needed were some boxing gloves. Good luck in this final stretch. Like a marathon, I imagine it will be difficult but also like a marathon, think of all you have accomplished and all the people who have been cheering for you on the sidelines.
Best wishes,
K. "Rocky" D.

Hey Lisa Wow, what a night. I'm sorry about that, hopefully that's the worst of it. Still thinking of you in Arlington :)

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It was around 3:00 p.m. yesterday that I started to feel some anxiety set in. It’s the kind that you get when you know that you’re about to do something uncomfortable. I pulled at the hands of time; at 3:15 I started a new game of slide tiles on the computer; by 3:35 I pulled myself away from the computer and groused around for stuff to take with me to chemo. At 3:40, Nat and I rolled into the car and headed to the medical center for my 4:00 appointment.

When we arrived, I noticed I was swallowing more than usual and my stomach was unsettled. After checking into the Blue Suite, we found a couch, and we both chose to be quiet and read. I know for me, I needed something to distract me. I knew what was coming up in the next half hour or so. Even though I had been here 15 times previously, I’d never had such a strong negative response to chemo as I was having yesterday.

When I was called back, I had my vitals checked and then went to my room. My nurse was already waiting for me when I arrived, so as soon as I dropped my bag and crawled onto the bed, she started getting me ready for treatment. She gave me a pill to help relax me and then two Zofran pills (for nausea) to dissolve under my tongue. When the taste of the Zofran hit my mouth, I felt even more unsettled. I swallowed a lot and tried to remain as calm as I could as my nurse removed my Lidocaine dressing, swabbed the area with alcohol and inserted my IV needle after the count of 1...2... 3... and a deep breath. Because there was good blood return, chemo was ready to begin.

All was moving along smoothly, but this time for me, was a little disconcerting. My sense of smell was heightened – the alcohol swabs, the rubber gloves, and the adhesive that kept the port IV needle in place – it all bothered me. Even with tea and water, I couldn’t seem get the lingering taste of the Zofran out of my mouth.

Once the Dexamethasone (steroid) started dripping, and my nurse left, I had a bout of hives (ear itching, legs and stomach itching and hot). I readjusted myself on my bed, sat forward to read my magazine and tried to concentrate on the text instead of myself. Within a few minutes, between the anti-anxiety pill and diverting myself from the medical stuff around me, my hives subsided, and I was able to lie back on my pillow.

Because I wasn’t really reading my magazine or paying attention to photos – I decided to pull out my DVD player and The Gilmore Girls. As soon as I clicked Play, I was transported to Stars Hollow and the quick-paced dialogue of Lorelei and Rory, and I forgot about the smells, the tubes hanging off me and the meds flowing into me.

Sooner than I expected, it was 7:00 p.m. My nurse returned to flush my lines (still hate the smell/taste of Hepron), and I was done. My last chemo was done.

There were no bells, no whistles, just quiet, and I was really OK with that. I didn’t feel like whooping or hollering. I was tired.

I fell into bed early last night and thankfully, slept until 6:30 this morning. I’m feeling OK this morning, but I think my lack of energy has more to do with overall mental and physical fatigue from everything.

We’ve got plans to get out of the house for a while today before heading back down to the medical center at 7:00 p.m. for my last Neulasta shot. I know that the next few days are going to be uncomfortable, but at least I know what to expect. I’ll lay low, sleep a lot and remind myself that this is last time (hopefully) I ever have to go through this.

Love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Love and concern I'm happy you have past this milestone on your road to recovery. I know it is difficult. I send Love. O. L.

We love you.... and are happy to see you are finished with chemo. Well, hang in there, you are on the last lap and closing in on the finish. Sending good thoughts your way as always! Love, K. and C.

hang in there :) I'm happy for you that you're finished with chemo. Way to go:) You are going to make it all the way to a clean bill of health! I'm praying for strength for you:)

Hey, Lisa You know lots of people are sending positive thoughts your way. Sleep and take care of yourself. That's all anybody wants you to do. Your co-workers miss you but would rather you be home recuperating. See you soon! Love, D.

Eat lots of cake! to celebrate the end of chemo. Don't worry, I will be eating lots of cake to celebrate your end of chemo too. See that's the great thing about my friend having breast cancer! I have an excuse to eat cake to celebrate all the milestones!!! Woo hoo! Seriously though, you are one strong, beautiful woman. You've done the chemo! Isn't it amazing when you go through something like this and you realize the power you have to deal with the unexpected?

I've always known you would get through it gracefully. We love you, C. and J.

Congratulations! Finished with Chemo! Well done!! Congratulations from all of us in western NY. With love and tremendous respect, B.

So happy for you... Dear Lisa, We are elated you are through with a very hard part of this and can't wait to hear you are feeling more like yourself. We will have you on our "List" for as long as it takes, which won't be long anymore. Just sleep and rest and get well!! Lots of Love and Prayers, A. S.

A friend from Ann Arbor Although we have never met, I feel that I know you from your beautifully written entries on CarePages. I am a friend of Prue and Ami and have lived in Ann Arbor for over 50 years. Once a Wolverine, always a Wolverine.

A few months ago I learned that you had joined the "sorority of breast cancer survivors". None of us asked to join this select group, whose numbers keep growing, but what we do as members makes us unique. I have been a member for the past 8 years, having had a double mastectomy for lobular invasive cancer.

My journey has not been like yours since I am much older and have three children and four grandchildren. I can not imagine how I would feel if I had been placed in your shoes during the spring of this year. When everything is supposed to blossom, you and your wonderful husband, had to make some decisions that were painful to discuss, let alone, make.

But you have found yourself stronger than you ever believed because you are a survivor. I am sure that there were days that you didn't want to get up, get dressed, or perhaps asked yourself "why me"? To the last question, I have always asked myself, "what are the lessons I can learn from this or that". "Why Me?" is not productive and you need all your energy focused on your healing.

The difficult thing about chemo is that you probably felt great when you went into it and the chemo often made you feel sick. My suggestion to anyone undergoing this experience is to do a lot of visualization and try to visualize all the "stuff" they put your port racing around your blood stream catching all the bad cancer cells and killing them. A little like "pack man" game of old video days.

Keep up your wonderful ability to put your thoughts into written words. Sometimes you just want to get all your emotions, fears and special thoughts out of you and not necessarily for others to hear. Keep writing and remember to date your entries. My thoughts and prayers are with you as I send you tons of positive energy. Fondly,
M. O.

Three of you I've been off line for a while and when I came back yesterday there were three identical messages from you. I read the first one and then the second and finally the third and was glad that there had been no emergency or major changes. Because you express yourself so well its worth reading you three times.

I hope, like all your friends and family, that you have had your last chemo. I imagine its like saying goodbye to someone who did you favor but with who you are not really friends. I think that it’s not unusual to feel apprehensive about something that is ending because now everything will be new and untested.

I too love the Gilmore Girls, my youngest daughter forced me to watch it and ever since I've been a dedicated fan. I can understand how it can take you away to a wonderful place for a visit and then returns you safe and sound; it’s like a good rest.

Much love from Seattle, L. and T.

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My 16th and final chemotherapy treatment will wrap up around 7:00 p.m. tonight. I know that it makes sense to get excited, and I should be thrilled, but I don’t feel like jumping for joy or shouting from a mountain top or giggling with glee – at least not yet.

Over the last several weeks, instead of eagerly anticipating chemo coming to an end, I’ve been wondering why I haven’t felt excitement welling up inside me. It’s not as if I don’t realize that completing chemo is a momentous occasion; it is definitely an accomplishment. But the truth is since March when I first learned that something was amiss, it’s felt as if someone’s had their hands on my back constantly pushing me forward. This has been hard for me because I don’t like to move forward until I have had time to understand, think about and internalize new information and experiences.

I’ve been propelled along a course of tests, surgery, chemotherapy, genetic testing and soon radiation therapy, and it feels as if my head hasn’t kept pace with my body. My mind and body haven’t been afforded any real rest or break either, so I certainly haven’t had much time to process any one procedure or event completely.

Granted I feel good that surgery removed the identified cancerous tumors, chemotherapy hopefully drowned any cancerous cells swimming around my body, and radiation will hopefully zap any cells gasping for life, but the reality is that my head is still back at March trying to come to terms with being diagnosed with breast cancer.

So here it is - the end of chemotherapy, and I’m feeling at a loss. I wish I were giddy; I’d like to have happy butterflies in my stomach. I keep trying to conjure up these joyous feelings, but I’m just not there... yet. I'm glad though that I know myself well enough to know that I will eventually make my way to feeling relieved and happy that I’ve made it through to the end of this tough road.

Love, Lisa

-MESSAGES-

Dear Lisa You are walking a difficult path. I know it is not easy to do, and yet you are doing it. I admire your strength, even when you are exhausted and full of questions. You keep going however, even when things are difficult. So, as you continue this journey, we will continue to ask the Lord to give you peace, hope, and strength and everything you need for every step you take. Bless you always. D.

Thinking of you Hi Lisa and Nat- Thanks to your articulate and courageous CarePages; we have followed your progress these past months. The fact that you shared the treatments, the race and your feelings about this whole process has made a difference to all of us. We are thinking of you. With love- j. and c. s.

Hey girlfriend! You don't have to be the one to celebrate because we are all here doing it for you. All day long people have come in and out excited for your last treatment. So just know it's ok because for now we will be the ones celebrating for you and when you are ready we will also be here to celebrate with you.

Take care and know that we all love you!

LaLa Land Loves Lisa (and alliteration) All our love, and congrats from the city on fire, I mean the city of angels. Your strength and openness during your chemo treatments have truly been an inspiration to follow in these CarePages. Not to mention your strength and openness in letting your husband and his friends dress up like warlocks every month.

We wish you the best and are with you every step of the way during the next phase and all the good times thereafter. Love, The Venice Beach gang

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TOMORROW IS A BIG DAY!!! HURDLE NUMBER 2!!!

Time to line the streets again! Tomorrow Lisa receives her 16th and LAST chemo treatment, which she began receiving in May. Taxol treatments were the first hurdle, FEC the second; only radiation is left - the final hurdle!

I think that tomorrow is another day to celebrate!! You did it Lisa!! You made it through your chemo - with grace, with honesty, with a sense of humor. HUG HUG HUG!

Join me in celebrating the momentous day that Friday is!! Shout and yell! Cheer!! Run around and act goofy! Make sure Lisa can hear you. Kelly

-MESSAGES-

Go Lisa! Go!!!! Ready!!!! Set!!!!! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! You are almost there! I'd tell you to go celebrate with a steak dinner, but I know that won't be happening!!!!!! (So have some tofu! It will be on the house!) The moon may be full, but you are glowin! (With your last round of chemo juice, that is!!!!) Can't wait to celebrate this milestone with you. As you go into your last treatment tomorrow, picture me with pompoms on Holcombe shouting "Think Cancer Free! Think Cancer Free" A million hugs times a million! M.

Thinking of you today, Lisa You've come so far and today marks a real victory. We are amazed at your strength and radiance. With love, E. and N.

We are still with you One more hurdle and this will be the easiest. We marvel at your courage and remarkable ability to take us all along with you. Keep your light shining. Love C. and H. A.

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