what if nothing changes?

Today is a treatment day.

For the first time ever, I will have Herceptin on its own (if you don't count the Demerol and Gravol I get to keep the shakes and fevers at bay).

Some people have almost no side effects with Herceptin. Some feel like they have the flu.

Will the fact that my body has such a strong response to Herceptin mean that I feel more of its side effects?

The break from chemotherapy is meant to help me heal and rebuild - physically and emotionally.

The break from chemo is also a risk.

Here's hoping it all works out for the best.

mixed. but good. i think.

And I'm not talking about the weather, which while it has been mixed, has been pretty consistently bad for the last twenty four hours. We had a big dump of snow (the photo above was taken from my front door), followed by freezing rain, which will be followed by ordinary rain.

Good thing I just bought rain boots.

My GP called me last week to let me know the results of my endoscopy (I won't get in to see the gastroenterologist until March 21st). All my results were negative - no celiac, no bacterial infection, no cancer. It's all good.

Then I talked to my oncologist on Friday. We discussed my scope results and my digestive symptoms (diarrhea, heartburn, abdominal pain). He expressed surprised that I was still feeling lousy on Friday after a Tuesday treatment. I told him that my recovery time had gone from four to six days and that last round, I'd felt sick for a week (this ended up being the case this time, too).

Then my oncologist said, "It's time to take a break."

I was floored.

I had been hoping to hear these words for months (years even) but when I finally did, I definitely had a mixed reaction. I'm being taken off the chemotherapy not because I've been in remission for a while (although I have) but because the chemo has started to take too big a toll on my body.

As Dr. G. said, "You can't stay on vinorelbine forever."

I'm going to continue with the Herceptin but take a break from the chemo for at least three months. Herceptin is also known to induce flu-like symptoms but I don't think it has the lasting toxicity of chemotherapy drugs. I'm likely to bounce back more quickly after treatments.

So we'll see what happens. There are no guarantees of anything and no promises. Every change involves risk.

But the next few months will be devoted to healing.

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

when Google is not your friend

So I've been having some (ahem) gastrointestinal issues for a while. Last spring, I was diagnosed with GERD. Things got better after I made some amendments to my diet and started taking meds (so much better that I got lazy about the diet and just took the meds). But now the issues are back in spades, along with abdominal discomfort and a feeling I can only discribe as "weasels chewing on my innards."

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see my GP who doubled my dose of the meds, ordered some blood tests and other (ahem) samples and put in a referral to a gastroenterologist. She told me that it would likely be a six month wait.

I had chemo on Tuesday, February 1st, which means I should have been feeling more or less like myself on the week end. I did not. By Saturday, I was still achy, weak, nauseated and the stomach weasels were out in full force. On Sunday, I felt no better.

On Monday, I went back to my doctor. 

She examined me and, to my enormous relief, reassured me that my liver is where it should be (not swollen and tender like it was when I was diagnosed with liver metastasis. She also said that I should  take comfort from the fact that my blood counts, taken less than a week before had shown all my liver functions to be perfectly normal.

We discussed the possibility of me having contracted a parasite or a virus (I certainly know enough people who've been ill, including my two kids. My suppressed immune system - from the chemo - makes me susceptible to every passing illness) or that anxiety could be playing a role in my physical condition.

My doc is a great advocate, though, and she picked up the phone while I was still with her and left a message for the gastroenterologist, asking if I could be seen more quickly.

I left her office feeling almost euphoric, with all health related anxiety pushed to the back of my mind (there was enough other anxiety to take up all the space in the forefront).

Then yesterday, I got a call from my doc's office, telling me that I have an appointment with the gastroenterologist - and an endoscopy - scheduled for February 17. That's really soon.

I've heard that endoscopies can be really traumatic experiences, so I Googled "endoscopy" just to reassure myself (seriously, that's what I told myself).

Well, not only do I not feel reassured (they shove a camera down your throat to look at your innards! I have a very strong gag reflex) but I am now freaking out about the test and about exactly what it is they might find down there. It could be nothing. Could be something relatively benign. Or it could be...well I'm trying not to think about it.

I haven't been for a run in more than a week because of chemo and the (ahem) gastrointestinal issues. But I think I might risk it.

a day at the chemo unit

Today is a chemo day, so I won't be around to post anything new. This piece originally appeared as a guest post on the blog of the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation. It's pretty Ottawa-specific but I suspect that many of the routines are similar, wherever you're being treated.

Further to yesterday's post, I thought I would write about what you can expect when visiting the cancer centre for a chemotherapy or other systemic treatment. When I was starting out, I found the chemo orientation and the tour to be very helpful but there was a lot of information to digest. And I was feeling so overwhelmed that much of it was quickly forgotten.

Checking in:

Present your green hospital card at reception and your requisition form for blood work, if you have an appointment to do that before chemo.

Blood work:

It's worth digressing at this point to talk about blood work. You need to have blood work done in advance of every chemotherapy treatment – usually the day before or the day of treatment. You don't need an appointment to go to the lab, just your requisition.

However, I highly recommend getting a picc or a port. I had a portacath put in after my second treatment (it's a pretty simple and quick procedure) and I have no regrets. Chemotherapy can cause veins to become hard and small and blood draws can become painful, frustrating and traumatic. By my second treatment, finding a working vein was already a challenge. I think that my port makes everything much easier and am always happy to show mine to other patients. 

The only downside to going the port or picc route is that you have to make an appointment through the chemotherapy unit to have your blood drawn by a nurse. It's worth calling as soon as you know when your chemo will be. Allow about two hours between bloodworm and chemo. I always try and do both appointments on the same day – have my blood work done, then go have a snack and come back for chemo.

Back at reception:

Once you have checked in, look at your watch. Then go sit down in the waiting area and get comfortable (this is where a good book, crossword puzzle or knitting come in handy). You can also go and check out the free hats and scarves in the alcove to the right of reception. Just be sure and keep an ear open so that you know when you are being called.

If more than twenty minutes elapse between when you check in and when you are called, it's worth checking in again with reception to make sure there are no delays. In almost five years of treatment, I have only had to wait more than twenty minutes a handful of times.

The receptionist, a volunteer (in the yellow jackets) or a nurse will let you know when it's your turn and send you to one of the “pods” - the numbered units arranged around the outside perimeter of the unit.

Treatment:

Your nurse will introduce herself, go over your info (name other id, to make sure that you get the right drugs!) and you will be settled in a bed or a chair (don't be shy about stating your preference).

There are lots of chairs around for guests. If you have someone with you, ask them to sit on the opposite side from the iv drip, so that the nurse will have easier access and your friend will be more comfortable.

The nurse will take your “vitals” (blood pressure and temperature), check over your blood work and hook you up to the iv unit). Your drugs will be ordered from the pharmacy and while you wait, the nurse will likely start a saline drip, to get you hydrated.

Speaking of hydrated, it's perfectly OK to go to the bathroom during treatment. You're being filled with a lot of liquid! Just unplug your unit from the wall (they have batteries for back up) and head over to one of the washrooms.

I always bring my own blanket to chemo but there are also lovely warm sheets available to patients. Ask the nurse for one if you get cold.

During treatment you can read, talk to your friend, listen to music, watch a DVD and even cruise the internet (ask at reception for the wifi password). Do what you need to pass the time comfortably.

Treatment can take anywhere from ten minutes to several hours. When you're done, the iv unit will beep and the nurse will come and unhook you. She will mostly likely take your vitals again before sending you on your way.

I know that sounds like a lot of information but it's actually all pretty straightforward and there are lots of people there to ask for help and to answer questions. It will be easier than you think.

chronically whiny

I always think it's going to be different.

I say to myself, "This round of treatment, I will exercise and write and continue with my daily routine and see if that makes me feel better."

And thent, in the days that follow each dose of vinorelbine and Herceptin, I stay in bed too sick to do anything and lacking the self-discipline (motivation?) to try getting exercise, writing or going about my daily routine.

I don't even bother to eat well (although the soup I made the night before chemo was delicious and easy to heat up, so I did eat lots of that) or even do the easy things that might help (I was on the phone with my writing buddy and she asked if I'd been drinking hot water with lemon and ginger. Easy to prepare and she swears by it, yet I had completely forgotten).

I don't even drink enough water.

I just wait until the weekend when I know I'll feel better (unless I get sick, as I did yesterday and had to miss dinner with friends and my beloved book club).

I'm fed up.

Fed up with losing a week out of every month.

Fed up with having to constantly worry about my energy levels and not overdoing.

Fed up with not  having answers and having to worry.

Sometimes I amuse myself (and no one else) by announcing, "I'm done. That's it!"

But I don't really mean it. 

I know where I'd be if it weren't for all the chemo and the Herceptin. And I know that it's worth it.

And who knows? Maybe next time will be different.

i get personal with the Run for the Cure

This is the text from my page at Run for the Cure site;

Thanks for visiting my personal page.

I was diagnosed with very agressive breast cancer in January 2006. In November of that year, I learned that it had spread to my liver.

My oncologist told me that the were "more tumours than they could count" and when I asked how long I could expect to live, he reluctantly answered, "Years. Not decades."

Fast forward to June 2007, when after several rocky months of treatments, I started feeling much better. Then, on June 30th 2007, a scan confirmed what my body had been telling me - there was no longer any sign of cancer in my body!

I have been in remission for three years. I'll remain in treatment (chemotherapy and Herceptin every four weeks) for the forseeable future, though. There are so few women in my postion that no one can reliably say what will happen if I stop. But I've noticed that my family and are planning ahead and casually making reference to events that will take place years in the future and assuming that I will be there.

I am running on October 3rd so that more women will be granted a future they thought had been stolen from them.

I'm running in the hope that some day soon women like me can walk away from treatment with confidence that the cancer is behind them.

I'm running so that my nieces and other young girls need never worry about breast cancer at all.

Can you support me (please)?

I have added a permanent link to the blog (top right hand side) that you can click on any time, if you want to make a donation.

(Our team, No Pink for Profit, now has seventeen eighteen members. Three Four other women have committed to join us. There is still room for more though - you can run or walk at your own pace. You can pay the entry fee or decide to fundraise. It's completely up to you. All women are welcome).

watch me on tee vee!

Or catch it online.

I'm being featured in a story on cancer blogging on CBC News Network (formerly Newsworld). Tune in this evening, between 8:00 - 9:00 p.m. ET

You can also watch online at cbc.ca/connect (I'll post a direct link to the video once the show has aired).

I promise to blog more about the whole experience (I was interviewed at home with my family and in the chemo room) but I wanted to give all a chance to check it out..

If you watch the show, let me know what you think.

0-2-9-14

Yesterday was a chemo day, so I don't have much in the way of original thought to offer up to you.

It was more stressful and a longer day than most but made infinitely easier by the presence of my friend T. We had lots to talk about and she ably distracted me when I felt the stress levels rising (the guy beside me was, for much of the time, having a shouted conversation with the man across the "pod."). She even tucked me in very sweetly as I settled in for my post Demerol nap.

Between bloodwork and chemo, T. and I went out to lunch at The Green Door. Over our veggies, we got to talking about food. I've been seeing a nutritionist, who has made some initial adjustments to my diet (minimal sugar, no dairy, more raw food, a high quality protein with every meal or snack). Since I told the nutrionist that I drank no more than five drinks a week, I've also been trying to stick to that. What I need to figure out is what exactly constitutes a drink. Is a pint of beer one drink? Two? One and a half?

T. told me that her doctor has been telling all his patients to stick to the following formula: 0-2-9-14

0 - at least one night every week you have no booze at all.

2- no more than 2 drinks at any given time.

9- women should have no more than 9 drinks per week.

14 - the maximum for men.

That makes sense to me and doesn't seem too onerous. Of course, if one is hoping to lose weight, drinking less (or not at all!) makes sense. Empty calories, decreased willpower, increased appetite...there really are lots of sensible reasons to forego the booze. I do enjoy beer and wine, though and don't do well when I try to cut anything I like out completely.

What do you think?

perspective in grey

On June 30th it will be three years since my first clean scan, after the cancer had spread to my liver.

For almost three years, I have had no evidence of disease (been NED, in cancer lingo).

And yet I remain in treatment.

I am asked frequently why I continue to receive chemotherapy and Herceptin, if there is no sign of cancer in my body. And the truth is that I often ask myself the same question. Certainly, I don't feel like I have cancer. And I do feel that the cumulative effects - both physical and emotional of ongoing treatment are wearing me down.

I am stuck in cancer's grey area.

My oncologist said to me last summer, "For all we know, you could be cured."

We just don't know enough.

Another oncologist I spoke to, hinted that some would take me out of treatment at this point. A third suggested that some doctors might take me off the chemotherapy and leave me on the Herceptin.

But they all agree that we just don't know enough to make any decision based on certainty. There are just too few women in my situation, younger women who have been diagnosed with metastatic breast and responded so well to treatment, to know what to do with us in the long term.

There are more of us every year, though.

In ten years' time, there will almost certainly be more answers.

And when I get too frustrated, I remind myself that if I had been diagnosed ten years earlier, I would almost certainly be dead.

So, for now, I'll take the grey.

in other news

I was felled by a yucky stomach bug this week and really didn't feel much like blogging. It's the price I pay for a weakened immune system. My older son is home sick today, too. Not sure what his excuse is.

Also, my spouse is in Florida. As far as I know, he's not sick.

To compensate for my bitterness at having been struck down during a week of single parenting (I know, some of you have to deal with this kind of thing all the time), I thought I would show off a little.

Here is my latest clapotis. I made it for my mom.



She thinks she's not very photogenic but I think she's lovely.

I made this thing on tiny (2.75mm, if you care about these things) needles and a laceweight (read very fine) yarn. It nearly killed me.

I was working on it during chemo one day and one of the pharmacists, herself a knitter, shook her head and exclaimed, "You must really love your mother!"

I do.

And while I wouldn't necessarily recommend doing this as a laceweight (not just because it takes forever but because fixing errors is a painstaking process) but I am very pleased with the end results. The yarn is an alpaca and silk blend from Knit Picks and the scarf is soft, airy and has a lovely drape.

I think I am addicted to the clapotis. Although I'll do it in a thicker yarn and on bigger needles (the original was done in my much thicker yarn). Doing this on sock yarn will feel like a breeze.

And did you note the state of my walls?

I have been stripping wallpaper. It's part of a project that a friend is helping with (I know that should be "with which a friend is helping" but that felt awkward. Just want you sticklers to know that I am aware that I'm taking liberties). She offered to "paint a room" in my house in exchange for a bunch of kids' stuff we'd outgrown.

I definitely got the better end of that deal. We got a bunch of stuff out of our house and she has already devoted two afternoons to scraping the wallpaper in my hallway - on two floors and up the stairs.

I have to admit that I have never undertaken this kind of project before and I'm actually enjoying it. On our second afternoon we used "Concentrated Wallpaper Remover" from the hardware store and the hard-to-scrape stuff just melted off. Very cool. I hope it's not too terribly toxic. There didn't seem to be any fumes. It kind of smelled like dish soap.

There's another hour of stripping to do and then I gather everything has to be washed, then primed then painted. And then it will all look so good that the rest of the house will seem really dingy in contrast.

Finally, I feel like I can't conclude this post without mentioning the horrific situation in Haiti. Please give what you can, to a reputable organization.

When the Yarn Harlot sent out the "knit signal" last week, I was prompted to direct my money to Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders). They are already set up to help and do excellent work aroun the world.

Click here to donate in Canada, the United States or everywhere else in the world (find your country in the menu on the left). The Harlot mentioned in her post that it is most helpful if you direct your donation to "Emergency Relief" or "Greatest Needs" instead of to a specific project.

15 movies that stick with you

This is a meme that has been doing the rounds on Facebook. I posted it there yesterday but I am too tired and lazy to write anything original today thought it worth sharing with the rest of the world

Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen movies you've seen that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.

You can participate in the comments or leave a link to your own blog.

1. Gallipoli
2. Fast Times at Ridgemont High
3. An Officer an A Gentleman
4. El Norte
5. The Killing Fields
6. Swimming to Cambodia
7. The Princess Bride
8. Grease
9. Priscilla Queen of the Desert
10. The Breakfast Club
11. Rachel Getting Married
12. History of the World Part 1
13. The Producers (the original version)
14. The Thomas Crowne Affair
15. Mamma Mia

things i've learned in the last 7 days about h1n1 (and other things)

My older son and I were both sick last week and are bouncing back rather nicely. The experience taught me a few things, though:

1- The illness varies in its intensity. We both ended up with fairly mild cases.

2- My doctor is extremely efficient and her office is very well organized. This ended up making a very big difference for us.

3- Tamiflu, if administered within the first 48 hours of the onset of symptoms, can greatly alleviate those symptoms.

4- Oral Tamiflu can make you feel very, very queasy.

5- You don't always get a fever when you have the illness.

6- If you have any of the symptoms, you should assume you have the illness.

7- You will not get tested for H1N1 unless you land in the hospital.

8- Even if you think you've had swine flu, you should still get the vaccine, unless it was confirmed with a test.

9- The hysteria around this is getting to be a little overwhelming. Remember: Most folks who get H1N1 do not get seriously ill.

10- If you are having trouble breathing, you should go your hospital's emergency room.

11- If you have been running a fever for more than 48 hours, you should see your doctor.

12- Judging by the line-ups in Ottawa, there are a lot of people who live here who fall into high risk groups.

13- My six year old knows how to come through in the crunch. He stood in line for 5 and a half hours. He was patient and good humoured the whole time (my spouse was with him). And then he got a needle at the end. The only thing he asked (at regular intervals) was if he could go to St. Hubert when they were done.

Even though it was well past his bed time, T. took him there when they were finished (I forgot to ask him if he had beer with his chicken). And since St-Hubert now has nut free desserts, he topped off the meal with a brownie and ice cream.

And then we bought him a new game for his DS.

14- If you leave me a link saying that the vaccine is poisonous or that I am a dupe of the pharmaceutical industry, I will not be impressed. Chemotherapy is poison, too and it has saved my life. There really is such a thing as a "necessary evil."

I won't add my rant about how this pandemic is being mis-managed by all levels of government because I wouldn't be able to stop.

I will share Rick Mercer's rant with you, though.

how cool is this?

Yesterday morning, I got a call from Oresta. She told me that she had read my article in the Centretown Buzz and wanted to reach out to me.

Even though I love her store and spa (I asked for gift certificates for Christmas last year), I was not on her mailing list and had not received the letter that I posted above.

It's hard to read, so here is the text, in full:

OCTOBER is BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH

Pinkwasher: (pink’-wah-sher) noun. A company that pur-
ports to care about breast cancer by promoting a pink
ribboned product, but manufactures products that are
linked to the disease.

Dear clients,

ORESTA organic skin care confectionery is committed to providing organic spa
treatments and to supporting companies that manufacture truly pure and organic
products. We believe in beauty without compromising your health.

We have been touched by cancer in our families and with our clientele - as
cancer survivors and undergoing cancer therapy. The prevailing comment of clients
who have come in for a spa treatment while undergoing therapy was how nurturing a
visit to ORESTA organic skin care confectionery was for them.

We have wanted to help the cause but have struggled with a way to do this.
Do we donate a % of sales? a % of services? Do we fundraise? For which organiza-
tion or foundation? In the end, what feels right for us, is doing what we do best:
pampering.

If you, a friend or loved one is undergoing cancer therapy and would enjoy an
organic facial treatment, please contact us. We are committed to treating one
woman per week to a complimentary ORESTA treatment.

Oresta was calling to offer me a facial (I am going on Friday) but I offered to blog about this offer. She asked me to clarify that she and her staff will be offering this service to women undergoing treatment throughout the year - not just during October.

I am impressed and touched beyong words. Have any of you ever heard of anyone else doing this?

I told my spouse that, by coincidence, I had written in journal that morning that I would really like a facial. He said, "Tomorrow, could you write that you would really like a home renovation?"

random. out of necessity

It's Day 3 After Chemo and my brain is jumping around like a puppy with a burr up her butt. I can't focus on anything for more than a few seconds so here is a little bit of randomness:

One:

It appears that my family and I will be among the first in line for the H1N1 vaccine. My kids will be so thrilled.

Two:

My friend Jeanne, the Assertive Cancer Patient, posted about a reader in Texas who has $187,000 worth of Neupogen that she can't use:

"Texas doesn't have a drug repository that would take this medicine and pass it on to someone who needs it, and she hates to see it go to waste, as do I.

Any ideas, readers?

Obviously, we can't break the law and put this stuff on eBay or Craigslist, so I am looking for legal ways to get these expensive drugs to someone who can use them."

Three:

Yesterday, I got a phone call from the CT booking unit at my local hospital. I was informed that my oncologist had ordered a scan of my abdomen and chest, to be administered within the next couple of weeks.

I had a CT scan on September 4. When I mentioned this to the person who was booking the appointment, she had me call the nurse who works with my oncologist to confirm that they really want me to have another one. The nurse called back today and said that I didn't need to do the abdomen but since it's been a while since they have done the chest, we should go ahead with that.

I called the booking person back and the appointment has been scheduled for this Sunday afternoon at 1:20 (I had to cancel plans). My questions: Why didn't we they just order my chest scan for the same time as my las CT? Or my next one? I have no reason to believe that my doc suspects that there is anything wrong and I bet that if I could talk to him directly he would say that the chest scan can wait until we next do the abdomen. Why should I be subjected to extra radiation, an extra trip to the hospital and an extra session of find-the-vein when we have no reason to believe that there is anything wrong (and while I continue to undergo chemotherapy)?

But it's just not worth fighting about. Sigh.

Four:

Finally, I have another finished object to show. It's a Clapotis. I totally wish this one were for me but it has been promised to someone else. I will definitely add another one to the knitting queue. I made it from Knit Picks yarn (the Gloss Sock Yarn, merino wool and silk). It's lovely stuff (especially after washing) and relatively inexpensive. It also came quickly. I'll definitely order from them again.

These photos don't really do it justice but my son was a very, very good sport about posing for them.

frequent flyer

I had chemo on Tuesday. It was kind of a long day (I started with bloodwork at 8:30 and left the hospital at 3:30) which passed quickly due to the company of a really good friend. We had so much to say to each other that we needed the whole day to cover everything (except for when I was sleeping. The demerol/gravol combo really does knock me out).

It would have been an even longer day if I hadn't been on the receiving end of a little preferential treatment. At one point, the nurse who coordinates the chemo floor came out to reception and wrote on the notice board that they were running an hour behind schedule. I happened to be standing nearby and she caught my eye and said to me, in French, "environ" (approximately).

I was surprised, then, when my name was called a few minutes later. I passed the same nurse again, on the way in, and said, "That wasn't an hour."

"We squeezed you onto another team," she replied.

My friend, C. said, "Are you queue jumping?"

I smiled back. "It's the life-time membership."

bone loss: a public service announcement

I have been reading Cancer Fitness by Anna L. Scharwtz. I'm only a few chapters in, but the book has already taught me some important things.

I don't tend to devote a lot of thought to preventing bone loss but I did know that regular weight-bearing exercise helps prevent bone loss and to build strong bones. And while I walk and run (just finished the Running Room's beginner program again), I really don't do any strength training (or core work, for that matter, despite repeated promises to myself).

The women in my family tend to have strong bones (and good bone density) but what I didn't realize was how many factors put me at risk:

• early menopause, as a result of chemotherapy.


• doxorubicin (Adriamycin, the infamous "red devil). I had 6 rounds (this is also the drug that temporarily damaged my heart).


• decadron and other steroids (I had higher doses with the first 6 rounds of chemo but I still get decadron through IV with every chemo treatment, to help mitigate side effects).


• lorazepam (Ativan, which I use only occasionally for insomnia. I had absolutely no idea that it caused bone loss)


• regular consumption of caffeine.

And I don't drink very much milk, either.

Remember, that promise to myself I made in January? Well, I have not made as much progress as I would like. So, I signed up for a fitness class at my local community centre that incorporates core work and strength training (since the free weights, stability ball and exercise bands don't seem to be doing much more than collecting dust) to get myself started. Now, I have another reason to get to it.

I also took a calcium supplement today for the first time in months. Those suckers are horse pills but I think I need to get back into the habit of choking them down.

What are you doing to prevent bone loss?

down and up and some parentheses

Well, hello there.

It's been quite the week.

On June, 10th, I woke up with a sore throat. I didn't take my temperature until early afternoon, by which time it became clear that I was running a fever. I called the nurse who works with my oncologist (I'm supposed to do this, since I have a suppressed immune system, thanks to chemotherapy) and was directed to go to the emergency room at the hospital connected to the cancer centre.

I really, really balked at going but within three hours I was home with a prescription for penicillin (I think chemo recipients get fast-tracked through emergency these days). I was moved pretty quickly to my own treatment room (the most traumatic moments came when I was asked if I minded if a less-experienced nurse accessed my portacath. Within minutes, there were five nurses in the tiny room, in addition to my spouse and I. There was lots of fumbling and it took a couple of tries but eventually they got things working). After examining me, the doctor concluded that I was "a very sick person."

What was foremost on my mind, as I lay waiting for the doctor (in addition to the observation that having strep throat or the flu is nowhere nearly as scary as cancer), was that the Toronto launch for my book was supposed to happen the next day.

I spoke to my publisher but decided not to make any decisions that night, in case I felt better the next day (that was a mix of denial and delirium). My GP called the next morning to check in on me and said, explicitly what I needed to hear, "You are sick. Don't travel." (No kidding)

The publisher decided that morning that they would proceed without me. I was disappointed but understood completely. I sent out a few messages to that effect and went back to bed. When I awoke, I found out that the event had been postponed. I was pleased and sent out another round of emails, tweets and Facebook updates. I am sorry if I confused any of you with these messages (and even sorrier if you showed up for the event to find out it was cancelled).

Everyone at Women's Press was really, really kind to me and very sympathetic about all the scrambling they had to do at the last minute. I will post an update when we re-schedule the launch.

In other news, we had a sleepover involving eight 11 year old boys on Saturday night. My house will never be the same. What made us do this (other than love for our son)? More denial. It appears I am still very good at it.

I also took two extremely excited 6 year olds on the O-Train to the movie theatre. We saw Up. I loved it. And the little dervishes settled down and were mesmerized for the duration. It was the quietest part of my week end.

isn't this lovely?

I'm still feeling crappy, so I thought I would share something that really makes me smile.

I met Claudia at the 2009 Conference for Young Women Affected By Breast Cancer. Every time I saw her, she was wearing a very different and very funky hat.

This one, made from coffee filters was one of my favourites:




When Claudia was diagnosed with breast cancer, she launched the She Arts Project: "a collaboration with 30+ Artists with photographs from Meg Luther Lindholm."

The photographs eventually became part of an travelling exhibit. You can see more of them here.

I love this kind of thing.

what if?

"We have all the tools to eliminate mortality from Her2 positive breast cancers in the next 10 years."

-Dr. Eric Winer, Director, Breast Oncology Centre, Dana-Farber Cancer Institute (February 28, 2009, 9th Annual Conference For Young Women Affected By Breast Cancer).

Her2 is a protein. And it fuels cancer cells. Her2+ breast cancers are always very aggressive and, had I been diagnosed before Herceptin was widely available, I am sure that I would not be alive today. Now, a whole host of new drugs are being developed to attack this breast cancer that affects primarily younger women.

Dr. Winer's words are among the most hopeful that I have heard in a long time.

And then today, I heard a story on the CBC about a man who is being forced to choose between taking an oral chemotherapy drug for his brain cancer or feeding his kids. It's heart-breaking.

And, I can't help but wonder, what if, when the Herceptin stops working, neither my government or my insurance company will pay for the next course of treatment? What happens then?

Dr. Winer also noted that 30-40% of all women with breast cancer metastases will eventually have the cancer spread to the brain. He told us that Herceptin doesn't pass through the brain and suggested that all women with metastatic her2 positive breast cancers have brain scans done every 6 to 12 months. Guess what I am going to be talking to my oncologist about during my next appointment? (Although, vinorelbine, the chemo drug I'm taking is sometimes used to treat brain mets. That's reassuring).

I hope this is making at least a little bit of sense. I have a raging head cold and am feeling pretty muddled. My spouse was laughing at me this evening, reminding me that I am always very stoic about the big things (like, say, having a liver the size of a watermelon) but a garden variety head cold turns me into a whimpering puddle of goo.

I guess I am reminded that, generally speaking, I am very healthy these days. And that, in itself, is very hopeful.

This brings me to my second favourite quote from the conference:

"The best predictor of doing well is doing well."

-Dr. Winer.

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

and i got the shot and everything

I have the flu. Or some kind of bug.

I took my temperature last night and realized that I was running a fever. When this happens, I am supposed to go to the hospital but it seemed counter-intuitive to take my worn down self to an emergency room full of sick people.

I called the cancer centre this morning and they told me to come on in to their stretcher bay area (I was still feverish, sore all over, queasy and light-headed). I got my blood counts checked and all is well on that front. They also gave me some intravenous fluids, which perked me up a bit (the trip into the cancer centre had knocked the stuffing out of me).

Then they sent me home with instructions to get lots of rest and stay hydrated.

It's not even insult to injury, it's injury to injury. At least I know that my body has the white blood cells it needs to fight this.

I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself.