Nine months and three days later...

Sorry for the weird formatting.  It drives me crazy when Blogger doesn't format correctly...
 
I was diagnosed with cancer nine months and three days ago.  I had my last radiation treatment this morning.  I took the day off from work, but any big plans to celebrate have been postponed because Aaron’s grandmother passed away and her wake is tonight and her funeral is tomorrow.  I did get a manicure and I went for a long walk.  I also finished putting up our outside Christmas decorations.  I’ve had a productive day and I love productivity, so say overall it’s been a great day.

I’ve been very reflective today.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this past year and everything I’ve been through.  I’m relieved, tired, even kind of overwhelmed at everything that has happened.  I also feel more confident that I’m going to look back on this time as a blip in the road and I’m less scared of a re-occurrence.  I think I have to, because otherwise I’m just going to waste time worrying about things I don’t have control over.  I’m sure I’ll have my moments, but I’m feeling really good.  I think getting my energy back has made a huge difference.

I’m hoping that the next month will be a chance to celebrate with various friends that have been so amazingly supportive this year.  When I think back on the friends that I’ve made here in Massachusetts the last 11 years, the majority of them I met while working out.  For many years I had my boot camp friends and now that I live in Natick, I have my TBS friends.  On Sunday I’m doing a 5k with a bunch of my TBS friends in Cambridge.  They made shirts and everything!  I’m really looking forward to that, especially in the light of the sad news of the passing of Aaron’s Meme.  I had my first race since treatment started on Thanksgiving and I did much better than I thought I was going to.  Of course, I’m already pressuring myself to do better at this Sunday’s race.  I’ll let you know how it goes!

At this point I’m looking forward to, well, looking forward.  I’m going to enjoy the rest of the holiday season, but I’m really excited for New Year’s Eve.  I hope I can pay forward all of the kindness and generosity I’ve been touched with this year.  I have many amazing people in my life—I am a very lucky woman!

Homestretch

Written last week but never posted...at this point I only have two treatments left!  I'm still a little amazed that I'm as excited as I am.  I wasn't expected to be this excited.

This week I hit the single digits in the number of radiation treatments left.  Two weeks from today, barring no machine breakdowns or snow storms or a pause in treatment because my skin is too red, I will be done with radiation and "active treatment".

I didn't think I was going to be this excited, but at this point, I really am.  Of course, I'm doing a race with some friends on Sunday, December 8.  If my treatment gets pushed past that, that would kind of stink, since part of the point of the race is to celebrate being done with treatment.

So cross your fingers and toes! 

Cancer--you suck. A lot.

I went to high school with a woman named April.  At some point we found each other on FB.  I never really knew April that well.  We had a few classes together and we didn't always agree on things, but she was still really nice.  After we connected on FB, she was one of those friends that you'd see updates on, but wouldn't necessarily interact with.

She had a little boy shortly after I had Belle.  Not long after that, she was diagnosed with Rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare form of cancer.  She'd provide occasional updates on FB about treatment.  After being declared cancer-free at one point, her cancer returned.  I remember reading her posts and seeing all of the support that she received and thought, "wow, what a lucky woman to be surrounded by so many people that love her."  When I didn't see a post from her in awhile, I'd start to worry about her, but then she'd post an update and I'd know she was still around.  I was always relieved to see that.  I remember from her posts that she was getting treatment in Southern California for a while.   

After I was diagnosed, I thought of April.  I become more in awe of her as a woman and her commitment to surviving for her family and to see her little boy grow up.  I always wanted to write to her and tell her how much I admired her, but I never got around to it.  April passed away this week. 

April and I obviously have very different cancer stories, and I didn't know her that well even when I knew her 20 years ago, but I was so sad to hear that news.  It makes me so sad that she's going to miss out on seeing her little boy grow up, and he'll have to grow up without his Mommy.  He's only 3.5 years old.  And when I'm feeling morbid and wonder if I'm going to beat this, or if I'm going to find out in a few years that the cancer has metastasized, I immediately think the same thing about my girls.  I can't bear the idea of not seeing them grow up.  

There isn't a particular point to this post.  Mainly that it's so frustrating when cancer takes somebody, especially somebody so young.  Cancer--I've never liked you.  It's one thing to cause a lot of us a lot of pain, which we eventually recover from.  It's another to take an otherwise healthy young woman and take her from her family.

Halfway through radiation

Earlier this week I reached the halfway point through radiation.  While it can feel tedious, it's gone by more quickly than I thought it would.  I think I've even befriended all of the staff that insisted on calling me Rachelle at the radiation office.  Well, the machine technicians at least.  Still not so sure about some of the nurses.  Three more weeks to go and I'll be done with "active treatment".  The Tamoxifen has been uneventful, which is good.

I still have mixed feelings about getting my ovaries removed, but for now I'm back to focusing on treatment.  One thing at a time.  A few people have said to me, "That's it?  You have no other thoughts on radiation?"  No, not really.  Compared to everything else I've gone through this year, radiation truly is a cake walk (I hope I didn't just jinx myself).  Is it a pain in the butt?  Yes.  But besides feeling a little more tired than usual, there's not much to report.  Also, I'm not even sure my fatigue can be directly attributed to radiation.  I suspect it could also have to do with the fact that I'm able to push myself at workouts again, I'm trying to get my running back up, I work full-time and I have two little girls to take care of.  And I'm just worn out from the last eight months.

When I said I needed a vacation, I initially meant just Aaron and me.  But I think the girls could use a vacation too.  Well, maybe not Addie, because she seems the least affected by all of this.  But I'm sure she'd enjoy a vacation anyway.  As I was telling some friends last weekend, the last time we left the country was for our honeymoon.  I just want to leave the country.  It sounds nutty, but we're leaning towards Iceland.  In February (although maybe not for the girls).  Shockingly, you can get good deals to go to Iceland in February.  But I change my mind quite a bit, so we'll see.

As much as we need a break, we also just need to get back to true normalcy.  I think I'm acting more like my "old self", but Belle still knows that I'm going through treatment and I think that continues to cause some anxiety for her.  I think we need to get back to our regular lives for at least a little bit before we jet off anywhere.  So we'll see. 

Ode to my eyebrows: A series of haikus

While my hair is growing back, I noticed a few months ago that while I didn't completely lose my eyebrows, they're definitely thinner than they used to be.  For some reason, the right side is thinner than the left.  I'm not sure if it's better to have both thin equally or unevenly.  Anyway, I am hardly a poet, but I have always loved haikus.  Here are some haikus that I've written for my eyebrows:

Eyebrows I miss you
Your very sparseness haunts me
Grow fast, brows!  Grow fast!

Brow pencils are lame
Drawn on lines looking all fake
Make me look cray-cray

Eyebrows, where art thou?
Why have you forsaken me?
Eyebrows, please come back

Please...hold your applause and accolades.

Radiation is boring and fears put to rest (for now)

Eight treatments down, 25 to go.  Radiation is boring and a grind.  After three more treatments, I'll be a third of the way through.  It's not "hard" per se, but it's not easy either.  At least I'm not having any side effects yet.  I'm getting along better with most of the staff, although one or two still call me Rachelle. But each day I get to mark off one more treatment.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I was having pelvic pain.  I ended up seeing a gynecological oncologist (say that five times, fast or slow) and she examined me and was sure I was fine.  That said, she sent me for an ultrasound, more for my piece of mind than hers (I think).  The good news is while she wanted the ultrasound soon, she wasn't in a rush to schedule an emergency ultrasound, which I took as a good sign.  I finally had the ultrasound on Halloween.  I don't know why, but it didn't register until I got there that not only was I in the same building, but I was in the exact same room as when I had my biopsy in April.  In fact, it had been almost exactly seven months since I'd been there. 

Even though the oncologist was confident my pelvic pain was not a result of ovarian cancer, it was still stressful getting the ultrasound.  The technician's face was hard to read and of course you can never tell what anything is on those ultrasound screens.  Also, prior to April 1 of this year, I had associated ultrasounds with being pregnant with my two beautiful daughters.  Now it represented cancer.  And of course, being in the same room brought back how naive I still was to this whole thing.  I remember being a little concerned but I was too young and healthy to get cancer.

At one point, the technician was listening for something during the ultrasound.  I'm not sure what, and I didn't ask, because I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer--was she listening for the presence or absence of something, and was I passing the test in a good way?  Whatever she was listening for, to me it sounded like the wind howling through a frozen tundra.  All I could picture was this barren place with the wind blowing snow and ice around.  A bizarre image, I know.  I was used to hearing my babies' heartbeats when they turned on the volume during an ultrasound.  So that made me a little sad, because I'm never going to hear that sound again for myself.

While I don't have the final answer, all signs point to no ovarian cancer.  I feel like I should be more relieved than I am.  I think I'm mostly too tired to feel that relieved.  Even this post feels more down and negative than it's intended.  It's intended to be reflective rather than sad or scary, but I'm not sure I'm coming across that way.

I'm starting to realize I'm going to need a serious break when this is all done.  I don't care if California won't be that warm--we might have to have our make-up vacation to California sooner rather than later.  Or maybe someplace warm and tropical!

Rachele goes to the Radiologist

Radiation started today.  Even though today was only my first visit, I’m pretty sure that I already have notes in my file about being a “difficult” patient.  Here are some examples of my interactions thus far (I apologize in advance if the formatting seems off.  It's sort of driving me crazy):

1. I had my initial consult with my radiation oncologist in August.  This is essentially a meet and greet to get a sense of what radiation is like and to meet my radiation oncologist.  This meeting was uneventful.  I provided my PCP’s name, not once, but at least twice in this initial meeting to a few people (this is important for later on).
2. Before radiation starts, you go in for your mapping.  The radiation team figures out where they’re going to point the radiation lasers and you get tattoos so they know where to point what I like to call the "radiation lasers".  This happened between my third and fourth chemo treatment back in September. When I checked in, I had the following conversation with the woman at the front desk:
• WAFD:  “We have a note here that we need the name of your PCP.”  
• Me:  “You’re kidding me, right?  I’ve given this to you at least twice already.”
• WAFD: “Yeah, sorry.”

Needless to say, this filled me with confidence about the practice.  
    3.  After the mapping, I was told they’d be in touch about the number of treatments I needed and when my daily slot would be.  Super.  I finished up chemo, and before I knew it, I was a week away from starting radiation.  Except that I’d never heard from the Radiation office.  So I called to see what the deal was. Here's how that conversation went with one of the nurses:

• Me: "Hi, I had my mapping a few weeks ago, and I start radiation next week, and I was checking in to see how many treatments I'm going to be getting and when my regular time slot is going to be."
• Nurse: "Oh, we go over all of that at your initial radiation visit.  The schedule and availability changes as people finish up radiation."
• Me: "Perhaps I misunderstood, but that's not what I thought you told me at my mapping appointment.  Waiting isn't going to work for me.  I'm trying to plan my life here, so I'm going to need that information now."  

I got my slot.  I realize that things happen and people might have to extend a few sessions because they previously missed sessions, but the last time I checked, that's what a calendar is for.

4.   After today's radiation treatment, I met with a nurse.  She called me Rachelle.  I corrected her on the pronunciation of my name.  This is how that conversation went:

• Nurse: "Oh...it really looks like Rachelle." 
• Me: "Yeah, well it's not.  Sometimes people get confused because of the single l."
• Nurse: "I think it was the e at the end that threw me off.  Do other people call you Rachelle?"
• Me: "No, because it's not my name."

And scene.

One down, 32 to go.  I can tell they like me.  It can only deteriorate from here.  At least the actual radiation oncologist is nice enough.  She hasn't acted like this doctor yet (thanks for the clip, Erin!):

New diagnosis: Hypochondria

On Tuesday it will be three weeks since chemo ended.  Radiation starts on Tuesday.  Tuesday also marks the day I get to start Tamoxifen (I love Wikipedia's definition--antagonist of the estrogen receptor in breast tissue).  I have been told anecdotally that mood swings are a side effect of Tamoxifen, so if I interact with you in the next few weeks and suddenly burst into tears, that is most likely why.

While I still have 6 weeks left of active treatment, the end of chemo has been the first time since April that I feel like I've finally noticed my surroundings.  Which has provided a hint of what my post-cancer life may become: thinking that every ache and pain is a new cancer.  For example, earlier this week my stomach hurt.  This inevitably led me to wonder, "what are the symptoms of ovarian cancer"?  Turns out, stomach pain is a symptom.  Stomach pain is also just plain stomach pain too, but it led me to wonder, "what if when my ovaries are removed next year, they find I have ovarian cancer too?"
 A rational person would likely think, "Rachele, that's silly.  You probably don't have ovarian cancer."  Well you know what?  I don't like odds anymore.  I never in a million years thought I'd have breast cancer and look how that turned out.  While I'm really getting morbid, if I'm unlucky enough to get breast cancer, then it also means I'm unlucky enough to have something terrible happen to Aaron, the girls, my parents or my friends too.  This is how I think nowadays.  Basically, I don't feel safe anymore.  If I can get cancer, then lots of other bad things can happen too.

To add to this feeling, some of you have asked what happens when treatment is all over.  How will I be monitored moving forward to make sure I don't have to go through this again?  At a high level, my team basically monitors how I'm feeling.  There might be tests here and there, but there really aren't any tests or scans that are done on a regular basis.  Basically, you just have to have faith that it will get caught before it gets too far.  This has outraged and frustrated some of you, to which I usually think, if it makes you feel that way, how do you think I feel?

So that's what's been consuming me this week.  I did call my oncologist about my stomach pains and they're getting me in to see the doctor that will be removing my ovaries.  The intent is to put me more at ease (I think).  I'll let you know.

In the meantime, at least I can shift my idle mind onto radiation.  As I told some friends earlier this week, I'm pretty sure there are already notes about me in my file at the radiation office.  But that's a blog post for another day.

Please don't do this for me

Here's another possible post-treatment blog idea: Blogging about bizarre cancer "support" days.  I happened to see an ad on Boston.com for this whole Go Bald on October 18.  I'm not sure how well known this idea is either in or out of New England, but I've been puzzled since I saw it.  Really?  Am I missing something here?  Did they clear this idea with Mike before he passed away (or "lost his battle with cancer", a phrase I loathe, because it implies that those of us who survive "win" and those that don't, "lose")? 

Let me just say this now in case anybody is thinking of jumping on this bandwagon on my behalf:  please don't.  I've given up the hats, scarves and wigs already so this is a moot point.  I get it, it's supposed to be symbolic, but I think it's kind of thoughtless and insulting.  I don't know a single person (and granted, I've interacted with more women with cancer than men) who enjoyed losing their hair.  It's an emotional and terrible part of this experience that I would prefer not to be reminded of.  If people had wanted to shave their heads in solidarity with me back when I lost my hair, that would have been very sweet of them.  But again, unnecessary.  I'm sure those of us who lose our hair are far more subconscious of this than any of our family and friends, but the last thing I would want is for anybody to go bald for me.  For a day.  Wearing a bizarre looking, flesh-colored cap.

I don't know the people who started this movement, but I'm sure they had good intentions.  I'm not angry at these people, but I suspect this whole concept is coming from well-meaning people that never had cancer.  I could be wrong.  And I don't really care, so don't feel like you have to research this for me.  This isn't like the Race Director incident where I want these people to go down.  I just think if you want to support somebody you love that has cancer, there are much better ways to go about it.  Here are some ideas:

1. Send him a card or call him to let him know you're thinking of him.
2. Bring her a meal.
3. Take him out to a movie.
4. Call her up and tell her you want to take her kids off her hands for a few hours.  
5. Bring a meal to somebody you don't even know that has cancer (there are organizations that organize things like this.  Their names are escaping me right now).
6. Offer somebody a ride to chemo or radiation.
7. Volunteer at a cancer event or for one of the organizations that's listed on the Beneficiaries page of the Bald site.
8. Raise money for a cancer cause where you know where the money is going.

For the latter, I am leery of big non-profits where you're not sure where the money is going.  I mean, yes, I realize they need to pay people to run the said cause, but I think there are sites where you can see how these non-profits actually spend their money.  Also, you may want to donate money to a place that focuses on raising money for research rather than awareness.  Or go back to idea #7 and just volunteer. 

The above are not veiled attempts for me.  If I wanted something, I'd ask for it.  That being said, I certainly wouldn't turn away any fairy godmothers who wanted to take my children away from me for a few hours (to the person who did this a few months ago--you are awesome!  This was really, really appreciated).  Seriously, I'm good for right now, I just wanted to get on my soapbox to share my thoughts on an odd awareness idea. 

Another milestone checked off of the list: Chemo is over!

Yesterday marked the end of another milestone--the last chemo!  I rode in with two of my best friends and their new puppy Tugger.  I was so happy to see Tugger (I was really happy to see my friends too, but I hadn't seen Tugger in a while)!  He rode in my lap the whole ride in.

Tugger and me

I later told one of our cats, Doppy (yes, I talk to my cats.  Interestingly enough, they talk back as well) that Tugger gave me more love in the hour ride into BI than Doppy had given me in the three (four?) years he's lived with us.  His response was, "And your point is...?" 

Oddly enough, the end of chemo has been a little more emotional than I was expecting.  I am always worn out at the end of a treatment, so it could have been that, but it was one more milestone that I could check off.  Tomorrow will be 6 months since I got the news.  It's only been 6 months? It feels like a lifetime.

The good news is so far my usual post-chemo funk isn't kicking in.  I suspect that the euphoria of being done is probably helping with that.

So what's next?  I have the next three weeks off and then I start radiation.  I don't know how many radiation treatments I have yet, which is a little frustrating, because I just want an end date.

By the way, I did go to the Babson reunion.  It was fun.  I don't think I was very recognizable in my wig (at least initially).  The advantage of this was that I was able to avoid talking to anybody I didn't want to talk to.  The disadvantage is I had to make the effort to approach people.  There were some people I tried to wave and say hello too and all I got was a blank stare in return. 

My hair's grown considerably in the last few weeks so I'm starting to re-explore the world without a wig, scarf or hat.  I went out today a few times without wearing anything on my head.  It was actually very liberating.  I'm playing around with faux-hawks right now.  I am re-exploring the world of hair products to shape my hair.  We'll see what arena I'm ready to go next--it's one thing to go around my neighborhood.  It's another to brave daycare, work, and working out.  More to come on this.

Post treatment blogging

I thought I would take the opportunity to blog when I'm not in a chemo week funk.  I didn't really publicize my last post but I did want to follow-up on it a bit because in hindsight it felt a tad self-centered and narcissistic.  I know that there are some people out there that haven't been in touch because they're dealing with their own issues.  I get that and my post wasn't directed at those people.  I got a fantastic response from this post.  I know I still owe a few people responses--I haven't forgotten about you, I just can't get my act together.  I also realize that many people don't know what to say or they assume certain things, so they don't say anything.  In case it wasn't clear, that was the point of my post--don't assume and even if you don't know what to say, reach out anyway (assuming you want to).  I'm not sure I articulated myself well in this paragraph, I mainly wanted to clarify that I do realize at times it's not all about me.

A few people have said I should write a book when this is over.  I'm incredibly flattered that you think I is a good righter (in case you don't know, that was a joke).  Others have asked me if I'm going to keep blogging when treatment is over.  I think if I were to keep blogging, I'd have to change topics.  The question, of course, is, what topic?  I could do a parenting blog, but there are a lot of parenting blogs out there.  I could talk about how concerned I am that in 2013 I still run into people who think it's weird if a girl wears a superhero shirt, or a shirt with dinosaurs or robots on it.  I suppose I could do a work-related blog, but I spend enough time at work.  One thing I have lots of opinions on are celebrity conspiracies, odd comments the media says about celebrities, and the general narcissism of celebrities:

• Celebrity conspiracies: It's been a while since I've spent a lot of time thinking about this, but two are my favorites are 1) that Nicole Kidman faked the pregnancy of her first daughter and 2) that I think Britney Spears youngest boy has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.  I suppose the latter isn't really a conspiracy per se.  I'm sure if I wrote a blog consistently, I could come up with more.
• Media's portrayal of celebrities:  Does anybody else remember when Princess Kate had her baby and they were all leaving the hospital and the media praised her for not being afraid to show her body so early post-partum?  Do these people realize that you don't leave the hospital with a flat stomach after having a baby, no matter how much or little weight you gained during your pregnancy?  I saw the same said about Alec Baldwin's wife.  Really?  
• General celebrity narcissism. Why do celebrities take so many pictures of themselves half-dressed?  Do they really think we care?  Are they that self-centered?  I also saw a headline of how Beyonce rode her bike to one of her concerts in Brooklyn and posted pictures of it along the way.  So...she brought a photographer with her on her bike ride?  That's just odd. 

You might think I am ashamed at how much time I spend thinking about this. Oddly enough, I'm not.  Anyway, those are just some thoughts.  I'm sure next week will go back to our regular programming.  Final chemo funk post?

Something that drives me crazy

Three treatments down, one more to go.  Seventy-five percent through the Taxol, 87.5% through all chemo treatments.  On October 1, I'll have my last chemo treatment(!).  Some people have said, "we need to celebrate!"  And we do!  But it's not over...yet.  I still have radiation.   I know, I know, it's not as sexy as chemo.  But after radiation, it will be over.  Sort of.  I still have some more preventive surgeries ahead of me plus 10+ years of estrogen blockers.  So will it every really be over?

As I've alluded to in my past few posts, the biggest side effect of the Taxol is the depression and moodiness.  Ahh...I can feel it settling in now.  Each Taxol treatment's hit me a little differently.  As I've mentioned multiple times before, I have been overwhelmed by the amount of support I've gotten these past few months.  There have also been those who have been AWOL.  I try really hard to focus on the positive and all of the people that have been so great, but I continue to brood and feel angry about the people that said they'd be there for me but haven't.

As I start to (sort of) feel like the end of this is around the corner, I think about how my relationships with people are going to change once everything is "back to normal".   Should I confront the people that I'm angry at?  Would it accomplish anything?  What do I do about people that are in contact with Aaron but not with me?  How do I have a relationship with these people when they weren't around at my lowest points?  Especially when they still have a relationship with Aaron?  And why do people reach out to Aaron (or my parents), but not to me?  I might be a lot less angry with these people if they reached out to me and asked me how I was doing.  Because it drives me crazy when Aaron says, "I need to give Person C a call."  You do?  Why?  "Oh because she emailed us last week."  Um, I didn't get that email.  Or my mom says, "Person D, E and F have been asking about you."  Oh they have?  Well that's odd, because I haven't heard from them and I know they have my contact information.  These are a lot of questions that I don't have answers to. 

I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago and she brought up this topic with me after she'd read it on my blog.  And she said, "some people just can't handle these situations."  And I get that.  I do.  I guess my point is--what do these people expect from me once (if?) they reappear in my life once I'm done with treatment?  Do they think I'll welcome them back with open arms? 

With me, what you see is what you get. If I don't like you, I have a very hard time pretending that I do.  I don't know how I'm going to get past my anger at people that I can't push out of my life.  I realize I'm getting a little ahead of myself right now, but I'm more mad at myself for wasting so much energy being angry at these people.  They're not worth it.  So why can't I move on?

Reunions and other fun stuff

My cancer diagnosis coincidentally fell during my 20 year high school reunion and my 10 year business school reunion.  For those that don't know, I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and I got my MBA at Babson.  We had planned on flying out for the high school reunion--my folks still live out in California and Aaron and I were going to get a few days in wine country while the girls were with my folks.  We'd even bought our plane tickets and everything.  And then, of course, I got my news.  Since I was going to be in the middle of chemo, we decided to postpone the trip.  I was a little bummed to miss the reunion.  It would have been great to see people, but one of the upsides of Facebook has been reconnecting with people.

So I skipped the high school reunion, but now my Babson reunion is looming.  I need to decide whether to go or not.  I think my hesitation lies in being "the classmate with cancer".  I just want to be normal and I don't want people to treat me differently.  Or be sad or awkward.  Because I do have awkward conversations with people now.  With some people it feels like a big elephant in the room.  They don't know how to address it and they don't know what to say.  (You know what?  It's okay to not know what to say.  If somebody else I knew was going through this, I don't think I'd know what to say.  But it's okay to say, "I don't know what to say."  It's better than saying nothing.)  But I think the night would be really fun. Which gets to my next point: just because I have cancer doesn't mean I don't want to have fun right now.  If anything I need more fun.

Please don't think that just because I'm going through treatment that I want to stay home. I want to go out.   Aaron goes out a lot with his friends.  Some people have mentioned having a celebration when I'm all done with this.  I definitely want to have that celebration, but I don't want to wait until then to have fun.

In my prior post I had quite the pity party about feeling lonely and sad.  Chemo makes you crazy (that's a post in itself.  It's frustrating how moody I get, but it's reassuring to know that it's not just me. Also, I haven't forgotten about some of the other topics I said I'd get to).  With the AC chemo, it was just about getting through it.  The Taxol doesn't make me feel nauseous, so now it seems I just think about how lousy I feel mentally.  After my second treatment I was having an "episode".  Aaron asked if I wanted to go on a date night.  And no offense to him, but the answer was no.  I want to go out with my friends. 

There was a friend who wanted to go see a movie a while back.  She was out of town most summer weekends with her family and we had a lot going on with my folks and Aaron's family in late July/early August, and we never got together.  But I remember my friend writing at one point, "there will be lots of time for movies after this is all done."  And that just deflated me.

Part of the problem is I don't have the energy to reach out to people on my own.  We got some great offers over the summer to the Cape, Maine and some other places and for one reason or another, it didn't work out.  Those were really, really appreciated.  And we do see friends.  But sometimes I'd like to leave the girls with Aaron and get out the house to see other people.  No husband, no kids (sorry guys).

So I'm asking: if you have no plans some weekend, give me a call.  I'd love to go out!

Welcome to my pity party

I had my second round of Taxol this week.  They gave me fewer anti-allergy drugs which made the day of chemo more tolerable.  The thing that's been the hardest about this chemo is I feel more depressed.  I would get pretty down during the last chemo because I felt so lousy and I wondered if I could actually get through it.  This time I don't feel as physically bad, but I wonder if I'm actually more depressed because I'm so tired and have low energy.  I usually work at home the two days after chemo and that makes me feel alienated, which makes me feel even more depressed.  And throughout it all I just feel lonely and isolated.  It becomes a bit of a vicious circle. I try to get out and meet up with people, but there are only so many walks you can go on. 

When I'm thinking about what to write, I can be all over the place.  So here are some random musings I've had as of late:

1. If there are so many women with cancer out there, how come I never seem to see any of them in Natick or the surrounding towns?  Every time I spy a woman wearing a baseball hat I think, "maybe she's like me!"  But she isn't.  I saw a woman at Trader Joe's a few months back that had really short hair and she had little girls too and I was tempted to ask her if she just had short hair or if it was growing back, but it's kind of an odd question to ask somebody.  She seemed nice though.
2. My hair is slowly starting to grow back.  It is a dull, lifeless, mousy brown.  I hate it.  I know this is temporary, but I still dislike it.  I am considering dyeing it.
3. A lot of people ask how Aaron and the girls are doing.  Addie seems pretty clueless as to what's going on.  Belle has good days and bad days.  Most of her bad days seem to happen during my chemo weeks.  Even when I'm not going through treatment, she has sad and angry moments.  She has admitted that she is mean to me sometimes because she's mad about my boo-boo.  I think being able to acknowledge this is pretty insightful for a 3.5 year old.  She doesn't like what my boo-boo has done to me--it makes me grumpy, impatient, and tired.  This breaks my heart but I'm hoping that she'll actually remember very little of this experience. I suppose it will all become fodder for her future therapy sessions.
4. Throughout this whole thing I worry about what a bad mom I've become.  I'm short with the girls and have no patience.  Belle's already a daddy's girl and Addie seems to have leanings that way too.  In my depressed state, this makes me feel even lousier.  And become I feel like I've become a monster, I worry about pushing my girls even more away.  
5. If I haven't said it already, Aaron is the best caregiver I could ask for.  He has borne the brunt of my anxiety, tears, mood swings, etc., these past few months like a champ.  Let me tell you--I'm not an easy patient (shocker, I know).  And if the tables were turned, I doubt I could be as patient of a caregiver. The other day as I was tearfully thanking him for being so great, I said sometimes I feel like he's had more to deal with this whole time than me.  I can't imagine how helpless he must feel that there's nothing he can do to change my situation.  And to deal with the aforementioned stuff.  But then he pointed out, that I still probably have it worse because after all, I am the one with cancer.  Ha!  Good point.
6. I continue to be fascinated by people's reaction to my disease.  I've had people tell me they can't read my blog because it upsets them.  Or they tell me they don't read it at all with no specific reason, and they're sorry they haven't been in touch, but they're thinking of me.  There are also the people that ask incredulously how I'm working through this (usually with their head cocked and a concerned or skeptical look on their face).  And of course, there are those that tell me how "upbeat" I am.  Here are my responses to these:
1. Okay.  You know this isn't about you, right?
2. Seriously?  Don't bother.
3. We still have bills to pay and it's a good distraction.
4. While this year is hands down on the top 3 worst years of my life (12 and 13 were pretty bad years too), you do realize I'm not going to die, right? Unless my oncologist has told you something differently?  So while this sucks right now, it will pass eventually (or so I'm told).
7. I've also had people tell me incredibly personal moments about their own cancer scares or other health issues.  Those have meant a lot that people feel comfortable enough with me to share me those things.  

Sorry for the pity party posting.  

Chemo: The Sequel (a title that doesn't quite capture the jist of the post)

This past Monday I started the latest round of chemo.  It's a different type of chemo, so the side effects weren't supposed to be as bad as the initial round.  And all in all, I will (tentatively) say that this round has not been as bad thus far.  The biggest complaints are fatigue and muscle pain.  Monday was probably the absolute worst day because they gave me so much Benadryl to counteract any potential allergic reaction I might have to the chemo.  As with the same time, the schedule is four treatments over eight weeks. Cross your fingers (and toes!) that I don't get a cold this fall to set me off schedule again.

I wrote the above paragraph earlier this week and it's sort of funny that all I have to say about it is one paragraph.  But there really isn't much else to say.  I'm starting to bore myself (and you?) with my updates.  This just feels like my life now. 

Even if I don't post as often as I'd like to anymore, I think quite a bit about what to write.  Lately most of the ideas just float around in my head because the reality is, for better or worse, this is just one facet of my life--I'm still working full-time, I have two little girls, and any free time is spent with some combination of Aaron, the girls, and friends.  This really isn't any different from my pre-cancer (PC) life.  On weekdays, the goal is to get the girls into bed at a reasonable hour so Aaron and I have some time to just relax and decompress from the day.  Since I spend a good chunk of my day in front of a computer, I don't have a lot of energy to spend more time in front of one when I get home.  And the weekends don't tend to present many opportunities for writing either.  But then eventually, the thoughts are swarming all around and I just have to get my thoughts down.  Which is why I'm typing this at midnight on a Sunday (I guess technically Monday now) when I should be sleeping.  Tomorrow morning's going to be ugly.

I can't recall if I've mentioned this previously, but back when I was working with my treatment team to decide the schedule, they ("they" being the treatment team) were trying to decide where I'd get radiation done.  Aaron's depressed Russian barber strongly recommended a women in Framingham.  Framingham's close to Natick, that would work out well.  Coincidentally, the BI team mentioned her as a great radiation oncologist.  Unfortunately, a BI radiation oncologist had already insisted on working with me, which meant I was going to have to go into Boston every day for six to seven weeks.  For a 10-15 minute visit.  Are you kidding me?  As a result, I'd been dreading radiation just about as much as any other aspect of my treatment.

Well, at my post-surgery follow-up, I was told that it was fine if I went to the Framingham radiation place after all.  I don't know what happened, but I've never been so happy for a doctor to lose interest in me. Especially one that specializes in cancer.  So that was some good news. 

I've had two moments these past few weeks that have really struck me.  The first one was at this radiation oncologist's office.  We were in one of her rooms and on the back of the door was one of those laminated wall calendars that showed all 12 months.  I saw January, February, and March.  March was the last month where I was blissfully unaware of what I was about to go through.  I looked at the rest of the months laid out before me on the wall and and realized, "Wow, this year really is going to be consumed by cancer."  From April on it's been cancer cancer cancer.  And it will be that until early December at the earliest.  That's 9 months.  Holy crap, no wonder this has felt endless.

As a result, I've never been so happy for summer to almost be over because it means I'm that much closer to being done.  Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving--they can't come (and go) quickly enough.

The other moment came at the eye doctor (funny, eye doctor and dentist appointments still come up no matter what your health status is).  Quick aside--I went to this appointment last Wednesday--two days after chemo started up again.  Aside from Monday, the worst day was Wednesday.  I was so tired and achy, I had nothing in me to interact with people.  I'd gone into work in the hopes of it waking me up.  It didn't.  I think I just came off as out of it and incoherent, which I was.

At my annual eye check-up the doctor said to me, "So last time you were nursing."   I stared at her blankly.  I was in nursing?  I was a nursing student?  God help us all--no way does the world need me as a nurse.  Ohhhh....I was nursing!  Yes, I WAS nursing!  A baby!  Phew.  And then I thought, "Holy shit, yes, at my last visit in July 2012 I had a 5 month old and I was still nursing."  I wish she'd just said breastfeeding, but it felt like a lifetime ago.  And at next year's appointment, I'll actually be on the other side. I might be recovering from reconstruction surgery, but that's it.  Needless to say, I can't wait for next year's eye appointment.

There are other things I've been thinking about lately, but they'll have to wait for future blog posts (forgive the lack of parallelism.  If you don't know what I'm talking about, never mind):

1. A philosophical discussion on all of the drugs I've been accumulating (prescription and herbal) and a reminder of why I never was a pothead.
2. Why I can't get past being angry at certain people but also why I haven't reached out for more help.
3. I'm starting to realize why so many women that go through this pay it forward
4. Why I hope that as a result of this I'll be a lot less self-absorbed and also be able to pay it forward
5. Why it's not necessarily fair to be mad at the people mentioned in #2.

Stay tuned!  I used to start these at chemo, but I have a hard time typing on my Kindle, especially once I get hooked up to the IV.  Which is unfortunate because until I get hit with the Benadryl, I'm on some pretty good uppers that give me great energy.  Perhaps the title of the one where I discuss people in #2 should be something like, "Channeling Taylor Swift." 

An overdue thank you for all of the support

One of the upsides (and I'm not sure there are many) to this whole experience has been the overwhelming support we've gotten these last few months.  As the next round of chemo approaches, I wanted to take this opportunity to say a long overdue "thank you" for all of the support we've gotten these last few months.  Not a week goes by that I don't get a card, flowers, email, FB message, phone call or text from somebody letting me know that they're thinking of me.  It is very, very much appreciated.

And the presents!  I could go on and on about the presents.  I've gotten a painting that somebody did herself (and it was really good!), turbans (and really cool brooches!), care packages with books and really thoughtful notes, scarves, gift cards to all sorts of things and more spa certificates to Bella Sante than I know what to do with (I'm getting better about making the time to go--this is a very good problem to have).  Oh, and people buy me lunch a lot.  Plus tons of stuff for my girls too.  And even more amazing, some of these presents have been from friends of my parents--people I don't even know. 

Every time I've gone to chemo I've gotten an awesome care package from my co-workers.  This past one had 3 bottles of wine and a bottle of beer from a favorite brewer of wine.  3 bottles of wine!!!!  And beer!!  I am so blessed to work with such great people.

And all of the meals and rides I've gotten have been so very, very helpful. 

Any time I get sad about people that I thought would be there for us but haven't (and there haven't been many, but there are some), I remind myself about all of the people that HAVE been there for us.  What's even more humbling is that many of these people I didn't know very well before I got my diagnosis.  I am truly, truly amazed by how great people have been.  I don't know what I did to deserve all this but we are very, very thankful. 

Thank you so much for sticking with me.  Chemo starts up again on Monday.  It's not supposed to be as bad as the last round. I'm nervous but not anxious per se.  I just dread having this poison going through my body.  I know it's intention is good, but it still sucks.  If all goes according to schedule, I'll be done on October 1 with chemo.  Then I start radiation around October 21.  In early December I should be done--sort of (more of that in a sec).  It still feels like a long road, but I do think that the worst is behind me.  Now if only my hair would start growing back...

From there I still have a few more things to deal with--10+ years of estrogen blocking therapy, getting my ovaries removed (early menopause!  Whee!) and reconstructive surgery for my new boobs.    

I'm not a big gusher and I don't know what I've done to have people be so supportive, but again, I'm very, very appreciative and continue to be overwhelmed.  I certainly owe so many people individual thank you cards and unfortunately I doubt I'll achieve that any time soon, so please know there aren't enough words to say how grateful I am to everybody.  Thank you so much!!!!

It's that time again...

...time to volunteer for stuff!  Like meals!  And rides!  Here's the link.


Thanks in advance!

Helping Hands site update

Just a note--a few friends have told me they signed up for my Helping Hands site but never received notification that they were "approved".  Please know that everybody was approved but these approval emails seem to get caught in Junk or Spam folders.  If you registered on the site and would like to sign up for something, go back to the site and login under the username and password you created.  As far as I know, you should get in. And no worries if you have no interest in this.

A whole bunch of new meal opportunities have just been posted.  Huzzah!

Cancer is not a marathon, it's an Ironman

I can't believe surgery was a week ago. This was the biggest psychological milestone thus far, and in many ways it felt like the last big hurdle to overcome.  With that said, I'm finding that the relief of having the surgery over with is now overshadowed by the realization that there's still so much more to go in this terrible journey.

Before I get ahead of myself, the surgery itself was fine.  It is what it is.  Basically, my body is essentially a before and after of puberty.  Half of my chest is as flat as a 9 year-old, the other half isn't.  If you're not into medical stuff, you can go ahead to the next paragraph, but if you're interested in gory medical details, keep reading. I have a drain coming out of the side of me and at the end is a "grenade" that collects fluid.  I get to pour it out and measure it and note the color twice a day--once in the morning and once at night.  And I push fluid through the tubing a few times a day so it doesn't get backed up.  It's a good thing I don't get grossed out by this stuff.  I have a special camisole that has a pouch for my grenade.  I get nervous when I have to take it out of the pouch to empty it--I don't want to know what it would feel like to drop the grenade and have it rip out of me.  Ouch.

Here's one thing that staying in a hospital was a good reminder of: take care of yourself. As many of you know, I hate hospitals.  They're full of disease and sick people (do a search on MRSA and you'll see what I'm talking about).  Besides the fact that I have this pesky cancer, I'm a pretty healthy person.  My roommate in the hospital was a woman who couldn't have been more than 60 years old.  (As an aside, she didn't have cancer. I wasn't sure if the hospital tried to match people with similar conditions. Apparently the answer is no.)  My roomie was obese, had sleep apnea and she was in the hospital because she had an infection in one of the bones in her foot (I don't know how this is possible).  She was probably going to rehab after her discharge rather than going home.  She was a mess and she wasn't very old.  Lesson learned:  Take care of yourself!  Life is too precious and short to be in the hospital and/or managing a preventable chronic condition at such a young age (I realize there are chronic conditions out there that can vastly affect your life that just happen.  I'm not talking to you folks, you do what you need to do).  But to everybody else--move your butts!  Don't eat too much crap!  Don't smoke!  Okay, getting off my soapbox now...

As usual, I've digressed.  As I said in the beginning, while I'm relieved surgery is over, it's overwhelming and discouraging how much further I have to go.  Since I like running and sports metaphors in general, comparing cancer treatment to a marathon doesn't do it justice, unless it's one of those 100 mile ultra marathons in say, Death Valley.  I think it's more relatable to a triathlon--and not the sprint distance, but the Ultra distance (like Ironman).  And then when you're done with that, you need to do an Eco-Challenge. 

This surgery has loomed over me for so long, I didn't really think past it.  Honestly, I couldn't.  I had to focus on just one milestone at a time.  But now that I'm past what felt like such a huge hurdle and I look toward finishing treatment, it's very discouraging how far I still have to go.  In the meantime, my sights are set on my new hobby: Subversive Cross Stitch.  Some of you know how I took up knitting when I was pregnant with Addie with the plan to knit a hat that was similar to an adorable hat that my sister-in-law had knitted for Belle when she was born.  Well....Addie's almost 18 months old and the hat's not finished.  I haven't actually ordered a kit yet, but I do like to look at them. :) 

A pre-surgery update

As you know from reading my last post, last week wasn't great.  But it got better.  Last Thursday I had a post-chemo check-in with my oncologist.  While irrelevant, the tumor had shrunk quite a bit.  Anyway, I broke down in her office about the upcoming surgery and how I was struggling with the double mastectomy.  Then she gave me the best news--I didn't have to get the double mastectomy.  It was still recommended to remove the left boob, but I could wait for the right one when I have the reconstruction next year.  I was thrilled and instantly the surgery didn't seem as daunting anymore. 

Quick aside: Many people ask why I have to wait for the reconstruction.  You might remember back when I had my lymph node biopsy, the results showed that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes.  Only 3 out of the 10 nodes had cancer, but since there was cancer in the nodes, I won the chance for radiation.  The radiation oncologist and the plastic surgeon both prefer that patients wait for the reconstruction. The radiologist wants a clear path to what he's radiating, and the plastic surgeon doesn't want his work muddied by radiation.

Knowing I got to keep my right boob for several more months was huge.  I felt so much lighter after I got that news.  I also got angry that it was my woman oncologist that brought up this option to me, not my male surgeons.  From the moment I met with the surgeons, they made it seem like it was all or nothing.  I was basically a ticking time bomb, and it wasn't a matter of if I'd get cancer again, it was a matter of when. At no point did they say I could have the left breast removed and get the right one removed when I went back for reconstruction.

To add insult to injury, the plastic surgeon's nurse called me shortly after my oncologist sent a note out to my team to make sure I was aware there might by symmetry issues if I waited until the reconstruction to have the right breast removed.  You know what?  That's a chance I'm willing to take.  What is it with this male doctors?

All that being said, I was still pretty anxious going up to the surgery (which was yesterday).  I'll write more later, but I did want to send a quick update of the change of plans.

Not one of my best weeks

Warning: Apparently I am prone to random crying outbursts this week as the reality of surgery looms. 

Let me step back a week or so.  After finally getting through the recovery for my final chemo treatment, I'd been feeling pretty good.  But since this past weekend, my impending surgery on July 23 has me quite anxious and really down about this whole cancer thing.  Here are some random awkward moments I've had:

1. My niece's birthday party on Sunday.  We went to my niece's birthday party and all of the parents were really nice but I felt so self-conscious there.  I'd only met one other couple there, but I felt very uncomfortable.  I didn't know what people knew, if anything, but hello, I was wearing a scarf.  It doesn't take an Einstein to realize that there's something going on with me.  And whatever it is, it's probably not good.  I actually started crying at the party because I was so miserable.  Not a sobbing cry, just a tears running down my face sort of cry.  I wanted to run away from the party, but a bunch of moms were hanging out by the backyard gate and I didn't want to have to walk by them and have them see me crying, so I just sat in my chair trying to pull myself together.  And then I just cried most of the way home.
2. Daycare parking lot on Monday.  As if Sunday was bad, Monday was worse.  I didn't sleep very well, which didn't help my mood.  I was able to hold it together for most of the day at work but basically fell apart as soon as I got to my car.  I ran into a mom that I don't know very well at daycare pick-up that evening.  Even though I don't know her very well, she's been so nice and supportive through this whole thing.  (Some of the parents at day care are quite unfriendly.  That's a blog post for another day.)  Anyway, I ran into this Mom and she asked how I was doing and I burst into tears.  Awwwwkkkwwwarrrrddd.
3. Oddly enough, I was fine on Tuesday.  I think getting some sleep helped.

Since then, it's been a bit of an emotional roller coaster.  I hate my hair loss, I hate my scarves, I hate my wig.  I hate it I hate it I hate it.  I've hated it this whole time but now I really, really hate it.  I wish I could be more anonymous.  I could be, I suppose--it's my decision to wear scarves over my wig most of the time, but that's mainly because I just haven't really gotten used to the wig.  And because I have peach fuzz growing back, the wig's starting to get more uncomfortable.  Yet I refuse to shave again because I just want my hair back.  One of the friends I've made in this whole ordeal told me that she hasn't told that many people about her cancer--she wears her wig all of the time and just told people she got a new haircut.  In many ways I'm jealous of her--there are many days I wish I didn't have to be constantly reminded of my cancer every time I look in the mirror.  The irony in all of this is most people tell me I look really, really good--not like somebody who has cancer at all.  Which I think is meant as a nice thing, even if it sounds like a backhanded compliment.  And people love both the wig and the scarves.  And the crazy thing is, I think most of the people have been sincere, which is crazy to me because you have no idea how ugly and freak like I feel these days.

To clarify, I'm getting a double mastectomy.  Technically I don't need to have both breasts removed, but given my genetic status and my desire/determination to never go through cancer treatment again if I can help it, I've decided to have both removed.  And many women get reconstruction at the same time, but since we already know that the cancer spread into my lymph nodes, I need radiation.  The radiation oncologists prefer a "clean canvas" for their work and the plastic surgeons don't like their work muddied by radiation.  So reconstruction needs to wait until sometime next spring/summer.

My primary solace is I've been told the surgery's not that bad.  A few women have told me that the anxiety is worse than the actual event, as the chemo and hair loss was in many ways.  And I've seen some pictures of women with mastectomies and the women actually don't look that bad.  The chemo's been one thing, but this surgery is a brutal reminder that this whole thing is very, very real.  I'm 37 (soon to be 38) and this has by far been the shittiest year of my life.   

File this under: Tell me something I don't know

I'm overdue for a "I'm so glad I'm done with the first round of chemo yet now I have to deal with my impending surgery" post.  What can I say?  I've been too busy feeling better to write a post.  I'll write something soon.  In the meantime, I saw this article in the NY Times and thought, "Really?  This is actually news?"  Because I can tell you now, I'm not even close to being done with my treatment to know that I doubt I'll ever be at ease that the cancer won't return.  This is one of those research projects that frustrates me because it's money that could have been spent on something else.  Maybe as a result of this research something good will come out of it, but I'm not holding my breath.

How I've changed in the last few months

Note:  The different font sizes is driving me crazy.  I can't fix it.  Please don't think that I don't take consistent formatting seriously.  Perhaps the most frustrating part is it looks all the same in the draft mode.
 
These off-treatment weeks always sort of lull me into a false sense of normalcy.  I always feel pretty good and if it wasn't for the fact that I had no hair, life is almost normal.  Oh, and we have this awesome service where friends drop off meals.  It's magical.  Although for some reason my insomnia has been pretty bad this week.

As I was reflecting on writing this post, I realized that in many ways I haven’t changed that much, I’ve just become a little more extreme.   Which might worry some of you that know me very well.   How have I changed?  Let me count the ways:

1. I thought I was forgetful before…what was I talking about?  I’ve been pretty out of it since Belle came.  And then I started chemo and it got that much worse.  I feel the impact of this the most at work.  Fortunately I work with awesome people who can keep track of things when I forget.  And because they're my friends, they give me a hard time about this.  And every now and then I’ll remember a random nugget.  Also, I owe so many people thanks for cards, calls, flowers, FB messages, etc.  I think of writing you a quick note, but it's usually not when I'm around a computer.  So please know from the bottom of my heart that I appreciate every card, email, FB message, text message, etc that I get.  The lack of a response is definitely not personal.     
2. I get angry much quicker.  Y’all remember the race director interaction.  Well, there was another interaction at the Oncologist’s office with a scheduling woman.  The details aren’t important but this woman shouldn’t be in customer service.  Oh, and there was the interaction with the medical assistant in my plastic surgeon's office.  She wasn't unhelpful, she just had no idea what was going on.  I was already a little on edge about that visit because of my previous visit with him.  Anyway, if you’re not going to be helpful to me (no matter what your role is), I apologize in advance because I’m going to give you a piece of my mind.  And then I’ll make it my mission to try and get you fired.  Well, maybe not, mainly because once I’ve ripped you a new one I don’t really feel like wasting any energy on you anymore.  But I’ll wish that I could get you fired.  Before I’d at least try and charm you a little bit longer until it was clear you weren’t going to be helpful and then I’d get pissed. 
3.  My bullshit meter is very low.  In line with the previous one, this has more to do with the people who came out initially in support and wanting to help and have been AWOL since.  I know not all of these people were sincere, but a few did seem sincere and they've just disappeared.  I also realize that everybody's dealing with their own lives.  I try very hard to not waste time or thoughts on these people--they're not worth it and there have been so many other people who have totally stepped up, that I try very hard to focus on that.  But you know what? It would be nice to go to a movie, and when you offered to take the kids anytime, which was helpful because my kids knew who you were, I really appreciated that offer.  Unfortunately, you have ignored my emails to do these things and that hurts my feelings.  This really only applies to a few people and again, I wish I didn't spend as much time thinking about it as I do sometimes.  Then sometimes I think, "maybe they're avoiding me because they read this blog and they've come to the conclusion that I'm a narcissist."
4. I have become a lax parent.  I hope my children don’t end up as out-of-control brats as a result of my lax parenting, but my parenting has become more lax.  I pick my battles.  That being said, in many ways I yell more at the girls because I have less patience, but fortunately it doesn’t seem to really phase Belle anymore, who used to be more sensitive.  Maybe I’m just “cranky mommy” in her head.  Addie's pretty laid back, but she has her moments too.  I always feel better when Aaron loses his patience too.  Then I don’t feel like as much of a monster.  What was I talking about?  So when I’m not being a monster, I’m more likely to give in to things.  I think this is more Addie-specific because she’s getting to the age where she doesn’t like the word “no” and she’s way more vocal about her displeasure than Belle was.  Addie was such a happy, easy baby that I knew the moment she started having tantrums I would look at her in puzzlement.  She's not the one that’s supposed to make a fuss--that's Belle's role (Belle, if you're reading this 10 years from now, you were a challenging little girl.  It was great, exhausting and infuriating. I love you!).  I have a feeling she’s going to be more outspoken than Belle.  I can’t imagine where my girls get this from.  Again, I digress.  I could care less at this point when Belle is potty trained and Addie can have her pacifier as long as she wants it.  My point is I’m more likely to give in to things so the girls will stop shrieking.  Please.  Just.  Stop.  Crying.  
5. Real life “problems” don’t phase me anymore.  This one is more work related because that's where I spend a lot of time and it's not pre-schooler or toddler drama.  I'm also going to be a little vague here because I know of some co-workers that read this, but I might not know all.  I'm less phased by the daily drama that happens in the day to day.  I like listening to it still because it's a good distraction, but my goal right now is to get through this whole thing and not get fired.  I do what I need to do and otherwise my head is elsewhere.  You want to do another re-org?  That's fine.  Do I have any questions about this?  Not particularly.  You want to complain about something that is part of your job?  Fine.  I get mad about things that happen, but most of the time it doesn't last.  Plus, despite some qualities that my co-workers dislike, this place is still a million times better than my last place.
6. You thought I was moody before???  Bottom line, I have good days and bad days.  One day was kind of rough as I thought about the looming surgery.  But the next day I felt better. What a difference a day makes.  And tomorrow, who knows?  A lot of the time (especially when I’m at work), I feel like my old self.  I guess my co-workers could speak to this better than me, but work has been such a nice distraction that I can’t forget about everything else and just focus on work when I’m there.  Plus I have funny co-workers who like to make me laugh.  And I like to laugh, so it’s win-win.
7. I’m more thankful.  I am thankful for so many people--Aaron and the girls, my parents, Aaron's family, old friends and new friends that have been so supportive and everybody that's sent me cards or emails or signed up to help.  As difficult as treatment is, I'm also thankful it was caught early.  With any luck, I won't ever have to go through this again, although I have my moments where I worry about it coming back, and I'm not sure that's ever going to go away.