Race for the Cure

I am a runner. That's how I've always described myself whether I'm in shape or not. I ran cross country and track for Ft. Collins High School, Fort Lewis College and Kansas State University. I love to run. I haven't run since I was about 4 months pregnant with Maja. Obviously, I've had some medical conditions and surgeries to recover from which have prevented me from doing so.

Cancer and chemo make me want to detoxify my body; for the most part, I'm only hungry for healthy foods and juice. It also makes me really want to run again, probably because I can't. So, I'm going to take the running out of the race and do the things I can do. I walk every single morning, whether it's around the block or up to a mile. I strap Maja onto my chest and we are silent for the next half hour or so. It provides a time for me to be with nature, observe the rest of the world, and to think about life. It's a good time to meditate.

All of this is fine and good, but I realized that the runner in me is missing something: a race! Now, I know I can't compete in the Bolder Boulder right now, but I think there is another wonderful race where simply finishing is winning, and walking is just as good. The best race for me at this point is the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I don't have Breast Cancer, but this would be a great chance for me to connect with other women with Cancer who are fighting for their lives. I will race for my Aunt Gail who survived Breast Cancer last year and continues to show her support for me. If anyone else would like to accompany me and my family, please join me! You need not be in the shape of your life to compete in this race, but I guarantee it will make you thankful for the health you do have.

The race is Sunday, August 12th at Union Station in Kansas City, MO.

http://www.komenkansascity.org/Default.asp

Let's Get Real

Here is a blog covering the news about another woman with cancer. I don't know her, but it made me very sad to read that she had passed away this week. We share a lot of similarities so it's been hard for me to think about. Please send her family as much positive energy as you can.

http://karincarter.blogspot.com/

The Bald Lady

I was taking my daughter for a walk a couple of days ago and feeling pretty down on myself; pretty lonely. I enjoy my walks because I can have silence and move inward for awhile. A couple of blocks into it, I came up on a small intersection where a car had stopped at the stop sign perpendicular to me. It would take me awhile to get to the intersection so the car could have gone but it rested there, waiting for me to get closer. The driver was a bald woman wearing a baseball cap like the one I was wearing, and glasses. She was looking at me and grinning the biggest grin she could. I couldn't help smiling back at her and was suddenly so happy. I noticed a few other people in the car and they turned to look and smile at me too. The car turned the corner in front of me and headed on it's way. I watched it get smaller as it climbed the hill, then dipped out of sight as it passed the crest. I walked faster, subconsciously following the car, still smiling. I wanted her to come back so badly! I really needed that. Sometimes just knowing there are other people like you out there doing exactly what you're doing can make a world of difference.

Cancer Guilt

There is a lot of guilt associated with cancer. For me it seems endless. When I resolve one thing I feel guilty about, I start feeling guilty about something else but there's always something. Sometimes there are many things I feel guilty about.

When I first started thinking about the cancer I thought I must have done something to my body to create this cancer in myself. Maybe it was that cigarette I smoked in 8th grade. Maybe my vegetarianism somehow robbed my body of something it needed. Maybe I was too promiscuous or smoked too much pot in college. Were my maternity pants too tight? I must have used the wrong tampons. Or maybe I shouldn't have used them at all. My self-accusing thoughts abound.

Then I started feeling guilty that I was robbing my children of this time in their lives. Maja hasn't had her pictures taken yet mostly because we don't have the time between chemo treatments and hospital trips but partially because we're spending all our money on prescriptions and medical bills. I feel guilty that almost every dollar we have goes to me and my needs, not to them. I feel guilty that Tristan is so angry lately. I think I've been trying to talk to him about cancer too much. He's having a hard time with it.

Now I'm starting to feel guilty that I wasn't prepared enough for any of this. Perhaps I should have had a cancer savings. I also feel guilty that I can't take some of the side effects like mouth sores. I feel guilty when I have to ask for help. I don't like not being able to do things on my own. One of those things is mowing my lawn. That's just a vanity issue, right? I can live without a mowed lawn. I won't get sicker if my grass is several inches higher. I want my lawn mowed but I don't need it. Same with the mouth sores. I can live with them. It hurts bad but no one can see them and I just have to eat slower and maybe not talk as much. I could use the $25 for the Magic Mouthwash and put it toward getting Maja's pictures taken.

I feel guilty about not working when I can. There are probably five good days between treatments when I could physically function. I should be working. On that same note, I feel guilty about going out or having fun. If I'm capable of having fun, I should be capable of working. And I should definitely not be having a drink and making it harder for my body to bounce back from treatment.

I feel very guilty about not being sick all the time because I know there are other people out there who are very ill during chemo. On the other hand, when I am sick from chemo, I feel guilty that I'm not stronger (insert guilt for not treating my body better pre-cancer) and that I need help taking care of my children/house/self.

It's just a huge cycle of guilt. It's not healthy and is incredibly irrational, I know. It will never completely go away. Guilt should be listed as one of the side effects of cancer.

Holy Crap, It's My Birthday!

I'm one of those people who really takes their birthday too seriously. I have a birthweek and a birthmonth that are almost as big as the birthday itself. Anyway, I turned 32 last Monday and I had been feeling pretty good. It was the week after chemo which is when my white blood count tends to be low, but I'm bouncing back after the nausea and achy joints from the drugs.

The thing that happens with chemo is, you get "premeds" which are steroids and tylenol that will help you take the chemo better and not get as nauseated. I really just get tired and sleep the whole time. Then they give you the chemo. I get two different kinds and it takes a total of around 4 hours for the whole thing. Then I get a bunch of steriods (two different pills to take several times daily, and one to take on the onset of nausea). I also get a lot of drugs to help with the side effects of chemo and the side effects of the drugs that help those side effects, like hydrocodone or Lortab for my achy joints. The Lortab and chemo make my, uh, "plumbing" malfunction, so I have to take Colase which is a stool softener. TMI, I know.

Well, to make a long story short, most everything I take has it's own side effect that I can go ahead and take another pill for until I get to a side effect I can deal with. This last time I ended up just having too many problems with the plumbing issue and a lot of vomiting. If you're not on chemo I don't think it's a big deal, but since I am, I had to head to the hospital at 6:00 am the day of my birthday. Now, I'm not wallowing in self-pity (well....not really). I had a really great nap, some good drugs in the hospital, and I even got a little cupcake that said "Happy Birthday" on it from the hospital cafeteria.

The point is, sh*t happens. I felt like crap from the chemo anyway. It's not like I was going to go on a bender and hit the strip clubs anyway. I have to admit I was pretty down on myself while in the hospital. I finally got out in the afternoon. Dan and I walked down the hall of the cancer ward and some people had their doors open. I looked in at a few patients and realized how freakin' lucky I am to be having a birthday for goodness sakes. At least one of those people I looked in at was on their death bed and would not live to see another birthday, but they all peered out at me and smiled. So from here on out, my birthday will still be a fabulous day that I celebrate endlessly, but for a different reason: because I AM ALIVE.

Welcome to the Club

You see the women banded together, arm in arm, with their pink t-shirts, bald heads, and baseball caps with ribbons on them and think, "wow, now that's a group of courageous women". You kind of envy those women and their camaraderie. I know I did.

I've always felt like I needed to be a member of some kind of group and had trouble finding it. I'm so embarrassed to say this, but I almost wished something big would happen to me so I could have something to be motivated by; something to identify myself with. Do you ever hear about those people who get in horrific car accidents and then they all of a sudden have a greater respect for life, or some purpose they may not have had before? I think I was looking for that purpose.

After my surgery, I went into the Cancer Institute where my oncologist's office is and we talked about what was going to happen next. She told me I was in Stage IC Clear Cell Ovarian Cancer which is an epithelial cancer. Stage I is when only one ovary has cancer, II is when both ovaries have cancer, III is when it has spread to other areas of the abdomen (uterus, fallopian tubes, etc.), and IV is when it has metastasized to other areas of the body like the lungs. The C part is the grade of cancer. "A" is a very slow-growing, non-aggressive cancer, and "C" is the most aggressive and easily metastatic. My tumor had grown very large in such a short period of time and was so close to rupturing but was only on one ovary.

During my office visit, I was taken on a trip around the chemo ward for introductions. It is a very quiet place, with people sleeping in large La-Z-Boy chairs while hooked up to bags and bottles of meds. I walked in, fully aware of my long, hair-sprayed hair, and gazed upon all the women and men receiving chemo. Most had some kind of headwrap or hat on. One lady had a turban, one a scarf. There was a man with a full, bushy head of hair. The nurse brought me over to meet a woman in her mid-50's who was also bald with a baseball cap on. She looked rather sporty and energetic. She was connected to her meds through her chest using a port which is a catheter inserted under the skin above the collar bone to administer chemo. The nurse wanted me to see her port because she wanted me to have one as well. I asked all sorts of questions about it; one of which was "does your bra-strap get in the way?". As soon as the words left my mouth, this confident woman looked slightly embarrassed and I realized she had no breasts and was probably not wearing a bra. She sheepishly said, "No."

After leaving the chemo ward I felt almost evil. I was secretly excited to be a member of this group, even after meeting the woman with no breasts. I guess I felt like I could some how feed off these people's confidence and motivation, something I was lacking, and that was more important than worrying about my body parts. I would use this energy to my advantage and make it through this with a new outlook on life, a new purpose, and be just like all those women who do that Susan G. Komen race with linked arms. I almost couldn't wait to lose my hair even. I wasn't really looking forward to it, but I wanted people to know what I was going through and I felt like a faker with just a t-shirt or a ribbon citing my impending fight. Losing your hair is a visible mark that you have cancer.

What I didn't know is that later in the process I would feel much, much different about it. I would feel more alone at times than I did before the cancer diagnosis. I would need much more help. I wouldn't even be able to trudge through a cancer walk on my own. Luckily, I wouldn't have to.

Surgery and Staging

After 2 days without solid foods, the last 8 hours with nothing at all, I checked into the hospital for surgery scheduled at 9:00 am on April 9th, 2007. I happened to see a friend, Kirsten, who was checking in at the same time for surgery on her spine. We did our bloodwork together and waited to be called to the pre-op area together. After about 15 minutes of waiting, I was called to pre-op.

The pre-op area was a room in the basement without windows that had a large nurse's area in the middle with several people working and a bunch of smaller rooms lining it with curtains as doors. Each room had a hospital bed, a chair, and some supplies.

I followed a nurse to one of the curtained rooms that had a piece of paper with my last name handwritten on it. She told me to take my clothes off and put them in a plastic bag provided for me which she called "a nice piece of luggage". I did that and hopped into the hospital bed. She came back quickly and put a heated blanket on me. I noticed there was a picture of a field with some flowers about 4" by 6" on the ceiling directly above me. Someone must have put it there to meditate on. She left and another nurse came in. The new nurse asked me a lot of questions about my health and sat down to put my IV in. She tried twice in the bend of my arm with no success...and a lot of pain. Then she tried on the top of my hand after putting some anesthetic in it to numb it up. It took several tries to get that one in too. My whole arm was purple!

After about 15 minutes, my mom and my fiance came in to sit with me until surgery would start. In the meantime, I walked to the next room over where Kirsten was getting set up too. We hugged and asked eachother if the other was scared and we both said "yes". I went back to my room and met with the anesthesiologist. He told me what he expected to happen when they put me to sleep. Eventually it was time to go to surgery. I said good-bye to my family and a nurse wheeled me off to the OR on the same floor just down the hall. I remember starting to feel really happy on the way to the room, getting inside the OR and things just going blank almost immediately.

When I woke up I was in a recovery room with several other people yelling and writhing, and some nurses running around. I was in intense pain. I could barely speak. Through my post-surgery fog I could see that Kirsten was in the bed to my left. She looked good and was fully awake. I heard screaming from the man to my right. He was yelling about his leg and how much pain he was in and to make it stop. It scared me a little. I felt like I was in an army medical tent after a bombing. The clock was directly in front of me, and I think it said 1:30 pm. A nurse came to my bedside when she noticed I was awake and asked me if I was in pain and I sort of sobbed "yes". Dan came in to see me and I don't remember what we talked about, just that I hurt. The nurse gave me something to make me feel better and I faded back into a deep sleep.

I woke up again a few hours later and they started wheeling me to my hospital room. I saw my mom and Dan sitting outside my room. The transport people who wheeled me to my room told them to stay outside while they moved me to my hospital bed. They told me how to move over. I was in terrible, terrible pain so each movement was breathtaking. I needed to do it slowly, but apparently one of the transport nurses needed me to move faster so she grabbed my legs and just shoved me over, saying I needed to do just do it. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW BADLY THAT HURT. I hesitate to say this, but at that moment, I began to wonder if dying might be better than that pain. I groaned an awful groan and began to panic. The transport nurses left and my mom and Dan came in. I was crying because of the pain, but it hurt to cry so I was trying not to.

A new nurse came in and showed me how to work my morphine pump (yay!). I quickly learned that you could push it every 6 or 7 minutes so I just watched the clock and pressed it as soon as I knew I could for the next few hours. That first night was a total haze but I do remember the deep, dark depression I sunk into at that point. I also had a panic attack or two.

I was hooked up to so many machines that they moved me to a larger room the next day so all the equipment could fit. I stayed in the hospital for 5 days. During my stay they also performed a fine needle aspiration on my thyroid to check for cancerous cells. My doctor and her assistant came to see me a few days later too. They came with a huge entourage of nurses. They told me that they didn't find any cancerous cells in any of the 40 biopsies they took from my abdomen and that everything looked very healthy. However, I was still going to have to undergo chemotherapy because of the size of the tumor that was removed and the rapidity with which it grew. Even though they didn't find any cancerous cells in my abdomen, there was a chance the tumor shed before it was removed and some cancerous cells traveled to other places in my body.