Yesterday, I was sending a note to a friend reflecting on this past year and I began to write, “I just want to forget 2008.” Mid-sentence I stopped writing and deleted the sentence because I realized that it wasn’t true. I don’t want to forget 2008. It was an incredible year for me.
Admittedly, 2008 was the toughest year of my life. But this was the year when I realized what extraordinary people I had in my life. I met incredible people and my relationships with friends, family and colleagues became much more meaningful.
From bringing food, to taking me to doctor’s appointments, to covering for me at work, to praying for me and finally, to laughing and crying with me – my circle of friends and family rallied. In a strange way, I feel blessed to have had this experience.
Mind you, I have no desire to ever repeat this past year. Once was enough. As I head into 2009, neuropathy from the chemotherapy still affects my fingertips. While it is supposed to fade away as time passes, there’s a large part of me that doesn’t want it to go away. As I go about my life, every so often I tap my fingers together and remember what I’ve gone through and what I’ve learned. These are the lessons that I hope never disappear.
Thank you for the role you played in my life this year.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Coming Full Circle
My emotions over this week have fascinated me. On the eve of the election, I felt a strange sense of finality – not just for the presidential campaign, but also for my bout with cancer.
As you recall, this battle against cancer began for me when I was campaigning in Iowa . So the end of the campaign triggered the feeling that this "cancer chapter" of my life is finally over.
I've been drawing similarities between the Obama campaign and my struggle – particularly our common theme of focusing on hope for the future.
Senator Obama has been given an opportunity by the people of the United States to do great things for our country over the next four years. On a significantly smaller scale, I believe that I have been given an opportunity to do wonderful things over the next forty years (hopefully I’m not being too optimistic) for my family and community—thanks to the amazing work of my oncologist, surgeon and acupuncturist.
Like Senator Obama, I can’t squander this opportunity. I will be faced with challenges and there will be days when fear will return. Even now, every time I hear about someone dying from cancer, my heart stops and my stomach churns. The struggle is in not allowing myself to dwell on it, but to stay positive and full of conviction.
Some days it feels like this past year was just a nightmare. It’s hard to believe how much I have gone through. My young girls are much too aware of what the word “chemotherapy” means, my husband’s wedding vows were tested at far too early of an age and many of my friends and family were forced to face their own mortality when hearing about me. While I am glad to move on with my life, it’s important that I don’t forget the lessons learned over this past year. This was a wakeup call.
My prayer is this past year was simply that: a really loud wakeup call. And today there's a chance for America, and my life, to begin afresh.
As I write this my daughter Ari just brought me a beautiful painting that she made for me. She says she made it “just because I love you so much, Mommy.” I need to now go and answer that wakeup call. I’m off to play with my amazing girls!
As you recall, this battle against cancer began for me when I was campaigning in Iowa . So the end of the campaign triggered the feeling that this "cancer chapter" of my life is finally over.
I've been drawing similarities between the Obama campaign and my struggle – particularly our common theme of focusing on hope for the future.
Senator Obama has been given an opportunity by the people of the United States to do great things for our country over the next four years. On a significantly smaller scale, I believe that I have been given an opportunity to do wonderful things over the next forty years (hopefully I’m not being too optimistic) for my family and community—thanks to the amazing work of my oncologist, surgeon and acupuncturist.
Like Senator Obama, I can’t squander this opportunity. I will be faced with challenges and there will be days when fear will return. Even now, every time I hear about someone dying from cancer, my heart stops and my stomach churns. The struggle is in not allowing myself to dwell on it, but to stay positive and full of conviction.
Some days it feels like this past year was just a nightmare. It’s hard to believe how much I have gone through. My young girls are much too aware of what the word “chemotherapy” means, my husband’s wedding vows were tested at far too early of an age and many of my friends and family were forced to face their own mortality when hearing about me. While I am glad to move on with my life, it’s important that I don’t forget the lessons learned over this past year. This was a wakeup call.
My prayer is this past year was simply that: a really loud wakeup call. And today there's a chance for America, and my life, to begin afresh.
As I write this my daughter Ari just brought me a beautiful painting that she made for me. She says she made it “just because I love you so much, Mommy.” I need to now go and answer that wakeup call. I’m off to play with my amazing girls!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Another Grueling Task
Yesterday, Pat and I did something that we’ve been meaning to do for the past 5 years - create our wills, our family trust and our advance health care directives. You would think that I would have been more on top of this, particularly since I spent the last 10 months fighting a deadly disease. But, while this task was on my “To Do” list, we never seemed to make the time to get it done.
I don’t have much of an excuse for the previous 4 ½ years – except that there seemed to be so many immediate issues that overtook us, and the likelihood of death at our age seemed remote. Then, over the past 10 months, when death became more of an imminent possibility, rather than rush to finish our wills, I avoided the task – perhaps because the possibility that it would be used much sooner was too overwhelming to me.
Creating these documents was not an simple task. Determining who will raise our children, who will decide whether to take us off of life support, how we wish for our bodies to be utilized after death, who will execute our will and trust, who will make decisions for us if we are incapacitated – these are not easy decisions.
Now, a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Above all else, over the past 10 months, I’ve learned that we can’t take our health for granted. Life can change in an instant. I feel confident that when my time comes, be it within the next few years or many decades from now, I have ensured that my daughters will be ok.
I have used this blog before to urge everyone to get a colonoscopy and donate funds to cancer research and now I am going to use it to encourage action once again. If you haven’t done so already, I strongly urge you to create these critical documents for yourself and your family. It’s just too important to wait.
I don’t have much of an excuse for the previous 4 ½ years – except that there seemed to be so many immediate issues that overtook us, and the likelihood of death at our age seemed remote. Then, over the past 10 months, when death became more of an imminent possibility, rather than rush to finish our wills, I avoided the task – perhaps because the possibility that it would be used much sooner was too overwhelming to me.
Creating these documents was not an simple task. Determining who will raise our children, who will decide whether to take us off of life support, how we wish for our bodies to be utilized after death, who will execute our will and trust, who will make decisions for us if we are incapacitated – these are not easy decisions.
Now, a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Above all else, over the past 10 months, I’ve learned that we can’t take our health for granted. Life can change in an instant. I feel confident that when my time comes, be it within the next few years or many decades from now, I have ensured that my daughters will be ok.
I have used this blog before to urge everyone to get a colonoscopy and donate funds to cancer research and now I am going to use it to encourage action once again. If you haven’t done so already, I strongly urge you to create these critical documents for yourself and your family. It’s just too important to wait.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
A Worthy Cause
Next week, I will be celebrating the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. It is during this time of celebration that Jews throughout the world reflect on how they will promote the practice of tikkun olam (repairing the world) in the upcoming year.
Thanks to my dear friend and next door neighbor Liz (the same gal who wrote the “Fun” with Eve blog entry a few months ago), I have the opportunity to get started with my "repairing the world" efforts early. Liz has been actively involved in raising funds for breast cancer research.
This is another cancer that is particularly poignant for me since my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer several years ago. She was fortunate in that they were able to remove her cancer and not subject her to chemotherapy.
This year to honor women in Liz’s life who have had to battle breast cancer and to raise more money, Liz has written an essay called Answering the Call that is included in a new anthology called Knowing Pains: Women on Love, Sex and Work in our 40’s. This project has been pulled together by her friend and fellow leadership specialist Molly Rosen in support of Breast Cancer Awareness Month – October. All proceeds from the sale of the book benefit Breast Cancer Action (www.bcaction.org <http://www.bcaction.org/> ). They hope to raise over $50,000 from the sale of the book – THIS YEAR!
Here is your chance to honor someone you love who has been affected by breast cancer AND be entertained with a collection of real-life, tell-it-like-it-is stories from women in their 40’s. I would be so grateful if you would consider:
1. Ordering their book at www.amazon.com <http://www.amazon.com/> or your local book seller. Order many copies and give them to everyone on your holiday gift list. They also make great hostess gifts!
2. Passing this information on to others you know. Encourage your friends and families to buy the book and help end breast cancer!
3. Come to a reading. Locally, they will be at Montclair’s Great Good Place for Books on Sept 26th at 7pm. Other locations around the country are listed on the site www.knowingpains.com <http://www.knowingpains.com/> .
I'm so proud of my friend and neighbor Liz for her role in this amazing book. Once again, I feel so blessed to be surrounded by truly phenomenal people.
Thanks to my dear friend and next door neighbor Liz (the same gal who wrote the “Fun” with Eve blog entry a few months ago), I have the opportunity to get started with my "repairing the world" efforts early. Liz has been actively involved in raising funds for breast cancer research.
This is another cancer that is particularly poignant for me since my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer several years ago. She was fortunate in that they were able to remove her cancer and not subject her to chemotherapy.
This year to honor women in Liz’s life who have had to battle breast cancer and to raise more money, Liz has written an essay called Answering the Call that is included in a new anthology called Knowing Pains: Women on Love, Sex and Work in our 40’s. This project has been pulled together by her friend and fellow leadership specialist Molly Rosen in support of Breast Cancer Awareness Month – October. All proceeds from the sale of the book benefit Breast Cancer Action (www.bcaction.org <http://www.bcaction.org/> ). They hope to raise over $50,000 from the sale of the book – THIS YEAR!
Here is your chance to honor someone you love who has been affected by breast cancer AND be entertained with a collection of real-life, tell-it-like-it-is stories from women in their 40’s. I would be so grateful if you would consider:
1. Ordering their book at www.amazon.com <http://www.amazon.com/> or your local book seller. Order many copies and give them to everyone on your holiday gift list. They also make great hostess gifts!
2. Passing this information on to others you know. Encourage your friends and families to buy the book and help end breast cancer!
3. Come to a reading. Locally, they will be at Montclair’s Great Good Place for Books on Sept 26th at 7pm. Other locations around the country are listed on the site www.knowingpains.com <http://www.knowingpains.com/> .
I'm so proud of my friend and neighbor Liz for her role in this amazing book. Once again, I feel so blessed to be surrounded by truly phenomenal people.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Identity Crisis
When I arrived back at work three weeks ago, my role at the Port had changed a bit. Now I report to the Executive Director - an exciting new career opportunity which has made coming back to work a bit easier!
Being back at work, things are starting to become normal again and I’m getting back in my routine. You’d think that’s a good thing, but for some reason it feels odd.
So much of my identity this year has been tied to having cancer. For the past 9 months I’ve been the "cancer girl." I was immersed in the treatment, the recovery and the full mind-body approach to fighting. It truly became a huge part of my identity. I was so open about having cancer, that it was a part of almost every conversation that I was engaged in.
It is hard to remember what I talked about before I had cancer. I know that I am a big talker, so I must have had something to say, but it eludes me. Fortunately, the elections have provided me with some conversation options, but it is time for me to reengage fully not only in my work, but also in the world around me.
I am not going to give up my proud status as a cancer survivor. But cancer no longer defines who I am. I realize that it will take some time to discover the new me, but in the meantime it is a awkward balancing act - one that changes every day in new and challenging ways.
Being back at work, things are starting to become normal again and I’m getting back in my routine. You’d think that’s a good thing, but for some reason it feels odd.
So much of my identity this year has been tied to having cancer. For the past 9 months I’ve been the "cancer girl." I was immersed in the treatment, the recovery and the full mind-body approach to fighting. It truly became a huge part of my identity. I was so open about having cancer, that it was a part of almost every conversation that I was engaged in.
It is hard to remember what I talked about before I had cancer. I know that I am a big talker, so I must have had something to say, but it eludes me. Fortunately, the elections have provided me with some conversation options, but it is time for me to reengage fully not only in my work, but also in the world around me.
I am not going to give up my proud status as a cancer survivor. But cancer no longer defines who I am. I realize that it will take some time to discover the new me, but in the meantime it is a awkward balancing act - one that changes every day in new and challenging ways.
Friday, September 12, 2008
I Had The Port Removed!
On Tuesday, I went to Stanford Hospital to remove the port from my chest. Even though I had the option to leave it in (just in case), I decided that since I was not going to be dealing with cancer again, that I should remove the port. I felt that psychologically I needed to remove it to demonstrate to myself—and the world—that I was done with cancer.
Although the actual procedure isn’t a long one, Stacia and I spent the majority of the day at the hospital. Between the prep work and multiple discussions about what I was about to do, it was a very long day.
Since Tuesday, my chest has been extremely sore, but fortunately, the pain has been slowly diminishing. It’s hard to believe that the chemo part of my recovery plan is officially over. Now – on to that post-cancer action plan…
Although the actual procedure isn’t a long one, Stacia and I spent the majority of the day at the hospital. Between the prep work and multiple discussions about what I was about to do, it was a very long day.
Since Tuesday, my chest has been extremely sore, but fortunately, the pain has been slowly diminishing. It’s hard to believe that the chemo part of my recovery plan is officially over. Now – on to that post-cancer action plan…
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
In Remission
Yesterday, Pat and I had a phenomenal meeting with Dr. Fisher where he confirmed that the CT scan showed no sign of cancer. He said that I am now heading into the most difficult time for a cancer patient – the time without a medical plan of action. He told me that while you’re fighting the cancer, you have a specified program and you just work through the program. But once a patient becomes “cancer-free” – then what?
My biggest fear is recurrence. As Dr. Fisher pointed out during our meeting, people have the best shot at beating cancer the first time you get it. If you are unfortunate enough to get a recurrence, it's a harder task to get rid of the cancer. As you all know, I am not one to just simply sit back and hope that the cancer doesn’t return. I have to have a plan.
Dr. Fisher explained that there is a recent study that shows that lifestyle is linked to non-recurrence of cancer. There are four lifestyle factors that they have proven impact fending off cancer: exercise, having a lean body, a low fat diet and taking a daily dose of aspirin. I now have my action plan:
My biggest fear is recurrence. As Dr. Fisher pointed out during our meeting, people have the best shot at beating cancer the first time you get it. If you are unfortunate enough to get a recurrence, it's a harder task to get rid of the cancer. As you all know, I am not one to just simply sit back and hope that the cancer doesn’t return. I have to have a plan.
Dr. Fisher explained that there is a recent study that shows that lifestyle is linked to non-recurrence of cancer. There are four lifestyle factors that they have proven impact fending off cancer: exercise, having a lean body, a low fat diet and taking a daily dose of aspirin. I now have my action plan:
- Acupuncture—which I will continue on a regular basis
- Herbal Program—I'm meeting on Thursday with my herbalist who will map out a go-forward herbal and dietary program
- Low-fat Diet
- Exercise
- Aspirin
As for where I’m headed medically—I will have blood work done every six months and will get a colonoscopy and CT scan on a yearly basis. Dr. Fisher believes that with a regular colonoscopy, they will be able to spot polyps early and remove them before they turn into cancer. Furthermore, they will be utilizing the CT scan to ensure that the colon cancer does not spread to other parts of my body.
I have also had genetic testing which showed no genetic propensity (at least that they could detect) toward other forms of cancer. Basically, this means that I have the same chance as everyone else of getting other cancers, such as breast or lung cancer, so I just have to do the regular testing.
Dr. Fisher said that I now have to get used to the new, cancer-free me! He said that he felt very positive about my likelihood of being cured. He was very pleased with how I weathered the past 8 months and felt that my future was very promising. When I make it to 5 years, my likelihood of cure goes up to 90-95% and when I make it to 10 years, there’s a 99% chance that the cancer will not return.
So – make sure to pencil in on your calendar to attend the blowout event that I’ll be hosting in 2018!
Friday, August 29, 2008
All Clear!
I just got off the phone with my oncologist’s right hand, Margreet, and I am thrilled to announce that the CT scan that I took on Wednesday showed no evidence of cancer! I am stunned, elated and overwhelmed. I didn’t realize how on-edge I was about this until I received the news. I had to explain to my daughters what “tears of joy” were, as they were very concerned because mommy was crying.
I will be meeting with my oncologist to discuss next steps. First on my list is to remove the port from my chest…
I’m off to celebrate!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Chemo's Not Yet Over
Many people have congratulated me for being done with my chemo. I don’t want to downplay the significance of this milestone, but I’m far from being done. I am still experiencing the side effects from chemo including neuropathy in my fingers, extremely dry feet and fatigue. Fortunately, I am feeling stronger every day and the side effects are fading.
Perhaps the psychological recovery has been the toughest. There are stories everywhere—in the news, at my office and in my social circles—about people dying from cancer. It reminds me of when I was trying to get pregnant and all of the sudden there were pregnant women everywhere! I have to constantly remind myself that each cancer patient is unique and that I don’t know what their medical situation was, what their treatment entailed and how they approached their healing (i.e. acupuncture etc.) I have to be vigilant in keeping my eye on the prize – getting through the next several years cancer free.
This summer has been an amazing experience for me. I’ve had the opportunity to rest, connect on an even greater level with my daughters, and visit with friends and family. In some ways, I’m very lucky. I’ve had the opportunity to evaluate what’s important. I was moving so fast and furious before colon cancer that I never stopped to question how or why I was doing what I was doing.
I had big plans for my disability leave. There was so much that I wanted to accomplish. People thought that I'd be bored not working, but it’s amazing how quickly the hours fill up. My plans included:
- I was going to become a yoga queen, but I’ve still only gone to one yoga class.
- I was going to learn how to meditate, but only went once to a Buddhist meditation center.
- I was going to learn how to cook, but have only perfected mac and cheese.
My list goes on and on. But, that’s the beauty of life, as long as we’re still above the earth, we still have the ability to work on that “to do” list.
As for next steps for me – next Wednesday I’ll be heading back down to Stanford for blood work and a CT scan. The following week I’ll be meeting with Dr. Fisher. If they do not detect cancer in my body, then my next meeting with him will not be for another 6 months! Please send positive energy, prayers and anything else you’ve got my way next week. I am ready for this chapter of my life to end.
Perhaps the psychological recovery has been the toughest. There are stories everywhere—in the news, at my office and in my social circles—about people dying from cancer. It reminds me of when I was trying to get pregnant and all of the sudden there were pregnant women everywhere! I have to constantly remind myself that each cancer patient is unique and that I don’t know what their medical situation was, what their treatment entailed and how they approached their healing (i.e. acupuncture etc.) I have to be vigilant in keeping my eye on the prize – getting through the next several years cancer free.
This summer has been an amazing experience for me. I’ve had the opportunity to rest, connect on an even greater level with my daughters, and visit with friends and family. In some ways, I’m very lucky. I’ve had the opportunity to evaluate what’s important. I was moving so fast and furious before colon cancer that I never stopped to question how or why I was doing what I was doing.
I had big plans for my disability leave. There was so much that I wanted to accomplish. People thought that I'd be bored not working, but it’s amazing how quickly the hours fill up. My plans included:
- I was going to become a yoga queen, but I’ve still only gone to one yoga class.
- I was going to learn how to meditate, but only went once to a Buddhist meditation center.
- I was going to learn how to cook, but have only perfected mac and cheese.
My list goes on and on. But, that’s the beauty of life, as long as we’re still above the earth, we still have the ability to work on that “to do” list.
As for next steps for me – next Wednesday I’ll be heading back down to Stanford for blood work and a CT scan. The following week I’ll be meeting with Dr. Fisher. If they do not detect cancer in my body, then my next meeting with him will not be for another 6 months! Please send positive energy, prayers and anything else you’ve got my way next week. I am ready for this chapter of my life to end.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The End of Chemo
On Sunday I took my final chemo pills! I am glad to be done and, quite frankly, surprised that I have weathered this grueling 6-month chemo protocol so well.
I expected that I would feel elated, free, joyous and a host of other positive emotions, but I haven’t felt the joy that I was expecting. Perhaps it is because I was completely exhausted throughout the entire weekend or perhaps it is because it doesn’t feel like it is truly over.
My friend Brent, who is also a doctor, told me that he wasn’t all that surprised about my feelings. His comment was that just like I was in shock going in to this experience, it would make sense that there would be a bit of a shock ending it as well. He assured me that soon enough I would be restarting my life and as the time passed that I will be able to move on. I am hopeful that after my CT scan at the end of August that I will be given the “all clear,” I can remove the port and then I can truly celebrate!
On another positive note, I wanted to alert you to the headlines regarding my fellow cancer patient, Patrick Swayze. He is calling his response to treatment for his pancreatic cancer “a miracle.” In case you didn’t know, Patrick is being treated by my oncologist, Dr. George Fisher! Dr. Fisher is also the President-Elect of the American Cancer Society, California Division. Did I mention that I think he’s pretty incredible?
One thing that I’ve realized throughout this process is the importance of believing in your treatment and in your caregivers. It was reassuring to me to work with a medical team that I truly believed would give me the best chance at life. I will always be grateful for not only the competent care but also the kindness that I received from Dr. Fisher and his team throughout this horrendous time in my life.
I’m also grateful to Pat for all of the positive encouragement and endless support he has given me throughout this process. And to each one of you—whose kind words, prayers, meals, and endless generosity have sustained me over these past seven months!
Over the next few months I will be focused on regaining my energy. I’m looking forward to the day that the neuropathy in my fingers and toes dissipates and I will suffer less from “chemo-brain” problems.
This is the beginning of the rest of my life. It is now up to me to determine how to make sure that the extra time that I have been given - thanks to modern medicine, acupuncture, and an amazing support network - is used wisely and results in making the world a better place.
I expected that I would feel elated, free, joyous and a host of other positive emotions, but I haven’t felt the joy that I was expecting. Perhaps it is because I was completely exhausted throughout the entire weekend or perhaps it is because it doesn’t feel like it is truly over.
My friend Brent, who is also a doctor, told me that he wasn’t all that surprised about my feelings. His comment was that just like I was in shock going in to this experience, it would make sense that there would be a bit of a shock ending it as well. He assured me that soon enough I would be restarting my life and as the time passed that I will be able to move on. I am hopeful that after my CT scan at the end of August that I will be given the “all clear,” I can remove the port and then I can truly celebrate!
On another positive note, I wanted to alert you to the headlines regarding my fellow cancer patient, Patrick Swayze. He is calling his response to treatment for his pancreatic cancer “a miracle.” In case you didn’t know, Patrick is being treated by my oncologist, Dr. George Fisher! Dr. Fisher is also the President-Elect of the American Cancer Society, California Division. Did I mention that I think he’s pretty incredible?
One thing that I’ve realized throughout this process is the importance of believing in your treatment and in your caregivers. It was reassuring to me to work with a medical team that I truly believed would give me the best chance at life. I will always be grateful for not only the competent care but also the kindness that I received from Dr. Fisher and his team throughout this horrendous time in my life.
I’m also grateful to Pat for all of the positive encouragement and endless support he has given me throughout this process. And to each one of you—whose kind words, prayers, meals, and endless generosity have sustained me over these past seven months!
Over the next few months I will be focused on regaining my energy. I’m looking forward to the day that the neuropathy in my fingers and toes dissipates and I will suffer less from “chemo-brain” problems.
This is the beginning of the rest of my life. It is now up to me to determine how to make sure that the extra time that I have been given - thanks to modern medicine, acupuncture, and an amazing support network - is used wisely and results in making the world a better place.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Reflections on Tony Snow
On Saturday, when I heard about Tony Snow’s death from colon cancer, I was truly shaken. I wasn’t a big fan of Tony’s and, quite frankly, I didn’t even remember until Saturday that he had colon cancer. But, when I learned of his death, I felt a strange and very sad kinship with him as a fellow “young” person with colon cancer. His death has rocked me to my core.
Tony died from a relapse of colon cancer. He had already completed a six-month round of chemo and been given the "all clear." That’s where I hope to be in the next two weeks. But the next part of the story is something that I will always fear—after many months of health, a relapse of colon cancer was detected in his liver and his fight to stay alive started all over again.
Tony Snow’s story has given me renewed vigor to beat colon cancer—once and for all.
I’ve decided that over these next several months, I need to truly focus my time and energy on becoming healthy again. Because I’ve done so well throughout my chemo treatments compared to many others, I had forgotten that I am facing a formidable adversary – one who can easily take my life.
Many of you know that I have faced cancer with everything available to me. Not just chemotherapy, but acupuncture, natural medicine and mental healing. While books on healing have stacked up on my bookshelf, I have not devoted very much time to them. More often than not I’ve tried to keep myself busy to avoid thinking about it, rather than deal with it head on.
Looking at my children this past weekend – who turned 5 on July 8th – I realized that they deserve to have a mother. It is my absolute responsibility to do everything in my power to maximize the likelihood that I will be around to help them grow into strong, vibrant women. I want to be there; not just to see them start kindergarten, but for their high school and college graduations, their weddings and to help them raise their own children.
On Sunday night I began my final round of chemotherapy. The neuropathy in my fingers is quite bothersome and the skin on my feet is now blistering and peeling due to the cumulative impacts of chemo. While I cannot wait for this journey to end, I now know that it will never truly be over. I will always be looking over my shoulder hoping that cancer is not creeping back into my life.
This is the life of the cancer survivor.
I hear from many survivors that eventually this all consuming worry lessens and isn’t a part of your daily existence. Some people have told me that they now go weeks— or even months—without thinking about cancer.
That’s hard to imagine now, but I look forward to that day.
Tony died from a relapse of colon cancer. He had already completed a six-month round of chemo and been given the "all clear." That’s where I hope to be in the next two weeks. But the next part of the story is something that I will always fear—after many months of health, a relapse of colon cancer was detected in his liver and his fight to stay alive started all over again.
Tony Snow’s story has given me renewed vigor to beat colon cancer—once and for all.
I’ve decided that over these next several months, I need to truly focus my time and energy on becoming healthy again. Because I’ve done so well throughout my chemo treatments compared to many others, I had forgotten that I am facing a formidable adversary – one who can easily take my life.
Many of you know that I have faced cancer with everything available to me. Not just chemotherapy, but acupuncture, natural medicine and mental healing. While books on healing have stacked up on my bookshelf, I have not devoted very much time to them. More often than not I’ve tried to keep myself busy to avoid thinking about it, rather than deal with it head on.
Looking at my children this past weekend – who turned 5 on July 8th – I realized that they deserve to have a mother. It is my absolute responsibility to do everything in my power to maximize the likelihood that I will be around to help them grow into strong, vibrant women. I want to be there; not just to see them start kindergarten, but for their high school and college graduations, their weddings and to help them raise their own children.
On Sunday night I began my final round of chemotherapy. The neuropathy in my fingers is quite bothersome and the skin on my feet is now blistering and peeling due to the cumulative impacts of chemo. While I cannot wait for this journey to end, I now know that it will never truly be over. I will always be looking over my shoulder hoping that cancer is not creeping back into my life.
This is the life of the cancer survivor.
I hear from many survivors that eventually this all consuming worry lessens and isn’t a part of your daily existence. Some people have told me that they now go weeks— or even months—without thinking about cancer.
That’s hard to imagine now, but I look forward to that day.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Light at the End of the Tunnel!
Last Thursday, I saw Dr. Fisher for my regular, monthly appointment. As expected, the chemo has started to build up in my system and my neuropathy has become worse—my arms tingle when they are stretched out, my fingers are fairly numb, the skin on my feet has become very dry, and (although it’s hard to believe) I’m getting fairly fatigued. So, even though I only have two cycles of chemo left, the doctor made the decision to reduce my chemo pills by 1, lowering the dosage to 6 per day. This week I am taking the pills, next week I am off and the following week will be my last week of chemo.
I can’t believe I have come this far! When I received the cancer diagnosis and started accepting what chemo was going to mean to my life, I never thought that an end would be in sight. Although the symptoms are slightly worse, just knowing that I’m nearing the end makes it not seem so difficult.
I asked Dr. Fisher about when they will be able to declare that I am cured. He hesitated with that question. He told me that as the years go by the likelihood of recurrence drops. I asked him about the 5 year marker (which is what everyone talks about in the cancer world). He said that with colon cancer, once you pass 5 years, the likelihood of recurrence is less than 5%. Sounds like pretty good odds to me! But, he reminded me that we are a long way from 5 years out.
By the way, I was wrong about the colonoscopy – I don’t have to have another one for a year. Although I would have been fine with having one in 2 months, since it is NO BIG DEAL!
My next appointment with Dr. Fisher is not for two months. In the meantime, once I finish chemo I will have a CT scan and more blood work to determine if I have gone into remission. Once the labs and CT scan come back showing all’s clear (which I fully expect them to show), then I will be able to remove my port and start the next 40 years of my life.
I can’t wait!
I can’t believe I have come this far! When I received the cancer diagnosis and started accepting what chemo was going to mean to my life, I never thought that an end would be in sight. Although the symptoms are slightly worse, just knowing that I’m nearing the end makes it not seem so difficult.
I asked Dr. Fisher about when they will be able to declare that I am cured. He hesitated with that question. He told me that as the years go by the likelihood of recurrence drops. I asked him about the 5 year marker (which is what everyone talks about in the cancer world). He said that with colon cancer, once you pass 5 years, the likelihood of recurrence is less than 5%. Sounds like pretty good odds to me! But, he reminded me that we are a long way from 5 years out.
By the way, I was wrong about the colonoscopy – I don’t have to have another one for a year. Although I would have been fine with having one in 2 months, since it is NO BIG DEAL!
My next appointment with Dr. Fisher is not for two months. In the meantime, once I finish chemo I will have a CT scan and more blood work to determine if I have gone into remission. Once the labs and CT scan come back showing all’s clear (which I fully expect them to show), then I will be able to remove my port and start the next 40 years of my life.
I can’t wait!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
And now, a colonoscopy
I have a confession to make. I have been a little disingenuous.
Since getting colon cancer I have been a tireless advocate for people taking time to get that colonoscopy that they have been putting off. Colon cancer is one of the most avoidable cancers—and it can be detected early with a simple colonoscopy.
So, how have I been disingenuous?
Until last week, I’d never had one.
You see, when I was in Iowa, they did a flexible sigmoidoscopy and came across the tumor and scheduled immediate surgery. At home, Dr. Fisher had ordered CT scans for me, but had told me that we wouldn't be doing a full colonoscopy until mid-way through my chemo cycle. Which brings me to last week...
Like many of you, I had heard horror stories about the preparation for the colonoscopy, so I was dreading the procedure. After enduring the endless medications, surgeries and chemo I’ve gone through this year, I was mostly upset about the prospect of drinking gallons of Go-lytely.
Do I have news for you—they now have an alternative to Go-lytely! Don’t get me wrong, they don’t hand it out very easily, but through the persistence that you all know me for, I was able to secure it. I took 32 pills in a 12 hour period, but I avoided the drink!
Between the pills and an incredible GI specialist, I had a very, very easy colonoscopy. I couldn't believe how simple the whole thing was. When I walked out of the colonoscopy, my first comment to Pat was – "Well, that was no big deal."
And here’s the even better news--the doctor found only one polyp which he removed and tested for cancer. It was negative!
As I'm sure you are all aware – there are many, many people out there who have not had their colonoscopies done, although they turned 50 or have a history of colon issues in their families. While I've been telling anyone who will listen to me to get one (including a poor local rabbi who only called me to see how I was doing), I’d always felt a little awkward telling people that a colonoscopy was no big deal. But I’m telling you today, that IT IS NO BIG DEAL!
My next colonoscopy will be after I complete chemo—in just over a month! And for those of you who have not been tested and should be (you know who you are), please call your doctor today and set up an appointment to get it done.
Trust me – it's much better than chemo.
Since getting colon cancer I have been a tireless advocate for people taking time to get that colonoscopy that they have been putting off. Colon cancer is one of the most avoidable cancers—and it can be detected early with a simple colonoscopy.
So, how have I been disingenuous?
Until last week, I’d never had one.
You see, when I was in Iowa, they did a flexible sigmoidoscopy and came across the tumor and scheduled immediate surgery. At home, Dr. Fisher had ordered CT scans for me, but had told me that we wouldn't be doing a full colonoscopy until mid-way through my chemo cycle. Which brings me to last week...
Like many of you, I had heard horror stories about the preparation for the colonoscopy, so I was dreading the procedure. After enduring the endless medications, surgeries and chemo I’ve gone through this year, I was mostly upset about the prospect of drinking gallons of Go-lytely.
Do I have news for you—they now have an alternative to Go-lytely! Don’t get me wrong, they don’t hand it out very easily, but through the persistence that you all know me for, I was able to secure it. I took 32 pills in a 12 hour period, but I avoided the drink!
Between the pills and an incredible GI specialist, I had a very, very easy colonoscopy. I couldn't believe how simple the whole thing was. When I walked out of the colonoscopy, my first comment to Pat was – "Well, that was no big deal."
And here’s the even better news--the doctor found only one polyp which he removed and tested for cancer. It was negative!
As I'm sure you are all aware – there are many, many people out there who have not had their colonoscopies done, although they turned 50 or have a history of colon issues in their families. While I've been telling anyone who will listen to me to get one (including a poor local rabbi who only called me to see how I was doing), I’d always felt a little awkward telling people that a colonoscopy was no big deal. But I’m telling you today, that IT IS NO BIG DEAL!
My next colonoscopy will be after I complete chemo—in just over a month! And for those of you who have not been tested and should be (you know who you are), please call your doctor today and set up an appointment to get it done.
Trust me – it's much better than chemo.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Prime Time!
Very exciting news coming out of our house last week! The girls and I were taped for a Channel 7 news segment that airs this coming Friday. Here’s the long version of the story:
- Several weeks ago, the guys over at the Pacific Merchant Shipping Association (PMSA) were talking about me and other folks that they know who either are currently battling cancer or have faced it previously.
- They were struck by how many people have cancer and how great the need was to cure it. So, they decided to tackle this problem head on.
- They came up with a tremendous idea – establish a movement, centered on Father’s Day, in an attempt to inspire people to give to cancer research instead of buying ‘just another’ Father’s Day present.
- The Father’s Day Fund encourages people to donate to cancer research in their father’s name in lieu of a gift.
- It’s simple, but powerful.
- So – these guys created an amazing website, www.fathersdayfund.org. They do not even touch the money that is given, they just inspire people to give and link them to top notch cancer research institutions.
- Channel 7 was excited about their efforts and will be running a segment about it next Friday – featuring the guys from PMSA, me and the girls. We’re pretty thrilled!
As for my dad, Pat's dad and Pat – this Father’s Day they will be receiving a lovely certificate indicating that funds have been donated in their honor to Stanford Cancer Center. It won’t be a tie, but perhaps the funds that we give will bring us a little closer to the eradication of cancer. I can’t think of a better present.
Happy Father’s Day to all!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Time to Heal
Last January, when I first met with Dr. Fisher (who you all know by now is my amazing oncologist) I asked him about whether I could/should work during my chemotherapy program. His response was that while he would prefer that I didn't work, he recognized that some people who were addicted to work (and surprisingly he felt that I fell into this group) needed to continue working as they were going through treatment. So he told me that he would allow me to work, but he said we would have to revisit this decision as my treatment progressed.
Following the harrowing experience of Round 7, we revisited the topic. I am now in the final few months of treatment which are considered to be the most difficult due to the cumulative effects of the chemo. So I decided to accept the sage advice of my doctor and take a break. This was not an easy decision, but I feel that it is the right decision for me and my family.
Therefore, during the next few months I'll be focused on healing and a few other things that I've had on my "to do" list for quite some time. I've already created a list of over 50 things that I would like to accomplish and I’m well on my way! I also have time now to do things for my family that I haven’t been able to (or really wanted to, so much) while I was working. For example—cooking dinner. I've been told by my eastern medicine folks that I can no longer rely on processed foods. So I am going to have to figure out how to prepare healthy meals for my family and there’s no time like the present! So, with my thanks, I've decided to suspend the meals program. A HUGE thank you to Bridget and Heidi for coordinating this over the last several months and to everyone who so graciously fed my family!
One last thought on the subject of healing - I am continually amazed by the number of prayers that are being said for me – from the Basilica to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. I just found out that our dear friend Linda who was in Jerusalem within the last couple of weeks placed a prayer in my name in the Western Wall – the most significant site in the world for the Jewish people. It is a tradition to slip pieces of paper with prayers on them in the crevices of the Wall. The Western Wall is a living testimony to the strength and resilience of the Jewish nation. It is that strength and resiliency that I hope to capture as I move forward. What a powerful gift that Linda gave me in my fight and what an appropriate way to begin my next 3 months of healing.
Following the harrowing experience of Round 7, we revisited the topic. I am now in the final few months of treatment which are considered to be the most difficult due to the cumulative effects of the chemo. So I decided to accept the sage advice of my doctor and take a break. This was not an easy decision, but I feel that it is the right decision for me and my family.
Therefore, during the next few months I'll be focused on healing and a few other things that I've had on my "to do" list for quite some time. I've already created a list of over 50 things that I would like to accomplish and I’m well on my way! I also have time now to do things for my family that I haven’t been able to (or really wanted to, so much) while I was working. For example—cooking dinner. I've been told by my eastern medicine folks that I can no longer rely on processed foods. So I am going to have to figure out how to prepare healthy meals for my family and there’s no time like the present! So, with my thanks, I've decided to suspend the meals program. A HUGE thank you to Bridget and Heidi for coordinating this over the last several months and to everyone who so graciously fed my family!
One last thought on the subject of healing - I am continually amazed by the number of prayers that are being said for me – from the Basilica to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. I just found out that our dear friend Linda who was in Jerusalem within the last couple of weeks placed a prayer in my name in the Western Wall – the most significant site in the world for the Jewish people. It is a tradition to slip pieces of paper with prayers on them in the crevices of the Wall. The Western Wall is a living testimony to the strength and resilience of the Jewish nation. It is that strength and resiliency that I hope to capture as I move forward. What a powerful gift that Linda gave me in my fight and what an appropriate way to begin my next 3 months of healing.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
No More Drips!
I don’t want to be alarmist, but I almost died during chemo 10 days ago.
I went into Stanford at about 10 am on Friday, May 2nd and for the initial 2 hours, I was given anti-nausea drugs and drugs to relax me (and help me forget about the chemo experience). At around noon, they started to administer the chemo drip.
About 20 minutes after beginning, my hands started itching like crazy and I began to have trouble swallowing. I was pretty mellow thanks to the earlier drugs and didn’t think much about it. Then, my face started feeling funny and I began to have trouble breathing. It finally occurred to me that I should probably call the nurse (I was in a private room and Pat had gone to grab lunch).
Next thing I know all hell broke loose. Nurses were rushing around me, the chemo drip was abruptly turned off, oxygen was placed over my nose and someone was giving me an injection of Benadryl and steroids into my port.
Apparently, my face was very swollen and my lips had turned blue. I was having a very serious allergic reaction and headed for anaphylactic shock.
Now I know why they said they would administer my chemo regimen for 16 treatments or until I had problems with the therapy!
I asked when I could come back to try this chemo treatment again. Their response was that I wasn’t going to be doing the chemo drip anymore since I could die if they tried again.
I thought they were being overly dramatic, but Dr. Fisher later told me the same thing. So – instead of the drip, I now will take 7 chemo pills per day for 7 days and then take a week off to allow my body to heal from the chemo. I will continue this routine for the next three months if my body can handle it.
To be honest, although a huge part of me is relieved never to see the infusion center again (it is such a depressing place), I am a little worried about not hitting this cancer with everything that is out there. Dr. Fisher said that he was not concerned, since the first 3-4 months really are the most important. As I mentioned in a previous update, there is actually a study in Italy that will likely change the chemo protocol from 6 months to 3 months because it will prove that there is no difference in the outcome.
I have heard from cancer survivors that one of the scariest moments is when you go off of chemo, because then it’s just “you” who is fighting off any recurrence of cancer. To a certain degree, I am experiencing the same fear, since I have one less drug that’s taking on my cancer. I’ve decided that I just have to let go of the fear and place my faith in Dr. Fisher and his marvelous team at Stanford (as well as my magnificent acupuncturist).
Once I understood the severity of what happened, I was very upset and concerned. I didn’t realize that I was in any real danger taking the chemo drip—I should have had a clue since the oncology nurses are extremely careful when handling the chemo drugs. This experience has been another reminder of my mortality. But with the information available to me today, I continue to have faith that I’m battling this from every angle and that later this summer I will move into an entirely new, cancer-free world!
I went into Stanford at about 10 am on Friday, May 2nd and for the initial 2 hours, I was given anti-nausea drugs and drugs to relax me (and help me forget about the chemo experience). At around noon, they started to administer the chemo drip.
About 20 minutes after beginning, my hands started itching like crazy and I began to have trouble swallowing. I was pretty mellow thanks to the earlier drugs and didn’t think much about it. Then, my face started feeling funny and I began to have trouble breathing. It finally occurred to me that I should probably call the nurse (I was in a private room and Pat had gone to grab lunch).
Next thing I know all hell broke loose. Nurses were rushing around me, the chemo drip was abruptly turned off, oxygen was placed over my nose and someone was giving me an injection of Benadryl and steroids into my port.
Apparently, my face was very swollen and my lips had turned blue. I was having a very serious allergic reaction and headed for anaphylactic shock.
Now I know why they said they would administer my chemo regimen for 16 treatments or until I had problems with the therapy!
I asked when I could come back to try this chemo treatment again. Their response was that I wasn’t going to be doing the chemo drip anymore since I could die if they tried again.
I thought they were being overly dramatic, but Dr. Fisher later told me the same thing. So – instead of the drip, I now will take 7 chemo pills per day for 7 days and then take a week off to allow my body to heal from the chemo. I will continue this routine for the next three months if my body can handle it.
To be honest, although a huge part of me is relieved never to see the infusion center again (it is such a depressing place), I am a little worried about not hitting this cancer with everything that is out there. Dr. Fisher said that he was not concerned, since the first 3-4 months really are the most important. As I mentioned in a previous update, there is actually a study in Italy that will likely change the chemo protocol from 6 months to 3 months because it will prove that there is no difference in the outcome.
I have heard from cancer survivors that one of the scariest moments is when you go off of chemo, because then it’s just “you” who is fighting off any recurrence of cancer. To a certain degree, I am experiencing the same fear, since I have one less drug that’s taking on my cancer. I’ve decided that I just have to let go of the fear and place my faith in Dr. Fisher and his marvelous team at Stanford (as well as my magnificent acupuncturist).
Once I understood the severity of what happened, I was very upset and concerned. I didn’t realize that I was in any real danger taking the chemo drip—I should have had a clue since the oncology nurses are extremely careful when handling the chemo drugs. This experience has been another reminder of my mortality. But with the information available to me today, I continue to have faith that I’m battling this from every angle and that later this summer I will move into an entirely new, cancer-free world!
Friday, May 2, 2008
"Fun" with Eve
This week’s blog entry is brought to you by my neighbor and friend, Liz Becker-Bransfield who went with me yesterday to see my doctor at Stanford. One quick update – we are at the half-way point of my treatment and things are going pretty well according to my Doctor. I am just happy that we are half-over. I am off to Round 7 of my chemo this morning so keep me in your thoughts as I get through the next few days of recovery. Now on to Liz…
Hi Liz Becker-Bransfield here. I live just to the right of Eve and Pat with my husband Jay and our two kids – one of which is the same age as the twins.
Yesterday I did something that I’ve done before for friends with cancer - I offered Eve a ride to her doctor’s visit in what we refer to in our family as “the fun car”. You see, when my husband was in sales 8 years ago, he won a Porsche Boxster. I know, I know – tough living, but we have kept it for emergency get-aways and times like these, despite us now having two kids and it only having two seats.
While making the hour drive down 880, it struck me as ironic that we were out in the “fun car” on a mission that for Eve and all of us is really “not so fun” and I knew it was true when we arrived at the center where Eve started to exclaim, “I really hate this place. I REALLY hate this place” amongst other comments like, “You’ve gotta see this place, it has a concierge, free massages for patients and their care-givers, a café, library.” Then again, “Look how beautiful it is. I hate this place – especially up there,” she pointed. “ That’s where they do the chemo. I hope to never see this place again.”
Now we all know that Eve can talk. But this run-on hate talk I figured was no good for her so I just nodded and tried to smile and make silly comments about how nice and airy it was, how the colors seemed so soothing. Meanwhile, I hoped I’d never see this place again, either, and I sent up a little prayer for all of us.
We first stopped in the Lab where Eve always begins with getting her blood drawn so that while she waits, her blood work can be prepared for Dr. Fisher, her renowned oncologist (can you say “Patrick Swayze”) . That took 20 minutes. 20 minutes of looking across the waiting room to an older man and his about-my-age daughter. He in slippers and a full breathing mask with emasculating hot pink filter covers on each side; unable to talk without sounding like a Spanish Darth Vader. She straightens his velour sweat-jacket like a nervous tic. They hold hands and nod a lot at each other. Got it. No fun.
After Eve gave blood, she came out with a nice bandage on the right arm, we went to “the Best Walgreens in the World” as she called it. Just off the lobby, Eve says it is the best because it has ALL of her cancer treatment meds that often the pharmacies at home don’t have in stock. Getting her meds here saves her lots of “no-fun” trips around town shopping for chemicals. Perhaps if I loan her the Boxster for these drug-store dos-e-dos, it would be “more fun”. Not sure.
Then off to the Clinic Area – labeled by Clinic A, Clinic B, C, D, E F. “No G for Grossman,” I quip as we enter the hallway, “Are you going to B for Bukowski?” I got a little courtesy laugh on that one. We checked in and waited another 30 minutes. This time I tried to talk about a new project I am working on with a writer friend in LA that will really make fun of some folks. I did characters, a little physical humor and basically tried to keep up the light chit-chat while we waited. The others in the room did not seem very amused. Tough crowd, I thought. Perhaps the gentleman sitting off to the side had other things on his mind, like whatever was under the six-inch bandage on his face that was probably not fun, or funny, in any way.
We were ushered finally into the examination room and had a nice attendant take Eve’s BP and temp. Initially he said she had a slight fever, and this started Eve worrying asking about if that would mean that she could not get Chemo tomorrow. After a few questions, he realized that she really was at normal and we all breathed a sign of relief. “This is SO fun” she said to me with a little drip of sarcasm after he left. (pun intended)
Then 10 minutes of note review and question list-making. Then Dr. McMullen came in and introduced herself as the “Stanford Fellow on Dr. Fisher’s team” What a strange use of the word “fellow” we both considered later. With all the education that it must take to be one of those, we were convinced that Dr. McMullen, as nice and as caring as she was, probably was not the “Fun sort of Fellow” we usually encountered when someone said “fellow.”
Dr. McMullen asked all the right questions as part of her role as the Warm Up Act to the Star (Dr. Fisher). I started taking notes (this is the REAL job of the person who goes to these appointments with Eve. AND it should be noted that Saint BARB brought her own loose leaf last time – trumping me who just showed up with a pen!). For the next 10 minutes, Dr. McMullen and Eve talked about some really fun things. How Eve’s port was healing, the neuropathy that she experienced last time after Round 6 of chemo, pain in her feet and hands, dealing with constipation (sorry Eve), enquiries about possible diarrhea (no, for the record), weight fluctuations, sleeping patterns, work stress, plans for the next months of treatment and Eve’s worries about increasing fatigue and the long term effects of the treatment. I wrote as fast as I could, not letting any of the “not-so-fun” feelings I was having get in the way. Eve was brave, prepared, and well-spoken. I was proud to have a friend like her.
After Dr. McMullen stepped away, we waited again. I tried to work on my laptop. Eve checked messages. After a few minutes, Eve looked up and quietly said that she would give anything not to be there, dealing with cancer because this was anything but fun. She wanted to be back at the office, getting ready to present some big report that night that she knew she couldn’t, and being the “old Eve” that did not worry so much all the time. Just like being with my children in a hospital, I wanted so much to make this “owie” go away. I knew that I couldn’t. I just gave her a big hug.
And then… HE arrived. Dr. Fisher - easy on the eyes and very caring, knowledgeable and warmly funny. Eve and her doctor basically had the same conversation all over again. Eve charmed him twice by asking 1) if the next round of chemo could be rescheduled so that Eve and her family could make the fun annual pilgrimage to the Calaveras County Frog Jumping Jubilee and 2) if Dr. Fisher could arrange a meeting for Eve with Patrick Swayze. I was just amazed to see Eve working the connections as she always does. These were lighter moments and we all laughed. I wondered if laughing meant we were having fun. No, I concluded. It just meant that we were laughing.
And then Dr. Fisher said something that I wrote down word for word. “You are doing great lady. I know this is no fun.” There it was. Finally a diagnosis for her pain, the unbelievable effort of balancing work, her treatment schedule and family and her worry. Eve is officially having “no fun”. Since Eve is Cancer-Free, and the chemo is externally inflicted as a way to stave off the cancer’s return, I think that this last “diagnosis” is the real one to watch. And we must be vigilant.
Eve fights off “no-fun” every day. We must fight with her. She keeps up a light attitude, she laughs at herself and her now more liberal view of non-traditional treatments (ask her about the New Age Expo she attended last weekend). She plays with her girls. We crack jokes. We do outlandish things to make her smile, like making poems out of pipe cleaners. We give her too much wine. We share our vacation houses with her or take her for rides in our “fun cars.” Our acts of friendship are like “no-fun chemotherapy”, but, unlike the “drips” she gets at Stanford, our treatment is organic, buoyant, hopeful, available at any time, and long-lasting. Real feel-good stuff. Almost fun.
I know that I cannot wait until she is finished with chemo, finished with Doctor’s visits, finished with all of this “C-word” stuff. Then the REAL FUN can begin. Get Ready!
Hi Liz Becker-Bransfield here. I live just to the right of Eve and Pat with my husband Jay and our two kids – one of which is the same age as the twins.
Yesterday I did something that I’ve done before for friends with cancer - I offered Eve a ride to her doctor’s visit in what we refer to in our family as “the fun car”. You see, when my husband was in sales 8 years ago, he won a Porsche Boxster. I know, I know – tough living, but we have kept it for emergency get-aways and times like these, despite us now having two kids and it only having two seats.
While making the hour drive down 880, it struck me as ironic that we were out in the “fun car” on a mission that for Eve and all of us is really “not so fun” and I knew it was true when we arrived at the center where Eve started to exclaim, “I really hate this place. I REALLY hate this place” amongst other comments like, “You’ve gotta see this place, it has a concierge, free massages for patients and their care-givers, a café, library.” Then again, “Look how beautiful it is. I hate this place – especially up there,” she pointed. “ That’s where they do the chemo. I hope to never see this place again.”
Now we all know that Eve can talk. But this run-on hate talk I figured was no good for her so I just nodded and tried to smile and make silly comments about how nice and airy it was, how the colors seemed so soothing. Meanwhile, I hoped I’d never see this place again, either, and I sent up a little prayer for all of us.
We first stopped in the Lab where Eve always begins with getting her blood drawn so that while she waits, her blood work can be prepared for Dr. Fisher, her renowned oncologist (can you say “Patrick Swayze”) . That took 20 minutes. 20 minutes of looking across the waiting room to an older man and his about-my-age daughter. He in slippers and a full breathing mask with emasculating hot pink filter covers on each side; unable to talk without sounding like a Spanish Darth Vader. She straightens his velour sweat-jacket like a nervous tic. They hold hands and nod a lot at each other. Got it. No fun.
After Eve gave blood, she came out with a nice bandage on the right arm, we went to “the Best Walgreens in the World” as she called it. Just off the lobby, Eve says it is the best because it has ALL of her cancer treatment meds that often the pharmacies at home don’t have in stock. Getting her meds here saves her lots of “no-fun” trips around town shopping for chemicals. Perhaps if I loan her the Boxster for these drug-store dos-e-dos, it would be “more fun”. Not sure.
Then off to the Clinic Area – labeled by Clinic A, Clinic B, C, D, E F. “No G for Grossman,” I quip as we enter the hallway, “Are you going to B for Bukowski?” I got a little courtesy laugh on that one. We checked in and waited another 30 minutes. This time I tried to talk about a new project I am working on with a writer friend in LA that will really make fun of some folks. I did characters, a little physical humor and basically tried to keep up the light chit-chat while we waited. The others in the room did not seem very amused. Tough crowd, I thought. Perhaps the gentleman sitting off to the side had other things on his mind, like whatever was under the six-inch bandage on his face that was probably not fun, or funny, in any way.
We were ushered finally into the examination room and had a nice attendant take Eve’s BP and temp. Initially he said she had a slight fever, and this started Eve worrying asking about if that would mean that she could not get Chemo tomorrow. After a few questions, he realized that she really was at normal and we all breathed a sign of relief. “This is SO fun” she said to me with a little drip of sarcasm after he left. (pun intended)
Then 10 minutes of note review and question list-making. Then Dr. McMullen came in and introduced herself as the “Stanford Fellow on Dr. Fisher’s team” What a strange use of the word “fellow” we both considered later. With all the education that it must take to be one of those, we were convinced that Dr. McMullen, as nice and as caring as she was, probably was not the “Fun sort of Fellow” we usually encountered when someone said “fellow.”
Dr. McMullen asked all the right questions as part of her role as the Warm Up Act to the Star (Dr. Fisher). I started taking notes (this is the REAL job of the person who goes to these appointments with Eve. AND it should be noted that Saint BARB brought her own loose leaf last time – trumping me who just showed up with a pen!). For the next 10 minutes, Dr. McMullen and Eve talked about some really fun things. How Eve’s port was healing, the neuropathy that she experienced last time after Round 6 of chemo, pain in her feet and hands, dealing with constipation (sorry Eve), enquiries about possible diarrhea (no, for the record), weight fluctuations, sleeping patterns, work stress, plans for the next months of treatment and Eve’s worries about increasing fatigue and the long term effects of the treatment. I wrote as fast as I could, not letting any of the “not-so-fun” feelings I was having get in the way. Eve was brave, prepared, and well-spoken. I was proud to have a friend like her.
After Dr. McMullen stepped away, we waited again. I tried to work on my laptop. Eve checked messages. After a few minutes, Eve looked up and quietly said that she would give anything not to be there, dealing with cancer because this was anything but fun. She wanted to be back at the office, getting ready to present some big report that night that she knew she couldn’t, and being the “old Eve” that did not worry so much all the time. Just like being with my children in a hospital, I wanted so much to make this “owie” go away. I knew that I couldn’t. I just gave her a big hug.
And then… HE arrived. Dr. Fisher - easy on the eyes and very caring, knowledgeable and warmly funny. Eve and her doctor basically had the same conversation all over again. Eve charmed him twice by asking 1) if the next round of chemo could be rescheduled so that Eve and her family could make the fun annual pilgrimage to the Calaveras County Frog Jumping Jubilee and 2) if Dr. Fisher could arrange a meeting for Eve with Patrick Swayze. I was just amazed to see Eve working the connections as she always does. These were lighter moments and we all laughed. I wondered if laughing meant we were having fun. No, I concluded. It just meant that we were laughing.
And then Dr. Fisher said something that I wrote down word for word. “You are doing great lady. I know this is no fun.” There it was. Finally a diagnosis for her pain, the unbelievable effort of balancing work, her treatment schedule and family and her worry. Eve is officially having “no fun”. Since Eve is Cancer-Free, and the chemo is externally inflicted as a way to stave off the cancer’s return, I think that this last “diagnosis” is the real one to watch. And we must be vigilant.
Eve fights off “no-fun” every day. We must fight with her. She keeps up a light attitude, she laughs at herself and her now more liberal view of non-traditional treatments (ask her about the New Age Expo she attended last weekend). She plays with her girls. We crack jokes. We do outlandish things to make her smile, like making poems out of pipe cleaners. We give her too much wine. We share our vacation houses with her or take her for rides in our “fun cars.” Our acts of friendship are like “no-fun chemotherapy”, but, unlike the “drips” she gets at Stanford, our treatment is organic, buoyant, hopeful, available at any time, and long-lasting. Real feel-good stuff. Almost fun.
I know that I cannot wait until she is finished with chemo, finished with Doctor’s visits, finished with all of this “C-word” stuff. Then the REAL FUN can begin. Get Ready!
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thank You!
Things have seemed to go a little smoother since getting my port. For those of you who were wondering, I have finally taken off the bandages and looked at it! It wasn’t anything like what I was expecting (I thought it would be a big plastic thing with holes in it poking out of my skin). It just looks like a bump under my skin with a scratch underneath. I can’t believe that I kept it bandaged up for nearly 3 weeks. My oncology nurse thought I was crazy!
As of Friday, I’m half way through my chemotherapy. The only caveat is that if I get very ill then my oncologist will stop the chemo treatments. Apparently, there is not a lot of evidence that there is a significant difference between having chemo for 3 vs. 6 months. However, 6 months is standard protocol, so that’s what we’re planning for. The standard used to be a year – so in comparison, 6 months doesn’t sound so bad.
Many people have made comments to me that they can’t believe how quickly the time is passing, but let’s just say that it has been far from fast for me and that it seems like forever before I’ll be done. But, I’m getting better every day and closer to being done with this difficult chapter in my life.
While the challenges of cancer continue to try me every day, the one that thing that still amazes me is the tremendous outpouring of support I, and my family, have received from you. The meals, lovely notes of encouragement, rides to my appointments, and visits with my family…I could go on because the kindness you have poured on me has no end. You all are truly walking with us every step of the way and it is hard to put into words how much that means to us.
Many of you know how meticulous I am about sending ‘thank you’ notes and you have probably noticed that not one has made it in the mail in the last couple of months. I hope that you will all excuse me during this time and know that I have not forgotten my manners – I have just put them on hold for a little while. While my exhaustion leaves me little time and energy to juggle work and home, please know that the lack of a personal note does not mean your time and generosity has gone unappreciated.
We are, and will be, forever grateful for everything that people have done to help us through this extremely stress-filled time in our lives.
As of Friday, I’m half way through my chemotherapy. The only caveat is that if I get very ill then my oncologist will stop the chemo treatments. Apparently, there is not a lot of evidence that there is a significant difference between having chemo for 3 vs. 6 months. However, 6 months is standard protocol, so that’s what we’re planning for. The standard used to be a year – so in comparison, 6 months doesn’t sound so bad.
Many people have made comments to me that they can’t believe how quickly the time is passing, but let’s just say that it has been far from fast for me and that it seems like forever before I’ll be done. But, I’m getting better every day and closer to being done with this difficult chapter in my life.
While the challenges of cancer continue to try me every day, the one that thing that still amazes me is the tremendous outpouring of support I, and my family, have received from you. The meals, lovely notes of encouragement, rides to my appointments, and visits with my family…I could go on because the kindness you have poured on me has no end. You all are truly walking with us every step of the way and it is hard to put into words how much that means to us.
Many of you know how meticulous I am about sending ‘thank you’ notes and you have probably noticed that not one has made it in the mail in the last couple of months. I hope that you will all excuse me during this time and know that I have not forgotten my manners – I have just put them on hold for a little while. While my exhaustion leaves me little time and energy to juggle work and home, please know that the lack of a personal note does not mean your time and generosity has gone unappreciated.
We are, and will be, forever grateful for everything that people have done to help us through this extremely stress-filled time in our lives.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Passover and Liberation
Passover has a special meaning for me this year. The name “Passover” is a reference to when the angel of death “passed over” the Jewish homes when God spared the Hebrew first born from the tenth plague. This all dates back to the story of Moses and his strength in standing up to the Pharaoh to demand that the Jews be released from slavery. This year I felt compelled to celebrate Passover not only to celebrate the fact that the angel of death is passing over my home, but also because Passover is about liberation.
I felt especially fortunate because my sister and her lovely family schlepped all of the way from Santa Monica to celebrate Passover with us. This is the first time that I’ve celebrated Passover with my sister since we were in high school (so many many years ago). Although I was exhausted from Round 6 of chemo (which was last Friday), and adding 2 young boys to the mix did not make anything more relaxing, it just felt so right to be surrounded by family during this particularly poignant Passover. In addition, we were also blessed to have been invited to our dear friends’ home for a second night of Passover so that we could celebrate twice the “passing over” of the angel of death with them and their amazing family.
As for liberation - I’ve been working on examining my life and not letting the little things get to me. This is something that I’ve been working on for years – but since I was diagnosed with cancer, it’s amazing how much faster I’m learning to just let things go. The petty stuff that seemed so important now seems so trivial. I hope that I will be able to maintain this sense of self-awareness once I beat the cancer. This is my goal for my personal liberation.
I felt especially fortunate because my sister and her lovely family schlepped all of the way from Santa Monica to celebrate Passover with us. This is the first time that I’ve celebrated Passover with my sister since we were in high school (so many many years ago). Although I was exhausted from Round 6 of chemo (which was last Friday), and adding 2 young boys to the mix did not make anything more relaxing, it just felt so right to be surrounded by family during this particularly poignant Passover. In addition, we were also blessed to have been invited to our dear friends’ home for a second night of Passover so that we could celebrate twice the “passing over” of the angel of death with them and their amazing family.
As for liberation - I’ve been working on examining my life and not letting the little things get to me. This is something that I’ve been working on for years – but since I was diagnosed with cancer, it’s amazing how much faster I’m learning to just let things go. The petty stuff that seemed so important now seems so trivial. I hope that I will be able to maintain this sense of self-awareness once I beat the cancer. This is my goal for my personal liberation.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Now Some Good News!
During my doctor’s appointment and Round 5 chemotherapy, the doctor let me know that my blood work indicates that I remain cancer free! This means that the operation which removed a foot of my colon and 21 lymph nodes was successful in removing the cancer. I continue with the chemotherapy to suppress any further growth of cancer cells in my body.
However, I still have 8 chemo treatments remaining over the next 4 months. As you know, I did have the port installed on April 2nd . It was quite overwhelming, but my dear friend Stacia was by my side to give me support as I was wheeled in for yet another surgery. I’m still too skittish about the whole thing to look at it (I just leave it taped up). Chemo was a much better experience the following day, and I seem to have bounced back much more quickly.
My beautiful friend Shana (she asked that I add the word "beautiful" - it is true, though) is visiting this weekend and wrote me a cancer ode (Shana is known for making odes) which I would like to share with you:
I have a guest who's come to stay.
He's rude and pays no rent.
He's moved into my colon now.
In my nodes he's made a dent.
But he's not smart, this guest of mine.
He'll soon be on his way.
He was dumb enough to mess with me
And soon he'll have to pay.
My docs are smart, and I am strong.
He'll see who wears the pants.
With pipe cleaner art* and lots of prayers
He doesn't stand a chance.
* Inspired by Ari's prolific pipe cleaner art, Shana made the entire ode in pipe cleaners on felt.
However, I still have 8 chemo treatments remaining over the next 4 months. As you know, I did have the port installed on April 2nd . It was quite overwhelming, but my dear friend Stacia was by my side to give me support as I was wheeled in for yet another surgery. I’m still too skittish about the whole thing to look at it (I just leave it taped up). Chemo was a much better experience the following day, and I seem to have bounced back much more quickly.
My beautiful friend Shana (she asked that I add the word "beautiful" - it is true, though) is visiting this weekend and wrote me a cancer ode (Shana is known for making odes) which I would like to share with you:
I have a guest who's come to stay.
He's rude and pays no rent.
He's moved into my colon now.
In my nodes he's made a dent.
But he's not smart, this guest of mine.
He'll soon be on his way.
He was dumb enough to mess with me
And soon he'll have to pay.
My docs are smart, and I am strong.
He'll see who wears the pants.
With pipe cleaner art* and lots of prayers
He doesn't stand a chance.
* Inspired by Ari's prolific pipe cleaner art, Shana made the entire ode in pipe cleaners on felt.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
A Random Act of Kindness
Last week, I was connected with an amazing colon cancer survivor – Mark Weiss. Mark and his wife, Elizabeth, without having met us, invited our family to spend the weekend with them at their bakery and B&B in Cazadero, California (near the Russian River).
What a marvelous weekend we had at Raymond’s Bakery at Elim Grove! The girls happily hunted for fairies in the beautiful woods and along the bubbling stream but ended up catching only a toad and multiple caterpillars (which they were VERY excited about… I, on the other hand, wasn’t so thrilled with their catch). While the girls were busy exploring with their 3-year old daughter, Mark and Elizabeth spent their time telling us about their struggle with colon cancer and shared their love and support to help us as we face this tremendous adversary. What’s truly amazing about them is that they decided that they want their B&B to serve not only as a business for them, but also as a place of respite for cancer patients. They regularly invite cancer patients to come to the serenity of their home to relax and enjoy their fantastic food (and they refuse to be compensated for their hospitality for cancer patients). Pat and I were truly moved by their generosity and unbelievable spirit. Information about Raymond's Bakery at Elim Grove can be found by e-mailing to gottabakebread@gmail.com (Phone: 707-632-5335 ).
Mark has an amazing story to tell about his experience with colon cancer – he was diagnosed with Stage 3 colon cancer the night before his wife’s scheduled c-section for their first child. I cannot even imagine the incredible pain that they faced during what should have been the happiest time in their lives. Furthermore, Mark had left his job in the Silicon Valley to move with his lovely wife Elizabeth to Cazadero to start their bakery and B&B – and they were at the beginning stages of the business. Mark’s story is one of phenomenal courage as he and Elizabeth struggled with a newborn baby, a new business and Stage 3 colon cancer.
As you can tell from my earlier description of this couple and their bakery, just because Mark’s treatment was over, didn’t mean that they were no longer going to be involved in helping others with colon cancer. Since completing his treatment, Mark has been involved with an organization called The Colon Club, whose mission is to educate as many people as possible about colon cancer. They want people to talk in their everyday lives about it and to get screened when it is right for them. To meet that goal, they do “crazy things” to teach that anyone can get colorectal cancer at any age. They actually have a “colondar” that features colorectal cancer survivors diagnosed under the stereotypical age of 50 along with their personal stories and information about colorectal cancer. Mark is Mr. July 2008. For information about the Colon Club go to http://www.colonclub.com/. For more information about the Colondar go to http://www.colondar.com/.
I wanted to share this story with you as an example of the support that we have received from people who, until now, we did not know. So many people have opened their hearts to us. We feel truly blessed to have so much love and support as we take on this incredible challenge.
What a marvelous weekend we had at Raymond’s Bakery at Elim Grove! The girls happily hunted for fairies in the beautiful woods and along the bubbling stream but ended up catching only a toad and multiple caterpillars (which they were VERY excited about… I, on the other hand, wasn’t so thrilled with their catch). While the girls were busy exploring with their 3-year old daughter, Mark and Elizabeth spent their time telling us about their struggle with colon cancer and shared their love and support to help us as we face this tremendous adversary. What’s truly amazing about them is that they decided that they want their B&B to serve not only as a business for them, but also as a place of respite for cancer patients. They regularly invite cancer patients to come to the serenity of their home to relax and enjoy their fantastic food (and they refuse to be compensated for their hospitality for cancer patients). Pat and I were truly moved by their generosity and unbelievable spirit. Information about Raymond's Bakery at Elim Grove can be found by e-mailing to gottabakebread@gmail.com (Phone: 707-632-5335 ).
Mark has an amazing story to tell about his experience with colon cancer – he was diagnosed with Stage 3 colon cancer the night before his wife’s scheduled c-section for their first child. I cannot even imagine the incredible pain that they faced during what should have been the happiest time in their lives. Furthermore, Mark had left his job in the Silicon Valley to move with his lovely wife Elizabeth to Cazadero to start their bakery and B&B – and they were at the beginning stages of the business. Mark’s story is one of phenomenal courage as he and Elizabeth struggled with a newborn baby, a new business and Stage 3 colon cancer.
As you can tell from my earlier description of this couple and their bakery, just because Mark’s treatment was over, didn’t mean that they were no longer going to be involved in helping others with colon cancer. Since completing his treatment, Mark has been involved with an organization called The Colon Club, whose mission is to educate as many people as possible about colon cancer. They want people to talk in their everyday lives about it and to get screened when it is right for them. To meet that goal, they do “crazy things” to teach that anyone can get colorectal cancer at any age. They actually have a “colondar” that features colorectal cancer survivors diagnosed under the stereotypical age of 50 along with their personal stories and information about colorectal cancer. Mark is Mr. July 2008. For information about the Colon Club go to http://www.colonclub.com/. For more information about the Colondar go to http://www.colondar.com/.
I wanted to share this story with you as an example of the support that we have received from people who, until now, we did not know. So many people have opened their hearts to us. We feel truly blessed to have so much love and support as we take on this incredible challenge.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Last Chance to Celebrate National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month!
I’m sure that you are all celebrating National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month in your own personal way – whether you put streamers up at your home or are having a party to mark the occasion. However, for those of you who are searching for a way to appropriately recognize this important month (which ends today), I strongly urge you to support the fundraiser that I have launched to eradicate colon cancer.
I’m thrilled to report that the Cancer League has received over 20 donations for this fundraiser! Thank you for your generosity. I know that many of you still intend to give and I’m sure all of you have the forms printed out and sitting on your desk. As a reminder, I’m asking that tonight when you get home, you write the check and drop it in the mail!
For those who have not yet donated, please print out one of the forms below and mail it in today:
To give by credit card: http://evescreditcardforms.blogspot.com
To give by check: http://thecancerleagueinc.org/donation%20form.pdf
As a quick update on my situation – on Wednesday I will be going in to Stanford to have the port placed in my chest. I expect my chest to be sore for several weeks following—so don’t hug me too tight! On Thursday, I will go in for Round 5 of chemotherapy. Please keep your prayers coming – I have a rough week ahead.
I hope that you all had a wonderful National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. (And please, please, please go and send your donation immediately to the Cancer League.)
I’m thrilled to report that the Cancer League has received over 20 donations for this fundraiser! Thank you for your generosity. I know that many of you still intend to give and I’m sure all of you have the forms printed out and sitting on your desk. As a reminder, I’m asking that tonight when you get home, you write the check and drop it in the mail!
For those who have not yet donated, please print out one of the forms below and mail it in today:
To give by credit card: http://evescreditcardforms.blogspot.com
To give by check: http://thecancerleagueinc.org/donation%20form.pdf
As a quick update on my situation – on Wednesday I will be going in to Stanford to have the port placed in my chest. I expect my chest to be sore for several weeks following—so don’t hug me too tight! On Thursday, I will go in for Round 5 of chemotherapy. Please keep your prayers coming – I have a rough week ahead.
I hope that you all had a wonderful National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. (And please, please, please go and send your donation immediately to the Cancer League.)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
To Port or Not to Port?
Last week’s chemo was not as smooth as I was hoping it would be. I was pretty much out of commission for most of the weekend. In addition to the exhaustion, the main problem I’m still dealing with, is the pain in my left arm. As you can imagine, pumping poison through a vein can be pretty rough on it. I have now had 4 infusions through my left arm – with this last one being the toughest. Over the past 5 days, the pain in my arm has been so severe that it has made it difficult to do basic activities.
Because I am concerned about the potential for long term damage to my arm, I’ve made the difficult decision to put a port in my chest. So – next Wednesday, I’ll head down to Stanford for this surgery. By putting in a port in, I will protect my arms from further infusions and it should make the bi-weekly chemo infusions easier to handle. Once the chemo treatments are over, they’ll remove the port, which should leave only a small scar.
Not that there was much of a decision to be made – but making the call to schedule the surgery was very difficult for me. I’m very squeamish and even the thought of blood, veins or needles makes me woozy, but I wanted to be able to use my left arm in the long term. So, next week, I’ll subject myself to the surgeons yet again.
For some good news, on Thursday, Pat and I are headed to Las Vegas to celebrate my friend Marianne’s 40th birthday (the gal in the Clinton pics with me). Not only will it be fun to celebrate with Marianne, but this will give Pat some much deserved R&R. When I told my oncologist that I was planning to go, his comment to me with a smile on his face was “I’m glad that you can fit cancer into your schedule!”
Because I am concerned about the potential for long term damage to my arm, I’ve made the difficult decision to put a port in my chest. So – next Wednesday, I’ll head down to Stanford for this surgery. By putting in a port in, I will protect my arms from further infusions and it should make the bi-weekly chemo infusions easier to handle. Once the chemo treatments are over, they’ll remove the port, which should leave only a small scar.
Not that there was much of a decision to be made – but making the call to schedule the surgery was very difficult for me. I’m very squeamish and even the thought of blood, veins or needles makes me woozy, but I wanted to be able to use my left arm in the long term. So, next week, I’ll subject myself to the surgeons yet again.
For some good news, on Thursday, Pat and I are headed to Las Vegas to celebrate my friend Marianne’s 40th birthday (the gal in the Clinton pics with me). Not only will it be fun to celebrate with Marianne, but this will give Pat some much deserved R&R. When I told my oncologist that I was planning to go, his comment to me with a smile on his face was “I’m glad that you can fit cancer into your schedule!”
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Round 4 and a Big Thank You to Farmers' Rice Cooperative!
This Friday, I will go for Round 4 of chemotherapy. Although I am dreading going back to the infusion center, I’m in high spirits and more optimistic given how quickly I bounced back from Round 3. My chemo was on Friday, and by Sunday I was attending a Disney-on-Ice show with the girls. I was exhausted by Monday, but at least I felt healthy enough to see the girls’ enjoy their favorite princesses ice skating—and it was worth it! I am hopeful that following this round of chemo I will have a similar response and be back up on my feet quickly. Please continue to send your prayers and positive thoughts my way this Friday!
Also, I don’t know if any of you saw People Magazine this past week (I don’t subscribe- I just read it in line at the grocery store…), but if you did and you read the article about Patrick Swayze, my oncologist, Dr. George Fisher, was quoted several times. I feel lucky that I became his patient before his name was plastered all over the news. He’s going to be the hottest oncologist in the country! (Of course, he is the head of oncology at Stanford, so he already is quite sought after.) I feel very fortunate that he took me on as his patient.
Finally, I want to send a BIG thank you to the Farmers' Rice Cooperative for their donation of $1,000 on my behalf to the Cancer League. I was so touched by the generosity of this institution, I wanted to share it with you. I’m thrilled with the support that has been coming in and want to urge people to keep on giving! There are less than two weeks left before the end of National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month, so don’t delay on printing out those donation forms and sending them in!
Also, I don’t know if any of you saw People Magazine this past week (I don’t subscribe- I just read it in line at the grocery store…), but if you did and you read the article about Patrick Swayze, my oncologist, Dr. George Fisher, was quoted several times. I feel lucky that I became his patient before his name was plastered all over the news. He’s going to be the hottest oncologist in the country! (Of course, he is the head of oncology at Stanford, so he already is quite sought after.) I feel very fortunate that he took me on as his patient.
Finally, I want to send a BIG thank you to the Farmers' Rice Cooperative for their donation of $1,000 on my behalf to the Cancer League. I was so touched by the generosity of this institution, I wanted to share it with you. I’m thrilled with the support that has been coming in and want to urge people to keep on giving! There are less than two weeks left before the end of National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month, so don’t delay on printing out those donation forms and sending them in!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Taking My Own Advice
Yesterday, while I was attending the Governor's press conference on public private partnerships, I decided to log into a colon cancer website that someone sent to me. (This is not a comment on the quality of the press conference - I am just a blackberry addict.) As I was navigating the website, I found a terrible mortality statistic about colon cancer. I then went on to read several stories about young people who have died from colon cancer. All of these folks were vibrant, motivated and had a lot to offer the world.
Needless to say, this was not a good move for me. I was distraught for the rest of the day and have been unable to get the statistic nor the sad stories out of my head. Everyone that I have told has reassured me that the statistic simply does not apply to me. I am trying desperately to refocus my energy on fighting, but this has been quite a blow to my resolve.
I wasn't going to write about the psychological struggle that I've been having, but a close friend encouraged me to go ahead and share both the bad and the good. This blog is to be a chronicle of my fight and these last 2 days have been a part of my experience.
I am redoubling my effort and am absolutely determined not to allow the last 2 days to inhibit my ability to heal. Therefore, I've decided to follow my own advice and not read another mortality statistic or story about death of colon cancer patients - since I am planning to be a survivor.
Needless to say, this was not a good move for me. I was distraught for the rest of the day and have been unable to get the statistic nor the sad stories out of my head. Everyone that I have told has reassured me that the statistic simply does not apply to me. I am trying desperately to refocus my energy on fighting, but this has been quite a blow to my resolve.
I wasn't going to write about the psychological struggle that I've been having, but a close friend encouraged me to go ahead and share both the bad and the good. This blog is to be a chronicle of my fight and these last 2 days have been a part of my experience.
I am redoubling my effort and am absolutely determined not to allow the last 2 days to inhibit my ability to heal. Therefore, I've decided to follow my own advice and not read another mortality statistic or story about death of colon cancer patients - since I am planning to be a survivor.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
So What Are the Side Effects from Chemo?
Many people ask me when I'm going to lose my hair and tell me that they are concerned about being with me if they have a cold. One of the pluses of my chemotherapy for colon cancer is that I have a less than 5% chance of losing my hair and that my immune system is not compromised. In fact, at my first appointment, my oncologist counseled me against shaving off my hair. (Apparently, he had a patient who shaved off her hair because she wanted to be the one to control the loss of her hair - not the cancer. My oncologist then informed her that she wasn't going to lose her hair...)
The side effects that I'm experiencing are the following:
1. Nausea -but it's not so bad with very powerful anti-nausea drugs
2. Fatigue - this is the hardest one on me
3. Neuropathy - basically my fingers and toes feel like they have pins and needles in them (it's the sensation that you get when your arm falls asleep). This is particularly bad in cold weather.
4. Inability to drink anything that is cold - it feels like a knife is slitting my throat. Not a pleasant feeling.
Thus far - my hair seems to be staying in (fortunately, I have a lot of it...).
The side effects that I'm experiencing are the following:
1. Nausea -but it's not so bad with very powerful anti-nausea drugs
2. Fatigue - this is the hardest one on me
3. Neuropathy - basically my fingers and toes feel like they have pins and needles in them (it's the sensation that you get when your arm falls asleep). This is particularly bad in cold weather.
4. Inability to drink anything that is cold - it feels like a knife is slitting my throat. Not a pleasant feeling.
Thus far - my hair seems to be staying in (fortunately, I have a lot of it...).
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Round 3
Yesterday, I went through Round 3 of my chemo drip. It was difficult, but knowing what to expect made it considerably easier. Today I feel much better than the days after Round 1 and Round 2. Lowering my dosage seems to have agreed with me.
I have interesting news - apparently Patrick Swayze is also being treated by my oncologist. I've asked my oncologist if he could please schedule Patrick's chemo drips to correspond with mine. He said that he'd see what he could do...
Also - I am delighted that today I am able to add a "payment by credit card" option to my fundraising efforts. Please see the "Help Win This Fight" section of the blog to find out how to donate in this way.
Thank you to everyone who continues to write, call and e-mail me with your loving thoughts. You keep me motivated to fight.
I have interesting news - apparently Patrick Swayze is also being treated by my oncologist. I've asked my oncologist if he could please schedule Patrick's chemo drips to correspond with mine. He said that he'd see what he could do...
Also - I am delighted that today I am able to add a "payment by credit card" option to my fundraising efforts. Please see the "Help Win This Fight" section of the blog to find out how to donate in this way.
Thank you to everyone who continues to write, call and e-mail me with your loving thoughts. You keep me motivated to fight.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
My Treatment
My 6-month chemotherapy program began as a 3 week cycle and, as of today, has now changed to a 2-week cycle. I begin with a chemo drip, followed by one week of chemo pills and then I have one week off for my body to heal. I have been through 2 rounds of chemo and tomorrow, Friday, March 7, I will face round 3.
I am working with the top oncologist at Stanford Medical Center, Dr. George Fisher, who I believe is one of the best oncologists in the United States. To supplement my western medicine, I have also begun work with an accupuncturist (the same accupuncturist who worked on Steve Jobs' pancreatic cancer), a chiropractic energy healer and an herbalist. I figured that the more people that I have on my team to combat the cancer, the better. This has been quite an education for me.
I am working with the top oncologist at Stanford Medical Center, Dr. George Fisher, who I believe is one of the best oncologists in the United States. To supplement my western medicine, I have also begun work with an accupuncturist (the same accupuncturist who worked on Steve Jobs' pancreatic cancer), a chiropractic energy healer and an herbalist. I figured that the more people that I have on my team to combat the cancer, the better. This has been quite an education for me.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
I Have Colon Cancer
This journey began when my dear friend Marianne and I (she's in the pictures with the Clintons) decided to brave the Iowan winter to participate in the Caucus. As political junkies, we were thrilled to have the opportunity to witness the Iowa experience. Unfortunately, upon arrival, I was experiencing extreme stomach pains. After several trips to the hospital where I kept insisting that something was wrong and they kept telling me that it was just extreme constipation, I was finally admitted on January 3rd for tests. On January 5th, they decided to move forward with surgery. During the surgery they ended up taking out a foot of my colon (apparently the colon is 12 feet long), 20 lymph nodes, some muscle and my appendix.
I have to pause to let you all know how fortunate I was on January 5th in Des Moines. A brilliant colorectal surgeon, Dr. Soren Kraemer, happened to be on call at Mercy Hospital on the day that I needed colon surgery. Perhaps the most notable aspect of his skill is the fact that I do not have a colostomy bag. Dr. Kraemer decided to take out my appendix and flush my colon into the hole left by my appendix to avoid the bag. I am truly grateful for his tremendous work.
In addition, prior to my departure to Des Moines, I was put in contact with a wonderful couple from Iowa, the Mandelbaums. They invited Marianne and I to a lovely New Year's Day brunch. None of us had any idea of the important role that they were to play in my life. Not only did they connect me to a local GI specialist, but they ended up checking me out of my hotel while I was in the hospital, sitting with me before I went into surgery (since Pat was still on the plane to Iowa) and then housing Pat for 7 days during my hospitalization. In addition, they were in the same wine club as my oncologist and checked on me regularly through him. They have now become our friends for life. We feel so blessed to have had such a marvelous support system so far away from home.
Back to my current status - because the cancer had spread to 4 of my lymph nodes, they diagnosed me as having Stage 3 colon cancer. Although they believe that they cut out all of the cancer in Iowa, they want to make sure that any cancer that may be floating around at a microbial level is killed and not able to begin new cancer growths.
This entire experience was a tremendous shock, since I just turned 40 years old and have no history of colon cancer in my family. I have become a relentless advocate for everyone I know to have a colonoscopy test as early as possible. I so don't want anyone else to go through this nightmare.
My goal over the next six months is to heal my body and my soul so that I am ready to embark on my next life journey.
I want to thank everyone for all of the amazing things that they have done for me and my family over the past couple of months. Our Bay Area community has been tremendous - from making delicious meals for our family to driving me to my many doctors' appointments, to researching the latest information on colon cancer to helping me set up this blog - I feel so fortunate to have such a phenomenal support network. Furthermore, I understand that there are prayers being said daily on my behalf by friends and relatives (and even by people who do not know me) throughout the world. I am truly humbled by the outpouring of love and support that have enveloped me and my family.
Many people have asked what they can do to help. First, please add me to your prayer list. I will take any prayers from any religion or non-religion. Second, I would like to do everything in my power to eradicate colon cancer. Therefore, please look to the "Help Win This Fight" part of the blog to donate funding for colon cancer research. I am trying to raise as much money as possible during the month of March (National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month) to donate to colon cancer research. Please give and forward this blog to everyone you know so that they may give as well. As many of you know, I have been involved in many causes over my life and have always searched for ways that I can make a difference. I believe that I have now found my true calling - fighting colon cancer. Please help me to stamp out this horrible and destructive disease.
I have to pause to let you all know how fortunate I was on January 5th in Des Moines. A brilliant colorectal surgeon, Dr. Soren Kraemer, happened to be on call at Mercy Hospital on the day that I needed colon surgery. Perhaps the most notable aspect of his skill is the fact that I do not have a colostomy bag. Dr. Kraemer decided to take out my appendix and flush my colon into the hole left by my appendix to avoid the bag. I am truly grateful for his tremendous work.
In addition, prior to my departure to Des Moines, I was put in contact with a wonderful couple from Iowa, the Mandelbaums. They invited Marianne and I to a lovely New Year's Day brunch. None of us had any idea of the important role that they were to play in my life. Not only did they connect me to a local GI specialist, but they ended up checking me out of my hotel while I was in the hospital, sitting with me before I went into surgery (since Pat was still on the plane to Iowa) and then housing Pat for 7 days during my hospitalization. In addition, they were in the same wine club as my oncologist and checked on me regularly through him. They have now become our friends for life. We feel so blessed to have had such a marvelous support system so far away from home.
Back to my current status - because the cancer had spread to 4 of my lymph nodes, they diagnosed me as having Stage 3 colon cancer. Although they believe that they cut out all of the cancer in Iowa, they want to make sure that any cancer that may be floating around at a microbial level is killed and not able to begin new cancer growths.
This entire experience was a tremendous shock, since I just turned 40 years old and have no history of colon cancer in my family. I have become a relentless advocate for everyone I know to have a colonoscopy test as early as possible. I so don't want anyone else to go through this nightmare.
My goal over the next six months is to heal my body and my soul so that I am ready to embark on my next life journey.
I want to thank everyone for all of the amazing things that they have done for me and my family over the past couple of months. Our Bay Area community has been tremendous - from making delicious meals for our family to driving me to my many doctors' appointments, to researching the latest information on colon cancer to helping me set up this blog - I feel so fortunate to have such a phenomenal support network. Furthermore, I understand that there are prayers being said daily on my behalf by friends and relatives (and even by people who do not know me) throughout the world. I am truly humbled by the outpouring of love and support that have enveloped me and my family.
Many people have asked what they can do to help. First, please add me to your prayer list. I will take any prayers from any religion or non-religion. Second, I would like to do everything in my power to eradicate colon cancer. Therefore, please look to the "Help Win This Fight" part of the blog to donate funding for colon cancer research. I am trying to raise as much money as possible during the month of March (National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month) to donate to colon cancer research. Please give and forward this blog to everyone you know so that they may give as well. As many of you know, I have been involved in many causes over my life and have always searched for ways that I can make a difference. I believe that I have now found my true calling - fighting colon cancer. Please help me to stamp out this horrible and destructive disease.
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