So – as many of you know, approximately 2 years ago, I changed my Hebrew name from Chava Rivka to Chava Raphaela. This was done in an attempt to trick the evil spirits so that any bad fate that was slated for Chava Rivka, would not happen to Chava Raphaela. Well – as you now are very aware, those darn evil spirits keep finding me regardless of the name change.
Thus, I’ve decided to step it up a notch – this past week I changed my last name. So – as of last Friday, I have dropped “Grossman” and have officially become a “Bukowski.” I know that many of you thought that this was my name or that my name was Grossman-Bukowski. Legally, my name was always “Grossman” and I just added the Bukowski to Grossman with the thought that if I ever decided to change my name that people would know who I was. When we moved to Davis and I changed industries I decided that if I was going to change my name, this was the time to do it, so I’ve been running around Sacramento just claiming that my name was Bukowski (although it really wasn’t). But now it is. The girls are thrilled to have the same last name as me and I’m really hoping that this will trick those spirits once and for all!
On another fun cancer related note – I’m heading down to Stanford at 7:00 am tomorrow for an MRI of my spine. Please put me in your prayers that they don’t find any cancer in there. Dr. Fisher thinks that my back pain is most likely just aging and the problems associated with that, but we’re getting the MRI just to make sure.
As I write this, I hear the girls playing “The Game of Life” in the next room. Listening to them makes me realize how crazy and unpredictable life can be. I am just looking forward to having my biggest worry be whether my "house floods" (the square that Ellie just landed on).
Thank you all again for your love and strength. It means more to me than I can possibly express.
Happy New Year!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
End of 2011 Update
So much has happened since my last post. I have so many partial posts saved up in my computer – started but never finished.
Rather than continue to put off posting – I’m going to give you all a quick update on what’s going on with me and this cancer journey of mine.
On Birthdays and Botox: About a month ago I celebrated my 44th birthday. Statistically, I shouldn’t have celebrated that birthday – but I did – and in style! The family, along with our dear friends, the Ellicott-Pesics, hit Disneyland to celebrate. It was pouring rain, but we had a glorious time! All day long I realized how lucky I was to be there running around and enjoying every minute. Heck – the rain kept the crowds away so although we were a little wet, we weren’t standing in line for hours!
Botox? While many 44 year olds put botox in their faces to retain their youthful looks, I am using botox in another part of my body – my sphincter muscle. As many of you know, after the take down of my ileostomy (that lovely bag I was sporting), I have been experiencing a lot of pain and pressure in my nether regions. I now have an appreciation for the debilitating impacts of chronic pain. It’s exhausting. We have tried many things to address the pain, which I’m going to spare you from reading. Our latest is to give a couple of shots of botox into the sphincter muscle. Let’s just say that I don’t think there is a more painful place to get a shot. I have dealt with a ton of needles over the past 4 years – but this tops the charts on the pain scale. However, it seems to have helped a little. I will need to go back every 3 months to get more injections. If we can’t relieve the pain this way, we may have to look at cutting my sphincter muscle (which would most likely result in incontinence – how fun) or putting the bag back on. So please, keep your fingers crossed that this works!
As for the cancer - I have mixed news. My latest scan was terrific. In fact, the top line on the radiologist’s remarks was “no evidence of recurrence or progression of metastatic disease.” The cancer that they thought was in my rectum no longer seems to be there and they’re not even sure that the spot in my spleen is even cancer. Pretty darn exciting. However, my cancer indicator number (CEA) 3 weeks ago jumped up fairly dramatically – from a 3.6 to a 5. When I had it retaken again on Tuesday, it was still at 5. This is high for me and troubling.
So – what does that mean? Quite frankly, nobody knows. I’ve talked to both of my top notch oncologists and they don’t have an explanation for it. Dr. Fisher told me that of course there’s cancer in my body (or they wouldn’t keep giving me chemo) but it may just not be large enough to show up in a scan. Therefore, he has ordered an MRI to see if they can find anything that wouldn’t pop up in a CT scan. I’ll get the MRI done in January. We’ll also keep checking the CEA and if it jumps up, then we will change my chemo regimen – either upping my current doses (I’m on both xeloda and avastin) or changing to a different type of chemo.
I continue to do all of my alternative stuff – acupuncture, Chinese herbs, qi gong, meditation (ok – so I’m not so great at this). I am doing remarkably well. My body is very strong and is fighting hard. But, this cancer is relentless and seems not to want to leave my body. But I’ll keep poisoning it and trying to boost my immune system and hopefully eventually it will just give up.
Unfortunately, I still have a lot of fear about the future. Every night, when I am singing Chanukah songs and dancing the hora with my children after lighting the Chanukah candles, I look at them and wonder if I’ll see them grow up. It breaks my heart to think that I may not be there for the major milestones in their lives. But then I stop and remind myself that I am here now and that I need to focus on this moment - on this joyous day. I tell myself that I will be there to suffer through their teenage years - and I will love every moment of it. This cancer is no match for my determination.
Please keep me in your prayers during this holiday season. Hold your families close. And may 2012 be a year of much health, love and laughter for all of you.
Rather than continue to put off posting – I’m going to give you all a quick update on what’s going on with me and this cancer journey of mine.
On Birthdays and Botox: About a month ago I celebrated my 44th birthday. Statistically, I shouldn’t have celebrated that birthday – but I did – and in style! The family, along with our dear friends, the Ellicott-Pesics, hit Disneyland to celebrate. It was pouring rain, but we had a glorious time! All day long I realized how lucky I was to be there running around and enjoying every minute. Heck – the rain kept the crowds away so although we were a little wet, we weren’t standing in line for hours!
Botox? While many 44 year olds put botox in their faces to retain their youthful looks, I am using botox in another part of my body – my sphincter muscle. As many of you know, after the take down of my ileostomy (that lovely bag I was sporting), I have been experiencing a lot of pain and pressure in my nether regions. I now have an appreciation for the debilitating impacts of chronic pain. It’s exhausting. We have tried many things to address the pain, which I’m going to spare you from reading. Our latest is to give a couple of shots of botox into the sphincter muscle. Let’s just say that I don’t think there is a more painful place to get a shot. I have dealt with a ton of needles over the past 4 years – but this tops the charts on the pain scale. However, it seems to have helped a little. I will need to go back every 3 months to get more injections. If we can’t relieve the pain this way, we may have to look at cutting my sphincter muscle (which would most likely result in incontinence – how fun) or putting the bag back on. So please, keep your fingers crossed that this works!
As for the cancer - I have mixed news. My latest scan was terrific. In fact, the top line on the radiologist’s remarks was “no evidence of recurrence or progression of metastatic disease.” The cancer that they thought was in my rectum no longer seems to be there and they’re not even sure that the spot in my spleen is even cancer. Pretty darn exciting. However, my cancer indicator number (CEA) 3 weeks ago jumped up fairly dramatically – from a 3.6 to a 5. When I had it retaken again on Tuesday, it was still at 5. This is high for me and troubling.
So – what does that mean? Quite frankly, nobody knows. I’ve talked to both of my top notch oncologists and they don’t have an explanation for it. Dr. Fisher told me that of course there’s cancer in my body (or they wouldn’t keep giving me chemo) but it may just not be large enough to show up in a scan. Therefore, he has ordered an MRI to see if they can find anything that wouldn’t pop up in a CT scan. I’ll get the MRI done in January. We’ll also keep checking the CEA and if it jumps up, then we will change my chemo regimen – either upping my current doses (I’m on both xeloda and avastin) or changing to a different type of chemo.
I continue to do all of my alternative stuff – acupuncture, Chinese herbs, qi gong, meditation (ok – so I’m not so great at this). I am doing remarkably well. My body is very strong and is fighting hard. But, this cancer is relentless and seems not to want to leave my body. But I’ll keep poisoning it and trying to boost my immune system and hopefully eventually it will just give up.
Unfortunately, I still have a lot of fear about the future. Every night, when I am singing Chanukah songs and dancing the hora with my children after lighting the Chanukah candles, I look at them and wonder if I’ll see them grow up. It breaks my heart to think that I may not be there for the major milestones in their lives. But then I stop and remind myself that I am here now and that I need to focus on this moment - on this joyous day. I tell myself that I will be there to suffer through their teenage years - and I will love every moment of it. This cancer is no match for my determination.
Please keep me in your prayers during this holiday season. Hold your families close. And may 2012 be a year of much health, love and laughter for all of you.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
The California Cancer Research Act - It's So Darn Important
As many of you may be aware, I strongly support the California Cancer Research Act. This was placed on the ballot by the American Cancer Society, former Ca President Pro Tem Don Perata and a lot of other folks that care about figuring out the cure to this terrible disease. My fabulous oncologist, Dr. George Fisher is a huge advocate for the effort (which inspires me even more).
I've decided to use this blog posting to give everyone a little feel for what this is about and why you should care. Before I do so, however, I'll tell you what happened on Thursday at the colorectal surgeon's office. In a word - nothing. He saw my hernia and said that he wasn't going to do anything about it. The area is too fragile and the hernia has no impact on anything. He told me that if it bothers me that I should just wear spanx. So - for now, no surgery is being scheduled.
Now - back to the California Cancer Research Act....
Nearly one out of two Californians will develop cancer in their lifetimes and one out of five will die from the disease. This year alone, 140,000 Californians will die from the disease. Cancer has impacted all of us and the way to beat this disease is through more funding for research. Next year, we will have the opportunity to take a tremendous leap forward in the fight against cancer.
The California Cancer Research Act (CCRA) will generate nearly $600 million every year for cancer research and triple funding for cancer research by increasing the price of cigarettes by $1. All of the money in this initiative goes to fight cancer and no more than 2% will be spent on administration. The California Cancer Research Act will go before voters in June 5, 2012.
The measure is expected to save more than 100,000 lives and prevent 200,000 youth from becoming life long smokers. More than two-thirds of Californians are in favor of the measure, but the tobacco companies are set to spend tens of millions of dollars to lie to voters to get them to vote no. Our best defense is you. By joining the campaign, you can help spread the word that Big Tobacco is funding the opposition. If an undecided voter goes into the booth knowing the American Cancer Society is behind CCRA and the tobacco companies are opposed, we are overwhelming likely to get their vote. Please go here to sign up to the campaign: http://www.californiansforacure.org/action/acs.
By joining the campaign, you will get updates on the campaign both in your community and across the state. You will also learn the latest deceitful tactics the tobacco companies are engaging in. There is no commitment to sign up, but you will certainly have the opportunity to volunteer for the campaign as the election gets closer.
Think about it. How many times in our lives do we have the opportunity to save 100,000 people from premature death? We have all been touched by cancer in some way (some more than others!) and most of us know how painful the experience is. We have the opportunity to prevent the next generation of Californians from experiencing that. Please join our campaign and help us win this fight.
So that's my plea for today. Please please please get involved in the campaign. Soon I will be announcing my online fundraiser for the campaign. (This will enable those of you those of you who don't live in California to support this important effort.) They need money desperately to help counteract the money that big tobacco is throwing at the opposition. Cancer sucks. Let's join together to wipe it out.
I've decided to use this blog posting to give everyone a little feel for what this is about and why you should care. Before I do so, however, I'll tell you what happened on Thursday at the colorectal surgeon's office. In a word - nothing. He saw my hernia and said that he wasn't going to do anything about it. The area is too fragile and the hernia has no impact on anything. He told me that if it bothers me that I should just wear spanx. So - for now, no surgery is being scheduled.
Now - back to the California Cancer Research Act....
Nearly one out of two Californians will develop cancer in their lifetimes and one out of five will die from the disease. This year alone, 140,000 Californians will die from the disease. Cancer has impacted all of us and the way to beat this disease is through more funding for research. Next year, we will have the opportunity to take a tremendous leap forward in the fight against cancer.
The California Cancer Research Act (CCRA) will generate nearly $600 million every year for cancer research and triple funding for cancer research by increasing the price of cigarettes by $1. All of the money in this initiative goes to fight cancer and no more than 2% will be spent on administration. The California Cancer Research Act will go before voters in June 5, 2012.
The measure is expected to save more than 100,000 lives and prevent 200,000 youth from becoming life long smokers. More than two-thirds of Californians are in favor of the measure, but the tobacco companies are set to spend tens of millions of dollars to lie to voters to get them to vote no. Our best defense is you. By joining the campaign, you can help spread the word that Big Tobacco is funding the opposition. If an undecided voter goes into the booth knowing the American Cancer Society is behind CCRA and the tobacco companies are opposed, we are overwhelming likely to get their vote. Please go here to sign up to the campaign: http://www.californiansforacure.org/action/acs.
By joining the campaign, you will get updates on the campaign both in your community and across the state. You will also learn the latest deceitful tactics the tobacco companies are engaging in. There is no commitment to sign up, but you will certainly have the opportunity to volunteer for the campaign as the election gets closer.
Think about it. How many times in our lives do we have the opportunity to save 100,000 people from premature death? We have all been touched by cancer in some way (some more than others!) and most of us know how painful the experience is. We have the opportunity to prevent the next generation of Californians from experiencing that. Please join our campaign and help us win this fight.
So that's my plea for today. Please please please get involved in the campaign. Soon I will be announcing my online fundraiser for the campaign. (This will enable those of you those of you who don't live in California to support this important effort.) They need money desperately to help counteract the money that big tobacco is throwing at the opposition. Cancer sucks. Let's join together to wipe it out.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
It's Been A Long Week
I have just left the urgent care center in Davis. Why was I there? I haven’t been able to breathe easily for the last few days. The good news is that after an x-ray, EKG and blood tests, the doctors can’t find anything physically wrong with me. They are blaming my shortness of breath to stress, potentially too much chemo and possibly some tomato spraying that’s going on in Davis. While I am relieved that the diagnosis wasn’t more serious, the whole experience forced me to relive that day after Thanksgiving almost 2 years ago in Palm Desert when I woke up not being able to breathe and was told hours later that the cancer had returned in my ovary. Needless to say, today’s results are a whole heck of a lot better than that day in 2009.
I’ve been trying to figure out what could possibly be making such a significant impact on me stress-wise. My job is stressful, but I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had a ton of stress at my job. Our home sale and purchase are complete, so that’s not causing stress. The girls are all settled at school, soccer, gymnastics and Brownies – so that’s not causing stress.
And then it hit me – Steve Jobs’ death. Each time I hear of a celebrity’s death due to cancer, it is like a knife in my chest. Fear grips me. But, Steve Jobs’ passing impacted me more than any other. Perhaps it’s because I’m in the tech sector now and his death is part of a continual conversation with my peers, or perhaps it was because he shared my oncologist and acupuncturist, the same people who I depend on to save my life couldn’t save his…
For whatever reason, his death upset me to my core. It made me question my ability to beat cancer and stay alive. Although I have had dark thoughts over the past few years, they have never lasted for days or even hours. This time, they had. But, now that I know that my shortness of breath does not signal a return of my cancer, I am reminding myself that each person has their own story…that pancreatic cancer is a hell of an adversary and it was miraculous that he remained alive as long as he did…that I am doing great and that I have to get my head back on straight if I’m going to continue to do great. And so, with a deep breath – that is what I’m doing.
Unfortunately, while I wish that I could announce that all is well (except the cancer in my spleen and rectum), as of last Friday, I was told that I am facing yet another hurdle – a hernia where the bag used to be on my stomach. Apparently, it’s not that uncommon. After all, I’ve had a lot of surgery in that area, so the muscles are weak. I am heading down to see my colorectal surgeon on Thursday, to see if anything can be done. My guess is that I’ll be told to do some basic exercises (my SF oncologist showed me some exercises to strengthen the muscle) and leave it alone. As one of my doc friends said to me this morning, “Eve, this is number 33 on your list of concerns. It’s really not a big deal.” I will keep you all posted if I need to return to surgery – but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this won’t be in the cards for the near future.
So – the cancer journey continues. I continue to look for the lessons. But – I gotta say, it’s hard. I know that some say that "cancer is a gift." Although I have learned a lot from the journey, I wouldn’t classify this as a "gift." Frankly, if it is a gift, I want to be standing in the "returns" line. But, for whatever reason, this is what I’ve been given and I’m going to do whatever I can to learn from it.
As we begin the Jewish New Year, I have faith that this upcoming year will be a good one. I have a new job, new home, am ostomy bag-free and have only marginal amounts of cancer. I’m starting off pretty darn ok. I pray that this year is filled with many wonderful moments and lots of health for all of you as well.
And please – come and visit us in Davis. This year, my goal is to fill my home with lots of love and laughter – which is, after all, the best way to heal…..
I’ve been trying to figure out what could possibly be making such a significant impact on me stress-wise. My job is stressful, but I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had a ton of stress at my job. Our home sale and purchase are complete, so that’s not causing stress. The girls are all settled at school, soccer, gymnastics and Brownies – so that’s not causing stress.
And then it hit me – Steve Jobs’ death. Each time I hear of a celebrity’s death due to cancer, it is like a knife in my chest. Fear grips me. But, Steve Jobs’ passing impacted me more than any other. Perhaps it’s because I’m in the tech sector now and his death is part of a continual conversation with my peers, or perhaps it was because he shared my oncologist and acupuncturist, the same people who I depend on to save my life couldn’t save his…
For whatever reason, his death upset me to my core. It made me question my ability to beat cancer and stay alive. Although I have had dark thoughts over the past few years, they have never lasted for days or even hours. This time, they had. But, now that I know that my shortness of breath does not signal a return of my cancer, I am reminding myself that each person has their own story…that pancreatic cancer is a hell of an adversary and it was miraculous that he remained alive as long as he did…that I am doing great and that I have to get my head back on straight if I’m going to continue to do great. And so, with a deep breath – that is what I’m doing.
Unfortunately, while I wish that I could announce that all is well (except the cancer in my spleen and rectum), as of last Friday, I was told that I am facing yet another hurdle – a hernia where the bag used to be on my stomach. Apparently, it’s not that uncommon. After all, I’ve had a lot of surgery in that area, so the muscles are weak. I am heading down to see my colorectal surgeon on Thursday, to see if anything can be done. My guess is that I’ll be told to do some basic exercises (my SF oncologist showed me some exercises to strengthen the muscle) and leave it alone. As one of my doc friends said to me this morning, “Eve, this is number 33 on your list of concerns. It’s really not a big deal.” I will keep you all posted if I need to return to surgery – but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this won’t be in the cards for the near future.
So – the cancer journey continues. I continue to look for the lessons. But – I gotta say, it’s hard. I know that some say that "cancer is a gift." Although I have learned a lot from the journey, I wouldn’t classify this as a "gift." Frankly, if it is a gift, I want to be standing in the "returns" line. But, for whatever reason, this is what I’ve been given and I’m going to do whatever I can to learn from it.
As we begin the Jewish New Year, I have faith that this upcoming year will be a good one. I have a new job, new home, am ostomy bag-free and have only marginal amounts of cancer. I’m starting off pretty darn ok. I pray that this year is filled with many wonderful moments and lots of health for all of you as well.
And please – come and visit us in Davis. This year, my goal is to fill my home with lots of love and laughter – which is, after all, the best way to heal…..
Saturday, September 17, 2011
An Update - Motivated by Kenra....
It has been a long long time since I have written on this blog. So much has happened over the last five months – some good, some not so good – that I kept pushing off writing this. It just seemed so overwhelming.
So – over the last five months we sold our home in Piedmont, purchased a home in Davis and moved our family. We were very sad to leave our wonderful community of Piedmont and the Bay Area, but we are excited about the future in beautiful Davis. The town is lovely and our neighbors are incredibly friendly and inviting. Of course, the reason that we moved is because I started my new job at TechNet in Sacramento.
This past week, Kenra Professional flew me out to Indianapolis to speak once again to their all-company meeting. As you probably recall, last winter they announced that they were going to roll out a charitable giving effort in coordination with the Rapunzel Project to help cancer patients save their hair during chemotherapy. As you are all aware, I was able to keep my head of hair by using cold cap therapy. Since my weekend is filled with soccer games and a huge “to do” list, I have decided to use my speech to Kenra to update you on my physical and mental status - rather than delay writing any longer.
I know that it may be a little long – but heck, you haven’t received any posts from me in a very very long time. So – I’m making up for it!! I promise to keep everyone more in the loop going forward. So here is the speech….
Good Evening,
It is my honor, and quite frankly, my thrill to be with you this evening. It is good to be back with my Kenra family. As many of you know, it has been a very long (almost) 4 years for me. I understand that there are some of you who are not familiar with my story – and for those of you who have been following me through my blog – I apologize profusely for not having kept up with writing my story. So – I’ll try to give those of you who don’t know who I am a little snippet of my journey and for those of you who know me, I’ll tell you where I’m at on this cancer rollercoaster.
My cancer journey began in January of 2008, when I was traveling in Iowa for the famous Iowa caucus. As a political junkie I had always wondered what the Caucus was all about.
Unfortunately, I never got to experience the Caucus – on that fateful Thursday night I was at Mercy Hospital in downtown Des Moines, in excruciating pain. I had no idea what a difficult road lay ahead. They found a blockage, and told me they needed to operate immediately. Two days later, I woke up to a prognosis of colon cancer – and it had spread.
Well, so began my fight. Since that night that I was diverted from campaigning for Hillary Clinton to campaigning for my life, I have had my colon re-sected twice, a vaginal re-section, a radical hysterectomy, an ostomy bag, a reversal of my ileostomy, and more radiation and chemo than any human body should have running through it. On top of all that, my candidate didn’t even win.
But I have fought hard. I have turned to eastern medicine as well as western – incorporating acupuncture, herbal medicine, yoga and a host of other modalities into my healing regimen.
If you look at the statistics, I should be dead by now. I was told that those who have the advanced cancer I had have a slim chance of living very long. But as you can plainly see – I am far from dead. I am vibrant and very much alive. So the big question is – why? Why have I thrived when so many others lose this battle? I can’t say that I’m any stronger than, say, my friend who lost her valiant battle with breast cancer. My oncologists were world class but then again, my oncologists sadly lose patients, too. Yet against the odds I live. And I know that I’m incredibly lucky to be here, talking to you.
I’ve heard many stories about cancer patients with devastating prognoses who have such an overwhelmingly strong will to live that they beat long odds. I believe I am one of these patients. I have two little girls who are counting on me to be there when they graduate from high school, when they walk down the aisle, when they bear their own children. Failure is simply not an option.
So this is what I’ve done. I’ve taken my treatment into my own hands. No, I’m not injecting myself with the chemo drugs, but I have been to multiple doctors for second and third opinions. With the blessing of my doctors, I’ve modified my regimen of care based on the latest studies, which I read avidly. And through this battle, I have become the single biggest expert on my own particular cancer, and often find myself sharing the latest information I’ve discovered with my oncology nurses (who may be humoring me, but I think they’re really interested). And I think that is what’s working. Studies have shown that time and time again, those patients who take control of their lives and engage thoroughly in determining their treatment are far more successful than those who simply allow things to be “done to them.”
And that, my dear Kenra friends, is why we are here today – we are going to help others take control in their fight with cancer. We are going to do this by helping them look at themselves in the mirror and not see sickness. We are going to help them look as normal as possible to their children and grandchildren. We are going to enable them to decide who will learn about their cancer and not have the information broadcast out from their bald scalps. We are going to let them have this little victory over cancer. Cancer is not an easy opponent – but trust me – it is no match for the penguin cold cap! (Just look at my head of hair – heck – I think I have an even thicker head of hair after my chemo!)
As you’ve heard time and time again – keeping your hair is not about vanity. It’s about so much more. And you, at Kenra, get that. It is impossible for me to express how meaningful your devotion of time, love and money to helping people save their hair is to cancer patients as they are going through the most challenging time of their lives.
As I was thinking about this speech, a thought crossed my mind about the impact of taking control. For those of you who have not had cancer (and I pray that it’s nearly, if not all of you) let me tell you what it’s like to tell people that you have cancer – it’s devastating. Every. Single. Time. And you try to be nonchalant because you’re sick and tired (literally sick and tired) of the tears, the hugs, the “I’m so sorrys”, but you can’t help but notice “that look.” The look that says - you’re about to die.
It’s the fear that flows out of everyone that I tell that takes my breath away – yes, it still continues to overwhelm me. But here’s what’s different about my cancer. Inevitably, people look closely at my hair and exclaim “but your hair – you have hair?! How is that possible? And then the conversation shifts. It shifts to how I am fighting – and how I am winning. When they see that tangible example of how I have successfully taken on the battle with cancer’s desire to take out my hair, they seem to have more confidence in me and my ability to win the war. And when others believe in me it makes it all that much easier for me to believe in me.
Let’s think again about that study - that study that shows that people who take control over their cancer are more successful in fighting cancer. But when you’re bald – you’re a walking billboard. You can’t hide that you’re suffering, you can’t decide who you tell. You are continually being given pitying looks – people looking at you like you’re not going to survive and that your children will be motherless. The pain in the telling forces some people to remain homebound instead of venture out. Giving women (and men) their hair is giving them the gift of letting them decide if they’re going to tell their cancer story. It’s giving them a choice. My Kenra friends – by giving them that gift of choice, you are helping them to fight their cancer.
Unfortunately, my journey is not yet over. For those of you who saw me in March, I was praying that I would conquer this disease – that I’d return to complete health and get to see my children and my grandchildren grow up. But, that comfort will continue to elude me.
At the end of June my cancer reappeared. I have about 18 mm in my spleen and 5 mm in my rectum (it’s a good thing that most of you are done with your dinner now!) It’s not a lot of cancer – but it’s still there. My oncologists added yet another chemo drug to my regimen. So I’m now on two types of chemo – one kind is infused every 3 weeks and one kind is taken orally. I’m glad to announce that both my CT scans and blood work from just 2 weeks ago are showing that my cancer is not growing – that we are managing to keep it in check. We are in a holding pattern – continuing to poison my body and watch and wait.
It isn’t easy living with this disease. After I licked it the first time, I just assumed that I was done. I had straightened out my priorities (I stopped working until all hours of the night or working weekends so I could focus on my children). I felt like I had learned what I needed to learn so cancer would just go away.
But – as you now know – it wasn’t over. And it will never be over. Each time I get a scan, I hold my breath – for days. Another cancer patient described what it’s like beautifully and I’d like to share her words with you….
“Waiting for scan results is possibly the most difficult part of being a cancer warrior. Yes, chemo is tough, and getting sliced open in the O-R is no walk in the park, but at least the truth is out there and we warriors are looking our nemesis straight in the eye. There is a definitive nature about battling cancer. There is nothing but speculation while you wait for scan results.
When you don't know whether "the cancer" has taken up residence in your bag o' bones, the challenge is unique. It's not a physical challenge but a mental one. You try not to speculate about how your body feels ("Is this really what having a little cancer in my gut feels like?") yet you can't help but become uber-sensitive about everything you're body is doing. You try not to think about your upcoming appointment where you'll learn your scan results but those thoughts pop in your head anyway. It's a challenge to live in the moment when you're worried about the future.
I've countered the "scanxiety" with a few affirmations, thoughts I repeat to myself every time my mind starts to mull over my scan results and their implications. I reassure myself that no matter what the radiologist's report says, I feel great. I tell myself that even if I have to restart chemo, I am awesome at it and will handle it even better this time around. And, above all, I remind myself that cancer will not stop me from doing the things I want to do in life. These thoughts calm me down and rejuvenate me, making me all the more formidable of a cancer-killing machine. This disease sticks around sometimes, but the trick is vowing to stick around even longer.”
Yes, this is my life. Unless they find a cure, I will be fighting this disease – radiating and poisoning my body – for the rest of my life. And I pray it will be a long life. I was told recently by an old Chinese doctor, “Eve – unfortunately, with the medicine today, you will never be cancer free. However, you will learn to co-exist with your cancer.” And, according to Dr. Hu (don’t you love the name?) – I can live many many years co-existing…
In my non-cancer life – I am thriving. I began a new job in April as the head of a tech-industry association in Sacramento. This was not an easy career shift for me – since I knew nothing about tech – and I was hired to be one of the leading voices of the tech industry in the State. Just to make my life even more difficult, I uprooted my family and moved them from the Bay Area to a town near Sacramento to be closer to my work. And – on top of it all, I had surgery to take the bag off of my belly in the middle of it all.
Before I learned of my cancer in 2008, I was close to leaving my job and starting my own consulting firm. In fact, I was 3 weeks away from quitting. I felt like I needed a new challenge. However, once I learned about my diagnosis I felt it was best that I remain at my job and heal there. I guess that I could have just stayed in my comfortable job for the rest of my career. That would have been the easy route. However, having a diagnosis like cancer and having it come up again and again, made me think – life is too short. I don’t know how long I have, but heck, even if I’m in my last years, I need to show my children that I didn’t give up and resign myself to a job that no longer challenged me. I needed to teach them that no matter what your circumstances, you continue to reach for the limits and enjoy every moment. And so I left. I took a job that challenged me. Do I regret it, even on the days that chemo has wiped me out? Or even on the days that I’m in pain? No. Because I am living my life to the fullest. I feel blessed to say that I have no regrets.
My Kenra family - what you are embarking on is nothing short of magnificent. You, as a company, have decided that the sky’s the limit. You are making a conscious decision to help save not only cancer patients’ hair, but their dignity and, in many aspects, you are helping them to save their lives. As a company, you could sit back and just focus on your P and L. You could assume that there are charitable organizations that are set up to help others and that isn’t your role. You could leave it to others to care. But you didn’t. You stood up and are proclaiming to the world “we want to help. We not only get the importance of this effort, but we are going to dedicate our resources – both in money and people – to helping those who are in need.”
When I found out that I was going to lose my hair, I was very fortunate. I not only had someone tell me about the cold caps but I also had the resources to use them. What you are doing will help on both fronts. Your campaign will not only educate the public but will also help those who may not otherwise be able to afford it. Granted, the Penguin cold caps aren’t guaranteed to work for every cancer patient under every single cancer treatment - but it worked for me and I know that it does work for many many many cancer sufferers.
We know that the Kenra/Rapunzel partnership can’t cure cancer, but it is going to have a profound impact on those who are fighting it. Your charitable efforts reminded me of a quote that I once heard that I wanted to share with you.
Edward Everett Hale once said “I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.”
Thank you for doing what you “can do.” Since I plan to have many many more years on this earth - I hope to remain actively engaged in your efforts going forward. People say very cavalierly that “every day is a gift.” However, as I pop my chemo pills every night, I am struck daily with how true that sentiment is.
I look forward to the day that losing ones hair during chemo is no longer assumed. I strongly believe that it will be through your efforts that that day is coming soon. I am deeply honored to be with you this evening and cannot express my gratitude for your generosity of time, of resources, and of spirit.
Thank you.
So – over the last five months we sold our home in Piedmont, purchased a home in Davis and moved our family. We were very sad to leave our wonderful community of Piedmont and the Bay Area, but we are excited about the future in beautiful Davis. The town is lovely and our neighbors are incredibly friendly and inviting. Of course, the reason that we moved is because I started my new job at TechNet in Sacramento.
This past week, Kenra Professional flew me out to Indianapolis to speak once again to their all-company meeting. As you probably recall, last winter they announced that they were going to roll out a charitable giving effort in coordination with the Rapunzel Project to help cancer patients save their hair during chemotherapy. As you are all aware, I was able to keep my head of hair by using cold cap therapy. Since my weekend is filled with soccer games and a huge “to do” list, I have decided to use my speech to Kenra to update you on my physical and mental status - rather than delay writing any longer.
I know that it may be a little long – but heck, you haven’t received any posts from me in a very very long time. So – I’m making up for it!! I promise to keep everyone more in the loop going forward. So here is the speech….
Good Evening,
It is my honor, and quite frankly, my thrill to be with you this evening. It is good to be back with my Kenra family. As many of you know, it has been a very long (almost) 4 years for me. I understand that there are some of you who are not familiar with my story – and for those of you who have been following me through my blog – I apologize profusely for not having kept up with writing my story. So – I’ll try to give those of you who don’t know who I am a little snippet of my journey and for those of you who know me, I’ll tell you where I’m at on this cancer rollercoaster.
My cancer journey began in January of 2008, when I was traveling in Iowa for the famous Iowa caucus. As a political junkie I had always wondered what the Caucus was all about.
Unfortunately, I never got to experience the Caucus – on that fateful Thursday night I was at Mercy Hospital in downtown Des Moines, in excruciating pain. I had no idea what a difficult road lay ahead. They found a blockage, and told me they needed to operate immediately. Two days later, I woke up to a prognosis of colon cancer – and it had spread.
Well, so began my fight. Since that night that I was diverted from campaigning for Hillary Clinton to campaigning for my life, I have had my colon re-sected twice, a vaginal re-section, a radical hysterectomy, an ostomy bag, a reversal of my ileostomy, and more radiation and chemo than any human body should have running through it. On top of all that, my candidate didn’t even win.
But I have fought hard. I have turned to eastern medicine as well as western – incorporating acupuncture, herbal medicine, yoga and a host of other modalities into my healing regimen.
If you look at the statistics, I should be dead by now. I was told that those who have the advanced cancer I had have a slim chance of living very long. But as you can plainly see – I am far from dead. I am vibrant and very much alive. So the big question is – why? Why have I thrived when so many others lose this battle? I can’t say that I’m any stronger than, say, my friend who lost her valiant battle with breast cancer. My oncologists were world class but then again, my oncologists sadly lose patients, too. Yet against the odds I live. And I know that I’m incredibly lucky to be here, talking to you.
I’ve heard many stories about cancer patients with devastating prognoses who have such an overwhelmingly strong will to live that they beat long odds. I believe I am one of these patients. I have two little girls who are counting on me to be there when they graduate from high school, when they walk down the aisle, when they bear their own children. Failure is simply not an option.
So this is what I’ve done. I’ve taken my treatment into my own hands. No, I’m not injecting myself with the chemo drugs, but I have been to multiple doctors for second and third opinions. With the blessing of my doctors, I’ve modified my regimen of care based on the latest studies, which I read avidly. And through this battle, I have become the single biggest expert on my own particular cancer, and often find myself sharing the latest information I’ve discovered with my oncology nurses (who may be humoring me, but I think they’re really interested). And I think that is what’s working. Studies have shown that time and time again, those patients who take control of their lives and engage thoroughly in determining their treatment are far more successful than those who simply allow things to be “done to them.”
And that, my dear Kenra friends, is why we are here today – we are going to help others take control in their fight with cancer. We are going to do this by helping them look at themselves in the mirror and not see sickness. We are going to help them look as normal as possible to their children and grandchildren. We are going to enable them to decide who will learn about their cancer and not have the information broadcast out from their bald scalps. We are going to let them have this little victory over cancer. Cancer is not an easy opponent – but trust me – it is no match for the penguin cold cap! (Just look at my head of hair – heck – I think I have an even thicker head of hair after my chemo!)
As you’ve heard time and time again – keeping your hair is not about vanity. It’s about so much more. And you, at Kenra, get that. It is impossible for me to express how meaningful your devotion of time, love and money to helping people save their hair is to cancer patients as they are going through the most challenging time of their lives.
As I was thinking about this speech, a thought crossed my mind about the impact of taking control. For those of you who have not had cancer (and I pray that it’s nearly, if not all of you) let me tell you what it’s like to tell people that you have cancer – it’s devastating. Every. Single. Time. And you try to be nonchalant because you’re sick and tired (literally sick and tired) of the tears, the hugs, the “I’m so sorrys”, but you can’t help but notice “that look.” The look that says - you’re about to die.
It’s the fear that flows out of everyone that I tell that takes my breath away – yes, it still continues to overwhelm me. But here’s what’s different about my cancer. Inevitably, people look closely at my hair and exclaim “but your hair – you have hair?! How is that possible? And then the conversation shifts. It shifts to how I am fighting – and how I am winning. When they see that tangible example of how I have successfully taken on the battle with cancer’s desire to take out my hair, they seem to have more confidence in me and my ability to win the war. And when others believe in me it makes it all that much easier for me to believe in me.
Let’s think again about that study - that study that shows that people who take control over their cancer are more successful in fighting cancer. But when you’re bald – you’re a walking billboard. You can’t hide that you’re suffering, you can’t decide who you tell. You are continually being given pitying looks – people looking at you like you’re not going to survive and that your children will be motherless. The pain in the telling forces some people to remain homebound instead of venture out. Giving women (and men) their hair is giving them the gift of letting them decide if they’re going to tell their cancer story. It’s giving them a choice. My Kenra friends – by giving them that gift of choice, you are helping them to fight their cancer.
Unfortunately, my journey is not yet over. For those of you who saw me in March, I was praying that I would conquer this disease – that I’d return to complete health and get to see my children and my grandchildren grow up. But, that comfort will continue to elude me.
At the end of June my cancer reappeared. I have about 18 mm in my spleen and 5 mm in my rectum (it’s a good thing that most of you are done with your dinner now!) It’s not a lot of cancer – but it’s still there. My oncologists added yet another chemo drug to my regimen. So I’m now on two types of chemo – one kind is infused every 3 weeks and one kind is taken orally. I’m glad to announce that both my CT scans and blood work from just 2 weeks ago are showing that my cancer is not growing – that we are managing to keep it in check. We are in a holding pattern – continuing to poison my body and watch and wait.
It isn’t easy living with this disease. After I licked it the first time, I just assumed that I was done. I had straightened out my priorities (I stopped working until all hours of the night or working weekends so I could focus on my children). I felt like I had learned what I needed to learn so cancer would just go away.
But – as you now know – it wasn’t over. And it will never be over. Each time I get a scan, I hold my breath – for days. Another cancer patient described what it’s like beautifully and I’d like to share her words with you….
“Waiting for scan results is possibly the most difficult part of being a cancer warrior. Yes, chemo is tough, and getting sliced open in the O-R is no walk in the park, but at least the truth is out there and we warriors are looking our nemesis straight in the eye. There is a definitive nature about battling cancer. There is nothing but speculation while you wait for scan results.
When you don't know whether "the cancer" has taken up residence in your bag o' bones, the challenge is unique. It's not a physical challenge but a mental one. You try not to speculate about how your body feels ("Is this really what having a little cancer in my gut feels like?") yet you can't help but become uber-sensitive about everything you're body is doing. You try not to think about your upcoming appointment where you'll learn your scan results but those thoughts pop in your head anyway. It's a challenge to live in the moment when you're worried about the future.
I've countered the "scanxiety" with a few affirmations, thoughts I repeat to myself every time my mind starts to mull over my scan results and their implications. I reassure myself that no matter what the radiologist's report says, I feel great. I tell myself that even if I have to restart chemo, I am awesome at it and will handle it even better this time around. And, above all, I remind myself that cancer will not stop me from doing the things I want to do in life. These thoughts calm me down and rejuvenate me, making me all the more formidable of a cancer-killing machine. This disease sticks around sometimes, but the trick is vowing to stick around even longer.”
Yes, this is my life. Unless they find a cure, I will be fighting this disease – radiating and poisoning my body – for the rest of my life. And I pray it will be a long life. I was told recently by an old Chinese doctor, “Eve – unfortunately, with the medicine today, you will never be cancer free. However, you will learn to co-exist with your cancer.” And, according to Dr. Hu (don’t you love the name?) – I can live many many years co-existing…
In my non-cancer life – I am thriving. I began a new job in April as the head of a tech-industry association in Sacramento. This was not an easy career shift for me – since I knew nothing about tech – and I was hired to be one of the leading voices of the tech industry in the State. Just to make my life even more difficult, I uprooted my family and moved them from the Bay Area to a town near Sacramento to be closer to my work. And – on top of it all, I had surgery to take the bag off of my belly in the middle of it all.
Before I learned of my cancer in 2008, I was close to leaving my job and starting my own consulting firm. In fact, I was 3 weeks away from quitting. I felt like I needed a new challenge. However, once I learned about my diagnosis I felt it was best that I remain at my job and heal there. I guess that I could have just stayed in my comfortable job for the rest of my career. That would have been the easy route. However, having a diagnosis like cancer and having it come up again and again, made me think – life is too short. I don’t know how long I have, but heck, even if I’m in my last years, I need to show my children that I didn’t give up and resign myself to a job that no longer challenged me. I needed to teach them that no matter what your circumstances, you continue to reach for the limits and enjoy every moment. And so I left. I took a job that challenged me. Do I regret it, even on the days that chemo has wiped me out? Or even on the days that I’m in pain? No. Because I am living my life to the fullest. I feel blessed to say that I have no regrets.
My Kenra family - what you are embarking on is nothing short of magnificent. You, as a company, have decided that the sky’s the limit. You are making a conscious decision to help save not only cancer patients’ hair, but their dignity and, in many aspects, you are helping them to save their lives. As a company, you could sit back and just focus on your P and L. You could assume that there are charitable organizations that are set up to help others and that isn’t your role. You could leave it to others to care. But you didn’t. You stood up and are proclaiming to the world “we want to help. We not only get the importance of this effort, but we are going to dedicate our resources – both in money and people – to helping those who are in need.”
When I found out that I was going to lose my hair, I was very fortunate. I not only had someone tell me about the cold caps but I also had the resources to use them. What you are doing will help on both fronts. Your campaign will not only educate the public but will also help those who may not otherwise be able to afford it. Granted, the Penguin cold caps aren’t guaranteed to work for every cancer patient under every single cancer treatment - but it worked for me and I know that it does work for many many many cancer sufferers.
We know that the Kenra/Rapunzel partnership can’t cure cancer, but it is going to have a profound impact on those who are fighting it. Your charitable efforts reminded me of a quote that I once heard that I wanted to share with you.
Edward Everett Hale once said “I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.”
Thank you for doing what you “can do.” Since I plan to have many many more years on this earth - I hope to remain actively engaged in your efforts going forward. People say very cavalierly that “every day is a gift.” However, as I pop my chemo pills every night, I am struck daily with how true that sentiment is.
I look forward to the day that losing ones hair during chemo is no longer assumed. I strongly believe that it will be through your efforts that that day is coming soon. I am deeply honored to be with you this evening and cannot express my gratitude for your generosity of time, of resources, and of spirit.
Thank you.
Monday, April 4, 2011
A New Life
Originally, I started this blog as a way to update my close friends and family about my diagnosis. It evolved into a cathartic outlet for me to express my feelings about what I was facing as I continued my cancer treatment. Then, to my surprise and gratitude, this blog became a source of inspiration and information for hundreds of subscribers who I've never met, but who are also dealing with cancer.
Sometimes I wrote with audience #1 in mind, sometimes I wrote for myself, but often I wrote with a message clearly targeted to those who are seeking hope and solace by following my cancer journey as they travel their own.
Well, this blog post is for all three of you.
I arrived home from the hospital on Saturday. I am exhausted and admittedly a bit loopy on Vicodin but overall I'm just VERY relieved. As you know from my friend Stacia’s postings, the surgery went well. Fortunately, they didn’t see any cancer during the laparoscopy.
It was a strange sensation waking up these past couple of mornings. I almost feel like I have awoken from a nightmare. I am cancer free and my body is back. I feel like I have a new lease on life.
My new body and cancer-free status aren’t the only changes to share.
Our family is about to start a new chapter of our lives. I have accepted the position of Executive Director, California for TechNet. This job is based in Sacramento, so this summer we will be moving to Davis (20 minutes from Sacramento). My role will be to represent the tech sector (high tech, biotech, clean tech, green tech, financial ventures), particularly in the policy and political arena of Sacramento.
After 12 years of service at the Port of Oakland, it is strange to be walking out the door. But it is time. Cancer has taught me to take risks, live life to its fullest and to seize the day (or the great new job, as it were).
I am excited about a long, healthy, adventurous future with my family, my new city, and my new career. So – over the next couple of weeks I will be packing up my office, talking to realtors and getting ready to embark on my new life.
So if you don't get a lot of posts from me in the near future, consider it good news. But please, keep in touch. I will periodically update you with news on my health, on discoveries in colon cancer, on the great work that Kenra is doing to help cancer patients keep their hair using Penguin Cold Cap technology...this may be the last of my cancer (please God!) but you haven't heard the last from me!
Sometimes I wrote with audience #1 in mind, sometimes I wrote for myself, but often I wrote with a message clearly targeted to those who are seeking hope and solace by following my cancer journey as they travel their own.
Well, this blog post is for all three of you.
I arrived home from the hospital on Saturday. I am exhausted and admittedly a bit loopy on Vicodin but overall I'm just VERY relieved. As you know from my friend Stacia’s postings, the surgery went well. Fortunately, they didn’t see any cancer during the laparoscopy.
It was a strange sensation waking up these past couple of mornings. I almost feel like I have awoken from a nightmare. I am cancer free and my body is back. I feel like I have a new lease on life.
My new body and cancer-free status aren’t the only changes to share.
Our family is about to start a new chapter of our lives. I have accepted the position of Executive Director, California for TechNet. This job is based in Sacramento, so this summer we will be moving to Davis (20 minutes from Sacramento). My role will be to represent the tech sector (high tech, biotech, clean tech, green tech, financial ventures), particularly in the policy and political arena of Sacramento.
After 12 years of service at the Port of Oakland, it is strange to be walking out the door. But it is time. Cancer has taught me to take risks, live life to its fullest and to seize the day (or the great new job, as it were).
I am excited about a long, healthy, adventurous future with my family, my new city, and my new career. So – over the next couple of weeks I will be packing up my office, talking to realtors and getting ready to embark on my new life.
So if you don't get a lot of posts from me in the near future, consider it good news. But please, keep in touch. I will periodically update you with news on my health, on discoveries in colon cancer, on the great work that Kenra is doing to help cancer patients keep their hair using Penguin Cold Cap technology...this may be the last of my cancer (please God!) but you haven't heard the last from me!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
She's up and around
I talked with Eve this afternoon. She's up and walking and in great spirits. This recovery will take some time, but she's determined to get home soon and move on with life!
I want to clarify one comment I made yesterday, Eve did not have a scan yesterday, she had a scope. During the surgery, they peeked around and bit and found no sign of cancer. Even better news than not finding anything with a scan!
I want to clarify one comment I made yesterday, Eve did not have a scan yesterday, she had a scope. During the surgery, they peeked around and bit and found no sign of cancer. Even better news than not finding anything with a scan!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
A success!
Eve's surgery today was a huge success! After a long wait for the surgery to start, doctors were able to quickly return Eve's body to normal and remove the stoma. ALSO, scans of her body show NO sign of cancer!
Eve is resting at Stanford Hospital and is expected to be there for three or four more days. Please pray for a speedy recovery.
Eve is resting at Stanford Hospital and is expected to be there for three or four more days. Please pray for a speedy recovery.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Goodbye My Friend
Tonight is my last night with my bag. It’s strange - I feel almost sad.
I can’t believe that it has been 8 whole months since they put it on me. When I woke up from surgery on July 28, I’ll never forget how distressed that I was that it was there. I begged them to take it off quickly. Although they could have done so after 2 months, I was talked into waiting so that we could get a lot of chemo into my body. (You have to take a 3 month break around surgery to avoid some pretty scary complications.)
As I prepare for tomorrow’s surgery, I keep reflecting on the past 8 months. I thought that the bag would slow me down, but it didn’t. I have had adventures, worked full time, actively promoted cold cap therapy to help other cancer patients save their hair during chemo and have enjoyed my children thoroughly.
So here we are. The night before I say goodbye to my bag. Having this attached to my body has been a constant reminder of the battle that I am waging. It protected my colon for the last 8 months, allowing it to heal and grow stronger. It has been good to me, but now I am ready for it to go.
Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, Pat and I will head down to Stanford for my 7th stomach surgery in 7 years, the 5th one that has been associated with cancer. I plan to have this be my last surgery (except for my facelift when I hit 70).
At 9:30 am PST, I will be under the knife once more. The surgery is scheduled to last until 11. Please send up a little prayer or positive thought that the surgeon won’t find any cancer and that the bag will be gone…forever.
I can’t believe that it has been 8 whole months since they put it on me. When I woke up from surgery on July 28, I’ll never forget how distressed that I was that it was there. I begged them to take it off quickly. Although they could have done so after 2 months, I was talked into waiting so that we could get a lot of chemo into my body. (You have to take a 3 month break around surgery to avoid some pretty scary complications.)
As I prepare for tomorrow’s surgery, I keep reflecting on the past 8 months. I thought that the bag would slow me down, but it didn’t. I have had adventures, worked full time, actively promoted cold cap therapy to help other cancer patients save their hair during chemo and have enjoyed my children thoroughly.
So here we are. The night before I say goodbye to my bag. Having this attached to my body has been a constant reminder of the battle that I am waging. It protected my colon for the last 8 months, allowing it to heal and grow stronger. It has been good to me, but now I am ready for it to go.
Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, Pat and I will head down to Stanford for my 7th stomach surgery in 7 years, the 5th one that has been associated with cancer. I plan to have this be my last surgery (except for my facelift when I hit 70).
At 9:30 am PST, I will be under the knife once more. The surgery is scheduled to last until 11. Please send up a little prayer or positive thought that the surgeon won’t find any cancer and that the bag will be gone…forever.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
A Day At Stanford
Last Thursday, Pat and I spent a very long day at Stanford preparing for my surgery next Wednesday.
I started off my day with a barium enema. Let’s just say that this is not a pleasant way to start your day. The purpose of this procedure is to check to make sure that the colon is ready to work again. Fortunately, my colon seems ready to go back into use.
Then it was off to get blood work done before meeting with Dr. Fisher. I think that I had the best phlebotomist on the planet that day (trust me – I have had more than I care to count). She was funny and sweet, but most importantly, she was fast and I barely felt anything. I think that my veins are recovering and are now much easier to access. (As you may recall, they were pretty bad after all of the chemo that I’ve pumped through them.)
We then met with Dr. Fisher and Margreet, who walked through the various scenarios for my path forward following Wednesday’s surgery. They range from finding lots of cancer (we would probably try a new chemo) to finding no cancer (we would probably reduce my chemo to just one drug). So – although the surgery is not a difficult surgery, I am still very nervous about what I’ll wake up to.
But – my blood work was GREAT! Everything was normal. My CEA count was 1 (this test is used as a cancer indicator). 5 and below is normal. Some folks’ CEA numbers are in the hundreds.
Then I went on to meet with Dr. Shelton, surgeon extraordinaire. He said that the surgery and laparoscopy will be only about 1 hour. Apparently, it’s a fairly simple procedure to put my body back together. You gotta love surgeons – the confidence just oozes from every pore.
We then met with the anesthesiologist which was really quite unremarkable.
To end our day of fun at Stanford, we attended a huge colon cancer event (in honor of colorectal cancer awareness month) that was headlined by my own Dr. George Fisher. The 400 people in attendance (many of them patients or former patients) were treated to a lovely reception and evening of learning from the various doctors/scientists at Stanford about the advances that are being made in colon cancer. It was so exciting to hear what is being done. They are using words like “cure” as they discuss their research. One item of particular excitement for me was that there will be a Stanford trial that will be underway at the end of the year which will focus on changing the immunological response to cancer. It was very complicated, but what kept blaring through my head as the doctor was talking were the following thoughts: “THERE IS A POSSIBLE CURE FOR COLON CANCER” and “HOW THE HECK DO I CONVINCE THIS DOCTOR TO INCLUDE ME IN HIS TRIAL IF IT INCLUDES PEOPLE IN REMISSION?”
So, directly after the presentations, I bee-lined toward the poor doctor (he had no idea what was going to be coming at him) and in my most charming voice asked him how I would go about being considered for the trial. He responded that George Fisher would be making those decisions. Hearing that – I went straight to Dr. Fisher to charm him. Unfortunately, he told me that the biggest challenge for them was finding a hospital that would be willing to underwrite the costs of the trial. They are looking to conduct the trial on 10 people at $500,000 per patient. Needless to say, it is not a small undertaking. So – if anyone reading this blog has an extra $5 million burning a hole your pocket – please let Stanford know….
What was also special that evening was that I met another colon cancer patient and her lovely family who apparently have been reading my blog. They were kind enough to tell me that my blog had actually helped them as she was starting her cancer journey. Wow. To hear that someone who doesn’t know me or my family has found this blog to be of value to them meant more to me than I can possibly express. She is young, otherwise healthy (she is a marathon runner), has a young child and just had a baby 5 months ago. I saw the fear in her eyes, but there was a strength there as well. As I was talking to her, I remembered what it felt like when I was first diagnosed. Primarily I remember the constant fear. I then realized that I no longer feel that constant fear. I am not saying that I don’t have my moments – but fear no longer dominates my thoughts. I welcome the day that it will no longer overshadow hers as well. She has now joined our club of cancer warriors - the club that no one wants to join.
So, as I head into next week, I am calling upon you, my teammates in this cancer fight, to join me once again to come together to get me through this surgery. Please put a tickler on your calendar on Wednesday morning to send a little prayer or positive thought my way. And hopefully I will wake up with a new body and the knowledge that there was no cancer within.
I started off my day with a barium enema. Let’s just say that this is not a pleasant way to start your day. The purpose of this procedure is to check to make sure that the colon is ready to work again. Fortunately, my colon seems ready to go back into use.
Then it was off to get blood work done before meeting with Dr. Fisher. I think that I had the best phlebotomist on the planet that day (trust me – I have had more than I care to count). She was funny and sweet, but most importantly, she was fast and I barely felt anything. I think that my veins are recovering and are now much easier to access. (As you may recall, they were pretty bad after all of the chemo that I’ve pumped through them.)
We then met with Dr. Fisher and Margreet, who walked through the various scenarios for my path forward following Wednesday’s surgery. They range from finding lots of cancer (we would probably try a new chemo) to finding no cancer (we would probably reduce my chemo to just one drug). So – although the surgery is not a difficult surgery, I am still very nervous about what I’ll wake up to.
But – my blood work was GREAT! Everything was normal. My CEA count was 1 (this test is used as a cancer indicator). 5 and below is normal. Some folks’ CEA numbers are in the hundreds.
Then I went on to meet with Dr. Shelton, surgeon extraordinaire. He said that the surgery and laparoscopy will be only about 1 hour. Apparently, it’s a fairly simple procedure to put my body back together. You gotta love surgeons – the confidence just oozes from every pore.
We then met with the anesthesiologist which was really quite unremarkable.
To end our day of fun at Stanford, we attended a huge colon cancer event (in honor of colorectal cancer awareness month) that was headlined by my own Dr. George Fisher. The 400 people in attendance (many of them patients or former patients) were treated to a lovely reception and evening of learning from the various doctors/scientists at Stanford about the advances that are being made in colon cancer. It was so exciting to hear what is being done. They are using words like “cure” as they discuss their research. One item of particular excitement for me was that there will be a Stanford trial that will be underway at the end of the year which will focus on changing the immunological response to cancer. It was very complicated, but what kept blaring through my head as the doctor was talking were the following thoughts: “THERE IS A POSSIBLE CURE FOR COLON CANCER” and “HOW THE HECK DO I CONVINCE THIS DOCTOR TO INCLUDE ME IN HIS TRIAL IF IT INCLUDES PEOPLE IN REMISSION?”
So, directly after the presentations, I bee-lined toward the poor doctor (he had no idea what was going to be coming at him) and in my most charming voice asked him how I would go about being considered for the trial. He responded that George Fisher would be making those decisions. Hearing that – I went straight to Dr. Fisher to charm him. Unfortunately, he told me that the biggest challenge for them was finding a hospital that would be willing to underwrite the costs of the trial. They are looking to conduct the trial on 10 people at $500,000 per patient. Needless to say, it is not a small undertaking. So – if anyone reading this blog has an extra $5 million burning a hole your pocket – please let Stanford know….
What was also special that evening was that I met another colon cancer patient and her lovely family who apparently have been reading my blog. They were kind enough to tell me that my blog had actually helped them as she was starting her cancer journey. Wow. To hear that someone who doesn’t know me or my family has found this blog to be of value to them meant more to me than I can possibly express. She is young, otherwise healthy (she is a marathon runner), has a young child and just had a baby 5 months ago. I saw the fear in her eyes, but there was a strength there as well. As I was talking to her, I remembered what it felt like when I was first diagnosed. Primarily I remember the constant fear. I then realized that I no longer feel that constant fear. I am not saying that I don’t have my moments – but fear no longer dominates my thoughts. I welcome the day that it will no longer overshadow hers as well. She has now joined our club of cancer warriors - the club that no one wants to join.
So, as I head into next week, I am calling upon you, my teammates in this cancer fight, to join me once again to come together to get me through this surgery. Please put a tickler on your calendar on Wednesday morning to send a little prayer or positive thought my way. And hopefully I will wake up with a new body and the knowledge that there was no cancer within.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
ALL CLEAR!
This afternoon, I went to the City to meet with my fabulous oncologist, Dr. Garrett Smith to check in about my treatment. I'm delighted to inform you that I received great news - no evidence of disease (you probably already guessed that though because of the title of this blog).
I'm extremely relieved. This means that we will proceed with the surgery next Wednesday. While I'm not looking forward to yet another surgery, as Ellie would say "this is a good surgery."
Thank you all for your love, prayers and wonderful positive energy.
I'm extremely relieved. This means that we will proceed with the surgery next Wednesday. While I'm not looking forward to yet another surgery, as Ellie would say "this is a good surgery."
Thank you all for your love, prayers and wonderful positive energy.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Oh What a Night!
My sister periodically reviews my blogs before I post them. After reading this blog about my recent trip to Chicago, she told me not to post this. She felt that it was not relevant for my readers, because it wasn’t directly about my cancer. But I feel like this experience was a key part of my cancer journey. I would not have had this incredible opportunity had it not been for the cancer. So – I’m going to overrule my sister and go ahead and post this. For those of you who are only interested in my day to day battle with cancer – please feel free to push delete now. I promise I won’t be hurt.
You may remember from previous blogs my mention of the hair product company Kenra Professional, which has decided to devote their charitable giving efforts over the next several years to helping cancer patients keep their hair during chemotherapy. They are now in the process of launching that effort and getting the word out about this will be critical to the success of the project.
Cut to last weekend. For those of you who are not in the beauty industry (and I’d guess that’s about 99% of you), each year stylists from throughout the country vote on their favorite hair care products and celebrity stylists. The results are announced in an Oscars-like fashion to thousands of hair care professionals at the Annual Behind the Chair (BTC) Stylist Awards. This award show comes in the middle of the American Beauty Show (ABS), a HUGE trade show for the hair industry.
The BTC Stylist Awards was a show unlike any other I’ve ever seen. Between grand announcements of winners in each category (there are a surprising amount of types of hair care products), there were New York Fashion Week style catwalks, outrageous performances, comedy routines and celebrity presentations.
While the standard speech from the winners was how thrilled they were to be receiving this award and thanking those that helped make it possible, Kenra decided to use this opportunity to educate this key audience about cold cap technology and encourage them to learn about it so that they can help spread the word.
To do this, Kenra flew me and the two founders of the Rapunzel Project to Chicago to attend the Stylist Awards. Their plan was to have us accept an award on their behalf and plug cold cap technology should they win. As the night wore on my anxiety level increased – how about if they didn’t win? Of course, their hairspray has won best hairspray for the last 6 years, so they felt very good about their likelihood of winning – but I know that at least I was on pins and needles.
BUT THEY WON!!! As they named Kenra the winner of Best Hairspray (it really is phenomenal hairspray), we proceeded to the stage to speak to the thousands of attendees regarding saving your hair during chemotherapy, with the Kenra folks screaming their lungs out behind us. Oh what a night….
You can only imagine what the trade show was like the next day. The CEO of Kenra, Tim McKeenan, described it as “extreme sensory overload.” With catwalks everywhere, scantily-clad models, celebrity hairstylists giving demonstrations and music blaring from every booth, it was an event to be remembered. Let’s just say that I am sorely disappointed now with every transportation-related trade show I’ve ever been to.
What was far more meaningful than the Stylist Choice Awards or the ABS was getting to spend time with the wonderful folks at Kenra Professional. Their love and compassion for cancer sufferers astounded me.
So – once again, cancer has enabled me to meet people and experience things that I would never have met or experienced. That has been a blessing to me.
For those of you hoping to hear how last Friday’s scan went – I still don’t have any official news. Hopefully, I’ll be hearing that they didn’t find anything either tomorrow or Tuesday. This week is a busy week for me on the cancer front – I have an appointment with Dr. Smith on Tuesday and Drs. Shelton (my surgeon) and Fisher on Thursday. My Thursday appointments will include all of the pre-op work to prepare for my surgery on March 30th. Thank you all for your wonderful prayers and positive thoughts last Friday.
This last week, the love from the Kenra folks and the love from all of you as I was heading into my scan has once again made me realize how incredibly fortunate I am. I hope to provide all of you with an update soon on the results from Friday. Keep those fingers and toes crossed (unless you’re walking the catwalk…)
You may remember from previous blogs my mention of the hair product company Kenra Professional, which has decided to devote their charitable giving efforts over the next several years to helping cancer patients keep their hair during chemotherapy. They are now in the process of launching that effort and getting the word out about this will be critical to the success of the project.
Cut to last weekend. For those of you who are not in the beauty industry (and I’d guess that’s about 99% of you), each year stylists from throughout the country vote on their favorite hair care products and celebrity stylists. The results are announced in an Oscars-like fashion to thousands of hair care professionals at the Annual Behind the Chair (BTC) Stylist Awards. This award show comes in the middle of the American Beauty Show (ABS), a HUGE trade show for the hair industry.
The BTC Stylist Awards was a show unlike any other I’ve ever seen. Between grand announcements of winners in each category (there are a surprising amount of types of hair care products), there were New York Fashion Week style catwalks, outrageous performances, comedy routines and celebrity presentations.
While the standard speech from the winners was how thrilled they were to be receiving this award and thanking those that helped make it possible, Kenra decided to use this opportunity to educate this key audience about cold cap technology and encourage them to learn about it so that they can help spread the word.
To do this, Kenra flew me and the two founders of the Rapunzel Project to Chicago to attend the Stylist Awards. Their plan was to have us accept an award on their behalf and plug cold cap technology should they win. As the night wore on my anxiety level increased – how about if they didn’t win? Of course, their hairspray has won best hairspray for the last 6 years, so they felt very good about their likelihood of winning – but I know that at least I was on pins and needles.
BUT THEY WON!!! As they named Kenra the winner of Best Hairspray (it really is phenomenal hairspray), we proceeded to the stage to speak to the thousands of attendees regarding saving your hair during chemotherapy, with the Kenra folks screaming their lungs out behind us. Oh what a night….
You can only imagine what the trade show was like the next day. The CEO of Kenra, Tim McKeenan, described it as “extreme sensory overload.” With catwalks everywhere, scantily-clad models, celebrity hairstylists giving demonstrations and music blaring from every booth, it was an event to be remembered. Let’s just say that I am sorely disappointed now with every transportation-related trade show I’ve ever been to.
What was far more meaningful than the Stylist Choice Awards or the ABS was getting to spend time with the wonderful folks at Kenra Professional. Their love and compassion for cancer sufferers astounded me.
So – once again, cancer has enabled me to meet people and experience things that I would never have met or experienced. That has been a blessing to me.
For those of you hoping to hear how last Friday’s scan went – I still don’t have any official news. Hopefully, I’ll be hearing that they didn’t find anything either tomorrow or Tuesday. This week is a busy week for me on the cancer front – I have an appointment with Dr. Smith on Tuesday and Drs. Shelton (my surgeon) and Fisher on Thursday. My Thursday appointments will include all of the pre-op work to prepare for my surgery on March 30th. Thank you all for your wonderful prayers and positive thoughts last Friday.
This last week, the love from the Kenra folks and the love from all of you as I was heading into my scan has once again made me realize how incredibly fortunate I am. I hope to provide all of you with an update soon on the results from Friday. Keep those fingers and toes crossed (unless you’re walking the catwalk…)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Lots to Write - But No Time To Do So
I have sooooo much to tell everyone. I just returned from the American Beauty Show and Stylist Choice Awards in Chicago where Kenra won Best Hairspray and used that opportunity to talk about cold cap technology. However, I'm exhausted and will plan to blog about this incredible experience over the weekend. (Trust me - it deserves its own blog entry)
Although I normally would wait to blog until I had time to do so - I feel compelled to blog today because I need your help. On Friday, I will be having a CT scan to simply check to make sure that I remain cancer free. If I get the "all clear" then I will be having surgery on March 30th to take down the stoma. Basically, this surgery will remove the bag and return my body to normal.
I'm on pins and needles waiting for the CT scan. That is why I am blogging. I am asking all of you for your prayers and positive thoughts this Friday. I'm hoping that the luck of the Irish will carry over an extra day for me....
Although I normally would wait to blog until I had time to do so - I feel compelled to blog today because I need your help. On Friday, I will be having a CT scan to simply check to make sure that I remain cancer free. If I get the "all clear" then I will be having surgery on March 30th to take down the stoma. Basically, this surgery will remove the bag and return my body to normal.
I'm on pins and needles waiting for the CT scan. That is why I am blogging. I am asking all of you for your prayers and positive thoughts this Friday. I'm hoping that the luck of the Irish will carry over an extra day for me....
Friday, February 25, 2011
No Capture the Flag, but...
Last Sunday night, I arrived home from a deliciously wonderful cancer "camp." For a full week, our group of nine focused on health. We wanted to learn how to improve life longevity in the face of cancer.
There was laughter. There were tears. And there was healing. The staff was quite simply spectacular. They were kind, loving, knowledgeable and our true healing partners. Our days were filled with yoga, massage, group therapy, a healing circle, singing and dancing, sand tray play (yeah, okay, it was a bit "woo woo" but bear with me!), fabulous vegetarian food (but sigh, no s'mores) and individualized meal planning. There were also some very difficult discussions and talks late into the night.
The nine of us, each at different stages in our lives and different stages in our cancer journeys, created a deep bond and will be friends for the rest of our days. We were dealing with breast cancer, ovarian cancer, pancreatic cancer, prostate cancer, bladder cancer and colon cancer. Two members of our group were suffering from cancer in a different way – they were caretakers for their husbands who have cancer. All of us were fighting for our lives...for us and our spouses. But we're not just fighting to live. We're fighting to live well.
We made pledges to one another about how we were going to incorporate into our lives the many lessons that we learned. We all walked away with individualized yoga, diet, exercise, career and other lifestyle plans. We all recognized that failure is not an option.
People have said to me that in some ways cancer can be a gift, because it forces you to examine your life in a way that you may not have done had you not been facing a life-threatening illness. Generally when I hear that, I scoff inwardly and think that I would happily return this "gift."
No, I don’t feel fortunate to have been thrown this challenge. But as I went through the retreat, I realized the irony. Had I not had cancer, I would have never had the opportunity to experience the magnificence of that program.
I know I am a stronger person today than I was even two weeks ago. I am raring to go. I have my plan and I have the love of those around me. With that combination, I am absolutely sure that I have a wonderful life ahead of me.
If you’d like to read more about this “camp” please go to the Commonweal Cancer Help Program’s website at http://www.commonweal.org/programs/cancer-help.html
There was laughter. There were tears. And there was healing. The staff was quite simply spectacular. They were kind, loving, knowledgeable and our true healing partners. Our days were filled with yoga, massage, group therapy, a healing circle, singing and dancing, sand tray play (yeah, okay, it was a bit "woo woo" but bear with me!), fabulous vegetarian food (but sigh, no s'mores) and individualized meal planning. There were also some very difficult discussions and talks late into the night.
The nine of us, each at different stages in our lives and different stages in our cancer journeys, created a deep bond and will be friends for the rest of our days. We were dealing with breast cancer, ovarian cancer, pancreatic cancer, prostate cancer, bladder cancer and colon cancer. Two members of our group were suffering from cancer in a different way – they were caretakers for their husbands who have cancer. All of us were fighting for our lives...for us and our spouses. But we're not just fighting to live. We're fighting to live well.
We made pledges to one another about how we were going to incorporate into our lives the many lessons that we learned. We all walked away with individualized yoga, diet, exercise, career and other lifestyle plans. We all recognized that failure is not an option.
People have said to me that in some ways cancer can be a gift, because it forces you to examine your life in a way that you may not have done had you not been facing a life-threatening illness. Generally when I hear that, I scoff inwardly and think that I would happily return this "gift."
No, I don’t feel fortunate to have been thrown this challenge. But as I went through the retreat, I realized the irony. Had I not had cancer, I would have never had the opportunity to experience the magnificence of that program.
I know I am a stronger person today than I was even two weeks ago. I am raring to go. I have my plan and I have the love of those around me. With that combination, I am absolutely sure that I have a wonderful life ahead of me.
If you’d like to read more about this “camp” please go to the Commonweal Cancer Help Program’s website at http://www.commonweal.org/programs/cancer-help.html
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Cheerios and Gratitude
This morning, as I was having breakfast with my twins, I was flooded with a "Wow - I'm still alive to experience these girls" moment of gratitude. I turned to Ellie and asked, "Why am I so lucky to have you two as my daughters?" Her response, without batting an eye, was, “Because God knew that you were going to have cancer.” She then continued eating her Cheerios and asked if I would read the Sunday comics with her.
The ease in which she answered that question astounded me. I realized, at that moment, that I had been battling cancer most of her life...certainly from as far back as she can remember. Living with cancer was simply part of my girls’ daily routine.
So many life lessons were thrust upon my children at such an early age. No child should have to see their mother in the hospital multiple times in a year. No child should have to see such fear in the eyes of those that they love. No child should have to witness what my children have witnessed.
But that is our life.
The girls learned early on how to be extraordinary. They learned about overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles and about the power of hope and faith. And now, even at their young age, they are strong, compassionate, resilient and so very very loving.
Right after breakfast I called my sister to recount what Ellie said. She reminded me that while I was pregnant, a friend wrote me a congratulatory email saying, “I’m so glad that you’re having girls, Eve, because you're going to raise two strong women.” I had no idea how strong they would have to be. But they have risen to the challenge and see themselves as a critical part of my healing. They encourage me to play when I want to work nonstop. They hide my Blackberry. They remind me to focus on the things that are important.
One of my original posts quoted the famous “Footsteps in the Sand” by Mary Stevenson. I was thinking about this poem today and realized that over the past 3 years, when life was at its most difficult, I was blessed with two tiny pairs of footprints in the sand.
The ease in which she answered that question astounded me. I realized, at that moment, that I had been battling cancer most of her life...certainly from as far back as she can remember. Living with cancer was simply part of my girls’ daily routine.
So many life lessons were thrust upon my children at such an early age. No child should have to see their mother in the hospital multiple times in a year. No child should have to see such fear in the eyes of those that they love. No child should have to witness what my children have witnessed.
But that is our life.
The girls learned early on how to be extraordinary. They learned about overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles and about the power of hope and faith. And now, even at their young age, they are strong, compassionate, resilient and so very very loving.
Right after breakfast I called my sister to recount what Ellie said. She reminded me that while I was pregnant, a friend wrote me a congratulatory email saying, “I’m so glad that you’re having girls, Eve, because you're going to raise two strong women.” I had no idea how strong they would have to be. But they have risen to the challenge and see themselves as a critical part of my healing. They encourage me to play when I want to work nonstop. They hide my Blackberry. They remind me to focus on the things that are important.
One of my original posts quoted the famous “Footsteps in the Sand” by Mary Stevenson. I was thinking about this poem today and realized that over the past 3 years, when life was at its most difficult, I was blessed with two tiny pairs of footprints in the sand.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Journey of Another Colon Cancer Patient
Over the last several months, a friend of mine has been supporting a 29 year old woman in Los Angeles who is also fighting Stage 4 colon cancer. This young woman has had a fascinating journey as she very carefully prepared (mind, body & spirit) for what is considered the mother of all surgeries. Basically, they open you up, pick out all of the cancer, flush your body with chemo and then close you up. Let's just say that I am planning never to have to have that surgery.
Today was her surgery day. After 11.5 hours, she is finally done. Why I'm writing about all of this is because I wanted to share with you part of what was written on her blog this morning. She very effectively captured my feelings as well...
You tried to scare me, but in spite of you, I became fearless.
You tried to weaken me, but in spite of you, I grew stronger.
You tried to isolate me, but in spite of you, I grew the most incredible support network imaginable.
You tried to make me tired, but I've never felt more energized.
You tried to make me feel hopeless, but my heart is filled with hope and my life is filled with promise.
You tried to strip my life from me, but my life is more rich and beautiful now.
Despite your best efforts, I will live to a ripe old age.
Despite your best efforts, I will be a wonderful mother.
And despite your best efforts, my faith in God, the goodness of my fellow man, the body's ability to heal, and my will to survive and thrive will never, ever be shaken.
Thank you for the lessons you taught me, cancer, but it's high time that you get the hell out of my body.
I have been told that the doctor believes that he successfully removed all of the cancer from her body today. Congratulations Gloria for your triumph over cancer.
Today was her surgery day. After 11.5 hours, she is finally done. Why I'm writing about all of this is because I wanted to share with you part of what was written on her blog this morning. She very effectively captured my feelings as well...
You tried to scare me, but in spite of you, I became fearless.
You tried to weaken me, but in spite of you, I grew stronger.
You tried to isolate me, but in spite of you, I grew the most incredible support network imaginable.
You tried to make me tired, but I've never felt more energized.
You tried to make me feel hopeless, but my heart is filled with hope and my life is filled with promise.
You tried to strip my life from me, but my life is more rich and beautiful now.
Despite your best efforts, I will live to a ripe old age.
Despite your best efforts, I will be a wonderful mother.
And despite your best efforts, my faith in God, the goodness of my fellow man, the body's ability to heal, and my will to survive and thrive will never, ever be shaken.
Thank you for the lessons you taught me, cancer, but it's high time that you get the hell out of my body.
I have been told that the doctor believes that he successfully removed all of the cancer from her body today. Congratulations Gloria for your triumph over cancer.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
This Week!
So, this has been a great week on the cancer front. I met with Dr. Fisher and Margreet yesterday and after a lot of teasing and hugging, he informed me that he thought I was doing great. He said that I’m getting excellent care with Dr. Smith and that things are going as well as we could have hoped for. They were thrilled. He was also very enthusiastic about my efforts surrounding getting the word out about cold caps and was amazed that Kenra had committed its charitable giving dollars to this effort.
Today I had chemo. Yes – I know it was supposed to be tomorrow, but Dr. Smith had an emergency tomorrow and asked if I could come in this morning instead. After some quick scrambling, my colleague and friend Matt came to my rescue and rushed me into the City.
Dr. Smith was also thrilled with my progress and said that if he had written a play book about how he was hoping my cancer and my body would respond to chemo, that I was following it to a tee.
We are changing my chemo regimen a little because of my extremely dry feet and dry hands. I will now take 4 Xeloda pills per day instead of 5 and I will go for 14 days on and 7 days off. I will also be getting Avastin every 2 weeks but on a lower dosage. In March I will have another CT scan and if it doesn’t show any cancer growth then we will schedule the take down of my ileostomy.
As a little gift, I’m going to share with you a new limerick from my very talented friend, Shana, that she wrote to cheer me up during chemo this week (it worked!):
There is a fine drug named Xeloda.
It don’t taste quite the same as does soda.
My feet it makes dry
But o’er that I won’t cry
As long as my feet don’t exploda.
I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your week!
Today I had chemo. Yes – I know it was supposed to be tomorrow, but Dr. Smith had an emergency tomorrow and asked if I could come in this morning instead. After some quick scrambling, my colleague and friend Matt came to my rescue and rushed me into the City.
Dr. Smith was also thrilled with my progress and said that if he had written a play book about how he was hoping my cancer and my body would respond to chemo, that I was following it to a tee.
We are changing my chemo regimen a little because of my extremely dry feet and dry hands. I will now take 4 Xeloda pills per day instead of 5 and I will go for 14 days on and 7 days off. I will also be getting Avastin every 2 weeks but on a lower dosage. In March I will have another CT scan and if it doesn’t show any cancer growth then we will schedule the take down of my ileostomy.
As a little gift, I’m going to share with you a new limerick from my very talented friend, Shana, that she wrote to cheer me up during chemo this week (it worked!):
There is a fine drug named Xeloda.
It don’t taste quite the same as does soda.
My feet it makes dry
But o’er that I won’t cry
As long as my feet don’t exploda.
I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your week!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Honorary Colonoscopies
Over the last few weeks, I had two friends tell me that they were having colonoscopies in my honor. Now mind you, this isn’t the first time that I’ve been bestowed with this honor. Over the last three years I have apparently inspired many people to go out and have this VERY EASY check done.
Many of the honorary colonoscopies were done by people who would have put off their colonoscopies, but went ahead and did it because of my story. Wow. It is an incredible feeling to know that in my small way, I am helping eradicate this disease since, as you all know, colon cancer is one of the most preventable forms of cancer. With a colonoscopy, they can quickly find any polyps and snip them off prior to them growing and potentially becoming cancerous. I so don’t want any of you to experience what I (and my family) have gone through over the past few years and what we’ll continue to go through until a cure for cancer is discovered.
March is Colon Cancer Awareness Month. For those of you who have not had your colonoscopy and should have had it (you know who you are), I am giving you plenty of time to get it scheduled before March arrives. I’d be honored to hear it if you do…
As for me, on Tuesday I will go and see Dr. Fisher at Stanford to check in and make sure that I'm still on the right path(I also wanted to see him and Margreet - because I really miss them.) I will also be heading back to Dr. Smith's office this Thursday for chemo, although I remain in remission. Keep sending those positive thoughts and prayers!
Many of the honorary colonoscopies were done by people who would have put off their colonoscopies, but went ahead and did it because of my story. Wow. It is an incredible feeling to know that in my small way, I am helping eradicate this disease since, as you all know, colon cancer is one of the most preventable forms of cancer. With a colonoscopy, they can quickly find any polyps and snip them off prior to them growing and potentially becoming cancerous. I so don’t want any of you to experience what I (and my family) have gone through over the past few years and what we’ll continue to go through until a cure for cancer is discovered.
March is Colon Cancer Awareness Month. For those of you who have not had your colonoscopy and should have had it (you know who you are), I am giving you plenty of time to get it scheduled before March arrives. I’d be honored to hear it if you do…
As for me, on Tuesday I will go and see Dr. Fisher at Stanford to check in and make sure that I'm still on the right path(I also wanted to see him and Margreet - because I really miss them.) I will also be heading back to Dr. Smith's office this Thursday for chemo, although I remain in remission. Keep sending those positive thoughts and prayers!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Redefining Myself
During today’s chemo session I asked Dr. Smith if I was still considered a “Stage 4 colon cancer patient” or whether I have been restaged now that my body is showing no evidence of disease. He said at this point, I am considered to be in full remission. Wow – was that great to hear. For so long I have been walking around saying that I have Stage 4 colon cancer. I now will say that I HAD Stage 4 colon cancer, but am now in remission. Hallelujah. He said that if in 6 months my body continues to show no evidence of disease that my chance of long term remission triples.
So that’s my new goal – stay cancer free for 6 months. With your prayers and my sheer determination - I just know we can do it together!
So that’s my new goal – stay cancer free for 6 months. With your prayers and my sheer determination - I just know we can do it together!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy New Year!
Boy, am I excited to begin 2011! With 2010 now officially in the rearview mirror, I am now ready to embark on a new year that I know will be so much better than the last one.
The family and I just got back from a ski vacation that took us to Squaw Valley in Tahoe and Alta Sierra near Lake Isabella. Last year at this time, I was recuperating from my hysterectomy and couldn’t go skiing with the family. This year, I was up there with them, swooshing down the mountains and watching my little girls carve up the slopes. As I dug my pole into each mogul, I thought to myself “take THAT, cancer!” I felt more energized and alive than I’ve felt in a very long time. Although my hands and feet were extremely dry from the Xeloda, it couldn’t impact my spirits.
We arrived back last night, in time to ring in 2011 with our dear friends and neighbors. How wonderful it is to be surrounded by laughter and love as the new year begins. Today, I went to my first yoga class of the new year. Our instructor told us that we were setting the tone for the rest of the year – and we could all consider ourselves to be yogis. How great is that??!!
Before heading off to the slopes, I met with my Chinese herbal medicine advisor and he has set many goals for me – with the most difficult (at least in my mind) being giving up sugar and walking 20 miles per week. (Apparently, the Xeloda chemo will be approximately 10% more effective with all of this walking since my circulatory system will move the drugs throughout my body thus killing more of the cancer.) Since I’ve decided that this is going to be the year that I really get my health under control, I’m going to prioritize these goals. I have offered to walk my neighbors dogs (of course, they have to come with me, since I am not picking up after the dogs) in an effort to force myself to hit my goal.
On Thursday, I head back to San Francisco for my next round of Avastin. Fortunately, that chemo doesn’t seem to produce the most dreaded side effects.
Finally, I can’t express how grateful I am for all of your love and support over this past year. It was a very difficult year for me and my family, however, knowing that we weren’t going through this alone made a tremendous difference for all of us. It really is impossible for me to put into words how fortunate I feel to have all of you in our lives.
May your 2011 be filled with peace, love and unending laughter.
The family and I just got back from a ski vacation that took us to Squaw Valley in Tahoe and Alta Sierra near Lake Isabella. Last year at this time, I was recuperating from my hysterectomy and couldn’t go skiing with the family. This year, I was up there with them, swooshing down the mountains and watching my little girls carve up the slopes. As I dug my pole into each mogul, I thought to myself “take THAT, cancer!” I felt more energized and alive than I’ve felt in a very long time. Although my hands and feet were extremely dry from the Xeloda, it couldn’t impact my spirits.
We arrived back last night, in time to ring in 2011 with our dear friends and neighbors. How wonderful it is to be surrounded by laughter and love as the new year begins. Today, I went to my first yoga class of the new year. Our instructor told us that we were setting the tone for the rest of the year – and we could all consider ourselves to be yogis. How great is that??!!
Before heading off to the slopes, I met with my Chinese herbal medicine advisor and he has set many goals for me – with the most difficult (at least in my mind) being giving up sugar and walking 20 miles per week. (Apparently, the Xeloda chemo will be approximately 10% more effective with all of this walking since my circulatory system will move the drugs throughout my body thus killing more of the cancer.) Since I’ve decided that this is going to be the year that I really get my health under control, I’m going to prioritize these goals. I have offered to walk my neighbors dogs (of course, they have to come with me, since I am not picking up after the dogs) in an effort to force myself to hit my goal.
On Thursday, I head back to San Francisco for my next round of Avastin. Fortunately, that chemo doesn’t seem to produce the most dreaded side effects.
Finally, I can’t express how grateful I am for all of your love and support over this past year. It was a very difficult year for me and my family, however, knowing that we weren’t going through this alone made a tremendous difference for all of us. It really is impossible for me to put into words how fortunate I feel to have all of you in our lives.
May your 2011 be filled with peace, love and unending laughter.
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