Feeling great

It feels really good to feel so good. For the most part, I have reasonably good energy. The scale has been going down steadily--I've now lost 15 pounds since I finished treatment. Although I'd hoped to lose twice that by now, I'm thrilled to have finally broken through that plateau. I think working with the personal trainer is a big part of that--he works me pretty hard with a combo of cardio and strength training, and I think that's made a big difference. And then because I'm seeing results, I feel motivated and have better willpower when it comes to what I eat.

Exercise goes pretty well, and I'm definitely seeing improvement. Bigger weights, faster times. But it takes a lot out of me. Between that and my physical therapy stretches, and then resting from doing it, it's most of my day. That's OK because I'm seeing results, but sometimes it means I run out of energy early in the day. I want to go dancing or to see friends or do something else fun, and I'm often just not up to it. But getting my body back is my priority right now, so that other stuff can wait.

I finally came to terms with the fact that doing the marathon this year is out of the question. My body just isn't up to that level of training yet. I'm disappointed, but I also know I've done absolutely everything I can and it's not my fault. The poison that saved my life causes a lot of damage, and it's just going to take time for that to heal, and there's only so much I can do about that. Plus, all this extra weight I'm carrying around makes it way harder. So, I'll keep running the shorter distances and everything else I'm doing and try to keep my focus on just getting better and improving and getting lighter. Next year, it's triathlons.

I'm so stubborn; it's hard for me to not think about training like a regular athlete. How many times this year have I had to accept that this isn't going to go the way I want it to? It's hard to give up on a goal. Michael says I'm not giving up, just postponing it, but it doesn't matter. I didn't get to do what I set out to do. Ugh. Anyway, I'm accepting it all in small steps and by pieces. One day it will stop being a revelation. But honestly, despite my whingeing, mostly I'm happy. Life is good.

Tomorrow I get the MRI on my shoulder to see if there's anything wrong besides the impingement from treatment. They've gotten way better with all the work I've done on them, but it will be good to rule out any other problems. Then Thursday I meet with the surgeon about my  lumpectomy. Would love to hear your stories about how your lumpectomy went and what recovery was like! I hope it won't set me back too much.

First hair cut! Also, claustrophobia.

My first haircut, 41 weeks post final chemo

Another one of those up-down days. Today I was supposed to have an MRI on my shoulder to rule out any other cause for the pain and range of motion loss besides the stress from treatment. It took a long time to get the referral and then to get an appointment for this issue I've been dealing with since March (but is steadily improving thanks to physical therapy and a whole lot of work on my part).

I've had a lot of scans in the past year, including an MRI, a PET scan, and several CT scans. I didn't anticipate this one being any different. Except it was.

The tech got me all prepped and gave me a squeeze ball to squeeze if I was having trouble and needed out RIGHT NOW. I almost laughed, because I'm such a rational, calm person and would never need that. Then she slid me into the tube. She'd had me close my eyes first because she turned on the lasers, but then she said I could open them as she was moving me. I opened them briefly, saw the tube was pretty small, and closed them again and decided I would just keep them closed throughout.

But then when she got me all the way in, I could feel how close the tube was around me. Much smaller than the ones I'd been in before. My chest constricted and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I tried to tell myself it would be fine, just breathe and relax, but instead the feeling got worse. She asked if I was ok, and I couldn't answer because I was trying to decide if I was. She asked if I needed to come out and I said yes. I just knew I couldn't take it for the 40 minutes or whatever the test would be. So we rescheduled for another day at another facility where they have shorter, wider tubes. I'll get valium from my doctor and Michael will have to drive me. That will happen the 17th.

So, that was frustrating. Generally, my claustrophobia has only been triggered when I feel trapped, like someone holding me down, not just from being in close quarters. I've noticed before that I have more anxiety since cancer, and this is a good example. And then not only can I not do the thing I was supposed to do, I feel awful afterward. I have a stress headache and just a general...I don't know. Discomfort--mentally and physically. As I write this, I've gotten past it somewhat but I'm still feeling some of the after effects. And it  happened two hours ago.

However, while I was out I got a bug in my ear to finally get my hair cut. I stopped at a place on the way home and they happened to have someone available right then, so I went for it. I like it! And one of the ladies working there recognized me from the dance studio, so that was fun. I think this will be my last hair photo, and when I get around to it I'll make my video of the growth to this point.

Attitude successfully adjusted

My hair, 40 weeks post final chemo. I'm
waiting for the front to get just a little longer
so I can get a cute, short, sassy cut.

It's amazing how much my attitude and general outlook on life shifts around these days. A couple weeks ago, I was miserable. I worried about the possibly cancerous cells in my remaining breast, hated physical therapy, and I struggled through my workouts and life in general. I was mourning my cat. I felt like I'd used up all my strength and rah rah attitude when I was sick, and I just couldn't take any more. But, I kept going, kept doing my exercises, kept listening when everyone told me to hang in there and it would be OK.

And you know what? It is OK. The biopsy was benign, and although I have to get the lumpectomy to be sure, I feel like I've let go of that fear. I moved past my sadness and anger and bitterness (not that I don't expect to feel that again, but I'm past it for now). Physical therapy started getting easier, and although it still takes up a large part of my day and isn't fun, I'm seeing progress. I have way more range of motion than I did a few weeks ago, which is great. I've gone dancing a couple times and did reasonably well. My workouts still leave me pretty exhausted, but at the same time, my body seems to be responding and getting stronger. Weight loss is still slow, but I'm edging my way down the scale.

So, in general, I'm doing well. I'm reasonably happy with how things are going. They could be better, but they could be a whole lot worse. My consultation with the surgeon is August 18, so I'll find out what's in store for the lumpectomy, get it scheduled, etc. I will keep you updated, as always!

I'm beginning to see the light

I think I'm starting to come out of the haze I'm living in lately. I still have pain, physical therapy still sucks and has only minimally improved my range of motion, and I still get too tired too often. But I'm feeling more accepting about it all, having raged and cried until I'm sick of it.

As far as exercise goes, I've accepted that I just can't follow any regular training plan because I have to take it day by day depending on my energy level. This week, it's very low, and since I have a few dance lessons to teach, that's going to have to be my exercise a couple of the days. However, on days I feel good or don't have to reserve my energy for something else, I'll get a work out in (and I am still doing the personal training twice a week). I'm done being angry about it and just will have to deal with it.

So, I don't know which, if any, races I'll be able to do this year. When my energy levels improve, then I'll look at getting more serious again. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to be careful about what I eat although that's always been a struggle for me.

I'm feeling a little better about work, too. I'm getting some help with the writing work getting everything done, so the looming deadlines aren't stressing me out so much. At the dance studio, I'm teaching a few hours a week, and my boss there is great about not over-working me. It helps that I work for such supportive people!

So, I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel again. And that's nice.

Anxiously waiting UPDATED!

I should get a call some time tomorrow either telling me the results were negative (which is what we want) or that I need to make an appointment to go in and talk to my doctor, which would mean it's positive (which we don't want). I managed to not think too much about it over the weekend or today since I was focused on missing Isis. What thinking I did do, I managed to become resigned to to the fact that this probably is cancer. I know I'm supposed to think positive, but last year I was absolutely convinced I didn't have cancer, and I did. So, it's hard to think positive. But it's ok. I got through it last time, and this time we're catching it super early so maybe it won't be so hard.

In general, I feel better today. A little less sad, a little less overwhelmed. The support I get from you all really makes a difference for me, so thank you. Let's all keep our fingers crossed, and I'll post tomorrow as soon as I know anything.

Update:

There are no cancer cells. It's a mucusoidal lesion (i think that's what he said), which is basically pre-cancerous. I need to have it removed, which is an outpatient procedure. WOOT!

Fun with needles

My update on facebook was pretty brief, so I thought I'd give more of the details.

So yesterday I went in for my follow-up mammogram. They told me they would start with getting the magnified images, and only do an ultrasound if they felt like they needed it. They took several pictures, squishing me in super tight, then had me wait while they looked at them. Ten minutes later, the ultrasound tech came and got me to do the ultrasound. This was painless and pretty quick, but she had me wait there while she went to get the doctor so he could take a look. As it turned out, the doctor and I know each other from dance. He was super kind...but then, pretty much everyone I've run into at Sutter has been.

He ran the ultrasound wand over me himself and said that the asymmetry and dense tissue they saw doesn't seem to be concerning. He told me to get dressed and we would talk about the calcifications. I did so, and in his office he showed me the mammogram pictures, including the ones from last year. There was clearly an increase in the number of calcifications (which are really, really tiny) since last year, which  he said is a concern. He also said the fact that they are clustered, rather than randomly scattered, is sometimes indicative of cancer but not necessarily. About 75% of calcifications are benign, but since I'm high risk, he wanted to biopsy it. He did say that there was no rush and I could do it at my convenience. I asked if we could do it that day, so they worked me in and did it. I'm going to drive myself crazy until I know, so no reason to wait.

Last year, they tried to biopsy this same spot, but because of its location at the bottom near the chest wall, they couldn't get to them and decided I'd been through so much with the biopsy on the other side (it was painful, they drained fluid, etc) and there was little concern about the calcifications at that time, they decided to just keep an eye on them. So, again this year they had a hard time getting to them and finally decided to go at it from the top of the breast, meaning a longer route to get to the tissue they needed to sample. Why do I have to make everything difficult? It was a good 10 minutes of one painful position after another before they finally came to this conclusion. The tech felt bad and I know she was trying her best, but it was not fun.

They did numb me, so there was only mild discomfort for most of it. There were a couple points when the needle was deep inside that there was some pinching and it was pretty unpleasant for a few seconds here and there. The doctor put in more anesthetic, but then decided they had enough samples and wrapped it up. They had me ice for about 10 minutes, then took a few more mammogram pictures (gentle this time) to document the metal marker he'd left inside to mark the biopsy site, and I was done. They will send results to my oncologist, and I should hear back Tuesday or so. I'm still a little sore.

It took all day to get all that done, and when we finally got home, we soon noticed that my 17-year-old cat Isis, who seemed fine in the morning, was acting very odd. She probably had a stroke or a blood clot or something, but in any case her condition quickly worsened and we took her to the vet knowing that in all likelihood we would not bring her home--and we were right. I didn't want her to suffer, and after talking it over with the vet, we decided to let her go. I think this was quite possibly the saddest day of my life. That cat and I went through a lot together, and she was a stalwart friend.

In general, I'm having a really hard time of it, physically and emotionally. They told me this might happen--that when the fighting was over, the enormity of it all would hit me and I might become depressed. I thought I'd escape it because I'm so strong and smart and blah blah blah, but it's hitting me harder and harder every day. All that I've lost, and how hard it is to get back. The fear of that biopsy coming back positive for cancer. The pain. Getting exhausted so easily. At physical therapy on Thursday, he told me I'm not stretching enough--I need to do each exercise three times, three times per day (so nine times per day), and I was only doing each one once, often only twice per day. They're painful. So by the time the ten minutes of torture is finally done, I'm a wreck. I feel like I have no tolerance any more. It's all I can do to get my work done, and I'm pretty sure i'm doing a shoddy job of it.

As always, Michael is my rock. I've soaked more of his shirts in tears than I can count. He understands me like few people do, and he offers perspective and comfort and lets me talk, but in the end I just have live through it and keep taking steps toward it being better. It's hard. I'll take all the love I can get, my friends.

Et tu, Lefty?

It's probably nothing. I'm trying not to panic. But...Tuesday I had my annual mammogram, and I got my results electronically last night. They said, "Questionable increase in left breast calcifications
for which further evaluation with magnification views is again recommended. Left breast asymmetry for which further evaluation to include spot CC, spot MLO, and full lateral view with possible
ultrasound is also recommended." They're going to call me for a follow up. Those calcifications were there last year, but they couldn't get to them to biopsy them and they were not concerned at the time because they were tiny. It was not fun trying to get it done last time, and I don't suspect it will be much fun this time.

Thank you to all of you who told me stories of your loved ones who beat this, never to have it come back. I need that like crazy right now. I try so  hard to just live my life and keep out the "what if?" thoughts, but then this happens. Statistically speaking, it would be very unusual to have a recurrence so quickly--but it was statistically unlikely for a 42-year-old non-jewish white girl to have triple negative breast cancer. What if I'm one of the "lucky" few? On the other hand, I just had a bucket load of chemo a few months ago, and it is systemic and should have killed everything. But what if it didn't? I had a couple friends who had something like this come up within a few months or a couple years after they were declared NED, and it was nothing. But what if I'm not like them, and it's something?

This is my life now. Worrying about every test, every lump, every pain. What if I am one of those people who spends the rest of their life fighting cancer? I know it's better than being dead, but it's a far cry from living a reasonably normal life. What if I never get me back?

On the bright side, I had my third personal training session today and it was great. Loving my trainer. Tomorrow I have my 5K at the Davis Moo-nlight, so wish me luck. According to the weather forecast, this should be the coolest it's ever been for this race--thank goodness. I know I made the right decision downgrading from the 10K, and I know I'm supposed to be grateful that I'm able to run at all, but I hate, hate, hate admitting I can't do something.

I'll keep y'all updated about when I go in for this biopsy, results, etc. Please pray for me and continue with those success stories. Thank you for your continued support!