Amy's Health Blog

March 9th — Only two more days of radiation! I had been feeling a bit poorly over the last week, tired, slight stomachache, slight headache, a bit depressed. I felt a bit hung over in fact. Today, I have more energy and the queasiness and headache are better. Maybe it’s the panacea effect of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Last night a friend watched the kids so Greg and I could have a date since he’s off to DC again this week. I’ve lost my appetite and 8 pounds while on radiation so Greg talked me through my pasta and salad as if I were our daughter, “you’re 43, that means you need to take 43 bites of pasta.” When I told someone I hadn’t been feeling great, they commented that my blog always seems so upbeat yet my reality is about 20 percent worse than I let on. I thought that was accurate. I think I’ve said when my physical, spiritual and emotional states have been low but usually figure everyone would be bored by my complaints about nausea, emotional fatigue or other ailments. Isn’t it funnier to concentrate on the surreal and humorous aspects of my cancer world? For example, today I kept telling folks that I see the light at the end of the tunnel because I only have two more days of radiation. Something inside me laughs at my choice of phrase telling me, “move away from the light, Amy! Away from the light!”

March 8th — Only three more days of radiation to go! Yippee! But I’m exhausted. I really feel like I could sleep for a week and of course that’s not possible. A friend told me there is also some emotional fatigue associated with the end of radiation since the long haul is almost over. Daniel and Sara have been watching past episodes of The Adams Family from the 70s on Youtube. Today, Daniel said, “this is a funny joke…why do we call The Adams Family “The Adams Family”? Because they are made up of atoms, like everything on earth, even butterflies.” Even butterflies. Gotta love children! Sara corrected him and said, “well, atoms are made up of electrons so really, everything is made up of electrons!” I paused for a moment and then jumped in with the fact that when I get radiation treatment this week, the doctors are sending electrons into my body to help kill any cancer that’s still there. Both kids were fascinated, because it was a concept they could almost grasp. They began discussing the various “scientific” ways electrons might kill cancer, which was even more hilarious than the Adams Family joke. Do the electrons zap the cancer like electricity? Do the electrons cling to other electrons to form new atoms that aren’t cancerous? Do the electrons push the bad cancer around until they get tired and just decide to leave the body? I loved hearing a 5 and 7 year old have a serious discussion involving electrons bullying cancer cells inside the body until they get tired and leave. All of these are valid questions. I suspect one or both of our children may continue to ask these questions as they make their way through college and graduate school, my brilliant little Valentine cancer researchers.

March 6th — What is it about conversations with God at 3 a.m.? I’m sure the ether is filled with questions to the Divine at that hour. What do atheists do with their sleepless hours? I couldn’t get the woman I met while waiting for my oncologist on Thursday out of my head. She was two years out of her treatment for breast cancer and wore her fear wrapped tightly around her. We began a conversation about hair, of course, and I laughed a bit about why is it that cancer patients always seem obsessed with hair when we should be discussing more heady issues like death. This woman recoiled, as if the word itself had the power to come seize her while we spoke, so I immediately changed the subject back to hair. I guess that was kinda shocking. I’m so used to living in my head that I forget that not everyone has my same irreverent approach to cancer. I said a silent prayer for her and probed a bit deeper into her concerns. She was diagnosed at 60, was stage 2, second guessed her decision to have a lumpectomy instead of mastectomy, and is the dreaded triple negative which means she can’t take any hormone suppression therapy to help ward off recurrence. While she feels fine now, she’s terrified of a recurrence. She began telling me how fortunate I was to be triple positive and I laughed inwardly at this woman with a 39 year old son telling me with a 5 and 7 year old at home how lucky I was. I didn’t say anything to her about that except to encourage her that if she doesn’t have a recurrence in the first 6-8 years, she’s pretty much home-free for life. When I chatted with my oncologist, I verified that my information was correct and Dr. K even used the unheard-of word “cured” in reference to someone with triple negative breast cancer who survives 10 years. Ah, but not for me. The triple positives have more options for treatment, but there is no drop-off of the stats for recurrence. I told him to tell the lady from the lobby the good news about her cancer so she doesn’t have so much fear. Would that do it? Probably not. I’m sure Dr. K has told her over and over. Is this woman my future? Right now I’m so wrapped up in finishing radiation and the rest of my treatment that I haven’t had to sit and wear my mortality. Will I shake with fear at my annual oncology checkups?

March 6th — I woke up early and lay in bed chatting with God. Why houses, God? I dreamed of more houses last night; that makes four house dreams in the past five days. In the past year, I probably have had hundreds of house dreams. Two nights ago, I was in California commenting on the perfect weather and shopping for a house on some mountains, delighted that I finally got my home with a view. Last night, I was outside a beautiful classic mansion with white columns. The rooms were lit from within and it was nighttime so I could see inside each room. The house’s owner stood with me showing off his remote control lighting system where he could turn on and off different rooms’ lights from outside. It was like looking into a lovely dollhouse. The owner showed me the huge fireplace where a trompe l’oeil painting was done of his wife, as if she were in the midst of the flames. Later that night, I dreamed I hugged my children in a home I didn’t recognize but I knew was mine. The kids were delighted because there were stairs and they were laughing and running up and down the staircase. Earlier this week, my dream had me standing on a street looking at several houses wondering which one I should choose to enter. Whichever one I chose would become my home so I wanted to make sure to get it right. Instead of walking into a house, I stood on the street for the entirety of my dream, unwilling to make a choice in case it wasn’t the best one. Do these houses represent my body? Are these houses different paths not taken in life? Are these houses my future residences? Will I be willing to make a hard choice in my future or stand on the street unable to move in case I choose poorly? Maybe sometimes in dreams just like a donut is just a donut, a house is just a house.

March 5th — Last night I fell asleep with the kids around 8 p.m. so forgot to put my steroid cream on. Would I wake up with a red sunburn? I didn’t but am prepared for just about anything since a woman in the oncologist’s lobby yesterday told me her scars turned black during her boost period. After a long time getting me positioned with funky maneuvering on the radiation machine table and a special machine attachment, I had four treatments. They seemed to last longer than the regular radiation fields and there was an ion smell similar to the ionizing filters you might have around the house. I think I was longer on the table with the four small scar boosts than with the 14 regular fields since it took so long for the techs to position me and the machine. But only four more, count them, four more! Party at Texas Oncology first floor radiation machine between 9 and 10 a.m. next Thursday! Be there friends and we’ll open some more champagne!

March 4th — Time off for good behavior! My radiation doc said I only have five more days of treatment instead of 10! Today was my last day of complete breast radiation. Tomorrow we begin the electron boost to the scar area. Apparently, since the doc has been treating both sides, there are more areas being hit than a regular person who only had cancer on one side. So, the doc said he didn’t have a margin to try to find with the boost since he’s already hit that area with the normal rays. Another good piece of news is that my skin remains unscathed. I had to ask the doc if he was sure the machine was turned on. He replied in mock surprise, “oh that’s it! You’ll have to come in for 30 more days since we forgot to turn on the machine!” When I told him I was having some fatigue, he said, “finally! something to put on your chart,” since I’ve been doing well. After radiation and chat with my radiation doc, I got the joy of walking upstairs to see my medical oncologist and have my Herceptin infusion. Long day. Now I’m tired and cold from the infusions but happy my radiation sentence has been commuted.

March 3rd — Red wine has been shown to decrease a radiation patient’s burn side effects. Now that’s a clinical trial I want to participate in! I’ve been trying to drink a half-glass of red wine each evening, although I’m not much of a drinker so have forgotten on several occasions. I think the radiation fatigue is starting to hit though. I feel very tired, as if I mistakenly took a Tylenol PM in the morning instead of my multi-vitamin. If I start drinking now at 4:30 in the afternoon, I’ll be asleep by 5 p.m. I wonder about the research done for the red wine study. Did the control group drink grape juice, one group of women drank the recommended one glass a day, another study group drank two glasses each day, and another drank half a bottle? I think that last group might have suffered more radiation burn, but they were so drunk each day on all that red wine consumption, they didn’t really care!

March 2nd — Today the technicians told me as I was walking into the radiation room that they had a surprise for me. I immediately assumed my best Disney princess face, “I love surprises!’ It turns out they’ve finished one field of radiation so I won’t be as long on the table from now on out. Really, that’s the big surprise? I told them while the news was great, I was disappointed that my surprise wasn’t cupcakes or George Clooney. That got a laugh out of the techs who are used to more doom and gloom in the radiation room than I generally provide. Although, if Mr. Clooney had been waiting there for me, is this really how I want him to see me? As fabulous as my new breasts are, nippleless scarred breasts with funky multi-colored dots, Xs and rectangles are not my idea of a sexy introduction to a hunky movie star. He might appreciate my submissive stance on the table, motionless with my arms above my head naked from the waist up, but somehow it’s hard to find anything about radiation sexy even with the addition of George Clooney fantasies.

March 1st — A nuclear engineer friend of mine sent me an email explaining some of the radiation I’m undergoing, hoping, I’m sure to put my mind at ease. While I enjoyed the technical descriptions of the difference between subatomic vibrations of electrons in x-rays and gamma rays, I was a bit startled by my friend’s description of my body being in a giant microwave oven with the radiated particles cooking my cancer cells. And how is this a comforting thought? I have to say it gave me something different to think about while holding my breath under the giant machine this morning. I could have used my treatment to warm up my cool cup of coffee!

February 26th — While lying on the table today during radiation, I calculated I do between 20 and 30 breath holds per treatment. That means I’ll wind up around 1000 breath holds in my seven weeks in radiation world. That doesn’t really include the ones during my CT scan to make the body map the docs used to plan my treatment. On days I have X-rays, which is once or twice a week, I have more breath holds and if I cough or move on the table the techs have to reposition me, initiating more breath holds. They aren’t painful and none last more than 30 seconds, but it’s mentally hard to hold a breath for an undetermined amount of time knowing that you’re being zapped by radioactive rays. Each breath hold seems to last a lifetime under those circumstances. Since inflating the lungs protects the heart, it’s important to do, but a tiring part of the whole procedure.