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.

February 25th — Today, my radiation doc drew around my breast scars with red markers prompting one of the radiation techs to comment that I looked like an aboriginal warrior. The doc asked if I had any requests for the pattern he was going to draw on me. When I suggested hearts since I am a Valentine, he laughed and said he couldn’t do a heart. When I asked what my choices were, he said, “rectangles.” Well, then, rectangles it is! I had four radiation techs and the doctor all moving me around on the funky rotating table with a special attachment on the radiation machine. Apparently, when I get “boosted,” I won’t have to do breath holds because the radiation uses electrons instead of whatever the usual radiation uses. It is a shallow field so won’t affect my heart or lungs. A savvy techie friend of mine said she’s going to do some research and explain it all to me. I asked if the radiation doc was sure the machine was turned on when they radiate me since everyone keeps commenting on how good my skin looks. I’m barely pink although my doctor keeps warning me that a more severe “radiation reaction” (don’t say the word burn) might be around the corner. Several of the women before and after me have raw red painful skin from the machine so I’m prepared for ill effects. It just might be my magic water and Chi Gong “sheeee” meditation exercises. It just might be that God has taken pity on my long arduous journey and spared me some radiation burn. (oops, I said it) It might just be that my luck has turned around. Strange that I don’t really feel that unlucky, given my cancer diagnosis and young age. Who was it that said God doesn’t give us more than we can bear? But He doesn’t give us less either.

February 24th — Our kids have been really acting out lately. Sara has always been pretty serious and grumpy by nature but her anger towards her brother and me in particular has gotten out of hand. Anyone know any gypsies I can sell the kids to? I’m kidding because I love them dearly but liking them is another matter at some moments. Fortunately, I emailed the counselor they saw last summer at Wonders and Worries, a program that helps children whose parents have a life-threatening illness. The therapist emailed me back and said it’s fairly common that kids act out after the crisis is over when mom or dad start to get better. The kids feel safe to express the stress they’ve been under for the past months. If I have eleven months of stress to make up for with angry outbursts, emotional tantrums and constant escalating sibling fighting, I’m done. It won’t be the cancer that gets me…it’ll be me running off to the Caribbean to sell puka shell necklaces on the beach and leaving Greg to raise our little angels. Greg returns from his 10-day trip tonight and while he’ll be exhausted from the trip and probably asleep before the kids, I’m still counting the minutes at this point. Damn cancer.

February 23rd — It’s snowing today! It’s a magical experience seeing the neighborhood coated with white. Too bad all my life isn’t as magical. I was still feeling queasy last night so cancelled my Monday 5:30 radiation. I figured any remaining cancer cells won’t really multiply that quickly that one extra day off will kill me. I weigh all health decisions with the idea of what will give me the least regret. If the cancer does come back at some time in the future, will I forever blame that one day of radiation I missed back in February 2010? Nope. Move on. When I dropped off Daniel at preschool, I chatted briefly with a mom friend. She asked if I threw up a lot with the nasty stomach bug from the day before since it’s going around and everyone knows someone who has suffered through it. I told her I prevented myself from doing it even though I knew I would feel better because I had throat ulcers and thought that would hurt more than the hours of nausea holding it back. My friend gave me a long look and said, “that’s an awful situation — not throwing up when you need to because of throat sores.” We both grimaced at the horribleness of my life. I think I don’t always hear how my life sounds to “normal” folks when I matter-of-factly state some aspect other people aren’t experiencing. I told someone recently that I just assume my life includes a certain amount of discomfort these days so don’t complain as much as I normally would under different circumstances. Don’t get me wrong, I still complain plenty. This morning I started to say, “well, I got to escape radiation one more day because I was sick…” but my friend stopped me, “don’t even try to find a bright spot. It’s just awful,” and she hugged me. My radiation doctor said the throat sores are common in chemo and radiation patients because opportunistic viruses attack when the body is weak. He gave me some medicine and sent me into radiation. The nurses all complimented my fastly growing wavy and thick hairdo. Hair just in time for Austin’s snowy day. We had a real blizzard this morning making driving conditions a bit tricky — but it didn’t really stick because the temps stayed in the mid to high-30s. The kids loved it and we even tried sledding down a nearby hill although by the time we got there it was really more mud than snow. Maybe it’s just my upbeat personality but I don’t think the throat sores and stomach bug were that bad a deal when I get a snowy Austin day and mud sledding with the kids in the same week!

February 22nd — Last night I started feeling queasy and spent the night violently ill with intestinal troubles. Since both kids have been sick with a high fever that lasts a week, I feared I had gotten their sickness. That was a bad night. This morning I started feeling better, but had to skip radiation. A friend called and a baby shower we both attended this weekend was apparently infected with a 24-hour stomach bug. Two other women have come down with the same symptoms. And I thought chemo and radiation was bad! At least the end must be in sight if it’s a temporary illness. I have rescheduled radiation for 5:30 and a visit with my doctor. I have ulcers in my throat that I assumed were radiation-related, but in talking to the nurse this morning, she doesn’t think so. Great. I probably have strep on top of everything else. And I’ve been so happy that my skin has been relatively unscathed throughout the process. If my insides fall apart, do I care if my skin looks good?

February 19th — Another day, another radiation treatment. It’s getting pretty boring but at least I’m not crying anymore driving to and from radiation. Not much to report.

February 18th — I’m still only slightly pink from my radiation and my doctor is thrilled. He did warn me however that in rare cases, there is no “radiation reaction” (don’t say the word “burn”) until the weeks after radiation ends. He’s about to begin “boosting” the radiation to the mastectomy scar area because he said that’s a common area for local recurrence. We also discussed the fact that my triple positive tumors like to recur late (20 years or so), and who knows what medical advances there will be by then. The triple negative tumors like to recur within a few years of diagnosis with year two and year six being the most common. My radiation doc said he thinks in 20 years, the field of radiation oncology won’t be necessary because it’s so brutal and archaic in light of possible new treatments. I laughed that he’s hoping to put himself out of a job, but he said he’d be happy to go study architecture instead. I guess the field of oncology is one area all the physicians who work there would be happy to see go away. On a side note, the small plane that crashed into an office building in Austin was about a half mile from our house. That’s the building Greg used to work in years ago but other than that, we don’t have any connection to the building and we’re all fine. We’re praying for all the people who might have been injured in the crash.

February 17th — A wonderful chance encounter happened on my way to treatment today. As I was coming up the stairs from the parking lot to the first floor a man passed me coming down from the second floor. If I had taken the elevator, or he had reached the stairway half a minute later, we would have missed each other. I did a double take and stopped him: it was my first Austin boyfriend from many years ago for whom I have such fond memories. My heart stopped with the thought that he might have cancer since we were in an oncology building. He doesn’t, but then I had the unpleasant task of telling him that I did. Seeing his face when I told him reminded me of all the people I’ve had to upset with my health news. Let it just be good news that I get to share from here on out. When it comes down to it, I may be strong in the face of surgery and chemo and radiation, but I’m not sure I could confront any more beloved faces with more bad news.

February 16th — Daniel is finally well and off to school, but Sara is now running a 102 fever. The radiation nurse asked me if I was having any fatigue. I told her I was but it wasn’t radiation-related, it was because I have sick children who need their mother’s love. And now I’m feeling sick. Doesn’t the radiation kill any viruses or germs in the air around me as it’s zapping my cells? Look at the picture of all my hair — it’s wavy on top so I feel a bit like a poodle.

February 16th — Too funny! This is the plane taking Greg from Dallas to London. No joke — it has a pink breast cancer ribbon painted on the side…I couldn’t believe it!