February 15th — Last night while watching the Olympics I told Greg I was tired and going to go to bed early. He said, “if you go to bed at the same time every night, it’s not considered early, it’s just your usual bedtime.” Then, this morning I remembered there was something funny that happened last night but couldn’t remember what it was to write about. Greg gave me the “when do I get my smart wife back” look and gently reminded me of his funny comment. When does Greg get his smart wife back?

February 14th — Happy Valentine’s Day! On our personal family holiday, drinking champagne and watching the Olympics, I thought I’d wish everyone a wonderful day. I’m still not red from the radiation, just a slight pink. I’m hoping all my gels and ointments and supplements and funky Qi Gong meditation (the kids complain to Greg “Mommy’s lying on her back saying “sheeeee” again!”) have helped dispel the nasty side effects of the zaps. I’m also not noticing any menopausal symptoms from the Zolodex shot or the Tamoxifen. Hmmm…waiting for the other shoe to drop. Back by popular demand is the Care Calendar. While I anticipate needing meals closer to the end of my radiation schedule, Greg’s heading to England and Scotland for 10 days of work on Monday so any help will be appreciated. Click on the button on the left to sign up. As a walking buddy friend of mine said, “put the Care Calendar back on your blog — it makes us feel useful even if you don’t need the help yet.” I’m just here to help you feel useful, my dear friends. Radiation begins again tomorrow. Sigh. Pour me more champagne please.

February 12th — Radiation began with a series of x-rays on both sides to check my positioning. Then, after treatment, I took Daniel back to the pediatrician because he’s getting worse instead of better. He’s still running fever and coughing non-stop. Last night, he was coughing so badly, he began throwing up and was completely miserable. His doctor thought he might have a touch of pneumonia so sent us for chest x-rays. (Daniel doesn’t have pneumonia, just a bad sinus and ear infection.) The x-ray tech asked if I was comfortable putting on a lead jacket and staying in the x-ray room with Daniel for the pictures. I started laughing and said that yes I would be fine staying with Daniel and the x-rays. What’s the danger? That I might get cancer?

February 11th — What a strange life. Today was radiation followed by Herception infusion. When I saw my radiation doc, we discussed the Marin County breast cancer study. Apparently, this affluent county outside of San Francisco has 20 times the rate of breast cancer than the rest of the US. There is an ongoing study to try to determine why by looking at these women’s lifestyles. I’d like to spearhead something like that nationwide. Maybe create an online questionnaire with every known product ingested or used in a woman’s lifetime. No one has asked me those sort of questions. My website woudn’t be scientifically accurate I know but it might give some researcher some ideas of where to look for a real scientific study. Sigh. Wait a second, I just might do something like this. After 1000 women fill out the information, there are only going to be 10 soaps, 5 brands of toothpaste, a few types of hair color etc. that women use. That would streamline the questionnaire and the tracking of the data. We could screen out the breast cancer patients who know they genetically test positive (BRAC gene) since theoretically these women would have gotten cancer regardless of the environmental factors. Hmmm… Back to today because it was strange. My radiation doc is pleased with my slight pinkish skin from the radiation since it’s day 14 and I’m not more burnt. My breasts are itchy however so I suspect the skin is starting to suffer. I then walked upstairs to infusion. A few nurses were conferring about my chart because there were conflicting notes on whether or not I was scheduled to get the Zolodex shot to shut down estrogen production in my body. I was able to clear that up by explaining that I already visited my ob/gyn. I used the ob/gyn’s descriptive words that proved I was still making plenty of estrogen. One nurse said she was going to write that on my chart and immediately the other two nurses said, “no, don’t write that!” I started laughing and the first nurse explained that she was just going to write “not menopausal yet.” I asked my lovely Nurse Rachel if the Zolodex shot could go into my line since my port was accessed for Herceptin. She made a funny face and explained that the Zolodex is actually a pellet that is shot into my stomach to slowly release the hormone-suppressing medicine over the next month. Really, God, this is my life? Horrid flan-like paste for the CT tests and now a monthly shot in the gut? A friend laughed in horror at the “shot in the gut” and asked how long these monthly shots will go on. When I told her, “until I would go into natural menopause — around 10-15 years,” she said “no, $#% way!” That’s how I feel. Nurse Rachel brought out a folding screen to hide my infusion Lazy-Boy from the rest of the chemo crowd. I told her, “you know when you put up the screen, I’m going to start screaming so all the patients wonder what the hell is going on behind the screen!” Rachel mouthed, “don’t you dare” and proceeded to recline my chair for the shot. It really wasn’t bad at all, thanks to the numbing cream and the fact that I have a muffin-top to hold the pellet. I knew there was a reason I don’t have rock-hard abs. When we were leaving we saw Dr. K and I reminded him that he hadn’t written me a prescription for the Tiger Woods Ambien yet. When I told Greg I chatted with Dr. K about Tiger Woods Ambien and with my radiation doc about that dog John Edwards cheating on his wife who had metastatic breast cancer, I think he wondered if all I do is joke around and gossip with my docs. I did request an anti-depressant prescription since the Zolodex is supposed to have PMS-like emotional symptoms and my stomach wasn’t able to tolerate the Effexor he had prescribed earlier. Since all but a few anti-depressants interfere with the Tamoxifen and I would rather be moody and alive than calm and full of cancer, Dr. K had to figure out what drug to give me. He said that data is controversial but I don’t really want to take chances with something that might cause my cancer to come back. Now that I think about it, I’m following two controversial protocols: the shutting down of estrogen in my body with the Zolodex and the avoidance of common anti-depressants because they might interrupt Tamoxifen’s actions. Rebel. I told Dr. K that prescription was really for Greg’s benefit and Dr. K laughed about wanting to take care of the husbands as well as the patients. I took my first Tamoxifen pill today and Greg and I both noticed that the warning label on the outside of the bottle said pregnant women should not even touch the medicine. And I’m voluntarily putting this stuff in my body? It just points out how scary my disease is that the benefits associated with the cure are worth the known and obvious risks.

February 10th — With Daniel still running a fever and coughing, I had to juggle more childcare to get my radiation and doctor’s appointments in today. Thank you to the friends, relatives and neighbors who are pitching in to help me out. Tomorrow will be another crazy day with three folks tag-teaming to watch sick Daniel while I do a full morning’s worth of radiation and chemo. And let’s not talk about the crazy scheduling of the preschool cooking classes. To add to the chaos, Austin is anticipating wintry weather. If schools shut down, our cooking classes cancel and my oncology office will be closed. Really? Does cancer stop growing due to bad weather like it does on the weekends? Yet another reason for me to live in the mountains and be a ski bunny — if it’s snowing, cancer must not be growing! My visit with my ob/gyn was pleasant and instructive. Apparently, I do have a lot of estrogen still in my system so the Zolodex shots and Tamoxifen are in my future. My doctor’s comments describing how she knew I still had estrogen in my body were quite funny. When she said them, they sounded clinical. If I write them down here, they will sound pornographic. I laughed at her word choice, but they were accurate and descriptive words, just not ones you use on a daily basis. Use your imagination. Cancer world can be an amusing place if you keep your eyes and ears open.

February 9th — Hard week. Moms aren’t supposed to get “sick” or need to go to the doctor. My health issues wait for no one, not even a five-year-old with a bad cold. Daniel is sick and home from school this week but my radiation continues. While I’m sure it would be frowned upon for me to take a 5-year-old to radiation, I know it’s a no-no to take a sick preschooler to the oncology building. This is why 40 somethings with small children aren’t supposed to get cancer. It’s inconvenient. Among other things. Sigh. So, I’m juggling childcare issues relying on my brother and Greg and neighbors to step in and help out. I guess this is when I call in the chips from all the folks who have volunteered to help me. However, no one with small children at home wants to watch a sick, snotty kid. Not only do I have daily radiation this week, I have an echocardiogram today, my Herceptin chemo on Thursday and my ob/gyn wants to see me on Wednesday. She’s going out of town to Mardi Gras on Thursday and wants to verify I’m not already in menopause before my oncologist shuts down my ovaries with a shot on Thursday. The only bright spot is that my ob/gyn called me last night and thinks any “symptoms” of estrogen I’m having might just be my body’s regular response to chemo-induced menopause. I told her I wasn’t having hot flashes or any other menopausal symptoms and she said I might just be lucky and still be in chemical menopause. That’s actually great news. First, that my estrogen levels might not be dangerously healthy for cancer growth and second that I don’t seem to be having bad menopausal symptoms. On another note, I’ve been quite troubled by my lack of intelligence in completing basic tasks since I’ve had chemo. I read that chemo drops your IQ by 10 percent. Since I know my IQ from high school (I’m sure childrearing and vodka martinis have lowered it since then), I told Greg he’d have to get used to a dumber wife and gave him my new IQ number. Greg paused and said, “really? that seems high to me…are you sure the study said the IQ drop was only 10 percent?” Someone come slap that funny man for me.

February 8th — I’m pink. Not sunburnt yet, but definitely showing some color. 27 more days ahead of me. I’ve also realized that there is one spot above my left breast between my port and my implant that tingles in a funny bone sort of way when I touch it. It’s almost referred pain in that some nerve under my arm to the left of my breast reacts when I touch this spot. I guess I hadn’t realized it before because I wasn’t massaging anti-burn ointment into my skin three times a day before radiation. Apparently, the more the skin around the breasts is touched after a mastectomy, the better for a return to normal sensation. The nerves get correctly rerouted if surgery messed them up is the thinking although a girlfriend made the snide comment that it was probably a male doctor who came up with the theory. I think she implied the doctor’s prescription for nerve rerouting breast massage was bound to involve a scotch-and-soda, soft music and lacy lingerie. While I feel like a Frankenstein with my port and colored dots and Xs, my friends continue to have a field day with my new figure. Is it afternoon already? Time for more calendula ointment.

February 7th — A writer friend of mine made some profound remarks to my comment that my blogs were boring. He said he thinks everybody has profound thoughts and feelings, but educated people are more inclined to notice them and verbose individuals have an easier time writing them down. He continued, “also, I think you assume that other people are as open about their fears and suffering as you are. Many people are afraid to lose face — even to their doctor. You’d be surprised at what small details in your descriptions other people would find interesting. I remember some famous writer saying that the hardest part about writing is recognizing that your life story is not as boring as it appears to you and not as interesting as you’d wish it to be.” Deep deep comments to my way of thinking. I can’t imagine someone not being open about fear and suffering, especially when facing an ugly battle with an aggressive life-threatening disease. Yet another friend said that she finds my blogs more upbeat than I am in real life. Do I want to be more positive and can alter my writing even if I can’t change my daily persona? I know there are good treatments and advanced research and new medicines to help combat my illness, but the fact is that I am more likely to die of breast cancer than any other cause. Greg confronted one of these moments of mortality by saying, “then let’s try to make that as far in the future as possible. If you’re 90 and die of breast cancer, is that such a bad thing?” I loved the line about everyone’s lifestory not being as boring as it seems nor as interesting as we’d like. Isn’t that true of everyone’s life? I wonder if people like Madonna or Winston Churchill or Barack Obama consider their lives boring and interesting in the same degrees as we ordinary folks. Maybe they are just too busy getting stuff done in life to think much about it.

February 5th — Does this start my downhill slide? Day 10 of radiation and I don’t have any obvious skin changes or other side effects, aside from the underarm stretching from my unusual daily position on the treatment table. I saw Dr. K today to discuss my estrogen levels since I got my period back after seven months of chemo-induced amenorrhea. He recommended chemically blocking my estrogen-production with daily Tamoxifen pills and a monthly shot of Zoladex. There are clinical trials underway to more closely examine the longterm cancer-fighting properties of suppressing estrogen in premenopausal women with triple positive tumors like mine. So, while the clinical data is still controversial, he recommends it. I’ve wanted to suppress my estrogen ever since hearing I had hormone-sensitive tumors, even going so far as wanting to have my ovaries removed, so Dr. K didn’t have to convince me to take this route. He said possible negative consequences are osteoporosis and hot flashes or other menopausal symptoms. I immediately replied, “oh great, am I’m going to lose my sex drive now?” Dr. K laughed at my frankness and we had a good conversation about sex and cancer and hormones and tamoxifen. I’m not really worried. Isn’t it mainly attitude? I think Dr. K was happy to see the old upbeat Amy back since our last few weepy visits. When he first entered the exam room and I smiled at him, he said, “you told me this would happen, didn’t you? You told me you would rally.” We talked a bit about how a life-threatening illness breaks down the superficiality of people and reveals the inner core: is it steel or is it butter? I blithely told him my inner core seems to be made more of butter than steel if my reaction to radiation was any indication. Dr. K wasn’t too fooled by my attempt at self-deprecation. He smiled and said, “really? you think your core is butter and not steel?” I met his calling-you-on-your-bullshit gaze and returned his smile as I said, “no, my core is not butter.”

February 4th — Radiation, again. Thursday must be my doctor visit days because I saw Dr. N today after the treatment. I was back to my usual cheery chipper self, which I’m not sure this doc has seen, so it was a pleasant visit. He said a sentence which I think would be enough to convince most teenage boys to study their sciences so they could grow up to become radiation oncologists, “so, tell me about your breasts.” Isn’t that priceless? My skin is doing fine and the doc showed me the mapping CT pics of my body and the radiation fields they are targeting. I found it all fascinating. As the second opinion radiation doc said, “it’s all very interesting when it’s happening to someone else. When it happens to you, it can be downright scary.” Today I found it more interesting than scary. When we talked about the length of time some of the fields are, he mentioned that you can think about breasts being shaped more or less like cones. The triangle is narrower at the top than at the bottom so that’s why some of the zaps are shorter than others. On another note, my estrogen levels must be rebounding from the chemo. I called my regular oncologist with the news because longterm outcomes aren’t as favorable for folks who don’t stay menopausal after chemo. Sigh. Damn estrogen.