March 30th — I’m learning so many fun medical terms. I had a bone scan last week to get a baseline for my osteoporosis risk since I’m now heading into an early menopause. My oncologist had said osteoporosis was one of the main disadvantages of being thrown into menopause in my 40s. I thought of several other physical realities that might be more troublesome but didn’t bring them up since my oncologist gets tired of discussing my sex life with me, I’m sure. Ha! In fact, when I asked my doctor what he really thought about my longterm prognosis since I did have five tumors in my two breasts that had already started to spread to my lymph system, he commented that he wouldn’t be worried about osteoporosis if my time were definitely limited since that’s only a factor if I live another 10, 20 or 30 years. So, the bone density test comes back that I’m already slightly osteopenic, which is a stop along the way to osteoporosis. The Tamoxifen, calcium and Vitamin D I take should help restore my bone loss. A friend told me she had heard most thin white women score someplace on the osteoporosis scale anyway. Osteopenia isn’t a real medical condition, but invented by the pharmaceutical companies to sell their bone-strengthening drugs. Whatever. After hearing a diagnosis of cancer, hearing that my bones are slightly weak isn’t very upsetting. But just wait, I’ll be 90 and break a hip in the nursing home that begins my downhill slide to death and I’ll remember not worrying too much about weak bones in my 40s. But maybe in that distant hip-breaking future, I’ll just be delighted that I’ll die of something other than breast cancer!

March 26th — A year ago I showed a lump in my right breast to my ob/gyn who sent me for a diagnostic mammogram, which led to several ultrasounds, a recommendation for a breast biopsy, and then a bloody, scary biopsy with a surgeon. All on March 26, 2009. It was a shocking and surreal day, one that started with me looking on the bright side and assuming the lump was benign. It ended with the surgeon bursting that bubble and preparing me for a cancer diagnosis, which came the next day. I was going to blog about how I woke up Sara this morning at 6:15 a.m. for school and she said she didn’t want to get up. I said I didn’t either so we all slept in. I was going to write about taking Sara to school late and telling the attendance registrar that I just couldn’t get up this morning due to cancer fatigue. It’s not the drugs or the chemo making me tired; I’m just sick and tired of cancer in general. I was going to write about wanting to take several Xanax and spend a day under the covers, but can’t because I’m busy with the humdrums of life. I was going to write about not feeling grateful for the treatments or the surgery or my life, when usually I feel so appreciative of my many extraordinary blessings. I just feel sorry for myself today. Isn’t there anything better to blog than my self-pity? In my blue funk, I dropped Daniel at preschool and the teacher had written Daniel’s original prayer from yesterday next to the sign-in sheet. Each day the children get different tasks: one will be the line leader, one marks off the day on the calendar, one describes the weather, and one says prayer. After all, it is a Presbyterian school. The prayers are always adorable ranging from thanking God for chairs and cameras and potties and squids and whatever else the children come up with. Daniel’s prayer was:

“Dear God,
Thank you for the universe,
the beautiful stars,
the planets,
and for life.
Amen.”

Amen.

March 24th — My business partner mentioned that today is our first anniversary of starting our successful Adventure Cook business (check us out at www.adventurecook.com). I can’t believe how much has happened in the last 12 months. I remember walking into the preschool director Sandy’s office asking her if I could start a extracurricular kids cooking class after school and having her enthusiastically encourage me. It was Meridith who saw me making crepes for Daniel’s class who thought it would make a great class. She volunteered to be my second teacher since the school requires two adults. A few days later I had a set of recipes and children’s books and had stuffed flyers in school bags to get things rolling. And within 72 hours, I would be diagnosed with invasive infiltrating carcinoma: breast cancer. Last April and May are still a blur, when emotionally and physically I wasn’t prepared for the shock of my illness and the trauma of my treatment. My cancer was an illness that didn’t hurt so the cure was much worse than the disease. I kept telling my doctors I felt great except for this cancer they said I had. However, I can’t ignore the fact that left untreated, my aggressive cancer would have spread by now through my lymph system to take up residence in my liver or lungs, blocking vital processes. I might not be typing this today if I hadn’t suffered through the last year. So, Meridith leaves me a message today congratulating me on starting our successful business one year ago. I hope I can ever be as good a friend to others as I am blessed to have in my life. My dear friend reminded me if cancer gets me down as my cancer-versary approaches to remember the joy and pride I have in bringing homemade nutritional cooking classes to children. Cooking is an adventure, especially with three and four year olds who squeal with pride as they crack their first egg. Maybe it’s time to draft a press release to Oprah before she retires because we would make a fabulous heartwarming story! Woman starts cooking business and is struck by cancer two days later…

March 17th — Our box turtles are coming out of hibernation. After a long winter, two of the three are starting to make an appearance, and our original turtle has even returned to her feeding bowl in the garden, expecting blueberries and strawberry tops per her usual diet. In the same way, I feel like I’m finally popping my head out of my self-contained world, seeing what’s going on around me. Sara seems to be all skin and bones and complains that her stomach hurts after most meals. When did this happen? Why isn’t her mother watching her diet more carefully and figuring out if she has a gluten allergy or just stress? Daniel’s starting to read, not only words on billboards and on cereal boxes, but whole books according to his preschool teacher. When did this development occur? Where is his mother to leave easy-to-read books lying on his bed for him to discover? When did my husband get so much grey in his hair, how is his bad shoulder, and have I ever thanked him for the many dishwasher loads he has done late at night when I would go to bed at 7 p.m.? Maybe the timing of my cancer diagnosis was remarkably appropriate to the seasons. I lost my hair during my hard chemo, leaving me bald and air-conditioned for the hot Texas summer. I underwent my 12 consecutive weeks of Taxol infusions when both kids were back in school this fall, giving me time for the arduous schedule. This month marks a year since my original biopsy and I’m just now emerging from the year of horrors that transformed my exterior and interior selves. Spring is here. Spring is here.

March 15th — Ides of March today. Shakespeare seems to be on my mind or perhaps it’s just that I viewed a performance of “Romeo and Juliet with Cats” by a 4 and 5-year-old in my living room, spoken completely in Meow. Since the grown-ups were not fluent in that language, and our real cats were not helpful translators, the audience had to guess at the plot since the preschoolers were more likely following a loose interpretation of the original play. After settling both my 5-year-old Romeo and his 7-year-old stage manager in bed, I filled out the US Census. I realized that the last time I filled out a census form, I wasn’t married and didn’t have either child. In ten years, especially given my 2009 diagnosis, will I fill out another? Will Greg fill it out instead and have to look up the birthdates of his children since moms seem to have those dates memorized whereas dads always seem to have to look them up. I guess he can just ask them since they will both be teens at that point. Sara will be 17 and Daniel will be 15. I think I’ll go kiss my children one more time as they sleep. Who cries when they fill out a government Census form? Crying over a government tax form I can understand…

March 12th — It’s the day after radiation and I just don’t know what to do with myself! That’s not quite true since I have a kids cooking business to get back into. Greg’s been a huge asset in getting our business off the ground helping with our website (check it out at www.adventurecook.com), registration, and logo and collateral development. We were discussing Adventure Cook and turning my blog into a book. My quiet non-effusive husband said, “I’m not sure what you’re going to do with the rest of your life, whether it’s throwing yourself into Adventure Cook or writing your book or doing breast cancer advocacy work, but whatever it is, you’ll be powerful.” Perhaps cancer not only changed me, but transformed my relationships and the people around me. Two years ago, I couldn’t imagine a situation where Greg would say I would be powerful. My power resides in getting small children to eat vegetables and go to bed on time. No small feats, I know. But, two years ago I couldn’t dream of enduring the horrors of the past twelve months. And as I keep reminding myself, I now know I can face just about anything, because I have. Perhaps that’s what power is. The knowledge that you have the ability to confront life’s difficulties and come through the other side intact. Transformed, but intact, even when life’s surreal nature takes you from the high of drinking champagne one minute to the low of getting a shot in the stomach the next! Of course, getting fussy children to eat broccoli is good training for running a successful business, writing a book or doing breast cancer advocacy work. It’s all about communication. And endurance. Not sure which of those two skills is the most important — convince someone with skillful words or wear them down with persistence?

March 11th — Yippee! Yay! Woohoo! Hallelujah! Today’s radiation was almost fun — Greg took the day off work to take me. The patient before me and her sister stayed through my treatment to celebrate and when I came out of the room, the techs and friends and family threw confetti. Dr. N said my skin is still looking great but to expect a possible sunburn type skin reaction in the next few weeks. When I asked if he had any patients who didn’t have any sunburn at all, Dr. N said he could count them on one hand. Maybe I’ll be the rare patient with no side effects. After the radiation champagne party, Greg and I went upstairs and I had my monthly Zolodex shot to the gut. It seemed like a bit of a let-down after the fun of the party, but in general the worst should be behind me. Even if there is more unpleasantness to come, the past year has taught me that I can bear just about anything. And that my core is surprisingly resilient for someone who always suspected her soul was more soft than strong.

Click on the pictures below for pithy titles.

March 10th — It’s finally here — tomorrow is my last day of radiation! It’s not been that bad, even though I fought it at first. Surprisingly, I’ve lost more weight in the past three months than during my six months of hard chemo. I’m at 118 pounds, down from a start of 136 or so before my surgery. My infusion nurse saw me today and grabbed my hips commenting on how thin I have become. She told me I could actually rock the fashionable “skinny jeans” the UT girls are all wearing these days. I haven’t been a fashionista since high school so I’m not sure I’m going to run out to buy the latest fashion fad. While I’m excited the end of radiation is near, I’m not really done. I still have my once-every-three-weeks Herceptin infusion, my monthly Zolodex shot, my daily Tamoxifen and Celexa pills and some nipple surgery and tattoos in my future. But, I’ll drink my bubbly tomorrow and cheer that this step is finally over.

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.