Round Two

First I'd like to apologize:  I'm sorry!  I stopped writing just when things were looking good, and that's not fair.
So, to catch everyone up, I had a great year.  After my move to Chicago the doctors at the University of Chicago Medical Center, headed up by Dr. Olopade, aggressively secured a plan of attack using the drugs Herceptin,  Tycurb, and Xeloda (yum yum). The side effects of these drugs were fairly mild... tingling, soreness, and burning in my hands and feet, crazy diarrhea, and some faint stands of weakness (know around my house as lazy sweat-pant days). Within six months my cancer was pronounced as NED (no evidence of disease).  I was thrilled, we were all thrilled, and honestly quite stunned.  Well that party lasted another seven, neigh, eight months.

In early December a test came back inconclusive.  There was showing of a new lesion in my vertebra, however it's growth was oddly shaped, not spherical like most cancers.  My doctor took this to mean it was just normal hyper cells.  AAAAAHH! He was wrong.

Yesterdays results showed the following:
"Today's CT portion grossly demonstrates multiple osseous sclerotic foci compatible with metastatic disease.  These are seeen in the right 6th rib and multiple thoracolumbar verebral bodies.  Small/mildly enlarged left supraclavicular lymph nodes have increased in size compared to the prior exam.  Mild retroperitoneal and left common iliac chain lymphadenopathy is present.  The right common iliac chain lymph node appears slightly larger.  A new hypoattenuating lesion in the lateral segment of the left liver lobe is seen.  A nodule in the upper right bottock appears new."

AND BREATH... but not done

Today's PET examination demonstrates moderate to marked hypermetabolic activity in the T10 vertebral body.  There is new focus of hypermetabolic activity in the L2 vertebral body.  A new focus of hypermetabolic activity is also seen in the right posterolateral 6th rib.  New moderate to marked hypermetabolic activity in multiple retroperitoneal and left common iliac chain lymph node are sespicious.  A new focus of hypermetabolic activity corresponding to the nodule int he subcutaneous tissues of the right upper bottock is suspicious for metastatic disease."

AND DONE

In summery, the damn thing is back and my drugs have stopped working.

However, there is good news.  A new drug called T-DM1, or the "magic bullet" (no really that's it's nick-name, ladies) just got FDA approval last month and is shown to be 25 percent more effective than the old crap I was taking.  When my insurance stops peddling about, hopefully by next week, I'll be ridding the T train for as long as it will have me.  Fingers crossed people, I need to this work for a very long time.  Until then, I'm drug free for the first time in almost two years.  I have to say it feels pretty good.

a sample of writing

Her father, Lanes Milford Dane Randolph was given two middle names by his father forty-two years ago.  Samantha Randolph wasn’t given any.  When confronted with the reason for this, her father replied, “be grateful, more is not always better.” Samantha knew that what her father really meant was less was always better. If given a choice, Lanes would have non-regrettably packed up things dear to him, easily fitting into the old green stamp decorated trunk left by his father, and moved from their spacious five bedroom house into a comfortable trailer.  Instead, he chose to honor his marriage vows.

 Lanes was a talker.  Elevators, bank lines, drive-thrus, no situation was too intimate, too constrained by a ticking hand, too pointless.  If there was a mouth, nay, a pair of ears, there was a conversation.  Lanes lit up like a refrigeration bulb, quickly and without prejudice. As if it were a game, Lanes would generally start the conversation by asking a question he’d already partially figured out, like, “Where are you from, I hear a long ‘au’, do I hear a bit of New England dialect there?”  It surprised Samantha that more often than not, her father was correct and that the person was exceptionally flattered by this.  

More City/ More Chemo

our street

Spring time in the city, of Chicago

That’s correct!  Second City, I’m here! Though I have yet to laugh at the next SNL cast, I’ve kept myself humorously busy.  Expanding  over fifteen miles of lakefront area codes I’ve joined three soccer teams, interviewed at bakeries, restaurants, sky rises, started a new “now is the time to get aggressive” cancer treatment, strapped on the bicycle helmet, and found multiple organic food suppliers.  Basically, loving it.

Dress rehearsal:

Cubs/Cards game

My hair is growing back quite aggressively. Two bra implants, one handmade by a friend, have given me the balance, the breast, and the confidence to wear fitting shirts.  Playing soccer, riding my bike, and walks to the dog park are helping rebuild the muscle I lost this past year.  Honestly, I’ve been out of shape on and off for years; after thirty how many of us aren’t?  However, working in the hospitality industry and my active lifestyle has allowed me to jump in on kickball in the park and family volleyball games in the past without much worry. 
So, when I was recently faced with similar social events at which my body complained and then resisted, I realized my rehabilitation went beyond therapy around my scar and arm.  My whole body needed to recover.

I’ve pushed myself more and sometimes it pushes back and I’m out for a day or two.  What a game!? Other than muscle loss my drug induced obstacles (from Xeloda and Tykerb) are burning of the hands and feet, diarrhea, nausea, and feeling tired and week.  Sometimes I can barely walk.  Often times food and its powers frighten me into not eating.  And at times my laziness makes me sad.  But they are all intermittent and can be reduced by getting plenty of sleep, exercise, wearing comfortable shoes, applying lotion, sucking on hard candy, and drinking lots of water--simple steps that make the daily routine enjoyable.

I continue to receive Herceptin for an hour every three weeks.  This treatment was started in Boise at St. Lukes, where an hour meant an hour.  Now at the UofC, the same treatment takes upwards of four hours.  I don’t like it. I waist a day because the staff is over stimulated by nearly dead people.  (Wow, that’s dark.)   I’m being treated by Dr. Olopade, noted as a “genius” doctor and the UofC ranked #14 in the US for cancer treatments. So, I put up with the poor day-to-day practices.  

Six weeks ago they started me on daily doses of Xeloda and Tykerb, 13 pills a day total.  Xeloda is meant to stop cancer cells from growing and decrease tumor size.  In another month I will have my quarterly scans (CT and Bone) which I’m hoping will show the Xeloda likes me and not the cancer.  Tykerb helps slow or stop the spread of cancer cells. It can cause severe liver damage.  My doctors and I are monitoring this closely since the cancer has already spread to my liver.  It is crazy how that little, tasty, brown glob is so important.

8 K 

On Stage:

As I noted above I’ve been applying and interviewing at dozens of jobs around the city.  Armed with my trusty Samsung map app and freshly updated resume I braved Chicago’s pothole broken roadways like a new kid at the hopscotch courts.  Often noisy and periodically last to join the trafficked areas I gave it my all, though, not without laying down some rules of my own.  I wanted a part time (2/3 days a week), job with weekends off to spend with my gf, and a fun and casual environment.  And sure enough last week I joined the Red Door Restaurant team.

In an attempt to do it all, I’ve also joined a once a month breast cancer group, as well as a free form writers club.  Online I’ve signed up to receive emails to an adventures meetup where I continue this competitive streak.

Oncore:

I expect my dad and Sherry in a week where we’ll tour the city with cameras and neck straps, street maps, full stomachs, and thinning wallets.  On the sightseeing list is a big bean, comedy routine, deep dish pizza, Chicago dogs, a lake, a tower, and me.

Okay, that’s it for now…

Catching Up

Well, in the words of Fiona Apple, "I've been a bad, bad girl".  

Ha, did that get your attention?  Honestly, as I'm sitting in my mom's office, it certainly caught mine.  I'm like, "you have?" And yes, in a way... food, drink, and video games.  However, this story ends with me nicely wrapped like a pretty little present, bow and all.

Gift-Wrapped BooB:

About two months ago Dr. Wolf (real name) removed my right breast in another whitely dressed St. Luke's operating room.  In consultation the Doc described the incision leaving my tattoo unscathed but in the end removing the tumor was the goal.  In an attempt to better understand exactly what was to be expected I started to review online photos and went as far as watching a Youtube vid of a mastectomy.  BAD IDEA.  So, by the time I was answering questions from nurses naked, poked, and hungry my tattoo had already been stripped.  But we know better now, don't we?  Not only is my body art all in one piece, the incision didn't leave a massive dent and Surgeon Wolf stitched my chest to appear a bit muscular.

Radiation and Ribbons: 

People often ask, why Boise?  They've been asking this since my initial move in 2007.  And the same answer still makes sense...potatoes.  Hahaha, that's a great name for my family.  A clan of potatoes we are.  Seriously, I moved back to be with family but in-turn may have given up on some 'better' treatment options. And just in case that was true it's been important for me to know that other more widely known tumor professionals have reviewed my case and agree with the processes here.  

A month after surgery and two months after my last fuel-filled injection of chemotherapy I flew to Chicago for a preemptive move and to get a second opinion from the award winning doctors at the University of Chicago Medical Center on radiation treatment.  This just days after my return from a San Diego wedding. I was tired of traveling, of eating things unrelated to my diet, and of showering so that I may appear to be of decent upbringing.  But with open arms and a list of to-dos (mostly questions for the UofC staff) I put off playing with my dog and advancing my fictional video game character, a Dark Elf named Noug,  through the Province of Cyrodiil.

Sure enough, Boise and radiation was a-go.  Two days after Christmas I opened yet another gift, in the color of red and the spirit of giving, I was radiated.  My treatments take place M-F, 10:45 am - 11:10am, for seven or so weeks.  I lie on a hard glass bed separated by a single white sheet while a spherical arm rotates across my chest aimed at three specific locations (scar on breast, rt armpit, and rt lower neck).  It doesn't hurt, actually can't feel it at all.  Each day during the first week they had to remind me to lower my arms.  I get x-rays every couple weeks making sure no unwanted damage to the heart, lung, or arm has occurred.  My throat has gotten soar and cat-call sexy.  At some point I will experience what they refer to as a "sunburn" on the radiated skin which will most likely result in peeling and infection. They've given me lotion.  But for now I look and feel pretty great.

Filling in the gaps:

For those of you who don't know I thought I should clarify the name my doctors have given my cancer.   I call her Annoying, but apparently she has a proper title so if you have further questions that I haven't answered you'll know to google: stage IV HER-2 positive (estrogen receptor/progesterone receptor negative) right breast carcinoma metastatic to bone and liver.

Although my 6 cycles of Taxotere, Carboplatin, and Herceptin are done I'm on, and will indefinatly be on, an every three week treatment of Herceptin.

some surgery images

I really don't have the energy to write about this experience now, but it will come soon.  Don't fret, it's because of the meds, not because I've been "flattened" by it emotionally.   Here are some pictures to keep everyone occupied.  Oh, and if you have questions please ask, it'll make it easier to decide what to say.

answering questions and setting dates

My last chemo session is this coming Monday.  Three weeks later they will remove my right breast.  I will heal, take another trip to SD for a friends wedding whom I've known for almost 33 years, and come back just in time to bake XMAS cookies with my sisters and mom.  I will have radiation, probably in December,  yet it's not set up yet.  I don't know how much the chemo has benefited.  I'm sure more test will come after the operation.  As of now, "they" haven't said anything about further chemo treatments.  However, I will continue to research on my own and volunteer for clinical studies (if they'll have me).
I will be writing again and posting pictures (because I'm not shy) after the surgery.  Stay tuned.

Cali, My Home!

I’ve had an epiphany:  the last time this broad took a holiday from her home for longer than four days was the summer of ’98.  It was my last trip to Europe.  Now, you won’t hear any boo-hoos coming from me; for I’ve traveled a bit since then… Maine, RI, Penn., Connecticut, NY, NJ (and it’s oh so popular shore), Vermont, OR, ID, CO, Wash., Cali, all of which include at least two full days of site seeing.  Then there is a list of cities the four cross county road trips have deemed “drinkably” acceptable.  Some I have forgotten, other’s not even Google maps have remembered, and then there are Little Rock, AR, Cheyanne, WY, and Las Vegas, NV. 

Escaping to different environments was made possible by my “pick up and move” philosophy; that, and the geographical closeness of eastern states.  The drive from our abode in New Jersey to the shores of Maine took 11 hours, passing five states between.  You could leave San Diego driving north and not exit California in that time.  I’m not trying to convince you, nor tell you as if it’s new information.  I’m simply in awe like when watching a wunderkind completing the Sunday New York Times crossword in record minutes.  If I get five I know it’s going to be a good week.

I will fan away the crooked brow of my Cali. readers by saying that along the 5 freeway, I’ve encountered as much richness and diversity from the trees, to the sand, to the cities as I have on the east coast.  Cali is better than multiple states, it’s home.

You can imagine my excitement when after all these years my first “real” vacation, 7 days 6 nights, was a trip to back to my roots.  I’ve always adventured with the understanding it’s best to see a place through the eyes of its citizens.  Luckily in all my moves I’ve kept many friends at a phones length.  And when I finally reached out and touched them, some after seven years, I found more than a connection.  They offered their time, experiences, and most amazingly their homes.

I flew from Boise to San Francisco, starting off with a bang.  If you knew the three ladies I’d met you’d agree such a decision synchronized a bang with a boom.  San Fran-fucking Cisco!! Individually, Trisha, Michele, and Carla led me through the city taking on public transport, the arts, food, drink, music, and even found time to sleep.  Wonderful, brilliant, simply breathe taking, oven baked bread and whole fresh boiled crab, a bicycle festival with staged racers, a back-alley lesbian bar, a gay-boy disco club, house-made brownies topped with mint ice cream caramel and chocolate syrup, a bloody-mary breakfast with 10 sliced pickles (my own demand), and a history lesson by a friend who’s love for the city shines like the glitter on a tranny’s nails.

I could have stayed another week, a month, the rest of my days but the city of angels was calling.  Los Angeles had a different plan for me. Dinner and wine anyone?  Don’t mind if I do!  In a last minute decision, Amy and Patrick were there to pick me up.  (A savings of around $50.  Thanks again guys.)  After a brief stop at a local wine shop, we headed to mannequin heaven, also known as West Hollywood.  What do you get when you mix 216 vintage mannequins with a chemotherapy patient?  A lot of bald heads!

Chad-Michael is known for many things, and parties are one of them and never let the amount of intimacy fool you.  There was (did I mention) wine, gourmet vegan cuisine, laughter and catching up, some German folk singing (schinken!!), wine, gardening, the masturbating tortoise, a large eye sculpture, walks to the liquor store for more wine, pictures, and mannequins.  Through the laughter, bottles of wine, lost purse, trips to the liquor store I saw us clearly.  We were no longer twenty-somethings, but thirsty, wise, humble, strong, determined, ambitious adults.  And it was a spectacle to cherish.  We didn’t compete for stories or favorite moments but offered them up as reflections of ourselves or as pieces of advice gift-wrapped and labeled for use at a later date.  Who we’d been was no longer up for discussion. Instead who we’d become gave tranquil responses to those previous experiences like we’d recorded the past and now felt at ease in its proof.  I would have loved more time, but slept well knowing one night had had given me back ten years.

Brother Doug, the bestest brother in all the land, picked me up from The Alibi where I nursed my hangover with a shot of patron and a Corona.  The two hour drive back to San Diego was sobering.  We arrived to home-made lasagna and more wine, conversation that continued to revisit “the meaning of life”, and warm sheets in my old room.  The truth of the matter is I’d called every bedroom, half of the garage, and the den, “my room” at one point, with the exception of my parents’ master suite (which had also been redesigned into two separate rooms, but only after my departure).  A quick dip in the pool and it was lights-out for me.

Only two full days left.  However, the agenda was simple: friends, La Torta, and the flight. The old Pizza Nova gang made it real easy on me by showing up at Gorden Biersch with photos, stories, and an appetite.  In a few hours we devoured years of house-parties, trips to Vegas, beach bathing, bike rides, clubs, dinners, hole-in-the-walls, wine tastings, and every employee or infamous customer who happened to breach our little pizza home.  Oh, and the course wouldn’t be complete without some Charger girls.  Just in case I’d forgotten to represent the team as their token lesbian, they bought me a Charger cheerleading calendar to remind me.

Hugs and kisses to: Emily, Cindy, Laura, Amy, Britt, Amanda, Laura, Kris, and on to my last day.

Had I known the lunch with brother and dad at La Torta would have been our last meal together, I may have convinced myself to chew the most delicious sandwich in the world.  Yet, as the odor drifted from the warm bun to my nose my hand to mouth movements became involuntary.  And thus the end! 

Oh, not of my story, just of that meal.  We parted ways in La Mesa as I took the trolley downtown and they headed back to East County.  Who knows, maybe it was chemo brain, maybe I was comatose from eating a sandwich the size of my head, or maybe it was due to drinking three of the last five days but I could not for the life of me give Michelle the correct cross streets to where I’d gotten off downtown.  She got there nonetheless.

On the drive, we both realized that born and raised we had not frequented the world famous San Diego Zoo quite enough, and that the only thing that had stopped us was ridiculousness. The zoo is a work out, centralized, fairly inexpensive, beautiful, educational, and down-right fun.  We felt like Crocodile Dundee, Siegfried and Roy, Dian Fossey, Steven Irwin (except protected behind think glass or large metal cages).

Now, what led up to this is debauchery (of the best kind) but the details are a little muddled.  I spent the last night of my California vacation on a fairly cushioned 5 by 4 foot jail mat.  Sure I was drinking.  Sure we closed down the bars and that wasn’t quite enough.  And sure, I had friends with me throughout most of the evening.  But when and how exactly I wound up bruised from falling sitting Indian-style on the dirt staring at a bush when two nice, handsome, San Diego, police officers tapped me on the shoulder is beyond me.  I mean how, as my day started off with a family meal at La Torta and a trip to the zoo, could it end purse-less, phone-less, friend-less, and bruised?  Well, the only real cushion here is knowing that I can finally count that one off my bucket list.  Next in line, fist fight. 
Shout out to: David, Carla, and Jacqueline

are we there yet????

I know my blogs are posted further apart.  What can I say, it's all becoming very normal.  With that said, the "normality" is a new issue in itself.
I recently attended a Cancer Surveyor's "After Chemo" seminar.  Family and friends have been urging me to reach out to my new community for conversation, support, friends with benefits (the benefit of dealing with similar issues) and this meeting fit into my itinerary.
I still have two more sessions of chemo before completing this (first) round.  However, it was interesting to sit in a room full of women and men whose hair has grown back, whose temperament is as lively as my own, and who are now dealing with problems associated with living, not dying.  I hadn't thought that far.
Yes, I realize chemo is an injection of drugs provided to killer cancer and that I was going to participate in six treatments total and then... for me, surgery, radiation, monthly pills (to keep the cancer in remission).  Yet, chemo is a bit more.  The side effects last long after the injections.  Some last hours, like the needle poking, others weeks, like the nausea and dizziness, and still others last months, like loss of hair and scars from my port.
At the seminar I realized there was more yet.  In some way I was going to miss chemo.  At this point I know what it is, what it does, and how I want to deal with it.  I know it's substance gives me hope and power.  I like power.  It's concrete.  I can feel and see the chemotherapy helping.  Chemo appointments give me a place to show up to, a person to talk with, and a measurement to base improvements on.
Don't get me wrong, I'm can't wait to be done.  It's irritating to be 33, single and ready to mingle, and be so obviously ill.  My point is, I'd like to see my appointment book full again.  And hair will help me accomplish that little stumble.  Hey, not that I've had no luck.  Thank goodness for the compassionates and my amazing butt.  (sorry dad, had to throw that in there... love ya.)

Finally, I got the chemsie and an injection.  The injection was to help "push out" white blood cells from the bone marrow.  The injection was in the back of the arm.  I have two tattoos, both times avoiding the back of the arm. Frozen and flexing, I thought "relax dang it, relax girl, now."  And then it was over.  Oh, I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong...that was not the highlight of my week.
Just before I got arm fondled, friends and family gathered at Willow Creek to eat BBQ and give me money.  It was amazing.  If I could figure out how to get the photos from Jen's camera I would prove it.  Until then, oh the suspense. By amazing I mean great food and drink, just about everyone I know in Boise, some people I didn't know but who are touched by cancer, and my wonderful family.  I guess they figured I've done my part going to weddings, birthdays, and those dreaded holiday events.  Okay kids, we're even.  But seriously, I would have lasted longer at the mic saying my proper "Thank yous" but I was about to follow my sister's tears with my own, and I can't very well publicize emotion... ha, it's what this blog forum is about...plus I was wearing makeup.
It's the same week I experienced five weeks ago, my bones ache but not enough to loose myself in Vicodin, I feel nauseous without vomiting, and energy to spend but a blood cell count that keeps me locked in alone.  Charlotte, my dog, and I have had some amazing conversations about life, goals, happiness.  We agree, writing a story about a female vagabond's encounters along the California coast is a great way enjoy this space and time.  That and watching every movie in the house.  Well, I'm off to revisit Overboard staring Goldie Hawn (who reminds me of my mom) and Kurt Russell... are they still dating and unwed?

from dad

This is an appeal for financial help.

Two months ago my oldest daughter Nichole age 33 was diagnosed with advanced
breast cancer.  She started chemotherapy treatments right away.  She moved
back to Boise from Denver because she was unable to continue with her job
and because of family and many friends in Idaho. She has limited health
insurance.  Due to her loss of income and the costs of medical care we
suggested she appeal to family and friends for help.  This is my appeal for
her.


Wanting to help her out financially, we've set up a paypal account under
nicholevick@yahoo.com for donations.  Instructions for gifting money are
below*.  We appreciate any amount.  Or email me and I will give you her
address.

Also on Sunday August 14th at 1 PM there will be a fundraising event at
Willow Creek Grill, 2273 S. Vista Ave, Boise.  There is a $20 donation for
the all-you-can eat buffet with proceeds going to Nichole. Their phone is
208-343-5544.

For those wanting a room on August 14, the Boise Hotel and Conference Center
has limited availability rooms for the special rate of $49 a night
(208-343-4900).  They are just up the street from Willow Creek, and very
close to the airport, at 3300 Vista Ave, phone 208-343-4900.

There has been talk of additional fundraisers such as a silent auction of
donated items and services and maybe a motorcycle ride-for-Nichole.  More on
these later.

Of course we appreciate all the prayers.  For those of you who don't know
us, thanks regardless.  And sorry for any duplicates.


*To use Paypal go to Paypal.com, select "Home", select "send money", fill in
the amount, check "friends and family", click continue, fill in the email
addresses of sender and receiver, then fill in the details.  All you need it
a bank account number, or credit or debit card.  Paypal will notify Nichole
of the transfer.


Lannes Ray Vick
El Cajon, CA

jumping bean

I want something I can’t have, chemo.  No chemo again this week.  My platelet count is back up but my white blood cell count has some growing up to do.  Running amuck I tell you.  Okay, I’m way to hard on her, I don’t have any infections and haven’t gotten sick, so she’s still doing her job without as many employees… been there, done that.  My mom asked why they could just give it to me?  Even if I were to be hospitalized and medicated, fear of infection is too much a reality.  I wanted to remind my mom that I’m healthy, other than the fact I’m ridden with cancer, and need to stay that way.

My sister’s and girlfriend’s work is putting on a benefit for me this weekend.  I have friends flying in from Denver joining a bunch of people here I’ve never met (some I have) to give me money.  It’s not even a loan.  I just keep it all.  Well, not keep it really, I’ll buy food, travel to out-of-state doctor appointments, and mostly pay hospital bills.  It’s like a sweetest, coolest, most helpful thing.  Who said money can’t buy love?

I know, that’s not really what it’s about.  I mean it is, but it isn’t.  They told me almost two months ago they were planning this benefit.  I didn’t have do anything… let me rephrase that, they wanted to do everything.  I think it’s the first “party” for me since I was a wee child I didn’t dictate. Although difficult at first, I relaxed my fists and backed off.  I’ve been able to view this gift like the many others people have shown me. 

Two prayer quilts from family, friends, and strangers cover my couch.  Letters and notes of sympathy and optimism collage every day.  A motorcycle, rides to and from the hospital, visits at the hospital, phone calls just to check in, silence so I can release emotions, pats on  the back, hugs, kisses, little crooked smiles and nods from strangers that mean “hang in there sista”, this benefit-gathering, all give me a since of pride and self worth that keeps my mind strong.  And although I need it some days more than others it’s a large pillow I can rely on to be there as I jump.

P.S. the word bean in the title is there because to a few of people I love most in the world, everyone is a bean

family reunion and food

The trek through Oregon to my family reunion was beautiful as always.  An eight hour drive starts as a desert, peaks as a forest, and ends in plains. Missing the call of big city hustle I stayed over in Portland for a night.  Sure enough, we marveled at how easy shopping was at the little boutiques.   Hats, scarves, shoes, furniture, cute little artsy trinkets and pretty “us” wonderful things for our home were everywhere.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t the trip for home furnishings.    I did buy a pair of re-fashioned jeans and a scarf of course.

The Williams family meets every three years on a quaint patch of forest land with a lake, a rope swing, and an old school.  The lucky ones sleep three or four to a room, while others bunk in tents on the front lawn.  My siblings and I bunked with delight.

The camp includes food and service, games (volley ball and baseball), supervised swimming and canoeing, and all the family time one could endure in four days.  Needless to say it’s an adventure we all pay for mentally, physically, and monetarily.  Laughing takes the place of music, name tags should be required, and I’m glad I had an excuse to bring my own dietary supplements (no wonder why people spent so much time on the toilet).

The Saturday before we leave, the adults whose normal ruthless behavior is forced into hiding reveals itself during a trip into town to drink and sing karaoke.  I had gone only once before.  This time sober, the whole of it was felt.  Although we weren’t the only members to brave the microphone, my siblings and I sang “Nothing’s Gonna Stop us Now” from the movie soundtrack Manikin.  It was a off-key tear-jerker.

By noon on Sunday most were packed up and heading back home (Alaska, California, Oregon, or Idaho). 

But that wasn’t the end to my vacation.  Although I made it home, it was just days before my next chemo treatment and a month of my rigorous food program and I was going to be naughty.  I pictured a large burrito with the works, a couple slices of greasy New York style pizza, cold strong beer, and a double chocolate brownie smothered in vanilla bean ice cream and topped with caramel.   So yummy, right?  Well, yah!  However, I didn’t make it that far.  My stomach isn’t what it used to be.  I did enjoy the pizza and one cold Anchor Steam, but I had to stop there… no more room.

Today I went to get that, now routine, treatment only to find out my counts are too low. I need more platelets and blood cells.  I guess I should be thrilled I get to wait another week to feel nauseated and tired but I’d prefer to just get it done.

flexin in the mirror

Ohhhh man, I've been pushing myself pretty hard and wow I can feel it.

Last week I went in for blood tests. (My arm is still bruised, can't imagine if they drew directly from my veins how that would look and feel.) My white blood cell count came back super low, .8. The doctor said he would like to see it between 2 and 4. Concerned that I'd get sick he started me on Levofloxacin, which is an antibiotic capable of treating multiple life-threatening bacterial infections. I'm taking it as a just in case'er. 

After two days of working out, beating brow, sweetin' to the oldies my glands became inflamed.  Now, don't  get concerned, I think the medication is working it's magic.  I couldn't let a little soar throat stop my routine.  I'm highly uninterested in being bone and flesh.  I love my muscles.  I love arm wrestling dudes and bring them to tears.  I love flexing in the mirror.  I dis-love Jen carrying in all the heavy stuff.  So, I spent two more days working out.  And although my glands are still swollen, I have my appetite, no fever, and I'm worn out but feeling the muscular love.

Chemo-Brain

still no wig

 I thought I'd leave a little just for laughs

I had my second treatment Thursday at St. Lukes, Boise.  Things went a little differently here than in Denver, but the basics remained the same: tests to ensure I'm me and I'm alive, bags of drugs dripping into my veins, and meetings with a financial adviser and counselor.

I found out my lump hadn't shrunken, I had no account of my white blood cells, and my insurance had expired.  (Time to turn this info into good news.)  As of today, I can see my nipple again. It had been eaten up by my enlarged breast prior to two days ago.  I never thought I'd be so happy to see my tit sag.

I have an appointment this week to get an accurate white blood cell count.  As for now, stay away if you're ill.  I wouldn't want to blame you for my death.  Also, that above mentioned adviser filled out the proper paper work for me to transfer my insurance.

AOkay, here's what it was like.  Hot and cold flashes all night, which was highlighted by constant bathroom breaks.  The cold doesn't bother me so much, it's 500 degrees outside.  But the hot are a little worrisome.  My temperature is not to exceed 100.5 or it could mean a trip to the emergency room.  My mouth dry and tongue swollen feels like someone pumped it up in order to use it as a floating device.  Nothing tastes good, everything except french fries grosses me out.  My bones feel like they're wagging a war against each other. And I have chemo-brain.  I feel slow and mindless.  I have all this time to be creative and I can't think how.  This silly little blog has taken over an hour.  But heck, there is spell check, and french fries, and I'm not passed out.  So, pretty much having a great day.  How about you?

a doctor, a breast, and a scarf walk into a bar...

So, it's been a minute since my last blog. This whole hair thing has some surprises. First off, we carry a lot, I mean, a lot of hair on our heads. Second, it stops growing evenly which is great for those that want to keep up the look for as long as possible. Falling out in chunks, so as to create bald spots isn’t pretty. Also, if you don't wash it and you keep a hat on it lasts a bit longer. I found a cool summer hat and a few web sites that I'll soon purchase chemo-specific head wear from. But every time I shower or sleep I'm shedding my winter frock. I mean it's everywhere. And hair tickles, it picks at the skin like little bugs.

All my hair has stopped growing. But not all of it is coming out yet. This I've also found to be beneficial. I'll keep my eyebrows, lashes, arm hair, and the other stuff for a bit longer... maybe even through the whole treatment. (I have another Thursday).

Okay, so I went to the surgeons today for a consultation. After a few questions reviewing my previous treatments, allergies, and surgeries we talked about removing my right breast, which has been recommended a number of times and seems to be the next line of treatment. Interestingly, I couldn't help but hear that Dr. said there is no hard evidence that links breast removal with a longer life span.

I got two things out of that. One: I have a choice in making this decision. Two: I need to do much more research.

I'm not really attached to these lumps under my chin. If they disappeared tomorrow I wouldn't notice for a day or two I'm sure. However, this kind of surgery is not to be taken lightly. I'll be much weaker since it's scheduled to happen days after I'm finished with my last chemo. Suggested recovery time is close to a month which will inhibit exercise. Oh, and that's where my tattoo is. <----- very important.

Going Going..

I just thought I'd share that today I noticed my hair is falling out.  Shit.  Jen thinks I have a cone head, so that wrapping it up will be easy and look nice.  Yvonne thinks I should cut it in disgusting styles as it falls out.  I just want to find some fairly attractive scarfs or beanies or something.  Well, here are some photos.  This is just the beginning but I have a feeling it's going to go quickly.  I'll continue to post pictures for those of you who just HAVE to see this.
Oh, and I know, I know, it'll grow back.  But seriously, it's my hair.

This was just one brush bushel.

Oh, and I'm not going with the spotty look.  One bald spot and the whole thing goes.

The Normal Holiday Me

Like I've stated, there's not a lot different about me today than there was three weeks ago.  A few new scrapes and scars, a little weight loss, and the mediator voice in my head repeating what sounds like a countdown: ten, nine, eight...  But really, nothing seemingly different.

The joke here is that so much has changed and this July 4th reminded me of that.  I mean, the real me would have been working at some restaurant. Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday, all normal work days for me.  But not this year.  Heck, I guess if I want I could have every holiday off.  I could go to each family event on time, with a date, lookin sharp.

This fourth, Jen and I went to her parents (two hours early).  I borrowed a bikini (oh ya) from my sister, (one tit fit well) and dove right in.  Sure I swam, snacked on finger foods, grilled up some salmon, caught up with the fam, and watched fireworks.  But it was weird not asking for orders, sulking with coworkers about working, dressing in all black with a tiny logo at the neckline of my uniform.  I had ol' fashion holiday fun.  Nothing was missing except my normality.

While the day was coming to a close, saying our goodbys which involved multiple hugs, "I'll see you soons", and bagging up last minute goodies, I realized that as much as missed unlocking the front door and putting down chairs, coming up with the holiday special, and buying a round of shots for those that braved the work day with me, this new kind of normal was going to be just as meaningful.  But that if I wanted it to feel like me, like me normal, I'd have to start my own tradition for these shared events. 

I wasted too much time doing the 'not'-doing things, that I didn't come up with anything.  But if you have something you tradionalize yourself as: the baker an infamous dessert, the bringer of the best pool toys, the entertainer of children, even the really snooty and slobbery ones...  please share.  All ideas are welcome.  I am going to find the normal holiday me.

C.O.T.

This is the second time I'm living in the City Of Trees, Boise Id.  It really is a beautiful city and surrounding.  Filled with parks, hot springs, a natural river running through the heart of a cheerful petite urban escape, Boise is an outdoor-lovers paradise.
On any given day grown men frolic in butt comfy spandex shorts and clickety-clack cycling shoes re-hydrating with a "local" bew (anything from Oregan or Seattle) on one of our many covered tavern patios. Spirited colors of orange and blue line the streets... goooo Broncos!  and my past favorite (no longer my favorite pastime) the dive bars.  Living beyond conformity, Boise still allows smoking in bars. 
(Coup Clothing image by Will Hay)

Up until three weeks ago I conformed to their nonconformity.  A beer in one hand, one cold sitting idly aside, and cig in the other, this was my Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday night (even I needed a day off.)
Well, at this time, I haven't yet found the spandex shorts but I am putting my bike to much use.  As soon as my arm heals, hot springs will be my backyard jacuzzi, and I'm going to raft that river so hard.  I'm still going to patron those hole-in-the-walls, I do have friends that aren't freaks, but I've noticed I have a two hour maxim (I feel a headache coming on or I need to take my pills, both usually being true-ish).
As for the other hundred hours of free Boise time I'm taking on a little restaurant project, getting excited about writing stories again, and taking time for the little things (a garden, my dog, camping, yoga, soccer, family and friends).

Chemotherapy 1

I had my first Chemotherapy treatment 8 days ago.  I will have six sessions each three weeks apart.  They have inserted an arm-port in my left lower inside bicep to protect my veins from continuous prodding.  (Thanks Dr "gang".)  I guess the arm is an unusual place because I keep hearing from the nurses, "oh, that's an unusual place, haven't seen it there before".  Well, that's me, paving the way.

The needle they use to penetrate the place next to the stitching in the photo is as dense as a large paper clip.  I'm not kidding.  But really it looked a lot scarier than it felt, and that's the only reason I hit the nurse.  Anyone coming at my new wound bes' be careful.  Once inserted, they just empty bag loads of liquid drugs and saline for about 3 to 4 hours into my body.

The next day I was pretty darn near perfect.  The second and third days were rough.  Fitigue, pain in my bones (specifically my back and legs), in my muscles pushed me to medicate.

So I just passed out for two days with Vicodin. :)

Since then, I'm tired, ache, foggy, and get headaches, but really I feel good.  I'm not sick to my stomach due to medication.  All my previous incisions are about healed.  Basically, I look and act and feel like you.  I mean me.

FOODIE

As you probably know, I've worked in the food industry for 14 years.  Although, I haven't done much more than toss a salad or two, ladle out precooked soup, or dress a pizza I've worked with some amazing chiefs.  Here in Boise, Christine Reed, previous owner of Pair and current owner of Locavore, has credulously plated my pallet with tastes from hand-crafted coconut curry prawns in sweet siriraha sauce to not your mom's meatloaf.  This time Christine had here work cut out for her. 

To screne my system with the best defense and offense we found the following foods outlawed: caffeine, alcohol, yeast, mushrooms, sugar, salt (other than sea salt), meats, soy, dairy (other than goat), and you know those processed things that are foodish.  I've lost 3lbs this week.  But I'm not starving.  I'm just, for the first time in my life, eating right, really really right.

I've been a vegi for over ten years and it's only with this diet that I want the largest meatiest reddest hamburger ever.  I'd even settle for one of my homemade delicious tofu burgers, oh gosh, and a beer.  But I wait a sec and that desire passes, I think heck I could be adding another year.  And shoot, I'll look good in a swim suit (bald, but good).

Studies show that eating soy can prevent cancer.  It mimics estrogen in the body.  However, after being diagnosed with breast cancer I didn't want to influence my estrogen levels at all.  For some of the other foods, many of the enzymes that help fight breast cancer also work to break down certain foods like meat, dairy, sugars.  I want my body to concentrate on breaking down the cancer not the food.  If I substitute nutrition that will only fight or not prevent the fighting of the cancer, I'm likely to live longer. I.e. cancer hates raw carrots, asparagus, almonds, kidney beans lentils... Also the breast cancer is in the fattest part of my breast, I want to limit that fat, make it "taste" real bad.