Big Balls and Co-Survivors

Wow!  I didn't realize it has been over two months since I posted.  My chemotherapy and doctor visit schedule has left me worn out physically, and that combined with work and trying to maintain as much normalcy  as possible, when I have spare time to blog, all I really want to do is sleep.  So I sleep as much as possible, although I know realize that all that rest it isn't earning me a passing grade as a blogger!

About the time I was diagnosed the first time, back in 2002, Susan G. Komen for the Cure coined a new term:  co-survivor.  Pulling the definition direction from komen.org:  At Susan G. Komen for the Cure, we consider a person a survivor from the moment a breast cancer diagnosis is confirmed.  Co-survivors can be family members, spouses or partners, friends, health care providers or colleagues.  Anyone who is there to lend support from diagnosis through treatment and beyond is considered a co-survivor.  Many different co-survivors may enter the survivor's life over time, lending support in a variety of ways.

In 2002, I had many, many co-survivors to support me.  It is impossible to mention every person who helped me through that diagnosis, but here are a few -  my wonderful husband, Julio, took it all on with grace and poise; my sister Cindy, who spent the night at the hospital with me after my mastectomy and made sure I laughed often; my parents, Sammie & Howard, who made sure my Alex and Andrew made it to school and pre-school every day;  my friend Wendy, who drove me to doctors appointments and made sure I had everything I needed;  and countless friends who made sure we stayed well fed.

This time around, I had all those co-survivors and more.  Pre-surgery we had to allow visitors in shifts because so many people came to visit.  I still continue to get mail on a daily basis, most containing "three little words" of encouragement.  And right before I started chemo, apparently my co-survivor friends thought I might not have enough balls to endure, so they started sending them to me.  In the mail.  Balls.  Pink balls, yellow balls, Avenger balls, basketballs, even a ball that says "my friend has big balls".  It was hilarious, and still makes me laugh, and my fireplace is full of balls.  Just in case I should ever forget that I have enough.

When I was diagnosed in May, in addition to the amazing support group I've already blogged about, one co-survivor stepped up to the plate, and proved what an incredible woman she really is (though I already knew).  This co-survivor also makes me one proud mom, because she is my beautiful daughter, Alex.  My diagnosis came about the time Alex came home from Texas Tech for the summer.  When I told her my cancer was back, she cried, which is pretty unusual for her.  After she dried her tears, she jumped into action, and didn't stop moving all summer.  Alex attended all the doctors appointments with Julio and me, and stayed the night with me in the hospital.  She was my primary caregiver after surgery, and saw more of me than she ever wanted to, or can ever un-see.  She brought me French fries from McDonalds, milkshakes, ice cream and 80's rom-coms to make me feel better when I was bummed out.  She took me to oncology appointments, helped me  pick out a great wig, hung out with me during chemo, spent a lot of time with her brother, Andrew, and cooked us lots of meals.  Finally, during the 3-Day for the Cure in Chicago in August, Alex spoke before a group of thousands, sharing our story (I'll post a link to the speech in a future post).

Alex gave up her summer to take care of me, and I can never thank her enough, or explain to her just how awesome she is.  I love you Alex!

Treatment #1 in the history books!

 Chemo # 1 is DONE!  Julio and arrived at the Center for Cancer Care around 9:45 am Monday.  The facility was practically overflowing as they were fitting 5 days worth of appointments into 3 because of the holiday.  I quickly had lab work drawn, and hurried downstairs to get the results of the previous weeks' scans.  ALL GOOD NEWS!  No cancer anywhere, and all the scans were clear except for a few mild pockets of arthritis (which I already knew about) in shoulders (ski accidents), knees (skiing), feet (60 mile walks, anyone?) and hands (hereditary).  But the overall takeaway - NO CANCER ANYWHERE!!

After that it was a quick trip back up the stairs to the infusion room.  Because of the holiday rush, there were only two empty chairs.  I chose one next to a very young woman, and the seat on the other side of me was quickly occupied by a septuagenarian.  Let me just say that this quickly became the "cool girls" section.  We giggled and carried on most of the day.  We swapped stories, shared fears, insights, strengths and struggles, and I can truly say that it was an enjoyable day (well, except for the iv's). 

Always one to come prepared, and after reading that you should eat bland, non-greasy foods during chemo to avoid nausea, I had packed a boring lunch of cottage cheese, peaches and soup.  That went out the window when my 70-something new friend, Reta whipped out her Church's fried chicken and okra.  I looked over at my new 24-year old friend, Emily and asked if she'd eat some if I sent Julio out...she responded with a hearty "hell, yeah!"  So my new friends, Julio and I celebrated my first chemo, Reta's last, and Emily's 2nd of 19 with a hearty fried chicken picnic, and it was glorious!!!

I came home and took a two hour nap, but that was only because anxiety had kept me up the night before.  Tuesday morning I got up and headed back to the Center for a Neulasta shot which will help keep my red and white cell and platelet counts up.  I made a quick trip to Trader Joes on the way home, stocked up on lots of healthy goodies, and even felt like doing some laundry and cooking dinner.  Bedtime came early, around 9:00 pm, but over all, I felt really great.

This morning I woke up feeling really good again.  I was a bit worried, as I had read that day three can be the worst.  I have been taking my anti-nausea meds as directed, and have been drinking water non-stop.  I dressed and went to work for a couple of hours, but left as soon as I felt my energy level dropping.  I came home and napped for an hour, and woke up feeling pretty achy - a result of the Neulasta shot.  My legs feel like I've run a marathon, not painful, just really tired, and I feel a little flu-like.  Overall, however, completely tolerable.  Let's hope this is the worst it gets, because I can totally do this!

Countdown to Chemo

Chemo starts tomorrow - only 6 rounds left!  I realize that I am holding up 2 fingers, but didn't want to offend anyone by holding up the 1 finger I really wanted to use.  Please feel free to choose which ever of my digits you picture me holding up as I prepare to kick breast cancer to the curb!

It has been a crazy 6 weeks around here.  On May 9, I found a lump on my breast, above the implant used for reconstruction from a double mastectomy 11 years ago.  As I said in my first post, WTF??  The really good news, however, is that we caught the cancer at Stage 1, which means early detection wins again!  They removed all the cancer during surgery, and the upcoming treatment is purely preventative.  Woo hoo!

Since May, life has been a medical whirlwind.  Beginning on May 13 (my 49th birthday, btw), I have had:

• 6 oncology appointments
• 3 surgical appointments
• 1 plastic surgery consultation
• 2 sonograms
• 1 biopsy
• 1 mastectomy (which makes 3 for me - go figure.  Never thought my original software was big enough for even 1 mastectomy, much less 3!)
• 1 bone scan using a radioactive tracer
• 2 CT Scans
• 2 CT Scans with contrast
• 2 (40 gallon, I believe) containers of barium
• ? bottles of wine
• Countless blood draws
• Genetic testing
• 1 echocardiogram (yes, I do have a heart in there)
• 1 short haircut

And, most importantly...

165 pieces of mail.  165!!  I couldn't get them all in one picture, so here's a small sampling.  These beautiful cards, notes and photographs began filling my mailbox the day after my diagnosis - I'm not even sure how that happened!  I'm not sure how this shower of love notes began, but I do have a few suspicions.  This mail has been so uplifting, and it makes me smile every single day.  I have laughed out loud and been touched by each and every one of them.  I look through them often when I feel a little overwhelmed by all the medical details because I know that every single person that has reached out to me is with me in spirit as I battle this beast.  Additionally, I've received 3 bottles of wine, one hand-painted sand dollar heart, 3 beautiful flower arrangements,   countless delicious dinners brought by friends, and 1 handmade quilt. 

Let me just say, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart.  I am so blessed to have you all in my life, and together, we've got this.

Grand Adventures and Silver Linings

It was a dark and stormy night...here in Fort Worth,  a dozen years ago or so.  A typical Texas Spring night - thunder, lightning and hail; the electricity flashing on and off.  Julio and I were listening to the weather radio, trying to calm Alex and Andrew, when the tornado alarms started sounding.  We snatched up blankets, pillows, umbrellas and juice boxes, and rushed through the rain and hail, screaming and giggling,  to our neighbors' storm shelter, which contains all the ambiance of a giant metal dumpster buried in the yard.  Probably because it is a  1960s model metal shelter (aka, dumpster buried in the yard).  My kids were  frightened by the storm but we assured them that it was a "grand adventure" and that it was going to be great.  And it was.  My neighbor brought a bottle of wine, and we stayed in the shelter and visited for an hour or so until the storm subsided, before running back home in the dark, thankful that we were all safe and that there was very little damage - only a few small limbs had blown down.  From that night on anytime our family is facing an unpleasant task or situation, or if a storm is blowing in, we refer to it as a "grand adventure", and the kids roll their eyes and groan.

One thing I know about any "grand adventure" that life throws our way is that there is always a silver lining.  No matter what happens, you have to find at least one good thing to focus on so that you can power through an uncomfortable or downright horrible situation.  And when the "grand adventure" is over, I've learned that you can look back and invariably see so many blessings and happy endings related to that experience that you will lose count.   Like that night we spent in the dumpster shelter - the fact that we still remember it, and still laugh about it, makes it a good night in my book.

When I think about my first BC diagnosis in 2002, I consider the entire ordeal as one of the blessings of my life.  Yes, it was horrible, but there was a huge silver lining. My subsequent participation in and employment with the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure during the years following my breast cancer battle introduced me to a group of like-minded men and women dedicated not only to finding a cure for breast cancer, but to making this world a better place.  And they do.  Daily.  Every single person that I have met through the 3-Day family, whether a teammate, fellow participant, co-worker, volunteer, sponsor or outfitter, has had a positive influence on my life, inspired me, and made me a better person.   I am  honored to call each and every one of them "friend", and I am especially delighted that some of my closest friendships have come about because of my affiliation with this incredible organization.  Friendships with people from all over the country, whose paths I may never have crossed but for that initial common bond formed by my breast cancer diagnosis.   And for that, I am truly thankful. Every day.

When I received my new diagnosis last month, Andrew said, eyes rolling, "Oh, great.  Is this going to be another "grand adventure"?  Why, yes.  Yes it is.  So hold on!  I can't wait to uncover those silver linings hiding in all these damned clouds.

I'm Gonna Need a New Story

Many of you know my story.  After being diagnosed with BC at age 38, after being crowned "survivor", I went on a mission.  A mission  to eradicate this horrible disease, and a mission to help other families who were dealing with it.  I began raising money for Susan G. Komen for the Cure by participating in the 3-Day For the Cure series, walking 60 miles, year after year.  I went to work for the 3-Day for the Cure, in an effort to inspire others to dedicate themselves to raising funds for this incredible organization that will most certainly have a hand in whatever research leads us to a cure.  And I spoke with people. Lots of people.  I shared my story in hopes that it would encourage someone else.  And I showed BC who was boss!

When I received my 2nd diagnosis this past May 15th, my first thought (after the initial shock) was "I'm gonna need a new story!"  Since my first diagnosis I had delighted in being the success story.  The story with the happy ending.  The story of the survivor who had battled this awful disease and won.  The realization that I was no longer that survivor scared me, but not for purely selfish reasons.  I was afraid someone fighting their own BC battle would look at me and say "what's the point - it comes back?"  And I can't have that!  I never want my story to be discouraging, so I decided right then and there that I would write a new story.  A new, inspirational, positive story.  My TWO-TIME SURVIVOR story.  And I am looking forward to writing it with you.  Because together, we can.

In August 2011 I was privileged to share my story at the Chicago 3-Day for the Cure. My first survivor story.  Here's a link to the speech, and the transcript is below:

On September 11, 2001, the world changed for many of us.  While most of you were glued to your televisions, I spent the morning getting a diagnostic mammogram.  While our nation was under attack, my radiologist found a tiny spot in my left breast, the size of a grain of sand.  But because of the horrible events that were unfolding that morning, and because the foundations of our country were being shaken, my doctor told me to go home and hold my husband and my children close.   He also told me to follow up with him in a year; which I did.  One year later that single spot had turned to dozens, and that same radiologist sent me for a biopsy, “just for our peace of mind”.  My biopsy was performed on a Tuesday morning.  Two days later, while sitting in my sister’s kitchen, I received a diagnosis of breast cancer.  I was 38 years old.  I had a 9-year -old daughter and a 3-year-old son.  And I had no family history of breast cancer.

I owe my life to Susan G. Komen for the Cure.  Because of the awareness they have raised concerning breast cancer, I requested a baseline mammogram at age 37.  Because their research over the last 29 years has led to advances in mammography, my doctors were able to diagnose my breast cancer at the earliest possible stage.  And because their research over the last 31 years has led to more effective surgical and treatment options for breast cancer patients, I am standing before you today, celebrating 9 years as a survivor.  Susan G. Komen for the Cure gave me a second chance at life, and now I pay it forward by making sure other women and men get that same chance at a long life.   I pay it forward, funding research by walking in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure.

I walk and fundraise year after year so that no other woman (or man) has to hear that frightening diagnosis.  I walk and fundraise so that no one else has to face surgeries and radiation and chemotherapy.  I walk and fundraise so that no mother ever has to worry about who will raise her children if she loses her battle to this horrible disease.  And I walk and fundraise so that no other child has to lose her mother.  Or her grandmother.  Or her cousin.  Or her sister.  Or her best friend.  Or her husband.  I walk and fundraise to find a cure for breast cancer.  I’m Saralyn, and I walk because EVERYONE DESERVES A LIFETIME!

There's something I need to get off my chest.

I was just diagnosed with breast cancer.  For the second time.  Eleven years after bi-lateral mastectomies.  WTF?  I didn't ask for this journey the first time, and I certainly didn't expect to take it a second time, but since I'm here, and (like it or not) you are all here with me, let's make the very best of  this long and winding road.  I'll record this journey step by step with two goals in mind: 1) to keep everyone updated on what's happening with me, and 2) to hopefully provide some inspiration along the way.  So in the words of the immortal John Belushi, "Who's with me?  Let's go!"