My last run for a while, and somehow my little iPod shuffle knew exactly what I needed.  Just when I was really forcing myself to push through, it shuffled to “I will Survive” by Cake. I finished strong, and I will survive! Until next time, trails. I look forward to meeting again!

Best question on a medical form ever.

Just about a week away—time really does pass so quickly.  I was pretty upset when my surgery was rescheduled to mid-March.  That two week delay felt like a big deal, I didn’t want to wait all that extra time.  Truth be told, it was a good thing.   I had hoped to finish chemo and then be back to normal two weeks later, by the time I would have normally headed back in for another infusion.  The effects of chemo are cumulative, though, and so I’ve needed that extra time.  That last round really took a lot more energy out of me.  The achiness and bone pain weren’t quite as bad, but man, have I been tired.  Plus, we have a big nine year old birthday party this weekend, and then I need to have everything ready to celebrate her big day with family, her classroom, and her bus stop friends on her actual birthday, so there’s a lot of planning, purchasing, and baking that I need to do before surgery.  Those extra two weeks have been a surprise blessing.

I’ll head to the hospital early on Wednesday the 13th, there are several pre-op procedures that I need to do.  There’s still that one pesky lymph node that lit up on my PET scan but no on has been able to find since.  So I’ll start off my morning in nuclear medicine for a CT scan/localization of that node.  The head of the women’s imaging will be doing the procedure himself to make sure they can find the node in question and remove it as part of the surgery.  They’ll also Inject some sort of dye (technical, I know!) that will help them find the sentinel lymph nodes—those are are the first lymph nodes that filter the lymph fluid from the breast.  If the sentinel (first) lymph nodes don’t have any cancer cells in them, then it’s pretty safe to assume that the cancer didn’t travel beyond the breast.  After all the pre-op procedures and doctor’s visits, I should head back for surgery around noon.  I expect to be awake (and very hungry!) around dinner time.  I’ll stay in the hospital overnight and will come home around lunchtime on Thursday.

I spent almost an hour this morning with a physical therapist at the recommendation of my plastic surgeon.  It was a great appointment, very informative, and the physical therapist was such a delightful woman.  Someone from her department will stop by the morning after surgery to chat with me and give me some tips and exercises.  I’m so glad she met with me ahead of time, though, so I don’t have to try to process and remember all that information while I’m sore, sleepy, and drugged!  For the first two weeks, I’m not supposed to lift my arms above shoulder level and I’m not even supposed to carry my own purse.  After two weeks, I can start working on increasing my range of motion but I’m still not supposed to lift anything over five or ten pounds.  After six weeks I’ll be free of any restrictions and can finally go for a run, but I will still have to work to slowly increase my flexibility and strength.  Both she and my plastic surgeon have really encouraged me that I should not be just sitting around with my arms at my side.  I need to walk around and try to act as normally as one can within the limits they’ve given me.   The confidence this appointment has given me is invaluable.  I’m not afraid of overdoing it and hurting myself, and I know the importance of staying “active.”  She said it might take a year to get back to where I am right now, but that there won’t have to be a “new normal.”  I’ll just be normal.

Of course, I’m apprehensive, but I’m looking forward to surgery next week.  Mostly, I’m looking forward to putting all this behind me.  I’m ready to start the slow road to normal, and to see what steps will be next.  Spending a couple weeks unable to drive, lift my purse, or even pour a full gallon of milk will be tough.  But I’ll have lots of support and am looking forward to hanging out and passing the time with friends and family.  And so with just a week remaining, I have a few more things to squeeze in.  There are lists to make, shopping to do, bags to pack, and I’m hoping to get in another run or two before I take a hiatus.  This will be a busy, fun week!

It’s a personal thing, I know everyone is different.  Some people really treasure their alone time.  Those people probably wouldn’t want to deal with a cancer diagnosis in the same way I have.  But me, I’m a people person.  The last thing I wanted to do was sit at home—giving myself time to get angry or depressed, perfectly reasonable reactions.  I want to have fun, to chat, to be around people.  Over the past few months, I have treasured every friend who has taken the time to meet me for coffee or lunch, to go for a run or a walk, and to shop—be it at a thrift store, Nordstrom, or even just a Target run. I’ve had the best time with all my friends, but there is one bonus I’d have never expected.  I meet the friendliest people when I’m bald!  My hat usually ends up coming off during or immediately after a run, and occasionally when I’m shopping, too.  I’ll be so impressed with all the big smiles and friendly waves I get, and then I remember that I’m bald.  The older ladies are the sweetest, and so many freely share their experiences of cancer with me, a complete stranger.  The preschoolers are fun, too.  Some of them are a little put off by my bald head, but are surprisingly honest.  The ones I know always ask the same thing—“Why aren’t you wearing your hat?”  When I tell them my head was hot, they usually run off smiling, pleased with the answer.  The really little ones have been a tiny bit afraid of my bald head, but they warm up fast—and soon treat me the same as they always did.  There is one cutie at the bus stop, though, who never paid much attention to me before, but once I stopped wearing my hat, she became my best bud!  She was very curious, but I let her rub my fuzzy head and always answered with a smile, and that was all she needed.  I’m sure that there are people who have seen me and felt sorry for me, but no one has ever treated me with pity.  Somehow good lipstick and a smile go along way, and no matter how much someone may have wanted to pity me, it’s hard not to return a genuine smile. 

So honestly, I really haven’t played the cancer card much.  It’s a very valuable card, it can get you out of a lot of things (I’m sorry, I just can’t make that field trip/ serve on that committee/ come to that event, I have cancer) and can get you into a lot of things, too (lots of doors held for me, and my kids get into the pediatrician lightening fast!).  That said, not even three weeks out from chemo, and I can feel the ink on my cancer card fading.  I woke up this morning with pink eye and so immediately called the oncologist, expecting to have a prescription called in right away.  Instead, they passed me off to my primary care physician, who couldn’t see me for a few days and passed me off to the Target Clinic.  I must say, I felt a little “common” sitting there waiting for the clinic nurse to see me so that I could just get some antibiotic drops to take care of my crazy red eye. I feel sorry for those shopping with me at Target while I waited, though.  I was super vigilant about hand sanitizer, so I don’t think I passed along any germs.  But a bald woman with crazy, swollen red eyes, no makeup, and glasses wearing yoga pants and a fleece isn’t really the best look.  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt less glamorous pushing around a Target shopping cart!  I ended up spending more time there than I’d hoped, too, and was getting hungry.  I’m sure I looked super fab sitting in the clinic area in that state, eating Twizzlers from a family-sized bag.  But go ahead and judge.  I’ll show you my cancer card, and then you’ll feel bad.

A friend emailed me yesterday to make sure that I would be home this morning to accept a special delivery.  So glad I made sure to meet her—she showed up with Starbucks and two lovely pink boxes bearing the most delicious treats.  Lemon cupcakes with the most fabulous lemony frosting—the perfect blend of sweet and tart, made with lots of real lemon zest, and the most adorable cookies made JUST for me!  I’ve monogrammed clothes for her little ones through the years, and so she knew these fabulous monogrammed cookies would bring a smile to my face!  I hated to eat them, but after making sure I had some really great pics, I took a bite, they’re yummy too!  I really do have the best friends.

I’d like to think that I’m a patient person. And sometimes I am, I’m sure. But not always. Like now, it seems like waiting another three weeks for surgery is ridiculous. I feel like I’m doing nothing, or at least nothing productive in the fight against this cancer. Of course, that’s not entirely true. I’m healing, and that’s an important step in being ready for surgery. And of course, I am keeping busy. I’ve been blessed with fabulous friends– weekly runs in Old Town with Sally are the first thing to go on my schedule. Coffees, lunch dates, and shopping trips keep me smiling and plenty distracted.

I did get a bit of good news last week. I had an MRI, my first since October. The tumor that they had seen back in October is no longer visible on the MRI. That’s great news. While it doesn’t mean that there’s no cancer at all left, it does mean that the chemo had a positive effect. Unfortunately, the good news doesn’t really change anything either. I’ll still have surgery March 13, and I’ll still have to wait a week or so after that for the pathology report. The pathology report is really what I’m waiting (not so patiently) on, that’s when we’ll know whether I’ll have radiation or more chemo once I’m all healed from surgery.

Now two weeks out from my last chemo treatment, I’m eagerly waiting to feel “normal.” Whatever that is. I’m still pretty worn out, but have been sleeping better, so I’m hopeful that my energy is on its way back. I’ve had a little neuropathy– three of my fingertips and all my toes feel a little fuzzy. Kind of like when you’ve been out in the cold too long, and you come inside and can’t tell if they’re still cold or hot… They don’t hurt and I can still walk, run, hold things, and type. They just feel weird. Tired and fuzzy-toed, though, I’m still so grateful to be feeling as well as I do, keeping up a relatively normal schedule with my friends and family.

And so for three weeks I’ll try to be patient. I’ll get some rest and some exercise, hoping one of the two will help me not to feel so tired. And I’ll enjoy every run, coffee, lunch, and phone chat as I pass the time. Waiting.