May 22, 2009

Shoyei and I drove to San Diego, a six and a half hour trip, for a few days of R 'n R.
The first time I heard the term R 'n R my college roommate, Hillary, was flying to Hawaii to meet up with her high school sweetheart who was on a government sponsored break from the war in Vietnam. I remember wondering at the time how he would ever be able to go back into the jungle, into the horror. They wrote to each other every day of our freshman year. Once, a week passed with no letter from Michael. Then finally a letter arrived in a Red Cross envelope. Hillary tore into it, and sighed with relief - his wound was not serious. I later met her friend. He had become a heroine addict, a little habit he picked up on the job. I had become a war protester, something I picked up on campus. But I divert.
We begin our trip with a stop at Dr. Kato's office for my monthly blood check. I tell Dr. Kato I have researched Zometa and decided not to take it for now. I had been scheduled for an infusion of Zometa today. It has so many serious side affects and there are questions about the wisdom of "building" bone artificially. If I continue to tolerate the Femara, which I'm scheduled to be on for five years, we will keep an eye on my bones with an annual density test. In the meantime I am studying the best calcium foods and natural supplements. I am learning to eat for healthy cell defense.
The lab tech draws my blood after several minutes of fumbling with a big needle in the wrong vein before switching to a smaller needle in the better vein. It is the most painful blood draw I have had. I whisper to Dr. Kato's nurse on the way out to make a note on my file that she, Carla, will personally draw my blood. I've come to know her touch to be deft and painless. I whisper so as not to hurt the kind, but bumbling technician. I've been grumbling to myself about my port scar which still itches and irritates but now I think back gratefully that I was spared this pain by having it. I take two Ibuprofen and massage my aching arm.
We continue on our journey. Rest and Relaxation. To be refreshed to return to the battles of life. A few days to do what we want or nothing at all is indeed refreshing. We have both been through the battle. I am praying I won't have to return to the jungle and horror of Cancer. My "punch" biopsy is scheduled for June 8th.
The still waters of the marina remind me to "be still and know" that He is God. I once had a vision of myself laying on my belly high on a bluff overlooking a marina. And there I saw a small moored skiff. There was a girl lying on her back on the floor of the boat feeling the gentle rocking of the water. It was me. Aptly named we are sheltered here for a few days from the maelstrom of life.

May 16, 2009. R 'n R
Shoyei and I drove to San Diego, a six and a half hour trip, for a few days of R 'n R.

The first time I heard the term R 'n R my college roommate, Hillary, was flying to Hawaii to meet up with her high school sweetheart who was on a government sponsored break from the war in Vietnam. I remember wondering at the time how he would ever be able to go back into the jungle, into the horror. They wrote to each other every day of our freshman year. Once, a week passed with no letter from Michael. Then finally a letter arrived in a Red Cross envelope. Hillary tore into it, and sighed with relief - his wound was not serious. I later met her friend. He had become a heroine addict, a little habit he picked up on the job. I had become a war protester, something I picked up on campus. But I divert.

We begin our trip with a stop at Dr. Kato's office for my monthly blood check. I tell Dr. Kato I have researched Zometa and decided not to take it for now. I had been scheduled for an infusion of Zometa today. It has so many serious side affects and there are questions about the wisdom of "building" bone artificially. If I continue to tolerate the Femara, which I'm scheduled to be on for five years, we will keep an eye on my bones with an annual density test. In the meantime I am studying the best calcium foods and natural supplements. I am learning to eat for healthy cell defense.

The lab tech draws my blood after several minutes of fumbling with a big needle in the wrong vein before switching to a smaller needle in the better vein. It is the most painful blood draw I have had. I whisper to Dr. Kato's nurse on the way out to make a note on my file that she, Carla, will personally draw my blood. I've come to know her touch to be deft and painless. I whisper so as not to hurt the kind, but bumbling technician. I've been grumbling to myself about my port scar which still itches and irritates but now I think back gratefully that I was spared this pain by having it. I take two Ibuprofen
and massage my aching arm.

We continue on our journey. Rest and Relaxation. To be refreshed to return to the battles of life. A few days to do what we want or nothing at all is indeed refreshing. We have both been through the battle. I am praying I won't have to return to the jungle and horror of Cancer. My "punch" biopsy is scheduled for June 8th.

The still waters of the marina remind me to "be still and know" that He is God. I once had a vision of myself laying on my belly high on a bluff overlooking a marina. And there I saw a small moored skiff. There was a girl lying on her back on the floor of the boat feeling the gentle rocking of the water. It was me. Aptly named we are sheltered here for a few days from the maelstrom of life:

May 7, 2009 The Exam
I called Dr. Kato's office first thing Monday morning and they told me to come on down - the doctor would want to check out my lump. We jumped in the car and drove the familiar 100 mile trip to his office and were quickly ushered in. I lay on the examining table while Dr. Kato probed the spot in a bouncing-end-of-the-fingers motion. My "lump" is the size of a grain of rice so his examining method seems strange. Can he feel it? He face is unreadable as he says "I'm going to have Dr. Kuske look at this. He's right down the hall." And off he goes to fetch him.
As soon as the door is closed my husband attempts to duplicate Dr. Kato's trampoline style examination and determines he must've missed it. He has me sit up, I humor him by complying. His finger goes to the ballpoint "X". "It's easier to feel when you're sitting up," he says.
"I'd hoped he would say, 'oh that's nothing, just a little fatty necrosis'," I say to my husband. I read about such things in my effort to diagnose myself. Just a little bit of fat that died due to a lack of blood supply.
Dr. Kuske enters with Dr. Kato and I realize this is the first time I have seen them together. My team. I have formed a deep affection for them despite their prior missteps. They're human, I've come to understand. My life is literally in their hands. "She's marked it for us," Dr. Kato tells Dr. Kuske proudly. "Very good," says Dr. Kuske drawing out "very" as he feels for the lump. "Is this new?" He asks me in a tone to suggest it shouldn't be there after seven weeks of radiation. I don't say what I'm thinking, that it lies just outside the remaining "tan" line. Did his beams miss it? I know he can see that for himself. "I don't know," I answer, "I haven't really started examining my self yet." He seems stymied. What is it, he's asking himself, his face far more readable than his partner. "We could do a punch biopsy," he says, directing his comment to Dr. Kato. "I've got everything here to do it," he adds a bit proudly. Dr. Kato nods, clearly deferring to Dr. Kuske on this one. I'm certainly not going back to Dr. Corn. "But I'd want to wait a month until you're completely healed from the radiation," he says to us all."I'm not sure I can wait a month," I say, "You don't think I'm healed enough to do it now," I ask? "I'd rather wait," he repeats, "you know there's a one in a thousand chance this is anything," he says looking directly into my eyes. That is what I came to hear I think to myself so I take a deep breath and agree to wait.
"Let's see what happens in a month," he concludes, "and if you still want the biopsy we'll do it then." If I still want the biopsy I wonder to myself. I'm pretty sick of being cut into. But I will research "punch biopsies" on the trusty Google search where I get all my medical information.
As we drive away the words "one in one thousand" comfort me and I determine this is nothing at all. In a month I will be sure of that hope.

May 2, 2009 Chapter 2


There's a new sense of freedom post treatment. I expected to feel paranoia waiting for the cancer to rear its ugly head again. So far I've only felt impatient - waiting to regain my strength. I get dizzy whenever I bend over and I still tire more than I used to. I haven't really thought about cancer since I walked out of the door of the radiation center the last night. I've been back to work full steam and it's felt normal and it's felt wonderful. Until yesterday.I found a new lump. It is tiny like the little lumps I felt before. It is just beneath my skin on the same "breast". I guide my husband's finger to the site. He can feel it too. He made a comment last week which, at the moment, seemed like an omen and sent a shiver through me. He said, "Anyone can make it through a bout of cancer with some sense of grace. The real test comes when the cancer returns." My brother is proof of that. And my friend Cindy. And Gerri. And me? Am I to be re tested? So soon?I will call Dr. Kato on Monday to schedule an appointment. Is it scar tissue? I was going to wait for my scheduled visit to him at the end of the month but we need to know. It's odd that I have no sense of fear this time. I've been here before. It's still fresh. Still familiar. I just didn't expect to be back so soon. Perhaps it's nothing. Isn't that what I told myself last time? Shoyei talked to his doctor about it yesterday who told him he seriously doubted this would be anything so soon(less than two weeks) after treatment. I pray he is right.