When to Worry

Last night was a bad, bad, bad, bad night. Bad!

Tom and the kids went to bed last night. I decided I would stay up to worry about nipples. As many of you know, worrying about nipples is very thirsty business. Sooo, I went to pick up my little half empty glass of water and almost dropped it, because of a stabbing pain in my elbow. It took a second for that to register before I got physically sick from panic. All I could think was that my dad was right to be upset with me for cancelling my bone scan last week. At my last appointment with Dr Young, she asked me if I was having any unexplained pain in my bones. Nope, I told her, only emotional pains. I was so cocky; I was feeling fine! Now here I am having a sudden sharp pain in my right elbow.

RATS! Bone cancer?

I had no idea what to do. I thought about waking Tom, but I knew that I would only end up worrying him, too. Might as well just let him sleep. Unfortunately, each moment that passed last night the more anxious I got. Even the slightest weight put on my elbow would cause pain. At 4:30am, I was playing online bingo in an attempt to get my mind off this new found panic. It had an added benefit of being very boring; therefore, finally getting me tired enough to be able to fall asleep.

When I woke up this morning, my elbow was still hurting just as badly; so, I knew I had to tell Tom. I calmly told him about the sudden, unexplained pain. Bless Tom, he was so sweet. He talked about how it was too early to be alarmed. He said he knew it had to be rough for me, because with every new pain comes the fear that the cancer has spread elsewhere in my body. I showed him my arm and it was then that he wanted to know about the bright red scrape and the bruise on my forearm and elbow.

Huh?

Ohhh! I forgot I banged my elbow while taking out the trash yesterday.

Never mind.

Losing a Part of Me

How long until she is able to put her arm down? Since I'm having both breasts removed, my fear is that I'll look like I'm being held up at gun point for days on end. Truth is, I know that it will be painful for me to lift my arms for quite a long period of time after surgery.

We can all pretend that poster doesn't look THAT bad. But it does. Who can tell me what is missing from this picture? Class? Class? Anyone? Anyone? (Julie H., please close your eyes, because talk is going to be about nipples.)

I am going to lose my nipples. That is messing with me worse than you can even imagine. I know that there are people out there who are missing arms and legs and would trade places with me in a heartbeat. They're just nipples! Yeah, but they're mine.

Due to the fact that my surgery needs to happen without anymore delay - plus the added fact that they want to start chemotherapy as quickly as possible after surgery - I will not be able to have reconstructive surgery at the same time that I have my breasts removed. Things will be delayed greatly if we try to schedule my breast removal to be followed immediately with plastic surgery. You see, I need to be healed before I can start chemo. Reconstructive surgery slows healing time. If you do not start the reconstruction process right after the original surgery, your nipples will be lost. I know, I know, I know! My life is worth so much more than something so trivial as nipples. I'm scared what it will be like to wake up without breasts AND any hint of what should be there.

(My cousin's boyfriend offered to donate his nipples to me - he said boys don't need theirs. I had to kindly decline that touching offer. Thank you, Rick! I will bake you cookies.)

The fun part is knowing that after all is said and done...once all the cancer is blasted out of my body...I get to start painful surgery all over again with the reconstruction process. I have to remind myself to not think about any of this mess right now. This was supposed to be my nine days of no cancer talk. Easier said than done. I'm only supposed to be thinking about the next step that lies ahead on this journey. Again, easier said than done. Tonight I fell off the wagon.

Here's where I am right now: my house is clean; my laundry is caught up; I'm having a wonderful time with my family; I'm laughing with neighbors and I'm feeling less stress than I've felt since the day I found out I have cancer. But, I still have that little voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I have cancer.

Cheesecake might shut that voice up.
Only one way to find out!

Seven Days

An actual phone call:

Sheri: Hello?
J: Hey! You didn't update your blog yesterday.
S: I've nothing new to report about the cancer until after my surgery on the 12th. I thought I made that clear on my last post.
J: So?
S: (sigh) The point of this blog is to update about my breast cancer.
J: So?
S: I'm done with doctor appointments and tests. There is nothing more for me to put in the blog until I have my surgery.
J: But I like your blog and you are so beautiful and I've discovered that if I do not read your blog everyday that I cannot make it through the day. Yesterday I spent 12 hours in the fetal position while waiting for your new post. Please don't make me go through another day like that again.
S: Others feel this way?
J: Everyone in the world.
S: I had no idea.
J: There is no way you would have known, because you are completely free of ego.
S: I will admit that is one of my better qualities - and I have many. Hey? You want me to list all my great qualities?
J: YES! PLEASE!

Obviously, the call went on for many hours after that and I don't have to time to type all that out.

SERIOUSLY now - the purpose of this post is to say thank you to everyone for their kind words about my blog. You've no idea how good it makes me feel to know that a) people are actually reading what I'm typing and b) that people are enjoying it. As anyone can imagine, going through this is a roller coaster of emotions. The wonderful feed backs, kind words and especially all the prayers have made this almost bearable at times. If no one minds, I think I'll continue posting for the next 7 days, even if there are no more breast cancer updates.

Nine Days

Today was my last doctor visit until my surgery on the 12th. No more tests or consultations or anything else. All I have to do is count down until the surgery date. On Feb 12, I will be having my breasts removed along with some lymph nodes and up to four drains put in. I will have a shunt implanted above my heart for chemotherapy. On the 12th I will find out if I need radiation or not; it's depending on how many lymph nodes show cancer and how close to my chest wall the tumor is. All that and they think I should be out of the hospital and happily at home the next day. Happily was my word. It was sarcasm.

I'm not going to sit around worried about what is going to happen in 9 days. I'm no longer going to spend all day and night researching breast cancer or crying on the phone to people because I have breast cancer. It's all pretty much set now. No matter what else I learn or how sad I get between then and now, nothing is going to change. This operation is going to happen. And I'm ok. I am truly ok.

I can't imagine that I will be updating my little blog everyday between now and then. I guess I could keep updating the blog, but it seems unlikely that people will keep coming back to read things like, "today I was going to wash clothes, but my Netflix movies came in so I ate an entire bag of Cheetos and watched movies."

Here's hoping Netflix comes in tomorrow!

My Journey

I'm looking at breast cancer not as a battle, per se, but as a journey. I know a lot of survivors say they won the battle and I think that's awesome. They did win. But for me, I don't feel that I'm fighting. Not really.

What I have done is to see the best doctors in the Kansas City area. I've listened to their advice and prayed to God to guide me in the correct direction. I will now do everything in my power to survive.

My power is praying, asking for prayer and following the advice of doctors and specialists that I trust. My journey is doing these things one at a time. (Does any of this make sense?) For me a battle is mean and fierce and bloody and painful. Yep, cancer is mean and fierce and bloody and painful, but I'd rather look at it as a path I'm being forced to follow. (Now is anyone following?)

I have absolutely no idea how this journey is going to end. I don't. I know how I PRAY it will end. Is everyone aware that since the day I found out I have breast cancer my survival rate has done nothing but drop? I started out having a 92% survival rate. Once it was discovered that I was triple negative I moved down to 77% survival rate. Right at this moment I have been moved to the lovely rate of 68% chance of making it through alive. All I want to do is live. My family wants me to live. My friends want me to live. People I have never met and yet they are praying for me want me to live. As far as I'm concerned: I have a 100% chance or a 0% chance. All the numbers the doctors keep throwing around are a pure waste of my time.

Today I took my first real step on my journey. I cut my hair off. It was a horrible painful thing for me to do. I cried. I cried because I cut my hair! How sad is that? But I'm determined to find the good with every step I take. Today someone will get 24 inches of the most beautiful hair in allllllllllllllllllllllllll the world. My awesome, wonderful and beautiful friend Robyn sent me this Bible verse today: 2 Kings 2:23-24:

23 From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" 24 He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.

When Robyn sent that verse, I was in the process of getting my hair cut. I told no one I was going to cut my hair today. I wasn't sure I could go through with it and didn't want people asking me about it if I ended up chickening out. (I feel that way about going on a diet, too. If you tell people you are going to do something and then you don't do it, someone might laugh - or mention it in their blog. I personally don't know anyone like that, but I've heard they are out there. Those people are bad, but you must love them anyway.)

I know God is looking out for me - even for something as simple as a haircut. My haircut had to be done and I am now not even slightly upset about it. Thank you, God.

And to you, Robyn, I promise to never tell anyone of your random act of kindness. (By the way, if anyone hasn't read Rob's comment to me under the "Perhaps I was too hasty" entry, I highly recommend you do. Things are so much clearer now.)

Prayer Works

So much for taking the night off.

I decided yesterday to take today off from the blog since there wasn't going to be anything more to report until tomorrow. Turns out I was wrong. And I was bored. And I had a nightmare, so I was having a tough time going back to sleep.

First and foremost, I realized I had forgotten to share a very uplifting story about how God has guided us when we needed Him. There is that saying that goes: "be careful what you ask for, you just might get it." We turned to God and He gave us the answer we needed, but not necessarily what I wanted to hear.

As y'all know, my oncologist first recommended the best course of treatment for me would be a simple lumpectomy followed up with a pretty mild chemotherapy (she said I wouldn't even lose my hair) and radiation. Tom and I were both bothered a little, because this seemed an extremely unaggressive approach to what I know to be a very aggressive cancer. Tom asked Dr Young flat out, if I were her sister - would it cause her to change her treatment plan. She, of course, said no. But! We had the option to go ahead and have my left breast completely removed or both - should I worry about the cancer ever returning. What a choice.

My very emotional choice was to find a new oncologist, which we were unable to do. I had decided I was scared and I couldn't risk the cancer ever returning therefore I was going to have a double mastectomy. Tom told me to really think and pray about the doctor's opinion and advice. Of course this upset me! I was already getting the poster boards out for picket signs. My plan was to march around the hospital with a sign that said, "Dr Young doesn't care about Sheri's cancer." Now I had to add, "and neither does Tom." (I was never really going to do that, you know, right? That is a huge hospital, and I'm very lazy.) I did give Tom and the doctor the silent treatment - the doctor didn't notice and I think Tom enjoyed it.

Anyway! We decided the best thing we could do was to turn this decision over to The Lord. Tom and I prayed together and told God that we were leaving this up to Him to give us the answer for which we were searching. The next day is when I got the call from my favorite person Donna telling me it appeared that I have cancer in both breasts. I know God's watching out for me and guiding me - I just have to remember to ask Him to lead instead of the doctors.

AND secondly: After much prayer, it has been decided that I will be cancelling the two tests I have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I had been praying to decide if I really needed the tests. The two scans were going to cause me to be at the hospital all afternoon, which meant Tom had to miss more work, and we had to make special arrangements for the kids. Something inside me kept telling me I didn't need those tests. I finally told Tom my concerns, which is when he confessed to having the same thoughts, too. We prayed together and feel very much at peace with this decision.

What's Normal?

Nothing much going on today. I'd love nothing more than to keep my life moving on as usual until the treatments begin. I've tried to make a list of things I want to get done before before the surgery, but all I can think to do is eat cheesecake and take naps.

Truth be told, I'm so consumed with this cancer stuff that I'm neglecting my daily chores around the house. I wish I could figure out how to keep life moving as normal. Don't get me wrong - there are a lot of pluses to sitting around feeling sorry for yourself...people have no expectations for me and they don't say anything when I eat an entire cheesecake* in a single day.

*according to the st lukes cancer center, this is bad.

So here is my goal: stop whining, get up off my butt, clean my house, and get my life back to "normal" until I physically am unable to take care of my family.

I'm out until Monday night. Peace out, nice people.

Perhaps I Was Too Hasty

Another day another doctor's appointment.

Today is the day I went back to see Dr Young. I misjudged her. No, really. Maybe I was in a better state of mind, or maybe it was the fact that I was in a room that didn't have this poster. Something about this poster really bothers me, but I've not yet figured it out.

Anyway, I was honest with Dr Young and told her how I felt about our first meeting. I didn't feel the need to go into detail. Mostly I just told her that I didn't walk out of her office feeling like she was with me on the Save Sheri From Cancer Train. Wooo! Wooo! (I just read that out loud to Tom and asked him if the 'wooo wooo' sounded stupid and his response was, "not for your writing." More than likely I should be offended, and yet I'm not.)

Dr Young and I discussed how I felt about her last treatment plan and that I didn't feel it was aggressive enough. She said that old treatment plan was off the table now. After last week's MRI results, it seems she's going to have to give aggressive a new meaning. We talked about how the breast center said that with cases like mine, the treatment plan is to give chemotherapy first, then surgery, then more chemo and top it all off with a lovely dose of radiation. I realize I've said all along that I want the most aggressive treatment possible to stay alive, but the idea of two rounds of chemo doesn't thrill me like you might think it would. What Dr Young decided was to make the decision pending the results of more tests.

Yay. Flippin yay. More cancer tests.

Monday I have to be back at the hospital for a CT scan and a bone scan. Should both those tests come back without any sign of cancer, it will be business as usual. I'm not really sure what business as usual is now. I have an appointment with my wonderful surgeon on Tuesday, who will have the results of my Monday scan tests (riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight! because there is no way they won't be ready in time.) Pray, pray, pray, pray those test return without any problems! With no more cancer lurking in my body beyond the breast area, I believe my surgery will actually go as planned on Feb. 12.

MRI finding - or the thing they lied to me about after the first surgery...

The 1.6 cm tumor that they removed from my left breast during the last surgery, is actually over 2 cm in size. I mean - it's a more than 2 cm large tumor, but they missed getting out quite a bit of it...all they actually removed was 1.6 cm. Due to the amount of said tumor still hangin out in my breast, I got to be kicked up from a stage 1b triple negative breast cancer to a stage 2 n1 triple negative. And I qualify for Dr Young's clinic trial! Yessss! I am very happy about that. Dr Young rocks! I've always thought so, and those of you who doubted her doctoring ability should just be ashamed of yourselves.

Because of this leap up in the cancer stage and the increased size of the tumor and the cancer in one or more lymph nodes.... I am going to get three different types of chemotherapy medications. What she said they usually do is they will combine two of the meds for a few months or so then start the third med after that. This has less stress on you body. Much less chance of wicked side effects. The worst way to give them is all three at one time. You guessed it. Of course. I get em all at once. The good doctor explained that the three combined would destroy the veins in my arms so they will have to put a shunt in my chest at the same time of my mastectomy.

Blah.

Anyway, here's praying this next tests don't show anymore cancer. Cancer sucks and stuff.

Added comment:

To my sister Abby: you married my brother, but I think of you more as my sister than my sister-in-law. If you ever do again what you did today and NOT tell me about it because you think I've got too much going on in my life...I will start calling you "some girl who buys me stuff", because I'm not going to let you stop buying me stuff just because I'm upset with you. It would be wrong to hurt you like that.

Choices

I'm tired today.

We all get tired, but today seems to be more so than normal for me. I'm absolutely overwhelmed with all the choices I'm expected to make. Choices that affect my life. Choices that not only affects my life either, but the lives of my family - my children. If anything were to happen to me who would teach my children sarcasm?

I need to find the right doctor for me. All could think about today was: find a doctor; do it now, but make sure he is great; it's literally a matter of life or death; is there any doctor out there that wants me to live as much as I want me to live? How do I find him? How do i find him NOW?

In my breast and lymph nodes I have very aggressive cancer. It consumes my thoughts. Everyday I sit and learn more about this stupid disease. A disease that wants nothing more than to take my life from me. The cancer center is preparing me for what to expect, but they aren't really doing anything. The cancer is growing. I've no idea how fast it's growing, but I know it is.

When I was a little girl, my brother and I found some sort of ivy plant growing along the fence in our backyard. We thought it was kinda interesting looking. We had our mom come outside to look at our newly discovered weird plant. Mom agreed that it was unusual and we dug it up so we could replant it in our pretty flower bed. This ivy plant or whatever it was grew quickly and in just a few days had taken over the flowerbed. It was wrapping its self around the pretty flowers and killing them. We dug it up and pulled out the dead flowers, but it would return. I remember thinking that we should have pulled it out the moment we saw what it was doing, but we waited too long.

I look at my cancer like that weed - planting it's roots and growing - killing everything it touches. It needs to come out now. Everyday that goes by is another day that it grows stronger - attempting to do it's soul purpose for being inside me: to kill me. I'm tired of obsessing about it. I'm tired of waiting for someone to do something. I'm tired. I'm so tired I can't stand it.

So, here are my choices: the only oncologist I can get in to see right away is the lovely Dr Young, whom I've not been happy with. I'm able to see her tomorrow morning. Or I wait. Wednesday I can see a doctor that Vickie said she thought was good, or I wait til Jan 10th to finally see the one doctor that was recommended highly by many people. I can't wait. I'll see Dr Young tomorrow.

Tonight I want desperately to sleep. I want 15 seconds that the word cancer isn't in my mind. Even when I am able to sleep, I dream about that evil disease.

So here is what I ask of you my wonderful family and friends: help me, please. Pray for me. Pray with me. Pray I am able to find peace until my treatments finally begins. I just can't do this alone. Please, help me. I'm scared.

Thankful

I am in awe right now.

Today I spent from 9:30am - 3:00pm at the cancer center learning about cancer stuff. Things I learned today: the side effects of radiation suck, but aren't nearly as bad as the side effects of chemo; I have to buy my wig before I start chemotherapy; I have a short attention span when people talk to me for long periods of time; I have the start of a hangnail on my left thumb; it is extremely important that I watch what I eat, because breast cancer is the only cancer you get that causes you to GAIN weight (insert curse word here); I look GOOOOOOD in those cancer hats; I look like Aunt Jamima in the cancer scarves; when they tell you that there is now a medicine that keeps you from being sick during chemo - it only keeps some women from getting sick; the cancer center needs to find a new woman to share with me her survival story, because the one I had to talk to today sucked the life out of me (more on this later); I have so many praying for me that I'm speechless (Tom says to say thanks.)

Wow. I can't think of a better word than wow. When I was first diagnosed, I started getting emails from family and friends. Each day that went by my prognosis got worse and the emails increased. You may not believe this, but I've not been sleeping well the last couple of weeks - some stuff on my mind kinda keeping me from getting the 12 - 14 hours a night that a normal stay-at-home mom gets. Since I'm not sleeping, I wait til the family goes to bed to update my blog and return emails. Last night I was up until after 4am returning emails (if you were the one that received the email at 4:00, it doesn't mean I love you the least...I'm answering them in the order I receive them...as far as you know anyway.) Today when I got home I had over 50 emails, and only a very few of them were trying to sell me Viagra. (I wonder if the people from my church who are reading this will find that funny.)

I read this from an article written in Science Daily:

Triple negative breast cancer is a highly aggressive form which comprises 10-15 percent of newly diagnosed early stage breast cancer. Most triple negative tumors are high grade and have a high incidence of recurrence and metastases (spreading to other organs). Unlike other types of breast cancer, there is no standard follow-up treatment for triple negative breast cancer to prevent recurrence.

I can't spend the rest of my life sitting around worrying. I will never fully understand why God gave me this disease, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. God gave me cancer, but I also believe very strongly in the power of prayer. Whatever the path God decides I shall take, I know I'm not taking it alone. The surgery, the chemo, the radiation, is mine to go through...but somehow it's a little easier knowing there are so many, many, many people who are praying for me along the way.

"So then, those who suffer according to God's will should entrust their souls to their faithful Creator and continue to do what is good." 1 Peter 4:19

God, family, friends and a sense of humor will get me through this.

So here is a shout out to all mah peeps! I'll keep you abreast. Werd.

I'm sorry to say, sadly, that I'm too exhausted to tell the story of the cancer survivor lady, nor am I able to return emails tonight. I've taken a neat pill that is causing me to feel very drugged and kinda gangsta. Peace out.

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting

Wonderful Vickie from St Luke's Breast Center called a couple hours ago to inform me that my MRI report was in. She had a happy voice! A flood of relief washed through me. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath waiting for the results of that tests; the test that will tell me if I have cancer anywhere else in my body. Vickie had a happy voice. "Hi Sheri, I just wanted to let you know that your MRI report was in!" I could see her smiling. "I've not seen it myself, but I know it's here. Donna will be calling you with the results the first chance she gets!"

I start crying. The waiting continues.

For those of you who have forgotten, Donna is the one that called to inform me I had breast cancer. I sure look forward to hearing her voice again. I know I've joked a lot throughout this blog, but there is absolutely no joking when I say that I hear Donna's voice in my head sometimes telling me again and again that I have cancer. I wanted to know the results of my MRI, but I didn't want to hear them from Donna.

"Hi, Sheri, it's Donna, I was the one that had to call you last time, too." That voice, that tone, oh God, it's exactly the same as the last time she called. I start trembling before she even says another word. "I'm so sorry I have to call you with this, but your doctors are out of town."

"Just tell me."


"Well, Sheri, to be honest, it's not good. Your scan shows 4 additional areas in your right breast and it appears you do have cancer in two of your lymph nodes on the left side."


"I need you to stop now, I'm sorry." This time I'm alone in the house and I have no choice but to listen to the report. Appointments need to be made quickly now. The planned surgery for the 12th is off. Everything has suddenly been kicked into overdrive. "Ok" I ask her, "just how bad is this?"


"That's not something I can tell you. You'll have to discuss the fine details with your surgeon and oncologist." "I hate my oncologist." I tell her. She let me vent about how much I didn't like Dr. Young. I explained that I was trying to get a new oncologist, but so far that wasn't going well. Donna told me to find someone quickly, and whoever I find I better be happy with them, because I'm going to be seeing them a lot.


Before I hung up the phone with Donna, I asked her to never call me again. She said she didn't want to call me anymore either. Well, that was rude of her to say.


Time for more tears. I sat in my chair with my head in my hands crying until I could hardly breathe. I felt like a kid playing dodge ball: alone on my side, and the other team still has all 50 people remaining, and they're all holding a ball... and looking at me. I felt completely helpless with nowhere to run. My family and friends are all in the stands looking down at me, watching me slowly getting slammed with one ball after another. There is nothing they can do to help me. They have to watch as I start to pick myself up, only to see me turn around and get hit even harder. Unfortunately I can't quit either. My only option is to stand there and attempt to endure each jolt that is thrown my way.


I have to compose myself before I start the phone calls. As always, as soon as I start talking the tears begin to flow. Crap. After calling Tom and my parents, I decide I need to talk to someone else about that report. Poor Vickie. I know I'm driving her crazy, but I call her anyway to see if she has anything else to say about this latest information. She did.

Vickie hadn't seen my MRI report yet, so I told her what Donna told me. Vickie said I was very limited on time now with finding a new oncologist. She told me that what is usually the case was the surgeon decides to hold off on surgery and I will have to start chemotherapy as soon as possible. Because it appears now that both my breasts have cancer and it has spread to my lymph nodes, they can't be positive it isn't spreading elsewhere. Right now the main focus is to kill it with heavy blasts of chemo and then I will be scheduled for a double mastectomy, followed by more chemotherapy and possibly radiation. Awesome. Glad I called. I'm going to have to ask that Vickie no longer be allowed to touch the dodge balls.

Another Day With Crappy News

Before I begin........

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

That took a lot of effort on my part to mention anyone else in MY blog. It dang well better be appreciated.

Anyone who has gotten to know me over the last week or so (or hasn't gotten to know be, but has had the misfortune to pass me on the street or dial my number by mistake or deliver my mail) knows how very unhappy I've become with my doctors. It seems people come out of the woodwork with stories on how their great aunt Edna used to hang for 12 hours upside down on a clothesline until her cancer disappeared. And they also love to tell you the name of the oncologist that their mother/father/brother/neighbor used to cure their cancer. I'm interested in the names of the doctors given to me...you know, just in case my doctor.. oh, I dunno, gets killed by a pride of hungry lions while in Africa. That really could happen, you know. Honestly, it's probably a less than 10 percent chance that my doctor will get eaten by a lion while in Africa. She should be ok.

Anyway! A name that keeps getting mentioned time and time again is Dr. Lee, who happens to be right down the road from me. As far as I'm concerned, enough is enough with those other doctors and I'm going to see Dr. Lee, if for no other reason than to get a second opinion. It was a major production to get that office visit set up and have my files faxed over to him. In the midst of it all Allison reminds me that she needs her Abraham Lincoln costume finished up by Friday. The one I hadn't started sewing yet? Oh nooooooooooooooooooo!

Once again I'm on the verge of another melt down and it's Tom to the rescue. He's helping with homework, reading to the kids a book called "My Mom Has Cancer", cooking a chicken I planned to make for dinner but didnt, finishing the arrangements for my new doctor's appointment and ordering Allison an Abe Lincoln costume off the internet. He finally gets the costume ordered and informs me that a couple of calls beeped in while he was on the phone but he didn't click over. Those calls I had been waiting for all day. Every Monday the surgery and oncologist doctors (who aren't off frolicking in Africa) have a meeting and talk about newly diagnosed cancer patients. They decide what they believe is the best course of action for each new patient to take.

Since my doctors were both out of town (being eaten by lions, I'm sure), a wonderful woman named Vickie promised to attend then call me to tell me what they said about me. Vickie tried to call while Tom was on the phone. Tom did not click over. It was important to me to find out what they said. I was livid! How dare he not click over? I have cancer! I could fall over dead right now and he wouldn't care! He doesn't care at all about my plight! All Tom cared about was getting Allison that costume that I completely forgot to make because I've been totally wrapped up in my own self. It took Vickie almost 5 whole minutes to return my call after I left her a message. Let us all give Tom horrible looks the next time we see him. He's a bad man. Good grief. Have I always been this self absorbed?

Vickie told me the doctors studied my case and found it unusual (and thought I was the most beautiful woman in alllll the land...she didn't say that last part, it was just understood.) They had received another test result that we had been waiting on and it, of course, came back less than great. I'm starting to get numb to this crap now. What was interesting was the doctors thought I was a great candidate for one of the oncologists in their group's clinical studies. One of the doctor's is doing a study on unusual cases of triple negative breast cancer. I perked up! I wouldn't mind people studying me. Where do I sign up?

Vickie said she'll make some calls and see what she can do to get the ball rolling, and oh, by the way, the name of the doctor doing this study is Kelley Young. Sigh. Vic, baby, check my charts, sunshine...do you see the name listed there as my oncologist? PAUSEEEE. "Well, I show it's Dr. Kelley Young. How long has it been since you've seen her?" FRIDAY! This past freakin Friday!

It seems this clinical study that Dr Young is doing on unusual cases of triple negative breast cancer patients didn't need me; her own patient. Heaven only knows why she didn't want me. Maybe I was too pretty? Maybe she was jealous of the very cool tennis shoes I was wearing that day? Maybe she was grossed out because the whole time I was in her office crying I was using the sleeve of my t-shirt to wipe my nose? Who's to know? I do know one thing right now - if she were to beg me and pay me money and buy me a new car to just to join her clinical trial... I totally would.

Looks Like It's Something

Part IV

Recovering from the lump removal was longer than I expected. The doctor told me I would be sore the day of the surgery and the following day, after that I should start feeling much better. What a freakin liar. I hurt! My entire breast was swollen about 5 times it's normal size, while turning a stunning shade of red and purple. But, all in all, I was dealing with the pain better than I normally would have, because I had the knowledge that the lump removed was nothing. Finally that mess was over. I recover quickly with only a scar to remind me of everything I just went through.

Don't we all know by now this actually turned out to be something? That phone call will be forever ingrained into my mind: "Mrs. Strickland, this is Donna at St Luke's Breast Center and (pause) I'm sorry (pause) we found some cancer cells in your biopsy." She went on talking, but I didn't hear another word. I repeated back to her the word 'cancer'. It was all I could do to keep hold of the phone, but she kept talking. I told her to stop, please, give me a second to process that. Tom was sitting across the room from me and I saw his face turn white and his head drop down to his chest. It was the middle of the day on weekday and I was so thankful to God that Tom was there. I explained to the woman that I couldn't think and didn't understand anything she was saying. I handed the phone over to Tom and walked out of the room.

When I left the room, I started crying. Then I started processing exactly what I heard: "some" cancer cells. That didn't sound so bad. Kinda like: "good job cleaning the entire house, but I found 'some' dirt on the floor, take another 5 minutes to clean that up." Some? How bad could that be? They told me the spot was about 7 mm and in that they found "some" cancer cells. What are we talking here? 4 or 5 cancer cells total? The more I thought about it, the calmer I got. Just a few days ago I got skin cancer blasted off my arm. "Some" cancer cells on my skin. Fine! It's cancer, but it's NOTHING cancer. Pffft. I'm going to be ok.

Monday, January 19, 2009. That's the day I will never forget. Back to the breast center. There was a nonstop flow of women coming in and out of my little patient room. It seemed like they were all talking at once. They filled an entire canvas bag of books and papers about breast cancer awareness, support groups, how to cope, when to cry, what to eat, books for my children to read, etc, etc, etc. Slow down, people! I don't have breast cancer. I have a blip of some sort. Five cancer cells maybe. Come on! That's not breast cancer. Is it? Women die from breast cancer. There is absolutely no way I have that.

The surgeon came in at some point to explain what she extracted during the surgery. She said the tumor was a little under 2 cm big. Tumor? Did she just say tumor?

Processing that...

Ok, it was a tumor. They knew going into surgery something was there, but not what it was exactly. Fine, it's a tumor. The room is full of noise and talking . So many people around me, but all I can do is process one word at a time. I have a tumor. NO! I HAD a tumor. She removed the tumor that was almost 2 cm large.

Processing that...

WAIT! How big? I asked her why they told me it was tiny tiny tiny, but wasn't wasn't wasn't wasn't. She explained that when she extracted it from me, it didn't look like a tumor. It was a jagged and odd looking mass. (I'm sure her tumors are stupid looking too, but I would never call them names as she just did mine.)

I think I held it together, for the most part while I was there. Most of it was a blur. I felt pretty detached from everything everyone was talking about because what they were talking about, I did not have. The surgeon told me she removed my tumor. If she needed to go back in and root around in that area to insure she got everything...ok by me! And then we'll be done, right?

Did I just hear the word radiation? They are talking about chemotherapy now. NO! I don't have breast cancer. "SOME" cancer cells. That's what she said. Who get chemo and radiation when they only have "some" cancer cells? I don't have breast cancer! I have something like skin cancer, but inside my body. They removed them. I promise to stay out of the sun and eat less red meat and whatever else it takes. This is crazy. Stop talking to me like I have breast cancer. I'm only 39 years old!

When I asked the surgeon if she was sure, she didn't answer, she hugged me. Oh God. How dare she hug me? I suddenly got very angry with this woman. I asked her why she told me when I was in recovery that the tumor looked like nothing? I was raising my voice now. I told her that surgeons are supposed to be able to tell when it's cancer! My voice getting even louder as I reminded her that she said it wasn't! I was screaming when I asked: Why didn't she warn me!?

They really are saying I have this. I broke down completely right then. What they were saying hit me between the eyes; they were seriously saying I have a disease that kills thousands of women each year. My surgeon seemed to be able to read my mind and told me exactly what I wanted to hear: Sheri, you're not going to die from this. I'm not? Saa weet! Those were the words I wanted to hear and it calmed me down.

Now it was the time to go over my pathology report. Everything thing sounded A-ok to me.

Most common type of breast cancer (check!)!

Most studied (check!)!

Caught early (check!)!

Aggressive level 2 (chee.. whaaa?)

Not a huge deal, she explains! Three is as high as it goes and I'm smack dab in the middle. Sooooo.. (check??)

Tested negative for Her2, estrogen and progesterone hormones *no clue what any of that means, but negative sounds like a good thing to me* (check!)

Hold on there, Little Buckaroo. Uncheck that please. Cancer needs one or all of those to feed it, to make it grow - that way all the doctors have to do is give the woman a hormone blocker and TA DA. I had cancer that is being fed and is growing by some unknown force. Because they don't know what's making this grow, they can't give any type of hormone blocking medicine.

My cancer is called triple negative. It is aggressive and rare. While it has been discovered that chemotherapy works wonders to rid your body of this. Sadly, it has an extremely high chance of showing up somewhere else in your body years later.

This is the point where I've been asked to decide what to do. Do I want them to go back in, check the lymph nodes and do another sweep around the area where the tumor was? Do I want one breast removed? Do I want them both removed?

What I want is what is best for my children and family: to stay alive. I will do whatever it takes. I'm just not sure what it is right now.

Surgery On Nothing

Part III

Christmas came and went without much worry. In fact, I had pretty much forgotten about that silly lump until January 5, 2009. This was the day of my scheduled biopsy. The last appointment of the day and they had to squeeze (hee!) me in at 5:00 that evening. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I wasn't nervous either. At this point I had forgotten about the whole use of the cancer word and was doing nothing more than following doctor's orders to double check that it was nothing, just as he had asked.

It was after 6:00 before the doctor had a chance to see me. I was grumpy and just wanted the needle in the lump, a little band aid put on my breast and be sent out the door. Of course it didn't happen that way. Of course there was a mix up somewhere. Someone, somewhere, somehow didn't contact me to let me know there was to be no biopsy. Heavens no! My charts were sent to this surgeon and upon viewing them decided she wasn't doing a biopsy...she was removing the lump completely. Surgery. My appointment with her was purely as a consult. By now none of this lump thing had gone as planned and I shouldn't have been surprised, yet I was. I almost fell off the table. Surgery? Removing the lump? A lumpectomy? You woulda thought someone would have called to inform ME about this change in plans. She asked if I had any questions. Uhhhhhhhhhhh....I don't know. I was caught off guard and couldn't think of anything to ask. So, ok, looks like today I wasn't having a biopsy, instead I'll just let you cut my breast open on January 12th.

Oh, encouraging news! While I was there she decided to give me a breast exam and couldn't feel any lump anywhere. Whew. But let's go ahead and remove that tiny little something that was found on the mammogram just to be safe. It'll be nothing. She explained what the basic lumpectomy entailed. I thought she was kidding. Oh, for heaven's sake! This tiny little nothing has done nothing but give me problems since the day I first found out about it.

Between the time I found out about the surgery and the day of the surgery, I got crankier and crankier. It had nothing to do with me being worried about having cancer; I don't like having surgery. I've had so many surgeries in my life that the idea of one more got me in a real bad mood. I was going to be glad to be rid of this little nothing, because it was starting to become a serious pain in my butt.

January 12, 2009: Surgery Day

My surgeon was getting ready to leave for Africa for 3 weeks - due to this I was unable to have my surgery in a hospital close to my house. All her appointments before she left the country were at St Luke's Hospital in beautiful downtown Kansas City, MO. Crap. I had to be at the breast center attached to that hospital by 7am. Sure hope we don't get lost. Of Course we did! By the time we made it into the breast center I was in one majorly foul mood.

I don't know about you, but when I'm in a wicked bad mood, there's nothing I like better than to sit down and fill out 200 pages of paperwork. It doesn't matter that I already filled out all those exact paper at the St Luke's breast center by my house. Fill em out again! FINE! But I wasn't going to smile or write clearly.

Time ticked on while they went through checking insurance and putting my information into the system. I was pacing the waiting room for a couple of reasons: one being that I was allergic to the room and didn't want to sit on anything, and the other reason was that they had told me what they were going to do to me before they put me to sleep for the lumpectomy and it sounded bad. A very nice woman showed up in the waiting room and started chatting with me. She was able to figure out that I was on edge and offered to give me a relaxing massage. Yeah, whatever, but I'm not paying ya. She rubbed my back slowly, pushing on my shoulder blades one at a time. I liked it. I totally should have exchanged numbers with her.

"Mrs Strickland, come on down! You're the next patient to have a wire shoved into her breast with almost no numbing done first!" Woo! I had to lie on my stomach with my boobs hanging out below me. X-rays were done, a radiologist was called in - without a word to me, he gave me a shot in my breast then quickly shoved in a wire that was about the size of the lead of a pencil. His work there was done so he left. He was so nice. Someday I hope to see him out in public so I can return the favor by shoving objects into his sensitive areas then just quickly walking away. I'm certain he'll enjoy it as much as I did.

There is now about 8 inches of wire protruding from my breast, soooo... must be surgery time! In my little hospital gown and socks, they walk me into the actual hospital where I will be having my stupid, little, nothing lump removed. Yippy.

The whole thing was extremely quick. I was in and out of surgery, bandaged up, then sent home in just a matter of a few hours. One thing I remember quite vividly was waking in recovery and asking if the lump looked like it might be cancerous. NOOOPE. It looked like nothing. Awesome. Thank you! And if you could get me out of here as quickly as possible I would appreciate it soooo much, as you can tell, I seem to be allergic to your little room here and I'm turning into one big hive rash.

Before I had my surgery, I was told by countless people that this is what the surgeon does. This is her job. She's done this so many times that, just by eyeballing it, she can usually tell if the object removed is cancerous. When she said it looked like nothing, I gotta tell ya, I was happy. I was finally done with that mess. The only thing left was the formality of the phone call telling me it wasn't cancer. It was nothing. They assured me it was nothing. I wasn't too overly worried.

Continued on Part IV

MRI Day

January 23, 2009

The story on how I got to this point is on hold. Sorry about jumping around, but my mood today is at an all time low and trying to focus on the details of how I got here are seemingly impossible.

This is going to sound so depressing and I'm sure a few of you will laugh, but today was the day it finally hit me. I have breast cancer. YES! I know! I've been writing this silly blog because I have breast cancer. But those were just words that some doctor told me and in my head they were wrong. I didn't have cancer. I couldn't. It wasn't right. How the HELL could this be going on?

No, no, no, no, NO! The phone was going to ring and someone was going to tell me this was wrong. The tests were wrong. I just knew it. Someone was going to call. Please, God, please, let someone call me and tell me this was just a mistake. Oh, God, please.

Today was the day I finally had to give up hope. Today I had my MRI and spoke to my oncologist. She sat down and calmly flipped through my chart while talking about all my options. I was listening, but not really. I was waiting for her to hit that page that would show her that there was an error on the report. Instead she kept talking and pointing up at poster on the wall of a woman who had the insides of her breasts showing.

All I needed today was one small shining glimmer of hope to keep me going. All I got were the options I had ahead of me: remove the lump, remove the breast, remove both breasts, radiation, chemotherapy, how much chemotherapy, how much hair will fall out, and on and on and on. Inside my head I was screaming for her to shut up! This was so wrong. How could I see this, but no one else could? I feel fine! Why do people keep telling me I have this disease that could kill me when I don't feel sick at all? This doesn't make sense.

She stops talking and asks me a question regarding one of my horrible options and that was my opportunity to ask her, to plead to her: double check for me? Isn't it possible my healthy tumor got switched with someone else's? I mean, heck, it happens with babies! I was crying. Again. And she said no. No. It was my tumor. I have cancer. My tumor showed cancer cells. And she didn't freakin know why.

Why won't someone tell me why? I'm not asking "why me?". Honestly, I get that people get sick and I'm no better than anyone else. I want to know what caused this damn thing to grow in my breast. I want to know why I can't wake up from this nightmare. Women much older than me get breast cancer. Women with a long family history of breast cancer. Women who didn't have MY two small, beautiful children.

I was ready to run from this office as I did the first one. She started with the numbers; the percentages. Don't give me that crap again. How could you possibly think I want you to tell me how high my survival rate is when you are the same people who told me that it was a less than 10 percent chance of being cancer in the first place? How dare you look me in the eye now and tell me that I have an 86 percent survival rate before you even start the chemo - and heck, add the chemo to it so I can give myself another 7 percent.

All you doctors have done so far is lie to me and give me false hope. Excuse me if i choose not to jump up and hug you for HOPEFULLY saving my life from a cancer that was SUPPOSED to be nothing in the first place. I'll let you remove my breasts and I'll let you pump my body full of poison - so much so that my hair starts to fall out. But know this: my life is in God's hands. Your words and your numbers are meaningless to me.

You Have To Relax! It's Nothing!

Part II



I've left the breast clinic and I'm sitting in my car sobbing like an idiot. I remember looking up and seeing a woman walk by and stare in at me. Yeah, ok, I realized then it was time to pull myself together because I still had to drive home. Seemed silly to sit there crying hysterically about dying from cancer only to drive off a cliff while trying to get home. (If there are cliffs in Kansas City... I've not seen any, but I've been pretty wrapped up in myself lately. I promise to check on that and get back to you.)



I'm trying desperately to pull it together while I drive home, but by that time I had a throbbing headache and was shaking like a leaf. I'm not sure how long I was at the breast clinic, but it was many hours and I probably needed food. And there she sat! McDonald's! Yes! As I drove through the drive thru, I could smell the food and it made me want to throw up. I ended up ordering one of those ice coffees they have there. Hazelnut. Tasty. Crap! Both cup holders were full! Son of a ... my phone started ringing! And there I was sitting in my car in the McDonald's drive thru, trembling, nowhere to put my coffee, unable to answer my cell phone (AND WHY THE HECK DID I PICK THAT SONG FOR THE RING TONE?) Oh great, now snot is coming out of my nose! All the while some punk McDonald employee is staring at me. And I cry harder.

I'm not sure how, but I managed to make it home. It was Christmas vacation and Tom had been watching the kids while I was gone. Of course all the kids in the neighborhood had to be at my house when I pull up. Sledding and snowman building got put on hold when the crazy woman pulls up in the driveway. Jacob came running up to me, but I had to just shoo him away from me because I was unable to speak. Unbeknownst to me, Jacob ran off crying and told my neighbor that his mommy was dying of cancer. She made me pumpkin bread (which is what you do when someone is dying.)

I made it into the house dragging behind me my purse, phone, coat, and stupid freakin coffee. Tom looked up from the computer and asked me EXACTLY what the doctor had said. I had to think. He said he found a 7 cm mass on my left breast and he thought it was cancer. Yep, that's what he said. I explained that I was extremely upset and went running out of the building, so I didn't know what I was supposed to do next. I could tell he was trying to be compassionate, yet wanting to shake me for more information. Meanwhile...the phone would not stopped ringing. Right at this minute, I can't remember if my dad was with my grandparents or if he was in Texas at the time. I know he wasn't in Florida. And I know he wasn't with me.

I'm not sure who all called that day, but I refused to talk to anyone. Poor Tom had to answer each call and relay to them the small amount of information he had been given by me. He finally got so tired of it all that he told me to get him the name of the breast clinic and the name of the radiologist that saw me. Seriously, Tom? I could barely order coffee from McDonald's. Do you know what you are asking me? Somehow, someway, he found out where I had been and was able to call them.

It went a little somthing like this: "Uh, yeah, my wife is Sheri Strickland, I believe she was just there and went running out very upset. She wasn't sure if there was more she was supposed to do or schedule. She's still very upset. So upset, in fact, I'm unable to get any real information out of her. She can't remember the name of the radiologist, but said he was a short guy with a British accent."
"Hey, Sheri, does Dr. McDonald sound right?"
"I have coffee from McDonald's."
"Helpful. Thanks."
Back to the receptionist: "yeah, that sounds like it's probably who it was. You think I could leave him a message or something? He's available? Sure, I'll talk to him!"
"Sheri, he's putting him on the phone. You want to talk to him?"
"He said I have cancer." Hysterical crying continues.
"Ok then."

It was a very long conversation, and I will admit, I was curious when Tom got off the phone. Curious and a little, tiny, ity, bit afraid. Of Tom. Something told me the information I had gathered was a bit off. It was. It seemed that Dr McDonald remembered me well. He remembered that it took several tries to even find the spot on my sonogram. That's how small it was. He said it wasn't 7 cm, but 7 mm. I do not have a ruler handy, but I hear there is quite the difference between those two numbers.

The good doctor informed Tom that he told me in ever way possible that he did not believe it was cancer. He said he explained to me that there were a million different possibilities and on the bottom of that list was cancer. But his best guess? It's not cancer. Noooope. He said the only reason he recommended me even getting it checked out was because I was a mother of two little children. If I had been a 70 year old woman, he wouldn't have even bothered mentioning it. He explained that I should enjoy the holidays and sometime after that I might want to think about having it biopsied. More than 90 percent chance it was nothing. Take it easy, relax, enjoy the holidays. It's nothing.

Now I had to call all those people back to explain that I overreacted. Turns out, I tell them, it's probably nothing.


Continued on Part III

It's Nothing Really!

Part I:

In October of this past year Tom, who works for the federal government, finds out he's going to be working in Kansas City, MO. We've been living in Topeka for 6 years and pretty much have developed a strong dislike for the entire city. Yay! We're leaving Topeka! I have a history of some pretty nasty medical problems, so in every way the move to the big city is a great idea. Better doctors and hospitals.

Priorities being what they are, I need to find new doctors as quickly as possible. My first stop shopping was with a specialty doctor who decided to do an over-all blood work test thing-a-do. He called me back in to let me know that he found a problem with my thyroid and while he could handle it, he didn't wanna. He recommended his own personal family doctor. So, cool, I figure he must be ok. I made the appointment, but as you know with any new doctor when you are a new patient it takes awhile before you're able to get in. I wasn't worried, not like a malfunctioning thyroid was going to kill me.

December 18, 2008. That's the day everything began to unravel. I went to see my new doctor, (who, by the way, was WONDERFUL) and there was a problem with the original thyroid test not being sent over. Should I wait? Should I just get new ones? It was decided that since there was an ice storm rolling in that afternoon, I should just go across the hall and have the blood work redone. But hey! While I was there and he had no charts to look at, he might as well give me a full physical. He found a tiny spot of skin cancer on my arm and got out what I think was a blow torch of dry ice to spray on it. Thanks! That was painful.

Then he did my breast exam. I remember he checked my right one first, I only remember this because he spent twice as long feeling up my left one. For all I knew, he was just enjoying the moment. Can you blame him? I'm a lovely woman. He left the room and as soon as I was redressed he returned with two sheets of paper. One for my blood work and the other he told me to take to the breast center right across the street, or he said, I could call, but do it as soon as possible. That's pretty much all he said. He said nothing about how he might have felt something in my breast. I was just told it was time I got my first mammogram.

What the heck, it's a crappy day and I have nothing else to do, I'll run over across the street to set up the appointment. Nice place. Nice people. Full waiting room. I explain to the lovely woman behind the desk that my doctor just gave me this paper and told me to set up an appointment. She asked my age and when I told her 39, she explained that women don't typically get their first mammogram until they are 40. Fine by me! I handed her the sheet anyway. Lovely lady looked at my paper, looked back up and at me and said she could get me in right now.

Now wait! I had a thyroid problem and a couple hours later I'm getting my boobies squished in some machines? What the heck? The woman who gave me my mammogram was very nice. She talked about her grand babies. A lot. SERIOUSLY. A lot. Anyhooo, she told me all that is done is they take two shots of each breast, send you home and you should expect a letter in the mail telling you everything is just fine. Unless it's not. Then they'll call you in a couple days. Of course she did nothing to calm my nerves when she decided my left breast needed more than two shots. Whatever! I went home to wait for my letter.

December 19, 2008: 8:00am. Phone ringing. "Mrs. Strickland, this is the breast center and the radiologist needs you to come in for further scans. What time today can you be here?"

"Are you even kidding me???"

Ok, I shower and off I go, in the snow, all alone, back to the breast center. It's nothing, I'm sure it's nothing. Women are always talking about how they have little lumps removed from their breast and it's always nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing. I know it's nothing.

I walk in and am ushered back into the little patient only waiting area. I'm stripped from the waist up, put on my little hospital gown AND fluffy white robe (which I was allergic to, so that sucked) and waited. They apologize repeatedly for making me wait, but they didn't have any appointments available and were squeezing (hee!) me in first chance they got. It's ok, I thought, because it's nothing. I hope. Please God let it be nothing.

Finally! Into the mammogram room where I get three more shots of my left boob. The nice lady explained that this time, it's going to hurt. They have to really squish down hard, because they are hoping it's just a shadow or crossed veins. By squishing it, they might be able to make the veins move or the shadow disappear. It didn't work. Mr English Radiologist Dude (Merd for short) comes in to examine the x-rays and tells her to take another from a different angle. Three times he came back and did this. Merd clearly had no idea that this was painful for me and the dang spot, shadow, blip or whatever wasn't going away! He orders a sonogram. Oh goody, she has to squeeze (hee!) me in today. They're so sorry about making me wait. No problem! I'm kinda sorta sure it's nothing. Maybe.

Finally times two! It's sonogram time! Woo! She was nice, too. I was watching the screen and I was able to focus in on what I was sure was the giant tumorous growth. I didn't notice that she was zooming in, over and over and over. By the time Merd came in, I was sure I had bowling ball sized tumor in my left breast. And THAT was something!

Here's what I kinda remember hearing: "we found something" "cancer", then that was followed by high pitched squeaking and what was surely words that sounded Latin. I couldn't take anymore. I had been there for hours and I was done. My emotions were shot. I remember starting to cry, standing up, getting dressed, and running out of the office. I had no idea if there was more I was supposed to do. If there were papers for me to sign. Appointments for me to schedule. I fell apart.

Part II tomorrow...