"Five Hundred, Twenty Five Thousand, Six Hundred Minutes"

Ever since meeting my oncologist in Fredericksburg yesterday and receiving my 52 week chemotherapy plan, I can't get that iconic Rent song, "Seasons of Love" out of my head.  "How do you measure, measure a year?"  It's quite an odd feeling to know that I have a group of people, a great team of caring doctors and nurses, looking for me every Thursday for the next 52 weeks.  And then, after one year, they will continue to treat me with radiation and anti-hormonal therapy.  I knew that my treatment plan would be a long road, but seeing it with actual dates was just another step of embracing my identity as a cancer patient.  I feel like I owe myself a new luggage set - is there a registry for this type of thing?

I really love my doctor because he knows his stuff, but he dropped Harry Connick, Jr.'s name to discuss my type of cancer with me.  Any doctor that will put the mental picture of a handsome man like that in my anxious-filled mind gets an A in my book.

I have Stage IIB Adjuvant Invasive Ductive Carcinoma, HER2-positive breast cancer.  Clinicians describe HER2-positive breast cancer "as a breast cancer that tests positive for a protein called human epidermal growth factor receptor 2 (HER2), which promotes the growth of cancer cells."  Not that long ago, women like me were given much lower odds in chances that the cancer wouldn't come back and thus lower chances of survival.  Thanks to a UCLA researcher, Dr. Dennis Slamon (played by Harry Connick, Jr. in the movie, Living Proof), the ground-breaking drug Herceptin was developed to reduce the aggressive nature of this cancer-producing protein.  I was amazed and grateful to learn that because of funding from the cosmetic giant Revlon and the famous "Fire and Ice" ball started by Lilly Tartikoff, wife of NBC executive Brandon Tartikoff, who died of cancer in 1997, Herceptin was made possible.

So, how do you measure a year?  I guess I'll take it a week at a time and see how it goes.  I think a trip to LA, with my new luggage set, sounds good to me ;-)

Granny, LuLu, Anna, and Me

I think it's safe to say that organizing our move from Massachusetts to Virginia was stressful enough and then, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, we were faced with the emotional toll that brought, but the reality of how all my appointments and procedures would impact our ability to move as scheduled.

Steve and I went to our house closing at 9am on Friday, June 27th and at 11:30am that same morning, I was informed by my oncologist that the team felt I was good to go and that my team of doctors down south were ready to take over my treatment.  I really can't thank my Boston doctors enough for their swift and smart decision-making.  Yes, I'm still scared as hell as to what lies ahead, but when I think about the professionals I have fighting this shitty thing called cancer with me, I re-focus on the good stuff that life has to offer.  Or, the funny things in life that you can't make up like traveling roughly 500 miles with your mom, your 3-year-old daughter, and your 16-year-old, crazy cat, LuLu.

We had LuLu checked out and boarded during the time that we had to deal with the movers, house closing, etc.  I was shocked, as many who know her were, that she got a complete clean bill of health from her vet.  I know it sounds horrible, but because LuLu has been less than kind to us with her bathroom habits, we thought maybe the time had come for us to part ways due to renal/kidney issues.  My mother, who is beyond sainthood at this point for all that she has done for me and my family, has agreed to have LuLu live with her. It was quite sweet to hear how my mom was thinking about giving her one of the bedrooms with a bathroom so that LuLu would feel safe (she liked being under beds and in bathtubs).  Then, my mom spent time with her...

We began our adventure towards Virginia and LuLu's meows only got worse over time, the chick is pretty strong for only 9 pounds - that cage was rocking!  Anna thought she was hungry, angry, or missed her daddy.  Eventually, Anna decided to join in and you couldn't decipher who was groaning more.  O.K. time to get out of the car.  We stopped in Bethel, CT and was unlucky at our first 2 stops to find a vacancy/accept pets place.  Then, we found what I'm sure is the smallest HoJo's ever - it had quite the hostel feel, we were meeting people from Germany, Portugal.  It was our own little World Cup village!

As soon as we got into the room, I knew to check under the bed with the hopes they had those blockers to prevent you losing small items, which they did.  So, I got LuLu set-up and let her explore the room and she did well with her litter box and eating her food.  We all got a good night's sleep and woke up wondering, where's LuLu?

Wouldn't you know there was a small 4x4 hole at the headboard that she stuffed herself into?  My mom had to move two dressers (one had a safe in it) and I had to borrow a broom to poke her out, which worked, but then she got away from us, so the second time, I just had to go for it and pull her out like a mama cat would do.  The amount of adrenalin running between my mom and I was unbelievable - we've never needed iced coffee more.  Thank goodness for that well placed Dunkin Donuts drive-thru next door.

My mother, enjoying her iced coffee, calmly said, "basement it is LuLu".  A quiet meow was uttered from the back seat; she was pretty docile for the rest of the morning drive.  We had a lunch picnic at a rest area and brought her carrier outside with us.  Upon seeing what was out there in the real world (people, trucks, dogs, and lots of noise), she seemed perfectly content to be in her carrier; we didn't hear from her for the rest of the trip.

I got all of LuLu's essentials set-up in the basement, knowing she would have all kinds of places to hide, I just kept checking the litter box and food/water bowls to make sure she was o.k.  Of course, she was fine, she was finally living where no one would ever bother her.  On Tuesday, the third day, she showed herself to me, talked to me as if to say, "you are never doing that to me again" and went right back to her hiding place. That's o.k., I know I'll get to pet her at some point - she's still got a little kitty cat in her. ;-)

 

"See me beautiful"

288 days ago, Jack started Kindergarten.  He had just dealt with me having been in the hospital for a week and losing our beloved cat, Buck.  I recall spending time talking with his teacher, expressing concerns that he may have trouble transitioning into the classroom environment.  Of course, it was more about me and my fears and guilt.  As my health continued to decline, Jack and I had our struggles.  Then, I was diagnosed with cancer and although we provide Jack details about my illness in small doses, I imagine his 6-year-old brain thinks I should be able to do something about it!  I get angry with myself for being sick and then get frustrated with him for not listening to me and then he acts out because we are all just one hot mess.  It's a roller coaster we've all been on as parents, it's just an even uglier one that you can't get off of when cancer is also a member of your household.

Today, I attended Jack's Kindergarten recital, a celebration of his graduation to 1st grade.  It was really special for us to attend along with my mom and Gayle, our wonderful daycare provider.  It was a bit hard for me to focus because I found out today that I'll be having 2 more surgical procedures next week - my surgeon needs to go back into the breast tissue and I also need to have a biopsy of a cyst found on my liver.  The fatigue from being part of the Frequent Flyer Surgical Club and our pending move to Virginia has been challenging.  I try to stay positive, but today felt like a day to use my, "I have cancer, I can be an entitled bitch if I want to be" card.  I haven't started any form of chemo or radiation yet, so, not knowing what lies ahead during the treatment phase of my cancer journey scares me that much more.  I'm overwhelmed by the fear of not being the mom Jack and Anna need me to be, the mom that I want to be.

The students sang many wonderful songs, but the following song, performed using sign language, stopped me in my tracks:

  See me beautiful

Look for the best in me

Its what I really am

And all I want to be

It may take some time

It may be hard to find

But see me beautiful

See me beautiful

Each and every day

Could you take a chance 

Could you find a way

To see me shining through

In everything I do

And see me beautiful

Thanks for teaching me, Jack.  Message received, message received.

"Gotcha wallet? Gotcha watch?"

Father's Day offers a time to reflect on all the great memories I shared with my dad and to be so very thankful for Steve, a dad who was made for Jack and Anna.  It's also a time that I grieve for my dad. Both he and Steve's dad would have been such wonderful grandfathers.  Whether it's Father's Day, my dad's birthday, or the holidays, I often get that empty feeling knowing my kids won't get the benefit of hearing his stories and advice or getting the best hugs from a 6 foot 3 inch gentle giant.

Since being diagnosed with cancer, I've thought about my dad quite a bit and wished I could get one of those hugs.  Whenever we headed out on vacation or even short road trips, my dad would ask all of us, "Gotcha wallet? Gotcha watch?" - even as young kids who had neither, he would still ask us that question every time. My sister and I would laugh it off, but we did ask one day why he kept saying that question.  He told us that we should always remember to "take inventory".  As a military man, he had to have everything in his barracks checked every morning and night, so I can see where he got into the habit of "taking inventory", but I see now he wasn't just talking about the material things.

Our upcoming move to Virginia and my diagnosis came together in such a ridiculous fashion.  I literally had to stop and take inventory - thanks, Dad!  Steve and I have never quite had the same style of packing - he packs in a flash and makes decisions later.  I, on the other hand, painstakingly go through everything and am paralyzed by whether I should keep something or not.  A bitch slap like cancer made the packing decisions of keep, toss, recycle, or donate a whole lot easier. No, I really don't need to save that Crate&Barrel wrought-iron candelabra from 1997.  The logistics of our upcoming move is still stressful, but I think our de-cluttering efforts have helped us to focus on the intangibles and to deal with our new normal a little bit better each day.

Having my mom be by my side in this early stage of living with cancer has reminded me just how positive my parents, as partners, were in any situation - and really, they had so many reasons in their lifetime to be bitter, depressed, and pessimistic.  It's that positive spirit that has gotten me through each step since the lump was detected on April 24th.  I am thankful for my party-filled last day at BU, I am grateful for having been able to give my children fun birthday parties, and hopeful to continue to spend quality time with close friends before we move.   These moments, these connections are the inventories that matter.

It is what it is

Every day since leaving BU, I wear the bracelet pictured above.  My wonderful ERC family was smart to remind me of my own words that I would commonly say around the office, "It is what it is".  They contacted Steve to get the navigational coordinates of our building so they could have them engraved inside.  Now, if I could only practice what I preached...

My last day at BU was Friday, May 30 and in what seemed like a flash, I began my journey as a breast cancer patient on Monday, June 2 when I had my lumpectomy and lymph nodes extraction.  During this first week without my BU family, I've been in quite a lot of pain, both emotionally and physically.  Of course, having a buffet of pain and nausea medications to choose from helped to not really have to think about my new existence.

When I woke up on Friday, June 6, I was in some pain, but really anxious because I realized that in this coming week, everyone around me would be "back to normal".  My mother has returned home, Steve and the kids will be going to work and school, and my BU colleagues will be catapulted into presenting orientation sessions, preparing for fall, and enjoying their own summer vacations with family and friends.

I'm not sending out invitations to a pity party (yet).  I know how fortunate I am to have people checking on me post-surgery and will continue to be thankful for the support offered and provided.  What this anxiety is about is that, in my mind, my professional identity fades a little each day.  To look at my cell phone and not have e-mail to check is hard for me - I'm not needed anymore.  Yes, Steve and the kids need me and I'm trying to be the best I can be given the circumstances.  But, it's hard to turn that student affairs switch off - the one that drove me to help a student in crisis or solve a myriad of logistical problems.  I even had a dream about catering orders the other night!  In my mind, I know that I'm being illogical and that this time off will not negate my entire career, but in my heart, it just hurts and it's scary not knowing what lies ahead.

Since my diagnosis, my friend Colleen sends me cards regularly and one just came in the mail yesterday, the classic, "Keep Calm and Carry On".  Perfect timing. That card helped me to get these emotions out on "paper".  I also watched the video for Fun's song, "Carry On" - I always feel better after watching it.  It is, in fact, what it is and writing this has shown me that I have the tools and am learning more to cope with my breast cancer. Professionally, it really doesn't matter what I do in the future, I'll have that much more to offer when it's time to get back out there.

Southern Girl Loves Pittsburgh Boy

Today, I say good-bye to my Boston University family.  Given all that Steve and I have been dealing with lately, I had kind of laughed at the fact that my last day at BU fell on the same day of our 16th wedding anniversary.  Goofy types of scheduling things just seem to happen to us all the time - we have the planes, trains, and rental car bills to prove it.  But, as I've been reflecting on my time at BU and my overall professional career path, it's actually quite fitting that I would celebrate my marriage to Steve on this day as well. He has been by my side for 20 years and I couldn't have accomplished my professional goals without his love, support, and encouragement.

One of my fondest memories with Steve was taking drives in his old Chevette listening to music (there was a whole lot of Rush and Jimmy Buffett tapes).  Since he was 16, his cars offered him a way to escape; I knew his car was a special possession to him.  When, without hesitation, he gave me the keys to his car so that I could do an internship at Mary Washington hospital, I just knew we were going to be partners for life, in good times and in bad.

I say good-bye to BU today and hello to my new job of fighting cancer on Monday.  I love this picture of us because it reminds me of how our story began and the love that sustains us through all the ups and downs.  I am beyond thankful for my family and friends and know that the journey ahead will be filled with light, love, and laughter.

Steve,

It has been an honor being Mrs. Virginia Ann Bounds Schaffer.  I love you and I thank you. 
Save the last dance for me ;-)

Love always,
Gin

The Facts of Life

I've had the theme song of that oh-so-great 80s show, "The Facts of Life" in my head for the past few days.  "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life" because I think it was easier to believe that what has transpired these past couple of weeks was something straight out of fiction.  A friend of mine suggested I chronologically detail recent events since, well, they do have a Law&Order-like feel to them.

To re-cap from previous blog entries, it was February 19 when I had a successful neurosurgery and began my recovery as best as a working mother of two could possibly hope for; the tumor was benign, but I had definitely fooled myself thinking I'd be up and around sooner.  On March 26, I publicly announced that I was leaving my position at BU and moving back to Virginia.  Then, on April 7, I didn't know it yet, but I was about to start a journey like no other.

On April 7, I had a blood pressure reading of 144/205 and knew I had to go to urgent care (which quickly became staying in the ER until about 1am).  Although they cleared me for any cardiac/pulmonary issues, they did tell me that since I was still complaining of breast/chest pain and that there was an inconclusive reading on one of the x-rays, I should follow-up with my primary care physician sooner than later.

The follow-up appointment on April 9 focused on a "baby" blood-pressure medication protocol, but also put more immediacy on rescheduling an annual exam with my OB/GYN that I had missed back in August when I had viral meningitis (something I assure you is far worse than a pap smear).  We were in Virginia (April 17-22) to celebrate Easter and to check housing options in Fredericksburg as well as show the kids their new schools.  We had a great time and being there made me feel good about our decision to move. I felt like someone dumped a Gatorade-sized bucket of iced cold water on me when on April 24, my OB/GYN discovered a lump in my right breast.

I was scheduled for a mammogram, ultrasound, and other tests on May 1 which confirmed that the lump was in fact solid, not something they could instantly rule out as benign.  I knew something was up because I was taken in and out of a lot of rooms, underwent a lot of tests, and then was asked, "Do you have any other plans for the day?"  Why yes, I do.  I want to return to Boston to say good-bye to my students, I have Red Sox tickets to pass off to a friend and, we have a couple of houses to get on the market.  How was I going to fit these interfering, albeit wonderful "we are all about the boob" doctors into my life?  So, here's the play-by-play:

On May 7, my mother-in-law's house went on the market in Pittsburgh.
On May 8, our house was professionally cleaned while I underwent various biopsy procedures.  I was then told it was likely the mass was cancerous.  I went to a hotel with my mom.
On May 9, Steve and his siblings received multiple offers on the house in Pittsburgh, we got our house on the market and had requests for showings within minutes.  I went back to the hotel with my mom.
On May 10, Anna turned 3 years old!  Jack went to his tee-ball game and Anna had a great birthday party.  Roughly 7 showings occurred at our house.  Mom and I should have just bought the hotel.
On May 11, Mother's Day and I ate my favorite bagel in the world.  We accepted an offer on our house.
On May 13, I received official confirmation that I have breast cancer.

Today, Steve and I met with our informative and supportive surgical oncologist team.  We left with visuals, outlines, and resources to help us best understand my diagnosis.  I have Stage I Invasive Ductal Carcinoma - HER2 positive.  I will have a lumpectomy on June 2 proceeded by a year's worth of chemotherapy, radiation, and various medications.  I am sad, I am disappointed, I am angry, but I know that what's important to remember is that we left our doctor's office with treatment options.

It's going to be a tough road, but at least I have a road to travel.  Be kind to one another.