Making Lemonade

A close family friend sent me a card that read, "Sometimes, when life hands you lemons, you don't feel like making lemonade."  This card is now sitting prominently among other cards that have, shall we say, more inspiring, positive messages because I need to be reminded that it's o.k. to not be o.k. with this whole cancer thing. I don't have to be positive all the time and sometimes, the lemons come when you least expect them.

As we continue to figure out our new normal, my mom comes to help on the days I have doctor's appointments. My main appointment this week was focused on blood work to make sure my system was handling the chemo and Herceptin so that we could move forward with an every 3 week chemo schedule. This was to be a quick appointment at 10:45am, so I decided it would be a good time to introduce Jack to the oncology center (Anna has dropped me off with Steve before).  The office was beyond busy and I didn't get called in until 11:45am.  My anxiety was high as I was just waiting for my kids to start running laps in the center.  But, my mother, God Bless Her, had Jack and Anna entertained, fed, and content during the visit. She has that Mary Poppins' bag where things just keep coming out of it that are simply magical to children.

So, feeling good about passing my blood work test (next chemo is August 7) and that the kids were comfortable during the office visit, I say let's go to lunch (yummy Strawberry Lemonade was consumed) and do a little shopping.  The kids' good behavior continues and my mom and I set our sights on some back-to-school shopping.  We found a Famous Footwear with a Kohl's next door.  Just as I walked into the shoe store, I clumsily bumped into a display, within minutes, I was pretty dizzy sitting on the floor telling my mom to grab the Hello Kitty shoes in a "there's no time, save yourself" kind of fashion.  My body went into complete fight or flight mode and I grabbed Jack, ran out and headed to the Kohl's restrooms...running...in flip-flops...with a 6-year-old boy asking me if I'm going to make it.

The movie Bridesmaids has an epic scene where the entire bridal party gets food poisoning while at the bridal gown salon; in that moment at Kohl's, I'm Maya Rudolph, Kristen Wiig, and Melissa McCarthy all rolled into one.  What had been a fun, calm 3 hours turned into a panic-filled literal crap-fest.  Of course, Jack didn't really understand what was happening to me and of course, he wanted his Granny because she could get him out of that bathroom!  All I could say to Jack was, "I'm sorry and it will be o.k." while all I could think was, "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME!?!" along with my sailor-special expletives.

My mother occupied the kids in the toy section while I collected myself so that hopefully we could make our way home.  Walking to the car, it was like an immediate flash, Jack started to misbehave and not listen to instructions.  It doesn't take too long for Anna to follow suit.  Lemons everywhere.

We didn't make it home.  I got to check out the nice, clean bathrooms in the new Sheetz Convenience Gas Mart. Great. This leads my mom to suggest that perhaps I should map out all the clean restrooms in Fredericksburg.

Lemonade everywhere.

"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