The Visitation

You know, I don't really choose what I am going to post; rather, the posts choose me. I find myself thinking of the same thing over and over and it doesn't go away until I write about it. This is especially true of this topic, which has been much on my mind for several weeks.

Continuing on our tour of rosary mysteries, today's stop is Mary's visit to her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. I am supposing that most of you are well familiar with this story, but I am going to summarize it anyway, as I have at least a few Jewish readers, one of whom told me he had learned some things about the New Testament from reading my blog. Plus, it never hurts to review, right?

When the Angel Gabriel appeared to Mary to tell her that she was to be the mother of the Messiah, he mentioned that her cousin Elizabeth was also expecting a child. Elizabeth was by all accounts too old to bear a child and had long been considered barren, so this must have been quite a surprise to Mary. However, given what she had already heard about her own conception, it was probably not as shocking as it might have been.

I'm quite sure that if I had been in Mary's place I would have barely heard the footnote about Elizabeth, so stunned would I have been by my own personal news. (Of course, this helps explain why God chose Mary and not me, but I digress...)

The very next thing we know, Mary is making haste for the hill country to visit Elizabeth. She did not pause to think of how she was going to navigate her own situation, how she was going to explain this to her parents, or what she was going to tell her fiance. Nor did she run around telling everyone the incredible news that she was the chosen one (again, I'm pretty sure I would have told at least one good friend or two). Instead, she raced straight to her cousin, to help her in her third trimester of pregnancy. Never mind that Mary was in her own first trimester with the Savior of the world and could have easily justified resting and protecting the life within her. Never mind that she was quite likely nauseous and fatigued herself. Mary did not waste a moment thinking of herself. She went to serve Elizabeth without question, and there she stayed for several months.

When Mary first arrived to attend to Elizabeth, her cousin was filled with Holy Spirit and said, "Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." Of course, we find out later that the child Elizabeth is carrying, the one who leaped for joy at Mary's very presence, is John the Baptist, who prepares the way for Jesus.

You may be wondering, by this time, why this has been so much on my mind, why this is the mystery that I keep getting stuck on of late. Naturally, I am going to tell you.

I, who have always been one to stay fairly wrapped up in my own affairs and duties, and the needs of my immediate family, have been taught a great lesson by all of you, my friends and family. I have learned, through this journey, what true charity is and how it is practiced. I have become Elizabeth and all of you are Mary.

I am standing at the door of my hill country home, stunned that you should come to me with meals, cards, gifts and so very many prayers. In the threshold, I stare in disbelief at the pure generosity of you all, who give without thought to your own personal situations and concerns, just as Mary did.

Among those of you who have unceasingly cared for me and my family since this adventure began, not a one is without personal difficulties. In fact, the more I learn about what some of you are struggling with as you stir a pot filled with dinner for my family or write an encouraging note to me, the more amazed I am at your ability to put yourselves aside to minister to another.

Some of you have husbands who are, or are yourselves, unemployed. Some, though employed, are struggling with family businesses in this economic downturn or balancing a financial house of cards. One of you has been displaced completely from your home. Another is facing foreclosure. Still others are dealing with the illness of their parents, and some with their own illnesses. Several are experiencing trouble in their marriages or issues of infertility. I am particularly touched by those of you who are battling cancer yourselves and have taken time to prepare a meal or call to see how I am doing. As I am beginning to get my bearings now, I aspire to imitate you. And please know, the intentions of you all are in my daily prayers.

I naively once thought that those who helped others extensively as I am now being helped had lots of time on their hands or didn't have complications in their own lives. I understand now that the most generous of you are often the most battle weary. I must not wait for the elusive time when all my children are grown and my personal affairs are ordered to be charitable. Rather, it is something I must incorporate into every day.

As Mary came to Elizabeth despite her incredible burden/gift, so do you come to me. And as John the Baptist leaped for joy inside Elizabeth upon her arrival, so do I and my family when we hear the sound of your greeting.

Thank you. I am truly humbled.

Misfire

Not long ago I was standing at the bottom of the stairs talking to a friend when Sam came running down crying because Tony hit him in the head with a toy car he had thrown.

I immediately called for Tony in my "you're in trouble and mom means business" voice.

Tony sprinted to the top of the stairs, gave me a completely exasperated look and said, "I was AIMING at Bella!"

(Those of you who personally know Bella will understand why Tony felt no further explanation was required.)

Miracle in Progress

We had very good news at the doctor this morning.

Today's physical exam suggests that the primary breast tumor is just 30% of the size it was six weeks ago. Further, Dr. Glaspy expressed confidence that we would see similar significant progress in the liver when we get the results of my upcoming scan.

As I have mentioned before, Dr. Glaspy is a straight shooter, not one to give false hope. In the past when I have asked him for statistics and probabilites he has been reluctant to give them, or to even suggest that I am likely to have a happy ending (although he has certainly always allowed for that possibility). Therefore, it is his reaction to my progress that tells me the most about exactly how good this news is. After the appointment, Jay and I agreed that the best way to describe it was "suppressed giddyness". Indeed, he was smiling like the the cat who ate the canary as he anticipated the result of my scan, which literally flooded me with hope.

So far, I am feeling better than usual post-treatment. Maybe my body is adjusting to the medication? Or perhaps, like last time, it will hit me more significantly later in the week. Either way, it is nice to be awake right now to enjoy this good news.

It feels as if we just might be watching our miracle unfolding before us. Please keep those prayers coming, because they sure seem to be working!

This and That

You know it was a very busy week when you are actually looking forward to the natural down time provided by your upcoming chemotherapy treatment...

It is California Mission time for Lindsey, so we have been helping her refine her paper and, most of all, complete the detail work on her mission mosaic. She could do the big areas herself but did not have the steady hand needed to get the glue brush into the small areas once there were materials already on the perimeter. Therefore, I personally smell like all the different kinds of spices we used to create the image of Mission San Fernando. As it turns out, red pepper flakes, coffee and cumin do not exactly form a tantalizing odor when combined. I can only imagine what the classroom is going to smell like when all the projects arrive tomorrow!

Coinciding with Lindsey's final mission weekend was the last weekend to complete Sam's Pinewood Derby car for Cub Scouts. The whole house smells like bondo (overwhelming even the combined spice smell) and I'm pretty sure I will never get the fine sawdust out of the cracks in the patio. But the Indy car design looks great, and Sam and Jay are both pretty proud of the work they have done. Let's hope it's as fast as it looks.

You may wonder why, if this was the final weekend for both projects, we did not complete one or the other ahead of time. Well, for one thing, we are procrastinators who really need a deadline to spur us into action. But that aside, Joey had a report on the Loma Prieta earthquake due Friday that consumed the week before. Needless to say, I am looking forward to a little "no project" time.

On an entirely different note, tomorrow's treatment is my third, so it is the last one I will receive before my next PET/CT scan. I don't have any scheduled treatments after this, as all decisions will be made based on the results of the scan. It should happen in the first or second week of February and will tell us a lot about how this medicine is working, and far more objectively than my own observations can.

After the scan I will know if I will continue on the study drug and perhaps have a better idea of how long. I will also know more about when and if a mastectomy is in my future. I am looking forward to the scan but am also a little nervous about it, as it is very easy for me to be positive right now while assuming that a cure is in process. If the results are not as good as I am hoping they will be, I will have a little adjusting to do. But adjust, I shall, to whatever the outcome may be.

Speaking of outcomes, I would like to say an enormous THANK YOU to all of you who clicked over to the Relay for Life page and donated to the Saints and Spirits Take Flight team. Virtually overnight your donations doubled our funds raised to date and we are now the leading team for the event so far. I am very excited about this and thank you all so much for your generosity and kind notes.

So, wish me luck tomorrow. May the cancer be horrified to see more of that T-DM1 arrive in its neck of the woods!

Relay for Life

I am truly delighted that my regular babysitter Alyssia has created a team in my honor for Lancaster's Relay for Life. This American Cancer Society event takes place April 17-18 at Quartz Hill High School.

The team is named "Saints and Spirits Take Flight". (For those of you not local, the Catholic Schools in our area are the Sacred Heart Saints and the Paraclete Spirits, so this team name signifies the families involved with both the K-8 parish school and the valley's Catholic high school.)

This is a 24 hour event where teams camp out at the high school football field in tents and take turns walking or running around the track. Each hour is covered by a team member, representing the fact that cancer never sleeps. The team as a whole raises money for cancer research.

At night, the track is lit by candles, each burning in honor of a donor's loved one who has fought or is still fighting this disease.

So many of you have asked what you can do to help me, so I put this information out here not to pressure you into donating or joining the team, but just so you know this is something you can do if so inclined.

If you follow this link, it will take you to our team's section of the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life site. There are options on this page to 'Join the Team' (a great thing to do if you are local and really want to get involved), 'Donate to the Team' (a wonderful thing for anyone who can do it, near or far) or 'Luminaria'. Luminaria is your opportunity to light one of those candles that burns all night for a specific person you may have lost to cancer or who is still fighting the fight.

I have gained so much from the research done on this disease so far. The tireless work of scientists and doctors could not take place without the donations of people like you and me. As I make my donation, I am thinking of how much more has to be done before my children don't have to fear this disease.

If you can, please join the Saints and Spirits. Anything at all is a help.

Happy Birthday, Lindsey!

Double digits. Unbelievable!

Lindsey, you are growing into an amazing young lady. You are caring and generous, funny and clever. I love your contagious enthusiasm and your passion for the things you care about.

I am blessed to be your mother and am so glad to share my days, my home, my life with you. Don't grow up too fast, because I am treasuring every moment.

Surprise!

Our family moved to Southern California from Marin County (just north of San Francisco) four and a half years ago. In doing so, we left behind some amazing friendships that we made and enjoyed over the ten years we lived in the quaint towns of San Anselmo and Fairfax.

While we lived there we developed a special relationship with four other families and spent lots of time together with them. It was one of those wonderful situations where the women are all friends, the men are all friends, and the children all get along too. Leaving this was the most difficult part of moving. However, as life has progressed for our various families, all but one moved away from the little towns and scattered from Canada and Oregon to Glendale.

This weekend one of those families, the only one remaining in Marin, came down to visit us. We get together pretty regularly, usually three or four times a year, and we always have a great time. Since their arrival late Thursday night I have especially been enjoying my dear friend Tina who I miss dearly.

Imagine my surprise as I arrived home after mass last night to find my good friends Melissa and Andrea waiting for me in my driveway in their pajamas with sleeping bags in tow. Now, Melissa lives in Glendale so it isn't all that unusual for me to see her, although since I wasn't expecting her it was a wonderful surprise. However, Andrea lives in Ashland, Oregon, so I was beyond stunned to see her. In fact, I could not believe my eyes. She had flown down that morning to surprise me and everyone knew about it except me.

I quickly learned that we were having a totally girly sleepover and that all the husbands had valiently stepped up to care for their many children so we could enjoy an evening together, plus lunch the next day. I was in heaven.

Imagine my further surprise when the doorbell rang just before we left for lunch today and it was Anna Lisa and her family, the last of the original five of us. They drove down from Santa Barbara today to get in on the surprise. It had been more than five years since we had all been together, and we got to spend all afternoon together today.

With neighbor Robin in tow (who got along with them all as if she had known them for years), we all went to lunch and spent three wonderful hours together. I cannot remember the last time I was so completely and delightfully surprised. I have really missed my friends!

If it wasn't for the whole "this could end badly" part of having cancer, I would have to say that it is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. It is bringing my distant friends close and my close friends closer. It is cementing my immediate and extended family. It is bringing out the best in everyone I know, including me.

I would have never expected this. How surprising life can be!

Emerging

Like a butterfly departing from its cocoon, so am I breaking free from the illness that characterizes my treatment week. The last two days I have been cautiously resuming my life and it feels great.

I am now settling comfortably into a pattern of life. It goes pretty much like this: 7 days of sleeping and just barely functioning, 7 days of "ramping up" to semi-regular activities like helping with homework and driving again (with plenty of rest and naps thrown in between activities), and 7 days of feeling almost completely normal with regular energy levels and lots of enthusiasm for all the things I did not get done during the prior 14 days. Then I begin all over again.

This is not so bad. I can definitely do this. To be quite honest, sleeping is not a terrible curse for a mother of seven who hardly ever gets enough under normal circumstances. Similarly, nausea is a really good diet plan for someone who has been meaning to drop the baby weight for about three pregnancies now.

Treatment weeks bring friends and family close, and this I treasure. Our guest room has hardly been empty since my diagnosis and I love it. I am being wrapped up in love and care from those around me so that I really can rest and I really can take my time ramping up to normal again. I am so blessed by this all.

I have been trying very hard to go to mass every day, as receiving communion is, in my view, medicinal as well as spiritually uplifting. In the bible, those who simply touched Jesus' cloak in faith were healed immediately, so how can meeting him in the Eucharist each day fail to assist in my healing?

I have found it difficult to get out of the house and to mass during treatment weeks. This problem has been solved beautifully for me, as Jay has now been trained as a Eucharistic Minister who brings communion to the sick specifically so he can bring me communion on days I cannot go. This is a beautiful thing for us both and I am so thankful to those at our church who supported us in making this happen.

Among other things I am grateful for is the fact that I am able to continue to cantor two out of three Sundays. When this first began I was fearful that I would be too ill to sing anymore at all, but as it is turning out I really can make it happen on the two "off" weeks. Yay!

So, there it is, life as I will experience it for the indefinite future. I am grateful for each day, and it shows in how I am spending my time. (I can't remember the last time I played so many board games with my kids!) Each day is clearer and more precious to me. The mundane is not so much anymore, and this is a really good lesson to learn, for anyone.

Feeling It

Yes, indeed, for the past few days I have been feeling as if I actually do have a serious illness. Most of the time I don't feel much more than tired and nauseous, but yesterday and today have been at a new level. Yesterday I slept 18 hours. Really. 18! I didn't know a person could sleep that much. Today I got out of bed only to shower, and was so weak and chilled by the end of it that I had to wonder if I wasn't better off grimy.

I learned at my last treatment that I am moderately anemic, so much so that there was some discussion as to whether or not treatment could proceed. Happily, my oncologist is all about killing cancer and he is on a mission with me, so he barely hesitated, slowing only to take another six buckets of blood from me to try to pinpoint the cause so he can treat it most effectively. Yes, I like this man. For those of you number folks or medical types, a healthy red blood range is 11 or 12 to 18 and mine has been steadily declining to its new low of 8.7. Apparently at 8.0 it becomes "severe" and lots of unpleasantries begin so we're hoping to hold her steady here. Probably not coincidentally, my oncologist is currently conducting a clinical trial on anemia during chemotherapy, so once again I am in the right place at the right time. Funny how this keeps happening, eh?

Happily, I am "feeling it" in another way too. My affected breast now feels so normal that I would not think to seek medical attention for it if I woke up with it for the first time today. In fact, I probably wouldn't even notice it unless I was pretty dilligent in a self exam. So, I may be feeling a wreck, but clearly so is the cancer. I believe the clock has been turned back on it somewhere in the neighborhood of 9 months in just four weeks. That's a miracle i'd willingly feel just about anything for.

Tales from the Infusion Room

It is easy for me to forget just how serious my situation is. Most of the time, I feel pretty normal and there is little external evidence of what is going on inside my body. My children keep engaged in all the little details of life, like school projects, sibling disagreements and constant clean up. If I wanted to, it would be all too easy to dive head first into complete denial about all of this.

This feeling ends completely when I enter the infusion room at my oncologist's office.

When I walk in and sit down, my first thought always is that there must be some mistake, as I most definitely don't belong in these surroundings. There is no way that I fit in with what I see: folks in wheelchairs, people either completely bald or with sporadic tufts of hair, patients with strange skin conditions. To be completely honest, it is frightening. Many of the patients receiving treatment around me look as if they are in their final months of life, and I'm sure many of them are.

At first I sit tensely in my chair, willing it all to be over. Then, as I begin to calm down, I start seeing more and listening to the conversations around me.

I see the other woman about my age with burns from her radiation, crying for an unknown reason as she waits for her chemotherapy to begin. I see another woman, again about my age, calmly eating her hamburger and chatting with her husband about everything mundane. I hear a woman who has been through way too much detailing all her medical ailments to her caregiver who listens attentively, although he must have heard all this a thousand times before. I see the man whose arms are covered with bandages from the half a dozen attempts it took to find a vein that wasn't fried from prior treatments. I chuckle at the attorney sitting right under the "no cell phone use in infusion room" sign arguing loudly on his phone over the terms of a settlement, and then repeating this at least six times while I am there.

I notice the staff, who has come to know each patient well, and knows just what to say to each person to entice a smile. I hear the patients as they support eachother, telling one another about what remedy has worked for them, or how much getting a port-a-cath has helped make their infusions better. I hear them give one another hope for a better drug, a better response, a better day. One tells me about lidocane spray so I don't feel it as much when they access my port. I am grateful.

I also see those who will not engage. Those who look as if they have already lost their battle and don't much care. I see one who is turned away from treatment because her white blood count is too low and she will not be able to withstand the drug. She is bitterly disappointed. These patients are the hardest to see.

No matter how good I am at convincing myself that I don't belong there, I have to accept that I do. As one friend put it, I am now a member of a sorority that I never pledged. It is important that I understand that my illness is no different than that of anyone in that room. In fact, there are really only two differences that I can perceive. First, I am newer to the journey than many of them. Second, I have faith and hope, and plenty of it. So many of them have lost both.

Although I will inevitably progress down the path of this disease and end up with war stories that they all have, I am determined that I WILL NOT lose faith or hope. I have much to hope for, after all! I plan to be the sunshine in that infusion room, the one with hope radiating from every pore, the one who put on her lipstick that day. Because hope is contagious, don't you think? And that's one disease I'd like to spread.

Back in the BarcaLounger

I am here in the infusion center, currently being observed after receiving my second treatment. Odd to have looked forward to something like this, I know, but I am thrilled to be dealing the cancer another blow.

If this cycle is anything like the last one, I can expect to sleep excessively for the next week to ten days and feel a bit like I have the flu. After that, I should feel a little better every day until I hit normal, about two weeks from today. Then, wait a week and start all over again. This will be my life for the next year or so, depending on how the cancer responds. And you know, it is a small price to pay for the possibility of getting my life back when it seemed not long ago there was little hope of this.

As I sit here I am struck once again by how fortunate I am in faith, marriage, family, friends,and doctors. When I have so much on my side, how can I lose?

Ironies

The good news: my appetite is back! For the first time in several months I have been interested in eating again. This tells me (although this thought is not supported by any actual science, mind you) that my liver must be doing better, as I have always assumed that the appetite loss was associated with decreased liver function.

The bad news: also back are four of the fifteen pounds I have lost since my diagnosis. Just goes to show that nothing is ever purely good or purely bad, right? I guess if I had to pick I'd rather be on the chubby side with a healthy liver than skinny with a cancerous one, so all is probably right with the world.

Now all I need is my self-perceptions of healing to be proven out with a scan. Another month and we'll know something for sure. I can't wait!

While I wait, I wanted to ask those of you who are praying for me to also pray for my friend Dawn who was diagnosed with breast cancer the day before I was. We did not know eachother well when we both embarked on this journey but we are becoming good friends quickly due to shared circumstances.

Dawn is only a few years older than me and has six children. She homeschools (which is how I met her, through the Catholic homeschooling group). She had a localized lump which they have already removed with a masectomy, and she began chemo yesterday to take care of any free floating cancerous cells that may have escaped.

The irony of the situation is that although, on paper, her diagnosis and prognosis is far better than mine, her treatment will likely be worse. Her cancer is not HER2 positive so she cannot take advantage of T-DM1 or even Herceptin. Instead, she will be receiving the standard chemo drugs that will likely cause her to feel quite ill and lose her hair.

She is very much in my thoughts and prayers right now so I thought I'd share a little about her since you are all such amazing prayer warriors. She could use some of that amazing support, so please remember her especially this week as she adjusts to her treatment.

Thanks, and Happy New Year! I have a feeling 2010 is going to be a really special year.

Rough Week

It took the dawning of a much brighter day today (odd, since it was raining) for me to realize how tough the last few days have been for me.

My mother was admitted to the hospital on Sunday with a severe kidney infection that resisted antibiotics for several days before succumbing. On Monday I thought she might not make it.

Happily, the infection broke and she was discharged this morning. I am relieved to have her home not only for her health's sake but also because she was in the hospital in Los Angeles which is about an hour's drive from me. It was a strain to have her so far away.

This marks another in a series of medical problems my mother has had lately and it is so very hard to watch her go through all of this. I am reminded often these days how fragile health is and how so many of us take it for granted when we have it.

Funny how I can handle my own medical issues better than I can watch someone I love go through them. I suppose this is happening so I can learn to understand what my family and friends are going through watching me struggle.

I am so very weary of doctors, hospitals, lab tests, imaging, waiting rooms and injections. How I long for the days when a visit to the doctor's office was a rare event not only for me but for anyone in my family.

Since it doesn't look like those days are coming back for me anytime soon, I must learn to find the good in the present situation. I think I can, I think I can... Actually, I KNOW I can, I KNOW I can.

Merry Christmas!

Well, this year for the first time in my adult life I did not send out Christmas cards, so this is our official family Christmas greeting. Merry, merry Christmas to all!

Thanks to Robin, my wonderful neighbor, who corralled the kids for this photo. If she hadn't, I fear there would be no annual photo at all. And I'm so glad there is!

This is particularly amusing to Jay and I, as it marks the second Christmas photo in a row where Bella had to be held up from the bottom to be in the photo. Every group picture we have of her shows her screaming. She does not like to conform, that's for sure.

At any rate, I hope you all have a blessed Christmas and amazingly wonderful New Year. I think 2010 is going to be a GREAT year!

T-DM1

If you are interested, check out this link that gives the best summary I've read of the T-DM1 drug I am currently taking.

Thanks, Donna, for sending this to me.

Keep in mind as you read this article that the results they are citing are for women who have had as many as seven different treatments fail before receiving this drug. For me this is a first-line treatment, so we can hope that the results will be even better.

How wonderful that companies and doctors are working together in an unprecedented way to reach and really help people with this. It gives me hope for humanity!

The Annunciation

As you may recall from my earlier post on the Agony in the Garden, I have been thinking of the mysteries of the rosary in a new light lately, by trying to place myself in the events that took place so long ago. (There is nothing like the diagnosis of a possibly terminal illness to jump start your prayer life, let me tell you!) At any rate, I thought I would share some of my reflections on the Annunciation from my new perspective on things.

Lately I have been thinking that many of my feelings following diagnosis must be similar to those that Mary had after the Angel Gabriel visited her to tell her that she would be the mother of the long-awaited Messiah.

When Mary first saw the Angel, she must have been afraid and apprehensive. How majestic and frightening must have been this glorious creature sent to communicate with her! She must have wondered with trepidation, "What is happening to me? Why am I here? Am I in trouble? This could be very bad!"

Although the creature sent to share my news with me was necessarily less glorious than the Angel Gabriel, she was every bit as majestic and frightening to me, because she held the answer to the rest of my life in the little manila folder in her hand. I stared at her with apprehension much the same way Mary must have stared at the angel Gabriel, and I can tell you that all the same questions were running through my head as well. "Why me? Is this really happening? I must be dreaming."

(Now, here the similarity briefly ends. While among the angel's first words to Mary were "Fear not, you have found favor with God," mine were more along the lines of "invasive carcinoma." Not the same thing, I assure you. But after this we get back on track...)

Mary must have been overwhelmed when the understanding came to her that she had been chosen by God among all others to bring forth Jesus. As a good Jewish girl, she knew what it meant that the Messiah was at last coming, and how amazing it must have been to her that she was THE ONE. Yet at the same time she must have been worried about what was ahead. The angel did not give her a lot of details, and there was much she had to be concerned about. She was, after all, engaged to be married and how was she going to explain this to her husband to be?! Not to mention the pressure that must go along with mothering the Savior of the World. Yet, she took a deep breath, trusted God, said 'yes'.

It didn't take long after my diagnosis to realize that I, too, had been chosen by God. This did not just happen. 38 year old, otherwise healthy women with no substantial family history of cancer do not wake up one day with stage IV cancer as I did. Especially ones who have birthed and nursed as many babies as I have, as each one reduces the risk of breast cancer. It took the perfect storm of events to allow this to grow so long undetected inside of me. No, indeed, this was not an accident. Nor do I believe that God is punishing me with this. So, there is only one conclusion left: this is a gift.

Crazy, you say? Many will think so, but I do not. I firmly believe that God gives us what we need to become better people and for some reason I needed this. This is an opportunity for me to learn charity from those around me, to smooth the rough edges of my pride and to come to appreciate what is really, truly important in life. God would not have picked me for this great trial if he did not think I could handle it and rise to the occasion. And I certainly intend to do so to the best of my ability. So, like Mary, 'my soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. The Almighty has done great things for me and holy is his name.'

Also like Mary, I do not have many details about the future. I have things that concern me and much uncertainty. I did not have an angel to tell me to fear not as Mary did, but I do have wonderful priests in my life who have told me again and again, both directly and through homilies to never, ever be afraid. And I am not. I hear God speaking through them and I am listening.

I did not have the opportunity to say "yes" to this cancer, and I can't honestly say that I would have had the strength to do so if asked. However, now that it is mine, I embrace all that I have to learn from it. Behold the handmaid of the Lord.

More Sobbing

Once again, tears of joy and gratitude were falling from my suddenly oft-wet face yesterday. This time, however, they were not in public.

Instead, these tears were shed in the privacy of my own room, when I took note of just how much my primary breast tumor has shrunk in only a week. It is absolutely incredible and if I could not feel it myself I would not believe it.

Mind you, there is still a pretty big tumor in there. But just seven days ago there was no evidence of pliable or healthy tissue at all. Now, there is what seems to be quite a bit of soft, healthy tissue with a distinct lump in the middle. Everything is different, and I almost cannot believe it is true.

My doctor told me I should expect to find a noticeable change in the first week; but this much I did not expect. He also said it would be a good barometer for what was going on in the liver and bones as well, so I am so very hopeful.

Perhaps one of these days I will stop blubbering (and sleeping) long enough to post on another topic, but for now thanks for bearing with me through what is sure to become known as my "cancer period". It is too easy to develop a one-track mind when something like this is going on your life. I appreciate your continued readership!

Can't Stay Awake

After an initial hurrah over my mild side effects, I have since taken to bed and can hardly get up.

Today, for instance, I got up at 6:30, went to mass, loaded the dishwasher, hit my bed again by 10am and have not removed myself since. I have been sleeping, and sleeping, and sleeping some more. I did not know anyone could sleep this much, especially me who rarely even sits.

Last night I drove myself to mass (I definitely have a much-needed mass theme going on) and then fell asleep in the parking lot, taking a good 20 minute snooze before I could muster the energy to walk across the street and into the church. I feel like a narcoleptic!

Nothing serious here, folks. This could be way worse, I know. But as soon as I sit up I feel weak, nauseous and head-achy, all of which disappears when I sleep. Therefore, sleep is my good friend.

I, who LOVE to eat, is forcing myself on doctors orders to put down three square meals. This may be the strangest part of all, as generous people are filling my kitchen with food that looks so good. Normally, I would be ALL OVER this! Luckily the 8 others in the family are, and I am so grateful to not be thinking of what to feed them right now.

As I sleep, I imagine the cancer killing going on inside me and, believe me, my dreams are sweet as a result.

Quote of the Day

Well, I did end up having a few side effects to the treatment, but nothing too horrible. On the drive home I felt like I had come down with the flu...chills (I could not get the car warm enough to Jennifer's dismay), aches and some nausea. By the time I got home I was feeling pretty poorly and went straight to bed. But it really did seem like a standard flu and nothing worse.

This morning when I woke up I felt as if I had been in a minor traffic collision. Everything hurt, even my cheekbones. But when I got up and started moving around I began to feel pretty normal. Aside from being generally quite tired and a little run down, I feel actually quite well. I am pleasantly surprised.

I even felt well enough to give Sam some lessons this morning (he, by the way, is going back to school in January, but I am closing things out to the best of my ability before then). It was during a poetry lesson that he left me in stitches.

Me: We are going to practice using some metaphors and similies. I am going to give you a phrase and you complete it. Ready? 'The girl was as mad as...'

(I am thinking to myself that the word hornet would complete this phrase well.)

Sam: (after a moment's thought) Eight monkeys with seven bananas.

What a joy it has been to spend these months homeschooling this clever, funny, smart boy. I am going to miss him.

So Far So Good

The cancer killing has officially begun. I am sitting here in my infusion room BarcaLounger with all of today's medicine coursing through my veins. Hopefully, at this very minute the T-DM1 miracle drug is chasing down cancer cells, entering them through their little HER2 receptors and imploding them violently from within their very own nuclei. I am really enjoying this imagery.

So far I feel pretty normal. No nausea, vitals are all good. And I should know, as they are checking them every 15 minutes! Right now I am in the 90 minute post treatment observation period so I am basically just sitting here with Jennifer, laughing, reading and snoozing a bit. They even have snacks and hot tea, so it's almost like I'm in the Red Carpet club here. Destination unknown.

I have really lucked out with this study drug, even more than I knew. What I am receiving, I learned today, isn't even really chemotherapy. The drug I am receiving is technically an antibody, which means I don't need any of the steroids, anti nausea meds or Prilosec that normally comes in concert with standard chemotherapy. As an added bonus, I don't have to come back the day after each treatment to receive the often-painful white blood cell stimulating injection I was dreading. If this new drug is as effective as my doctor believes it to be and it is as easy as all this, I'm thinking that I should really buy myself some Genentech stock.

On another note entirely, my treatment nurse is wearing a scapular. I consider this to be an excellent sign.

I am sure fatigue is on the way as this battle rages on within me, but at this moment all I am feeling is relief and profound gratitude.

Treatment Day

I didn't sleep too well last night. As it turns out, it is a lot easier to think cheerfully of chemotherapy in the abstract than it is to actually face it.

But don't get me wrong: I am not terrified or morose. I am just a bit apprehensive. I don't know what level of side effects to expect and this scares me a bit...fear of the unknown and all. Plus, there is the lurking concern that this treatment won't work. But I won't know that for nine weeks, so no sense in worrying about that now.

So, let's focus on the positive: today the cancer that has been happily growing in my body is going to have a very bad day. And I don't expect tomorrow or the next day will be much better for it. So, HA!

Let the games begin.

I Guess I Shouldn't Have Been Surprised

When I picked up the kids from school yesterday, I enthusiastically shared my news of the clinical trial and the new drug. As I drove, I explained how lucky I was to be in the trial and how promising the treatment was. They were definitely happy for me, I think mostly because they could see how happy I was about it all.

I was going along, outlining all the good things that this meant for us when I came to one of the best parts: that I wasn't going to lose my hair after all. I paused and waited for them all to join me in what I was sure would be a unanimous cheer.

Well, it was unanimous, alright, but it was not a cheer. Instead, it was a groan. With a few "awwwws!" thrown in.

I looked at them in total surprise and quickly learned that they were all actually looking forward to my bald head and had been deciding on my behalf exactly what was to be tattooed on it.

Apparently I have ruined the only fun they saw in this whole cancer thing.

(Sorry, guys.)

Prayers Answered

I have been officially accepted into the clinical trial (thank you, Genentech).

I have been randomized into Arm A of the trial, which means I get the very potent and promising trial drug (thank you, prayer warriors).

I have my first treatment on Monday (thank you, God).

I get to keep my hair (I don't really know who to thank for this one but I am certainly grateful).

I received the call from the study nurse letting me know all of this while standing in the toothpaste aisle at Target. When I hung up I couldn't help but cry, as I was so overwhelmed by gratitude. My dear friend Jennifer held me up and wisely reminded me, when I expressed concern about how I was embarassing myself in public, that there really wasn't that much remarkable about a grown woman sobbing into a Listerine display in the Palmdale Target. Point taken.

Yes, it is a good day. I have NO DOUBT that this fantastic news is a direct result of all the prayers being said on my behalf. I am filled with hope and the certainty that God is listening. Thank you so very much.

A Golden Ticket

Do you remember in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when Charlie unwrapped his Wonka Bar and found the Golden Ticket when he wasn't expecting it? This is what happened to me on Thursday when my oncologist called me unexpectedly to tell me he had obtained a slot for me in a small and very sought after clinical trial of a new drug for Her2 positive metastatic breast cancer.

Specifically, the trial is for women who have not already been treated with other chemotherapy, so I am extra fortunate this slot came up when it did, as I was supposed to start my standard treatment tomorrow. Instead, I found myself running back and forth to Los Angeles at the end of the week getting myself enrolled, and completing all the extra tests required for the sponsor. I don't think there is a single part of my body that has not been scanned, poked or processed in some way. They should definitely have a pretty clear picture by now of what things look like.

Now, I don't much about biochemistry or genes or cancer cell receptors, but I do know this: my rather even-keeled, realist of an oncologist, who is one of the eight UCLA oncologists on this trial, showed excitement that I have not yet seen and spoke of the high hopes that this new drug is giving. Further, the research doctor who came in to explain the medication and trial to me said straight out that if anything was going to CURE my cancer, this was. Two weeks ago I was told there was no hope for a cure, and hope is such a beautiful thing.

This new drug, as my feeble understanding allows, chemically binds the two standard drugs given to patients in my situation: Herceptin and Taxotere. Herceptin is a very targeted therapy that only finds and destroys Her2 positive cancer cells. Taxotere is a general chemotherapy drug, found to be quite effective when combined with the targeted Herceptin at treating my kind of cancer. However, being a more general drug, Taxotere interferes with healthy cells as well, which is why you lose your hair when being treated with it.

Apparently, when you bind these two drugs together, the result is an extremely potent, very targeted cancer killing machine. Being as targeted as it is, it is my understanding that I will not lose my hair if given this drug instead of the standard treatment. At this point, believe me, losing my hair is far from my greatest concern, but, hey, if I can keep it that's great news!

You may notice that I used the word "if" above. IF I get this new drug. Being that this is a clinical trial, there must be a control group. 50% of people enrolled in this study will receive the new drug and 50% will receive the standard treatment of Herceptin and Taxotere that I was scheduled to begin receiving tomorrow before the trial came up. Of course, it is my great hope that I will be computer randomized into the test group as opposed to the control. However, if I am placed in the control group and do not respond well to standard treatment, my doctor can switch me to the new drug since I am a trial participant. For this reason, we have come to view this trial as my golden ticket, as I will have access to this drug if I need it simply by having lucked into a slot.

To give you an idea of the scope of this and just how fortunate I am to be a part of this, here are some statistics for you: There are 120 people in this trial at 25 centers around the world. There are only 10 enrolled at UCLA, where there are 8 doctors and a full time study nurse following the 10 of us. Regardless of which group I end up in, my case will be scrutinized as if I were a bug under a microscope. In this case, scrutiny is a very good thing.

Just having a study nurse assigned to me is a blessing in and of itself. She is in constant contact with me, letting me know what is happening, what I need to do, and what my test results are looking like. Again, a very good thing.

So, pending my final acceptance in the study, which should come tomorrow, I will begin treatment next Monday the 14th. I truly can't wait to get this started. I am ready!

Update

It has been a wild ride this week on our medical roller coaster.

As I type, I am in the waiting room of the surgical center where, in about an hour, they will insert a device called a portacath into my chest. This is a semi-permanent catheter that resides under the skin and allows for easier administration of the chemotherapy drugs.

On another note, I have been offered a spot in a clinical trial of a new, powerful drug for Her2 positive metastatic breast cancer. This is huge for me and exactly what my hope had been in choosing UCLA for my treatment.

It looks like they are ready for me, so I will post more on this later!

Happy Birthday, Natalie!

She loved her cake. She loved her gifts. She loved it when we sang Happy Birthday. How typical of this delightful, happy child who is so easy to please!

Natalie, I cannot believe it was only a year ago that we welcomed you into the world, as it now seems a lifetime ago. You were absolutely meant to be in our family and the world is a better place because you are here, beautiful daughter!

Natalie received the best gift of all from her doctor yesterday...official release from her hip abduction brace! Her hip angles, while still not perfectly proportional, are below threshold levels for treatment, so she is free at last. Her doctor will check her in a year, then in two years to be sure things are correcting on their own, which they often do from this point on. We are cautiously optimistic that her treatment is over and delighted that she is now free to begin walking and continue crawling unfettered.

Happy birthday, Natalie Lucia. Your name literally means "light of Christmas", but please know that for us you light up the rest of the year as well.

Hip Hip Her2-Ray

Just when you think you've got a plan, everything changes.

We learned today that my cancer is Her2 positive. We had been waiting for a pathology culture that tested for this and it came back today.

At first glance, this might seem unfortunate. Her2 positive cancer is very aggressive and historically has a poor prognosis. The Her 2 receptors, as I understand it, cause the cells to divide rapidly and get out of control quite easily.

However, Dr. Chang (my surgeon) declared that this was "outstanding" news because it means that an aggressive treatment option, previously unavailable to me, is now open. In her experience, treatment with Herceptin (a relatively new drug for Her2 positive cancers) gives us a chance not just to halt the growth of the cancer as the hormone therapy might, but to possibly shrink it back. In particular, it has a unique chance of getting rid of Her2 positive cancer cells that have spread outside of the original tumor (in my case, liver and bone). Other therapies cannot do this. Dr, Chang had told me last week that she was hopeful we would get a positive result, and was nothing short of delighted when she called to deliver the news that we had indeed achieved this.

I have yet to discuss what this means to me practically with my oncologist. However, within an hour of receiving these results his office called to set up an appointment, so clearly he intends to move quickly with an alteration to my therapy. I see him on Wednesday.

Herceptin is most often given in conjunction with chemotherapy. So, just when I thought I'd have three months of not-too-bad, I am now likely faced with "here we go". But you know, I'm ready for this. I want to really feel like I am hurting the cancer and so far I have not felt much of anything.

So, bring on the baldness, the vomit, the fatigue. I am stronger than you, cancer, and we are going to bring you down!

More Thankful Than Ever

I am acutely aware of my blessings on this Thanksgiving Day. Never before have they seemed so bountiful...and fragile.

I don't belive I have ever been so thankful to simply be present at the table, sharing the meal with my family. Nor have I ever really appreciated the strength I had to help prepare the meal and clean up after it. But I did today.

I am beyond grateful for my marriage, unshaken by life's twists and turns, that will endure all things to come, and for my extraordinary husband who makes me a better person.

I am so very blessed by my seven healthy children. Today I delighted particularly in their observations and activities, and simply enjoyed the buzz of their circulating around me. (Until, that is, the buzz got so loud that it annoyed me, at which time I chased them all out of the kitchen unceremoniously.)

No one has ever been surrounded by a more supportive and loving community of family and friends, both near and far. I am thankful for every email and phone call and blog comment I have received, letting me know you are all thinking of me and wishing me well.

I am thankful for doctors and researchers, and for all who have traveled this road before me and helped to pave it.

But most of all I am thankful for my faith, which is strengthened through my own weakness. Without it, none of this would make sense.

Happy Thanksgiving--may your blessings be counted as many!

Wishing For My Own Personal Summer

I am waiting.

Just waiting for hot flashes, night sweats or any other tell-tale sign that the estrogen is departing my body in a hurry. So far, all I'm feeling is tired and occasionally dizzy, and that is not definitive enough for me. I want to FEEL that I'm kicking this cancer where it lives.

Perhaps I should just be grateful that I'm feeling well (and I'm sure when symptoms do kick in I will wish myself right back where I am right now) but I'm ready to feel something, anything that tells me we are gaining some ground.

After so much activity and lots of news in such a short period of time, I think I am going to have trouble adjusting to this waiting period. Three months with no progress reports, feedback or status is going to seem like three years.

Thanks for waiting with me and keeping me afloat.

Because There Are Other Things In Life Besides CANCER!

I don't know what's wrong with my photo editor, but if you can focus on this microscopic image you will see that it is a photo of my very happy eldest son Joey, clutching his second consecutive Superbowl trophy. It was earned last Saturday in a complete domination (28-0 I think) of the Jets, his team's long time Rivals. The boys end their regular season undefeated and, all told, it has been 22 games since they have lost. As wonderful as this is, it's starting to get a little boring...we haven't seen a really close game in a year!

In search of a challenge, the Rebels will be traveling to the Jr. Rose Bowl next week in Anaheim where they will attempt to defend their title as champions. In addition, they play the Superbowl champs of the Los Angeles Youth Football League on December 12th.

Thank goodness it's still football season around here, because it is a great distraction for the whole family.

Guerilla Warfare

First things first: I am delighted with my Oncologist. His name is Dr. John Glaspy and I am completely confident in his ability to handle my situation in the best possible way. He is the Chief of Oncology/Hemotology at UCLA and a very published researcher who will know of and have access to the newest and most advanced cancer treatment therapies as they become available over the years. I am fortunate to be in his care.

As we suspected would the case, the game plan has changed now that the cancer has spread. Initially we thought we would attack it hard and cut it out, in hopes that we would kill it all and be done with it. This is no longer an option for me. As Dr. Glaspy explained, if we try to win this war, it will kill me in the process. Short of a miracle cure (which, by the way I am most certainly NOT discounting), I will always have this cancer and I will alway be fighting it.

Now, I must admit, this has taken a little swallowing, this change of mindset. When you have something dangerous and unwelcome growing in your body, every instinct you have is to squash it out and dominate it completely. Instead, I must learn to co-exist peacefully with this. The goal is this: keep me alive as long as possible with the best quality of life possible. Really aggressive treatments are not sustainable over the long haul (and believe me, the long haul is what we want!) so for now we are going with the old adage "slow and steady". It won't win the race but should give us the best combination of results.

Like guerrilla soldiers, we will not attack head-on or draw battle lines. Instead, we will constantly annoy it...drop grenades on it from here and there instead of firing bazookas. As good guerrilla fighters, the first thing we are going to do is cut off the cancer's food supply and watch it flail around for awhile. This should make it good and angry.

My particular cancer, as Dr. Glaspy explained it to me, is addicted to estrogen. It is what it feeds on to grow. If we cut off the estrogen available to it, it should cease growing for now, and may even shrink a bit. This may work for a few years (or much more or much less) and then, when we need to, we will talk about what needs to happen next. All the avenues of chemo treatment are still open to me, but we won't break them out until (and if) the cancer stops responding to this starvation, which is called "hormone therapy".

So, you may ask, how do we cut off the estrogen supply to the cancer? By completely removing it from my body in a very short amount of time. Like the cancer, my body is not going to enjoy this very much. Essentially, I will be passing into complete menopause in a matter of days. Most women find this uncomfortable spread over months as the body adjusts, so he has warned me that I am likely to find it quite uncomfortable for a few weeks. Still, it all sounds better than chemo to me, so it's all relative at this point!

This is the plan: we will begin to shock the estrogen out of my system today with an injection and oral therapy that will continue for 3 months. At the end of 3 months we will re-scan my entire body to see if we have indeed halted the growth of the cancer. If it is working, we will remove my ovaries to make my post-menopausal status permanent and consider whether or not to proceed with the masectomy, depending on how the breast tumor is looking.

Warning: I am apparently going to be intensely crabby and weepy over the next few weeks. (Pray for Jay!) It has been suggested to me that I consider laying off the blog during this time in case I alarm any of you with what are sure to be crazily shifting perspectives on all of this. I may and I may not, but do be forewarned as to the potential instability of my sanity as my body adjusts. By all accounts it will return eventually.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention the really good news in all of this: So far, the spreading cancer has not done much damage to my liver. It is sprinkled all over it like fairy dust, but has not really dug in anywhere and affected its function. So, if we stop this thing where it is I can literally live for decades with it. That's right, decades! This is so much more than we hoped for when we walked into that office yesterday, and hope is such a good thing.

Of course, the less attractive alternative remains that the cancer does not respond to hormone therapy at all and continutes to grow over the next three months, so please pray specifically that it responds (and keep up with that whole complete miracle cure thing too, if you don't mind!).

Thanks again, amazing family and friends. You teach me strength, faith and charity, and humble me with your kindness.

The Agony in the Garden

Since Monday, my meditations on the mysteries of the rosary have taken on a new light. I suppose this is natural, since I have experienced this before through other events of my life. As my perspective on things changes, so does my understanding of the events of the lives of Jesus and Mary. This is part of why the rosary is such a beautiful prayer.

I find myself suddenly with new perspective on what it must have been like for Jesus while he waited and prayed in the Garden of Gethsemene.

Jesus knew what was coming. He knew the soldiers would come for him, and he knew he would suffer great physical and emotional pain, though at that time he was only experiencing the agony of anticipation.

He knew he would be leaving his disciples to fend for themselves and had to trust that the principals he had instilled in them would bear fruit. He also knew they would stumble along the way.

He prayed that this cup might pass him by. Yet, even in his distress, he remembered "Thy will be done, not mine."

He watched as his friends repeatedly fell asleep, though he asked them to wait and pray with him.

Like Jesus, I know what is coming. I know that the soldiers are coming for me, though I can only physically sense the barest hint of their presence right now. I know that there will be great physical and emotional anguish ahead for me and for my family and friends, yet right now I see only the graces that this situation is bringing as my community surrounds me with strength.

Like Jesus, I know that I may be leaving my children, hopefully not physically anytime soon, but to a degree, while I turn to face my battle. I must trust that God, with the assistance of my family and friends, will guide them through the worst parts of this when I am unable to, and that the seeds we have planted in them will bear great fruit in this time of trial.

Like Jesus, I fervently pray that this cup might pass me by. But always, His will be done.

However, unlike Jesus, my friends and family have not fallen asleep. You are all very much here with me in the garden and wait, wide awake, to face this by my side. Because of this, I will never truly understand the depth of Jesus' suffering. Thank you.

We always teach our children to pray, "Please let me be like Jesus." Well, now I have the chance.

It's Time for a Miracle

Family and friends,

It is with a heavy heart that I tell you that this cancer has spread to my bones and, apparently, to my liver as well. I am in complete shock, as I don't feel sick. How could I get this sick and not know it?

I know many of you will have questions about treatment going forward, prognosis, etc. I cannot answer those questions right now. I don't know what this means in terms of my treatment or lifespan. I will know more after I meet with my oncologist Monday. Right now, all I know is that I am in need of a miracle which do, as we all know, occasionally happen.

And please know this: my faith is unwavering. I trust in God completely and am not afraid, except for how it will affect my children and all of you. Please be strong for me.

For those of you Catholics out there, I want you to know that I am praying to Don Alvaro, former prelate of Opus Dei, who is under consideration for beatification. He needs credit for interceding in a miracle to become a saint, and I need a miracle, so perhaps the two of us can hook up. If you are so inclined, please check out this link to his prayer card and join me in making so much noise in heaven that God heals me just to shut us all up, if nothing else.

In the meantime, I am planning to enjoy my weekend and watch my kid win his second Superbowl. Go Rebels!

I love and appreciate you all.

A Medical VIP

The good thing about having a big, nasty tumor, especially at my age, is that it gets everyone's attention. I am no longer plagued by the waiting periods that characterized the time in between the mammogram, the biopsy and the ultimate diagnosis. For me, waiting is one of the hardest parts, so all this activity is good for my psyche.

Yesterday I had five procedures done at UCLA, one after the other: PET/CT, chest X-Ray, blood work (including a check for the "breast cancer gene BRCA1-BRCA2), EKG, Echocardiogram. All were in the same building (one of the best parts of going to a university setting for treatment).

I had no pre-set appointments. I just walked from one counter to another where, inevitably, there were quite a few people waiting for the same test. I went to each counter with my paperwork, told them who I was, and as soon as I said my name there was a flurry of activity behind the desk, words thrown around like "we've been expecting you", "STAT reading", "same-day results", and "we'll squeeze you in even though we're overbooked and two techs have the flu". It was the least bureaucratic, smoothest process you could imagine. This part was a comfort (although it should probably scare me a bit!). What it tells me is that my case is being taken seriously, and that my surgeon is well-respected and can get things done. I like that. I am on the conveyor belt for a cure and, right now, I don't have to make any more decisions. I believe I have the very best doctors I could have, so I am pleased to lean on them and let them carry me along while I work on educating myself in parallel. Lots to read!

I am back to UCLA today for my final initial test, a bone scan. I'm there again on Monday to meet my Oncologist. Then, I should have a few days of respite to get my ducks in a row and celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. The Monday after that I begin fighting this officially.

Again, a million thanks to all of you who have written or called. I have not been able to respond to everything but please know how much I appreciate each and every contact I have received. I am drawing the strength I need for this journey from your support and prayers. Between each procedure I open up my mail and, to my delight, find notes of encouragement and support. How lucky I am to not be alone in this.

Encouraging News

After much bad news we finally heard something positive!

I met with another surgeon today, Dr. Helena Chang. She is the director of the breast cancer center at UCLA and comes very highly recommended. We liked her very much and feel that we are in good hands.

She believes this is treatable and that a cure is a likely outcome. This is the first time since this began that I have heard this, so this was a big moment for me.

That being said, I remain a challenging case and this next year is going to be very difficult for me. Like the other surgeon we met, she believes that chemotherapy prior to the surgery is the way to go to shrink the tumor enough to ensure a clean margin during surgery. So, beginning the Monday after Thanksgiving I will start several months of chemotherapy and am looking at surgery in April or May.

This week I will be busy with all the pre-tests, bloodwork, body scans, etc. required to be sure the cancer hasn't spread and that I am
otherwise healthy enough to withstand the chemotherapy. Also important is a culture that will tell us what kind of chemotherapy to use with this particular cancer. I will meet my Oncologist as well.

I still can't really absorb that this is happening to me. Yet, it is, and the good in it is evident in all of you who are praying, writing, calling, and offering to help with whatever we need. Thanks will never be enough.

I Think I Liked "No News" Better

Well, I met with the surgeon today. He confirmed what I already suspected, that this is a fairly aggressive cancer and that I will need a complete masectomy. He set me up with an oncologist and a PET Scan so they can assess whether or not the cancer has spread outside of the breast. He saw nothing that indicated to him that it has spread, so I am hopeful.

Chemo is in my future, potentially both before and after the surgery. I am ridiculously and superficially concerned about losing my hair, as if it really matters that much. It will grow back. Still, the kids are going to be merciless with the bald jokes...

I have an appointment with UCLA tomorrow for a second opinion. We liked the surgeon we met today just fine but it seems a second opinion for something this major is in order. They may recommend a different course, in which case we will need to make some decisions.

I am overwhelmed by gratitude for the prayers, support and help I have received from far and near. Especially I am grateful for my church and school community who are mobilizing in an unbelievable way to help us through this. Words cannot express my heartfelt thanks.

Keep praying! It's going to be a long road, but I'm determined to beat this.

Not What We Hoped For

Here we go...

I have cancer. I can't actually believe it yet but it seems to be true. I will know more tomorrow after I meet with the surgeon.

Thank you for your continued prayers, they are what's holding me together.

Seven for Seven

It's official! Now that Joey is down, there is no one left in my house to catch the flu...except me, but since I don't intend to get it I am declaring that in 24 hours we will be DONE.

Here's to dubious achievements!

No News Is Good News, Right?

Well, it's not bad news, at any rate. It's just no news.

The doctor's office called and said, hopefully, I will know something Monday. The pathologist hasn't signed off on the sample yet, though it has been on his desk all afternoon. Of course I'm full of crazy ideas about why that might be, but that's just my imagination.

So, thanks for worrying along with me. I'll let you know as soon as I know.

A Good Distraction

If you need to distract yourself from any of life's difficult situations, may I suggest this trick which is currently working very well for me.

Have your family contract the stomach flu, watch them go down one by one like dominos, and eye your few remaining children as if they were ticking time bombs. Watch your husband go down along with them.

I am finding this an extremely effective distraction on this day when I most desperately need one. So, gifts sometimes do come in very strange packages.

The Unthinkable

There is something wrong with my breast.

For several months a dense mass has been developing. At first I thought it must be related to breastfeeding, some kind of mastitis. During the summer Natalie started refusing the affected breast, so for the last several months I only fed her on one side. I thought this odd but wasn't particularly alarmed since I know some babies do this for no reason at all.

In September I went for an Ultrasound. They could not do a mammogram because I was still nursing and the milk makes it unclear. The tech said she really couldn't see anything but could definitely feel the mass so I should come back for a mammogram when I was finished nursing.

I began to wean Natalie shortly after this, in anticipation of a mammogram. It was a little earlier than I would have liked, but I felt that I should not let this situation continue unchecked.

I went for my mammogram last week. It showed "architechtural abormalities", skin thickening and calcification, none of which are good to have, but no specific mass, so the radiologist ordered an MRI and a biopsy. The MRI confirmed and pinpointed areas of suspicion.

I have just returned from the biopsy and am now waiting until Friday when there should be a preliminary report on the pathology of the samples they extracted today.

No one seems to know exactly what this might be. It is suspicious, but not a clear-cut cancer. On a scale of 1-5, 1 being clearly benign and 5 being clearly cancer, the radiologist rated my "spots" a 4. She also said that if it is cancer, it is an agressive one given how fast things are changing. Not something you want to hear.

On a more positive note, she mentioned a rare, benign condition called "granulomatous mastitis" which seems to fit my symptoms nearly exactly. It shows up in women generally within 18 months of a pregnancy. It is still not a good thing as it requires major surgical intervention, but at least it is not cancer. I am in the strange position of hoping that this is what I have.

I write this today asking for your prayers for a positive outcome to all of this. I think that whatever the outcome, I have a bit of a journey ahead of me and I am greatly comforted by my friends and family, even those of you who read this blog and have never met me personally.

I am grateful most of all for my faith, which remains strong and gives me peace. I am certain God is firmly in charge of this situation and will not give me more than I can handle.

I will post the outcome when I receive it, hopefully Friday. In the meantime, please think positively for me!

It's All in How You Phrase It

We were all sitting around the dinner table the other night when Julia burped. Loudly, without restriction.

Now, Jay and I are soft in many areas (sweets, TV, for example) but table manners is not one of them, so we reacted immediately.

I said, incredulously, "Julia, did you just BURP at the dinner table?" in my best "How Could You!" tone, while Jay shot his famous "Dad is Disappointed with You" glare.

She looked up innocently and said, "No!"

"What was that, then?" I asked skeptically.

"Just air coming out of my mouth," she replied without missing a beat.

When the hysterical laughter burst out around the table I knew my chances for discipline were slipping. When Jay and I couldn't help joining the laughter, they were completely dashed.

Hint Taken

Okay, okay, here are the photos of the kids in their costumes...I can take a hint!

Lindsey the Eskimo carried Pooh Bear Bella all around her school's carnival. It was very sweet.


Sam the hot dog...

Sam was nice enough to loan Tony his football gear so he could be an official player, just like his big brothers.

Julia was a beautiful flamenco dancer.

And here are the girls dressed for the All Saints Day mass at school. Lindsey is Mary and Julia is St. Rachel the Matriarch. Not sure Mary ever wore black sneakers under her mantle, but, hey, she probably didn't have P.E. in the middle of her afternoon, either.

Joey did not really "do" Halloween this year, so no photo of him. He wore his football pads to school and went trick or treating as "the Ultimate Steelers fan" in his Jersey and belt.

I never even dressed Natalie in her clown costume. Some mom I am! She is just so wiggly and drooly that I opted for practical, regular clothes. Clearly she is the seventh child, poor deprived thing!

Hope everyone had a very Happy Halloween...and Merry All Saints Day!

Something in the Air

I have heard many legends of crazed parents coming out of the woodwork at children's sporting events. You know the ones...those who scream and shout and insult and seem to ache for a confrontation with someone, anyone. Yet, I have never really seen any of these parents in action. Until today. And today, they were out in spades. Maybe it was because it is Halloween. Or, maybe we just ran into everyone in the valley who happened to be in a bad mood. Whatever it was, it made for spicy sporting events!

It started at Julia's soccer game this morning. It began as a nice game, from our team's perspective, anyway. We were winning, 7-0 when a girl on the other team started shoving our girls. I don't mean pushing them casually during play. I mean really shoving them whenever they got near her to guard her, whether the ball was in her vicinity or not. At first there were just a few "hey!" type comments from our parents, and the assistant coach asked her, very nicely, to please stop pushing. It persisted until our coach asked her coach to remove her from the game. This request caused the other team's coach to come unglued (apparently, it was her daughter). She was not at all happy with the score and began blaming our coaches for not telling our girls to back off and let them have some goals. Seriously? This is a competitive sport, is it not?!

Things devolved extremely quickly. When the other team's coach refused to remove her daughter from the game (or even correct her) our coach eventually called the game, refusing to allow play to continue under those conditions. A literal swarm of parents came and physically confronted our coach and her husband. I, who never get involved in anything like this, actually stepped in the middle and was one of several parents pulling them apart. One mom was saying, "How dare you talk to our players!" as if we should really, truly not say anything when one of their players was physically assaulting our players. Truly unbelieveable.

However, I, who am not nearly as much of a soccer fan as I am a football fan, found this to be one of the most interesting, engaging soccer games I have ever attended, so I guess every situation has it's positive points.

This spirit of confrontation followed us to Joey's football game where it was my very own husband who found himself in the middle of an altercation. Jay counts plays for Joey's team and usually watches the game from the other team's sideline, where he is most often stationed. His job is to make sure that the other team is honest about how many plays each team member logs during a game, to be sure every player is played at least 10 plays. He has done this job many times and has never had a problem (although he has often reported how lucky we are in our coaching staff relative to the mess that are some other teams in our league).

As he always does, Jay was cheering for Joey when he made some especially good pops. The opposing team's coaches told Jay to shut up and accused him of "coaching" Joey from the sidelines. He was absolutely not doing that, just cheering and encouraging him to block his man, so he gave those coaches a little feedback that let them know in no uncertain terms that it was his right and duty to cheer for his own kid and that he was going to continue to do so. Three very large coaches pushed him back and started screaming at him. Jay held his ground and ultimately told them to count their own plays, returning to our side. After a brief investigation by the president of the league, Jay was well supported. Even the other team's team mom said that Jay was not the problem, that he had been nice the whole time. Nevertheless, he wisely remained on our side for the rest of the game. In what I thought to be a totally classy move on his part, Jay made of point of shaking hands with the worst offender coach after the game when he passed him in the parking lot.


What on earth is going on here? Should we not cheer for our children, no matter where in the field we are? Should we not demand that players play fair and follow rules of conduct for a game? There are bullies everywhere who will run you over if you don't stand your ground.

And it seems we ran into every one of them today.


(And, by the way, this ends regular season play for our boys. Joey's team is undefeated with a bye for the first week of playoffs and Sam's team has just one loss. Playoffs, here we come!)

My Daily Dose of Reality

Tony ( while hugging me): You're the best mom EVER!

Me (all excited): Really?

Tony: Well, actually, there are some that are better than you, but you are better than some others.

Thanks, Tony, for keeping it real.

Not Too Shabby

Lindsey's cheer squad took second place in today's cheerleading competition. It was really, really close between her team and the squad that won...I'm glad I wasn't judging it because they were both so good!

I think Lindsey's routine was a little tighter (more in sync), but the Highland squad had four really good tumblers (as opposed to one on Lindsey's team) so that part was quite impressive. At any rate, it was my first cheer competition and, all in all, pretty fun to watch. I especially enjoyed seeing the boys from the teams hand out roses to the girls after competition (including Joey and Sam). They practically ran eachother over to get to the girl each preferred to give a rose to.

Last night we hosted the pre-competition hair party for the girls and, my goodness, was that a scene! 12 giggling, screaming girls getting curlers in place with Joey and Sam looking like they couldn't quite believe their own good fortune to have a house full of cheerleaders. Joey actually asked if he could invite his team over in order to increase his social capital (not in so many words, but you get the idea...).

It was definitely nice to see Lindsey, who often feels overshadowed by the football players, have her day in the sun...and, boy, did she shine.

Another of Life's "Good News-Bad News" Situations

Well, my washing machine is broken. Again.

It has served me well over the last 10 years, washing on average 12-15 loads per week. It was visited by the repair man several months ago, and has been on borrowed time ever since. So, as it wheezed its last gasp yesterday, I decided to officially take it off of life support and say goodbye.

This was much easier than it sounds.

In fact, it was with a light heart and a skip in my step that I raced off to choose a new washing machine, knowing with certainty that it really was a necessary purchase and not at all premature. It is a sad testament to how much of my time is spent in the laundry room that I actually relished searching through the feature sets and price points, narrowing my choices according to my washing needs. It is a reflection of my reality that I made my choice in less than 20 minutes, came home and read all the reviews, prices and comparisons, and then went back two hours later to seal the deal. In the laundry arena, I have no time to waste with indecision. The purchase was made about 6 hours after the machine went down, and those of you who know me well know that I like to take days to weeks to make a decision like this!

At any rate, I can't wait to greet my new machine on Thursday. In the meantime, I actually get a few days off from laundry (thank goodness I was caught up when it went down, or I'd be in trouble!).

What shall I do with all my spare time?!!

Working Girl

For the first time in 10 years, I am earning and contributing some money to our household! Granted, it is a very nominal amount but, even so, it feels great.

Regular cantors at our church are paid a modest stipend, and I am singing nearly every Sunday now...hence the paycheck. I never would have thought I could earn money for doing something I love so much.

I suppose as time goes by, the hours of preparation and extra masses I attend may begin to feel more like work, but for now I am in the happy position of doing something I love and calling it a job.

As I was doing my "job" this morning at the 6:45 am mass (OK, maybe I SHOULD be paid for getting up that early) I had the pleasure of seeing the morning sun break through the stained glass window and cast its rays right on the altar. As I "worked", I experienced the joy of serving alongside my daughter, who served as the book bearer for the mass (OK, maybe I should be paid for getting HER up that early!).

How tedious could work be that requires you to proclaim the word of God in song? That forces you to listen to different priests reflect in totally unique and inspiring ways on the same gospel? That allows you to sit peacefully for stretches just outside of the tabernacle?

Nope, it's not too tough at all.

(Don't tell them, but I would totally do it for free.)

Bursting With Pride

Those of you who are easily nauseated should skip this post, for I am going to shamelessly boast about my eldest child.

For a number of years, Joey had a difficult time in school (with academics, never behavior). In addition, he had trouble finding an extracurricular activity that he had a knack for. These things combined seriously shook his self-confidence and resulted in Jay and I being very worried about him.

Everything is different now, and I am so grateful.

This morning, I attended a sixth grade awards assembly at Joey's school where he was selected as the first "Student of the Month" for his class of 32. There is only one per month so it is not an honor everyone receives during the year, by any means.

Last year Joey also made student of the month (twice, actually) but was selected by his resource teacher, not his regular classroom teacher. Today's recognition was what he had been hoping for, to be chosen by his primary teacher.

Listening to her talk about why she chose Joey, I heard her describing the child every parent dreams of. Consistently works hard in school, is always pleasant and willing, tries again when he doesn't get something right the first time. To frost my cake, Joey's other teacher (they switch between two classes in sixth grade to prepare them for Jr. High) came up to Jay and I after the assembly and said that she, too, would have chosen Joey if he had been in her homeroom. She echoed the sentiments of his primary teacher...and she is his language arts teacher, his weakest subject!

Two or three years ago Jay and I would have paid anything, made any sacrifice, to have a conversation like that with his teacher, yet today we had it.

On the extracurricular front, Joey has also made amazing progress. This week, he got "promoted" to the higher offense in football in recognition of his great personal improvement over this first half of the season. He is hitting hard and making his blocks more and more consistently. He is now playing defense too, where his job is to sack the quarterback. Yesterday, to his utter surprise, he actually reached him for the first time (against the best offense in the league). It was clear to everyone that it would be the first of many for him. He also, for the first time, got to play QB for a few snaps yesterday. He was so jazzed. That would not have happened a year ago.

Further, we are coming into snowboarding season, the sport where Joey was naturally gifted from his very first run down the mountain. With all his new gear (gratis from the wonderful 686 company) he is going to be a sight. I am so glad for him.

None of this success would mean a thing to us if he weren't also a really great person. He has a good conscience and is reliable. He is funny and fun to be with. I trust him.

How blessed we are to see our child, after many prayers, transform into all we knew he could be. There is no greater joy than witnessing your child, especially one who has struggled so, experience success born from hard work.

Yes, it is a good time for his parents.

P.S. The other kids are doing really well too! More on them another time...

An Insult Only A Catholic Kid Could Come Up With

Lindsey: When I get to heaven, my guardian angel will be my best friend!

Joey: No she won't, she'll get assigned to someone else. You know, your guardian angel used to be someone else's.

Lindsey: Nuh -Uh!

Joey: Face it, your guardian angel is refurbished!

So Very 8-Year-Old-Boy

For those of you who may not know (since I haven't posted in so long), I am homeschooling Sam this year. I am absolutely loving my time with him, as I am getting to know him and his delightful personality so much better through our time together.

Today I took Sam to our Catholic Homeschool Group's President's Physical Fitness Day in the park. They basically drill the kids a couple times a month over a few months to prepare them to hit the PE goals of this program, like doing a certain number of situps in a minute and hitting running goals, pushup goals, etc.

At the situp station, the kids were paired up. One child did situps while the other held the knees and counted. The kids were all very interested in how many situps they could complete in their time allotment and competition was high, especially among the boys.

When it was Sam's turn, he eagerly attacked his situps, obviously trying to be the rooster of the group. He was giving it his all, throwing himself into each situp while his partner held his knees and kept his count, at first out loud and then silently, at the request of the moderator.

I noticed about 30 seconds in that Sam's partner was looking off into the distance. Must be really concentrating, I thought. Good, because Sam was really flopping himself up and down in his frantic effort to be situp king.

When the moderator called time, Sam heaved himself on the mat, exhausted, and asked eagerly, "How many did I do?"

His partner looked confused and did not answer. The moderator said, "You DID count Sam's situps, right?"

The answer was not even apologetic; rather it stated a simple fact: "No, not really."

You have GOT to love 8 year old boys.

Apologies

Thanks to those of you who have written to see if I'm OK, as I have not posted in forever. Yes, we are all fine!

My computer has been on a slow decline for a number of months. It finally reached the point where it became so slow and buggy that I quit using it nearly altogether, especially now that I live by my iPhone for most things I might have used my computer for. However, I cannot blog to my satisfaction on my iPhone, so I simply have not been blogging.

The good news is that I am typing this from my new computer which my family purchased for me for my birthday. I am totally excited by how fast it is but am still figuring out Vista and getting all my old files transfered over...some more succesfully than others.

So bear with me, and thanks to you if you are even still reading this sleepy blog. I am not intending to abandon it!

Fire

The Station Fire is not far from us. For the past two days, the sky has been an awesome and terrible reminder of the battle raging only a few miles away.

Ash is drifting down on us like snow--Joey's football game got called at the half yesterday for air quality concerns. We all had to shake the flakes off of our clothes, out of our cups and even off the car windshield wipers, where it likes to pile.

There is an eerie and beautiful light to the day, capped off by amazing glimpses of a totally red sun. How ironic it is that disaster creates such beauty.

Our thoughts and prayers are with those who have lost their homes, and especially with the families of the two firefighters killed this afternoon. May this beast be contained quickly and deftly.

Silly Me

So, I'm watching Joey's scrimmage game last week when Lindsey comes up to me and tells me that Tony is kicking people. (He is playing with a group of off-duty cheerleaders and various siblings of players.)

I call him over and proceed to have this enlightening conversation with him:

Me: What's going on? I hear you're kicking people.

Tony, with total wide-eyed innocence: Not EVERYone.

Oh. Well. Then I guess we're OK. How silly of me to be concerned, because clearly there is no problem here! So glad he set me straight.

A Valid Concern

Tomorrow Jay and I are flying to San Antonio with Tony, Bella and Natalie.

While I was tucking the kids in tonight, I was explaining how to behave on a plane...how not to bother the other passengers, etc.

After hearing the list of basic courtesies, Tony looked skeptically at his sister and said, "I think Bella is going to make all the other passengers jump right out of the plane."

I am actually entertaining this possibility. Wish us luck!