There is so much to catch up on, I once again don't even know where to start. I have about ten different posts that I started and just never finished throughout my treatment. So I figured that I would start with those!

Before we go there though, I have to say, HOLY CRAP I'M DONE!!! I officially finished chemo on May 28th and it was probably the second most emotional day yet. I have so much more that I want to write about, but for now, I'll just say that it felt so good, like unexplainable kind of good, to cry those happy tears. Even throughout all of this, we have had a ton of fun that I can't wait to post about to, and we have some big changes coming up as well. We sold our home and bought a new one pretty much within the same two weeks of finishing treatment! I'm holding my breath until we get through settlement, which is one week from today!

One of the things I thought about a lot while going through surgery and treatment was what I would tell someone that was just about to go through this. That was a hard list to come up with. There's nothing in this world that can prepare you for hearing those words, "You have cancer". Absolutely nothing. Your mind goes right to the worst. The first few hours, days and weeks are a complete blur. Keeping your head above water during those first few weeks and months, seems to be the hardest thing out of it all. At least it was for me, so far. It's hard not to become paralyzed by those first few weeks. One day, you wake up and realize though, that life goes on. Life doesn't stop. Maybe yours changes, and maybe yours slows down and looks different. But it sure doesn't stop. At first, that's a hard pill to swallow. It was for me.

Sometimes it felt like becoming a parent for the first time, like, when you swear that the doctors forgot to give you the "How To Be A Parent" manual. There has to be one right?! How are you supposed to know what to do? The Internet just scares the living crap out of you, so you can't trust that. Surely there has to be a manual.

Surprise, surprise. There isn't.

When I think back on things that I wish I knew about getting cancer from day one, it seems like the list is never ending. There's nothing that will take that shock, that sting, that fear, away when you get your diagnosis. But it sure wouldn't hurt to have that manual. Here's what I would put in mine. 

This Sucks: There are probably a lot of better words to describe it, but what it comes down to is that it really sucks. And that's okay that you feel that way. It sucks that you can't take back what just happened. It sucks that no one can promise you anything. It sucks that it's happening to you. People are going to tell you immediately that everything is going to be okay. They don't know that, and you want to tell them that. Sometimes its to help them cope with hearing the news. But sometimes you just want to hear about how bad this sucks and it's okay to freak out about it.

You Might Not Ever Know Why: It gets very easy early on to fixate on how the heck this all happened. What in the world did you do that was wrong? How did you get it? How long has it been there? Depending on your situation, you may never get answers to those questions, and guess what, that sucks too. You will drive yourself crazy asking all these questions, and in the end, it doesn't really matter because it won't change anything, other then making it hard for you to stay positive, and that, is what ultimately helps you through it all. But trying to let go of all of the "Why's" is a hard thing to do. If you can do it though, it will make a world of difference.
 

The Worst Part Is Not Knowing The Plan: Do I need surgery? Do I need chemo? Do I need radiation? Is my hair going to fall out? What's next and why is it taking so long? The first couple of days and weeks are completely overwhelming. Appointments after appointments. Phone calls after phone calls. How do you tell your family? Who do you tell? Everyone has questions, and you don't have any answers, at least not yet. Little by little your plan will start to fall into place. But it can take a while. Some days you might get a couple pieces of the puzzle, but there might be some missing for months. Focus on the pieces that you have, get through those obstacles first, then concentrate on filling in the rest.
 
Find Your Dream Team and Know Who To Talk To: For me, after seeing the radiologist and being diagnosed, it was right to the surgeons. I was meeting with cancer surgeons and plastic surgeons before meeting an oncologist. Based on the facts and my situation, I was okay with that. I trusted every single one of my doctors. I was at one of the best hospitals in the country. I didn't get any second opinions because I felt that I didn't need to. But maybe that's not right for others. I felt like I was handed my dream team right from the get-go, but if you're not, make sure you go out and find it. There will be a pretty big team too. So make sure you know who to ask about what. I was very confused about it all, but I asked really stupid questions, just to understand who I needed to go to for what, who made the decisions, how they all worked together. 

 You're Going To Feel Guilty. I Know. Crazy: This one surprised me. Like big time. I'm the one that got cancer, so why do I feel guilty? I still have no idea why, but I did, and still do. I remember apologizing to Wes over and over in the tiny little room after being diagnosed. I was sorry that I got cancer. I was sorry that I was about to put him through everything that was about to happen. I felt guilty when I couldn't see the kids at night after chemo. I felt guilty for having a bad day after surgery, because when I had a bad day, my family had a bad day. I feel guilty that Emma and Jack watched more TV just so we could get through some days. I felt guilty that I can't do as much as I used to. I felt guilty if I didn't do enough for Christmas, or a Birthday Party. I felt guilty for all the pain I was causing both our families. Everyone else understands, but sometimes it's hard for you to. Life doesn't stop when you get cancer. But it sure makes you feel guilty when it's your cancer that changes things in life, or prevents your kids from going to a birthday party, or swim class.
 

Living Under A Microscope Is Hard: There are going to be a lot of people taking care of you, and you need all the help you can get. But it can make you feel like you are living under a microscope. It can make you feel like every move you make, even the little ones, is analyzed, and then analyzed again, then it's put on the front page of the family newspaper for everyone to see. Like, if you are too tired to shower for a day, then you take a shower the next day, its a big deal. If you nap everyday, then one day you feel like you don't need to nap, its a big deal. If you cough, it somehow has to be linked to your cancer. If you are tired one day, its because you have cancer. Everyone is going to tell you its okay to have bad days, but when you do, the news seems to spread like a wildfire. So then you feel like it's not okay to have bad days. I don't have any answers on how to deal with it, and it's not that anyone is doing anything wrong, it's just one of those things that you don't expect or see coming.
 
Let People Help You: Once the news starts to spread, you will probably be overwhelmed by your family and friends reaching out. Some people will have been through it and know exactly how to help. Some people won't know how to help, but they will guess. Some people will do things to help themselves feel better (and that's okay too). Some people will just ask you what help you need. All of those things are good. Don't be afraid to tell them exactly what you need help with. This was really hard for me. I had a really hard time getting to the point where I could tell my own mom, that the help I needed was for her to clean the bathrooms in our house. It was hard to admit that I couldn't do it. It was hard to admit that I couldn't handle it all. Everyone will probably tell you how amazed at how strong you are, so when you feel like you need help, it can feel like you aren't being that strong person everyone says you are. Let them help you. However you need it. It will seem easier to hide sometimes, and sometimes you might need to do that too. But when you need help, don't be afraid to ask for it.  Even for just random daily stuff. 

Lay Off The Google Searches - Most of the Time: I am a firm believer that the Internet can be your worst enemy. It happens all the time. You get a pimple on your arm and you google it and the next thing you know you have self diagnosed yourself with cancer. Multiple that by a thousand, and that's what happens when you Google about having cancer. I made a decision very early on, and it was probably one of the best decisions that I made, was to truly limit my Internet research. I didn't research how long it would take to lose my hair. I didn't research percentages, survival rates, surgery, chemo side effects, none of that stuff. Every singe person is different. Some people going through chemo is a walk in the park, some people have a much harder time with it. So you never know what your experience will be like, so don't spend time freaking yourself out. The only thing I would Google or research was test results that I didn't understand. After getting my full pathology report, I wanted to know more about the data. I'm an engineer. I like data. This made me feel better. This was specific to me. This helped me prepare for doctors appointments, I had a list of questions to help me understand what I was facing.
 

Find Your Meaning: This one is tricky because very early on, you are going to wonder what you did wrong to deserve this. I sure did. It might even take you a really long time to get through that, it took me months. But once I found my meaning, and for lack of better words, made peace with my diagnosis, it wasn't such a struggle to stay positive. I'm not going to lie. On the bad days, you are going to want to say "F-Off" to the meaning. When you are laying in bed trying not to move because you are afraid of barfing, the meaning isn't going to help. But just know that there is a lesson in everything. When you can, and when you are ready, look for your lesson or your meaning is. Everyone is different. My meaning might be completely different then yours. Once I found mine, I felt stronger. I stopped fighting with the "Why's", which helped me dedicate more energy to the positive. 

Don't Forget to Laugh: Again, there are going to be a lot of days where you wonder if you ever even smiled that day, let alone laughed. But as you get through those first awful days and weeks, remind yourself to laugh. Remind yourself that its okay to still have fun. You can stare cancer right in the eye, and still have fun. 

Change Your Expectations: Okay this one, I really stink at. But I'm learning and doing better every day with this one. During my first appointment with my oncologist, where we found out that chemo was the next step in my plan, we were talking about work and just how chemo was going to affect the things I do. I specifically remember him saying "You won't be able to do everything you are doing now." That statement struck me harder then I thought. I didn't like that. I didn't like that cancer was going to affect what I wanted to do. I didn't like asking for help. I didn't like thinking that I couldn't handle everything. I didn't like having to change my expectations because of cancer. I was determined to be the exception to the case. At least until my first AC treatment knocked me down and out for a week. It took me a long time to be okay with the fact that it was going to be a rough ride and despite me trying to live like I normally did, I couldn't. I think some of that determination was good, it got me through 12 weeks of Taxol, working full time. But it also got me in trouble sometimes. My last AC treatment was over, and I was thrilled. I did too much, and paid for it and barely avoided an ER visit. Barely. My expectations is what made me struggle to ask for help and why it took so long. Someone once told me to be open to a different version of a happy ending. It made the world of difference. 
 
Find Your Inspiration: Who knows where your inspiration will come from. It might be some of the cheesy quotes or pictures online. It might be from someone that you know that has been through it. It might be from inside you. It doesn't matter where it comes from, it just matters that you find your own inspiration. For me, it was my husband, my Emma Kathryn and my Jackson Douglas. They were my inspiration. They were what got me out of bed on the days where I just wanted to bury my head under my pillow. They are the ones that made me laugh, when I wanted to cry. They are the ones that I stayed positive for. They are the ones that gave me strength and hope. They are the ones that kept my mind away from the really bad stuff. They are the ones that made certain decisions for. They are the ones that made me okay with going through chemo. I would have taken gasoline if it meant I would be around for the long haul. A single mastectomy wasn't even an option in my mind, because of these three. Not doing chemo wasn't even an option in my mind, because of these three.   

It Will End. Eventually: It's not going to seem like it at first, but all of this will end, eventually. It will always be a part of you, it will always be something in the back of your mind, but it won't always seem to define you like it does in the beginning. It won't always be the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning. The tunnel seems very long, and some days you can't even see the light at the end of it. But trust me, it's there. You will come out of that tunnel stronger, wiser, and you certainly won't take life for granted ever again. One of my absolutely amazing nurses, the one that led us through the Red Devil, once told me that one day, she realized that it was almost noon, and she hadn't thought about having cancer yet that day. That's how she knew she had started to truly live her life again. I can't wait for that day. I'm on my way.

The Red Devil

Disclaimer: I decided to post some pictures along with my story about my first four rounds of chemotherapy and my port placement. They aren't too bad but I did put a picture of what my port looked like the day I got the procedure, so just wanted to give you a fair warning!

I don't really know why it's taken me so long to blog about what life has been like over the past couple of months. I was actually shocked when I looked back on our blog to see that my last post was from back in December! I had all intentions of posting about each round of chemo because I thought that I didn't want forget what it was like. I didn't want to forget how Round 1 was different then Round 2, which was different then Round 3 and then finally Round 4. Turns out, that although your reaction and side effects to chemo can be pretty predictable, your emotional state sure can't from week to week. And just couldn't bring myself to go back "there" each week, until I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

The treatment weeks seemed hard enough to get through, physically and emotionally. The little bit of energy that I would have on those weeks I spent on my family. The following week after treatment was often "back to normal", or at least back to what our new normal was. I felt much better physically and emotionally on those weeks, which I thought would be the perfect time to document our story. But nope. In all honesty, I didn't want anything to do with blogging those weeks. I didn't want anything to do with cancer. I didn't want anything to do with chemotherapy. I didn't want to rehash or relive how I felt the week before. Once I got through those treatment weeks, I didn't want to go back. All I could do was look forward, not backwards.

Having said all of that though, and now that we have made it through the big four treatments of the Red Devil, I finally feel ready to share. There are probably a lot of things that I thought about sharing over the weeks that I now forgot, but here goes nothing.

I had heard the term "Red Devil" maybe a handful of times before starting my AC treatment but I was so overwhelmed that I didn't really think too much of it. People were very careful about what they told me about going through AC. The doctors were very open and honest, but careful in their delivery of the news. People who had gone through it would tell me that it was hard, but that I would come through the other side. They would always focus more on positive (and rightfully so). But after treatment number one, it was very clear to me why the called Adriamycin the Red Devil. My treatment plan was pretty standard for my type of breast cancer, and we kicked things off just after the holidays with getting port placed on January 7th, followed by round one of AC on January 13th.

Port Placement: This is probably one area where I wished I blogged about the procedure before now, because it seems like it was so long ago and I already don't remember a lot of what it was like. But before getting my port, I noticed there wasn't a lot of information online about what the procedure was like, how you felt afterwards, etc, so it was something I wanted to document. I actually wasn't too nervous about the procedure because I really didn't know much about it. Basically, a port is a little medical device that is placed under the skin to help eliminate the number of IVs that would be needed to go through weeks of chemotherapy treatment. There is a risk, especially with AC, when using an IV and since you also need bloodwork at every treatment, for me, that would have meant thirty two IVs only in my right arm (they can't use my left arm because of the lymph node removal) over the span of treatment. That pretty much would have destroyed all my veins in my right arm, so the decision to get a port placed was a pretty easy one. With the port, it's accessed only one time each treatment and allows for safer chemo delivery, as well as drawing of blood samples, all with one prick.


The port is placed in your upper chest, right below the collar bone. It's basically a cylinder with a hollow space inside that is sealed by a soft top. It connects to a small catheter that is run to one of the large central veins that delivers blood to your heart (close to your neck - ick). The procedure wasn't actually that bad. The worst past was that the hospital was running late so we had to wait around for about three extra hours before the procedure, but what can you do. You are put under a twilight medicine so there really wasn't any pain at all for me. Although you are "awake" and you can talk and answer questions, you aren't exactly "with it". I remember lying on the bed and having the surgeon talk to me, but I could have sworn that the procedure took a whopping 15 minutes, but apparently it was more like an hour and a half. Here is where my disclaimer comes into play. Here is a picture of what my port looked like coming home from the hospital the day it was placed, a picture of what it looks like today, and what it looks like during treatment when its all hooked up to the IV. It's kind of hard to tell from the pictures how far it sticks up under my skin, but there is a definite bump. I already can't wait to get this thing out of me.

I was back to work the next day, although that morning was a bit rough and I wasn't feeling so hot. By the afternoon I perked up a bit and even made it to the kids light festival at school. Although I clearly knew when I had enough and home we went, and Mommy went right to bed.

The Red Devil: I got my port placed on a Tuesday, and the following Monday was my first AC treatment. For now, I'll try to stick to just the physical aspect of treatment and get to the emotional ups and downs another day. Partly because that could make this the longest post known to man.

Once we got signed in a the oncology office for round one, the first thing was to get my vitals taken. You go over all your medications, pain levels, blood pressure, temperature, weight, etc. They base your chemo concoction on your weight, so it ends up being pretty important to keep an eye on your weight. If you end up changing by 10%, your concoction has to be adjusted. Next we headed back to the treatment room, which is basically one large room, separated by smaller treatment "rooms" (no doors, some are divided just by curtains, some have three walls with one curtain, etc) all surrounding a main nurse area. I have to say, that where I go, they really do try to make you as comfortable as possible. Some rooms have TVs with DVD players, they all have reclining chairs, and they provide heated blankets, and drinks and snacks to the patients. Next it was time to get blood drawn. I was a little nervous about what it felt like to get my port accessed, mostly because it was still a little sore from the procedure. But all in all it really wasn't that bad. It was much easier then getting an IV in your hand, one prick and I was done. It was pretty gnarly getting blood drawn out of your neck, but I try not to think about that part too often. :)

After getting blood drawn, you have to wait for the results before they will even mix your concoction. During this time though they start your regular IV drip and start to pump the nausea meds and steroids. I can't even remember all the meds that they give you before actually getting the chemo. I know one of the nausea meds was EMEND, which stays in your system for three days (come to find out, that's why often you will  hear day 3 of treatment is the worst, because that's when the EMEND wears off). I think I also got Decadron (steroids) and Aloxi. The steroids helps prevent allergic reactions for the chemo drugs and I was also told can help "soften" your body's overall reaction to chemo. It would take probably almost an hour to get all those medications done. I'm guessing it was the EMEND, but I got sleepy during the first round, kind of loopy. This part ended up getting hard to deal with for the following rounds, because after knowing how bad I was going to feel, my body started to anticipate it. So although the first round of getting the treatment was easier, it got harder. As soon as I walked into the office, I started to feel sick. Like the kind of sick that you know its in your head, but your body doesn't think so and there's no getting it out of your head. So for the follow on treatments, I ended up getting sick during the actual treatment. No matter what I tried.

After my bag of goodies, came the actual chemo treatments. During the first treatment, I had the Adriamycin first (sometimes in later treatments I had the Cytoxan first - it depended on what time it was and my nurses schedule). The Adriamycin is the Red Devil. Literally, it's red. It comes in three large syringes that are pushed into your IV over a course of about 15 minutes. The nurse would come in, make herself comfy and inject it one after another. After you get the Red Devil, you will actually pee orange or red for the next few days (depending on how hydrated your are). The scariest part of this whole thing was watching my nurse get prepped at her nurses station. When pushing the Adriamycin, she would come in with a mask, gloves and protective clothing over her scrubs. All I could think was that if the nurse didn't want it to touch her hands or her clothes, she shouldn't be injecting this into my body. If its that gnarly that you shouldn't touch it, its too gnarly to be in my body. If I have to double flush after using the bathroom to be sure, use a separate toilet from the kids for the first couple of days, wash my clothes separate, etc, it shouldn't be being injected into my neck. Point blank.

I didn't really feel any different immediately, other then still being a little sleepy from the nausea meds. So next up was the Cytoxan. This part comes in an IV bag and ran over about 45 minutes. I had the choice to run it over 30 or 45 minutes but since it was my first go around, we picked 45 minutes since it can cause some headaches and sinus pressure (as if you are breathing in really cold air through your nose). Luckily I didn't have much of that for the first go around, but it did start to show up more around Rounds 2 and 3 later on. One of the hardest parts of round one was just not knowing when it was going to hit you. You know its going to hit you. There's no question about that. You just don't know how bad or when.

After getting all 467 bags of my concoction, the last part, which ultimately ended up being the worst part of the actual treatment itself was getting the final saline flush of my port. They do this at the end to clear the line and flush out the port. It only takes a minute, but its gnarly. You end up being able to "taste" the saline as its being flushed, and when you are already feeling sick, that doesn't go over well. After that, its a quick injection into the port of Heparin, which keeps your blood from clotting in and around the port.


After treatment, I was sent home with basically six Zofran (anti-nausea) pills, one every twelve hours for the first three days after treatment, alone with six Decadron (steroids) pills, two each morning for the first three days after treatment. I also got some 'breakthrough" anti-nausea meds (Ativan) that is also an anti-anxiety pill, but that one come to find out didn't really do it for me. After the first round, we asked for something different and got Compazine added to the mix. That finally did the trick!

The following day after each treatment it was back to the oncologist office to get an injection of Neulasta to boost my white blood cell count. The shot was pretty painful, and it tended to burn when going in, but nothing too awful. The worst part of this whole process was that I had to pull myself out of bed, get into a moving car, drive 20 minutes, wait in the waiting room, then back in the car, all while trying to not throw up all over the place.

Now this part is where I might skimp on the details a bit here and there. There were a lot of different side effects from the AC treatment, and its hard for me to go back there mentally and emotionally. So I'll try to describe what I can, but some days I was just in a dark place, and I just don't want to ever go back there. Even if its to just talk about what it was like. 

I quickly learned that for me, my worst days were going to be right after treatment, and then each day got a little bit better. For the most part, each of the four treatments had similar side effects. Some were worse one treatment vs. another, some came at the exact same time each treatment, but overall, it was pretty close. After getting AC, I pretty much had a good three hours after until things hit. When it did, it came pretty fast and furious. I spent most Monday afternoons and evenings kind of locked up in my bedroom. I felt so sick that I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to sleep it away. This was the hardest because I could barely kiss the kids goodnight. I don't know what I would have done without Wes and my mom (who spent each treatment night with us, just in case). Right about the same time as the nausea set in, my sense of taste and smell went crazy. Sometimes, it was just the smell of an alcohol wipe at the office that would make me throw up during treatment weeks. That usually lasted a good week at home. The first round, I could pretty much only drink cold sour things, like lemonade. Water tasted like metal all the time. Any kind of hot tea was awful. I drank a lot of lemonade that week. For round two, I couldn't stand the sight of lemonade. Each week was different. Most times, each day was different. Foods that I normally liked, I didn't want anything to do with. When I started to be able to eat, usually around day three, it was chicken noodle soup. First just the broth, then with some noodles. Each day was just a little bit better then the last, so each day I could drink more or start to eat or sleep less, etc. I did get lucky with the mouth sores, I only ended up having a couple each round, and they usually came the week after treatment. They weren't bad enough to keep me from eating or drinking, but they were there. My fingernails were very brittle, and still are. The first round I had a good deal of leg and hip pain, but that didn't seem to repeat itself too much. Once the first couple of days passed and the nausea started to lift after day three, that's when the fog usually set in. It's very hard to describe, but your brain just seems foggy. It's hard to concentrate. It's like there is something in between the nerves in your brain that just makes it harder to think. It's exhausting. Then the reflux would set in. Each treatment that seemed to get worse, along with the fatigue. One of the hardest parts was just keeping my spirits up during that week, because often, as soon as I started to feel better, something else would kick in and it just felt like every time you got up, you got kicked back down.

The second week after treatment was like night and day compared to the first week. I was in bed for probably the first 2 - 3 days, then at home resting for the full week of treatment. The second week I was back to work, pretty much full time. I still had some digestive issues, mouth sores, smaller things like that. But again, compared to the first week, it was like a walk in the park.

Obviously there is one more side effect that I didn't really touch on yet, the hair loss. I'm reserving that one for a post all on its own.

So, in an attempt to not make this post continue on for forever, I'll start to sum it up. If you made it this far, you deserve an award. :)

That, in a nutshell, is what the red devil was like. One thing that I learned very quickly about cancer and especially chemo, is that its very personal. Everyone is different. Everyone reacts different. A lot of it is hard to describe and explain to loved ones. And it's just as hard emotionally as it is physically. Not just for the person going through it, but for the people who have to watch you go through it. It's hard to see your kids react and change because of what you are going through. It effects everyone around you, and no matter how crappy you feel, some days it just seemed harder to sit there and watch it effect everyone you love. On your good days, your loved ones will have good days. On your bad days, your loved ones will have bad days. But that's a lot of weight to hold on your shoulders sometimes, especially when you don't even feel strong enough to hold yourself up.

I have to say though, it feels really really good to be through the worst. I

The Plan

Every time I start a post now, I have to giggle because I feel like it's a new episode of a soap opera. I feel like I should start off with something like "Last time, on Life with The Odom's...." Haha! We left off a couple of days before our first appointment with the oncologist, which we had about a week and a half before Christmas. It seemed like life was once again on hold until we had that appointment, at least any major plans. We were still plugging along getting ready for Christmas, playing in the snow, baking cookies, and getting in plenty of snuggles and rest, but there were still so many unknowns.

About a week and a half after surgery, we got a call during dinner from the breast cancer surgeon with the final pathology reports. It was the second time we cried tears of joy in our new story.

2. LYMPH NODE, "SENTINEL NODE #1," LEFT AXILLA (DISSECTION):
-ONE (1) LYMPH NODE, NEGATIVE FOR CARCINOMA. 

3. LYMPH NODE, "SENTINEL NODE #2", LEFT AXILLA (DISSECTION):
-ONE (1) LYMPH NODE, NEGATIVE FOR CARCINOMA.

The lymph nodes were 100% clean.

It seemed like she could have just stopped right then and there. But she continued.

Margins were clean.

Skin was clean.

HER2 Negative.

Tumor measured 2.1 cm in the greatest dimension (which was pretty much what they were guessing).

The only negative result we received was that the invasive portion of the cancer (the tumor) was an Elston Grade 3 of 3. We didn't really know what that meant, or frankly, didn't really even care at the time of the phone call since we were just so freaking excited to confirm the lymph nodes status. We didn't know at the time that the Elston Grade would become a big factor in our treatment plan.

Come to find out, that Elston Grade basically represents the "aggressive potential" of the tumor, so a "low grade" (or a 1 on this scale) tends to be less aggressive than "high grade" (or a 3 on this scale). So it turns out, I have a pretty aggressive form of breast cancer.

Fast forward to our oncologist appointment, exactly four weeks after surgery, December 16th. It also happened to be exactly two months after my official diagnosis on October 16th.

(On a side note, I'm just going to skip over any more "16ths" in the upcoming months. Kthanksbye.)

I wanted to take a picture of the waiting room but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was all decorated for Christmas, but you could have heard a pin drop in that place. My mom was on daycare pick up duty so Wes came along with me and so did my Dad. It was just one of those appointments where you wanted that extra person to help listen, in case you started to hear things that got you upset. There was just something about this waiting room, and I realized it the minute that we walked in. There were only a couple of other folks there, but no one was there alone. Everyone had a support system. It wasn't a doctor's office where you go alone. It wasn't like going to get a check up. It was just different. There was a couple to our left, where the woman just looked miserable. She had her head on what I was assuming was her husband's shoulder, and she had clearly gone through, or was going through chemotherapy. That certainly made me take a step back. At one point, the nurse navigator came out to introduce herself to me and say that someone had told them I was coming, so they were expecting me. She said that she was sorry that I had to be there, but that she was glad they could try to help. I remember thinking and wondering how she could just talk so freely with the other people all in the waiting room. She wasn't quiet, she didn't whisper. Everyone knew I had breast cancer. It didn't take me long but I then realized everyone there had some form of cancer, so it wasn't ever a secret, or something to hide. The two couples there, came and went and we were still waiting. Cracking a few jokes here and there to keep our minds off of what we were there waiting for. After waiting over an hour, we finally got to meet my oncologist, who is now basically the team lead in my story.

The appointment lasted about and hour and a half, and it was once again like drinking from a fire hose. The first part was a lot of questions for Wes and I, about our lifestyle, family history, kids, where we worked, what kind of people we were. Then it was Dr. W reviewing the final pathology report. There was a point where Dr. W had one treatment plan in mind, then he found the Elston Grade result and the plan quickly changed. There was no doubt in his mind what my plan should be. a 20-week chemotherapy plan followed up by a minimum of a five year hormone therapy. The hormone therapy was pretty much a given for us, ever since we found out we were ER+, but hearing that chemotherapy plan officially was a bit of a blow.

The next half hour or so (that's what it seemed like at least), was spent talking about the Tamoxifen hormone treatment, fertility and the possibility of ovarian suppression. After that, it was on to the chemotherapy plan, which will include four cycles of AC (Adriamycin and Cytoxan), one dose every two weeks for four doses (so a total of 8 weeks), with a shot of Neulasta in the skin the day after each chemotherapy treatment to reduce the risk of infection. This will be followed by twelve weekly doses of Taxol (so a total of 12 weeks). We are supposed to kick things off next week.

Since diagnosis, chemotherapy has certainly been one of our biggest unknowns but pretty much for the entire time, I have been mentally trying to prepare myself thinking it was going to be a part of my treatment plan. I would never say that I wanted to go through chemo, but from Day 1 I have told myself that I would do anything, no matter what it was, to keep me around for as long as possible. If it sucks now, but means that I'll be here to pick out wedding dresses with Emma, I'll do it. If it sucks now, but means that I'll be here to watch Jack become an amazing father to his children, I'll do it. If it sucks now, but means I'll be here sitting next to Wes on our 50th wedding anniversary, I'll do it. So although it was certainly a shock to hear it, and a shock to hear that it would be four months worth, and a shock to officially be told that by the time you arrive for your second treatment your hair will be gone, there is no other option in my mind. After hearing the percent chance that my cancer could come back without treatment, and then hearing the percent chance it has after treatment, there's absolutely no question.

We ended up leaving the appointment at about 6:30PM, tired, nervous for what was to come, but I think also feeling confident in our path forward. We felt confident in Dr. W. He didn't sugar coat things, but was trying to get to know us, so he was personable too. We weren't a number to him. We were a young couple, with two very young kids. And he flat out said it was his job to keep me around for the long haul. And he sounded like that's exactly what he was about to do.

So that's the plan! I've been busy getting lots of appointments and check-ups out of the way before starting chemo (you can't do things like go to the dentist on chemo, etc, anything that has a risk of an infection). I even started back at work which felt amazing!! Next on the list is to get a major haircut, which is pretty much the first recommendation I'm gathering as it can be pretty traumatic when it starts to fall out, and maybe even pick out a wig for those days back to work.

You know, at first I felt like I just wanted to skip over 2014 since it was going to start out so sucky. But now, I think of it as the start to the rest of my life. Any mom out there would be eager to start whatever it was, that was going to keep her around for a very long time. 

I've Been Looking At A Blank Screen for Weeks...

I don't know what it was that was keeping me from blogging over the past couple of weeks. Outside of the obvious surgery recovery. I sat down so many times with my computer open, a new post ready for words, feelings, thank yous, anything. But nothing ever seemed to come out. The odd part, was that there was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to write about. Sometimes, on tough sleeping nights I would lay awake just thinking about everything I wanted to say about the past month, but the next day I would open my computer, and I just didn't know where to start. So you will have to forgive me because who knows where this post will go and how long it might eventually be! I just am going to sit down, and start typing and see what happens!

It feels like it was forever ago that we started our new journey, our new story. There are so many notes and cards and messages and phone conversations that have happened over the past month that will probably all trickle out in different posts, but there was one that stands out to me a lot. It was an email that Wes and I received the Saturday before my surgery and it's what I thought about every time I sat down to try to write about our latest journey. It was about how this was our story. Even though everyone has a story about a neighbor or a cousin or a friend or a coworker, this was going to be our story and was just about us, and eventually this big net of friends and family that are gathered around us to catch us. The email said "we all have to acknowledge that this is your story." I don't know why that had such an impact on me. Maybe its because as soon as we got our diagnosis, all the other stories started pouring in. Sometimes we needed to hear them, sometimes we didn't. It was always coming from a good place in someones heart, that just wanted to help. But it was often very overwhelming. Over the past month, I have just been constantly reminding myself, that this is our story, so ultimately, that's what I decided to sit down and write about. I can't thank that family member enough for that email to Wes and I that day. It meant more than you will ever know.

It seems like so long ago that we got the actual diagnosis. At first, it seemed like it was a lifetime between diagnosis and surgery. But now, it seems like it went by in the blink of an eye. The weeks in between were very odd. Mostly, extremely good and very normal. It was odd and exactly what we needed at the same time, to go back to normal life, even though we knew what was coming. Work was what I needed during the day to take my mind off of what was going on. In the evenings, it was the babies that kept us busy like usual. They were our lifesavers. We talked to them about what was going to happen. Honestly, I really didn't know what to tell them or not tell them, but in the end, we were open and honest and used words like cancer and surgery and hospital, just because we knew they would over hear them in conversations anyway. Of course they didn't understand much, especially Jack, but I think Emma understood as much as she needed to. We told them that Mommy had cancer and that the doctors needed to take the cancer out so Mommy wouldn't get sick. We told them that cancer was like weeds in our flower garden. If you don't take the weeds out, they will spread and make the flowers sick. It actually ended up being perfect because they love to help Mommy and Daddy take the weeds out of the garden in the summer. They have been absolutely amazing through all this. 

One day I noticed that our favorite photographer was having some fall mini-sessions. She usually books up fast and it was only a week away but on a whim, I thought why not? It was something I was thinking about doing in the spring, but given that our immediate future was somewhat up in the air, I took a shot and turns out she had the perfect opening. Boy was it cold that day and I wouldn't say that we were exactly prepared with proper outfits but she always makes us laugh, and the kids adore her. It was the perfect thing to do, and I am so glad that we decided to capture this exact time in our lives even in just a few photographs.

I love these three so much, that I can barely even stand it.  

Before we knew it, it was Halloween and time for the babies Halloween parade at school! Of course Emma was another princess this year and it only took us about two hours in the store to decide which one! Jack on the other hand went as the most handsome Peter Pan known to man. Clearly.

The Halloween parade must be so overwhelming for the kids because the shopping center just gets lined with parents with cameras and store owners and shoppers all clamoring to see the cuteness. After seeing so many little ones pass, we finally got a glimpse of  Peter Pan coming down the sidewalk.

It took him a few minutes but he finally saw Mommy when he was about two feet away from us. Before we could blink, Cinderella was charging along and was so excited that she barely even acknowledged us! And yes, here hair usually looks like that when she goes to school. Ha!

Round two on the other side of the shopping center, came Peter Pan once again! Talk about Mr. Serious once again!

Then, Cinderella made another appearance, and finally flashed that little beauty pageant smile and princess wave. My heart just melted.

After heading home to meet Mimi for dinner, we quickly got dressed and headed out for some trick or treating. I will say, that this was just about the perfect Halloween night. The kids were completely into trick or treating, it was the perfect weather, and everyone just had a blast. It was exactly what I was hoping for and needed. It just seemed like such a bright spot in our lives and I was so thankful for such an amazing day.

After Halloween, life seemed like a blur. I had to attend a couple days of training for work, so I ended up being on travel during our wedding anniversary (sorry babe!), then the day after travel was my pre-op appointment, which is a whole other story. Then there were fun birthday parties, a very busy last week of work and eventually, getting ready for Gigi to arrive to help during the week of surgery.

It was an indescribable feeling, going on about life normally, knowing that I had cancer. I think that is when I started to emotionally detach myself from the parts that I would soon be having removed.

Because there has been so much that has happened over the past couple of weeks, I'm starting out small, and will skip over the actual surgery and recovery for now, to give you an update on how we are doing this week. (More to come on all that other not-so-fun stuff).

Everyday is different. Most days have been really good, but I would be lying if I said I didn't have some of the "everything about this sucks" kind of days this week. I think what got to me so much this week was that I was just having a tough pain day, and couldn't help get the kids dressed to play in the snow. And what was worse, was not being able to play in the snow with them.

But, I was able to go and keep with our annual tradition of cutting down our Christmas tree this past weekend! The weather turned out great, and despite the usual cranky babies, we had a blast! Emma has an incredible memory so she remembered a lot about the farm from last year, and most notable remembered the free candy canes. :)

 
Hugging a little baby Christmas tree...

Like usual, The Squishy took off running through the rows of trees!

I was pretty much zero help to Wes, but then again, he usually does all the work when Christmas tree hunting anyway, and I am usually on kid duty. So I guess this year was really no exception.

Finally, Emma got her free candy cane, which didn't last long.

I seriously don't know what I would have done without these two crazies over the past month. They are our world. We still don't know what treatment is next, but I will do absolutely anything to make sure I am around for the long haul with these two.

A couple days later, we got a few inches of snow and it was like Christmas morning to the kids. About two days after that, we got a little bit more! So I broke out the camera and tried to snap a few pictures from the steps as Wes and the kids played in the snow.

It's really hard to tell, but our snowman actually had two tiny little arms. He is like the Tyrannosaurus Rex of snowmen. :)

While Daddy and Sissy were building T Rex the snowman, Jack was busy doing some yard work.

He eventually took a break to do some snow angels...

So his big sissy picked up on the yard work right where he left off.

So there you have it! I finally got something out and hopefully this will end my writers block! Today was the first day I ventured out by myself and drove, so I'm thinking about ending on a good note and heading to surprise the babies at school. More to come, hopefully sooner rather than later!!