Sayonara Cancer!

So what’s next for me?

December 27^th of last year I found out I have cancer.  It’s been 6 months and honestly, I feel like it should just be over!  The big climatic ending happened right?  I had a baby, pouf, now it’s done!  But unfortunately the story goes on.  Clearly I’ve been busy since I posted my last blog before Amari was born.  We’ve learned some more information and a lot has changed.

After giving birth I decided to start Tamoxifen almost immediately.  This is the drug that blocks the estrogen in my body.  The hormone-level swing was quite intense.  Postpartum depression is linked to the changing levels of estrogen in a woman’s body- naturally going from so much to so little.  Tamoxifen made this change even more drastic for me and I started it while I was still in the hospital recovering.  I had night sweats and actual shivers and shakes.  I couldn’t sleep, couple this with the pain meds and I was a mess… a very emotional mess!  My last day in the hospital was 4 days after I had given birth and I had one last thing to do….get a PET scan.  I’m going to pass on talking about the gory details and get to the point.  That pain in my rib….it was Amari’s head or something to that effect!  We were so relieved to hear that my cancer was only where we expected- 2 small tumors in my lymph nodes, 1 in my breast.  And so, it was business as usual.  One week later and I was back on chemo.

Here’s the thing about chemo and me.   I run into a lot of people going through the same thing I am and they really have some horror stories with chemo.  But chemo really doesn’t affect me much (in fact, I can actually comb my hair!).   This can be a good thing….and a bad thing.  One month after Amari was born I had a breast MRI done to see the response of chemo on my tumor.   The scan showed what we really already knew.  My cancer is still not responding well to the chemo.  Now it’s not that it hasn’t responded at all….just not well.  Again, this is a bit baffling.  Chemo kills off aggressively reproducing cells.  The doctors wonder if maybe my first treatment (the “AC”) did just that and what’s left over is the cancer that needs estrogen to grow.  This cancer may be less aggressive and therefore, doesn’t respond to chemo well (but obviously responded to my pregnancy hormones).  This sounds like a reasonable explanation doesn’t it?  So, how do we know if this is the case…well, they will run a pathology report on my tumors once they are removed to see how they’ve changed.  

That leads me to the next step.  Given this information we decided to forgo any more chemo and move straight to surgery.   And when I mean straight to surgery I’m talking like tomorrow (at 8 am).  I’ve decided to do a lumpectomy.   To explain why I’ll provide a little cancer lesson for those that know about this stuff as little as I did.  There are many treatments for cancer.  Chemo is actually a preventative treatment for early stage breast cancer.  We know that my cancer likes to spread- that’s why it’s called invasive.  We know this because it spread to my lymph nodes.  My doctor calls the lymph nodes the “landfill of the body”.  It’s where all the garbage filters to.  So, my lymph nodes did what they were supposed to.  They captured the cancer that left my breast.  What we can’t be sure of is if tiny micro-cancer cells detached during this ride to the lymph nodes.  If they did, they can travel throughout my body and lay dormant in my organs, blood, or bones and possibly grow back there.  This is the cancer that can be fatal- this is the cancer that to be honest, I am scared of.  Cancer within your breasts and lymph nodes does not kill you. Surgery and radiation are the medical treatments they use to remove the cancer from these areas.  Chemo is primarily used to kill off any of the micro-cancer cells that may have traveled elsewhere.  There are also other forms of treatment for this- such as hormonal therapy (like the Tamoxifen I’m taking).  A mastectomy does not statistically give you a better chance of survival.  It reduces your chance of getting the cancer back in the breast by 2% over the lumpectomy. 

I believe in another way of fighting cancer and that is naturally by using your immune system.   I want to get back to my healthy lifestyle where my immune system isn’t constantly trying to rebound from surgeries and chemo.  A mastectomy would require multiple surgeries for the next year.  A lumpectomy requires one.  I noticed after my C-section that my blood counts were having a really hard time rebounding.  I believe this was because my body was focused on healing my surgery site and my immune system was constantly in catch-up mode.  I think this is very important just IN CASE the chemo I did have wasn’t effective in getting all of the possible micro-cancer cells.  I’m a runner, “a juicer”, and soon to be even more obsessed health nut.  I believe that I need a less invasive surgery so I can get on to fighting this the best way I know how- with my healthy lifestyle. 

And so I say, Sayonara Cancer!  Tomorrow they will cut it all out!  I won’t have it constantly burning in my body and in my mind. 

And again the story goes on but I am believing the cancer will not!  What’s next after that?  I will have radiation to ensure the cancer does not come back in the tumor areas.  After surgery there could be some micro-cancer cells that weren’t picked up by the scans, which were missed.  Radiation will kill these.  There’s more I can do to make sure that any leftover micro-cancer cells are shutdown.  I will most likely under-go some more aggressive hormone-therapy, potentially shutting off my ovaries.  If the cancer needs estrogen to grow we just won’t give it any estrogen.

So how does this new information make me feel?

Right after Amari’s birth I was sitting in a coffee shop working.  I wasn’t wearing my wig and I was sporting my very short ‘cancer-do’.   For a moment I thought that on-lookers are probably feeling sorry for me.  Realizing I have cancer and that I’m sick and weak since I was having a hard time getting around from my C-section.  And then it dawned on me…I am NOT weak!  Just because I have a disease that is supposed to make me feel sick does not mean I am weak.  I am strong, incredibly strong….I’m a fighter…a pull-your-boot-straps-up-and-get-the-job-done-fighter!!  When I come around the corner and see Ben and Amari asleep, snuggling, my fight rages inside of me like it has never done before.  I will be honest, hearing the chemo wasn’t “as effective as we hoped” and that this statistically increases my chance of dying from this wasn’t the easiest news.  But it changes nothing in my mind…I WILL beat this!  I will beat this with God on my side. This Sunday we learned about the power of prayer in church.  Have you ever cried out to God?…I’m talking yelled and really cried.  I did…I told Him I wasn’t ready to leave this party and go on to the next.  Everyone knows I always arrive fashionably late!  Of course I cannot see the big picture when it comes to His plan but I am truly believing that I will be fully healed of this because my family needs me and I need them.  And so I say it again, I’ve got this!

 

 

 

Introducing One of the World’s Smallest Cancer Survivors!

My sweet Amari,

Let me tell you the story of when you were born!

Never have I felt more anticipation, excitement, and fear all at the same time.  May 6th was finally here!  Time to meet you!  Before we entered the hospital your dad and I said a prayer together that everything would be ok- that we would all be in safe keeping. 

Dr. Wothe, the resident “Baby Whisperer” was called in to see if he could flip you around since you were breech but his Version Technique was no match for you.  You were right where you wanted to be and you weren’t moving.  So it was on to the C-section, something I didn’t want but I was quick to accept.  I felt maybe there was a reason….maybe you just knew that there would be more complications with a natural labor in the end. Yes, funny to think that an unborn infant has intuitions but from the beginning of this journey I’ve always felt that we were in this together and that you were always protecting me, as I promised to protect you.

Unfortunately we received some unanticipated news.   Since it was certain you’d be in the NICU and that today was the day, we were supposed to have a room reserved.  But, understandably they had ran out of rooms due to a rush of deliveries.  So we were sent home, worried, because in my situation every single day counts and we weren’t sure when a room would open.  I had already stopped my chemo for a little over a week and now that I needed a C-section I would require more down time to recuperate – leaving me unprotected.  Here we had emotionally prepared ourselves for what was about to happen and we were being sent home.  I felt devastated.  Our doctor did too.   She did everything she could to see if we could get in at that time. 

Everything seems to work out for a reason though.  It was only a short time until they called us back in again.  This gave us some time to go home and get some more things wrapped up before you came. Grandpa and Grandma Serbus already had arrived to help. It also allowed us some time to try to make this feel more normal.  We rushed back to the hospital, excited, just like we would have if my water had broken.

And so, at 9:05pm you entered this world…both of your parents, nervous as ever, but faithfully trusting that all would be ok.   You were 3 pounds and 13 ounces.  One of the most precious things that has ever graced my ears is hearing your cry for the first time.  The second most precious thing…hearing the words, “She has hair!”.   Hair meant the chemo hadn’t touched you.  Hair was something I was hoping for.  Just to reconfirm what I knew, that you were going to be ok.  We saw you for a brief moment and then you were wheeled away.  Oh how that hurt.  I barely saw your face.  I didn’t get to look at you and study every little inch; see if I could make out which features were from me and which were from your dad.  It was as if I got a glance of a celebrity surrounded by bodyguards getting hurried away. 

It took several hours to control my pain.   I don’t really remember but I believe it was close to 1 am before I finally got to really meet you….and that’s when my heart melted.  How perfect you were!  It was hard to see all of the wires.  We learned that your lungs were still underdeveloped so you were on a ventilator and receiving a drug to help your little lungs grow quicker.  The next couple days were emotionally hard as we waited to see you progress and get stronger.  When we came down to visit it was still so difficult to see your face with all the wires, tubes, and masks.  I felt terrible…that it was my fault that you had to endure this….if it wasn’t for my body failing me, if it wasn’t for my cancer.  I wanted to hold you.  I missed that closeness we shared when I was pregnant. 

The first time I got to hold you was three days after you were born.  They call it Kangaroo Care, skin to skin contact that is proven to help preemies progress.  It was such a production.  I believe there were four nurses there working quickly to remove you from the incubator to my chest.  Your dad looked on nervously; his protective nature was having a hard time with this.  I think the Kangaroo Care may have helped me as much as it helped you.  I cried as I finally got to hold you in my arms.  You were so tiny! The time was brief but it made such a difference. One day later I told the nurse that we barely had seen your face.  She was so nice; she decided we could move the phototherapy mask.  And at that moment we really saw you!  You were alert, your eyes open!  You just stared at each of us…. your dad, me, your Uncle Adam.  Our eyes locked and I felt that bond, it was magical!  Looking into your eyes I felt an unexplainable connection.  We had already been through so much together.  What you were enduring at that moment was a sacrifice for me; just as I had sacrificed for you…nothing more could define our love for each other. 

After that special moment things changed quickly.  The next day we got to hold you longer and following that they slowly removed each one of the wires.  And as true fighters do, you continued to surprise everyone with your spirit.  Within two and a half weeks we were heading home!  You were way ahead of the game, eating on your own and everything. 

As I type this, six weeks have passed since you’ve been born.  You sure do turn heads.  It’s hard to even go shopping as people constantly are stopping us to see how tiny you are.  So many people were excited to meet you.  Your grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, family and friends lined up! We even had people asking about you at the Chemo Lounge!  You’ve blessed our life and turned it upside down in so many ways.  Your dad and I used to have everything so under control and now we are flustered in everything we do!  We laugh at ourselves as we do everything everyone told us we would do as first time parents.   We laugh as we constantly fight over who gets to hold you!  I love when I catch the cutest pictures of you snuggling on your daddy’s chest.  You both look so peaceful.  There are moments that I wish I could just freeze in time….when all 4 of us are snuggling in bed on a Sunday afternoon or when I’m holding you and you are fighting to not fall asleep, making those cute faces.  Pumpkin, I love every minute of being your mommy!  There is nothing that makes me want to fight harder.

Love,
Mom