The Luckiest Unlucky Girl

One of the most bittersweet and truly extraordinary aspects of life is our ability to experience a wide range of emotions in a very short amount of time. One minute you can be drowning in fear… the next, smiling cheek to cheek after receiving good news. Life is unexpected and we have very little control over what happens to us. This year I have learned to simply let go and embrace life as it is: the good, the bad, and the ugly. The more you try to control it, the more frustrating and utterly hopeless it seems. Over the last two weeks I have experienced a variety of important emotions: I have experienced the intense fear of beginning radiation and felt the relief that ensued when I realized that radiation isn´t as bad as I thought it would be… In addition, I received good news on the job front, began planning my wedding, and spent precious time laughing with girlfriends. In the past month I have hosted an engagement party, a bachelorette bash, and a farewell gathering for several good friends who will be leaving Chile this week. In short, I have been busy living my life.
On the cancer front, a week ago Monday I began the first of my 25 daily radiation sessions. Every day at 10:45 I report to the basement of Clinica Alemana where the radiotherapy office is located. The radio technician greets me at the door with a big “DANGER! RADIATION!” warning on it, shows me to a changing room, and instructs me to take off my shirt and put on a smock. Then I am led into a large padded room where the radiation machine is located. Two assistants place me on the reclining board where they remove the smock and position my arms above my head. Next they spend a few minutes positioning my body on the board so that my tattoo marks match up with the red lasers used to help orient my body with the machine. The first time there were three people touching me and moving me in a very gruff and business like manner. They kept picking me up and talking to each other as if I wasn´t there. I lifted my body up to assist them. They kept barking at me not to move- that they would move me. Of course, this being my first time in radiation, I was very nervous and no one had taken time to explain to me what was going to happen, what I would feel, and whether it would hurt, etc. So after they yelled at me for the third time I started crying and told them that I was scared and I didn´t know what was happening and I´m sorry that I didn´t know what to do. I also had a very bad cold and could barely speak because my throat was sore, so I was afraid that was going to interfere with the radiation. Luckily, after my meltdown they were a little nicer and told me that the machine was going to whirl around me for about three minutes and take pictures. After that they said the treatment would begin and would last about six minutes. They said there would be a lot of noise, but that I wouldn´t feel anything. This calmed me down quite a bit and I decided to close my eyes and try to relax.
After they had positioned me where they wanted, the attendants left the room and disappeared behind the window at the back of the room. The machine began whirring and rotating around my body like the moon orbiting the earth. Then the machine stopped and there was a sound like that of a microscope opening up its viewer. A small area lit up and a laser sound emanated from the machine. “Oh my god, I´m being radiated!” I thought. Then the machine changed positions and the laser sound commenced again. And so on and so forth for what seemed like an eternity, but was apparently only six minutes. Unfortunately there isn´t a whole lot to do in that room except lay there and try to think of anything but radiation. The first day I tried to sing songs in my head but the only one that I seemed to remember the words to was Mary Had a Little Lamb and that got old after about 2 minutes. The second time I counted how many times the laser went off: 14. The third time I counted the seconds that the lasers went off for: they range anywhere from 10-45 seconds. The fourth time I had a tickle in my throat and desperately tried to stop myself from coughing so that I wouldn´t move and accidently radiate something that wasn´t supposed to be radiated. Afterwards I told the technician, jokingly, that it would be a lot better if they played music. He must have taken me seriously because on Friday he greeted me at the door with a pair of speakers and told me he had brought them for me. I plugged my Iphone in, and it was SO much better with music. Afterwards the technician told me that he liked my music but preferred songs like “Hotel California”, which is apparently the most famous American song outside of the United States, because I have heard the same comment from tour guides in Turkey, China, and Vietnam. He then asked me if I was married and I said, not yet, but soon. He exclaimed with horror, “No! You can´t get married!”, and I was a bit taken aback. Although I was completely flattered that even with my deformities I can apparently still charm the male species, I did find it a bit ridiculous that the men who help position me on the machine were hitting on me. I´m pretty sure that´s not allowed, but definitely an ego boost at a time when I am feeling terribly self-conscious about my body. Sadly, though, this week I have had a much less-nice female radio technician. She reminds me of Mrs. Trunchbull and definitely did not bring speakers for me to listen to music. I hope the other guy comes back soon….
The other big news in the last few weeks is that I have been offered a position taking over for a middle school teacher who will be on maternity leave for most of next year. Two days ago I signed my contract and am delighted that I will be a full time international sub for the year. I am also going to resume coaching, although it will be the JV team since the varsity spots had already been filled. Although I really enjoy teaching high school and love the US History curriculum I created, I am very excited to work in the middle school. When I worked at Chadwick in Palos Verdes I taught eighth grade social studies for three years and really enjoyed both the curiosity of the students as well as the laid back atmosphere of the teachers. Middle School teachers always seem to have more fun and take themselves less seriously, so it should be a good time. Plus, most of my friends work in the middle school anyway, so I will have people to eat lunch with, etc. I also am excited about the 7th grade social studies curriculum, which is what I will be teaching. It is thematic in nature and allows for a lot more in-depth exploration of the ideas.
The job news was a huge relief because I can breath easier again knowing that my life has a purpose. I had been very depressed for the few weeks preceding radiation because I saw this huge void of nothingness stretching on into the future. All I could think about was waiting around with nothing to do until something bad happened. I thought my life would never be the same. But now I will be able to have a lot of my normal life back again. Of course, it´s never going to be exactly the same: my innocence has definitely been taken, but now I can focus on cherishing the good times rather than worrying about what may happen in the future. In light of the fabulous developments on the job front, Jon and I talked and decided to go ahead with our January wedding in Mexico. We had been putting off wedding planning until we were a little more certain about my health and the future. Of course, my health is never going to be a certainty, so we decided to just bite the bullet and make it happen. I´m really excited to finally take some time out and celebrate our relationship and the commitment that we have made to each other through these tough times. And so, in a few months time we will say our “I Dos” at a beautiful beach resort outside of Cancun surrounded by friends and family. I can´t wait!
Wedding bells are definitely in the air amongst our friends here in Chile. Three other friends are also getting married next year, so we have had plenty to celebrate. A month ago I helped plan an engagement party with Michelle and Carrie for Angela and Corbet, where we did a version of Tunisian Iron Chef with the party guests and later performed for the couple using original lyrics created just for them. The next weekend was Angela´s bachelorette party where close to twenty-five of us took over the top floor of a restaurant here in Santiago and ate, drank, laughed, and watched belly dancing. Afterwards a few of us headed out to Bellavista to dance until the wee hours of the morning. We found a really fun Brazilian club with a live band and enjoyed a capoiera show with half naked Brazilian men. Although a relatively tame night as bachelorette parties go, a good time was had by all!
Which leads me to my next thought… is there anything more fun than a bachelorette party?? A bunch of girls getting dressed up, boozed up, and hitting the town…. a bachelorette party is always such a celebration of life. Although it used to be a little more fun when I didn´t have to stuff my bra, fill in my eyebrows, worry about styling my wig, and find an outfit that hides the giant piece of tape with a blue x on it in the middle of my chest for radiation… Besides that, I had an amazing time at Meredith and Katie´s party the following weekend. Hosted by the Twobie ladies, this soiree included delicious cocktails, appetizers, feather boas, festive fascinators, jello shots, fun gifts, and party games. It reminded me of a wonderful weekend back in 2007 in Las Vegas with the best group of friends a girl could have. My bachelorette party was probably one of the most fun weekends I´ve ever had. Thirteen of us rented a house with a pool and spent two days full of costumes, games, and good times. I even met Mario Lopez who I have always had an inexplicable crush on. I mean who meets their favorite D-list celebrity at their bachelorette party??? So thanks again to my wonderful bridesmaids: Ali, Randi, Sarah, and Megan, for putting on such a fabulous bash. Even though the marriage sadly did not work out, I will never forget how special you all made me feel.
This leads me to the wonderful celebration that took place at our house last weekend for the Twobie farewell gathering. The Twobies are the fifteen international teachers and their families that arrived two years ago with us in Santiago. We have been like a little family here in Chile and have had many incredible memories over the last two years. Unfortunately three of us are moving back to the states next year so we had a final gathering to reminisce and say goodbye. It definitely won´t be the same without them! One of the greatest joys of international teaching is making new friends, and one of the hardest things is saying goodbye to them. The transition period is always a little rough on the old emotions. But such is life. Enj´oy the moments, laugh and love, grab a tissue, and experience it. That´s what lifes all about….

Me with Mario Lopez in Las Vegas

My amazing friends!!!

Bachelorettes: Meredith and Katie

Me and Shannon at the Bachelorette Party

My Twobie Family here in Chile

……That is the question that was finally answered by my doctors last week.  And the answer is, unfortunately, YES: we are going ahead with radiation.  Two Fridays ago I spoke with Dr. Majlis about the next (and hopefully final) step in the plan for my treatment.  When I entered the room he casually laid back in his desk chair, hands on his head, and announced with a smile, “I am sending you to radiation!”  Now, I had expected this conversation to go a little bit differently and to be more of a two person discussion rather than a unilateral statement, but since that´s not really how the doctors do it here in Chile, the news was delivered in the latter fashion.

 

     Originally Dr. Buhler had told me that the oncology team needed to meet to discuss and decide what to do about radiation, since my case is so unusual.  However, it was clear from my conversation with Dr. M that no meeting had taken place, and even worse, his delivery of the news made it seem like he made up his mind independently and without much thought.  (I´m sure he isn´t just make it up as he goes along, but his cavalier attitude does sometimes make me wonder).  I, for one, find it difficult to believe that the decision to subject a person to radiation for a prolonged period of time should be taken so lightly.  So I scheduled a meeting with a radiologist and went home to sulk.  I´m not sure why the news surprised me so much, since, upon review of the series of emails between Clinica Alemana and MD Anderson, I noticed that the doctor at MDA had suggested radiation all along. 

 

     I guess the thing that was most upsetting (besides the fact that I don´t really want to receive radiation) was that now I won´t be able to go home for the winter holiday.  As part of our contract Jon and I each receive one ticket home after the first two years of working at the school.  Unfortunately I will have to postpone my trip until further notice.  Jon, however, really needs to go home and see his family and meet his nephew that was born in December, so he will be going home for a bit while I stay here in Santiago.  Luckily my mother is going to come down again to be with me, which is great because otherwise I would be here all by myself with no friends and nothing to do but sit in my freezing cold, house.  As you can imagine, this would probably be a depressing prognosis, even under the best of circumstances. 

 

     After mulling over the idea of radiation all weekend long, my meeting with the radiologist went surprisingly well.  For starters, I was pleased to encounter my first female doctor at Clinica Alemana.  For some reason, I find it much more comforting to have a female telling me about the risks involved with breast cancer treatment than a male.  Plus, she was extremely nice and was the first person to ask me if the treatment was something I wanted to do, as though it were my choice.  And you know what, I have to keep reminding myself, that from here on out what I decide to do for treatment IS my choice… since I am in remission, radiation in my circumstance is purely preventative.  I would hate to think that I have no control over what happens to my body, and that I have no right to say no if I think the risks will outweigh the benefits.  For example, especially since they will be radiating my left breast there are risks to the heart, lungs, and ribs.  My heart has already been subjected to very strong drugs, which have the potential to greatly weaken the heart muscle.  Also, the radiation can weaken the rib cage and combined with the pressure of the expander, has the potential to crack ribs.  In addition, I could develop a lung infection or possibly even receive a new type of cancer because of the exposure to the radiation.  Dr. Goset, the radiologist, did say that these side effects had a minimal (less than 5%) chance of occurring.  She explained that besides the skin burn that I will inevitably receive from the treatment, the most common side effects are possible interference with the thyroid gland or a condition called lymphedema.  Since I had all of my lymph nodes removed under the left arm I am especially prone to the second condition, which is the swelling of the arm and hand caused by the collection of fluid in the area.  Some of these side effects may go away in time, or some may be permanent.   In addition I won´t be able to lift anything heavy for the next few months and need to be very careful about bruises, cuts, or infections on the left arm. 

 

   So now that I´ve told you about the risks, let´s get to the possible benefits of radiation.  Radiation is done because sometimes the surgeon is not able to remove all of the cancerous cells during the surgery.  The cells may be so microscopic that they cannot be seen or detected.  Since I had a skin sparing surgery it is more likely that there could have been cells that were not removed.  The radiation will kill these cells, stop the disease from spreading, and decrease the risk of the cancer returning.  Normally, however, stage four cancer patients do not receive radiation because the cancer has already spread, and therefore, radiation would not be effective in preventing it from invading the lymph nodes, since they have already been compromised.

 

     However, Dr. Goset managed to convince me that in my case I should feel lucky that they want to be so aggressive with my treatment in the hopes that they can prevent a recurrence.  I´m not sure the words “lucky” and “radiation” should ever belong in the same sentence, but unfortunately that is the warped world in which I live.  As I previously mentioned, it is very rare for a stage four patient to ever go into a period of remission, so we are treading in rather unknown territory.  Usually treatment for metastatic cancer focuses on how to contain the disease and keep it from spreading further.  Because of my unprecedented response, the doctors have decided that from hereon out, they are going to treat me with protocol for a stage one or two patient, instead of stage four.

 

     So, after agreeing to the radiation, Dr. Goset told me that I needed to go BACK to the plastic surgeon and have him remove the liquid he had just put in the day before, because the expander was too full to get an accurate measurement for the radiation machine.  I really hope they didn´t charge my insurance company for such a pointless procedure, but I´m sure they did.  The following day I went back to the radiologist for my planning session.  Since I had no idea what a planning session entailed I was pretty surprised when I returned home that afternoon with four bleeding tattoo marks on my chest.  Basically, the point of the meeting was to figure out where they are going to project the radiation beams.  First I had to take off my shirt and lie down bare-chested on the machine, hands above my head.  This was a little painful since it really stretched out the scar under my arm where the lymph nodes were removed.  Then they drew four sets of Xs, in the shape of a cross on my body so that they will know exactly how to position me under the machine each day.  Then, out came the tattoo needle and they proceeded to dye my skin with blue ink so that the marks won´t wash off in the shower.  After just those four little marks, I am unsure whether I truly want to get a real tattoo when all this is done.  Ouchie!!  Luckily the marks are pretty small and apparently will wear off in a year or so.  Oh, goodie!  Next I was taken to the scanner machine where they took a scan, presumably to see where the tumor was in relation to my vital organs.  It took two nurses approximately 30 minutes to make sure I was lined up EXACTLY with the tattoo marks.  They must have repositioned me at least 50 times- “A little more to the right, a little more, a little more… nope.. too much.  Now up, up, down, up, turn your head to the left….”  Although somewhat annoying and uncomfortable since again I was bare chested with my hands stretched above my head, I was glad that they cared so much about getting an exact scan.  If they had said, “oh well… that´s close enough” I would have been a little more worried.  After the scan was over, the doctor told me they would call me next week to let me know when we were going to begin, and away I went.  I have to go in every day for 25 days at exactly the same time every day, and I am not looking forward to it.  But I know many brave women have done this before me, and, as long as I can get my brain to go to a happy place while I am lying there, I don´t think it will be too traumatic.   We shall see.  

 

    

 

Well, I´m sure a lot of you read last week about Ms. Jolie´s decision to have a preventative double mastectomy because she tested positive for the genetic mutation, BRCA1. The test indicated that she had an 87% risk of having breast cancer in the future. After reading the article about her decision on my beloved time-wasting internet site, people.com, I had many mixed emotions and reactions.
First, I was surprised that she managed to keep this a secret for 4 months given that she´s one of the most photographed women in the world. Secondly, I was mildly happy and relieved to hear that I had more in common with the world´s sexiest woman than previously thought. I know, firsthand, what a nipple-scarred and deflated breast looks like and kind of chortled to myself at the thought of Brad Pitt having to help Angelina empty and measure the puss in her drainage wounds. And then it made me respect their relationship more, which annoyed me because I was always on Team Aniston. Any man who can look at his partner´s mastectomy wounds and smile at them and tell them they are beautiful, no matter what, is a true hero in my book. (I love you, Jon!!!) But the main emotion I felt was this inexplicable anger. All of the article titles said something like “So and so group or organization praises Angelina for making brave and heroic choice to have a preventative double mastectomy.” I´m sure that the thousands of women on my breast cancer app that have all had double mastectomies, singular mastectomies, lumpectomies… whatever, have never been praised so highly. And also, I know that, unlike the former Lara Croft, they had the operation because they were forced to, because they had CANCER, because they had no choice.
It´s funny, last week I was dead set on the idea of writing a book about my experiences with cancer, etc, and I started to do a bit of research into the viability of such a book. In order to write a good, credible breast cancer memoir I would need to find out a lot of information about the disease so that I got my facts straight. I began reading newspaper articles, watching Ted talks, engaging in online chatting with other patients, and searching for blogs written by other survivors. What I found out was that I definitely am not the only young woman with breast cancer who has written a blog. I´m not even the only young woman who survived stage four breast cancer with a blog. At first this realization made me annoyed because I was faced with the reality that I really had no reason or right to think that my story would be important enough to make other people want to read it. Unfortunately, there is nothing special about me, or my particular breast cancer story. And it also made me incredibly depressed. I wish I was the only 31 year old woman with stage four cancer of any kind, because then it would mean that other people didn´t have to go through what I´ve been through. The more I delved into the world of breast cancer, the more disheartened I became. I honestly don´t really want to spend my days researching statistics about the number of women diagnosed and the number of women who have relapsed and the different theories about why some women survive and why others don´t. Ugh… what a terribly unfair world we live in. I would certainly be a glutton for punishment if I chose to dive head first into the world of breast cancer. Sometimes I see women who post on breast cancer sites three or four times a day and I think, “Gosh. Don´t you have anything more uplifting to do with your time?”
For me, I simply cannot let breast cancer be my life. And so, for the most part, I have chosen to deal with my disease by doing my very best to ignore and forget about it whenever possible. It´s not possible all the time, of course; I do know I have to face reality from time to time. But, for me, I don´t think it´s so healthy to dwell on all the negative and awful things that happen in this painful world that we all belong to. I would rather try to focus on the good and make the most out of every day.
But sometimes breast cancer literally reaches up, slaps me across the face, and forces me to pay attention to it. Like the days that I have to go in to get my breast expander filled. So far I have been going once a week to the plastic surgeon where he injects 50 CC of saline solution through a needle and syringe into the side of my body where the expander tube is. Luckily the saline injection, itself, isn´t very painful. Mainly because I literally cannot feel anything on the side of my body…. It´s still totally numb. But, the sensation of the liquid pouring into the expander cavity is definitely a unique feeling. It´s like they are filling up a water balloon, except it´s inside my body. And then, unfortunately, it immediately becomes quite painful and sore. Currently they have put in 100 CC of liquid and I know originally they have talked about filling it up to 400 CC, so I am only ¼ of the way filled and already the skin seems to be stretched at capacity. It doesn´t look stretched out, it only feels it. It is as if someone took a hammer to my breast and beat it about for a few minutes and then inserted a heavy bowling ball. The weight of it is quite painful and I definitely have had back and neck pain as a result. Jon tried to massage my shoulders last week and could barely make the knots budge. I´m not saying I´m in the kind of pain where I cry out in my sleep, but it is a constant soreness and tenderness that I can probably only equate to the feeling of your milk coming in when you are pregnant. Not that I´ve ever felt that pain, but some women have described it to me and it seems similar. The breast does already look better and I have some intense perkiness and cleavage on the left side, which I hope diminishes with time, as it is way over-the-top compared to the natural one on the right. But mostly it just feels really uncomfortably tight and hard. I swear you could bounce bullets off of my left boob….
I think one thing that annoyed me so much about Angelina´s article was that I think it made it seem like other women could and should go out right now, get genetically tested, and scoop out their breast tissue. This suspicion of mine was confirmed in a NY Times article sent to me by a friend from work: http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/05/20/no-easy-choices-on-breast-reconstruction/?ref=health. The article, itself, is very interesting, and definitely worth a read. But basically it reveals that breast reconstruction is not actually as easy and pleasant an experience as one may think. Many accidents, infections, and unpleasant results happen as a result of reconstruction. To put it bluntly, you really shouldn´t go through the procedure unless you absolutely have to… I can tell you from just a month of experience, my body will never feel remotely the same. My left breast may one day look relatively similar to the way it did before but it feels completely different. In addition, I know several people who´s implants tear or break, leading to more surgeries, etc. It would be astounding to me if my reconstruction went off without a hitch and looked amazing on the first go-round. Usually, breast reconstruction requires a lifetime of upkeep and potential health issues. Also, while I think it is a good idea for women whose families have a history of breast or ovarian cancer to get the genetic tasting for the BRCA gene, the procedure is prohibitively expensive for most women, and many insurance companies do not cover the testing as a result. We don´t all have access to the medical treatments and top-notch surgeons that Angelina´s billions provide.
In conclusion, I hope that people are smart and don´t run off to the doctor´s office to get their boobs removed just because a famous movie star did. And also, I hope those of you who know people who are forced to undergo mastectomies and breast reconstruction realize what a major undertaking it is. I can tell you, it´s not fun, and even though I may joke about my perky, fake booby in the future, I would definitely rather have my normal, bouncy, potentially saggy one back.

“You are in complete pathological remission…”: These are the words that every cancer patient longs to hear. Of course, for me, a person diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer only seven months ago, these were incredible, amazing, and dumbfounding words that I never expected to hear. I´m pretty sure my doctors never expected to say them to me either. But, last week, these were the sweet words that joyfully flew from my doctor´s mouth as we met to discuss my pathology report.
Following my operation, Dr. Buhler told my mom and Jon that it would probably take a week to get the pathology report back on the lymph nodes and tissue that were removed during the surgery. He said that we wouldn´t be able to make any predictions about the future or discuss what the next step in treatment would be until we received these results. I wasn´t quite as nervous about these results as I had been about the Pet Scan back in January, but I guess I really should have been. Unfortunately (or fortunately) no one had really discussed with me what was at stake had the results turned out differently.
Early last week following my surgery, my mom and I went in to meet with Dr. Majlis for a routine checkup and to schedule my next anti-body treatment. While there, he said that unfortunately the pathology results hadn´t been posted online yet, but that he would call the lab and see if they were ready. My mom and I sat there in the office listening to Dr. Majlis nonchalantly chatting with the pathologist, asking if they had received any results for Timms.
I stared out the window at the smoggy view of the Andes while I heard him chuckle in disbelief, “Nada… nada de nada?” This went on for a good two minutes. “De verdad? Nada…” He hung up the phone and goofily turned around to me and declared, “There was no more tumor. All 29 of your lymph nodes came back negative. You are in complete pathological remission. You have no more cancer.”
Well, I did what any lucky person who just found out they had survived stage four cancer would do; I blinked, thought for a minute, and began slowly weeping tears of relief… tears of joy… tears of thanks… tears of sheer disbelief. My mom began crying too, and Dr. Majlis declared it was time for some pisco sours and that we should go off and celebrate. I could have kissed him, I was so happy. That evening the three of us (me, Jon, and mom) had drinks up on the open-air terrace of the Hotel Noi, and watched the sun go down over the Santiago skyline. A few friends who were able to make a last minute dinner invitation joined us for food and wine, and the evening passed in a remarkably celebratory mood. The unexpected magic of the evening made it one of those moments I will remember forever.
A few days later my mom and I decided to go off on a somewhat impromptu celebratory trip to San Pedro de Atacama, and we had a fabulous time. When the doctor told me I had no restrictions, I decided to take that quite literally… haha. Whether he truly meant for me to fly off and spend four days in the remote deserts of Northern Chile, we will never know. I´m pretty sure my dad thought we had lost our minds! But, I know both my mom and I were glad we decided to take a chance and hop on that plane. Atacama was, indeed, an out-of-this world destination, and is a must-see for anyone thinking of visiting Chile. During our time there we were amazed at the depth and variety of the area´s natural beauty and wildlife. Although, I must say it wasn´t the easiest or most luxurious vacation I have ever taken. The tiny tourist town of San Pedro consists of a few dirt roads lined with mainly tourist agencies, hostels, and pizza places, as well as a few adobe homes with thatched roofs. There are no street lamps to light the way for tourists heading to their hostales on the outskirts of town. The weather, like most places in the desert, ranges from below freezing at night to sweltering during the day. Also, the tours and activities begin at ungodly hours and require quite a bit of travel. But it was all worth it. We awoke in the dead of night (3:30 AM) to visit the world´s highest geothermic fields at sunrise. We hiked over 10 kilometers to clamber up a hill beside the area´s most famous Pre-Incan ruins. We photographed flamingos feasting on high altitude lakes bathed in pastel pinks and blues from the morning sun, their reflections clear as glass in the salty water. We watched groups of vicuñas and guañacos galloping through the shadows of 6,000-meter tall volcanoes. We traipsed through aptly named geographic features such as the Valley of the Rainbow, Valley of the Moon, and Death Valley. I´m not sure that most people would have chosen this destination as a celebratory, “I beat cancer” vacation, but, for two people who grew up collecting the black brochures of U.S. National Parks, it was the perfect place. Honestly, I was so in awe of the surrounding scenery that I almost forgot I had had surgery the week before. There is no better pain medicine than witnessing the glory of nature and spending quality time with family. Again, it was a trip I will never forget.
Upon returning home though, life quickly returned to normal. Mom had to go back to the states to fulfill her tutoring obligations and I have returned to my usual routine of watching the dogs, working on my digital photo albums, grocery shopping, and setting up doctor´s appointments. In the aftermath of all the excitement, I am also trying to come to grips with the reality of what cancer remission means for me. Yesterday I went to see Dr. Buhler to remove some of my stitches and he told me that the oncology committee was meeting on Wednesday to see if they think I still need to do radiation, considering I am already in remission. He then asked me what I´ve been doing during my days and recommended that I go back to work. “Young, intelligent, and healthy women should not be sitting at home, “ he said. To which he then offered to write me a note that says I am 100% healthy and able to resume my work duties…. “Awkward….” I thought. We then talked statistics, which is never a fun task when you are discussing cancer. For a few weeks now, I´ve been foolishly wondering why there aren´t very many stage four patients commenting on my breast cancer apps and websites. Well…. it turns out, it´s because there aren´t very many of them out there to begin with. But Dr. Buhler assured me that although the long term survival rate of people diagnosed with stage four cancer is still pretty poor, the best and really only statistical chance for stage four survival is if your body has a complete pathological response to treatment like mine did. Honestly as Dr. Buhler sat staring at my results on the computer screen and shaking his head in disbelief I think I finally realized how rare my recovery has been. I am truly so fortunate and lucky.
But I know the road isn´t over yet. It would be a lot more exciting if remission meant that I am now cured and that my cancer will never return. Unfortunately, though, that is not a certainty. I will never again be able to hear the comforting phrase, “Don´t worry, everything´s going to be fine,” and truly believe it. Cancer has meant the loss of my innocence. I will never know if everything´s going to be fine or not. But does that mean I should live my life as though it has an expiration date in the near future? Should I sit around and wait and expect that my cancer will return, like some would have me do? No- I don´t think so… but can I ever think about the future as a blank, wide-open space stretching on into infinity…? No, I don´t think I can do that either. So here I am in cancer remission land, a strange and mystical place where some dreams are realized but most simply hang in the air uncertainly. But for now, I guess I will just continue to enjoy it. Life is what you make of it. If I only have six months of remission, or one year, ten, fifteen, twenty or more years left, I want to live it fully, happily, and with no fear. I vow to do my best.

I did, however, find this article written a few years ago by a stage four survivor, which gives me a little hope. Maybe seventeen years from now I will be this person. I can only hope.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/27/health/27case.html?nl=health&emc=healthupdateema1&_r=0

Well, it´s been over two weeks since my surgery and a lot has happened since then. Right now I am back at Clinica Alemana receiving my usual anti-body treatments. Luckily, this time I didn´t have to go through the hassle of actually checking into the hospital for treatment and was allowed to go to the outpatient oncology section of the clinic. So much easier and nicer! I´m seated in a comfy lounge chair with my mom and we both have a delightful view of the Andes covered in snow from last night´s rainstorm. I´ve only been here for 30 minutes and already the nurses have checked me in, hooked my port up to the IV drip and started my pre-medicines. I am hopeful that I will be out by early afternoon, which is encouraging since I would like to streamline this process as much as possible, seeing as that it will take place every three weeks for the rest of my life, or until the drugs can be administered in pill form… Since a lot has happened recently, I guess I should first take you back to the day of my operation: Tuesday, April 16th.
Besides my treatment today, my surgery was the first thing I have had done at the clinic that actually happened on time. The doctors told me to check into the hospital at 11:00, so after packing up all my entertainment goodies, off I went to the hospital with my entourage in tow. This time my Team Eli entourage consisted of Jon, mom, and my childhood friend, Jen. Jen arrived on Thursday night and we had a great weekend together reminiscing about the 22 years that we have been friends. Although the visit was brief, it was such a good time to catch up and talk about all the changes that have happened in our lives during that time period. Our discussions made me realize that even if I hadn´t been diagnosed with cancer, I already have had plenty of life experiences to add to my novel. Jen´s trip was filled with gossip and laughter and was such a great way to keep my mind off things, that I didn´t really even think about the surgery until the morning of.
My mom´s flight arrived from Miami on Tuesday morning and Jon took the day off from school so that he could pick her up and be present for the surgery. Luckily her flight landed on time and the two of them met us at the house just in time to leave for the clinic. When we arrived at the hospital admissions room, the four of us were shepherded into an underground hallway that ventured under the highway to the new wing of the hospital located on Manquehue Oriente. I wasn´t even aware that this new building existed, so it was kind of a treat to know my surgery was going to take place in brand new facilities. Even Jen was impressed with the new part of the clinic: giant windows and an open interior allow the rooms and hallways to be filled with natural sunlight, so it doesn´t feel dark and stuffy like many hospitals do. My room, itself, was very large and spacious with hotel-like touches and decorations. In fact, if my bed hadn´t had a pillow with the familiar green logo of Clinica Alemana written on it, I might have thought I was in some sort of Holiday Inn. I know that at the beginning of my treatment many people in my family were worried about what kind of medical care I would receive outside of the United States, but I am 100% sure that the Clinica Alemana rooms are much nicer than any I would have stayed in had I received my treatment back home. Being in such nice surroundings definitely helped calm me down a bit. However, I was still EXTREMELY nervous about my surgery.
The only time I had ever been operated on was when they put in my chemo port a few months ago, so I was very frightened about the actual surgery itself. Even though I know that mastectomies are a common procedure, I have watched enough medical TV shows (The E channel´s Dr. 90210 comes to mind) to have an unfortunate graphic image of my skin being spliced open, revealing veins, blood, and fatty tissue. I also know that any time a patient goes under anesthesia there is some risk involved. “What if I never wake up? What if I wake up and something went wrong during the surgery and I will forever be physically maimed??” Doctors are humans, too, and humans can make mistakes. Anyone who undergoes an operation has to put a lot of faith in the surgeons to trust that everything goes well, that no mistakes are made, and that if an emergency arises, they will be able to take care of it. For these reasons I was glad that it was Dr. Buhler that was going to be performing my surgery. I always feel at ease when he squeezes my hand and tells me not to worry.
As the time on the clock drew near, my hands were sweating, my heart was pounding, and I couldn´t speak from fear. It was a terrible, terrible thing having to say goodbye to my family in the room. There I was, sans make-up and wig, small, bald-headed and frightened, being wheeled out to the elevators in my giant hospital bed. I am so glad my mom was there to tell me to be a brave girl and that she would be there when I woke up. But at the same time it made me also hope that I never have to be a mother, waving goodbye to my daughter being wheeled out for breast cancer surgery at the age of 31… Anyway, as soon as I was loaded on to the elevators I tried to breath deeply, act normally, and forget what was about to happen. I think I even managed to feign a smile. The O.R. was brand new and humming with doctors and nurses, hooking me up to this machine and that. I felt like a piece of meat being splayed open on the operating table and hoped that I would not have to be awake for too long. The most pressing image I remember was a team of three nurses attempting to yank these hideously uncomfortable compression socks over my soccer calves and thighs. “Good luck!” I thought, knowing full well that my legs refuse to be encompassed in any article of clothing containing the words, knee-high. Luckily, the anesthesiologist finally found a vein in my hand and the drugs were administered promptly. I saw Dr. Buhler pull on his surgical mask and it didn´t take but about 2 seconds for the lights to go out and for me to awake, two hours later, in the surgery recovery room.
When I awoke I felt a sharp pain in my armpit, and my throat was tremendously sore and scratchy. When I drowsily told the nurses about the pain in my throat they responded that it was probably because of the tube that had been put in to help me breath. “Yikes! Do they always do that? I´m glad I was asleep”, I thought. The nurses then loaded me up with morphine and I spent the next hour or so in a daze, watching the room fill up with more recovering patients. Unfortunately the scratchy tickle in my throat persisted and I had to cough, which in turn really hurt the side where I´d had the operation. In addition, I felt extremely nauseous and hoped that I would soon be allowed to go up to my room where I could vomit in private. Listening to the woman moan and groan beside me while I attempted to keep down my stomach and prevent myself from coughing was extremely irritating. “Shut up!” I thought. “We´re all in pain, here. Geez… Give her some more morphine or a muzzle!” Fortunately I dozed off again and was back in my hospital room in no time.
By that time it was about 6 in the evening and Jen had left for the airport. My mom and Jon were in the room waiting for me and began to bombard me with information about my surgery. The only thing I was interested in asking was, “Was he able to save my nipple?” Buhler had said, going into the surgery, that if the tumor was too close to the nipple tissue that he would have to remove it. From research I knew that pretty much all parts of the breast can be reconstructed, except the nipple, so I was hopeful that they would be able to save it. Luckily they had. In fact, they didn´t even have to make as large an incision as previously thought. So when I am all healed I will only have a scar on my nipple tissue and one under my arm where they removed the lymph nodes. Both scars should be relatively unnoticeable, unless you look very closely.
The first three days in the hospital recovering from the surgery were quite an emotional roller coaster. I was pleased that I wasn´t in too much pain, but anyone who has had surgery knows that the first sight of yourself post-operation is an unpleasant shock. I remember writing, in a previous blog, that watching my hair fall out was the most disgusting physical thing that has happened to me. I take that back… hauling around the bloody, puss-filled, wound drainage compartments attached to my body by two long tubes was definitely more disgusting. Having to empty them and measure the liquid with a syringe after they sent me home from the hospital was worse… just ask my mom! I have a lot more respect for nurses after this experience, and often wonder why anyone would want to have that job. But I am grateful that some people don´t mind dressing wounds, helping people shower, or emptying chamber pots. I certainly was not a fan of needing someone help me to do these things. In fact, the first time I cried was after my first assisted shower. I felt like such a baby, and I also didn´t want anyone to look at my hideous, Frankenstein-like body.
My second emotional set-back happened after my first visit from the physical therapist who came in every day to teach me some arm exercises I can do to rebuild sensitivity and movement in my left arm. Before the operation took place I don´t remember the doctors telling me a whole lot about the side-effects involved with my surgery, but I gather, from what the therapist said, it might be awhile before I am able to do regular activities that involve heavy use of my left arm. According to various people, full recovery of arm movement may take a few months, a year, or I may never be able to move it quite the same. In addition my entire underarm and side of my torso feels completely numb. It´s a very strange sensation. I can touch my arm and know that I am touching my arm, but I can´t really feel anything. When I walk and try to hold my arm still against my side it feels like there is some sort of apple or tennis ball in between me and my body. The best way I can try to explain the feeling so you might understand is that it feels like the heaviness of your gums and tongue following a mouth procedure involving Novocaine. In order to help me get feeling back in the underarm the nurses have suggested I rub the skin with a towel or sponge (something with texture but not too harsh). The first time I tried, I honestly felt nothing, but now, two weeks later, the nerves seem to be recovering somewhat. Looking back, I guess it´s probably better that they don´t tell patients all the details about recovery time until after the surgery, because it doesn´t really matter. It´s not like hearing about the side effects would have prevented me from getting the procedure done. In fact, it probably would have made me dread the event even more, so for that I am thankful.
The most interesting thing I learned from the therapist´s visits was that because my mastectomy involved the removal of the lymph nodes from my left armpit, the recovery from the surgery is going to be a little bit more difficult. In case you know nothing about lymph nodes, like me, they are a vital part of the immune system. They help to detect attacks on the body from foreign substances and are essential to ensuring a proper response of the immune system. Cancer cells spread when they invade your lymphatic system, and since mine had been compromised, they needed to be removed. This means that my left arm is now exposed to infections until the rest of the lymph nodes in my body have learned how to compensate for the loss of the ones on my left side. Until then I am not allowed to wear tight clothing or rings on my left fingers as it may impede circulation in my arm. I also have to be careful to avoid cuts, bruises, or bug bites on that arm. Nurses are not allowed to check my blood pressure on that side and I am not allowed to lift anything heavy with my left arm. I don´t know how long it´s going to take for my body to compensate for those lymph nodes, but so far I haven´t had any problems. It is really frustrating to think I may never recover full arm movement because, as I have since realized, most physical exercises and activities require the use of both arms. About the only thing I can do is walk, which I do enjoy, but I am sad that I may never be the active person I once was. What if I can never ride a bike, swim, do kickboxing, lift weights, etc? I know that eventually I will probably be able to do all these things, but I hate feeling like an invalid. Sometimes I feel like this whole thing has aged me about 10-15 years. I don´t feel like a thirty year old anymore, but more like someone in their late 40´s or 50´s. Things that I never thought I would have to experience until much later in life are rearing their ugly head. Sometimes I look at pictures of me taken two or three years ago and I get very sad and wistful. What I wouldn´t give to have my long, blonde, hair back, perky chest, or tan, toned arms and legs… sigh. Hopefully one day… although I know that it may be unrealistic to expect that. Our physical appearance changes as we get older, this I know, but I just didn´t think it would happen when I was so young.
My third emotional setback, and sadly, probably the biggest, was when I got home from the hospital and tried to resume life as usual. First of all, cooking and carrying around pots and pans was difficult and required assistance. I was able to do it, it just was a little more tedious and painful. Secondly, I can´t help in many of the household chores like walking the dogs. If anyone has ever had the pleasure of taking my two doggie-dos on a walk, you would know how much arm strength it takes to control them. They both get so absurdly excited trying to sniff out cats and race each other to the park, that most of the time they seem like they are training to mush thousands of miles across snow and ice in the Alaskan Iditarod. So yeah, I guess dog walking will have to continue to be Jon´s task for a while. In addition, getting dressed and putting on socks and shoes is very difficult and usually requires assistance. Being a fiercely independent person I find this to be humiliating. The first day back from the hospital I stood in front of my closet for a good hour trying to figure out what to wear. Since they won´t start filling my expanders with saline for a few weeks I am currently completely lopsided. So I can´t wear anything that is too form fitting, or it just looks completely ridiculous. Oops- there goes about 4/5ths of my closet… Really, about the only thing I can wear are loose-fitting button down shirts or zip up hoodies and jackets. Anyone who knew me during my twenties would agree that those items of clothing are not really a staple in Eli´s closet. So, I immediately sent out a request to friends asking if they had any button down shirts. Yeah, I know- it´s not the grunge days of the early 90´s, so most people don´t own these items. But luckily, some people had some shirts I could borrow and I was able to find some others at the Gap, so I will at least have something to wear for a few months. Luckily it is winter and easier to hide my body under baggy clothes and not look completely unfashionable.
The other tricky thing was trying to figure out what to wear UNDER these baggy shirts and sweatshirts. During my meeting before the surgery I had asked the plastic surgeon for some information on bras I could wear with padding until after the reconstruction is complete. His secretary gave me exactly one number of a store to call. When I called that number, I explained that I was a patient of Dr. Schwember´s, had just had a mastectomy, and needed something to wear under my clothes for a few months until my breasts are matching sizes again. The lady answered, unhelpfully, that this was a prosthetics store, and that they don´t carry bras. “Really,” I said. “Do you know where I could find something like that here in Santiago?” Without even thinking about it, asking a colleague, or bothering to care, the store attendant responded shortly, “No. We don´t carry bras.” “Thanks for nothing,” I thought. You would think that someone who works in a store that carries supplies for women with mastectomies might know that information or want to help out someone who is trying to hide the physical loss of a body part, but sadly Chilean customer service is quite lacking. In my two years of living here, I would say that is the most frustrating thing about Chilean culture.
When living in a foreign country I usually don´t try to judge the culture or expect it to be exactly the same as my own. I usually try to adapt to their local traditions and customs as much as possible, because it´s not my country. Who am I to say what´s right and what´s wrong… But I just find this uncaring attitude regarding customer service to be downright rude. I feel the same way about the secretaries and receptionists in Dr. Majlis´s office. I can´t tell you how many times I´ve gone up to them with questions about scheduling appointments or making sure my insurance is covering my treatment, and have encountered three or more people completely unwilling to go out of their way an inch to help me. I´m sorry, but if I worked in the cancer section of a hospital, and if a young patient who clearly is not Chilean and is clearly being treated for cancer approached me with a question, I think I would try my very best to be sympathetic and help that person. Or at least smile at them and not look at them as if they were stupid, or an alien. But no… usually I end up going home frustrated, stressed, or in tears, and then have to figure it all out on my own…it´s not that the secretaries are unfriendly or rude, exactly; they just are completely unhelpful. Anyway, enough of my rant about customer service in Chile…. The long and short of it is, that I do not have a special mastectomy bra, have absolutely no idea where to find one, and will just have to be content wearing tank tops under my clothes for the time being. So for right now, I am mostly “free-boobing” it a la 1960´s, so to speak. Knowing that my strange physical appearance is only temporary and that I will eventually have an inflated boob again has been helpful, and has, for the time being, prevented me from going to pieces.
Alright, well, I think I have caught everyone up to date with the surgery and my recovery, so I will sign off now and promise to write again very soon with more information about my progress and also to share some other exciting news that I found out last week. Stay tuned!

Since my surgery is scheduled for next Tuesday, it´s been a busy week full of medical to-do´s. Although I feel like I am at peace with what´s about to happen, I know that I will get more and more nervous as my time “under the knife” draws near. Luckily one of my oldest friends, Jen, is coming in to town tonight and we have a fun weekend planned. I know this will be very good for keeping my mind off of the surgery.
Yesterday I had an ultrasound done on my ovaries… it was one of those awkward moments where I wished someone had informed me what that procedure was going to be like beforehand. I clued in pretty quickly though, once I saw the stirrups attached to the chair in the room, and hurried back into the bathroom to remove more clothing under my hospital gown… Why do all medical exams have to be so humiliating?? Anyway, the doctor who performed the ultrasound didn´t seem too worried about what was appearing on the screen, so I guess the ovaries are okay. In fact while he was doing the exam we had a jolly old chat about skiing in Spanish, which is funny since I´ve only ever gone skiing twice. I am assuming Dr. Buhler would let me know prior to Tuesday if I need to have surgery to remove the cysts as well. But this is Chile, so if I receive an email Monday night around 7:00 PM, I would not be surprised.
After that procedure I headed down to meet with Dr. Schwember, my plastic surgeon. I had been told he was very nice and very good and that he spoke English. About one minute into the meeting, I decided that Spanish was probably the way to go if I hoped to glean any important information about the procedure on Tuesday. I was kind of worried that I would have to make a rush decision about what kind of reconstruction to do, but it turns out that I won´t be able to do the actual reconstruction until after radiation, so I don´t really have to decide until then. For now they are going to put in an expander and pump it full of saline solution every few weeks or so to allow the skin to stretch and make room for the new breast. Apparently there are two different kinds of reconstruction. Something called a flap procedure where they take fat from your stomach or butt and put it into your breast. Sounds good to me! Or you can go with the traditional silicon or saline implants. Not sure yet what I am going to go with, but I´ll leave that decision for another time. Regardless, I breathed a sigh of relief that my Spanish was good enough to have an intelligent conversation about this subject with my doctor. However, writing down my own doctor´s note: “ I, Elizabeth Timms, give permission to Dr. Gerardo Schwember to perform a skin expanding surgery on my left mammary next Tuesday, April the 16th”, dictated by the doctor, to me, in Spanish, was another matter. I know that we routinely ask 3rd and 4th graders to perform dictation in English class, but asking someone to spell something not in their native language after listening to it spoken extremely quickly with a Chilean accent is a special kind of torture.
Today I am back at Clinica Alemana to receive my antibodies (Herceptin and Perjeta). Of course, like always, scheduling the treatment required many last-minute emails of panic between me and the doctor´s office. There never seems to be much foresight involved regarding my oncological treatments. Sigh… so imagine my surprise when early this week the doctor´s secretary said I have to be admitted to the hospital on Thursday and spend the night. I know from vast internet research that the antibody treatment is (maximum) three hours long and is ALWAYS an out-patient treatment in the United States, so of course I was not too pleased. Jon is currently out of town for a basketball tournament in Uruguay and Jen´s flight gets in at 3:00 AM. I told the doctor I really need to be allowed to leave Thursday night because there will be no one to pick my friend up at the airport or give her the keys to my house. Yesterday afternoon I received a response and luckily Majlis agreed that I would be able to leave immediately following my treatment. We´ll see… so far it´s 2:30 in the afternoon and no one has even been in my hospital room to check me in, let alone start hooking me up to my IV. Just kidding, a nurse just came in and was surprised that I was here because no one had informed them. Gotta love the efficiency! Oh well, as long as I´m out by 2:30 AM I´ll be happy. I gave Chingy and Kublai lots of food and giant bones to chew on before I left the house so I think they´ll be okay on their own.
Also, a side note: tomorrow my friends and I are celebrating Bye-Bye Boobie Night here in Santiago, so wherever you are in the world, I invite you to make a toast Friday night to all the women who´ve lost a breast or two to this terrible disease. Since my last post I´ve joined several online breast cancer support groups and have realized that there are WAY too many women out there who´ve had mastectomies. Which gets me thinking, why haven´t we come up with a better way to treat breast cancer then chopping off body parts and then subjecting the patient to six weeks of radiation??? I mean, these things can´t be good for you… I´ve read about people, like Suzanne Somers, in her book “Knockout: Interviews with Doctors Who are Curing Cancer ”, who have rejected traditional cancer treatment methods and preferred to treat their disease with good diet and natural supplements, etc, and since she´s had cancer twice and still alive, I guess there definitely may be something to that. But it seems pretty risky to ignore the advice of what doctors have been telling patients for at least the last 100 years. Still, I´m pretty sure that someday in some history book, people are going to look back at the way humans treated cancer in this day and age and laugh. Just like when my students laugh as I tell them about blood letting and bubos piercing as a cure for the plague. I mean, how ridiculous, right??!! But alas, no other good options have been offered up at this point so I guess we better keep up those donations for Race for the Cure. Hopefully someday 30 year-old women with breast cancer won´t have to live the rest of their lives without their breasts.
Okay, another treatment update… so the nurse who orders the drugs just came in and said the doctor has left instructions for me to take the taxotere today along with the Herceptin. WTF??!!!! Majlis clearly said I was done with chemo…. Buhler thought I was done with chemo…. I thought I was done with chemo…This is so frustrating I want to cry. With firm but wavering voice, I told the nurses that they need to go check on that because that is not what I had discussed with the doctor last time. I am not taking taxotere today, especially since I have my surgery next week!!! I wish I wasn´t here by myself, I wish my Spanish didn´t deteriorate when I get upset, and I wish every treatment didn´t have to be so stressful. Seriously, every time I have had a treatment there is confusion, things always happen at the last minute, and I always have to advocate for myself. I never feel certain about anything. I wonder if this happens in every hospital, or is it because I´m a dumb gringo who doesn´t understand the Chilean system? I am definitely getting tired of it though. Oh good- Majlis just said I didn´t have to take the taxotere. Maybe if there were charts on the patients´ beds or if he remembered conversations that he has had with his patients, then life would be a little easier. Seriously, this day did not have to be this ridiculously stressful…. It always turns out okay in the end, but I hope surgery day is less stressful and goes as planned. I know that since Buhler will be there it will probably be fine. Fingers crossed.

As the above “Keep a Breast”organization´s (http://www.keep-a-breast.org/i-love-boobies/) catchy slogan indicates, the subject of this week´s blog post is yes, you guessed it: breasts.  So if you are at all giggly or embarrassed to read about things like silicon gel and nipples, then perhaps you should read no further.  But don´t worry, I too felt very strange listening to a doctor talking to me about these things, so you are not alone in your feelings.  But I have never shied away from the tough topics on this blog, and this blog is about breast cancer, so it is only natural that at some point I would have to actually talk about breasts.

I am writing about them this week because I recently found out the details of my upcoming surgery and they were a little more difficult to process than I originally thought they would be.  Let me preface this by saying that I have been feeling pretty great recently.  In fact, if I had written this blog a day ago, it would have been titled: “Nature-it does a body good”.  After our fabulous trip down to Patagonia last weekend I have felt emotionally and physically renewed.  American environmentalist, John Muir, definitely had it right when he said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” I most recently found this strength while visiting Coyhaique, Chile (population 50,000).  This difficult to pronounce town is pretty much the only center of civilization in central Patagonia and is surrounded by stunning natural scenery.  Jon and I travelled there for four days with two friends from school.  We stayed at this amazing bed and breakfast just outside of town that had great views over the valley.  April is the beginning of fall in Chile, so the leaves had just started to turn color and the air had that crisp, fresh, fall smell to it. Ahhhh… wonderful!  Our bedroom was the top floor of the house and had this amazing panoramic view from the windows.  What a joy it was to wake up and watch the sun peaking up over the mountain peaks, casting an amazing pinkish glow over the valley.  Don´t worry, I´ll attach pictures so you can view it also…  Although, truth be told, pictures never quite capture the true glory of nature since nature is 360 degrees of beauty, and a camera can only capture a tiny piece of it. The highlight of the trip, however, was our twelve-hour cruise from Puerto Chacabuco to Laguna San Rafael. We had to wake up at 5:00 in the morning in order to drive to the boat for a pre-dawn departure, but it was definitely worth it. The trip was not cheap by any means, but I would highly recommend it as it included three meals, snacks, and an open bar.  As I mentioned in last week´s blog, the main point of the trip was to see glacier San Rafael, and despite the build-up, it didn´t disappoint.  The blue of the ice, the massive size of it, watching and listening to chunks of ice fall from the glacier and crash with a loud shotgun explosion into the water below was an experience I will never forget. Also particularly enjoyable were the delicious homemade dinners cooked for us in the kitchen of the bed and breakfast. Watching the sun come down in a watercolor of reds, oranges, and purples while sipping on wine and engaging in hilarious yet meaningful conversation with our traveling companions was truly refreshing. Shout out to Carrie and Angela who are such fun to travel with- we had such a great time.  Thanks ladies!!

Because of this trip, and also my renewed interest in good diet, exercise, and health, I began to believe that life was grand again.  I also have realized that there is no “right way” to recover from traumatic experiences.  Therapy is whatever you need it to be.  And for me, what I needed was a little of this and a little of that. I have recently been reading excerpts from a series of books entitled “Crazy Sexy Cancer” donated to me by some kind person at the time of my diagnosis.  I hadn´t attempted to read them while doing my chemotherapy because I didn´t really see the point.  For me, the only way I could get through chemo and still keep a smile on my face was to not let cancer rule my life.  If I spent each day thinking and pondering about my illness, I never would have made it.  But now that I can sort-of see the light at the end of the tunnel, I have started to read more about possible theories about how to be a cancer survivor and how to prevent the cancer from returning, etc.  Of course, this is tricky because no one knows for certain where cancer comes from.  I mean, there are a lot of theories and studies and lots of evidence to suggest it is linked to this or that, but let´s be honest… there is nothing definitive or certain about this disease.  I can agree to eat less meat and less dairy and less sugar in case the hormones we put in our food these days really is the cancer culprit.  But also, I´m not going to agree to become a vegan and start eating almond butter and drinking green juice morning, noon, and night, because Kris Carr told me it was the way to prevent cancer.  Honestly, to me- that just sounds too drastic.  Even Buddha realized that to go to any extreme is never the solution.  You need to find a middle way.  But for the “Crazy, Sexy” author, veganism worked, so good on her….  Who am I to criticize what someone does or chooses to believe in, in order to help them survive a deadly disease?  I am certainly in no position to do so, I just don´t necessarily have to believe everything she advises.

Another thing that I felt good about this week is that Jon and I have managed to repair our relationship.  I had alluded to the fact that we were having some problems in the recent months, but both of us have let go of our anger.  And to be honest, neither one of us was actually angry at the other, we just were angry about the situation that we have had to deal with of late.  On a personal note, I also decided to stop being so angry about my job situation.  To quote the Buddha again (sorry… I taught ancient religions to 8^th and 9^th graders for too many years to not let this stuff stick), “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”  What´s the use of me continuing to be angry about something that I cannot change?  It is what it is.  People have their own reasons for doing things and sometimes they make mistakes. If you want to be happy in life, you just have to forgive and get on with it.  As a wise and eternally optimistic friend recently told me, you can´t control what other people do or how they behave…the only thing you can do is choose how you react.  I truly believe that.  And so, on Friday, I made my first appearance at school since before the summer break. The students had been writing me recently and asking about me, so I thought I would stop in and say hi.  It was so nice to see them again and I am always so incredibly amazed at how excited and happy they are to see me.  These teens here in Chile are truly extraordinary: so caring and so kind…  No matter what has happened since, I know that without the students and the school´s generous support after my initial diagnosis I never would have been able to face my illness with such optimism and positivity.  So I will always be grateful for that.  Despite the constant questions of, “How are you feeling” and “You look so great” and “Ms…. When are you coming back?”… I finally felt a flicker of my normal life again.  Even though I was watching someone else teach my class I really enjoyed filling up my water bottle in the teacher´s lounge, making small talk in the hallways, and helping students pick research topics.  But alas, this normalcy was short-lived.

Immediately following my visit to school I had an appointment with Dr. Buhler who is going to be performing my surgery.   The last three times I had spoken with my doctors they all kept mentioning that I was going to have a small, non invasive lumpectomy.  So of course, that´s what I had envisioned and what I had spent all day telling people.  I really believed I was just going to have a little surgery “cita”. Unfortunately, that is definitely not what spewed forward from Dr. Buhler´s mouth as we sat down in his office in the breast surgery wing of the hospital.  After the initial phrase,“Based on our discussions with the oncology committee, we decided that we will achieve the best results if we take the entire gland.…” At this point, my mind kind of glazed over and I began having another out-of-body experience.  When involved in serious doctor discussions like this I do know that it´s me and my body that we´re talking about, but I feel like a stranger listening in on some strange conversation in an alternate universe.   I asked why the doctors had changed their mind and decided to go with the more radical mastectomy, and the doctor said that because I had responded so extraordinarily well to the chemo that they want to be really aggressive and preventative with their treatment from here on.  They are going to treat my cancer, not like a typical stage four treatment, but more like a stage one or two where you do everything possible to keep the cancer from spreading.  So I guess that´s good news, but still- I hadn´t really expected to have to lose the entire breast.

I know that mastectomies are a pretty common treatment for women with breast cancer and I know that I will eventually get over it, but for right now I feel unnecessarily distraught about having to say goodbye to such a personal body part. Apparently they are going to be doing a skin-saving surgery so that I can have a more “natural-looking” breast reconstruction once I´m done with all my treatment.  Of course, here is where he also mentioned that I will most probably be doing radiation, something I have not been looking forward to.  He then showed me where they were going to do the incisions and assured me that I would still be able to wear low-cut shirts, dresses, and bikinis. “Whew! What a relief!!  It´s going to be so fun to show off my new fake boobs….” Seriously, is that something I´m supposed to care about when we´re talking about removing cancer tumors?? Anyway he referred me to a plastic surgeon who is going to discuss the specifics about how to reconstruct a breast from scratch.  Initially they are going to put some sort of liquid-filled sack in place of the original breast so that the skin will continue to stretch and leave room for whatever type of more permanent implant we decide to go with after the six weeks of radiation.

And here is where I will now go into my diatribe about breasts and my feelings about losing one (and apparently probably both if I can stay cancer-free for two more years).  To be honest, I´ve never really understand the world´s obsession with breasts.  They seriously are two mounds of fat and tissue attached to the front of your body.  Yes, when they are pushed up and trussed up in lingerie and fancy dresses, they can look downright sexy, but I think if you asked most women, they are more often a source of embarrassment or pain than a source of pride.  And now that I know women who have had children, I know that the true purpose of this mound of fat and tissues is to feed babies. I´ve heard enough stories of leaky breasts and scabbed over nipples to no longer think of boobs as sexy. Personally I´ve never really had a problem with mine.  I like them well enough, but I know that some women are never comfortable with the size of their breasts. I also realize that many women would actually be happy to have fake boobs and voluntarily get breast implants, but I have never had a desire to do so.  I think it´s going to be super, super weird and almost Frankenstein-ish to know that part of my body is fake.  So, I came home from the doctor´s appointment in tears. Not to mention that I have a bunch of other medical things I´m supposed to take care of before the surgery. Apparently my last pet scans indicated that I have ovarian cysts that might need to be surgically removed at the same time that they do the mastectomy.  And no one told me about it until just now… awesome.  Chemo is known to mess with your hormones (Oh really? You think???) which can sometimes cause the ovaries to go haywire.  If they rupture, it can be very painful.  I know this is the least of my worries right now, but I am annoyed that there is still a long list of strange and scary experiences to go through before I am officially done with all my treatment.

After I came home feeling sorry for myself I flipped to CNN.com to find a horrific article about an attempted honor killing of a young Pakistani girl.  She survived 15 axe wounds to the head and face given to her by her own brother.  So very, very, sad and amazing that she survived.  Of course, who really wants to live a life like that, knowing what happened to you and that your life will never be the same.  But I figure, if this girl can get through that, and if a friend of mine can handle her full frontal surgery scar with collapsed lungs, etc, than I can surely deal with saying goodbye to my left breast.  And so, boys and girls, wear those “I love boobies” bracelets loud and proud.  I always used to believe, if you´ve got ‘em, flaunt ‘em.  So when you go out this weekend, ladies, find an outfit that celebrates your decolletage and embrace your body. And that´s enough discussion of breasts for one day… I hope I wasn’t too crass and didn´t embarrass you too much!  If anyone has personal experience with mastectomy or breast surgery in general, I´d love to hear from you so that maybe I can stop being so nervous about April the 16th.

Post Script- While posting this last blog entry my lovely nana, Agustina, told me I need to drink a cup full of bull’s milk and put snake fat on my wound and that will help me to heal after the surgery… I wonder what Kris Carr would have to say about that.

I have also included a link to an apropos article concerning the realities of living with breast cancer:

http://www.cbsnews.com/2100-201_162-20115301.html

The title of this blog entry (translated as… I don´t want to have cancer) is pretty self-explanatory.  I have chosen the title as it is also the title of the book my therapist wrote in which she explains how to best fight against cancer.  A bit of an obvious title if you ask me, but you can´t really argue with the truth of the statement.  I have only been to one therapy session so far, and I am still a little unsure if therapy is really going to help me. Although the woman was extremely nice and easy to talk to,  I´m just not sure if I agree with her whole philosophy about cancer, in general.  Right now I am supposed to be drawing a picture of my “innocent self” before cancer in preparation for my second therapy session where we try to figure out what happened to that “innocent self”, but since I pretty much think that´s a bunch of BS, I am doing some therapy of my own: watching Mamma Mia and blogging about therapy.   What could be more therapeutic than watching Meryl dance around and make a fool of herself while listening to Pierce Brosnan attempt to sing???

     My therapy session last week was basically the first time I had ever been to a psychologist.  After introducing myself and explaining basically why I was there, the first question she asked me was, “Why do you think you have cancer?”  Shocked, I replied…“Um, well… my grandmother had breast cancer and so did my aunt, so pretty sure that´s why I have cancer…. Is there really any another option to consider?”

  She replied by stating that really only about 12% of cancers are actually hereditary, and that, actually, cancer is usually caused by stress and unhealthy living.  I´m not entirely sure how she is privy to this apparently definitive information as to the cause of cancer, especially since pretty much every cancer doctor in the world would disagree with this, but oh well.  I understand why some people would prefer to believe cancer is caused by stress since I guess it also implies that if you get rid of your stress you can technically cure yourself of your cancer.  And while I would have a really hard time believing that I caused my own cancer because I was stressed, eating meat, and partying on weekends, I can also admit that the last three years haven´t been the healthiest, mentally or physically.  And truthfully, it wouldn´t really hurt to talk about some of the things that have caused me stress in my life, although it seems pretty idealistic to believe that people can actually live in a world devoid of stress.  The therapist is also an advocate that diet, yoga, and meditation are helpful in the battle against cancer.  While I´m also not completely sold on this non-medical, alternative approach to fighting cancer, I guess it also couldn´t hurt to live healthier or become more spiritual.  Don´t worry- even if I decide to buy into this mentality, I´m pretty sure that you will never find me sitting quietly for hours, deep into a meditative trance.  That´s just really not who I am… BUT you might find me walking around a park, listening to music, alone with my thoughts.  I will give the therapist the benefit of the doubt and give her another chance before I completely give up on her ideas.   And maybe I´ll ask you readers to weigh in on the topic of therapy: helpful or not?  You tell me…

     Although I am still questioning how helpful telling my deepest, darkest secrets to a complete stranger is going to be, since returning from the United States I have been doing many things that have been pretty healing and relaxing for me.  I have tried not to worry about the future so much and I think that is really helping me to feel less stressed and focus on recovery.  One thing my therapist said that I do agree with is that my goal should be to be healthy, first and foremost.  If I am healthy then it doesn´t matter so much whether I have a job or no job, whether I live in Chile or the United States, or if I am single or in a relationship….  If I´m not healthy, then really there is nothing to talk about, right?  So yes, she reaffirmed my belief that I need to be focusing on myself and my battle against this disease, before worrying about all the other stuff. 

   Speaking of the medical battle…. I met with Dr. M yesterday in order to discuss the rest of my medical treatment.  Upon entering the conference room he started with, “So, I´ve decided that this is a really good time for surgery for you.” 

Shocked, I responded with, “What about the ninth round of chemo you spoke about in the hospital? And the Pet Scans?  Don´t I need those?”

“Well, MD Anderson said 2-3 rounds of chemo and since there really isn´t much difference between 8 or 9 rounds of chemo, I think we will go ahead and stop at eight.  Oh and also, we didn´t order the Perjeta (the chemo drug that has to be imported from the states), so yeah… let´s go ahead and do the surgery.”

    Jon and I agreed that was pretty much the worst reason for doing eight sessions of chemo instead of nine, but since the extra rounds of chemo were only protocol and not a necessity I am okay with it.  Plus… it means I AM DONE WITH CHEMO!!!!  This news was delivered in probably the most unceremonious way possible, but it was still a relief.  I left the office with a sparkle in my eye, a bounce in my step, and a huge grin plastered on my face.  A teacher at my school told me that in the states when a person finishes chemo they get to hit a gong installed on the hospital ward for that very purpose.  Clinica Alemana could definitely benefit from such a gong…  I think hitting something very hard that makes a loud noise would indeed be very helpful for cancer patients finishing their treatment.  I guess I will have to find my own gong and have my own ceremony. 

     Anyway, so next week I am going to meet with Buhler in order to discuss when the surgery is going to take place.  Apparently no more petscans are needed right now since they can use the results of the last one….plus, it´s probably not good for a person to receive that much radiation unless it is completely necessary.  If during surgery they find that the original tumor is still there then I will probably need radiation afterwards.  If the tumor isn´t there, then it means I will be in complete remission (CRAZY!!!) and might not need the radiation.  I´m going to guess that I will probably have to do some radiation, but I guess we´ll cross that bridge when it comes.  I´ll let you know when the surgery is scheduled. 

   In the meantime I am going to continue doing my own version of therapy.  I have joined weight watchers and am trying to eat healthier and exercise more.  I´ve made some changes about the way that I eat and I´ve been walking or bike riding for at least an hour every day.  It´s been really great to feel like I´m doing something healthy again!  And I think week one has been pretty successful since I´ve already lost two pounds.  Slow going, but if I keep it up, the weight will be off in no time.  I´ve also been making a digital scrapbook of our explorations throughout Chile.  I love being creative while reminiscing about all the beautiful places we´ve been to down here.  This weekend is Easter break and we plan on adding some beautiful pictures to the book from our long weekend getaway.  We are headed to Coyhaique in northern Patagonia with two friends.  While there, we are going to hike and drink in the scenery.  The highlight of the trip, however,  is an all day boat ride through the Chilean fjords to the San Rafael glacier, which is one of the largest and most impressive in Patagonia.  I know that getting out and about and seeing beautiful things will definitely help with my healing as well.  Until next time! 

 

So you can be appropriately jealous about my upcoming trip, here is a link to some images of the glacier that we will be visiting this weekend.

https://www.google.cl/search?q=San+Rafael+glacier&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=ZpX&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=Qf5SUeSqMIGa9QS46oCQDg&ved=0CDIQsAQ&biw=1366&bih=583

 A few weeks ago I received an email from Cameron Von St. James who found my blog and wanted to contribute an article that my readers might find interesting.  He has been caring for his wife for many years now and wanted to share his story of hope.  I am grateful for his perspective and happy that my blog is helping others dealing with cancer to cope.  The following is his contribution.  Hope you all enjoy the read!

Learning to Deal: Caring for Someone with Cancer

November 21st, 2005 is an infamous day for my family. It was the moment when our lives changed, and my wife Heather began her journey with cancer. She was diagnosed with malignant pleural mesothelioma, a rare and very deadly form of cancer caused by asbestos exposure. It was also the moment my role as a husband and father changed to caregiver for someone with cancer. This wasn’t a position that I had ever expected for myself but it was something that I had to learn fast if I was going to be able to help my wife beat this awful disease. We had only just celebrated the birth of Lily, our first and only child, three months prior to the diagnosis, and now her mother was beginning a fight for her life.
I remember going to the doctor’s office and feeling panicked even before I heard the news. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was going to be there for Heather. I sat with her, holding her hand, as the doctor spoke about her cancer. It just didn’t seem real. All of a sudden we were faced with treatment options. I was just letting it set in that there was something deadly growing inside of my wife. He suggested a few hospitals in the area, but none of these had a good program for mesothelioma.  He also told us that we could travel to Boston to see a mesothelioma specialist.  I knew that if my wife had any chance of beating this, she needed the best care possible.  I immediately told the doctor that we would seek treatment in Boston.

After that initial doctor’s visit, everything changed for my family. We had both worked before, but now I was the only one who could work. I wasn’t upset that I was now a caregiver. It was just difficult to be at work knowing that I had so many things going on and not enough time in the day to really handle all of my new responsibilities. I quickly became overwhelmed, and frequently broke down under the strain and pressure of it all.  I knew my wife needed me to be strong, so I did my best to put on a brave face in her presence.
Heather’s family had always been there for us, and they came through with support at a very dark time. They provided a place for my wife to recuperate after her surgery in Boston and they took care of Lily during her treatment as well. I worked as hard as I could during these times, but they also helped us with the medical bills that were piling up. It was just this support that saved my family and myself from really troubling times.

Over the next few months, Heather would undergo a myriad of cancer treatments, involving mesothelioma surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. Despite the grim odds facing her, she was able to defy them and beat this awful disease.  She has now been cancer free for six years.  Being a caregiver taught me a lot about myself and my family.  The most important thing I learned is the strength that every person has within them.  If we just believe in ourselves and never give up hope, we can achieve incredible things.  Heather and I now hope that by sharing our story of triumph over cancer, we can help all those currently battling today.

 

 

 

I realize it`s been much too long since my last blog post, and that this entry´s title may cause Will Smith to come knocking at my door citing copyright infringement, but unfortunately I haven´t been feeling so peppy this last month, which has made it impossible to write.  To put it mildly, things have been pretty rough of late, and although I know, objectively, that things will get better, I still find myself spiraling back into the rabbit hole that I spoke of a few months ago… except this time the darkness seems to be bottomless and every time I think I can scramble out, the light eludes me and I free-fall back into the abyss.

Medically speaking, I am still soldiering on with my treatments.  While I was in Buenos Aires at the beginning of February with my sister and Jon I received an email from Dr. Majlis who said that after he consulted the doctors at MD Anderson, their protocol indicated that I needed to complete 2-3 more rounds of chemo before the surgery, no matter what the results of the Pet Scan indicated.  While I was disappointed since I thought I was finished with the chemo, I no longer feel so bad about the treatments because I know what to expect.  I would rather be safe than sorry, so here I am at the hospital again plugged into my chemo port, getting my eighth dosage.  I am hoping it will be my last, but you never can be sure what these tricky doctors have up their sleeves.  It could be nine chemo sessions, then another set of Pet Scans and MRIs just to ensure the chemo is still working, and then the surgery, and possibly radiation.  So the road keeps winding on….

In the meantime I have been trying to figure out what to do with my life, now that it seems like I will have one again when all of this is over.  Not an easy task I tell you, as when the dust settles, it turns out that despite my attempts at positivity and optimism, cancer has, indeed, permanently altered my life path.  I now understand why people refer to it as their “battle with cancer”.  Although I have not been to war, I have studied and read a lot about war and its mental and physical effects on those that have fought.  And now I think I can understand the similarities.  Cancer is about living in fear of death, and while you may temporarily come to grips with your mortality, it is hard to fully let go of this apprehension.  To be honest, this fear of death has gotten worse since I received the news that the chemo is working.  Now I keep wondering when will the cancer be back?  How many years do I have left?  Not to sound morbid, but every newspaper article, or magazine, or book, or movie I have watched recently is full of stories of people dying of cancer.  I had shielded myself from these facts during the early months of my diagnosis, but now it seems I cannot avoid it.  And gosh, it sure does make me sad.  Why do so many people have to suffer?  I even felt a little sympathy for Hugo Chavez the other day, which made me upset because I´m not sure megalomaniacal dictators deserve sympathy, but oh well…

The last month hasn´t been all bad, though.  I did get a chance to go home for a few weeks.  Unfortunately though, it felt more like I was desperately running away from my problems, rather than choosing to have a relaxing visit with family and friends.  After my seventh round of chemo mid-February, I booked a flight to Houston via LA so that I could be home for my grandmother´s 90^th birthday celebration, which turned out to be quite the family reunion.  I´m not so sure that attempting a solo, 14-hour international flight five days after chemo was the best thing for my health, but I just had to get out of Santiago, so I chanced it.  The whole flight I kept hearing the man behind me violently coughing up a lung, so I was fairly sure that despite my high white blood cell count I was going to get sick.  It also didn´t help that I had booked all of my plane tickets as aisle seats since I was worried I would frequently be visiting the bathroom, as often is the case following chemo.  Luckily, I did not indulge in any airplane food and only drank water so I was able to keep the bathroom trips to a minimum.  However it was all I could do to stop myself from anxiously reaching over my window seat companion´s lap to yank open the window shades during particularly hairy bits of turbulence like the two hours spent flying over the rainforests of Ecuador and Colombia.  If I haven´t mentioned already, I have extreme flight phobia.  I am always surprised at how calm people are on airplanes when I am always a jumble of nerves.  A friend of mine from Dalian with similar flight fears (this one´s for you, Holly!) put it best when she said, “Can anyone really enjoy being trapped in a metal enclosure hurtling hundreds of miles per hour thousands of feet above earth????”  I certainly can´t, and I fly a lot.  Be prepared to white-knuckle it with me whenever we fly together in the future.  Anyway, I was glad to finally touch down in LA and was extremely grateful that Randi was there to greet me and allow me a few hours of sleep on her couch before my flight to Houston the next morning.  I had purchased my United flight on air-miles and was able to upgrade to first class for the same price as economy, so I flew to Houston in luxury.   Much easier to forget about turbulence when reclining in those comfy seats that convert to beds, catching up on my Oscar movies and sipping on a nice, free beverage.  Aaahhhhh… very relaxing.   I hope all of you who fly first class on a regular basis truly savor the joy of not being cramped up in economy.

When I arrived in Houston I had a few days to relax at my parents house before the rest of the family got there for the weekend´s festivities.  Arrival in Houston was a bit eventful, and I´m sure my mom would prefer that I not share all the details, but it was pretty comical in a Planes, Trains, and Automobiles kind of way, so hopefully she won´t mind.  A few days before leaving for the states my mom had said she try to come get me after work at the airport.  Unfortunately I do not currently have a working US phone and was unable to get wifi access on my Ipad once I reached baggage claim (stupid Houston Intercontinental Airport set-up).  I waited outside the terminal about an hour after my flight had landed, exhausted and weak from the travel and chemo side effects.  Eventually, I started to panic since I had no way of communicating with my parents and was worried they weren´t actually coming to get me.  I headed back inside the airport to try and get ahold of someone, and realized I no longer knew the pass code to my US debit card and therefore was unable to take out money for the pay phone.  Apparently, though, US pay phones magically take credit cards so I was able to dial the two family members phone numbers I remembered off the top of my head.  Unfortunately the two numbers weren´t very helpful since Alison wasn´t going to be able to help me too much from her office and Portland, and of course my parents weren´t home.  After this fruitless attempt at contact with a ride I decided to take a cab and find my way home.  I had forgotten that cabs in the US aren´t quite like cabs in the rest of the world in that they cost a freaking arm and a leg, but oh well- I at least had made a plan.  Of course nobody was home when I got to my parents´ pad in the Heights, and I didn´t have a key, so I dropped my heavy suitcase on the porch and walked to the neighborhood Starbucks where I knew I would be able to get internet access for the Ipad and maybe find an email letting me know what was going on.  Mom had indeed sent me an email the hour before that indicated that by the time my plane had landed she still had another class to teach, not to mention a half hour drive to the airport, so she was going to be pretty late.  Luckily Ali had also emailed me with mom´s cell phone number and amazingly she had finally decided to turn it on, so I was able to get ahold of her and tell her I had made it home.  So I sat in my parents front lawn like a vagrant for another hour until she made it back.  She felt horrible and I felt bad that I hadn´t just had faith and waited for her, so we had a good laugh and I took a much-needed nap.

When the rest of the family arrived it was all a whirlwind of celebration and reminiscing.  It was a great tribute to Grandma Doft who has been the family matriarch, holding the glue of our crazy Deidrick posse together for many, many years.  In fact I had wanted to make this whole entry a tribute to her and our illustrious and unique family, but I seem to be going with a slightly different theme, so perhaps I need to save that for a future entry.  As my part of the weekend tribute to my grandmother, Ali, mom, and I spent several days pouring through family photo albums and trip slides, putting together a montage of Doft´s life adventures over the past nine decades.  It was such fun putting together the video and collecting quotes from family members to make it a funny and meaningful life celebration.  I so enjoyed seeing all the pictures of us growing up together and it helped, temporarily, to put everything that I´ve gone through recently in perspective.  Sometimes family really is everything…  When we debuted the video after an hour of bickering between technologically challenged family members, Doft really enjoyed it.  As all of us enjoyed the many dinners, breakfasts, lunches, and brunches held in her honor from Friday-Monday.  She looks great for ninety and, as always, infuses any conversation with wit, understanding, sass, and laughter.  My life truly would not have been complete without her presence and I was glad I was able to let her know how important she is to us.

The reunion was a true celebration in many respects.  It was particularly nice to spend time with my cousin Katherine and her baby, Ellie, as Ellie is the first fourth- generation member of the Deidrick clan.  It was also nice to reunite with Uncle John who lives in Cambodia and hosted Randi, me and my sister, as well as our respective men, on a wonderful vacation there two years ago.  I loved spending time with Jan and Joe-Patt, Aunt Nancy, Uncle Steve, and Uncle Elgin, all people who helped ground and entertain me during my formative years.  And finally, I truly enjoyed my chats with Cousin Sandra who lives in Washington DC, has lived all over the world, and heads a non-profit there called Search for Common Ground.  It was nice to talk about and explore the idea of NGOs as a possible future career.  It also was just nice to be in the company of laughter, family, and good food.  (Although my increasing inability to fit into my old jeans indicates that I probably didn´t need any more good food….)  I also got a chance to meet up with some of my Houston friends, and although I didn´t have a whole lot of happy news to share with them, it was nice to say hi, albeit briefly, and share in their respective challenges and joys.

After my time in Houston I headed back to LA to stay with Randi and her boyfriend, Matt, in their wonderfully located condo on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica.  It was so fun to be able to spend time with them and witness Randi in her role as “awesome, powerful, and busy work lady” at UCLA hospital.  It was so inspiring to see her in such a good place in her life and fun to celebrate her 30 something birthday (I think we agreed to stop counting….) with some wine tasting and a delicious dinner at Tom Colicchio´s most excellent restaurant, Craft.  Yep, more unneeded food and calories was a part of this weekend as well!  I also got a chance to reunite with my CMC gals at a dinner at Brandi´s house.  I got to meet Brandi and Laura´s adorable children as well as spend time with Robyn, Steph, Sarah Carlson, and Mei-Mei.  Although it was too short of a time and we all had too many glasses of champagne and an unfortunate foray into vodka shots, I enjoyed reliving my California years, gasping with horror at the thought of our ten year college reunion, and spending time in the Los Angeles sunshine.  It made me long to be closer to home, but happy to know that I will always have that support system in Lala land.  Thanks for everything, girls!!!

To tell the truth, even after sixteen days away from all my problems, I still wasn´t ready to go back to Santiago.  Originally, I was hoping to do some chemo treatment back in the states so I could stay longer and try and figure my shit out, but it was extremely difficult to figure out how to transfer my insurance to MD Anderson and would have been much more stressful than simply returning home to finish out the treatment.    And so, here I am back in Santiago, hoping for good things and desperately needing some clarity.  I still haven´t really figured out what I want to do about next year or how to fix/forget some of the bad things that have occurred recently. I have scheduled my first therapy session for next Tuesday so I hope that is a step in the right direction.

I recently read an article in Oprah magazine by Martha Beck that attempted to offer a solution for how to successfully climb out of my rabbit hole.  Self-help books and Oprah advice are not my usual cup of tea, but the article was ripped out of the magazine just for me by my friend Stan-B, so I gave it a shot.   The author said,  “When the road of life gets bumpy (and then bumpier, and bumpier still): Stop, throw it in reverse, and draw up a whole new road map”.  And truly, a new road map is what I am in need of now.  Without going into the details of all of the not-so-nice things that have occurred recently as they are still too fresh in my mind, I, like the troubled woman in the Oprah article, have often found myself tearfully proclaiming to friends and family,  “I´m not sure I can go on.  Why is all this happening at once?” * The author of the article suggests that I should not actively try to solve my life crisis, as so much of it is out of my hands, but instead, to surrender to it.  “When you feel so beaten down that you can´t sustain normal activities, it´s time to stop trying.”  This may seem counter-intuitive, but it does offer a respite to the painful feelings of attempting to solve a thousand problems at once, when none of them offer an immediate and gratifying conclusion.

I guess what I need now is time: time to heal, time to go with the flow, time to remember all of the wonderful things about life that I so treasured at the beginning of my diagnosis.  Like the French say, “What will be, will be.”  I realize now that I, and those close to me, have gone through a difficult and life-changing experience and it should not be expected that I fully recover, mentally or physically, in any kind of limited time frame.  It is a fact that I am never going to be the same person I was before cancer, so it´s really pretty silly to try.  Some cancer survivors have referred to this time period as B.C.- before cancer and A.C.- after cancer.  Happiness is not exactly right around the corner.  I still have to wake up to my bald, eyebrow-less, and puffy face in the mirror for probably a few more months.  The twenty extra pounds I now carry around my midsection, my flabby arms, and my double chin are not going to magically melt away in a matter of weeks.  I still have lots of challenging decisions to make about my future and about my life.   I will probably cry some more… lots more.  But I am resolved to do whatever it takes to be happy again.

Martha Beck, who calls herself a life coach, assured me in this article that, sometimes, random streaks of bad luck happen to people, and actually this bad luck is really steering them towards their true destiny of happiness, love, and joy.  I find this to be exceedingly cheesy and pretty difficult to believe, but I am in need of believing in something again.  Happiness, I know, is illusive, and maybe not even that realistic, but I know some of you out there have achieved it.  If you have any suggestions, life-survival techniques, helpful mottos, inspiring websites, etc feel free to send them my way.  I am all ears.  As the venerable Fresh Prince of Bellaire taught me last night, sometimes you have to get divorced, lose all your your money, get evicted from your apartment, chase after weird bone density machines, skip out on taxi fares, and sleep with your son in a homeless shelter in order to find your “happiness”.  For now, I´ll just sit back and wait for the day that Dean Whitter chooses me for their prestigious internship program although I am covered in paint and wearing a wife beater….  I love movies!  So realistic!    In all seriousness though, I AM going to take a break from all this painful future-planning and try to live more in the moment, get healthy, write, and enjoy the naps with my doggies.  I look forward to the day when some of my pain and anger dissipates and I can tell you all about my new life path.

 

*For more details on the missing parts of this story feel free to email me personally at eli.timms@gmail.com.  It´s a doozy!