Being that this is Thanksgiving, I suppose this entry should be a list of all the many things that I am thankful for. However, I´ve already written that blog; and frankly, thankful is not really how I feel at the moment. Well, that´s not entirely true: of course I am thankful to have wonderful family and friends who have been nothing but supportive, but I hope you will forgive me if I´m not entirely in the holiday spirit this year… Something about turkeys and football games, Christmas carols, presents under the tree and pictures with Santa all just make me feel sick to my stomach. Or maybe that´s just the nausea speaking… (I´ve been down and out pretty much the whole day thanks to a slice of pizza last night. ) I´m sorry to be such a grinch, but I just really can´t fake the enthusiasm this year. I tried, for Jon´s sake, but I´m having a hard time following through with the yuletide cheer. Yesterday Jon and I purchased our first Christmas tree in four years. Sadly, it is fake, as it is downright impossible to find evergreens here in Chile. I vowed never to buy a fake tree, but I guess you should never say never. In addition to the “Made in Thailand” tree, we also purchased a large rotating fan so that we wouldn´t have to sweat while putting up the lights and ornaments.
Maybe the lack of holiday spirit comes from the fact that summer is starting here in the Southern hemisphere. It´s kind of hard to get jazzed about snowmen and chestnuts roasting on an open fire when I´d much rather sit by a pool with the barbeque blazing. But even that image makes me sad, as I don´t think I´ll be doing much tanning this summer… probably not good for my skin. Since my mom left I have had far too much alone time in my house to sit and ponder my current situation. As a result I am having a harder time smiling and putting on my “everything´s fine” face, because let´s face it…. everything isn´t really fine. It´s so far from fine, that most days I feel like I´m living in a dream, hoping that I will one day wake up and be the old Eli again.
But mostly, I am not excited about the holidays, because I won´t be able to be with my family. They´ve only been gone a few days, but I already miss them tremendously. When I moved abroad five years ago, I knew that I would have to make certain sacrifices. Lonely Thanksgivings and Christmases are definitely two such sacrifices. In the past I didn´t really mind being without my family because usually it meant that I was traveling on some grand adventure to Australia or Peru, but again… that isn´t really in the cards this year. But, I think that´s enough negativity for one day. A friend of mine who had cancer when she was just 17 told me that her mother allowed her ten minutes to feel sorry for herself each day, and that then she had to snap out of it and get on with life. I think that is entirely reasonable, given the circumstances. Consider this my ten minutes…
In order to end this post on a positive note and “snap out of it” if you will, I wanted to add that simply putting my true feelings down in writing has made me feel so much better. To conclude, I would have to say that this Thanksgiving I am very thankful for this blog and for the supportive Team Eli community who reads it. I don´t know what I would do without you all. I am also looking forward to our Gracías Giving feast this Saturday at Renea´s house, where we celebrate the holidays with all of our Nido Two-bie pals. I´m sure that will help to improve my mood and hopefully put me in the holiday spirit once again. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!
It is the morning after my third session of chemo and I am feeling pretty lucky that my body allowed me to sleep for a decent amount of time last night. Middle of the night insomnia seems to be one of the side effects that plagues me after my treatment sessions, in addition to massive bloating, odd tingling sensations, and general fatigue. So here I sit writing this blog, my poor, bleeding, puppy and I curled up on the couch together, reflecting on the changes going through our bodies at this time. Young Kublai is becoming a woman and seems baffled and confused by her brother, Chingy´s, desire to sniff and mount her at all times. Luckily Chingy has already been neutered, and now it seems like it will be Kublai´s time in the very near future. Don´t worry, Kublai, all will be well soon: hopefully you won´t be the other doggies favorite new meat in the park for long…
My body, on the other hand, is wondering what to do with all of the medicine (poison?) that was injected over the last two days. The general procedure goes as follows. First I go to the clinic in the early morning to get my white and red blood cells counted and checked. This is an entirely harmless procedure ( if you don´t mind needles) and, so far, the blood examinations have always been followed up by a consultation with Dr. Majlis where he cheerily proclaims my blood count to be, ¨Great…Excellent!”. Then he sits me on the table and tests my lungs, heart, glands, and examines my mouth for ulcers. When all of these examinations go well, he then leads me back to the desk where he often makes a reference to the restaurants he likes in Houston… most often he speaks of margaritas at Pappasito´s, so I know he is a man after my own heart. I believe this friendly banter to be an attempt at more meaningful doctor-patient communication, and also a reminder to me that he regularly attends conferences at MD Anderson. It is as if he is subtly trying to say, “Not to worry, young gringa. You are in good hands.¨ And luckily, I do believe that I am getting the best care possible. In general, I am starting to like Majlis more, although Dr. “Blue Eyes” Buhler will always, hands-down, be my favorite, as I´m sure he has been for most of his female patients in the past:-) I appreciate that even though he is more comfortable speaking to me in Spanish, Majlis always makes a gesture to converse with Jon in English and help to include him, somewhat clumsily, in the medical loop. I also appreciate his zany sense of humor, when he proclaims “You are healthy and ready to go to the bar,” and sends me on my way to my hospital room. I like that he tells me, in response to my query about dietary restrictions, “No restrictions! Eat steak, drink wine: as long as you are feeling good, live your life.” How very Chilean of him… I´m sure many of my alternative medicine friends would not agree with this prognosis, and believe me, I know that many people would cringe to hear that I, the cancer patient, still cook delicious meals filled with animal protein and occasionally indulge in a glass of libations (don´t worry- not nearly as much as in the past…). But to restrict me in those ways is not to know the real Eli, and is not to fully appreciate the joy and pleasure that food brings me. I like that my doctors understand that a life without joy is not worth living at all. At this time I am reminded of one of my favorite kitchen ceramic hangings of all time, found in a friend´s beach house in Alicante, Spain that proclaimed, ¨A Day without wine is like a day without sunshine”. Truer words have never been spoken!
But, alternative medicine friends, don´t fret too much- my body is a very good indicator of what I should or should not be putting in my mouth. Always after the first week of treatments my taste buds change dramatically. The chemo attacks the fastest growing cells in the body which include hair, nail, and mouth cells, so I tend to lose a layer or two of skin on the tongue and roof of my mouth following the sessions. Wine and other flavorful foods like red meat, cheeses, spices or heavily salted, buttered, or sugary items just do not taste good, as all my senses pick up on are the metallic flavors, the alcohol, the heat, or other such sensations. Luckily, after a week of gargling with sodium bicarbonate following each teeth-brushing ritual, my palette generally tends to recover midway through the second week, and I again become free to savor the fruity nose and vanilla notes of the Malbec once again. So until my test results tell me otherwise, I will not be subsisting on a vegan diet, attending any hypnotherapy sessions, or visiting any shamans on the outskirts of Patagonia, as many have suggested. I do appreciate your interests and concerns about my treatment and I have looked into many of them, but I just do not feel this is the right path for me at this time. Sorry, Dr. Stroud and Dr. Caughron: I know you must be quite disappointed in my choice… but cést la vie.
Okay, back to my treatment regimens…. Once at the hospital, I check in to my spacious room with views of the mountains and Vitacura Avenue, usually early Friday afternoon. Inside, in addition to my hospital bed, there is a small table and chair set, a pull-out couch that my mother so lovingly agrees to sleep on, and plenty of room for the two of us and Jon to lounge around and while the time away. Jon always brings plenty of homemade sandwiches, People magazines, speakers, WII games, TV cords, and enough I-gadgets to make Steve Jobs applaud us from the grave. With all of those accoutrements, it truly does feel like home. Well… at least we are never want for entertainment, that is for sure. Which is good, because hospital stays in Chile always seem to last at least 8 hours longer than they need to… I truly dislike when the nurse comes in Saturday morning to tell me I only have one drug to go and that I´ll be out of there by noon, when, in fact, I know that they won´t even start giving me my pre-chemo, anti nausea meds until at least 2:00. I don´t mind waiting, I just dislike false attempts to get my hopes up. I would prefer it if the nurses would stick to critizing Jessica Biel´s pink wedding dress or Jessica Simpson´s pregnancy weight gain, when they excitedly pick up my glossy magazines off the bed. I also appreciate conversing in Spanish as they marvel appropriately at the crazy culinary confections emblazoned on the television screen during my marathon sessions of “Kitchen Nightmares”, “Top Chef”, “Cake Boss”, and “Man vs. Food”. It always interests and amazes me to see how pervasive American culture and entertainment has become throughout the world. I find it kind of sickening (yet entirely comforting) that even in Dalian, China I could always count on a Saturday Starbucks coffee run, a six inch BMT on Parmesan Oregano bread at Subway, or an Oreo Blizzard at the Dairy Queen stand in Ansheng Mall. All this talk of food is making me hungry! And also reminds me that my brain, on chemo, tends to wander. Sorry for the rant about American culture. Now back to the original topic at hand… my treatment.
This last round of chemo was made more difficult and emotional, however, by the departure of my father and sister late Thursday night. We had such a good time together and it was hard to say goodbye. Don´t worry- a blog regarding the Timms family adventures will be forthcoming:-) Perhaps my sadness led to a heightened sense of anxiety about the treatment this time. Or perhaps I was just tired after traipsing the hills of Valparaiso the previous two days. (I did have quite a bit of back pain following my physical exertions, but it was worth it.) I think, mainly, though, my apprehension stemmed from the fact that I absolutely hate going to the hospital. I don´t like being reminded of my sickness and I especially despise feeling weak and vulnerable, smelling like medicine, and being helped to the bathroom with my IV drip. These are not the images of strength that I want to remember from this journey. I would prefer to remember a festive Friday night sitting in a small restaurant with my sister in Bellavista, sipping sangria and watching some dramatic flamenco dancing. I would rather remember my mom getting pulled to the park on her walks with Chingy, both of us laughing so hard, it was difficult to regain our composure or control of the leash. I would also rather focus on the image of my dad wolfing down every last bite of the chocolate brownie with homemade ice cream at Pasta e Vino, as though he hadn´t eaten in days. (That brownie was supposed to be shared between the four of us, Dad:-) I digress… the point is, that less than two months ago I never would have envisioned spending my Friday night hooked up to bags of life-saving medicine. My weekends used to be filled with more fun and colorful cocktails, followed by plenty of dancing.
Speaking of cocktails, I finally remembered to write down the names of the actual drugs that are being administered during my Friday night/Saturday morning drug sessions for those who might be interested. Please, however, do not take this as an opportunity to criticize my treatment plan or send me web links with survival statistics related to these drugs. I fully trust what the doctors at Clinica Alemana (in conjunction with their colleagues at MD Anderson) have decided to go with. On Friday nights I take two monoclonal antibodies designed to “interfere with the Her2 neuron receptor” (I am committing the cardinal sin of citing from Wikipedia… shhhh… don´t tell my students!) One of the drugs is called Herceptin, which has been around for awhile, and the new drug, Perjeta, which was approved by the FDA in June. You can read about this drug here: http://www.fda.gov/NewsEvents/Newsroom/PressAnnouncements/ucm307549.htm As many of you know, I am not really scientifically inclined. I distinctly recall a conference with my chemistry teacher, Mr. Battaglia, after my bout with mono junior year where he told me not to worry about making up the tests, because, “Let´s face it, Ms. Timms, you are not going to be entering a career in the science field.” Hey, it´s not my fault that I could never light a Bunsen burner correctly, or that my macaroni bridge fell down even BEFORE Mr. Godwin put the weights on it… Luckily CMC offered some wonderfully designed college courses like forensic science, and astronomy to help my fulfill my science credits. The long and short of this admission of my academic weakness, is to ask forgiveness if I don´t explain this next part so well… I gleaned most of my understanding of the drugs and my treatment from a drawing of my cells that my doctor made for me after a few minutes of quizzical looks and blank stares. Apparently, my type of breast cancer is a hormone based cancer (HER 2 positive) and each of the cancer cells has some sort of indicator on them that designate it as this type of cell. The antibodies attach to these cells and prevent them from growing and spreading. In addition, I am also undergoing traditional chemotherapy (taxotere) to reduce and hopefully eliminate the cancer cells in the other parts of my body, specifically in the vital organs such as lungs and liver. The chemo sessions will eventually stop, but the antibodies will continue indefinitely, until a newer and better cure can be found.
The traditional chemotherapy drug is given to me on Saturdays and is the one I dislike the most. My body definitely does not like taxotere. Before this horrible toxin is pumped into my blood stream via catheter, the nurses fill me with bags of saline, at least three different anti nausea medicines, an antihistamine to prevent allergic reactions, and some anti-coagulants to prevent clotting around my catheter and heart. Also, they give me some sort of drug to make me sleepy and relaxed so that I don´t notice the drug as much. Good luck with that one!! Last time, you may remember, I had a reaction to the taxotere which involved me passing out briefly with my eyes rolled back into my head. I was very worried about this unpleasantness happening again, so attempted to concentrate on my TV show instead. Unfortunately when the same metallic flavor began filling my mouth and my vision became blurred and my breathing labored, I immediately knew what was wrong. I paged the nurse, who though I was just having a panic attack??!!, and she calmed me down, closed my blinds, and turned off the lights so that I would be in a zen environment for the two hour ordeal. Luckily, this time, I managed to calm myself before I passed out, and was left only with white and black spots in my vision. Ugh, have I mentioned that I hate chemotherapy… But as Jon lovingly reminded me, I am in need of something strong to get rid of the evil in my body, so I guess I will just focus on the cure.
That´s it for now… my many thanks go out to “Team Eli” members around the world who are following along and sending me well wishes. I am including a picture of my family in our pink “Team Eli” t-shirts, which has already proved quite popular on Facebook. I´m sure you will be hearing from me more regularly now, since my mom will be returning home early Tuesday morning, and I will have lots of solitary time to think and reflect.
Posing for the camera from left to right, Ali, Kublai, Mom, Lizzy, Dad, Jon, and Chingy
I realize I have been a little remiss in my blog posting of late, so I hope to remedy that with this little update. Of course, since my family has been here I have been enjoying my time with them immensely. (I will blog about the Timms Family exploits after they depart next week.) It seemed a shame to take time out while they were here to be alone and write on the computer. In addition, I was desperately trying to finish Anne Patchet´s “State of Wonder” for book club, particularly since I picked the book and was hosting the meeting last night. Despite my efforts, in the end, I was still missing fifty pages or so… but you know how that goes. However, I am eager to write, as I have some good news to share with all of you.
Two weeks ago I commenced with my second round of chemo and have been faring pretty well since then. Despite a brief allergic reaction to one of the drugs while it was being administered, my body seems to be coping with the side effects pretty well. I did get tired and felt very weak for about five or six days after the treatment. During this time, my mom and I barely left the house and going to the supermarket felt like running a marathon… In addition, cabin fever was beginning to set in. I was desperate to resume a some-what normal life. When my dad and sister arrived on November 1st we immediately headed to wine country the next day since Jon had a four day weekend. On the trip my mood picked up tremendously and I have been feeling good ever since. Two days ago, my family and I went to school to attend the SAAC pep rally for my soccer team, currently in Quito, Ecuador playing a tournament against the other South AmericanInternational Schools. It was quite a moving ceremony as the students and soccer captains presented me with the beautiful paper cranes that had been folded in my honor. The athletic department also gave me the proceeds of the Race for the Cure event they held at the school two weeks ago. In thanks, I gave a short speech where I publicly acknowledged the Nido community and the students for all their support and offered some words of encouragement to the team. Although I got a bit teary-eyed, I was pleased that I made it through the speech, unlike some of the emotional speeches I never got through in High School speech class. (The one dedicated to my sister rings a bell… I believe I attempted four or five different times to deliver that speech and never could get past the first line. Mrs. Wiley, I´m sure, can verify this…) At the top of the page is a picture of me and my family holding the cranes. At first I was wondering what in the world I would DO with a thousand paper cranes, but luckily the end result was very beautifully done and I will hang them with pride.
And now.. on to the good news. Yesterday I went to the doctor to have them fill out a form so my sister could get paid during her time down here, via the Family Medical Leave Act. Dr. Buhler was very kind to fill out the irritating and redundant questions… How many times does one need to say that I am undergoing chemotherapy for the next six months and that my sister will be providing physical and psychological support?? Anyway, while I was at the appointment he told me that he recently had a patient with a similar diagnosis to mine. With stage four breast cancer, the best hope for recovery depends on your body´s response to the chemotherapy. The other patient responded to the chemo so well that they went ahead and did the surgery to remove the tumor after only four sessions of chemo. Dr. Buhler hoped that I was responding to the chemo in a similar manner and so he went ahead and did a preliminary exam where he simply felt the tumor to see if progress had been made. Luckily, he proclaimed that he believes my response to be very good:-) He said that he could feel the tumor dissipating after only two treatments. When I told my family the news it produced the first real tears of joy that I have had in quite some time. Of course, we won´t know for sure until they do a full scan of my other vital organs sometime in December, but I am optimistic and truly hopeful for the first time.
Alright, well this weekend I am doing some more touring with my family and early next week we are off to Valparaiso and the coast for a few days, so I will hopefully report back sometime next week. After my family leaves I will have some time to catch up on the blog and regale you with tales of family bonding. I also have quite a few thank you notes to write to those of you that sent packages down with my sister and dad. We had a mini cancer Christmas the other day and I am so thankful to have such wonderful friends and family. Much love!
As I sit here in my hospital room waiting for my second round of chemo I am reminded of the overwhelming support I have received from so many people these last few weeks. I have, as you may imagine, experienced a variety of emotions every day, but luckily, the emotion I have most been filled with is absolute amazement at the kindness and caring of so many people. I wanted to take time out to reflect and thank those people who have shown me so much love and kept me in good spirits.
First of all, it is rare for a high school teacher to feel the respect and admiration of one´s students on a regular basis, especially if you teach US history in an international school. The importance of Sam Adams, the Civil War, and McCarthyism is difficult to impart on students who have never, or may never, step foot in the United States. I don´t teach English or Math or Science (the classes the colleges tend to care the most about), nor do I work in Elementary where the students hug you, hold your hand, and make drawings that say “I love you, Mr. Jon”. As most teachers know, moments of meaningfulness can seem few and far between during the daily grind of the school year. But since I have been diagnosed with cancer, I have more perspective on all of this and now am 100% sure that I was meant to be in a classroom. When I received the bad news, I was not sure how to let my students know what had happened to me since I didn´t want to upset them. It all happened so quickly that I actually never came back to school between my diagnosis and my first chemo session. Luckily the school notified the students, parents, and staff and since then I have been flooded with emails, books, magazines, tea, TV series, Burt´s Bees chapstick, posters, flowers, baked goods, and suggestions for alternative medicines (will post separately on this at some point), etc. The Nido community has truly been amazing and helped to reaffirm that I love the world of international teaching. So many people that I don´t know very well, or have never really met before, were offering to donate air miles for family members, dropping off Apple TVs at the house, picking fresh flowers, and paying for organic vegetables to be delivered on a weekly basis. For all of this I am so, so thankful.
Overall, however, the emails and letters that have surprised me the most are those of my students. Their words have brought tears to my eyes on many an occasion. I never knew that so many young people look up to me and want to be like me; it is so flattering and at times, overwhelming. I´m not sure I have done anything to receive all these accolades. I also find it sad that you don´t find out these feelings until something bad happens. Why can´t we all tell each other how much we care when things are going well??? Two weeks ago, a Japanese student of mine started a paper crane folding campaign in order to send good luck to me and another young teacher with thyroid cancer. I decided to go to lunch and help fold cranes, and also I knew that I needed to see the students. I wasn´t prepared for the onslaught of well-wishers and in the end needed a de-facto body-guard, in the form of my department head. It truly was wonderful and it gives me strength to know that they are all supporting me and that I have made a difference in the classroom. I also highly enjoyed walking into my room and seeing the pink decorations and posters that they had put up for my visit. I particularly enjoyed the giant poster on the door, proclaiming, ¨WE BELIVE IN YOU, MS. TIMMS¨. Ah, yes- those are my students after all!
I also don´t want to leave out the tremendous comfort of my closest family and friends: Your emails, phone calls, Team Eli T-shirts, my sister Ali´s daily ¨Hit Me With Your Best Shot¨ messages…. I never would have imagined such love coming from so many different places all over the world. Keep it coming! I also want to thank Renea and Elliot who cooked a fantastic dinner for my family this week and also helped to shave my head. I would never have been able to get through that traumatic experience without you guys! And now for a quick shout out, of course, to the two people who haven´t left my side since it all began. My gentle giant, Jon, has been truly tremendous and I´m so happy that I met such a funny, warm, patient, and giving person. Your love puts a smile on my face every day. And also, my mom came down three days after my initial diagnosis and has been such a good support system. We don´t even have to talk about cancer, but just do crosswords, laugh about old family jokes, and explore the city: all of this helps me to live in the present and keep me sane. (Although living in a house with your fiancé and his future mother in law can sometimes lead to conflict, as I´m sure you might imagine…) And there are more visitors on the horizon: my dad and sister are coming down later this week and Randi is coming at the end of the month. I can´t wait!
Alright, well I think that´s enough love for one blog entry. My bald head and I are going to read some more trashy magazines (more fabulous donations from well-wishers) and wait for the nurses to come drug me up again. I´ll leave you with a video clip from one of my favorite feel-good movies that pretty much sums up the theme of this blog post. (Ignore the Merry Xmas message at the end as I do not believe that Xmas paraphanalia should appear at the same time as Halloween….) Speaking of, I need suggestions for Halloween costumes if you have any. Originally I was thinking to go bald, but maybe I´ll go for a fun, cheap, non-Eli wig for something different. G.I. Jane and Sinead O´Connor are still options though. Happy weekend!
Well, folks…. the time has come for Britney Spears and I to share more in common than previously thought. If I could get my hands on a green umbrella and a few paparazzi then my Halloween costume will be complete! Tonight´s the night when I´m buzzing it; taking it to the dome so to speak.
I must say that losing my hair has been the most disgusting physical thing to ever happen to me. What this means is, that health wise, I have been a pretty lucky girl. Up until my diagnosis I had never stayed in a hospital, had any kind of surgery, or really had any serious health problems of any kind. My body has stood up to the chemo pretty well and mostly I have felt like myself. My mom and I have been touring Santiago, I´ve been able to eat pretty much everything I used to eat before and have occasionally allowed myself a glass of wine. My energy level has been high and my immune system is holding up well. Thanks to Hollywood, I had envisioned puking my brains out over a toilet day in and day out. Luckily, so far this has not been the case.
In fact, I looked so normal and felt so normal that I almost forgot that something was wrong. When I finally made my appearance at school last week, I could hear my students whispering, ¨The Miss looks the same.¨ That was until three days ago when my hair started to go. It held strong for a few weeks, but my doctor told me at my last appointment that this would be the week. Apparently, the hair loss comes like clockwork for all chemo patients. So in a way, I was prepared, but not entirely ready to watch it happen. There is absolutely nothing more disgusting then running a brush through your hair and watching it fall out in clumps in your hands. Last night my pony tail holder got stuck in all my dead hair and eventually Jon and I just gave up untangling it and decided to chop off the pony tail instead with a pair of kitchen shears. In the shower this morning I tried to be as gentle as possible, but I still ended up with a half a head of hair down the drain. It´s kind of like that recurring dream I have where my teeth crumble and fall out, but instead of it being a dream, it is actually happening. (Ive been told the dream represents having a lack of control, which seems pretty appropriate given the circumstances. Do you guys have this dream, or is it just me?)
Anyway, I had already decided that as soon as the hair starts to go I was going to buzz it. I didn´t want to grieve every time more follicles fell. Some of the ladies at school were nice enough to donate money towards the purchase of a wig. At first I was excited about the prospect of a wig because I often like to change my hair length and the color of my hair. My friends and I had a fun Saturday afternoon roaming the streets of Santiago visiting various peluquerias. We even found this great store in El Golf owned by a fascinating character named Alejandro. I really really wanted to buy a wig from him as he knows my Chilean friend, Paulita, whom I taught with in China. What a small world!
The girls wanted me to go darker to bring out my eyes so we tried on wigs in various shades of brown. Most of them, however, came with obnoxious chasquillas (bangs) that certainly did not resemble my normal look in the slightest. After trying on a variety of wigs I felt very sad that I looked so different. After all this change, I just wanted to look like myself, you know? Yesterday my mom and I went to a wig store recommended by Clinica Alemana. The woman was very nice and knowledgeable and made me feel at ease because she had several wigs with honey colored shades of blonde and brown. The wigs were gorgeous: long luscious hair down to the middle of my back, but I looked ridiculous in all that hair. And guess how much???? I almost fell out of the chair. 1800 dollars!!!!!!!! NO WAY! plus I would be chopping off most of the hair anyway. So we tried on some shorter wigs and found one that most closely resembled my natural look. With a few darker highlights and a more layered look I definitely think it´s the one. And now… for your viewing pleasure: me in a dark wig and me in the blonde wig. What do you think?
You never know what the worst day of your life is going to be until it happens. For me, the worst moment of my thirty one years occurred on Monday, October 1, 2012, at approximately 1:45 in the afternoon. Before I get into the details, I must confess it feels strange to be writing about such a melancholy moment when currently I am sitting passenger seat in our Hyundai Tucson headed up the Chilean coast with my mom and Jon, on a quest to view the famous Humboldt penguins. The sun is shining, music blasting, and spirits are high. On that fateful Monday it seemed unlikely that I would soon be out enjoying life.
But let me bring you back to that day and to the start of my medical misfortune. At the start of the school year, Jon and I had decided that this was going to be the year of good health. After a summer of gluttony back in the United States I was determined to get back into shape, watch my diet, and lose some weight. A summer´s worth of trying to smooth out my double chin for pictures was starting to grate on me. In order to fulfill this goal of increased health, Jon and I joined the local gym and paid for personal training sessions for the entire year. This was probably a tad overzealous on our part, but I am of the mentality that once you´ve paid for something you are more likely to force yourself to go. I was determined not to fall into the trap of making a hefty monthly donation to Energy Fitness without getting something in return. Things were going well. Christian, our eager trainer, had succeeded in organizing several workouts that rocked me to my core. Muscles I hadn´t felt for at least seven or eight years were groaning in pain. Every day I felt sore, but in that gratifying way, where you know something must be working. Soon after, however, I began having some serious back pain. Bending over was difficult. Tying my shoes was agony, and even sitting up straight in the car made me wince. Soccer practices where I had to pick up the ball and throw it at the girls´ knees, feet, chests, or heads, were absolute torture. The training sessions grew increasingly more difficult, but I kept making myself go because I figured my body was just tired from being out of shape and that I shouldn´t be such a baby about it all. After several weeks of continuous pain, though, I decided to see a doctor. Jon and I hadn´t really had a thorough check-up the whole time we lived in China so it seemed prudent to do one now. I had already assumed that living in China had probably shaved a few years off of my life expectancy so I kind of wanted to see what damage had been done. Unfortunately what I found out had absolutely nothing to do with China and was much worse than I ever could have expected.
Our first visit to Clinica Alemana, my new home away from home, was interesting, indeed. We were told in advance that a check-up would take all day, which seemed rather impossible to me, but turned out to be entirely true. We had blood drawn and were poked and prodded for this test and that. The gaggle of gals who work in the international patients section of the clinic were very attentive and escorted us to our various appointments throughout the day. Finally, at 4:15, after all day of fasting for our various diagnostic exams, I was called to do a mammogram and breast ultrasound. I was a little nervous for this one as back in July I had felt a lump in my left breast. At first I wasn´t too worried about it because it seemed quite improbable for it to be a major problem. I´m only thirty, after all, and our insurance doesn´t even cover mammograms for women under 35. About halfway through the ultrasound, however, I began to get a bit more nervous. As I lay there with that icky blue goo all over my chest, I spotted it. There it was up on screen: a big, black ominous spot that the technician continued to measure over and over again. I began to sweat a little more profusely and was anxious to leave. The technician told me that the lump was abnormal and that I needed to schedule an appointment with an oncologist to take a closer look at it. I tried to breath deeply and calmly, but by the time I made my way back down to international patients the ultrasound doctor had already called down to make sure that I didn´t leave without scheduling the appointment. Suddenly the mood in the office changed. The ladies who had been laughing with me and joking around in Spanish all day suddenly looked at me with intense pity and some even ran over to hug me. Immediately I knew that something was wrong and I burst into tears. Jon had to lead me out of the office while I continued to sob. It was one of those body-shaking, nose-running, makeup smearing cries that happen every so often. I wasn´t a pretty site that afternoon, that´s for sure….
After the initial discovery of the lump, however, I still had another week before the appointment with the oncologist since the following week was the Chilean national holiday.. During this time I tried to remain as calm as possible. As far as I knew it could truly be nothing to worry about. As a result I managed to enjoy my trip to Mendoza by indulging myself in scenic vistas of the Andes, copious glasses filled with Argentinian Malbec, and several multi-course tasting menus. It truly was a fantastic vacation!
Upon return, however, it was time to face the truth. On Monday we met with the oncologist, Dr. Buhler, who viewed the ultrasound images and felt the lump and concluded in less than five minutes that he was, indeed, concerned. The word “concerned” seems innocent enough on the surface, but when spoken with conviction by someone with years of education and experience, can really take your breath away. Right away he scheduled MRIs of pretty much every part of my body, more blood tests, a thorax, abdomen, and chest scan, a bone scan, and a biopsy. I had to take a lot of time off of work that week and realized that it was all becoming a little too real. I began notifying my family and some close friends. Again, though- I wasn´t sure what we were really dealing with so it was easy for me to forget about my troubles when I wasn´t at the doctor´s office. In fact, in the days before I received my test results I managed to teach classes as normal, grade five sets of essays, coach a few soccer games, and co-host a beautiful baby shower for our dear friends, the Flanagans. Life seemed to be progressing as normal….
Monday morning, October 1st, started out like any other day. The alarm rang at 5: 45 and I shoved the dogs off the bed so I could make my way, bleary-eyed to the shower. I remember choosing my favorite blue sweater as I, like most ladies, always feel better when I´m looking my best. I taught my morning classes as usual and Jon and I left for the doctor´s office at lunchtime. It was a bright sunny day and I felt peaceful, ready to accept whatever came my way. In fact, at this point, I still felt a little silly for alerting my friends since several of them knew people that had lumps removed that turned out to be totally harmless. I was worried I had made a big deal out of nothing. (At least that´s what I secretly hoped…) When we entered Dr. Buhler´s office he was on the phone and smiled at us with his brilliantly kind blue eyes. I looked down at my sweater and noticed that I had an extremely large stain running down the sleeve. How long had I been running around with that there? I wondered. Jon and I began to laugh about it and were making jokes when suddenly the doctor hung up the phone and faced us. Unfortunately, I could tell by the look on his face that instead of his previous gut feelings of concern, the doctor now had a variety of medical tests to verify his concern.
He began with, “I don´t have your biopsy results yet, but I do have some bad news. We found lesions in your spine, ribs, lungs, and possibly your liver. The image was a little too unclear to make out.¨ Immediately my pulse quickened and Jon´s hand shot out to find mine. In fact I was so distraught I don´t exactly remember all that was said. There was something about breasts not being vital organs and surgery not being necessary at this point in time. What we did need to do was begin immediately with treatment of the cancer cells that were at that very moment silently and surreptitiously attacking my body from the inside out. Dr. Buhler hypothesized that the lump had been there for quite some time and that I needed to immediately halt all physical exercise and consult a traumatologist to see what kind of damage was being done to my spine. He then asked if I had questions.
Of course I have questions….. “What is a lesion?” “Wait- my back pain is related to the lump in my breast?” “I have cancer? How is that possible???” “ I´m going to be okay, right?” “We´re going to be able to treat this… RIGHT??!!” But all of those questions were much too scary to ask so instead I held my hand to my mouth and shook my head. I think I blurted out something totally obvious like “I´m really worried” and the doctor confirmed that to be a normal reaction under these circumstances. We were facing a very serious situation, indeed. He didn´t offer any other words of comfort such as, don´t worry- you´re going to be fine.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Jon immediately started in with the questions, all of which continued to alert all of my senses. “ Will she have to do chemo?” “ How long will the treatment last?” “The lesion in her spine: could she become paralyzed?” “ Do we need to cancel our trip to Brazil in January?” After the last two questions I said I didn´t want to know anymore, that it was all a little too much to take. At this point my entire body was shaking and all sorts of horrible scenarios began attacking my brain… chemo… no hair…. no trip to Brazil…. no 2014 wedding in the Mayan Riviera…. Poor Jon! The doctor finally showed mercy and said I didn´t have to ask those questions today, but that tomorrow I would have to ask them. Somehow Jon managed to lead me out of the office and into the car. We drove home with tears in our eyes, hugged our nana, Agustina, opened up our best bottle of wine and drank in the sweetness on our patio. The sun was so bright it hurt and life never seemed more bittersweet. My dog, Chingis, came over and put his paw on my chest and I put my arms around him in complete desperation.
Oh, Chingy!” I began sobbing until my body no longer held tears. My worst nightmare had come true… I have breast cancer.
The Luckiest Unlucky Girl 