Friday 29 August 2014

My Radiation Oncologist - AKA Team Guardian Angel Part III

Aug 20, 2014

So I finally got to meet the 3rd part of my care team - Dr Trotter, my Radiation Oncologist. She is the one who decides what my radiation treatment plan will look like after surgery. I was feeling good about our initial meeting cause Dr Taylor at the Breast canser Supportive Care spoke so highly of her.

Knowing it was all mathematically calculated (how much radiation, where  etc.) I wondered if she would be like the radiologists...all facts and maybe more quiet. An introvert maybe. I wasn't scared at all about the meeting cause I figured it would just be a basic "here's how it works" meeting.

Phil and I met with her on the Friday of my last somewhat traumatic chemo week. So I was a little more emotional. Adding to that emotion, was our calculation as to when radiation might be done with. It can be up to 25 treatments (16, 20 or 25 to be specific) so Phil had done a rough calculation a while back showing us all done by about the beginning of Dec. I was so happy cause I figured I'd be recovered enough to enjoy Christmas. We must have done the calculations assuming 6 chemo treatments...with the new 8 treatment chemo schedule and "rough" surgery date, radiation was looking like it could be still going through Christmas. This was a huge blow to my expectations. I actually cried when I realised this could be possible. I'd love to be done all my treatments by the end of 2014 so I can start 2015 with a clean slate...ha both figuratively and literally.

Anyways, we arrived to the Richmond Diagnostic Center (Old Children's hospital) and found our way to the canser area. After a brief wait, we were shown into a rather large room. We were met by a young woman who was working with Dr Trotter first. She asked us some preliminary questions. We've learnt to leave the detailed questions to the main doc. A short while later she gave me a gown and told me to change while she went and got Dr Trotter.

I wasn't nervous as we waited for her. But once she came in and proceeded with the exam I worried a little. I haven't been doing my self exams as rigorously as I had been so there was a little fear she'd feel something I hadn't been able to. I was esp nervous when she got to my lymph nodes - she felt them all the way up my neck. As she felt her way along up my collarbone, i wondered "what if she finds something there?". It continued as she went higher and closer to my head..."what if it spread higher?" She did the whole exam virtually silent so my mind was left to wonder. She was very thorough.

At the end of her exam she proclaimed "Feels good. Can't feel anything". There may have been 2 sighs of relief at this statement - one from me and one from Phil!

She then directed us to some chairs to sit on after the exam. When I told her I had questions she kindly asked me to tell her them all so she could address them all in her "speil" (my word not hers lol). I was very happy she had a speil as I had not really talked to anyone at length about radiation, therefore did not really have any preconceived notions of what to expect.

She started by explaining why we were going to do radiation. Basically the research supports it as a kind of "insurance policy" against the canser coming back. It's not guaranteed but research shows the survival rates etc increase with radiation (as it pertains to my case). This is esp true as soon as canser hits the lymph nodes. That was pretty much my ticket to radiation treatment. After surgery we hope for there to be no canser left. The way my progress is going that is possible in my case. Complete chemo response (ie no canser left after chemo) is achieved 25% of the time. However if there is canser present in the pathology after surgery - even just a little - radiation acts as insurance by damaging the canser cells so they eventually die off. canser may be scary, but its not very good at repairing itself like normal cells can. Even if there's been complete response to chemo, research still says there's benefit to radiation. In my case it'll be16 treatments.

So that's the why. As to the when, it's as soon as I am healed enough from surgery to put my arms above my head and touch the opposite ear (over my head) She said typically its 6-8 weeks post op. It can be as early as 4 weeks. So once we have my surgery date, it will give me an idea when we can start (and end) radiation. I asked about Christmas and she said the clinic will be closed on 25th and 26th. so if I have radiation that week, I won't go on those days and just continue till I've finished 16 rounds. If it looks like I'm going to start close to Christmas, she mentioned they may delay it till the week after Christmas so there's no interruption.

Thankfully I had already cried prior to our meeting about possibly doing radiation through Christmas so the idea of not starting till Jan didn't upset me as much as had I thought going in we'd be done by early Dec.

As for the how - once I can put my arms up comfortably, I'll get a CT scan that will take about half hour. This scan will take all kinds of info and will be fed into special software that Dr Trotter will use to plan my treatments. For treatments, I'll lay down and have a big machine move around me, but it won't touch me. It will shoot or blow radiation from both sides of me targeting the areas of interest - my chest wall and behind the collarbone in the armpit area. I won't feel anything. I won't know when its on or off (except from when they tell me). This will all take place at Tom Baker and they will give me a list of every appointment and time right at start. I will go everyday Monday to Friday and have weekends off till I complete the 16 treatments. So just over 3 weeks. 

Side effects can be tiredness, but she said usually if you are already tired from chemo and surgery its just a continuation of that, or a little bit more. Possible skin discolouration - she likened it to a tan. A permanent one. A number of women at Wellspring showed me their radiation areas and many of them had red flecks of discolouration - not what I'd call a "tan" but maybe to the radiation people it is? Or maybe I'm just used to the word "tan" to mean browning of the skin....I can have some peeling (like a sunburn) and can have a little discomfort in the area.

She said 1% of women who have radiation where I will develop a cough in first 6 months because of the disruption to the lung from the radiation. If it hasn't shown itself in 6 months, it won't at all. I didn't ask more on this (like is a cough a bad thing? Permanent? Signs of something sinister?) cause i was kinda still stuck on "damage to the normal lung function". Given that 3 days prior I heard a woman almost die from chemo, I wasn't really ready for any more scary info. Lots of time to ask scary questions when we are closer to the time...or never....

She said that was the why, how, when and where. But because I was young (under 40) we should discuss the "secondary canser" risk from radiation. Well that sounds like good news.

I was still not past the 'lung cough' so I had to bite my tongue from stopping her and saying "No thanks. Bad week. Not today".

She informed me I will have a 4% higher risk than rest of population of developing secondary cansers (yes folks that's plural...) like bone (i think I paled here) lung, skin etc in area where the radiation was. This would not be breast canser but from the treatments used to treat it. Effects aren't felt till about 10 years or so later. Great! So at 5 years I sigh with relief, then at 10 years start to sweat....ug...The reason it takes so long is it would be from damage to the cells that would slowly warp and turn into cancerous cells...This is where I think diet will help alot - if I give my cells all the best nutrition and chance to heal themselves, I am hoping that will reduce the risk (she didn't tell me this - I am just using common sense which may not be applicable to canser but I am choosing to see it that way...)

4% and 1% risk may not sound horrible, but I was just not prepared to hear the whole risk part so I was pretty bummed when we left. The whole week felt like a canser reality check. This is probably part of the reason why I was so "broken" that night laying in bed. 

Now that it's been almost 2 weeks since, and I've re-listened to the recording (yes we try and record all the big meetings - chemo brain is a b$%ch...) it doesn't seem as ominous so I think my frame of mind really played a part in how I initially felt. 

Overall I feel comfortable with it. I like Dr Trotter - though I know now not to ask anything I don't really want to know. She's a straight shooter who explains things really well. And she's kind too. That matters to me.  Cause really, all these treatments are kind of alot to process when one day you're a working mom of 2 without any health care issues, and the next you are fighting for your life against a disease most people fear and having to choose toxic drugs to do it. And try to become an expert in the span of a few weeks in all things breast canser so you can be "involved" in your own treatment.

So ya, kindness matters. 

And I've been very lucky to get a team of experts who are all kind. 

Friday 22 August 2014

"No Act Of Kindness, No Matter How Small, Is Ever Wasted." - Aesop

Aug 18, 2014

My next post will be about my appointment with my Radiation Oncologist but before anymore time slips away I want to share about all the good amazing things that have happened amongst the dark days. 


First off I'm sure you noticed in the pic from my 1st docetaxel treatment that beautiful quilt I had on me? That was made specially for me by my mom's cousin Carol. She makes quilts with a group for canser patients, but she made that one just for me. It says:

What canser Cannot Do
canser cannot Shatter Hope
canser cannot Steal Humour
canser cannot Erase Memories
canser cannot Kill Friendships
canser cannot Conquer the Spirit
canser cannot Destroy Peace
canser cannot Erode Confidence
canser cannot Invade the Soul
canser cannot Corrode Faith
canser cannot Stifle Laughter

And you guessed it - I cried when  I got it lol. So did my mom. 

It's the most beautiful quilt I have ever seen. 

I have used it at every chemo treatment since. It comforts me. And warms my heart along with my body. It kinda feels like a shield when I put it on - it keeps me safe.

Last chemo when all hell broke loose, I tucked the quilt tighter around me and put Kimmy's mom's angel of strength token in my palm while I prayed for that woman. They both helped keep me calm.


I also got 2 surprises in the mail a few weeks back from people I have never met. The first package was from PEI. From a friend of my cousin's, Natasha. She is mom of 2 girls and is on her own journey - potentially Early Onset Parkinson's. We have a strange tie - the day I told my cousin about my diagnosis Natasha also told her about hers. We follow each others blogs. I can relate to alot of her challenges and so can she mine. She sent me the necklace in this picture. With a note to hang in there. I got it when things were getting tough - during my last 2 rounds of FEC. It helped me get back on my feet. The thought that someone would be so thoughtful to send a gift to someone they never met...I wore that necklace alot at BVJ. It gave me the courage I needed with my bald head amongst all those with hair lol. I looked for other baldies but never found any. When I'd feel self conscious with my cowboy hat and no hair I'd touch the necklace and think of her kindness and feel better. It has helped on days when it's tough being 'canser girl'. 


That same day (I hadn't gotten the mail in a week or more - oops...guess this 'Life of Leisure' is getting to me ha ha) I also had a package waiting for me from Tristan, who is a woman out of the Edmonton Canadian Breast canser Foundation office. We were in touch when my 2 teams first registered and I told her a little about my story and my blog. She has been following it ever since! I think about all the amazing stories she must hear and yet for some reason she finds the time to follow my story. And send me a package with an encouraging note cause she could see I was having a rougher go than usual. Her package contained a bunch of Breast canser ribbon pins, (enough for my current team - although it's about to grow cause I know a bunch more people who are going to sign up!!) and a beautiful handmade necklace and bracelet (made in Calgary) She kindly sent one of those sets for my mom - who loves it. (as do I!) And one of the best parts is the Rise and Shine box which is basically a pack of inspirational quotes. There are 180 and I pull one out everyday during chemo week and on days when I need a pick me up. They are awesome. Each time I read the quotes I feel doubly inspired. Cause of what's written and also cause of where they come from.


A week before that I got a little card in the mail. When I opened it up, I had to read it twice. My mom's friend Elise - who's known me since I was like 2 and is pretty much family - sent Phil and I a night away in Banff at Delta Kananskis lodge! Her gift was the gift of rest and memories. We haven't used it yet, but I'm hoping to before surgery maybe once chemo is done. 

My neighbour Trista dropped off some David's tea samples which is great cause I drink so much tea and I get sick of the same stuff all the time yet don't want to buy a huge amount of one I've never tried. 

My mom's friend Marlene came in to visit from Ontario. She handmade both me and my mom warm infinity scarves! I love mine! It will keep me warm when the weather cools down and I'm touched she made it with her own 2 hands (I will make sure to include a pic in future when I wear it!). Just like my Grandma who made Em and Ethan & Phil a pair of her infamous, handmade knit socks. Phil's and Ethan's socks match so Ethan was overjoyed! I already have quite a few pairs she has made me over the years, so I'm happy the rest of the family now have their own!


Phil's mom too has been working on hats for me. She is an awesome seamstress so I have a few hats that are unique, and fit perfectly! And of course were handmade which makes them even more special to me.

My parents have booked and paid for an oncology massage, every week after chemo. I often go in feeling like half a person, only to come out a brand new woman - glowing and feeling fantastic - inside and out! It's like my own Superman phone booth. And they won't take no for an answer. Parents sometimes really do know whats best...

Every single thought and act of kindness from friends and family and those we have yet to meet makes such a huge difference. It's been the difference between facing this journey with pessimism and total fear and facing it with optimism and hope. I can't ever stay down long enough because there is always an act of kindness around the corner that makes it a little easier to get back up.

We really couldn't have made it through the past few months without all the love and support we've had. I keep saying it, but its really what keeps us going. Cause you hit these walls, or really bad days when you almost feel hopeless. I still get moments when I think "holy s%$t I have canser". It still feels surreal sometimes. And all these acts of love help us to continue on.

I never dreamed this journey could be like this. Part joy. Part gratitude. I've become student and advocate. Hopefully friend to anyone who needs one going through this too. I'm thankful for many parts of this crazy journey. I never expected so much good to come after a canser diagnosis.

I'm glad it took me so long to write this post. After a rougher than normal chemo week, its been good timing to reflect on all the good people in our life. We are so fortunate to be so loved.

Thank you.

Sunday 17 August 2014

Not Easy and Definitely Worth It

Aug 16, 2014

Oh boy what a week.

Chemo weeks are always tough, but this week was a struggle. Chemo day sent me spiralling into the dark. Soon my physical well being followed suit.

Laying in bed Friday night I felt broken inside and out. It was the Pity Party of the century and I was the star of the show.

Saturday I held fast to the words "No one said it would be easy. Just that it would be worth it".

And at Phil's urging, got on a bike (Nigel did you have a part of this lol?) Biking along the pathway near our house with my kids and Phil, I finally felt the healing from the past week's trauma begin.

I focused with everything I had on my blessings.

Chemo is hard, but its working. It's nothing compared to what Matt had to endure for his leukaemia treatment.

I was able to go biking with my beautiful children and get an ice cream on the way home. I didn't have to focus to get my body to co-operate like my cousin Jo's friend Natasha sometimes must when her (possible) early Onset Parkinson's acts up.

I was enjoying the beautiful August weather. The woman from chemo day may still be in the hospital wishing she could trade places with me.

Once I focused on my blessings, they just piled up. And my heart filled up with joy and gratitude, pushing the fear and anger out.

My attitude changed from "why me" to "lucky me".

We all have our struggles but there is always a silver lining. You just may have to dig a little deeper some days.  I'm sorry it sounds so bloody cheesey and cliche, but it really is true.

So Hello Sunshine! Glad you're back - Eeyore's cloud overstayed it's visit.


From YouTube (BostonGirl) Bring on the Rain - Jo Dee Messina/Tim McGraw

Friday 15 August 2014

“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” - Mother Teresa

Aug 12, 2014


You never quite know how you will handle situations as they arise. I think that's true for life in general, and also when going through canser treatment.

Chemo is a funny thing. It can represent Hope. And instill Terror. Sometimes simultaneously. Neither the docs nor you know how your body will handle the drugs chosen to get rid of the canser that has invaded your body. They inject you, wait and see, and hope for the best. You hear way more bad stories about chemo - sadly often by people who have never actually had chemo but perhaps watched someone (they love) go through it - than good ones. I was lucky enough to hear at least as many hopeful stories as I did horrible ones before I started and even knew what kind of chemo I was going to have. I heard of a number of young people (in their 30's) who stayed active throughout chemo. The idea that it was possible planted a seed of hope that grew in my heart. Hope is a very powerful ally in this fight. 

Looking back now, I think FEC (first 4 rounds of chemo) was rougher on me in some ways, than I realised. But as nauseous as I was, and aside from some of the other side effects ravaging my body, I kept hearing the doc saying "You should tolerate FEC fairly well. The docetaxel is harsher on the body". This, combined with hearing other way worse chemo stories after starting my own chemo (from people I knew) resulted in me just pushing through thinking this was supposed to be the "easy" part.

With my 1st round of docetaxel going off without a hitch - aside from the horrible headaches and some stomach pain - I couldn't believe my luck. Even with these side effects, this was much more tolerable than my previous 4 rounds on FEC. I could function (well) in the 4 days following treatment. That was the first Silver Lining. I did worry about getting sick and how it would affect my counts. 

Before my treatment started today, when I actually saw that my neute count - which was at 3.9 prior to any chemo and never went above 2 since chemo started - was at 4.3, I think I lit up the room with my smile. Maybe the diet benefits are finally kicking in. Maybe the exercise is helping. Maybe this drug is not as harsh for my counts as others (since it affects everyone differently) Who knows? But it was a victory worth celebrating.

So everything prior to them starting my 2nd dose of this drug was going well. My heart was still full from The Ride. I was delighted with my neute count victory. And my "other medicine" was keeping me calm once again.

I think the above is what got me through the next half hour.

They started my docetaxel dose and the nurse sort of sat with us for the first bit chatting. About 10 minutes in or so I started to feel a warmth creeping up my left arm, which is the arm that had the IV in it. I've felt warmth before with the "Red Devil" drug from FEC so I wasn't overly concerned. Then, like a cartoon character who's eaten something spicy, I felt the warmth move slowly up my neck, as it also started to flush red, and slowly continue past my jaw, up to my cheek bones.

Me: "Um, I'm feeling warm and my face is hot"
Nurse: "Oh ya you're flushed red."

She immediately stopped the treatment. 

Nurse: "How's your breathing?"
Me: "Um, my lungs feel a bit tight but kinda mild - not severe. Little trouble breathing."

She turned on the saline solution to flush my veins, while telling me I should start to feel better shortly. Although she didn't look panicked, she was watching me closely. Within a minute or two I felt the warmth receding. Very strange feeling. My face was still flushed red. Esp my cheeks - super rosy. I wasn't ever panicked through all this but I was tuned into my body to make sure it wasn't getting worse. Esp the breathing part. She left the saline flush on and went to get liquid Benadryl. Or maybe she stayed and another nurse brought it to give me via IV. It's a big foggy. She definitely stayed with me while the Benadryl started. It stung a bit in my veins. Guess that's normal. I got super drowsy very fast. Like had to sit back and close my eyes. That's normal too. But the warmth was (mostly) gone and no breathing issues so I was like "IV on".

And then all hell broke loose.

A nurse a few chairs down from us, to our left (in the corner of the room that we could not see cause of the curtains that separate each chemo chair) yelled suddenly "I think she's crashing. Code blue!". Then the patients husband started yelling in a panic:

 "No, no....baby, baby, stay with me!"
"Open your eyes! Please don't leave! Look at me! Stay with me!".

Nurses were running, they were paging for help, docs and lots of other medical personal came running into the room - like 30-50 over the course of the next 15-20 minutes. One crash cart - with paddles - raced by us. Then a bigger one.

Her poor husband was getting more distraught by the minute.

"Please, please don't leave me!
"Do something!"
"HELP HER!"

(sobbing and moaing)

"Please, please stay with me! Don't die now!"

Those emotional pleas continue to haunt me long after my treatment was done. It was heartwrenching.

In my chemo chair, I started to get upset but it had nothing to do with me. It was for this family that were facing the worse case scenario for chemo treatment. I kept saying in my head, and outloud to Phil "Please don't let it be her first chemo treatment, please don't let it be her first chemo treatment".

The whole chemo room was quiet except for the nurses and docs who were frantically trying to help this woman. I wonder if everyone who was getting treatment in that room was thinking the same as me "That could be any one of us". 

I heard her hubby finally seem to calm down, which I took to be a good sign. Then I heard the nurses and docs talking to the patient. They rolled in what turned out to be a portable xray machine (I assume for her heart).

At the other end of the room to my right was an older gent who was in for his 1st treatment as well. Looked about in his 70's with his son in his 50's. He could see everything. His is part of the reason I was (mostly) able to keep it together. I didn't want him to panic if I got upset too and get scared. You've got plenty of fear on your 1st treatment - seeing a "code blue" (we think her heart stopped - she wasn't breathing) is scary as hell for anyone, nevermind at your 1st treatment. Phil assured me he was Ok. I worried my (mild) reaction to chemo followed by this sobering reminder of the risks of chemo may be too much for him. It was only the next day he admitted it was "scary as hell" for him too.

About half hour after this all started a nurse came to re-start my docetaxel. I admit I was on high alert for any feelings of a reaction again. But in a weird, calm way. This is what I mean about how you never know how you're gonna react to a situation. Had it been a few weeks back, on my last dose of FEC when my head was not in good space, and I got sick in the chemo room, I don't think I would've handled it well. At all.

This was another "time slows down" moment where you find yourself praying for someone you've never met and hoping with all your might that she opens her eyes.

Which she did. They wheeled her past us, sitting upright and alert. With her (sister?) and hubby trailing close behind the 5 or 6 medical people escorting her to another part of the hospital. I think I physically relaxed when I could see she was at least breathing and sitting up.

I asked my nurse:

"I don't want to pry, but was it her 1st treatment?"
Nurse: "Ya. It may have been reaction to the drug. She won't be getting that one again.
Me: " Was it docetaxel?"
Nurse: "No, the one up from that one, Paxitacel (?)"

(I've heard this drug referred as the sister drug to docetaxel)

My heart sunk. Will she and her family get past the trauma of her 1st treatment for whatever other chemo drug they will try instead? This is what I meant on Facebook about "what a shitty way to start treatment" I wasn't talking about me. I meant her. And those who were with her.

The rest of my treatment passed without incident. But any of the lightheartedness was gone. It was a pretty muted room. With good reason.

We all just got a huge dose of reality. This is never fun. Although I must say, the medical staff handled it fast, and efficiently. It seemed long in the moments when the hubby was getting very upset, but I think was in fact only minutes before the crash cart and doctors showed up.

As we drove home, I had a moment where I think the scene we witnessed caught up with me. Lump in throat, watery eyes.

A "holy shit" moment.

It bothered me for a long time that "one of our own", another warrior in this fight, had to have such a horrible experience. Esp for her 1st treatment. 

It bothers me still.

I've mentioned before how I feel like I grow after each chemo. This time I kinda felt like I aged a bit. This "shared" experience with a family I don't know will stay with me. It's tucked in with other moments like getting diagnosed, shaving my head, talking to the kids about my diagnoses, meeting One Aim, being overwhelemd with support from friends and strangers etc

These kind of moments impact and change me in ways I don't always expect. I think my gratitude has deepend with each experience. And I'm reminded that you can't control life - all you can do is live each day to it's fullest. 

So hug your loved ones tonight. Enjoy your friends. Just breathe.

Life is short. Make it count.

And thank you for making my life so rich.

Everybody Hurts by REM on YouTube

6 or 8 Rounds of Chemo - Finally Decided

Aug 11, 2014

Last week we met up with my Kinda Handsome Surgeon, Dr Austen. It was just more of a touch base because my oncologist, Dr Stewart, didn't sign off on a definitive plan. The ultrasound is scheduled for a week after my next (6th) round of chemo and it will give us an idea where we are at treatment-wise. Dr Austen kinda felt that there may still be canser present on the ultrasound just cause of the density of the mass the chemo had to get through. This is probably a good thing that he mentioned it cause till now I had been assuming they won't find anything - and had they still found a bit (of canser), I would have probably been in tears if it had caught me off guard. Now at least I'm prepared either way. 

But he repeated that whether it was going to end up 6, 7 or 8 rounds it would be no issue from a scheduling perspective for surgery. I filled him in on what Dr Stewart had said at the last appointment. Dr Austen is heading out on holidays in the next week but said once I had met with Dr Stewart after the ultrasound and we decided on treatment, to let his assistant know (or my nurse navigator Edith) and they would get in touch with him. How amazing is that?


So my mom and I  walked into my pre-chemo Monday appt to get my blood work done (and fill out paperwork!) and discuss what Dr Stewart thought my treatment should be.

My nurse said my counts were good and was happy to hear the 1st round of docetaxel went so well. And she laughed when I told her about Big Valley. "We don't hear of alot of chemo patients going to Big Valley, so good for you!".

She seemed genuinely happy for me. I mentioned to her how thankful I was for Dr Stewart waiting for me that day when I had to come up to Tom Baker unexpectedly. I also told her I was eager to find out what he thought I should do treatment wise. So she went and got him.

He came in smiling. I told him again how grateful I was that he waited that day. I also told him we had met with Dr Austen just to touch base. Dr Stewart said we could meet in 2 weeks when Dr Austen was back to get a plan together after the ultrasound. 

Here I asked him "So what do you think we should do treatment wise? Is the ultrasound the deciding factor? Cause if you say 8, I will do 8. If you say 6, I'll do 6. I don't ever want to do this again and with it being triple negative, I'd like to know what you think".

I think this took him aback for half a second.

He then explained his position:

"Ultrasound is a good way to see where we're at. But it can't show cells. Only masses and lumps. Pathology is the best for that, which we won't get till after surgery. So if we do 6 cause ultrasound shows clean (ie no detectable canser on ultrasound) and after surgery pathology still shows canser cells, we would potentially have to do 2 more rounds of chemo then. Research says doing more for sake of doing more does not show benefit, but with only an ultrasound, we won't know if we are doing more to kill cells, or just extra. "

So I asked if we should just do 8 then? He said it was up to me. I said, no, I want to know what you recommend.

He went on to explain that because we were dealing with a canser we're concerned about (ie triple negative and assume cause it was so aggressive)  and I'm tolerating the treatment well, he'd recommend...(and here he actually physically leaned back in his chair lol) 8 rounds. 

Me: "Ok! I'd rather go through all the hell now then break it up. I don't think I could handle more chemo after surgery (emotionally)"

I think this took him by surprise.

I asked what happens if after 8 they should still find canser cells after surgery? Could we do more chemo then? He said no, 8 rounds is kinda the max but that radiation would take care of any localised cells that might be left. Cause chemo should have taken care of any potential break off cells that might have travelled elsewhere.

We are still going to get the ultrasound done so we have an idea where we're at. 

But I'm good with the decision to do 8 treatments from the way he explained it ( I'm sure there is way more to it than the layman's terms he explained to me). And I trust Dr Stewart. If there's still canser detectable on ultrasound this becomes a moot point anyways.

So 2 more rounds after tomorrow's. My last official dose should be Sept 23, assuming no delays. That puts surgery mid/late Oct. Friday we meet with the Radiation Oncologist to have an initial consult. Hopefully we'll get an idea how long after surgery I would start just so we have an idea what life will be like the next few months. 

I can finally see the light at the end of the chemo tunnel. It feels good. 

Tuesday 12 August 2014

The Ride To Conquer canser...and inspire along the way

Aug 10, 2014

The Ride. 

As in the Ride that has such a touching opening ceremony it leaves every person watching in tears - rider and non-rider alike.

As in the Ride my beautiful, determined, inspirational Mall Angels aka The One Aim team train for all year long.

As in The Enbridge (Alberta) Ride to Conquer canser.

Yes, that Ride.

The emotion for me started as I was lined up to turn into COP for the opening ceremonies. I was full of energy and excitement to see 'my' One Aimers off. As I was waiting for a turn signal in the huge line up to turn into COP off the highway, all I could see around me were vehicles with bikes. In vehicles. On the back of vehicles. On the roof of vehicles. In truck beds.

And then in front of me a BC license plate. To the right of them, a Saskatchewan plate.

Next thing I knew tears were running down my face and my lip was quivering as I tried to get my emotions under control. After a few failed attempts I gave up and let the tears pour freely.

It's hard to describe the feeling I got looking at all these strangers - from all over - who came to put themselves through a gruelling 200 plus kilometer hell, and who had to raise money  - min 2500 each! - to participate. 

Yes, you have to pay to go through this hell.

And what they are doing - these strangers - could benefit me. Cause all the money goes to the Alberta canser Foundation.

I've talked about feeling "the cold spear of fear in my heart" right before I heard the words "it's breast canser". This was like the opposite of that feeling. My heart felt like it was going to explode - it was kinda hard to breathe but because I was so choked up with joy, gratitude, solidarity, strength and hope. 

And I hadn't even arrived at the damn event yet!!

I finally made it in and parked at the 1st field I saw cause it was nearing 7:30Am and ceremonies started at 8. I was on a mission to see some of my Mall Angels to wish them luck. 

Oh and I went on my own only cause had we attempted to bring the kids all the way across town for that early in the morning, we would have shown up at 10AM when no one but the cleaners were left...Our sitter situation kinda fell through so Phil and I couldn't volunteer like we wanted to. But I wasn't going to miss cheering them on at the start of their long ride.

The walk from my van to the start line was about 10 minutes. I didn't worry about where to go - I just followed the crowd.

And tried to at least keep the tears from falling that were welling up in my eyes...I was only moderately successful.

And then I came around the same bend that (unbeknownst to me) was the start and finish of The Ride. I saw people. And bikes. Everywhere.


As I crossed the start line I could see a bunch of One Aim bikes right at the start - I recognised the names - but no riders. It didn't take me long though. With a lump in my throat, tears (momentarily) contained and a blazing smile I started making my way towards the ones I could see. This is where I met Jill. Her son is a canser survivor and this was her first ride. She is an awesome lady - so bubbly and she seemed excited and a bit nervous. Aside from their fearless leader Nigel and maybe Martin Dodd (who biked for 24 hrs at the CANsuffer event where I first met them all) I bet they all felt nervous. 200 plus km is no small feat. And just to be clear for those who don't live here - it's not a flat ride either...there are some hills that look big from a car, so I can imagine how huge they look from the seat of a bike...

One Aim had 130 riders and had raised over $400, 000 (and that's not the final tally yet! There's still money coming from past fund raising events this year!) These are serious canser conquerors. Of course I guess that's expected when you join a team called 'One Aim Conquer canser'. 

I looked around for Matt. He had his flag (which had my name and Stephane's to name a few on it) on his helmet so I thought he'd be easy to spot.

But with over 1700 riders I never did get to see him (I found out later he was near the front) I did see Nigel though for a quick moment to say good luck and get a hug. And I got to talk to Mike and meet his fiance Sarah. They were quite the celebrities. They got married that night at camp and all the media wrote stories about them and their story also went viral! (you may have already heard about them) It was Mike's 3rd Ride and Sarah's 2nd Ride. Here's a link from the Calgary Sun on them:

Mike & Sarah's Wedding

It was a first for The Ride but I bet they just started a trend lol. Mike talks with such love and respect for his fellow One Aim team. That is something I've noticed with all the One Aimers I've had the pleasure of meeting. They love their teammates. I met them in May (see The Mall post if you haven't) and in these few short months I too now share a love for this incredible, inspiring group of people. So I thought it was fantastic that Mike & Sarah felt so strongly that they wanted to share their happy day with as Mike put it "their other family". Their wedding was officiated by another teammate Sean Dunnigan. He is the gent who was married to Jen - that bright light of a soul that the team lost to colorectal canser earlier this year. On Tues I went to the team's last training ride before The Ride (ha for beers after - I'm not on a bike yet!) Mike was telling me about the wedding and how they wanted to be married by Sean cause he and Jen had the kind of marriage and love they want. What a great reason.

Phil and I didn't make it cause we were celebrating my friend Liz's 40th bday in Strathmore (Hope I'm not in trouble for putting the 40th part in my blog...sorry Liz!!) But I hear it was a beautiful, emotional ceremony (with a few laughs too) I bet the team is even more bonded now. I wish we could have been at 2 places at once but look forward to hearing more stories about it in the coming weeks from everyone!


I also got to talk with Elaine (the 32 year survivor!) and watched the opening ceremonies together. She knew what was coming. I was crying like 2 speakers in. Like body shaking - Elaine threw her arms around me a number of times when I was overcome with emotion. 

There were 2 parts that left everyone in tears.

A 13 year old boy got up to talk about his canser story. Yes, 13.


He was diagnosed with a tumour in his brain and the news got worse and worse. It would not likely respond to chemo. Options seemed limited. But between a doc from the US and one from the Alberta Children's Hospital (here in Calgary) they came up with a plan for treatment that included surgery and radiation. He had multiple surgeries - on his brain! - to remove as much of the tumour as they could. Then he had radiation. At The Ride he announced the past 2 MRI scans have shown no canser! The whole crowd were wiping tears away with this announcement. 

I was sobbing. I was crying for what no child should have to go through. I was crying for the positive, resilient attitude from one so young. I was crying for the hope a 13 year old gave me with his survival story.

The other big emotional moment was when 4 survivors escorted a riderless bike across the start line. The announcer said it was to represent those we lost to this disease. But he said it also represented the survivors who were escorting it. Not a dry eye in the house. Thankfully I had been warned beforehand so I was still crying but had it caught me by surprise people would have been swimming out ha.

Anyone who is going through this or is affected by canser should try to go to The Ride next year - either to participate (I know a great team...) or just to watch. It is so motivational, and emotional. You will not feel alone. You will feel like you are surrounded by family. It's powerful.

Watching my One Aim team cross the start line was exciting. I said a silent prayer to keep them safe, and to keep them swift. 

The Ride also announced $7.9 million had been raised so far. I drove home thinking about all I had witnessed that morning.

Celebrating with Liz later that night was great. We got to catch up and see all the work they did on their house. The kids go to see each other too, which was long overdue. (they moved to Strathmore almost a year ago - we've seen them lots but almost been a month since last meeting) Aydan (Liz's daughter) is Emmy's "sister" (that's what they call each other) She's blond. Emmy's a redhead. They call each other Ana and Elsa lol Like we needed more Frozen  injected into our lives!! It was a great night. We didn't leave till 10. Ethan was out cold 5 min into the drive.

Next morning I loaded up my sign, and myself to go cheer on my One Aimers as they came up the last ramp towards the finish line at COP. I forgot about my camera when the first few went by but then started taking pics of every One Aim rider I saw. I could pick out their riders from the special One Aim jersey's they were sporting from when they turned right to come that last ramp. 






I was so pumped when they crossed - They did it! What an accomplishment. What a selfless act. Phil and the kids joined me a bit later and got to meet all these people I've been talking about for months. He loved meeting them. I think he's hooked now too :) 

Matt and Elaine both had crashes. It sounds like about 50k in on the 1st day another rider who was passing Matt on a hill lost his "umph" to get up the hill and fell over on Matt. That hurt Matt's arm, pretty bad. But he continued another 20k! He had to end there cause it was just too painful. I know what this Ride means to him and his friend Jordan that he lost to this wretched disease. But he kept his pride (70k is amazing feat!!!) and sounds like the One Aim team rallied behind him. That doesn't surprise me. He's a warrior after what he's been through with his leukaemia journey. I told him "I guess once you're a warrior it never really goes away". He was in good spirits so I was glad. 

Elaine crashed and had to dig gravel out of her leg!! She had lots of physio at camp and was taped up which allowed her to continue next day and finish. Tough cookie. 

So the Ride is not only challenging, people do sometimes have mishaps. Luckily there were doctors participating this year (off the clock but they helped Elaine!!) and volunteer vehicles are around that can offer assistance if need be.

What a phenomenal weekend. I felt high driving home on Sunday and I didn't even participate!! It was a fantastic way to spend the weekend before chemo. 

Since meeting One Aim I feel like they have changed my life. If (when) the Run for the Cure 5k goes well and I get the all clear in January from docs, I want to join One Aim and start training with them. Phil wants to as well. This is not the type of thing we would've ever thought about doing previously. Now I feel like we could do it if we train with this team. You really never know what life has in store for you.


So thank you One Aimers. You raise funds and raise spirits. I'll be forever thankful that our paths crossed that day in May at the Southcenter Cansuffer event when I was trying to come to terms with my bald head. You've played a crucial role in my journey to top up my strength when it gets low. Every Saturday that I saw you on your training rides  near Bragg Creek as we drove out of town (many times before chemo) , gave me a boost. You became my dependable comfort no matter what was going through my head. 

You and The Ride are one of the best things that's happened to me on this crazy ride. 

Thank you from the bottom of my and my family's heart.

You have a fan for life.



Stand By Me by Ben E King. Video from YouTube


Monday 11 August 2014

"...so here's to all thoses nights all we felt was life, smokin' and drinkin'.." Miranda Lambert (Smokin & Drinkin')

Aug 5, 2014


Organised. Dusty. Wild. Memorable. FUN.

Big Valley Jamboree was awesome!!

And to have gone with such good friends - John and Lisa - made it even better! The 4 of us had never been to a multi-day music festival before. Never mind camping at one...between chemo to boot...Although canser wasn't in the picture when we booked our tickets. The whole idea of coming was born after a few drinks last fall when we were out at John and Lisa's permanent trailer site on our inaugural trailer trip (we had just bought it a week previously). Back when I was just a typical mom who's biggest worry was getting the kids to bed at a decent hour. We were quite happy...ok, lets be honest, drunk, and were listening to country music when next thing we were all in agreement that BVJ 2014 was in our future. Within weeks of that conversation we put our money where our mouth was and got weekend passes and 2 camping spots.

And here we are. Kinda feels like a lifetime since then.

I was a little nervous leading up to Big Valley cause my symptoms from my last chemo kept popping up randomly and were causing a bit of havoc so I was worried they would get worse as time went on. BVJ tickets are non-refundable, non-transferable so we figured we'd go and if I felt too bad, we could always leave. So I was also feeling the pressure cause I didn't want to have to leave because of me.

Thankfully, it's felt like the very best thing!

Seriously, what a blast!!

And such entertainment...and I'm not talking about the stage artists!! We camped in 'General' (I can hear anyone who's been to Big Valley groan...) 'Genreal' for all you who've never been is like camping in a frat house. On BSD. (Bermuda Shorts Day - last day of classes at U of C where people start drinking at like 7AM) It was.....interesting ha. We saw a guy walking around in a diaper. Like a REAL one (diaper). Lots of been pong. At 9AM. Mini DJ dance areas all over (thankfully none of our neighbours!!) And everyone in their 20's (which was basically everyone in General) owned a beer bong. I think the dress code was "clothing optional". And the motto was "drink till you drop. Then get up and drink some more". Lots of wobbly walkers. At noon lol.

That could explain the "brilliant" idea for these youngins to go mud sliding in a slew that smelt like...well it was a very unpleasant smell. At $7 a shower I bet they had to spend a pretty penny getting that smell off them (or maybe they were too drunk to care..) And Phil confronted a chick who tried to steal beer from our cooler...Me and Mr non-confrontational were helping the girls camped in front of us fix their tent at like 11 pm cause some idiots decided to rip it and throw some pegs away...Phil turned to see a girl walking out of our site with 2 of our beers - he didn't realise it was a girl (it was almost pitch black) so he started walking towards her while shouting "Hey F#%ker." She turned around with a deer in the headlights terrified look as he took the two beers right out of her hands saying "I don't f@#king think so. Those are our beers from our cooler". We cracked up about that the rest of the weekend. And maybe word spread cause we had no other cooler incidents lol. It was an experience to observe all this pretty much sober since I wasn't really drinking.

The weather was gorgeous. Hot and humid during the day and at night would cool right down. We only got a bit of rain overnight on Friday (and quite the thunder but we weren't partying at 3AM so it didn't bother us ha)

And of course there was the music. I was in heaven. I love country music. I love listening to it. I love singing it from the top of my lungs. I love two stepping to it. And I esp love going to live performances. So to have 4 days of country artists - I was a very, very ecstatic girl! Listening to music you love, live, is so therapeutic. I had so many moments of swaying to music with my heart swelled with happiness, grinning like a fool.

Lonestar kicked off the Kick Off party Thurs night. They even covered a bunch of rock songs  - including Kiss!! Clay Walker put on a good show and got the crowd on their feet a few times. Dean Brody was one of my favourites from the weekend,. He's Canadian, funny, talented and the crowd loved him. I think he could've held his own as a headliner to be honest (he opened for Hunter Hays- I'm not a fan of him live...)



Chad Brownlee is another up and coming Canadian country artist. I like a few of his songs. He played Saturday afternoon. It was a really hot day so I wore my white "She's a Fighter" breast canser shirt. Before he started his set I was thinking (not for the first time) about if coming to BVJ was a mistake, given that I'm between chemo treatments and have basically zero immune system. A few songs into his performance, I got a sign that I took to mean "all is well with your decision to come". He introduced a new song of his called The Fighters. The 3rd verse is about a 9 year old friend of his who passed away from Leukaemia. He then dedicated it to Anthony (the boy in the song) and all the fighters and survivors out there. I had a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes (a few may have slipped out) as he sang his song about The fighters in life:

"Here's to the Fighters. The Survivors. The knock-down, get up, keep on swinging, all nighters. Here's to the all in, again and again, giving all they've got until the end. The ones who rise above a little bit higher. Here's to the Fighters".


The song struck such a chord in me that we waited for almost an hour to meet him and get my She's A Fighter shirt signed by him! What a nice guy. He stood for as long as his fans and took pics and signed whatever people had. I think I was grinning from ear to ear as you can see in the pic Phil took lol. That was one of the highlights of the trip for me. The other was seeing Zac Brown Band live. WOW! They are one of my favourite bands, and seeing them live just made my appreciation for them grow. They put on a great show. People were out of their seats and on their feet singing, swaying and just loving every song. For their encore they covered Enter Sandman by Metallica - didn't see that coming but the crowd loved it!  I grinned through the whole set - a goofy, ear to ear, pure joy kind of grin. Just this performance made my whole weekend - all the rest was gravy (like Miranda Lambert and Kip Moore)!

I was a very happy girl.

John and Lisa enjoyed it as well and are already talking about next year lol. It was a great weekend.

On the long drive home I was reflecting on the weekend and thinking about if we came back next year. I got a bit sad. And then I started to cry.



Next year if we do come back, I'll very likely be boobless.

It wasn't that that upset me so much as the fact that this was one of the last big events where I am whole (or feel whole...). I have all my parts that I was born with. Ya I'm bald, but I'm good with my bald head - proud even - and anyways that is just a superficial change, not something permanent.

It was like a reality check. Chemo is coming to the end - whether it's 6 or 8 treatments, there's only a few left. Soon I will go in for surgery. When I wake up I will be missing parts of me I've had my whole life. How will that feel? How will I feel?

I guess on the heels of so much joy it was a bittersweet moment. Suddenly it felt like nothing would ever be the same again.One of my last hurrahs. I don't mean that to sound as dramatic as it does. But I'm fast approaching another unknown - I have no idea what I'll look like after, or how I'll feel. That both scares me and saddens me.

It didn't put a damper on the weekend though - it just made me enjoy every second we were there.

That's one thing I've learnt well so far on this journey - when I have those happy moments, I savour them. I consciously enjoy the moment and lock that feeling into my memory.

And for those sad moments, "this too shall pass".