Two Years After Radiation and I'm Still Tired

June 18, 2009

It's been a little over a year since I've made a blog entry, which is odd because not a day goes by that I don't think about the possibility of breast cancer recurrence. It was a lot easier to find something humorous about my ordeal as I was experiencing it, but now it doesn't seem so funny anymore.

My life has definitely changed since I was first diagnosed with breast cancer in August 2006. Prior to that date I was dancing the Argentine Tango 4-5 times a week, doing yoga, skinny dipping and drinking gin and tonics on a friend's yacht, cooking gourmet dinners for friends, and camping in the Central Oregon Cascades with my family. I was in tune with my sexuality, running two businesses and pretty much enjoying life. My hair was thick and curly and my body, slim. Just four months before the BC I ended a relationship with a two-time loser-- a bad boy sociopath whose charm, good looks and Mensa intellect had drawn me in like a moth to a flame.

Some breast cancer survivors say their lives have changed for the better. I would have to ask them to define "better". My life has definitely changed-- some parts good, some not.

I stopped dancing because my balance is a little off and I tire easily. My hair grew back, but it's not as thick as it used to be. I've gained about 10 pounds-- an unfortunate side-effect of the aromatase inhibitor I take daily to reduce the risk of recurrence. I have absolutely no libido-- in fact I'd rather eat Moonstruck chocolate than have sex with Brad Pitt (should the opportunity present itself). Instead of being out in the field producing travel videos I am sitting in front of my computer staring at a monitor.

It's not all bad, don't get me wrong. I recently found a long-lost uncle through Google Search and have started working on a family tree with my former husband's cousin. The three of us are now living together in a charming craftsman style bungalow in Portland's exclusive West Hills neighborhood. It feels good to be somewhat settled again surrounded by my things.

One of the drawbacks about living with two men is that my diet has changed for the worse and my peace and quiet and privacy have all but disappeared. I no longer eat a bowl of cereal with fruit in the morning and a salad for dinner. Now it's steak, pork, chicken-- meat, meat, meat and football and basketball dominate the TV, which is blaring seven nights a week.

On a positive note, the three of us have joined a fancy fitness center and I've started taking yoga classes again. One of these days I'll hopefully regain my balance and core strength and can start doing the things that I love.

Say goodbye to breast cancer and get on with your life already

It’s true what they say about breast cancer—that it’s a life-changing experience, but not necessarily a bad one. It’s not that your life is so different; it’s your attitude about life that changes. You begin to rearrange your priorities and start to discard anything in your life that doesn’t contribute to your healing. This includes negative people, overbooking your time, game-playing, drab dull clothing, and doing anything that you don’t want to do. For instance:

• 
  I no longer care if everyone likes me so I’ve learned to say no. And guess what? It’s easier than you think. I’ve found that I don’t even have to give an excuse. When people find out that I have had breast cancer they assume that my reason for saying no has something to do with that. Let them assume!
• 
  I know that people with negative attitudes are toxic and I no longer believe that I, the good mother and healer of the universe, can fix them. They suck out my life force by using up my valuable time and infiltrating my mind and heart with poisonous words and thoughts—and that it doesn’t matter how much time and energy I give them, they’re not ever going to change.
• 
  I no longer view men as a means to escape the reality of everyday life, but rather now as an important contribution to my very precious life. Bad boys and fixer-uppers are gone forever to allow room for the real men. I know that all of the good ones aren’t taken. There must be at least one or two out there.
• 
  I also discovered that black is not a healing color and when I wear it, my face looks gaunt and colorless. It was a difficult realization because most of my wardrobe is black. I wear it because it’s artsy and sophisticated and also because it’s easy to mix and match outfits when everything is the same color. So my friend and personal shopper, Holly, took me shopping for some new clothes that are in my “tone”. She picked out browns and oranges and lime greens (except for two sexy “man-catching” black dresses that she insisted I buy, even though they’re not my color). I packed away my pink lipstick and gray eyeliner and now wear sunny shades of brown, rust and bronze.

You know what? It’s working. I am beginning to feel almost normal again—actually, better than normal. I see a whole new life ahead of me and I’m brimming with excitement and anticipation about what the future holds. I’ve been given another chance—a new life—a new way to experience the world around me.

To everyone who contributed to my healing process during the surgeries, the chemotherapy, and the radiation-- I LOVE YOU. You helped make the journey easier and more tolerable and I’ll forever be indebted to you.

I especially want to thank my sons—Lance, for being with me during my first chemo treatment and driving me to all of my oncology appointments and chemo treatments, for paying attention to whatever Dr. Leimert said when I couldn’t, for paying for my procit injections, for packing and moving my belongings and for helping me deal with some difficult things—and Sean, for his unconditional love and concern and for being there for me when I woke up from surgery, and for packing and moving my belongings.

And thanks to my dear sister and best friend, Diane, for being with me during both of my surgeries and first visit to my surgeon’s office, for being with me during my first chemo treatment, for taking notes during my first oncology appointment, and for staying overnight after each of my chemotherapy treatments. I owe her big time for cleaning up the mess when I hurled across the room after my first chemo treatment and for not complaining about it (true sisterly love). I also want to thank Diane (and Lance) for watching me give myself the first Neupogen injection to make sure I did it right, for helping to pay for the expensive injections and pitching in to buy me a sexy stylish wig, for helping me pack boxes when I was exhausted and weak, for laughing and crying with me, and most of all, for putting up with all of my late-night phone calls when I was scared to death and didn’t know who else to call.

And a big bear hug to my brother, Mark, for being with me during my first surgery, for regrettably treating me to a rich sauce-laden French dinner following my first chemo treatment (the reason I hurled), for the naturopathic healing medicine that I took during chemo, and for the special gift that he slipped inside one of the grocery bags that he delivered when I was confined at home with pneumonia. And a very special thanks to my sister-in-law and friend, Kym, for believing in me and always being there for me. I couldn’t have done it without her.

Heartfelt gratitude to my good friend and savior, Norm, who helped me pack and move, gave me encouragement and support and, most importantly, made me laugh and feel halfway normal when I was feeling like an alien. Thanks to Dan, for helping me pack boxes and to Jim, who provided me with a space for my video tapes. And thanks to Doug, for hauling a truckload of video tapes to the dump. Thank you to a very special friend who made it possible for me to attend my high school reunion just before my breast cancer surgery and for keeping it a secret. Thank you Marisa and Terry for paying for one series of Neupogen injections and Julia, Sharon, Seamus and Marisa again for buying me the “hot” red wig and for helping me pack and seal boxes. And thanks again to my Irish “baby brother”, Seamus, for staying with my granddaughters when I was rushed to the hospital, and for providing me shelter whenever I needed it.

And a very special thanks to my granddaughters, Opal and Violet, for their love, warm hugs, concern for my well-being, and for staying calm and helping me during the 911 call. I am especially proud of them for continuing to support breast cancer research through donations and by educating themselves about breast cancer and spreading the word to others.

Thanks to my friend and “sister” Victoria, whose frequent phone calls during my breast cancer treatment gave me encouragement and hope when I needed it the most. A special thanks to Patrice, hairdresser extraordinaire, for cutting and coloring my hair before chemo and for shaving my head during chemo before my hair started falling out, and for using her hairdresser’s license to buy my wigs wholesale. Thanks to Justin and Claudia for my “Italian” birthday party—sunbeams in the midst of the storm. Thank you, Jerry, for showing me how to forgive and for being a part of my life again-- and thank you, Kathryn, for making it possible. Thank you, Muffie, for everything! You are the best! Thank you, Chris, for your love and support and for giving me the opportunity to create a new life. A big hug to my new friend and activity buddy, Vic, who has helped make my life fun again.

Thanks to all of my friends and family who supported me and other breast cancer survivors in the Race for the Cure— Lance, Violet, Charmaine, Diane, Marisa, Dylan, Hillary, Kym, Julia, Deanna, Jan, Pam, Linda, Richard, Vic and Karen, plus many others. And thanks to everyone who prayed for me and who were there for me in spirit—Karen and Ari, Alicia and Daniel, Takafumi, Ted, Walter, Sandy, Aunt Ginny, Patti and Madonna, Victoria, Jacques, John, Ron, Hugh, Michael, Kim, Kathleen, Lloyd, Tony, Ann, Allen and Marianne, Zac, Lisa, Maynard, Roger, Waylon and Melissa, Cory and Katie, Chad and Jennifer, Wayne, Rod, Gayle, George, Don, Yoko, Kris, Jackie, Audrey, Leslie, John and Aimee, Harvey and Vicky, Barbara, and Holly. If I missed anyone, I’m sorry. Here's a big THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart.

Intimacy After Breast Cancer

I just spent the entire day at a Breast Cancer Issues Conference in Portland Oregon and one of the three sessions I attended addressed the topic of Intimacy After Breast Cancer.

When I arrived at the Conference I considered substituting that session for Long-Term Side Effects of Chemotherapy and Radiation because I thought the one on Intimacy wasn’t applicable since 1) I currently don’t have a partner and 2) I really don’t care if I have sex.

But I attended anyway and I’m glad that I did. Dana Rowett, speaker, and co-author of the book, Intimacy After Cancer: A Woman's Guide was both informative and humorous.

Ms. Rowett talked mostly about how to communicate with your partner before you have sex, which positions are best, and how to increase your libido and your energy so that you’ll enjoy sex more.

She also stressed the importance of “using it or losing it.” We all know that sex keeps us young. Besides being fun and great exercise, it gets the hormones flowing, which is good for our skin, hair and muscle tone. And it prevents vaginal atrophy (yikes). For those of us who have had chemotherapy (me), or radiation to the cervix or vagina (not me), Ms. Rowett suggested using vaginal dilators if our vaginas have decreased in diameter. I know what the men are thinking right about now, “Hey, but wait a minute…”

The truth is that sex after breast cancer treatment can be very painful (hopefully I’ll get a chance to find out) because the vaginal tissue is thinner and can easily tear if not properly lubed, and the vagina might be too small to accommodate anything larger than a piece of cooked spaghetti. Darn! I just gave away all of my pasta last week when I started my low-fat diet. Anyway, Ms. Rowett said that the dilators help prepare you for sex, should the desire ever return. Well, I certainly wanted to be ready, just in case.

With a big smile on my face, I walked out of the room at the end of the session waving my free samples of Astroglide and Replens-- ready to take on the world (well, maybe not the whole world).

During the break, my first stop in the breast cancer exhibit hall was the sex toy booth, followed by the fly-fishing booth. The toy rep showed me the dilator kit, which cost $99.00 and included 6 different sizes in six different colors. I told her that I wasn’t really interested in the extra-mini-size or the elephant-size— that one in a medium size would probably be fine. Then I asked her how I would know if my vagina had decreased in size since I hadn’t had sex in a while and didn’t have any prospects to test drive it. She said, “Let me show you my Intimate Collection Party Catalog.” After not too much thought, I decided to throw my fate to the wind—to leave it once again to chance. I will just wait until the right person comes along and see what happens.

I left the booth empty-handed, but not entirely disappointed.

I ended up registering for a fly-fishing trip to Central Oregon. It’s been almost 13 years since I’ve used my fly rod and gear. Hopefully, my Neoprene waders and felt-bottom boots haven’t split or dried out from lack of use.

Don't tell you date you had breast cancer (until you're ready)

Chemotherapy not only does a number on your body, it also jumbles your perception of the world around you. As you start to assess the cumulative side-effects of the chemo drugs and the radiation therapy, trust becomes a significant factor.

While I was healing from breast cancer treatment at a friend’s house in Palm Desert California I hooked up with a former classmate of mine. I didn’t really know him in high school because he was a year ahead of me and we hung out in different circles. He found me through classmates.com a couple of years ago and since then we’ve kept in touch via email every few months or so.

When we found that we shared a love for travel we thought it might be fun to meet up on one of our trips, should we happen to be in the same country at the same time. Since it looked like that was never going to happen, he asked me to call him if and when I decided to visit San Diego.

I called him a month after I arrived in Palm Desert and we made plans to meet at a wonderful French restaurant in Indian Wells that a friend of his suggested. I was a little nervous because it would be our first meeting and he didn’t (and doesn’t) know what I had been going through the past year. Luckily he emailed a current photo of himself because I certainly wouldn’t have recognized him from his yearbook photo. Yes, I sent him a current photo of me too.

Well, we hit it off and ended up closing down the restaurant after a wonderful meal and two hours of nonstop talking (actually he did most of the talking). I didn’t want to tell him that I pretty much stopped drinking alcohol when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, so we shared a bottle of wine with dinner and sipped cognac with dessert.

For the next four months, he continued to make the 2 ½ hour drive from San Diego to see me every two-three weeks or so. He usually stayed for 3-5 days at a nearby hotel. We had a great time sight-seeing, watching the latest independent films at the Palm d-Ore and catching up with our lives.

The most difficult thing for me during that time was dealing with my wig in the scorching desert summer heat. About the only time I wore the wig was when he visited. The rest of the time I wore my new short artsy Palm Desert hairstyle that blended in with all of the other desert boomers.

One 115-degree August Saturday we walked through the Living Desert Zoo & Gardens and I thought I was going to pass out from heat exhaustion. My wig was uncomfortably hot and my new fashionable straw hat didn’t help much. Sweat was dripping down my forehead and running down the back of my neck, but I wasn’t about to take the wig off--- not yet. It got to be a game of sorts--- to see how long I could continue the charade before he figured it out.

Another time he asked me to join him for a swim in his hotel pool, but I told him that I couldn’t get my head wet because I had suffered a painful earache a couple of days before (true). To escape the unbearable heat I did a lot of sitting and standing in the shallow end and dog-paddled across the deep end. Luckily, my wig stayed completely dry.

We hiked along the trails at the top of the Palm Springs tram, walked around the rock formations in Joshua Tree National Park, meandered through a botanical garden and browsed through the quaint shops in Idyllwild.

Even though we spent several days and evenings together I always managed to avoid telling him that I was healing from breast cancer and that the hair that he thought was so beautiful was not growing out of my head.


Toward the end of my stay I almost confided in him because it was getting harder to wear the wig without constantly tucking in little stray hairs that kept creeping out and I was beginning to feel a little dishonest. I was also terrified that he might want to run his fingers through my hair or brush my bangs away from my face, so I kept my icy distance.


I remembered the advice a cancer survivor gave me. “You don’t have to tell the world, your date or anyone for that matter, that you have had breast cancer. It’s nobody’s business. When the time is right you’ll know it.”

Maybe it’s because I don’t trust him enough to keep it to himself. He does like to talk so there’s a good chance my secret might accidentally slip out to other former classmates. Or maybe I’m afraid of rejection—that he wouldn’t want to hang around me so much if he knew I was damaged—that a little piece of what makes me a woman is missing and that the brunette with the long straight bob that he was enamored with actually has extremely short (1/2") wavy hair—that the times he thought I was being indifferent or melancholy were neither—that I was just tired and still feeling the effects of the chemo and radiation.

I decided when we first met that I would tell him about the breast cancer, should our relationship progress to the point that we became more than friends. In the meantime, I’m making sure that it doesn’t. So far he seems satisfied with the status-quo. Perhaps there is something he’s not telling me.

What would you do?

Breast Cancer and Needles

One of the most unpleasant things about having been diagnosed with cancer, besides the obvious, was the number of times I was poked with needles throughout the treatment period. First the blood tests, then the needle core biopsy, the vaccinations, the IVs, the self-injected Neupogen and then more blood tests.

The needle core biopsy was the least fun. The radiologist shot a hollow needle into the tumor at least six times from some type of needle gun (like a nail gun). Cores of tissue samples were extracted from the tumor to be sent to the lab for analysis. Even though the radiologist numbed the area first, it was still painful. In fact, it’s been over a year since the biopsy and my breast is still tender.

When the results of the biopsy came in surgery was immediately scheduled to remove the tumor, which meant more blood tests, a flu shot plus a pneumonia vaccine.

The day of surgery an IV needle was placed in my vein and another needle was used to inject a radioactive dye in my breast for the sentinel node biopsy. The hospital staff kept me supplied with warm blankets and gave me lots of attention. Just before surgery the nurse ran something through the IV to relax me. I felt pretty good by the time I was wheeled into the large white operating room.

After waking up in the recovery room I had to wait for a couple of hours until the anesthesia wore off before I was released. At home the next few days I experienced headaches from the anesthesia, but otherwise I felt great.

A couple of weeks later I was feeling very optimistic while I was waiting for the results of the biopsy. When my surgeon, Dr. Carmen Hudson, walked in with a serious look on her face and asked me if someone had accompanied me to my appointment, I knew something was up.

She first apologized for not getting a clear margin when she removed the tumor and informed me that I would need another operation that would involve removing my areola and nipple. I told her that it was only decorative anyway since I'm not planning to have any more children. She laughed and then got serious again. She said, "I'm so sorry. The biopsy revealed a microscopic amount of malignant cells in one of your lymph nodes."

“Does this mean that I’ll have to have chemotherapy?"

She said, "Yes, most likely." She told me that the standard course of action was to also remove the remaining underarm lymph nodes for further examination to make sure that they were cancer free. However, she said that she didn’t think it was necessary since the malignant cells in the sentinel node were microscopic in size and the other two nodes were cancer free.

In my research, I read that often times malignant cells found in the sentinel node, especially if microscopic, can travel there via the needle during a needle core biopsy. I also knew that chemotherapy was usually recommended if cancer traveled too far from its point of origin.

More blood tests, another IV, more needles.

This time, I requested a twilight anesthesia instead of a general because the general took too long to wear off. Dr. Hudson scheduled the "clean-up" surgery (her words) in Kaiser’s out-patient clinic at St. Vincent’s hospital, instead of the main operating room.

Similar surgery, but without the frills. My next pre-surgery room consisted of a bed with drapes on a track for privacy in a barracks-like room.

My nurse anesthetist was a short, stocky, very mature German woman who spoke with a thick accent. Earlier, Diane spotted her in the hallway pounding on a door saying, “Open ze door. I need drugs NOW!” We later figured that she was really a closet comedian, using her demeanor to entertain the patients.

After I was given something to relax me (another needle) my nurse anesthetist told me to walk to the operating room. When I asked, “Aren’t you going to wheel me in?” She said,“Nope, you can still valk, can’t you? So get goingk and HURRY. Ze docta est r-r-r-ready.” It was like a scene from a Frankenstein movie. I wondered if I had made the right decision and started to miss the all of the attention I got at the main hospital.

I walked to the operating room and climbed up onto the table. A nurse hooked me up to an IV and I slept through most of the surgery, only waking up once to comment on the beautiful butterflies flying around the operating room.

I woke up again in the recovery room, which was the same "room" I was in prior to surgery. As soon as my eyes opened Dr. Hudson released me and Diane drove me home.

A month later and a couple of days before my first chemotherapy treatment, I had more blood tests and the oncology nurse weighed me to determine the maximum amount of poison my body could handle.

The chemotherapy regimen my oncologist ordered for me was Dose Dense ACT. One of the greatest benefits of the Dose Dense ACT regimen is that it’s given over the course of four months instead of the usual six. This reduces the chances of side-effects, primarily cardiovascular damage. The dosage is given every two weeks rather than every three.

Since two weeks isn’t enough time for white blood cells to regenerate enough to be in the safe range, I had to give myself injections of Neupogen for several consecutive days beginning a few days after my chemotherapy treatment because it was during this time that my immune system was its lowest.

Before each chemotherapy treatment, I had to have a blood test to make sure that my white blood cell count was high enough to proceed with the chemotherapy.

The day of my first chemotherapy treatment I opted to have the chemo cocktail delivered via a vein on the back of my left hand rather than having a port installed in my chest. The ports can sometimes cause infections.

Minutes before my first chemotherapy treatment I was given steroids to help me tolerate the chemo drugs. It caused my legs to be restless and I couldn't lie still, so I was given another drug to counteract the first one.

The nurse found a good vein right away and inserted the IV needle. She set the chemo drip to enter my vein slowly so that it would be easy to stop, should I experience a bad reaction to the drugs. It went smoothly and so I scheduled another appointment.

Before they released me I was given some anti-nausea medication, which didn't help me keep down the rich sauce-laden French food that I ate following the chemotherapy treatment.

A few nights later I had to start the Neupogen injections and asked my sister, Diane, and son, Lance, to watch, to make sure that I did it correctly. I took the Neupogen out of the refrigerator 30 minutes prior to injecting the drug and filled a disposable syringe after the Neupogen warmed up. I pushed the air out of the syringe, sterilized my chosen entry site with alcohol and held my breath. Pinching the fatty skin between my thumb and fingers, I inserted the needle at a 45-degree angle, then slowly pushed the plunger of the syringe until the Neupogen disappeared.

The little fatty ring around my waist was my first point of entry... and second... and third, but when I began to worry about the possibility of hitting a vital organ, I switched to a new site... my not-so-fat thighs.

During my second chemotherapy treatment, I was assigned a different nurse. After two failed attempts to insert the IV needle properly and causing a vein to collapse, I asked for another nurse, which I continued to do for each of the remaining chemotherapy treatments.

During the Taxol stage of the chemo treatment, I came down with pneumonia, despite the vaccination, and had to have more blood tests, plus an x–ray of my chest, and a prescription for antibiotics. When the bottle of antibiotics was empty I had another blood test to make sure that my immune system was strong enough for more chemo.

I still can't stand the sight of a needle, but compared to chemotherapy, an occasional blood test is a piece of cake. The Neupogen injections were inconvenient but necessary to keep my white blood cell count up. I imagine that from now on needles will always be a part of my life (at least for routine blood tests), like it or not.

Chemotherapy and Nutrition

During the first two months of chemotherapy (the AC portion of the 4-month ACT regimen) it was difficult to get the nutrition I needed because I was constantly nauseated. The anti-nausea medication Kaiser Oncology pharmacy gave me helped to curb the queasiness, but my appetite was still suppressed from the chemo cocktails. The only foods I wanted to eat during that time were bread & butter pickles and mashed potatoes. I even CRAVED bread & butter pickles and managed to consume two giant jars in just two months. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night hungry for bread & butter pickles and couldn’t get back to sleep until I made a trip to the refrigerator. What’s interesting is that I didn’t crave them before chemotherapy, or after.

I lost 10 pounds those first two months, but gained it all back, plus a few during the T (Taxol) part of the regimen. I was so happy to regain my appetite that I ate everything in sight.

After the chemotherapy and the radiation treatments ended, my eating habits were not as good as they should have been. Even though I generally follow a healthy diet, I found it hard to eat as many fruits and vegetables as is recommended to prevent a recurrence of breast cancer. The solution? A Vitamix Blender. It has a very powerful motor that won’t bog down and can liquefy fruits and vegetables in just seconds. I found it much easier to drink my fruits and vegetables all at once rather than eating them throughout the day. However, I still use a smaller blender for making an occasional smoothie.

The Vitamix blender was first introduced to me by a doctor who is also a cancer survivor. He said that he didn’t have time to nibble on vegetables all day, so he bought the blender and now can conveniently drink all of the vegetables he needs for the day in one or two glasses of juice.

I bought my blender at Costco after watching a Vitamix rep demonstrate all of the cool things it could do. The price was much lower than what I found on the Internet, however, I later learned that Amazon.com has the lowest prices for the Vitamix blender Vitamix 5200 Series Blender, Black and other items as well. I thought that Amazon.com only sold books and DVDs, which is why I didn’t check their prices earlier.

If your mouth is sore from chemotherapy and you have difficulty swallowing food, you might find it easier to drink your nutrients during your treatment regimen. Any blender or juicer would probably be fine. I happen to own a small blender, a juice extractor, and a juicer, although I prefer the Vitamix blender because the motor is very powerful and it’s easy to clean. Plus, the Vitamix container holds a lot of fruits and vegetables, so I can make up a large batch of juice at one time.

Books to help you through Breast Cancer

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer I did extensive online research and read every book about breast cancer that I could get my hands on. Some books were more helpful than others and I would recommend them to anyone who has ever been diagnosed with breast cancer.

In addition to late-night Google searches, the following four books supplied me with the facts I needed to help make informed decisions throughout my breast cancer treatment. Probably the most important one is Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book. This reference book is an encyclopedia of information that you will want to keep forever.

The next reference book that was a big help to me is Breast Cancer for Dummies. This easy-to-read book uses a direct approach to feed you factual information. If you're in denial this book will help set you straight.

Another book I found helpful is Breast Cancer Survival Manual: A Step-by-Step Guide for the Woman With Newly Diagnosed Breast Cancer.

And finally, After Breast Cancer: A Common-Sense Guide to Life After Treatment is very important because after the surgery, the chemotherapy, and the radiation your life will change. This book will help you through those changes.

If you can only afford one right now, I would start with Dr. Love's book. Your local library may also have a copy.

To make it easy for you, I've included direct links to Amazon.com, because they have the cheapest prices I've found.

Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book (A Merloyd Lawrence Book)

Breast Cancer For Dummies

The Breast Cancer Survival Manual, Fifth Edition: A Step-by-Step Guide for Women with Newly Diagnosed Breast Cancer

After Breast Cancer: A Common-Sense Guide to Life After Treatment

                
                                         

Is it a chemotherapy-induced heart attack or just gas?

Halfway into my chemotherapy treatments I had a real scare. My granddaughters, Opal and Violet, were visiting as they usually do on Friday nights. We had just finished eating dinner and were getting ready to watch a movie on TV when all of a sudden I felt a sharp pain in the center of my chest. It went away after a few seconds, but came back whenever I bent over.

I called the Kaiser Oncology department and the after-hours nurse told me to hang up and call 911 immediately. When the operator answered she told me to stay on the phone until help arrived and to have my granddaughters turn the lights on and off rapidly and continuously so that the paramedics could find my apartment without delay.

I could see that Opal and Violet were frightened. I told them what was happening and not to worry—that it was probably nothing, but the doctor just wanted to make sure.

Within minutes 6 handsome men in uniform were in my living room taking vitals, administering oxygen, and hooking me up to an IV. The paramedics said that my granddaughters could not ride in the ambulance with me, so I called my friend, Seamus, to come over and watch the girls. One of the firemen offered to stay with the girls until Seamus arrived (talk about great service).

It was a busy night at the hospitals. Kaiser and St. Vincent’s hospitals were both full and so I was diverted to a hospital in nearby Tualatin.

The tests turned out fine and it wasn't a heart attack, but gas, most likely caused from the mocha chocolate freeze I drank earlier in the day. I’m not used to drinking caffeinated drinks, so I may have had a strong reaction to it. The attending ER nurse told me that the hospital he worked at previously gave their cardiac ER patients anti-acid tablets upon admission to rule out the possibility of gas before they started any extensive cardio testing. He said that the symptoms can be the same.

When I returned home my son and granddaughters were very happy to see me and started laughing when I told them my chest pains turned out to be just gas.

Tragic or near-tragic events can be the fodder for a creative mind. Opal wrote the following poem about her experience that night:

Grandma Scare

The sky turns black
I turned on the TV looking for a movie and find it!
Garfield 2 and the Tail of Two KittiesThe movie started
20 min. and grandma calls 9-1-1 why
I turned around
My heart starts to pound
I see her aching
I flickered the lights
My sister helping

The ambulance came
They did tests
My sister and I are shaking in fear
Then her friend came to watch us
While my grandma goes to the hospital
I watched the rest of the movie in fear
When she came back
I was happy
And it was all from caffeine
My dad came and the day ended.

Opal Dillard, Grade 5

Opal’s poem was published in a book containing the poems of select young poets from elementary schools throughout the west.

That night was a scare for us all, but fortunately it had a happy ending. My tip to those of you who are experiencing any chest pains is to call 9-1-1 immediately, even if you think the pains are caused from gas. Every second counts if it turns out to be more than just gas. Heart attacks can be a side-effect of chemotherapy, so you should always be concerned if you experience any pains out of the ordinary.

If you have neuropathy from chemotherapy try Earth shoes

A possible side-effect of chemotherapy is peripheral neuropathy. One of the symptoms is numbness or tingling of the hands and/or feet, most commonly affecting the fingers and toes. The neuropathy may diminish or even disappear completely after several months, but for some it may last forever. Individuals at greatest risk of peripheral neuropathy are those who have preexisting peripheral neuropathy from diabetes, alcoholism, severe malnutrition or previous chemotherapy.

My symptoms included numbness and tingling in my big toes. It may seem slight, but the neuropathy prevented me from wearing closed-toed shoes. Any pressure on my toes caused from pushing my feet forward, sent me through the roof. I tried some athletic shoes in a size bigger than I normally wear, but even that didn’t help. I wasn’t able to wear the shoes without experiencing some discomfort.

Fortunately, I could wear open-toed shoes in Palm Desert where I would spend the next 5 months. I started out wearing sandals on my early morning walks, but really needed a shoe with more support.

It was during my first visit to Idyllwild that I discovered the Earth shoe. Remember the Earth shoe from the 1970’s? Well, it’s made a comeback and is now available in several different styles. One of the company’s marketing tactics is to display posters showing several well-known celebrities who wear Earth shoes. I guess the message is to make you feel “cool” when you wear them, instead of like a “hippy” or “earth muffin.” I imagine that with all of the baby boomers turning 60+ the Earth shoe will become more popular than ever.

The charming owner of the Idyllwild shoe shop was a very knowledgeable retired Podiatrist from England. When I watched how he treated his customers, I knew I had come to the right place. After he slipped the Earth Shoes onto my feet I didn’t want to take them off, they were so comfortable. With the negative heel technology, there was no pressure on my toes. My posture also improved because the shoes forced my body into proper alignment.

I ended up buying some open-toe sandals like Earth Origins Women's Sedona Brown Sophie 7 B(M) US and some comfortable walking shoes similar to Earth Shoes Rocket - Womens

and some closed-toe clog-like shoes Kalso Earth Shoe Women's Black Patent Solar 8 B(M) US for Oregon. Now I find it hard to wear any other type of shoe, even though my neuropathy has diminished.
                                    

My tip to others who suffer from peripheral neuropathy is to at least try Earth shoes. They take a little getting used to because the heel bed is lower than the toe bed, which forces you to stand more erect. Even if you don't have neuropathy, the Earth shoes can help prevent foot problems and are great for people who have to stand on their feet all day: nurses, doctors, teachers, waiters, chefs, etc.

Bring The Rolling Stones to Chemo

My therapist and other breast cancer survivors told me that it helps to meditate and to practice visualization or guided imagery during chemotherapy treatments. I was also told that acupuncture helps, as does aromatherapy, wearing certain healing gemstones and listening to soft healing music.

I tried everything and do you know what helped the most? The Rolling Stones.

Guided imagery was soothing, but my impatient mind kept wandering. I did bring healing gems with me to chemo, but always had trouble finding them because they were usually buried in the bottom of my bag somewhere. Acupuncture wasn't possible because Kaiser no longer allowed acupuncturists in the chemo treatment room as they took up too much space—space that was needed for more chemo beds.

When I first entered the treatment room and saw all of the older patients (where were the young ones?) lying on beds and sitting on reclining chairs, hooked up to chemo drip bags and staring off into space, I wanted to rebel. I certainly wasn’t as old or as sick as they all appeared to be.

Nope, no soft meditative elevator music for me. I wanted the Stones. It was my form of meditation. It carried me back to The Rolling Stones - Bridges to Babylon tour that I attended at the Seattle Kingdome with my cute date, Clackamas County Sheriff’s detective, Tom.

Tom was a classy cop who wore custom-tailored clothes from England, drove his BMW way too fast and liked Bombay Sapphire martinis with a twist. He also played the bagpipes in a national police piper band and did a tour of duty in Iraq with his National Guard unit.

When we arrived in Seattle I changed into my Rolling Stones concert clothes-- a short black leather skirt, black leather boots and an animal print top. Tom took one look at me and said, “Wow, I didn’t know you were going to dress up so much.” Maybe it’s because he worked vice and thought I looked like a hooker, I don’t know, but after seeing the surprised look on his face I decided to change into something more conservative.

The Kingdome was full of hip people of all ages who came to see the Stones-- parents with little children, teenagers, old hippies, and several conservative-looking 25-45-year-olds. We had fifth row seats, slightly off center stage (the tickets were purchased over the phone from a scalper who lives in Chicago).

When Mick walked out the crowd went crazy. He still had more charisma oozing out his trademark mouth than Angelina Jolie, and his energy level was amazing. He jumped around the stage like a 25-year-old and didn't slow down until the show ended. What else I found amazing was how Keith Richards managed to endure years of late-night partying and body abuse. He may look like he’s ninety, but he still knows how to give the audience what they paid for.

About halfway through the first set a sweet-smelling cloud starting filling the stadium and I wondered how so many people could be smoking pot in such a closely guarded enclosure without being caught. The reality was that nobody cared, including my date. After all, it was the Stones.

Speaking of pot, a couple of acquaintances offered to be my medical marijuana providers—“to help me get through chemotherapy.” Needless to say, they were very disappointed when I turned down their generous offer. Not that I didn’t appreciate their “kindness”, it’s just that I’ve never liked smoking anything. Besides, I already had breast cancer and didn’t want lung cancer too.

I’ve heard that marijuana really does help some patients tolerate chemo treatments better, especially those in later stages of cancer, so I’m not discouraging chemo toking—it’s just that it’s not for me. The anti-nausea drugs Kaiser gave me worked just fine.

My suggestion to other chemotherapy patients is to try anything that works for you because as you’ll find out, chemo isn’t a party. As for me, I’ll take the Stones over Yanni anytime.