Thanksgiving #1

This way we can count how many Thanksgivings I have post diagnosis. A little too morbid for this rainy Thanksgiving eve? Not really. Each one I have is further proof of all that there is to be grateful for. I guess that goes for all of us.

Things I am grateful for in no particular order: husband, daughter, son, mommy, sisters, dogs, you, chickens, old timey music and its progeny, turkey, nieces, nephews, sweet potatoes, summer tomatoes, fall apples, apple, cherry and maple trees, horse manure, fireplaces, fleece, reggae, wine, chemotherapy, oncologists, Charles Dickens, nuts, good fiction, the Sunday Times, my legs when they take me on long walks in the woods, pasta, space heaters, washing machines, photocopy machines, Skype, computers, WBUR, my hair, my teeth, money, airplanes, mountain views, the first amendment, sleep, mocha chip ice cream, clean water, people who make me laugh.

That's all that occurs to me at the moment. Please let me know your things.

Wishing you a delicious, cozy Thanksgiving with people you love.

Poll Results and Health Update

Well. my friends, I am sure that you have been in terrible suspense all week wondering how I will shape my future drinking habits in light of our poll and recent studies. The results are interesting:

• 8 of you voted
• 1 person voted for 0 alcohol consumption
• the others were split on how many drink per week I should have, and
• 3 support the use of illegal substances while 5 do not

So here is the analysis. 

• the article was viewed 62 times. 
• 13% of the viewers thought it worth voting. 
• 87% could give a shit about how much I drink
• 1 person is really concerned about my well-being (or interpreted another way, one person wants to see me miserable)
• a healthy majority (62%) is opposed to illegal substances

So, there you have it. I continue to have insufficient justification for altering my habits. YAYYYY!!!!!! Man, I'm ready for a drunken celebration.

Ok. Enough of that silliness. In real life, things are okay. I've been dealing with what they call "lymphatic cording" which is caused by having no lymph nodes under my right arm and results in an uncomfortable and revolting feeling of tightness and palpable "cords" under my skin that hurt and reduce my range of motion. I've been going to physical therapy twice a week to deal with this issue which is time consuming and somewhat agonizing. My physical therapists joke when they see me, "time to play the guitar!" I feel nauseous just thinking about it.  I am seeing my surgeon next week to make sure that it isn't the next sign of my premature demise.  

In addition to this development, I am back to work to an increasingly stressful degree. Perhaps I should do another poll on the topic of my career. I think that there is real possibility that work causes cancer. Since the alcohol poll I've been thinking a lot about all the other things that cause cancer:

• smoking
• plastic containers
• water bottles
• celery
• the stuff that makes paper towels white
• birth control pills
• pesticides
• pollution
• radon
• chemotherapy
• radiation
• toilet bowl cleaners
• Tide
• Crest
• flea collars
• carpets

and on and on.

Adult with Breast Cancer Risk Behavior Survey

I am very sad that drinking alcohol causes cancer. I really like drinking alcohol. Even when I hate the taste, I always love the warm feeling of comfort and well being that it brings. The latest study shows that even as few as four drink a week may increase your risk of getting breast cancer. And I'm not talking vodka martinis, my friends. I'm talking vodka martinis AND that wimpy glass of chardonnay that we middle-aged suburban ladies are so fond of, AND everything in between.

I do not believe that I am alcoholic for a number of reasons:

• I never have a drink before 5:00 PM...yea, yea, yea, I've heard the joke...east coast time 
• I never drink alone
• I mostly confine my drinking to Friday and Saturday nights with a group of friends
• I usually do not drink more that 2 or 3 glasses of wine in an evening
• I do not see my aggressive efforts to get that group of friends together religiously every freakin' Friday and Saturday nights as cause for concern

So I spend a lot of time considering the impact of this bad news on my risk of recurrence, or more candidly, on my risk of dying within the next couple of years. I think that I have been aware of studies that indicated that there is an association between breast cancer and alcohol consumption for at least the last ten years. I never did much in response to this knowledge except feel guilty every time I had a drink. In fact, it was my guilt about drinking over the holidays that inspired me to do a punishing breast self exam on January 2, 2011 that got this blog started. 

So it's no surprise that I am certain I got breast cancer from alcohol consumption. You would think that this theory would put the kibosh on drinking, and through chemotherapy it did, mostly because I couldn't stand the taste of it then. Sadly, once I finished chemotherapy, my taste for alcohol returned. 

So I thought it might help to analyze here, in this public place, my risk of recurrence in connection with my alcohol consumption. A fairly pessimistic estimate, I think, of my risk of recurrence is about 20%  (my doctor tells me it is more like 8%, but I think he's just trying to cheer me up.) According to the latest study, drinking an average of 10.0 to 19.9 g of alcohol per day (6 to 12 drinks a week) results in a 22% increased risk of developing breast cancer. Although my average consumption is lower than that, I will continue with the worst case scenario approach. So adding the additional risk of .044 brings my personal risk of recurrence up to about 24%. So what do you think? Check out the new poll on the right. A couple of additional considerations to keep in mind as you place your votes:

• there is no evidence yet that discontinuing alcohol consumption lowers risk
• if I can't drink, life isn't worth living
• the anxiety that I feel with each drink might increase my risk of recurrence
• I am NOT an alcoholic 

Autumn Yoga

Happy Autumn, my friends. I've already written about changing seasons and their nostalgic associations so I won't do that again, but wanted to point out that I've selected a new background for the blog to celebrate the season. Too clever, I know.

So I thought I would give you a sense of what a yoga class with cancer patients is like. I used to like doing "hot yoga" which is basically fast yoga in a room heated to about 98 degrees. I was the least skilled at it, but it was so efficient. I got the benefit of yogic breathing and stretching in addition to the "cardio" that came from trying to keep up with the pace, and mimicking positions that hurt like hell and couldn't possibly have been good for me. But when I was in "downward dog", the resting position, I could see the sweat drip on the mat from body parts that I never knew could excrete sweat. Gross but gratifying.

Yoga with cancer patients is a different experience. I arrive at class five minutes late. No problem. The ladies (it is all ladies - with breast cancer) are still signing in, pulling out mats, strolling back and forth to the bathroom, the water fountain. Fifteen minutes after the class was scheduled to start the group is lined up, standing on their mats facing the instructor. The instructor talks for 10 minutes about the importance of breathing. The instructor tells us to swing our arms around our bodies to enjoy the "stretch" that comes with the slightest twist of the torso. Someone farts. We are instructed to pull up a chair, have a seat, breeaaaatttthhhhh. Stand up, grip the back of the chair, make sure we are well balanced, then (this is the climax of the class)  lean over to "stretch" our hamstrings. Someone farts.

Someone asks, "can you write down these steps so that I can do them at home?" Someone else says, "what a good idea! I only do this "exercise" in class. I should really try to do it more often." Someone farts.

Then the following conversation takes place:

"My daughter-in-law has been doing yoga for years, and she looks fabulous."
"Oh, is that the daughter with the twins?"
"Yes. I spent the afternoon with them yesterday. They are too funny."
"Did I tell you? My son's wife is due in December!"
"You must be so excited."
"Oh, I am. I hope I live long enough to meet the baby."

To those of us still bent over our chairs, the instructor says, "stand up straight and swing the arms to release the muscles, and breeaaaath." "Now it is time to lie down on our mats. Raise the knees and breeeeaaaaath." Relax your toes, relax your ankles (huh?), relax your knees, relax your buttocks, relax your pelvis (once again, huh?), relax your lower back, your stomach, your shoulders, your neck (you'll note one body part we needn't bother relaxing, since for most of us that body part is in a landfill somewhere).

Loud snoring is heard from the back of the room. Someone farts.

Farming Update

Dear Blogees,

BIG NEWS ON THE FARM!

Yes my friends, the hens have blessed us with...an egg. Just look at that thing! Is that beautiful or what! And for a first try it ain't too shabby. The picture below gives you some perspective:

Our is the little one on the end. Stop laughing! Those other, stinky, commercial ones, (though organic, free range, grain fed and whatever) are Extra Large. I would say that our egg would weigh in as Regular? Medium? Who knows. But that is one nice egg, you've got to admit. Check out the artful little speckles on one end.

There's just one problem. What should we do with it? I've got zero interest in eating that thing. I know where it came from and it's not a pretty place.

The husband has a web cam in the coop and he knew that the girls were getting close. So we both spent more time than we should have today checking out the goings on in the coop from our desks. I swear, we saw that girl sitting in her little box (lower left), prepare her little nest, and squat that thing out.

We are very proud egg guardians. I am especially proud of the husband who put in an inordinate amount of labor, love, and money to deliver that egg. When you think about it, that is one precious egg. (I'll have to google cryonics for chicken eggs...) Those birds better get busy if they want to even begin paying us back.

On another matter. I apologize for my last post. I "published" it by accident, unfinished, unedited, un-illustrated. But I guess it doesn't matter among friends.

Be well.
Love, Amy

Still Here

Yes, my friends. I ain't dead yet. I realize it's only been a week or so since my last post, but don't forget that in addition to cancer, there are buses that could run me over, criminals who might slit my throat, snakes that if they came too close could give me a heart attack, and all kinds of other dangers out there that could knock me off, or you off, for that matter.

Don't mean to bring you down. I am feeling rather cheerful this morning, really. The annual physical went okay yesterday, although the suggestions for additional medical consultations could pretty much fill all my time:  dermatologist, bone density, genetic testing, questions for radiologist, questions for oncologist, future appointments with her. Add to that all of the consultations that will be required for exploring and possibly implementing breast reconstruction...you begin to wonder about quality of life after cancer diagnosis. Maybe I should take a walk across the Mass Pike.

Still sounding a bit negative, am I? Okay. This time I will really try. I am looking forward to the day. It is Saturday. The dogs let me sleep in until 7:30. I don't have to see any medical professionals today. The sun is shining. I am looking forward to a fun evening out with the husband. Maybe there's an egg in the chicken coop. My plan for the day is to rip out all of the withering vegetable plants from the garden which will make it look tidy and fertile. (Sometimes I prefer a garden that has nothing in it, to one that is filled with messy, dirty plants.) Tomorrow, good friends are coming to visit.

Phase IV - Life

Dear Friends,

Last Friday was my last day of radiation. Another milestone passed. This week I have no doctors' appointments. I can't say that my feeling is one of pure joy since there is plenty to worry about if I wanted to. For the most part I have been successful in not focusing on the uncertainty and the 10% chance that there are still some devil cells hiding out, regrouping and steeling themselves for the slaughter. But now that I am not receiving very frequent treatment it may be harder to push those thoughts away. On the other hand, every three weeks for the next seven or eight months I will receive a mini infusion of chemotherapy, and every day for the next five years I will take an oral form of chemotherapy. I will also see my oncologist every six weeks. So my treatment isn't exactly over, which is some comfort.

The one thing that doesn't happen with this cancer is regular CAT scans - at least at this stage. This is a relief. I guess they figure that no good will come from discovering renegade tumors after all this treatment. If those nasty, little cells were able to survive eight months of chemo blasting, we might as well give up since no amount of early detection will save me.

I have my annual physical next week. Remember the jealous internist who was sad about missing all the cancer drama? Well she's making me come in the first week of October. I know it is silly, but I am terrified of that appointment. I am sure she will find a new cancer threat to worry about. Cancer, cancer, cancer. Every health professional on the planet is so eager to find cancer: the internist looks for lumps and tests your blood hoping to find whacked out readings that might suggest there are tumors in your kidneys, your liver, your intestines or your blood. The gynecologist also enjoys finding internal malformations and taking cells out of your personals to look for cancer. The dermatologist looks for god-only-knows what since every blemish on the body looks like cancer to me. Even the dentist likes to do a kind of mammogram of your head to look for tumors in the jaw or some crazy place. There is no limit to the creativity of cancer to find new body parts to chew up. You got to admire it, really. Cancer has every characteristic that my father used to try to grind into me: determination, tenacity, guts, imagination...no wonder it is so successful.

So the question is what to do with this blog. The original idea was to keep you all posted on my progress. Now that the treatment is pretty much done and there is nothing to do but wait to see how long I live, there won't be much to report until something terrible happens, in which case I may not feel like writing about it here. On the other hand, if I don't write this blog you might think I'm dead. You could just assume I am alive until the husband posts an epilogue on the blog. Another option is for me to write occasional, boring updates on my gloriously, humdrum existence. Lets go with the last option...for now.

Thank you all for supporting me through this ordeal. Your help with meals, gifts, companionship and kind words made me feel more lucky than unlucky. Thank you also for reading and commenting on these posts and for letting me know that now and then they made you laugh.

Until the next time I have something to say...

xoxoxox