Check Your Tatas

  Today's post comes from Anne. I met Anne on twitter. Anne was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 28 years old. Today Anne is sharing with us the importance of knowing your body! Anne's blog is Fight Like a Girl and you can follow her on twitter here.

Check Your Tatas! 
by Anne 
 

Let's just get this out there -- self breast exams are not fun; they're kinda creepy and uncomfortable. Who does those anyways? Why would I need to do that? I'm so young!

I'll be the first to admit: I never did these. Ever. I ignorantly thought that because there is no cancer history in my family and I'm under 40 {heck, still under 30!} that I was immune to this.

How did I discover my lump? I accidentally found it myself in the shower. By the grace of God. I brought it up to my OB and had him check it. Because I was actively trying to get pregnant, he decided to follow up on it and have it ultrasounded. He also sympathetically said "Anne, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just a cyst". The radiologist's report came back "Solid mass, suspicious, follow up with biopsy".

So away to the breast specialist I went. He also told me "This doesn't look like cancer to me, if I thought it was, I'd tell you. But it has an odd shape, let's biopsy it just to be sure". Well I'm here to tell you that after 2 different doctors told me I'd be fine, and it was nothing -- it WAS something: a 7x9mm cancerous tumor.

Women need to be their own best advocate when it comes to their health. If you think something is weird and aren't sure about it, follow up! Have it checked out. Don't let anyone tell you that you're too young. It's better to be safe than sorry. If I would've let those doctors brush me off, I would've been in a much worse place than I am now. You women CAN and DO get breast cancer. But because my cancer was caught early - stage 1 - I have a 98% chance of survival and a long life.
 

Here are a few excellent resources about self breast exams:

• BreastCancer.org
• SusanGKomen
• Be Bright Pink

This is such a "taboo" topic to discuss but the more we know, the more empowered we are!

Cancer

Diane and I last year

Today's guest post is also from an Avon walker. I met Diane last year when I did my first Avon walk. She stayed by my side last year and encouraged me to walk the entire thing - which was extremely important to me. Even when I yelled at her and didn't want to take another step! We walked together again this year, and will walk again next year. Diane has endless amounts of energy and a spring in her step! I'm so glad we are One More Mile teammates! Diane is a physical therapist by day and an avid sewer and wonderful grandmother by night.

Cancer
by Diane

Cancer....something evil or malignant that spreads destructively .  This is  one of the definitions I found when looking in the dictionary and  I tend to agree. This powerful disease has not affected me personally  since my brother passed away in 1974 of Leukemia. Cancer has invaded my friends and their families.  It has been evil and destructive to their lives, changing their course forever. Throughout the years I have become more saddened as Cancer infected those around me.  I have felt devastated and  helpless because I could not fully understand their battles and the feelings that enveloped the victims. Over  the past few years I finally decided that I CAN and will make a difference.

 

Diane, always with a smile on her face!

This past year especially has been one with a variety of mood swings when it comes to cancer in my life.  Two of the most amazing ladies I know are breast cancer survivors.  Sue is a 6 yr survivor and Brandie a mere 34 is a 1 ½ yr survivor.  They have both taught me what courage and faith is about.

Two years ago I found out a friend of mines daughter in law was diagnosed with Breast Cancer at the age of 33.  She began treatments and is doing well.  An amazing young lady who has never lost faith. 

Just recently a friend of mine became an angel in heaven.  She was diagnosed with Breast Cancer  and after treatment for that she was diagnosed with Brain Cancer and passed away recently.  She was a wonderful lady who made everyone smile.

Last fall I lost a very special patient.  She was diagnosed several years ago with stage 4 breast  cancer which then metastasized to the bone.  After fighting for several years she stopped her treatments and put everything in Gods hands.  Margaret lived everyday to its fullest.  She gave life all she could.  This courageous individual taught me that even though obstacles get in our way we must fight these battles to the best of our abilities.  She touched my heart, filled my soul & changed me as a person forever

Almost a year ago very good friend  lost her father to colon cancer after a courageous fight

Diane, me and team Amazeboobs

If Margaret, Polly, Maggie, Brandie, Sue  and  Curtis & hundreds of thousands of others I don't know can fight the battle for their lives who am I not to stand in the trenches & fight with them? I have made fighting cancer my mission, if I can help others become aware of the necessity to become involved fighting the fight then I have completed my mission This will not be an easy task as each day hundreds of individuals are diagnosed with cancer. If I can educate others, your Mom might be around in a few years, your daughter won't be 35 years old fighting for her life & I will know in my heart that I made my angels Polly & Margaret proud.

I have chosen to walk each year in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer because I feel this is my mission.  I feel so right to walk and raise funds that will help educate others and hopefully one day put an end to this disease.  Though this is a devastating illness and I can only imagine the challenges victims face I know in my heart that I am in it to end it and I pray that one day this will be no more.

Why I Walk

Jen with her daughters

Today's guest post come from Jen. I met Jen on twitter last year, after writing about why I walked in the Avon Walk. Jen also walks (though not in Chicago) and we hit it off right away! Jen is a mother to two girls, she likes to craft and she's very passionate about her baseball! You can read her blog, Raising Nats Fans, or follow her on twitter!




Why I Walk
by Jen


I’ve posted bits and pieces of why I walk in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer every year. Why I skip … hop … walk … trudge … plod 39.3 miles year after year. All those verbs – because on different legs of that journey I have varying levels of energy.

Her first walk in 2010

Confession: it started out of spite. I picked up the flyer about the walk in the fall of 2009. It was a tough time in my life. And someone saw it and said “you would NEVER do that.” I’m a Jersey girl, and a part Irish one at that. The gauntlet was thrown and I embraced the challenge. I needed an outlet for some energy and some emotion, and I found it in a place I could focus my training with a specific goal in mind.

I hadn’t intended to do it after the first year. Until I started the fundraising, and I got so many comments along with my donations.

“Donating in memory of my wife.” I hadn’t known that was how he’d lost his wife.  
“Giving in honor of my mom.” I hadn’t known her mom was battling.
I’d mostly thought my world wasn’t touched by breast cancer at all. One of my dearest friends lost her mother-in-law after a several year battle, but that was all I had known. Donation after donation rolled in, with personal story after personal story. These people were friends of mine, and friends of my family. Co workers, and friends of friends, and EVERYONE had a personal reason for giving. And I had no idea.

Finish line in 2012

How had I not known? Why don’t we talk about it? I have two little girls, and I walk so that someday they won’t have to walk. They know the breast cancer ribbon and the significance of pink. And they talk about the effort the Avon Walk makes in the local community. “Mom, we know you walk so that some ladies who need help in Washington can get the help they need. We want to walk with you when we are old enough.” And I want them to follow through – to walk with me. But more than that, I want a world without breast cancer. So they don’t even have to walk. So they can throw their efforts behind another cause that they believe in.

I picked the Avon Walk at first because it was convenient. (As convenient as 39 miles can be. HA!) And because I needed the challenge. I needed to prove to myself that I could push to the limit and see the reward of the finish line. Along the way, I found that it does exactly what we need. It reaches out to inner city families. To folks who could not otherwise get the care they so desperately need. To women who need help with meals – with creating normal for their families as they fight to live another day.

At the 2013 walk

And to fund research at institutions locally – so that the survivors aren’t just surviving, but are thriving in their lives. Not just plodding through the days, though there will be days like that, but embracing the glory of another day to celebrate life beyond cancer.

5 years later, spite is long gone. I’m emotionally recovered from the need to walk for reasons of self healing. I am thankful for grace that has allowed me to begin again.  I am still walking – we’re at 156 official miles logged and counting. I now walk for all the women who are fighting every day. My aunt. My classmate. My friend’s mom. My friend. I hardly feel old enough to say “my friend has breast cancer”. But that’s reality. I am 37 and my friend is battling. The more years I walk, the more people I know that are impacted. I walk to reverse the trend. So that as the years go by, I know fewer people who have breast cancer turning their lives upside down.  

PS To read more about my connections to brave survivors, click over here and here.  And to read the journey of the 2013 walk, including the 248,000 PB&J graham cracker sandwiches, you can see that here.

Iron wins

Warning: this post is long and might seem jumbly. I apologize in advance but thank you if you manage to read to the bottom! 

So, yesterday I went in for the iron treatment. We were trying a different form of iron - one that is supposed to be easier to tolerate. The one they give to people who are usually allergic to iron and it's usually fine.

I went in nervous. Last time I was in the infusion room I was getting iron. And it ended badly. But I was also hopeful. It was supposed to work. We were going to start with a test dose. And then, after an hour, if it went well, I would get the full dose. And maybe not be exhausted for a little bit.

So, we got the test dose. It takes 5 minutes. Then they stop it. And watch me. Not in a creepy-we're-going-to-stand-1-inch-from-you-and-watch-you but the nurses were circling often and keeping an eye on me.

After a few minutes, I looked at my husband and said "my cheek itches." He asked if he should tell the nurses and I said no because one itch isn't an allergic reaction. Yet. I might have had a few more itches. And I thought if I just ignore it, if I just don't itch, it will all go away.

A few minutes later "Is my face red? It feels hot?" No, he said, it wasn't red. So naturally I wondered if it was all just in my head. He asked again if he should get a nurse and I said no, not yet. But I was starting to feel uncomfortable. My face was so hot I would have told you in the moment it was literally a million degrees (obviously though, it wasn't) and the itching was getting worse.

I started looking for a nurse and was just about to tell the husband to go get one, when one came over. "How are you doing?" with a hint of concern in her voice. "Yeah, my face is hot. And I'm itching" At this point my face was red to look at and within minutes I was an itchy mess.

10 minutes after the test dose. I asked my husband to hold my hand so I couldn't scratch. Then I'd tell him to let it go so I could itch. At this point I was getting benedryl and (I think) some steroids in my IV. I told them I had to go to the bathroom, with my flaming red face that I was scratching away at. One nurse commented that feeling like you had to go to the bathroom was common with an iron allergy. Except, I really had to go. So I think I told them about a dozen times I was going to pee my pants if I couldn't go to the bathroom. During all this they are taking my blood pressure, my pulse, my temperature, possibly pushing more medicine. There were 2 or 3 nurses by me - I don't quite remember. All I knew was I was going to pee my pants.

They were done doing what they were doing and told me I could go. I stood up. I went back down. Not so much fall,but me feeling light-headed, the room spinning, and knowing if I didn't sit down I was going to meet the floor pretty quickly. And also, I was going to pee my pants. I was convinced I was going to pee my pants. I'm sure everyone else was thinking about other things. [Side note: my husband said that I actually only said I was going to pee pants a couple times.]

I was rolled to the bathroom though. In a rolly chair. Which totally made sense to me at the time. I don't think they had wheelchairs back there so the rolly chair did the trick.

Anyway, came back, laid down and started shaking. All over. My hands went completely cold and clammy. I couldn't stop shaking. I kept trying but I couldn't. And my face was still on fire. I had a washcloth on it. Then they were checking me for a fever - apparently my temperature was starting to climb. They called it something. I'd swear a million bucks they said "she has Raymond". I also know that's probably not at all what they said either. So then I was given some demerol. And oh, I had to go to the bathroom again. In my mind all of this took place in mere minutes. I know it wasn't, but benadryl makes me a little loopy. And the demerol pretty much sent me into the completely drugged out zone.

But they wheeled me to the bathroom. And when we got back to the chair, I felt exhausted. I just needed to sleep. I was kind of falling asleep when the doctor came to talk to me. I think I mostly remember what we talked about, though I'm not sure at the time my responses to him made any sense. In my defense, I was pretty drugged up. I do remember he told me we wouldn't try any more iron for now. He told me to keep doing what I was doing at home. I also remember I told him I was just tired all the time and what could we do. Here's where I heard the most crushing thing - possibly we can do nothing. Being exhausted might be my new normal. Not what I wanted to hear, but I'll come back to this. After the doctor left, I just wanted to sleep.

Now, here's where things get weird. I was laying in the chair, resting, totally drugged up. I felt like my body was going numb. I thought I was dying.

[Note: I was not, and am not dying. Nothing even happened that I would consider an emergency. This was entirely in my head.]

But I felt dread. That with my body feeling numb (except it wasn't quite numb, almost weightless, like it wasn't there, if that makes any sense at all). I really thought this was it. Once, if not twice, the IV started beeping. I actually said "I'm dead now." It was very surreal feeling. But I wasn't scared. I didn't feel panicky. I was just so tired. This feeling came and went several times yesterday - even after I came home. I have no doubt it was the combination of the drugs, the allergic reaction, and my exhaustion messing with me.

Today I still feel exhausted (though I did make it to work and worked a full day) but the fatigue is lingering. I woke up feeling like I had a hang-over, but without the fun of the drinking.

But I keep going back to what the doctor said - this tiredness may be my new normal. I can't lie, it feels crushing. I just want to feel good. I just want to feel healthy. I just want to be energetic, bouncing around, ready to go. I don't like having to plan things around naps, or planning a late start knowing the day before I'll be going all day, so I'll need to sleep for several extra hours.

In the grand scheme of things it isn't a huge deal. It could be worse. I've been through worse. But still, the fatigue lingers on and on. And I'm so tired of feeling tired. It's almost as if feeling tired makes me feel more tired. It just weighs on me. I had a period this summer where I did feel pretty good and my blood work looked good, but it just bombed again. And I really dislike it.

On one hand I don't want to accept it, I want to fight it. But, let's be honest, I'm too darn tired. I'll keep eating well and do what I can. And amidst of all of that, I'm going to have to step back at times and accept I can't do it all (but, really, I never could do it all).

So. Yeah. That's where things stand. Sorry if it's a bit rambly!

Random Sputterings

Ginnie after graduation rapids on our trip!

Today, October 13, is metastatic breast cancer awareness day. Metastatic breast cancer (MBC) is the kind of breast cancer that kills 40,000 women in America every year.

Today I'm sharing a post by Ginnie. I met Ginnie when I went on my First Descents trip in August. Ginnie has stage iv (metastatic) breast cancer. I asked her to write for me and thankfully she said she would. Though I haven't known Ginnie for very long, her piece sounds exactly like her and I love that she is sharing with us today! Obviously, I picked Ginnie's piece to share today since it MBC Awareness day and she is living with MBC.

Without further ado, here is Ginnie's piece!

Random Sputterings by Ginnie

Ginnie and I bonding over our compression sleeves!

It’s October again and we all know what that means, it’s all about me!  And by me of course I mean all of us that have been affected by this super awesome and popular disease called breast cancer.  Aren’t I lucky? I have a whole month of people telling me all about how “aware” they are of breast cancer and giving me statistics about it.  Well I have to say I really don’t care about any of those statistics.  I am one of the “lucky” few that is metastatic, meaning that the breast cancer has already spread into another area of my body.  For me it is my liver and abdominal lymph nodes, for others it could be somewhere else like bones or brain.  So the only statistic I care about was back in January when my oncologist said I could die in two months or maybe make it to two years.

So before I ramble on let me give you a little background on me.  I was 29 when I went to my doctor about this weird lump in my armpit that I had noticed off and on for at least a year.  I was in nursing school and we were learning how to do breast exams and what lumps felt like.  I guess I got more experience than anyone else that day because I got to feel a real lump.  I saw my GP’s resident who told me not to worry about it because it was probably nothing but let’s just schedule an ultrasound to be sure.  Well the ultrasound wasn’t too bad and the doctor then said let’s schedule a mammogram and biopsy to look at my breast to check again.  Later that evening the breast surgeon called me at home and told me that I did in fact have breast cancer and I needed to do an MRI that night to check if it had spread at all.  It had, but only into the lymph nodes in my armpit. So I immediately started the most intense chemo that they had because I was young and “healthy”. Within a week of my first dose of chemo I went to the ER with the most awful pain I have ever felt to this day.  I was admitted to the hospital and then promptly coded and almost died.   

Luckily that staff was all over me and I woke up to a lot of strange people all around me and my mom crying in the corner of my room.  After that it just got more interesting but I’ll skip all the details and tell you that I did chemo, a bilateral mastectomy with lymph node dissection, more chemo, radiation and more surgeries.  Throughout all of this I was totally fine with having cancer.  It never bothered me and people always told me how positive I was or what a great attitude I had.  I have to say though it just never occurred to me to be upset about it.  Except once, the day it sank in that I was never going to have biological children.  I remember talking with my mom about it and sobbing hysterically.  We even talked about going to a fertility doctor and getting inseminated so I could have a baby before I started all my treatment.  I visited a fertility expert to find out what my options were, but I was not comfortable with the risks associated with those options so I decided to do nothing.  My doctor was insistent that I have my ovaries removed to lower my risk of recurrence but I refused in the hope that maybe, just maybe I could get pregnant when this was all over. 

 

So fast forward two years later and I discovered that there is never going to be an “all over”, I am going to die.  I am never going to have a child.  I am never going to get married and have a normal life.  I find that I can’t even really think of dating now, because how to you tell someone that you want to get to know them but oh wait I might die this year or next if I’m lucky.  That’s just not a conversation I want to have.  So I know that most women and men that have terminal cancer are older than I am.  Sure there are people like me that are younger, but for the most part people have already lived a long life and made a family and have people who love them more than anything.  I can’t help but be bitter over the fact that I waited to start my life and now I don’t get to have one.  I struggle with this pretty much every day in some way.  I am lucky in that I have a father who tries to help me when he can and two older brothers and sisters-in-law that have tried to be supportive.  My main support was always my mom, she was my best friend and rock until she died from Stage IV pancreatic cancer.  I am still dealing with issues that have resulted from that.

The only thing keeping me sane at this point is my bucket list.  There have been things I have always planned on doing but never did because life got in the way and now that I have lost my job thanks to cancer, I have plenty of time to do things.  I would tell any terminal patient or even anyone in general to do the things that will make you happy.  If there is a trip you always wanted to take but couldn’t, take it now.  Don’t wait.  I realize that I have been lucky because the chemo I was on all year didn’t make me very sick and that that isn’t the case with everyone.  I really believe that the reason I still feel great is that I have taken the time away to do these things.  I went skydiving in Ottawa and it was fantastic!  I left Chicago in June to drive old Route 66 to Los Angeles and had a great time discovering things along the way.  I spent time with cousins I hadn’t seen in years.  I drove up the California coast.  I visited wine county and went to a wine tasting.  I hiked Yosemite and ran into a bear that thankfully didn’t think I looked like dinner.  I drove through the desert of Nevada all by myself in my little car with more than a hundred miles of not seeing another person.  I visited the most beautiful National Parks and saw the most amazing scenery God ever created.  I met up with an aunt I hadn’t seen in years. I got to drive through the midwest and feel the breeze on my face and just enjoy my time without any thought for my disease.  I made it back to Chicago at the end of July.  After that I flew to Austin to visit my cousin and cross off some more things off of my list.  Then in August I drove out to Washington, D.C. to participate in a kayaking retreat for young adult cancer survivors.  It was awesome being able to meet more people that have gone through the same things I have and that I could relate to.  The next place I went was South Carolina to see the Atlantic ocean.  I figured since I drove all the way to the Pacific I had to finish my journey by crossing the entire continent.  I am looking forward to my next adventure even though I have no idea what I want to do next.  Hopefully I will figure out something soon. 

So what, you ask was the point of this blog? I have no idea.  I have chemo-brain.

P.S. If you'd like to learn more about MBC, here is what I shared about it 2 years ago.