Rad Grad

Today was my last day of radiation. I got a diploma and everything. The staff members, who have been my friends and confidants over the last five weeks, all asked me what I was doing to celebrate. But I didn't have an answer, since I haven't really planned anything. I said lame things like the hubby will take me out to lunch, and I'm watching the grandbaby, and my daughter is being honored by the principal tonight (way to go Nat!) so we're doing that instead. But I think the reason I haven't made real plans is that I'm feeling strangely ambivalent about the whole thing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to stop going to the hospital everyday to get baked. (Which has kept me so busy I haven't had the time and/or focus to write about it. More on that later, I hope.)

It's just that I'm not really feeling like this is the end of anything.

For one thing, I've been told that the burn I'm feeling right now is from treatments of a couple weeks ago, so I'll continue to fry from within for a couple more weeks. And the fatigue will increase for a month or so while my body tries to recuperate. 'The End' was a lot more exciting before they told me that.

Then there's the lymphedema. I'll get back into weekly treatments for that this week. And in three weeks I get to be put back into menopause with the first of monthly (or so) injections. I'll also have another of my regular heart exams which requires an injection of radioactive material ("don't worry, it's perfectly safe"). Plus there's the chemo drug Herceptin that I'll be getting every three weeks through November. And in four weeks I'll start heart tests and blood work for my reconstructive surgery, which, if all goes well, will happen in six weeks.

So you see why I'm not feeling exactly...done. More like Mark my tech called me when I finished the treatment today: "Medium rare." Ding.

Racing for the Cure

So I've decided to Race for the Cure this Saturday at the Gateway, despite the whole Colonel Blunder. My girls wanted to form our own team, so we're (appropriately) called 'Just Keep Swimming'. I was asked to ask ten friends to donate ten bucks to the cause. If there's one skill I totally don't have it's raising money (just ask my hubby). So I'm counting this as asking ten friends, since I know a whole bunch more of you than that will be reading this. If you feel so inclined to help the cause, you can find our team website at: http://www.komenslc.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.team&eventID=501&teamID=5812.

And if you happen to be at the Gateway this Saturday, please look for me. I can use a hug or two. I'll be the one in pink. And if you need another clue, I'll also be the one with about 1/4" of black stubble all over her head! =)

Say it ain't so...

I'm really big on cancer research. Especially breast cancer research. I'd really like to make this bad guy go away. I've got my pink ribbon on the right to prove it. And I've been planning on participating in the Susan B. Komen Race for a Cure in a couple weeks.

But when I got an email with this picture today, I thought it must be hoax.

So I did a search and found out it's for real. Here's the link:

http://www.bucketsforthecure.com/

I just don't know what to think. Buy deep-fried, hormone-laden chicken to help cure cancer?

And it's working. Money is going to the cause. So that's good. Isn't it?

Oh the Drama

Guess what happens when you cry off and on for three days while on the chemo drug Herceptin and undergoing radiation?

Your EYELASHES FALL OUT!!!!

Yep, that's right. After surviving six rounds of chemotherapy, the lashes finally came out. Not all of them. Just about a third on the top. And all but one (for now) on the bottom.

I really don't know which of those things--the emotions, the radiation or the Herceptin (the most likely candidate) is the culprit. I guess it doesn't really matter. Except that I'll be doing this Herceptin for a whole year.

But it's funny how something that seems outrageous and incomprehensible at first, can become something to shrug off by the time it actually happens.

The good news is that those emotions have stabilized and we (the family) are feeling ready to move onto the next challenge. (And if you're wondering why the tears - I removed my last post for the sake of a certain family member who requested privacy. But call me if you know me, and I'll give you all the dramatic details.) =)