I mean it.  I just don’t have the time for this.  But, I must make time for it.  For the weekly trips to Soignies Hospital for blood draws, for timing out medications, for days that seem to go forever getting chemotherapy and for the downtime I have never enjoyed.  This bout with cancer is cramping my style in so many ways.  The hair loss continues to be one of the hardest things for me.  I know that paints me as being very vain but I’m being honest.  Last February, I bought a jacket for this winter.  It is an army green color with a faux fur hood.  When I purchased it, I imagined my hair almost a year longer.  I am a girly girl but with my longer, highlighted hair, I felt that I could pull off an army green jacket.  Putting it on this winter doesn’t feel the same.   I tuck the ends of my scarf that covers my bald head into the collar and it doesn’t feel stylish. It feels boyish.  I feel like either a fat baby or an alien or a combo of the both at all times in my life.  This doesn’t ever change.  There are other side affects (or is it effects)?  Let me stray for a second.  I love grammar so if someone has an easy tip for remembering when to use affect and when to use effect, please clue me in.  I know that affect is most often a verb and can be used to show an influence whereas effect is often a noun and is used as a result.  But their distinctions are too similar to me.  So, let’s go with effect as in side effects.  continuing on…  side effects that affect me (see what I did?  Like that?) in ways that by the grace of God, I am able to push to a deep corner and all but ignore them.  When a cancer patient talks about the pain or the nausea, it is almost ever-present.  I am no exception.  I don’t think anyone battling cancer is.  And these side effects take time.  I have had more unwanted downtime since I began chemotherapy in August than I can remember taking in the last 20 years (or maybe ever).  Despite knowing the rest is so good for me, my soul is fed by being around people I love and doing things that make me feel like I can make a difference.  I feel that these things are helping me recover; and make no mistake, I am recovering!!

It’s been a while since I’ve been at the computer so let me catch you up.  I haven’t made the time to blog in a month so a lot has happened.  My 4th round of chemo happened on 25 October.  I was excited for this day for a couple of reasons.  It was my first dose of a different chemo cocktail.  I was looking forward to my body having a new ammo to battle this cancer.  I pictured it like a soldier getting a brand new, ultra modern weapon.  I was also scheduled for a mammogram to see if the chemo was making any difference in the tumor size.  The hope was that having chemo before surgery would help contain the cancer and stop it from spreading.  I have an aggressive, invasive type of cancer that is HER2 Triple Positive.  The doctors told me that I would have liked to have seen at least one negative in that diagnosis but that the triple positive cancers are becoming treatable.  In the past, that was a very bad thing.  But, modern medicine and science have made the triple positive diagnosis not as deadly as it was in days gone by.  They treat it very aggressively because it is one of the most difficult to treat.  Because it is not just estrogen based and rather it has estrogen and progestogen receptors, this cancer often finds ways to reject chemo or fight it.  It continues to spread very aggressively throughout the body often getting chemo.  They do not like to do surgery first for Triple Positive cancer patients because of the risk of an open body spread.  The cancer for me, was not caught early.  There was huge concern in the early days of diagnosis that it had spread throughout my body.  Those initial days were extremely tough as we waited to hear and were told to expect a spread.  Again, I credit higher powers that the cancer had spread only to my lymph nodes, which will be removed during surgery.  So…  back to the hope – which I have a huge abundance of.  The hope was that the chemo was working to at least contain and possibly shrink the tumor.  I can tell you that I have never seen my doctor really smile.  Not really.  There have been polite smiles but nothing that spread joy on his face like a real smile.  I got that smile on October 25th.  The first order of business that day was my mammogram before chemo.  I told every technician in the room that they were going to see all good things.  That they were going to report that the chemo was doing it’s job.  Unlike the doctors, they are always willing to offer encouragement and I like that about them.  Even if it’s false at times for some patients.  I’ll take it, even though I didn’t believe it to be false in my case.  During chemo, it is standard for me to have a one-on-one with my doctor.  My superstar doctor, Dr. Patrick Neven, came to get me in my comfy chemo chair and called me to a closed room.  He brought up my scans.  There were two of them side by side.  The first mammogram in August and the one I had taken earlier that day.  He was silent as he clicked back and forth, enlarging images and studying them.  He didn’t address me but he picked up the phone and spoke Dutch to whoever was on the other end.  Dr. Neven told me that he wanted to talk to the radiologists who took the scans in person before he spoke with me and he all but ran out of the room.  Dr. Neven was back in about ten minutes and he walked in the door with a genuine, toothy grin.  I said “This is good news, isn’t it?” and he said “Very good news!  Your tumor appears to have melted.”  Melted.  It’s not a word I imagine many American Breast Cancer Oncologists to use, but it has become one of my new favorite words.  He continued to show me the images and even drew a picture on a piece of paper for me to take home.  He explained that the tumor is responding very positively to the chemo treatment and that our surgery options are most likely going to change from a double mastectomy to something far less aggressive.  We won’t really know what surgery options I will have until after my 6th and final pre-surgery chemotherapy treatment.  The tumor has gotten so small that after I finished my fourth round of chemo that day, I was instructed to go back down to radiology where they were keeping the department open just for me.  Dr. Neven instructed the radiology team to do a minor procedure directly after that fourth round to clamp the tumor.  They did this because Dr. Neven is concerned that he will not find the tumor after three more rounds of chemo.  I was in tears the rest of the day.   Mark’s parents were visiting and they were out sight-seeing in beautiful Leuven when I received all of the welcomed news.  I couldn’t talk because of the lump in my throat so I texted Mark the photo that Dr. Neven drew.  He called me back and I was able to repeat the conversation.  I could hear the relief and joy in his voice.  What a gift!!  It seemed like such a pay off for the faith that I have had, for the down time I’ve taken, for the instructions that I’ve followed, for the meditation I’ve focussed on this tumor, for the hair loss and the juicing and the dietary changes and the other side effects that I won’t mention because most of them are not pretty.

Fast forward four more weeks.  I just had my fifth round of chemo last Friday and all is well.  Since that amazing day in October, I have been walking on clouds.  We all went to Germany to watch Jacqueline Molly play volleyball at the European championships and we had an amazing few days in Ireland, showing Mark’s parents  (Grammy and Poppy) around one of our favorite cities.  It was our third trip to Dublin so we were able to share with them the beautiful Wicklow Gap mountain loop drive that we find so peaceful.  It was a packed few days as we took in the Guinness brewery, the Jameson distillery, a Traditional Irish Music Pub Crawl, a Traditional Celtic Irish Dance and Dinner night and a more macabre haunted Dublin bus ride. Getting back to Belgium, we did a day trip to a French castle and came home to celebrate an early thanksgiving before Grammy and Poppy headed back stateside.

We are currently enjoying yet another opportunity to be a part of the award-winning SHAPE Performing Arts Centre.  Jacqueline Molly is part of the ensemble and has a part that has her changing costumes four times as well as dancing on top of a desk (like mother, like daughter – right Nana?!).  I assisted with property design which was a lot of fun and while I’m not creative, property design often feels like a scavenger hunt.  Finding items like authentic 1960’s glassware or liquor bottles was a lot of fun.  This production goes on for another 6 shows.

Most on my mind right now though is my twin sister and my awesome nieces’ visit!  I am literally crawling out of my skin to see them!  My sister Jackie, made plans to visit as soon as she found out that I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She was coming by herself but that changed when my sweet niece decided to make bracelets in my honor.  Jackie told me that Chloe felt helpless, as I imagine many family members and loved ones feel when confronted with a possibly terminal illness of someone they love.  Chloe wanted to feel like she could do something so she made pink bracelets for all of our family members.  Soon after, she received requests for more.  She decided to ask for a $10 donation to supply her with the materials and any money left over, she would add to her saved up allowance and use it to come to see me when Jackie came.  That dream came true for her (and us) as so many of our beloved friends chipped in and bought bracelets.  I wear my pink bracelet every single day and it reminds me of the love she feels for me and the love of so many friends who made it possible for Chloe to feel involved and send her into my arms and reassure her that I will be okay.  Jackie and Chloe arrive here in 9 days and I cannot contain myself.  I can’t wait to show Chloe around Paris for a day and take in a Christmas market.  Most importantly, they will be by my side when I receive my final pre-surgical chemotherapy.  It feels symbolic and joyous and monumental.  Holding their hands as the toxins get pumped into me will be empowering to battle the side effects that I truly do not have time for but will make time for out of necessity.

Nothing but good things.  It’s been something I’ve uttered so many times in this battle against cancer.  I will it.  I put it out to God and the universe.  And it happens.  As I look over my desk while I’m typing this, I see the usual desk of someone not in perfect health.  It is covered with prescriptions and over-the-counter drugs and tissues.  I have notes about when to take what medicine and papers taped to the monitor with phone numbers of different doctors and clinics.  But all I feel is the optimism of all good things. I think about the people who have been placed in my path due to this blip in my life.  The encouragement and love from friends and family that buoy my recovery in ways they will never know.  These words of support that keep my attitude where I need it to be.  I am looking forward to a 17th anniversary in a few weeks.  The opportunity of living in the heart of Europe makes it affordable to take a quick flight to Milan for an overnight anniversary date with my soul mate.  Soon after that, James will be home and I will bask in the incredible feeling of having both my chicks under one roof.  Life is good.  Even if I have to make time for the things that I never imagined having to make time for.

For all of this, I am THANKFUL!!

Before I hit publish, I’d like to remind anyone reading that I do not proofread this.  This is meant to be just a blog.  Nothing special.  I want to keep my friends and family updated and in my often chemo-hazed brain, I make mistakes in my writing.  I will be all over the map in terms of subject but I hope that you are updated and maybe even entertained for a second.