chemotherapy

Summer 2025

/ Elizabeth / 1 Comment

I can’t believe summer is drawing to a close.  It was rather a mixed bag this year but I still feel like I’m not ready for the hectic back-to-school and work schedules to begin.  I managed to survive my six weeks of radiation in fairly good shape.  Yes, I was tired but the fact I had to drive 30 minutes to and from treatment every day (Monday – Friday) all while swim team practice was going on was the real pain.  The treatment itself was painless and short, although overall still unpleasant in terms of a big machine moving into and out of my personal space.  For the final session, I brought two of my boys with me and they got to throw confetti in my face as I came out of the room – a big selling point!   It was a great feeling to complete that phase of treatment and have our schedule open up and become much more relaxed again. 

A few weeks ago, I started working with a holistic doctor that specializes in cancer recovery.  She put me on a baseline nutrition/exercise plan while we are waiting for lots of lab work and testing to come back.  I already feel so much better as far as my energy goes.  It was fairly eye-opening to see how deficient I was nutritionally.  As we get results from my testing back, we’ll hone in and customize the plan more and more, adding supplements if safe and needed

A couple of weeks ago I managed to sneak away to LA for a couple of days to visit my dad, which was a real treat.  We went to the theater, ate out, and just generally relaxed before I returned home and had to start back at work again.  I must admit that returning to Texas was a bit of a slap in the face as far as how busy life is going to get again.  I don’t do well with full schedules, homework, waking up at the crack of dawn to get everyone out the door, all while trying to work and keep my sanity.  Even when we simplify, the very nature of working while having four kids is very difficult.  If it were up to me, we’d leave the suburbs, live on a farm and home school!

Having cancer has really put my priorities into perspective.  My time is precious and I don’t want to waste it on things that drain me or don’t bring me peace and fulfilment.  Because of this, I’ve decided not to return to school to continue my masters.  I have zero desire to return and I know I’m making the best decision for myself and family at this time.  It is simply too much on my shoulders to realistically manage.  Thankfully I was not that far into the requirements so it’s no real loss and I’ve felt a lot lighter since making the decision.  If I take any classes at all, I’d like to relearn how to play piano or take another writing class, or study classical music, even perhaps get involved in theater again, etc.  Certainly not anything related to nursing.  I want to get as far away from that as possible.

Tomorrow, I start my oral cancer medications, and I’ve got to say there’s a bit of anxiety attached to this.  It turns out my monthly injection isn’t that that bad.  The big needle isn’t very painful and it’s quick.  I put either ice or numbing cream on the area first so that helps.  There’s one other injection I get every six months I believe and then the two oral pills I start tomorrow.  I was also worried that I’d have to go off of one of my bipolar medications but it turns out all we need to do is adjust the dose so the plasma level is consistent on the new med, which hopefully goes smoothly once I get into the swing of things.  I have a big feeling of loss with starting these new meds for some reason.  Perhaps it is the unknowns of how they will make me feel.  Maybe it’s the uncertainty of how long I’ll have to take them exactly (I know 3 years at least) and then what follows from there?  Then there’s the fact that taking them makes me feel like a cancer patient all over again when all I want to do is put this behind me and move on with my new post-cancer life.  I’m feeling pretty good right now and don’t want to disrupt how I’m physically feeling these days.  I am hoping my new exercise and nutrition regime will help soothe any bad side effects I may have from it.  I will let you know how it goes.

I think that about catches you up!  I didn’t take that many pictures this summer unfortunately but here are a couple!

Good News and Setbacks

/ Elizabeth / 2 Comments

The good news – I survived my surgery!  Overall, it was a positive experience.  The surgery center was great and the staff put me at ease.  I was scared but not as terrified as I was for my chemo port placement even though this was a larger procedure.  They managed to perform the oncoplastic lumpectomy, a sentinel node biopsy where they removed 4 lymph nodes, and even removed my chemo port.  The only slightly embarrassing thing I remember was asking them before I went to sleep if they wanted me to sing them a little song.  I remember them saying, “Awwww!  Let’s hear it!”  I don’t know if I actually sang the entire thing or not before I fell asleep.

Next thing I knew I was being wheeled out to the recovery room telling all of them in a rather drunk fashion that they had done an amazing job.  They were laughing and told me that the surgery went great and all 4 lymph nodes came back negative.  I went home about 1.5hrs later with a pesky surgical drain attached to me, but overall felt pretty good.  I had a lot of pain from the lymph node removal for about a week and a half but it slowly seems to be getting better and is much improved now.

Now for the harder news.  Thursday, I had three different doctor appointments.  The first was with my oncologist to go over the pathology report.  The great news is that all the margins came back clear from my surgery and the data back on the cancer was reassuring this time.  Chemo had worked its magic and it had gone from being 2 large and aggressive tumors all the way down to one 4mm spot of cells that had lost their mojo for spreading viciously. 

Now I need to explain that I had always looked at my cancer journey as having three distinct phases. 1 – chemo, 2 – surgery, 3 – radiation.  Then came the next era of a couple of meds for a certain number of years and lots of healthy lifestyle changes.  I was excited to embark on a new cancer-free journey.  This way of approaching my treatment has allowed me to compartmentalize things and get through it step by step.  I was rarely overwhelmed because of this strategy.  I went to the see the oncologist that morning with naive excitement, pen and paper in hand to take notes.  The receptionist said I was glowing at the reception desk and I told her that I was excited to be back without having to do chemo and finally move on.  However, once there I felt like I was dealt blow after blow.  My medications will not be simple and it has created a very long 4th phase I was not anticipating.  For the next 3 years, I have 4 very strong medications to juggle that come with a long list of heavy-hitting side effects. 

  • Two large (and painful from what I hear) injections I need to receive every month for 3 years.  If I get my ovaries removed, I can eliminate one of them.  I’ll very likely need them removed either way after the treatment is done so this is something I’m seriously considering once everything settles down.
  • An infusion I need to receive every 6 months for 3 years.
  • An oral pill I need to take for 3 years.

I was crushed.  None of them were the meds I thought I was going to be on and had heavily researched.  The appointment was an hour long of listening to the regime and side effects but also of the strong research that supported taking them.  I am so grateful for my oncologist and medical team.  I trust her experience, intelligence and compassion.  There is no question there.  But to be expecting one thing you thought would be easy and then learning it’s actually going to be another long, difficult process was crushing for me.  I was so excited to be nearing the finish line after months of difficult treatment.  I was sad and deeply disappointed.  It’s like seeing the finish-line of a marathon and then the officials decide they’ll just move it across state.  I sat there as she spoke trying to process what she was saying.  David, who saw me freeze with my pen and paper, quietly took the notebook from my lap and began writing all the notes for me.  Then I learned the medications also have a drug interaction with one of the meds I take to manage my bipolar disorder and there is no alternative in its same class to replace it with.  This was another blow altogether.  I have been stable for a very long time and doing well.  To lose an entire class of drugs that I have relied on for over 15 years is also challenging and unpredictable.  I want to do all I can to stay cancer free but I also need to ensure that I am able to take care of my family in a healthy way.  Balancing my physical health and mental health has never been so complicated.

The appointment lasted so long that I missed Colin’s presentation at school that he worked so hard on.  I had been looking forward to it and he was excited that I may be able to see it.  My heart sank even further when I realized I would never make it back across town to his school.  At this point I felt defeated.  Missing Colin’s presentation was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me.  Once I realized I’d never make it to the school, I allowed them to squeeze me in downstairs to begin the process of radiation since we were running behind on it.  I’ll have it every day for 6 weeks.  That’s life.   Then I went home, scarfed down some food, and headed to the surgeon’s office for my post-op visit.  She was very pleased with the way it was healing and so am I.  You can barely tell I had surgery except for being about a cup-size smaller in my right breast, which I actually prefer.  If I want, I can get the other breast reduced to even them out later on.

Yesterday morning I woke up as I did in those first few weeks after learning I had an aggressive cancer.  For those first few moments everything is good but then you remember the news you had been given the day before and the sinking feeling returns.    Yes, there is so much to be grateful for and that is not lost on me.  Not even for a second.  It does not, however, ease the sting of what’s to come.

I know I will adjust.  I know I will get my positive mojo back.  And I know that I will process this and get my ‘bring it on’ mentality back.  But for now, I am mourning the uncertainty of the next few years.  If I can’t allow myself to grieve during the process of a cancer diagnosis , I will never truly recover.  I know I will never have my care-free, pre-cancer life back.  I have grieved this.  Cancer, like motherhood, has fundamentally changed me and the way I view the world.  It has softened, shaped, and shifted me in a way that needed to happen.  Now it’s time to pick up the pieces, readjust my outlook, and move forward again.  Grief and gratitude can coexist, and so I let them.

Thanks for listening.

Cancer Updates

/ Elizabeth / 6 Comments

Things I’ve learned since being diagnosed with cancer.

1 – When you’re afraid, reframe.

One of the first tests I had done after it was confirmed I had cancer was a bone scan.  I was terrified for more reasons than one and was shaking as the technician injected my veins with some sort of radioactive substance.  I hated that I was being injected with something that I didn’t understand at the time and I hated feeling vulnerable and having no idea of what was coming next.  The man who did the injection was an ex-military member, huge, and very intimidating to look at but he ended up being one of two angels in disguise I met that day.  He was so kind, made me laugh, explained the process, and showed me the machine.  After the injection I had to wait two hours as the substance circulated through my body.  When I came back, he helped me onto the machine and because I am claustrophobic, he stayed with me in the room.  The machine, however, turned out to be rather slow so he eventually needed to tend to some other duties and asked another technician to sit with me.  I was motionless on the table and in complete silence because I was too afraid to talk in case it messed up the results.  Once the bulk of the machine was well past my face and over my abdomen however I managed a little whisper and asked the technician if I was allowed to talk.  He laughed and said yes.  I started asking him questions about the next test I would have to get in a couple of days, which was an MRI. The MRI also terrified me because I am extremely claustrophobic and I told him this.  The man was quiet for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “You just need to reframe the way you look at it and be thankful we have such amazing technology.  It’s saving a lot of lives.”

His wise words have been like a hand to hold through some pretty scary moments for me.  I made it through my MRI, CT, and other tests partly because of his words.  Did I like it?  No.  Did I want to have it done?  No.  But nevertheless, I am grateful for it.

2 – Support will come to you from the most unexpected places

I never expected that friends I rarely spoke to would pop up and cement themselves so firmly in my corner.  It has taught me a very important lesson (and one that I’m still working on), which is how to receive help.  I am learning how to lean in and connect because people are there who are reaching out and actually wanting to help.  And you don’t have to know them very well to be there for them.  It’s not always going to be the people you expect.  So the next time I may be too shy when wanting to pay it forward and help someone, and thinking why would I be a comfort for them when we rarely connect, I know that won’t be true.  Reach out and do it anyway.

3 – And in the most unexpected ways.

Help, support, and love doesn’t have to be a big grand gesture.  It’s the tiny little happy icons that pop up on my phone every few days from a friend that let me know she’s thinking of me.  It’s the meal that the neighbor brings, the cheerful card that comes to me every few weeks, or the hand massages that William and Colin like to give me, or David letting me go to bed early every night while he cleans up the kitchen, or one of the many other countless ways I have seen so many others help out.  Basically I have learned that I, myself, don’t have to extend some massive gesture to others to be helpful.  I can offer what I can in whatever capacity I am able to give.

4 – Bad things happen, but I still have power over my health.

I considered myself a healthy person before I was diagnosed with cancer but shit happens and there you go – I have an aggressive cancer at 43 years old.  But I am NOT a victim.  I can act.  I can research, change, grow, adapt, and become a better version of who I was before the diagnosis.  I want to be here to see my children and grandchildren grow up and I will do everything in my power to help that happen.  And you know what?  I still have the mindset of  a healthy person… just a healthy person who happens to be getting treatment for cancer, which is why I think I’m handling the harsh treatments so well.  In other words, I refuse to be passive.  When bad things happen, get into power mode, take ownership, and do the work!

General health update: The cancer is responding to the chemo very well and the tumors have shrunk considerably – well enough that I can get a lumpectomy rather than a full mastectomy.  I have 4 more treatments of chemo out of 16 to go!  Surgery will likely be the end of April or early May.  Then 30 rounds of radiation (I think), then I don’t know.  I’m trying to take it one step at a time!  I meet with my oncologist at the end of march to talk about the options and full plan.  I also think I have to be on a medication like tamoxifen for 5-10 years.  BUT everything is going quite well and moving in the right direction and looking great!  Keep the prayers up, please.  They’re helping!

At the basketball game last night. Nathan rarely lets me take his picture these days!
Owen’s school play. He was the cat in Space Mice!
William saved up all his money and bought an electric bike. I have mixed feelings about having allowed this. He’s very responsible but there will be strict rules around it!
Colin at one of his many swimming competitions. He’s doing great at the butterfly and freestyle!

Cancer

/ Elizabeth / 4 Comments

Nobody wants to write a post like this but I’ll go ahead and write it as hiding from things is not necessarily something I find to be helpful.  Two weeks ago, I found a thickened area in my breast that wasn’t necessarily a lump, but strange nonetheless.  I oddly wasn’t too concerned but called my doctor for an appointment that same day.  He ordered a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound and I was able to make it to that appointment the following week.  I went in for the mammogram and waited for the radiologist to read the results.  I sat in the room and watched as other women left one by one.  Then they called me back to take more x-rays of my right breast.  After those x-rays they wanted an ultrasound so I went back for the procedure and then returned to the waiting room.  By now I was starting to get uncomfortable.  All the other women had left and I was alone in the room.  A nurse called me back into an office so the radiologist could meet with me.  Now I knew I was in trouble.  I sat in a tiny, tiny little office that had a box of Kleenex next to my chair and thought, “Oh shit.  This isn’t going to be good news.”  A warm and comforting nurse came in along with a cold, clinical radiologist and he very bluntly stated his findings, which he said were highly indicative of malignancy and then walked out of the room.  I was left stunned.  My instructions were to get biopsies competed and the nurse was giving me instructions on how to do that.  I couldn’t comprehend anything she was saying.  A wave of panic came over me and I looked pleadingly at her. 

“Please will you make this appointment for me,” I said.  “I cannot navigate a phone system right now.” 

“Oh sugar.  Let me see what they have.”  She scrolled through the appointment times.  “It looks like they are booked up until the end of next week.”

I started crying.  “I have children,” I said. ” I need this appointment immediately.  I want it tomorrow.  It cannot wait.”

She looked at me so sympathetically and whispered, “I have the direct number of the nurse that works over in that department.  Let me see what I can do.”

And as God would have it the other nurse said that she could get me in the very next morning.  She then hugged me and said, “My honey breast cancer is not a death sentence.  This will not be easy but it’s treatable.  You can go on having a long and happy life, remember that!”  I hugged her tightly and left.

Once I managed to find the car, I called David in a haze of panic and confusion.  I knew nothing about any oncologists or medical care for cancer in Austin.  I had no family living nearby.  What if we didn’t catch it early enough?  Am I going to die?  What about my children and husband?  What will this mean for them?  What am I doing wrong in my life to lead me to this?  How will we get through this?  Will we get through this?  Truthfully, I don’t remember much about the rest of that day.  I was mentally exhausted and fell into a deep sleep that night.

The next day was even more unpleasant.  I do not like medical procedures at all.  I find them terrifying.  David came with me and I must say that I was surprised with how well I handled it.  The doctor took 14+ samples of tissue.  I sang lullabies to myself as he was injecting me with lidocaine and taking the samples.  I only screamed, “Mother fucker!” once when he took a sample that was accidentally outside the lidocaine area.  He gave me rest times and offered to let me come back to do it in two sessions.  I told him there was no way in hell we were doing that.  I wanted it all done today.  We took samples in two masses and one lymph node.  We pretty much knew the masses were malignant but were holding our breath for the lymph node. 

There was no hiding the anxiety or inevitable sense of the hardship that was coming.  We went ahead and told the boys.  It was a horrible conversation to have and I can’t bear to recall it.

Thankfully we had to go to San Antonio for a swim meet for the weekend, which helped distract us.  It was a very emotional few days for all of us.  My breast looked like it got hit by a truck from the biopsies.  The rollercoaster of emotions going through me was crippling.  Finally, my doctor called me Tuesday morning that the lymph node tested positive and he was waiting for the other pathology results.  I went from feeling helpless to charging full steam ahead to get a handle on things.  I found an oncologist by asking my neighborhood friends for help.  I was overwhelmed by the amount of love and support I received.  I had my first oncology visit this past Friday and I absolutely adored my doctor and have found a surgeon who I will meet with next week.  The whole network of people and the cancer center I am at have been wonderful.  I went from feeling terrified, helpless and overwhelmed to feeling terrified but supported and taken care of and ready to fight.  David has been by my side at every appointment and has been beyond supportive.  I could not imagine going through this without his unshakable love and take-charge attitude when I am too overwhelmed by life.  My dad and sister and brother say they are ready to come out and help and stay with me the second I need any help, my mother reached out, and David’s family has been a wonderful source of comfort as well.

The cancer is stage II and treatable.  However, I still have a bunch of scans and tests they need to run so hopefully we don’t get any surprising news on that front.  I start chemo in 2 weeks and should get my port placed sometime next week.  After chemo is all done, I’ll have surgery.  I’ve decided to completely overhaul my nutrition and begin exercising so that my body is better ready to handle it.  I’m getting half a dozen calls a day and they are all telling me where and when I need to be for what test and what I need to do and I just show up ready to act and get the ball rolling on my treatment.

Just say the word ‘cancer’ and your entire lens on life will immediately shift focus.  With stunning clarity I saw the version of myself I wanted to become not just for my family but for myself.  I imagined a stage with old versions of myself stepping into the background, having taken their final bow and new leading roles stepping forward.  I’m choosing to see cancer as giving me a second chance at living my life.  I told my children, when they were crying one night, it was like being on a ship at sea in the dark.  You have to look for the lighthouse.  It will always be there for you.  Just keep on looking for the light.  Cancer will also force you to confront all your deepest fears.  Mortality?  Any and all things medical?  Leaving my family behind?  My children growing up without a mother?  Take a big whiff.  Those are deep fears and they’re breathing down my neck every night.  Yet at the same time now is the chance for me to be the mother to myself that I never had growing up.  Kind, patient, caring, and loving to all those scary parts.  My prayer is that as my family moves through this difficult time, we are put together again more beautifully than before.