Spooky treats

 I might have mentioned before that despite my exhaustion these days, it still feels good to do "normal" things.

Cooking dinner or ordering and picking up the groceries take a lot of energy, but the results are worth it.

So as Halloween was growing near, I asked Griffin if he'd like to make our usual Halloween treats. We bag them up and deliver them to his friends. And we usually deliver his birthday invitations at the same time.

Griffin was very concerned about me overdoing it. I think that's probably pretty rare for an almost 13-year-old, but that's my boy.

I assured him that we wouldn't do as much as we usually do, and that what we did do, we'd keep it simple. So I dipped stuff in white and milk chocolate. And Griffin was my sprinkle man.

His friend from across the street came over, so we let him help with sprinkles, too.

After he left, Griffin said, "I'm really glad he got to be a part of the festivities this year."

As for me, I was just glad to do something that felt normal. And I was glad to keep a tradition going. It helps me feel like I haven't spent this entire time just doing medical stuff.

Alone

I used to write a blog about my son. Not long after he was born, I realized that I was telling the same story over and over again to family and friends all over the place. So I thought that if I just put a lot of it down in writing, people could read it at their leisure, plus see photos and videos of him.

I was really good at writing that blog.

I haven't been as good at writing this one.

First of all, I am SO tired. All the time.

Every part of me feels heavy. It takes effort to get out of a chair.

Plus, there's just so much of this that is internal. Even if I share how my treatments are going, I still can't really share the experience with anybody.

I have to go alone.

I drop my car off with the valets and walk into the Cancer Center alone.

I get checked in and go downstairs to the waiting room alone.

I step into the dressing room and get my hospital gown on alone.

And I sit on the bench and wait for them to call my name, yep, you guessed it ... alone.

But the worst part is leaving alone.

For some reason, I get really sad after my treatments. It lasts for about an hour or so, and I'm not sure why it happens. I try to find distractions, stopping by the get a milkshake, meeting a friend, calling someone. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't.

Have I mentioned that I'll be glad when this part is over?

Breast Cancer Awareness column

I figured that since my radiation treatments are happening during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, that I would write a column about it.

And also, nobody could tell me no because I'm the editor of the Life sections!

So here's the column:

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Support system, humor helping with cancer treatments

I'm a little more than halfway through radiation treatments for breast cancer.

That still feels weird to say. But if you can't say it during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, when can you say it?

I was notified that there was something suspicious on my yearly mammogram and was sent for a diagnostic mammogram. That led to an ultrasound.

At the end of the appointment, the doctor said he was pretty sure it was cancer. Apparently, cysts have smooth edges, and what he saw didn't. He showed it to me — a little spiky amoeba-looking spot.

That led to a needle biopsy, which was pretty painful. The biopsy results confirmed what I had already started to process.

It was real. It was breast cancer.

The only breast cancer in my family was a maternal great-aunt who was in her 60s. So I was pretty surprised to hear that I had it.

But it turns out, mine was hormone-based. I have invasive ductal carcinoma. And because I have yearly mammograms, we found it really early. 

I don't remember having any kind of feelings at all when they told me. You hear about people saying, "When I heard the C-word ..." But I went immediately to asking what's next.

When it comes to health stuff, I'm very practical. I loved being pregnant, but I didn't see the delivery as a magical moment. I saw it as a medical procedure to get my son safely into the world.

And I pretty much had the same thought about the cancer. I guess I see it as more of a process than a journey.

And a process it's been.

One thing that's helped is that we have good health care options here in Greensboro. And everyone is intertwined. The diagnostic folks talked to the surgery folks, who talked to the oncologist folks, who talked to the radiology oncologist folks, who all talked to me. So the process has been fairly seamless.

The hardest stuff for me has been mental. My head is full of facts and figures about the kind of cancer I have. And it's also full of worry and fear. What if these treatments don't make it go away? What if it comes back? Will this cause me to be more susceptible to other cancers?

Because we caught mine so early, I was able to have a lumpectomy, or as the doctors call it, "breast-conserving surgery." That's when they take out the cancer but leave the rest.

About a month later, I started radiation therapy — 33 treatments to be exact. I have one each day Monday through Friday through mid-November.

The side effects have officially kicked in. I'm tired. Very, very tired. Some days, it feels like it's a chore to get out of bed and get going for the day. Naps are my friends these days.

I also have radiation burns. Imagine having a really bad sunburn in a place that's usually covered by a bathing suit. And I have fair skin, so that certainly doesn't help matters. It's uncomfortable and itchy and hot. And it's only going to get worse. And the effects don't go away as soon as the treatments are done. It can take months for things to get back to some sort of normal.

After the radiation, I'll have to take medication for about five years. I'm not looking forward to the side effects of that, either.

It's a lot.

I can take up to 12 weeks of unpaid time off for a health problem, but my husband was laid off last year and hasn't found full-time work yet. So "unpaid time off" isn't an option. Luckily, I've been able to work from home. And my co-workers have been great. They're offered to help with whatever I need.

And of course my family and friends have been wonderful. They've brought meals and given us gift cards to our favorite restaurants and some of the food delivery apps, along with cards, emails, texts and more. I'm very lucky to have such a big support system around me.

Early on, I was trying to explain the details of the diagnosis to my husband, Jeff, and I said, "I have invasive ductal carcinoma. That means that it started in one of my milk duds."

"Milk Duds?" he asked. "Like the chocolate caramel candy?"

As soon as I realized what I said, we started to laugh. And it felt good. I hope we can carry our humor throughout this process. I'm sure we're gonna need it.

Pick your products

Just like everything else, there are a ton of products that everyone says you HAVE TO HAVE if you have breast cancer.

Let me just say ... No.

Take your time, read reviews, ask your care group or ask someone who's been there because it's hard to know early on what you might need or want.

There are two things I've found really useful.

First, there are the post-lumpectomy bras I got. It's crazy how much some of those things can cost, and the sizes are pretty limited. But I found some that were really affordable. But more importantly, when I looked through the review photos, I saw a woman about my size (both body and boobs), and liked how they fit her.

They're very stretchy and soft. And they open in the front, so when I first had my surgery, I wouldn't have been able to handle back hooks.

Don't get me wrong. They're nothing like my pretty underwire hoisters. They don't hold things in place like my regular bras do. But I can't wear underwire. I can't imagine wanting to right now anyway. The underside of my right breast is hot and sore.

And speaking of sore, from the biopsy to the seed implantation to the surgery to the radiation, my poor breast has been to hell and back. I've had so much pain there from all these procedures.

So when I saw this handmade pillow on a website, I could see it being useful. And it has been.

I have two surgery incisions — one that goes halfway around my nipple and one that is a couple of inches long at the bottom of my armpit. They gave me ice packs that would fit into my bra for the nipple incision. 

But can you see the pocket on the front of this pillow? The idea is to put a small ice pack in that pocket, and adjust the ribbon to fit on your shoulder, and you wear the pillow like an over-the-shoulder pocketbook. It also keeps the skin of your arm away from the skin where the incision is. It's kind of a genius idea.

But lately, my little heart pillow has taken on a new job. It's a great pad between me and my seatbelt. Seatbelts are not comfy on post-surgery areas, and as I'm learning now, they're not comfy on radiation burns, either.

It's a little bulky, but my car is an automatic, so it doesn't get in the way of shifting gears.

And come on, you can't tell me the pattern and colors aren't spirit-lifting. Who wouldn't want multi-colored flower petals to make things better?

Radiation = burning heat

Have you ever seen pictures of radiation burns? If you haven't, do not search for it. I saw some accidentally on a doctor-approved website, and it was scary to think that they represented my very-near future.

As I type, I'm sitting in the living room wearing a gown with no bra, with a folded washcloth under my right breast that was ice cold about 2 minutes ago. The heat on that side is about as bad as bad sunburns I've had. And I'm only 1/3 of the way through treatments.

Are you scared? 'Cause I am!

I have special deodorant and prescription cream to use, but they can only do so much.

I mean, it's inherent in the word "radiation."

The definition of radiation is that it is the transmission of energy in the form of waves or particles through a material medium.

The energy in this case is x-ray beams and the medium is my right breast and armpit.

Here's a science graphic. See radiation? Heat being applied to hands. In my case, heat being applied to boobs!

The way the radiation works is that at high doses, radiation therapy kills cancer cells or slows their growth by damaging their DNA. Cancer cells whose DNA is damaged beyond repair stop dividing or die. When the damaged cells die, they are broken down and removed by the body. 

So they're basically burning the cancer cells to death, which in turn, burns my skin ... not to death, but it certainly feels that way.

It's hard to figure out because they want me not to wear a bra (the bands are rough on that skin). But because my breasts are large, I must wear a bra for support. And they don't want the skin under my breast to be in contact with the skin on the bottom of my breast. If you have large breasts, how the heck can that happen?!

Answer is, it can't. So I'm just gonna have to do what I can do.

And did I mention the swelling? It doesn't feel great to type because my upper arms squish my breast. And the pressure hurts.

I know this too shall pass, but it'll be a while. They say it can take up to a year or so for the skin to get back to its usual color. And sometimes it never goes back. The same for the swelling and soreness.

Since it's out of my hands, I'm going to just keep plowing through, using my products and hoping for the best.

The accessories

When I get dressed to go to radiation, there isn't much creativity there — capris, t-shirt and shoes or sandals.

Whatever I wear has to be easy to get out of (and back into) with slightly limited motion in my right arm.

A quote from a movie I love says, "The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize!" And that's where I'm finding a little bit of creativity.

I can't wear necklaces, scarves or bracelets, but that leaves earrings, and thanks to COVID, masks, and thanks to the bad haircut I have because of the skin cancer on my head, baseball caps.

So I try to color coordinate t-shirts, masks, earrings and hats. And I have quite a small assortment of all four of those things.

So much of this cancer process is out of my control. And I'm a control freak. So that doesn't help my current predicament. So I have to find things that I CAN control.

Hence my focus on accessories.

Maybe I'll get some festive holiday earrings and masks. That would be fun. 

I may even give the valet with the socks a run for his money!

What modesty?

You get to a point with certain medical processes when your privacy and modesty just goes out the window.

I was explaining to my mother-in-law and sister-in-law how the process goes when I go in for radiation, and I said off-handedly, "Half the county has seen my boobs."

She said, "What have you been doing that half the county has seen them?"

My husband was laid off last year and hasn't found a full-time job yet, so I couldn't help myself with my reply.

"Well if my good-for-nothin' husband would hold a job, I wouldn't have to be showing them to everybody!"

We had a good laugh, but it's true. My modesty is gone.

When my name shows up on the screen, I have to go to a dressing room and take off everything above my waist and put on a hospital gown. The first few times, I tied up the strings on the back for the 30-feet-or-so walk down the hall and into the treatment room.

But as soon as I get into the treatment room, I have to lie down on the table and pull my hospital gown off my arms and down to my waist. Which meant that I had to walk over to the table, untie the strings on the back of the gown, then climb onto the table and flip down the gown.

That's just too much trouble.

So now, here's what anyone in the hall sees.

And I'm perfectly okay with that.

A day out

I'm not posting as much as I had wanted to. As much as I had planned to. But I am so. dang. tired.

Yesterday, I had a need to get out of the house. I'm working from home and pretty much just staying at home besides radiation appointments and the occasional Barracuda ride.

So we went to a park not too far from our house and took Griffin's bike along. We live on a cul-de-sac, and people tend to drive way too fast through our neighborhood, so he doesn't have much space to ride.

This park has a beautiful lake with trees all the way around it, and the walking trail includes a bridge over a narrow part of the lake. So Jeff said he and I could take a walk while Griffin enjoyed the trails.

Jeff and I walked to the bridge and a little past. I just looked at a trail map of the park, and it appears to be about half a mile. I was moving at a decent pace on the way out, but on the way back, it was more like little, old lady pace.

I'm stubborn and independent, and I resent the fact that my body is restricting me right now.

And then the worst part was that once you're done on the trail, it's a straight uphill climb to the car.

Of course Griffin just pushed his bike to the top like it was no big deal. I had a walking stick in my left hand and was holding Jeff's hand in my right hand, and it took everything I had to get to the car.

You know how it feels when you're wearing ankle weights? That's kinda how my arms and legs feel. Like I'm wearing wrist and ankle weights that are way too heavy.

Plus, I usually swing my arms when I walk, and right now, it hurts to swing my right arm because I've got some soreness and radiation burns.

It was still a beautiful day to be outside, and the lake was as pretty as ever. And I definitely enjoyed seeing Griffin ride past us in one direction, then a little later, ride past us in the other direction.

The little things

 I had my fifth radiation treatment today. It's going ok so far.

I'm really, really tired most of the time. I'm working full time and going to treatments every day. I don't think that in itself is causing the exhaustion. But add in trying to work my schedule around the treatments and still get everything done, and I'm not sleeping well, and worrying too much, and trying to keep my spirits up for Griffin, and, yeah, I'm tired.

But I keep coming across little things that help make it all better.

To save as much time at my appointments as I can, I've been using the free valet service. Finding a parking spot and walking up to the building would add another 10 or 15 minutes onto my time away from work.

The valets are all very friendly, but there's this one guy who wears crazy socks.

All the valets wear black shorts and blue polo shirts with the hospital's logo. Most of them wear tennis shoes because they spend a lot of time going back and forth between the front of the hospital and the valet parking lot.

But this one guy wears ankle-high black work boots with bright, colorful socks. Yesterday, he had on black socks with doughnuts. Today, he had flamingoes.

There wasn't a way I could take a sneaky photo, so this will give you an idea.

I'll admit one thing, though. A lady made me feel kinda guilty today. We rode the elevator up from the radiation treatment area to the first floor to leave. As she was walking out, she asked if it was still raining, and I told her yes. I saw it out the window. So she started getting her umbrella ready. 

"I'll need my umbrella for my walk," she said. "I'm tired, but I'm not ready for valet parking yet."

I was right behind her, and I was about to hand my valet ticket over so they could get my car. Every ounce of me wanted to call to her and explain that I was ABLE to walk to the parking lot, but I was using the valets as a time-saver. It's funny how one innocent comment from someone can hit a nerve.

One other little thing is that while I'm waiting on the valets to bring my car around, this is my view.

It's a pretty fountain that makes a nice sound. The cancer center also has 2 acres of gardens with walkways, meditation areas and a labyrinth. It's cool for them to offer that kind of thing. I would love to take advantage of some of it, but I have to get in and get out so I can get back to work. Maybe I'll take a few days off during treatment and check it all out.

Another little thing today was that while I was lying on the table for treatment, I heard Stevie Wonder's song "Superstition" over the speakers in the treatment room. It made me smile because Griffin is learning to play bass guitar, and he has learned the bass line for that song. And thinking about that kid makes me smile. 

He's a good boy. And he's been worried about me. He even offered to not have a party for his birthday in November because he thought I might not be up for it. I assured him that Jeff and I could throw something together, and that although it won't be as elaborate as his usual parties, he and his friends will have a good time.

So overall, treatments are going well. The people there are very friendly and outgoing. And they are doing a great job of getting me in and out of there in a timely manner.

Only 28 more treatments to go!

Great friends, fun gifts

I have fun friends. They're also supportive. And the two of those things come together in some really fun gifts.

When I was undergoing testing for hypertrophic cardiomyopathy earlier this year, two of my friends sent me a heart. It wasn't an emoji. It was a stuffed anatomically correct heart.

Once I found out I have breast cancer, a friend of mine sent me a cute and creative bracelet. It's handmade by a woman who uses round and tube-shaped beads to spell out words in Morse code on necklaces and bracelets.

You know what mine says? It says "badass." Yes!!! My friend sent it to me, and her note inside the package just said, "Because you are!"

Check it out.

After my surgery, they sent some tissue away to get it tested to see if I would need chemotherapy. It's amazing what they can find out from a tissue sample or a vial of blood.

The test results are on a scale of 1 to 100. Anything 25 or higher, they recommend chemo.

My result was 5. FIVE!

So two of my friends came over with a bunch of snacks and a fun cake.

Sometimes they're not funny. Sometimes they're sweet. And a not-so-subtle hint for me to take care of myself.

Like these soothing goodies.

I got a cute box with shea creme, lip balm, cuticle balm, goat milk soap and cute little notepad. It all smells soooo good.

The most recent gift came in the mail today. I have no idea how to describe them, so just take a look.

I texted the friend who sent them and said, "I can just hear you laughing as you picked them out." And she's got a great laugh!

It's funny when I look at these gifts. They so represent the people who gave them. And I love them all.