Operation fuck kancer: Chemo begins

Getting prepped for chemo round one.

So yesterday I got the big middle digit.

My cancer was sent to California a couple weeks ago for Oncoltype DX testing, which basically tests how likely it is your cancer is going to return. This was all part of a study that I was offered to take part in because tests showed my cancer was estrogen-receptor positive, and it was present in less than three lymph nodes (two, for the record).

Anyway, the test revealed a couple things:

1. My cancer is not estrogen-receptor positive. 
2. My cancer is pretty fucking aggressive, enough that when I saw the score (45 out of 100), I said, "Fuck!" to which my oncologist replied, "Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought." If my cancer was estrogen positive, my score would have needed to be 25 or less to continue in the study, so mine is well above that bar.

The positive

The good thing is now I know what I'm dealing with. Plus I won't be given estrogen-blocking drugs which would be completely useless for me, not to mention a burden on my very basic extended health benefits (which will probably be depleted by the time I'm done the drugs that are supposed to help me through chemo).

Because my surgeon diligently removed all visible signs of my cancer, chemo is my insurance that the microscopic cells that could have been missed in all parts of my body will be annihilated. It will cut the risk of my cancer recurring in half, to about 20-25%. So that's a 75-80% chance it will not come back (glass 3/4-4/5 full)!

So, as I said to my oncologist, "Chemo me." 

The ugly, aka fear

Chemo brings with it a lot of fear. Fear of looking like I have cancer, even though technically I don't (at least not any that modern technology can see). And this is because of one of the many, many side effects I have been told about by my oncologist, the nurse at today's chemo teaching session, and my nurse at the chemo unit. 

The side effects are plentiful, and terrible. Actually, even though it will make me look sick, I'd rather lose my hair than experience vomiting, mouth sores, increased risk of infection, potential heart damage, and the list goes on. 

I'll actually be nipping the hair thing in the bud by visiting my hairdresser for a shave. She's one of the first people I called after yesterday's craptactular news. My middle digit right back at the situation.

Why I might not answer the phone

It likely didn't help that the woman next to me in the treatment room told me about her terrible side effects. She basically got them all, plus one weird foot-pain one that only 5% of people get. 

I was wondering if I should tell her I didn't want to talk about it when she said, "But you're a lot younger than me. So you're stronger, so you might not have these problems." I get that she was venting, but man. Here's hoping she's right.

So if you're my friend in the offline world, and I don't answer the phone, it's because I really don't want to talk about it right now. In particular, I don't want to talk about side effects, the chances I'm going to die before my kid is out of kindergarten, and all that heavy stuff. Right now, going there serves no purpose to me. Writing about it, on the other hand, is a bit easier.

Gratitude for MCA

I think "Gratitude" is good way to pay my respects to Adam Yauch, the Beastie Boys' MCA.

I would have been upset about Yauch's passing no matter what. Hearing he died of cancer as I wait for results on further tests on my cancer is salt in the wound.

I was lucky enough to see them play during their To the 5 Boroughs tour. I had never seen them live and it was like Christmas Day. I grinned like a giant dork throughout the whole show.

Thanks for the tunes, MCA. Condolences to your family and friends.

And a giant fuck you, cancer. Fuck you.

When kancer guidelines kollide with experience

My mom mailed me a care package, including the April issue of Alive which is chock-full of articles on the cancer - I highly recommend it. However, one article, "Breast Cancer Screening", left me confused.

New breast kancer screening guidelines

Last year, the Canadian Task Force on Preventative Health Care released new breast cancer screening guidelines. Highlights pertaining to women 40-49 that jumped out at me:

• Routine screening mammograms: not recommended
• Regular self breast exam: not recommended
• Regular breast exam performed by a doctor: not recommended

An unremarkable history

At 39, I'm a year shy of being a member of this age group. I've always been sporadic about performing self exams, because I didn't fit into the high-risk category.

There is no breast cancer in my family, except for my cousin Pam, and we are not related biologically. I'm active on a regular basis. I drink (or rather, drank), but limited it to weekends, generally moderately. I quit smoking several years ago. I breastfed.

In other words, I'm like a lot of women my age.

My kancer diagnosis

Like I said, I was sporadic with the self exams. I noticed some skin that looked off on my left breast. I get eczema, so thought little of it at first. Then I decided to check. Aha! A lump.

I booked an appointment with my family doctor. He checked. "I've felt a lot of cancer, and this doesn't feel like it. But because of the skin discolouration, let's send you for an ultrasound," he told me.

I was referred to Mount Saint Joseph in Vancouver, which I learned is *the* place to go for screening and treatment. They decided to give me a mammogram, then ultrasound.  And the rest, as they say, is history.

Where does this leave women

So the new recommendations have me wondering what women are supposed to do. I turn 40 later this year. Friends who have already reached the milestone and have been putting off their first mammogram have told me they'll now get it because of my experience.

I didn't think I had cancer. My doctor didn't think I had cancer. And my surgeon and oncologist agree I didn't fit into the high-risk category. 

That mammogram may have saved my life.

My humble opinion and a pitch

Trust your gut. If you think something is wrong, pursue it. If you don't agree with a doctor, get a second opinion, or a third. Be your own best advocate!

And in honour of Daffodil Day, I plug Mount Saint Joseph's fundraising campaign for a second mammogram machine.

There is a fundraiser on Saturday, May 12 at the Riverside Grand Ballroom. Tickets cost $75 a pop.

If you can't go, want to donate a different amount, or want more info, contact: 

• Nidhi at 778-928-9085 
• Satinder at 778-323-1078
• msjrabc@providencehealth.bc.ca

Friends help make kancer be less krappy

So my kid ended up in emergency last weekend, three days after my mom headed back to Ontario. Four stitches later, and not allowed to go to daycare or play like a normal 5-year-old boy made for a stressful week. Without my friends, I would have likely ended up in a padded room.

My new friends

There are the friends I've met at my current job, who I may never have encountered otherwise. Tony is one of them. He told me about the video above, and I told him I needed to see it. Tony knew I had a crappy week, and posted it today. Enjoy!

I came home, and saw Tony's video on my Facebook wall, after having a nice walk with another friend from work, Melissa. Just another reason to be glad I took my job. I'll share more about these fantastic folks in further posts.

My old friends

No, not old, old. I mean friends I've known for several years. Patti, who helped look after the boy the day after his accident. Bret and John, who helped us out the day of an oncologist's appointment by getting up in time to be here at the ungodly hour of 8 a.m., the former to babysit, and the latter to give us a lift. Erica, who gave me a lift to another appointment, and kept the kid entertained.

Then there are the many friends who have been helping to keep my spirits up with e-mails, texts, and phone calls. And my best friend of all, my husband, who is handling an excessive amount of crazy these days.

Play the kancer kard

If you're dealing with an illness, call on your friends. Don't feel guilty. Chances are, they'll go above and beyond the call of duty.

Kittelberg's kancer kronicles

As you may have guessed by the headline, yep, I have cancer - breast cancer, to be precise. And yep, I've decided to purposely misspell it in my headlines and related hashtags. If you follow me on twitter (@Lori_writes), the hashtag is #kancerkronicles for the sake of brevity, and for the sake of avoiding the racist-looking triple-k.

I've been reading Kris Carr's Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips - which I highly recommend to women living with cancer, particularly young women - and she talks about misspelling cancer as a middle digit to the disease. I figure that's as good a reason as any to misspell something. Normally, I'm a spelling nazi so this is rather liberating too.

Why I'm blogging about kancer
Anyway, I've gone back and forth on the whole idea of publicly blogging about this. Ultimately, I decided that I'm going crazy without writing. All the books tell me to journal, and I figure if my writing can help someone else who is living with breast cancer, then I'd be a jerk not to make my writing accessible. So here goes.

Adios, armpit drain
Today is a rather big day for me. After two weeks and three days, I'm finally having the drain removed.

The drain consists of a tube that is running from an incision in my armpit to the lovely bottle pictured. I had lymph nodes removed, so the drain helps to get rid of fluid that would otherwise build up in my pit, along with some tissue.

You can see some of the aforementioned tissue floating in the bottle. It's been there for a while, as it's too big to fit through the exit when I empty the bottle. Charming, eh?

If I had needed more of my breast removed, I likely would have two drains. So I guess I should consider myself lucky with my only-child drain.

Words open to interpretation
Because I'm an overachiever, I completely believed I would be rid of the drain a maximum of one week post surgery. After all, another book I have been reading said most women have them for "a few days" post surgery.

As a writer who strives to use clear, plain language, I should have known better. My "few days" means three, max. Apparently my body disagrees and thinks it's two weeks and three days. Damn.

Everyone's a snowflake
And that's likely the most difficult part of dealing with this whole breast cancer thing right now. Everyone is different, so there are no definitive answers when it comes to healing.

I might be able to do chemo on my lunch breaks, then merrily skip back to work afterwards. Or I might feel like puking my guts out for a "few" days after each treatment. I might lose my hair. Or I might keep my hair, but get diarrhea or constipated.

Frankly, all this uncertainty is a pain in the ass.

Watching the movie before reading the book

It's always a hard call for me: do I read the book first or watch the movie? If I read the book first, I'm the better writer. You know, the one who cares more about literature than the quick fix a movie will give me.

But if I watch the movie first, I potentially save myself from spending two hours muttering under my breath:

"The author captured that way better."
"Why did they cut that scene?!"
"What was the screenwriter smoking?"

There are no hard and fast rules when it comes to deciding book vs. movie, or TV series as the case may be. For instance, I've read several books in The Walking Dead series. However, I started them so long ago that I don't remember them with the clarity I once did. So the TV series makes me re-read the books and I get to enjoy them again.

This question comes up because I received the first four books in the Game of Thrones collection for Christmas. The temptation is to read them all. Why not? But a friend who has read the first one warned me that I may be disappointed if I read them all before season two starts.

So for now, I'll try to stick with the first one, and read the next three books as their respective seasons end. What do you think? Do you have rules on this sort of thing?

Why I don't want an eReader for Christmas

Every year, my husband asks me for my Christmas list. The last couple of years, I have considered whether or not I want one of those newfangled eReaders. Perhaps I'm getting curmudgeonly, but I'm going to pass.

I have heard plenty about the merits of eReaders - purchasing eBooks is cheaper and they're easier to cart around than a hardcover. Meanwhile, libraries have taken a hit in the news, with many cutting their limited funds for new books in favour of eBooks. And, yes, I did read about bedbugs being found in library books.

Let me count the ways I love books
I'm still not sold. I love books. I love the feel of them. I love the smell of them, both new, and old and musty. I love sharing the books that I have enjoyed with friends. I love browsing the shelves of a bookstore and hemming and hawing over what I want (see my latest selection in the photo). I love getting second-hand books and finding the previous reader's old shopping list which was used as a bookmark.

Generational or hereditary?
Indeed, it could simply have to do with my generation. I grew up reading books, listening to records, and hearing my dad hammer out stories on his old-school typewriter.

It could also be hereditary. My dad clung to that old typewriter until his employer forced him, the last employee not on the network, to start using a computer.

Then again, maybe not. After all, I'm not afraid of technology (no offence, Dad). I work as a web writer, so wouldn't do all that well in my profession otherwise. I own a smartphone. I tweet, I Facebook, I Skype. But until further notice, I don't eRead.