First Apologies for those who have called and I have not been able to personally get back to... and for those who have found there emails returned...apologies....
It seems the "worst kept secret" is out....and well I am so very very blessed with such Love and concern that I am truly Overwhelmed and know with all you behind me I'm going to beat the beast....
So as the journey unfolds I'm taking a page from another friend of mine going through this and I am going to try and do a Blog so that I can try and keep everyone up to date.
This first Post has taken the help of my other arms my wonderful Brother David, My friend Charlotte,and Ms. KC
Please go to www.idoggiebag.com and click on Linda's Blog
Thank you again to each and everyone of you for your prayers, love, support, and general help for the "arm impaired"
With all my Love and Gratitude
Linda
P.S....In advance....Please accept my sincere apologies for any chemo brain in any of my postings...
So...
My bartender is a 6’6” Ukrainian hottie and he’s mixing me a cocktail made of Adrimycin, "the red devil", Cytoxan, Aloxi, Dexamethasone – my first chemo cocktail. I’d rather be having a Cosmopolitan.
I was looking to join a club, I forgot to ask God to make it a country club rather than the cancer club. Most of you know I’m in the process of beating stage two breast cancer, and you’ve
overwhelmed me by your many expressions of love and support. In a sense I already feel victorious because I have been blessed with such faithful and wonderful family and friends.
Originally I planned this blog as way to keep you updated on the progress of iDoggiebag Foundation. The mission is still on track, although the progress has slowed a bit and is unfortunately now subject to available energy - chemo induced nausea and fatigue is a definite drag.
So I’ve decided to expand the purpose of my blog to cover not only iDoggiebag, but iCancerSurvivor. I’m hoping that by sharing the details of my personal journey along with the details of my professional one I can include you in my objective to ‘Do well by doing good’.
Flashback three and a half months:
It happens in stages, in slow motion, the way people sometimes describe being in a car accident. First there’s a lump, followed by a diagnostic mammogram, and then the ominous words: ‘You’re going to need a biopsy’.
I opted to skip the needle biopsy and have the lump removed. Regardless of its makeup, it didn’t belong there and I wanted it out. Meet Dr. Jerrold H. Steiner, my surgeon who we both discover used to play poker with my buddies from sports television. In this town, connections are great, but I picked him because he was the one who looked at me and saw hope.
Cedars Sinai Hospital is where I was born and it is where my life will be saved. Dr. Steiner removed a 3cm tumor from my right breast. According to protocol, he also biopsied a portion of my sentinal node. Within 20 minutes the pathology report was in, and my membership was confirmed. Breast cancer. Stage two. I didn’t know how many stages there were, but I knew a two was not as good as a one.
The sentinel node along with ten of its buddies were the targets of my second surgery. Thankfully the cancer hadn’t spread beyond the sentinel node (2cm Tumor removed),
However an infection was discovered in one of the nodes in the process. An infection currently attributed to a cat bite - my beloved Nipper’s last desperate act. (see side bar "The Nipper Story")
A second surgery was at the recommendation of another God-send named Dr. Philomena McAndrew, one of the busiest oncologists in L.A. who made me feel like I was the only person in her world. I know this is not the case because she is the oncologist for my General Practitioner as well as one of my parent’s close friends. Not to mention being the co-founder of Tower Oncology/Hematology. She’s busy, but as her patient, you’d never believe it.
So, what next? The bottom line to my survival: My Chemo schedule. Four months, 3 times over two weeks =32 Trips to what we call "Tower" now. Followed by Radiation every day for a couple months followed by a pill for a period of years.
I’m told, once I start chemo, I must stay on schedule, my survival rate is based on me staying healthy and keeping to schedule.
Before I start, I decide to postpone the nausea until after Thanksgiving. I mean, wouldn’t you?
The following day, I’m sent to get some spots checked out for skin cancer, where I’m hit right between the eyes, literally. Dr. Ralph Massey removed a basil cell skin cancer (I thought it was a zit) from the bridge of my.
So, I’m back in L.A. the day before Chemo Party #1 and I go for my ‘passport’- I wish it was the kind that would get me to Italy. But it’s the kind that gets the chemo into your veins in the shape of a tube surgically implanted in my left upper arm and traveling across my chest. It sounds bad enough.
But, the procedure that should have been 45 minutes, took 3 hours. First, they gave me a local. This apparently was not enough because I FELT THE CUT.
So, I’m shrieking in pain with a new awareness of what it feels like to be stabbed in cold blood. They decided to give me another local. I’m thinking, “Just put me under! Put the horse down!” After local #2, I’m still in excruciating pain, sweating and hyperventilating and this Dr. guy couldn’t find my vein. It seemed to squeeze closed in rebellious pain, like a closed fist defending itself. Blood is squirting all over the place as the Dr. guy tried in vain to find the vein (couldn’t resist that one) before he temporarily gives up to go change his smock before he takes another stab. Don’t ask me how I made it through (i thank god had my iphone unfortunately I couldn't reach it to change the song) . All I know is that is what a "passport to Hell" must feel like. I end up with two souvenirs: a horrifying bruise and an ugly bandage that I am not to get wet for two weeks.
To traumatize myself even further, I go home and have all my hair cut off.
I have never had short hair, forget no hair. Still, I’d rather see short hair fall out than long hair. Less mess and less trauma. So I decided to have a hair cutting party at my place right after my ‘passport to hell’. When I go bald, I’m telling people (and myself) that my hair is on vacation in Tahiti.
I am greeted with the initial intention of everyone trying to calming my nerves, as it must be obvious to passersby that my blood pressure is sky rocketing. I am trying desperately not to see a needle. Some of you reading this may already know that one of my best assets is that I look at a needle and I pass out. Nurses think it’s fun to show me a needle to see if I am going to pass out and I do. I’m OK with blood. It’s the needles that I don’t like. To counteract this state I’m in, I am given a ‘happy drug’ before they bring me to my recliner where I will sit for four hours getting the killer chemo drug Adrimycin and Cytoxin. Both kill my white blood cells along with the cancer. I feel like I’m at a firing squad. David and I talk in between visits from Nurse Angela and others who come over and prepare me for what’s to be expected over the next few days.
11/30 – Chemo party #2 of 32. Same place. Same time. Different theme. Here, we’re trying to get the poison out of my body as fast as possible - a procedure called ‘hydration’ and we’re trying to rebuild the white blood cells as fast as possible with a drug called ‘neulasta’.
They tell me that 7-10 days after my first treatment, I’m going to have a ‘Nadir’ which is the ‘lowest point’. This feels like the worst flu I’ve ever had, where I ache like nobody’s business in every bone in my body. I know that at the core of bones is the marrow. I can now say I know what my marrow feels like. Neulasta goes right to the marrow to rebuild the white blood cells. Imagine lots of little construction workers with little hammers and nails inside your bones. Still, the ‘passport to hell’ was worse.
11/30 –also A delivery of the oddest looking Christmas tree I’ve ever seen. Into my living room, is rolled the IV tree and supplies for the nurse who will come over the weekend.
12/1 – I have just enough energy to answer the phone। It was my dear friend Carolyn who concluded I was dying and rushed over. She hung out until the nurse came.
12/2 – Today, I move from the bed to the couch। Nurse Roger hooks me up again. I find myself eagerly awaiting his arrival like a salivating puppy. Relief. Now I am walking around. My friend Charlotte brings me deli matzo ball chicken noodle soup, and other simple food stuffs like bread, fruit juice and yogurt the only things I can keep down. Nurse Roger shows up three hours later with his daughter Samantha to unhook me.
12/4 – My friend Mary came over with Odwalla fruit juices I asked her to buy at Ralph’s. Just prior to her arrival, she and the manager of Ralph’s call me to have me explain where the juice is in the store. Mary gets me back on my feet with some "eflorage" – rubbing creams on my feet for an hour. OTT, AWESOME.
12/5 – Thanks to Mary, I make it off the couch and made my own soup. My big event is driving to the bank. Because I’m now an official germ freak, I bring along my ‘essential oil hand sanitizer’ that Charlotte made for me and I spray everything that touches the money.
I also notice that every mailbox is full – voicemail and email. 1000 emails. I’d like to mention the ‘passport from hell’ again. Due to this thing being in my left arm, I can’t lift anything over 10 lbs., not to mention the Boot size Bruise where "said passport is", and in my right arm, lift nothing over 5 lbs. Also, due to a slight case of Lymphoedema, not to much "computer time" and just for grins...I will never be able to draw blood or take my blood pressure from my right arm. Why I mention this here is that, lately I feel like I just don’t have my arms like I used to. Putting this blog up has been a real challenge, not to mention answering emails. To all who are still awaiting my reply, please be patient, I’ll get there and hopefully this will help keep all informed
12/6 Chemo party #3 of 32– After laying down for the better part of the week, my sciatica came back. That’s OK because I have my MBT's, I call them my Manolo Blahnik Traniners... in which I stride to my Chemo #1c appointment. The shoes come in handy as I discover I am an hour late (chemo brain) and have to wait so I am rocking on my shoes back and forth in the waiting room pitching the benefits of the shoes to the other people sitting there watching me.
Henceforth, I decide to make all my appointments at the same time: 11am. I recline as usual in my electric recliner chair to receive the hydration. My nurse for the day, Anne, says regarding my ‘passport to hell’, she hasn’t seen much worse but she’s seen worse. Scary.
12/7 – Since my white blood cells were almost nil at my appointment yesterday and my cold is still lingering and I can’t get sick, like the boy in the plastic bubble, I am put under quarantine for the weekend. But, my dad comes to visit. He brings me my Odwalla which he finds at Gelsons with the help of the manager calling me with my dad to ask where it is.
At the foyer, he dons a surgical mask with his name on it (everyone crossing the threshold will have their own) and douses his hands with the germicide gel I have sitting on my table by the front door.
12/8 & 12/9 – I’m pacing the house. My arms are still having their moments but I see a light at the end of the tunnel for Thursday to go through it all again.
Let me also say along with my Awesome Team of Dr's, Nurses, Family and Friends I truly believe that my iPhone has been playing a key roll in my survival and sanity, it goes with me EVERYWHERE...from Surgical table to Chemo infusions, don't know what I would do without it...thank you Steve Jobs.
