Holy tostitos, Batman!

My friends and family are amazing. Truly. I have broken the $1,500 mark in my Avon Walk donations ... fund? Already! I'm truly touched. And kind of awed. When I expressed my astonishment to my friend Margaret, she commented (after making a donation -- hooyah!) that "this is when you reap the benefits of being [me]." HA! As the Brits would say, I'm chuffed.

I'm also feeling better about spending rather a chunk of change on buying new running sneakers (or to continue with the Brit theme, trainers) in preparation for my training walks and, eventually, the big 2 day event in October (although I will be getting a successor pair to these in September, so that I can break them in). I am so grateful to my friend Marci for helping me out with the ins and outs of the mysteries of high tech sneakers. She should know -- she runs the NYC Marathon every year!

And then, today my friend Jackie offered to accompany me to chemo, but I felt guilty because it's basically hours and hours of waiting (an hour of it in an examination room while in a pink mammo gown) so I compromised by hanging out with her afterward for a few hours on her comfy new couch, knitting away and indulging in our joint crush on John Barrowman/Capt. Jack. (More on the knitting and DVDs another day, in a different post).

As for the chemo itself, today's episode was not so bad (although unsurprisingly, having an IV stuck in my wrist did hurt -- a fact which apparently amazes some patients according to today's chemo nurse: well, DUH!) and all of my key blood test results came back within acceptable ranges: red blood cell count, white blood cell count, platelet count, and neutrophil count (a type of white blood cell -- never know there were so many flavors!) So since I "passed" my tests, I got more chemo cocktail.

This is how I know that my chemo visit will never be less than 3 hours at the minimum:

-- arrive & check in
-- get finger prick blood test (or whatever that teeny one is called: today's went MUCH better than the first time, since I suggested the 4th finger, which has much thinner skin than the index finger)
-- wait for an hour for the medical oncologist to get the blood test results back (usually sitting in a pink patient gown, and hopefully flipping through a trashy magazine from the waiting room)
-- have a short visit with her (5-10 min.)
-- check in at the chemo desk & wait an hour (or two) for the cocktail to be mixed up for me (try to score some food at this point, since it's noonish)
-- gulp down meds (new ones today: Zofran, for nausea, and Decadron, a steroid for the itchy flush I got last time)
-- enjoy immobolization courtesy of the IV drip for 45 - 90 min.
-- get bandaged up and run away!

Unfortunately, during today's lunch break, I made the mistake of buying a bottle of Honest Tea with my veggie pizza. Naturally, after waiting until I was starving, they were finally ready with my chemo cocktail, so I walfed down the 'za, threw the (unopened) bottle in my bag, and trotted back to the hospital... only to find that it had leaked about 6 oz. of mildly sweetened tea ALL OVER EVERYTHING in my bag! ARGH! You know, minor things, like my notebook with all of my medical notes from each doctor visit, and my CD player, which I use to listen to audiobooks during chemo.

That player's dead now, by the way, so I am pondering buying another one, since I do want to listen to the end of my Elizabeth George murder mystery, Careless In Red. Well, at least they're cheap these days. I was so peeved that I called the company and vented my displeasure that their UNOPENED bottle of tea leaked and drowned everything in my purse. They offered to send me coupons (why would I want MORE?!) and are sending me a mailer to send them the bottle back so they can figure out why it sucked massive wind like that (my words, not theirs of course).

Actually, I was upset enough that I sniffled a little (probably stress over the chemo and not really the dead CD player, although that did annoy the cr*p out of me) and told them that I was really counting on listening to an audiobook while I was at SLOAN-KETTERING having CHEMOTHERAPY. Pah. (Yes, the man I spoke to felt very guilty.)

Okay, now that I've taken it out on the guilty party, I can go back to RTBT:

• good health insurance -- have I mentioned today how grateful I am to have it??
• my friend Jackie -- see above
• my friend Marci -- see above
• my friend Margaret -- see above; she also introduced me years ago to tamago (yum!)
  
• 2 down, 6 to go -- hey, it's better than 7 or 8 more sessions to go!
• date night with my sweetie -- thanks to my various anti-nausea meds, I was able to enjoy a delicious meal (of entirely cooked foods) at Miyagi, mellow little neighborhood joint I like, while he had (sigh) a tray of suski and a big glass of sake. My fried baby octopus, spider roll, iced (UNsweetened) green tea, tamago, and peanut sesame string beans were also not too shabby. :-)
  

By the way, I might disappear from here for a few days, and go pass out (essentially). I also took off Monday from work, just in case. So if you don't hear from me until Tuesday or so, just imagine me napping or on another date night with my sweetie tomorrow (yippee!)

And so, on that note, I leave you with this very detailed (7 min!) video on how to make tamago. There are also shorter ones on YouTube, but I found the techno soundtrack on this one amusing, and the meticulousness appealing.

Medical Update, part...?

Okay, quick, before my lunch hour is over and Blogger times out again:

• Friday was the MRI. As promised by my friend Margaret, and my engineer, I almost fell asleep during my 40 minutes in the tube. Only the somewhat painful IV needle in my forearm kept me from dozing off completely. I was lying face down on the conveyer belt-type tray which moved me back and forth, in and out of the tube (mercifully, feet first, so I didn't have to find out if I really was claustrophobic or not).
  
  Amusing sidenote: the trolley/conveyer belt had a headrest area, like a massage table, and [ta da!] cutouts for my boobs, so it was actually much more comfortable than a massage table!
  








• Monday was pre-surgical testing: blood work, x-ray, mandatory EKG (ah, the joys of being over 40), and basically stuff to ensure I was healthy enough for surgery. A mere 2-1/2 hour visit, followed by a half hour meeting with the nurse to review the surgery & wound care procedures, etc.
  
  When I asked he if she thought I could go back to work on the following Monday, she looked at me like I was deranged and reminded me to bring the disability paperwork to my post-op visit on the 10th.
  

  
  Or as she put it in typically succinct NYer fashion, "I would plan on at least a week off. Some people need 4-6 weeks to recover, averaging around 4 weeks. And if you aren't going to take time off for CANCER, when ARE you going to take time off?!"
  

  
  Er, well, when you put it THAT way...
  
  

  
  
  

• Thursday afternoon will be radiological lymphatic mapping - I will either be injected or dosed with (I forget -- this is why they advise bring a companion to these meetings) a blue radioisotope, told to wander off for 2 hours while my body absorbs the dye, and return at 4:30 for the lymphatic mapping scan thingie, which will take about 30 minutes (note: this does NOT include wait time, only 30 minutes from when they actually start the process)
  
  During the 2 hour wait, I am to call Admitting to find out my surgery schedule for ...



• Friday, the main events, yielding 2 separate incisions: breast needle localization (I think that's the correct term, anyway) where they will insert a guidewire (ouch!) prior to surgery, a sort of "X marks the spot" approach.
  
  Then I wait for the surgeon for an indeterminate amount of time.
  
  [Note: from this point forward = minimum of 4 hours.] Then he (eventually) starts the procedure by injecting me with blue dye to locate the 3 sentinel lymph nodes he will be removing. [Note: I have been warned that my skin, and um, all bodily wastes, will be blue for weeks and days respectively. Funky!] The 3 lymph nodes go off to the pathologist while the surgeon removes my little 7mm malignant pea + safety margin.
  
  Before he closes me up, the pathology lab will call the surgeon to let him know if the cancer has spread. If yes, more surgery & an overnight stay in the hospital. If no, he closes me up and I stay in the recovery area for 2-3 hours while the IV anesthesia works its way out of my system.
  

  
  My sister (who, along with my poor engineer, will be stuck in the waiting area all day) will drop me off at mom's for some TLC and chicken soup, where I will stay for at least the weekend, possibly 'puterless. (The horror!)
  

So the upshot is that I will explore and experience the wonderful world of short-term disability & FMLA benefits from January 29th - February 10th, at a minimum, and will be away from my ceramics strewn desk (see misleading photo above) for almost 2 weeks. The post-op follow-up visit on the 10th will determine the length of my furlough. Which reminds me...

Today we were told that our entire division -- not just my department -- has now been reassigned to someone waaaay down the food chain in the US unit. Someone who probably has no idea what the heck it is we do. Someone who has probably been told to cut expenses.

This begs the questions:

1. will I even have a job to return to?


2. should I pack up my stuff before I go??

Now I know some friends are saying that I can't get laid off while being treated for cancer, because that might be considered discriminatory. Unfortunately my reply is that if they just axe my whole division, well, then clearly it is very egalitarian. Feh.

Sorry - no time for fun food sagas involving Chinese New Year duckfest, or goose-fest at my engineer's parents' house. Next post.

Not surprisingly, I have been stress-eating lately, and have gained a few pounds. Sigh. My grace peiod of stressed out metabolism = eat whatever is now OVAH. Like my lunch hour.

Warm & Fuzzy

So during the wedding, and afterward, amongst my friends, the duck cake seems to be the source of much fascination, and I can see why, since I have never seen such an accurate cake in the form of a duck. I mean, various searches on Flickr and Google for "mallard duck cake" turned up not so impressive specimens such as this one or that one but it appears that it may not be a Korean tradition in this case (mallard ducks mate for life, so it is a traditional wedding symbol in Korean households, where there is usually a pair of carved ducks somewhere in the home).

Instead, it may be part of a tradition I was not aware of (also, I generally tend to avoid wedding-related hoo-hah) known as the groom's cake (here's another duck version). The origin and customs are described by TheWeddingChannel.com (see previous link) with a hilarious picture gallery on this site. So perhaps the duck cake was actually a nod to the groom's hunting pastimes (for example, there was a photo of him during the slide whow surrounded by his dog and 10 or 12 dead pheasants). I have no idea which is the case and the bride did not explain, so this is just my librarian curiosity run amok. What can I say? Occupational hazard.

And in other (completely unrelated) news, except for the fact that it is now COLD again, my mom and I were amused by the ingenuity of a deliveryperson in her neighborhood. Note how he (and let's face it, it's usually a he) grafted warm, fuzzy mittens onto the handlebars of his bike.

Cold weather also makes me extremely fond of my pink flannel sheets, down comforter, and humidifier. Yay!

Speaking of mom, she has been calling me daily, checking to make sure that I have been as (in)active as a bump on a log, since she is convinced (and I'm not arguing) that all of my various obligations and activities have been preventing quicker healing of the coin-pocket-slot in my boob. She did grant me dispensation to go visit doctor today.

Tonight I went to go meet with the radiology oncologist (for 2 hours!) about post-surgery treatment, which now looks like it will include chemo (18 weeks, once every 3 weeks) as well as radiology (daily for 5 weeks, after the chemo ends). At least the chemo looks less arduous than the chemo that my boyfriend's dad has: mine is only 60-90 min. once every 3 weeks, but his is 48 hours every other week! The chemo will not start till at least March 13th while they wait for my incision to progress.

However, altogether, this means that I am facing an endless series of doctor visits, and treatment sessions, for the next 6 months (25 weeks min.) which kind of boggles my mind. So my friend Marci's roommate Bill (who is really a sweetie) suggested that I join Gilda's Club, named in honor of Gilda Radner, which has many resources (such as support groups) for cancer patients and their families, all free of charge.

Although I have walked past its striking red door many times, usually either on my way to and from The Film Forum, I never thought I'd be availing myself of their services, but then, I never thought that I would be diagnosed with breast cancer either. In fact, I still have kind of a problem wrapping my brain around the whole idea, and I sort of mentally shy away from the whole concept of cancer, like the way you can sort of glance sideways at the sun, but looking directly at it fries your eyeballs. It's that classic "cancer is something that happens to other people" mentality. So enlightened, I know.

Therefore, Bill's suggestion sounds sensible. Although my family and friends have been wonderful (you guys are GREAT! as my doctors keep asking, I do indeed have a fabulous support network -- you all! MWAH! MWAH!) it makes sense to speak with other breast cancer patients. Even though my Pearl of Wisdom also had breast cancer (so she really means it when she understands how I feel!) it would probably be helpful to speak to people who are also currently undergoing treatment.

As my friend Marci, and my sister both said to me tonight, they're there for me, but there are some things they just can't help me with, since they don't know what it's like eyeballing the Big C (for which I'm grateful -- I never want anyone I love to go through this, no matter how "favorable" the outlook is). So I am going to meet with someone at Gilda's Club next Thursday, as part of new member orientation.

I'm also planning on registering for the Avon Walk For Breast Cancer, a 2-day, 26-mile event which takes place in NYC in October (and other cities throughout the spring and summer). So get ready for me to hit you all up for money this summer and fall, folks (HA!) since each registrant must pledge to raise a minimum of $1,800! Yikes!

And now I leave you with this lovely closeup of one of the yellow lilies sent to me previously by my friends Sarah and Sam (see what I mean about fabu friends?) since all this blah-blah-blah verbiage deserves a pretty picture in compensation. Let's hear it for macro-focus! Yeah!