Good news! My bone scan "does not show any evidence of metastasis"! That is welcome news. Of course with the good news there always has to follow some bad. But this isn't earthshaking bad, just annoying bad. My urinalysis shows I have a bladder infection. The oncologist asked her nurse to call me and ask if I had any symptoms. No, I said and I would know if I did because I have had a couple of bladder infections in the last couple of years. She kept asking did I feel this, did I feel that and I had to answer no to all. She said they were going to rerun the analysis just to make sure. And then we said goodbye. Of course, she was talking to Mardie Fulop, Ms. Suggestible of the Millennium. You name the symptom and she will feel it within minutes. No matter that I had just drunk a bottle of water less than half an hour ago and was now working on a Zen Green Tea. I must be exhibiting symptoms. I have to go to the bathroom. So I try to talk myself down from my delusion and sure enough the "frequent urge" to urinate passes. Andy picks me up from Starbucks and I come home to many cards, The Lord of the Rings on CD, and "Cancer Sucks" socks and a pink kerchief from Olga! But first I must email my doctor and tell her that I am a bit of a hypochondriac and if she describes it, I will get it. I do come by this malady with the right credentials. My mother was a great hypochondriac. She was always thinking she had lung cancer, all through my childhood. Of course, she was a heavy smoker and she eventually did get lung cancer so she could probably be called more of a great anticipator than a hypochondriac. Me, I kind of try to resist the urge to hypochondriate (could that be a word? I like it!) but because I am so suggestable it is hard. But I am also my best talker downer of suggestion. I can sit and say to myself. Okay, Mardie, let's just take this one step at a time. You have a little sore spot on your finger. You do like to chew your cuticles. Is it possible that this sore is self inflicted and not the first sign of leprosy? And you know, I often convince myself that I am not coming down with this, that and the other. So I will wait for the email from the doctor and in the meantime feel absolutely no symptoms...Yayyy, me!

I cut my hair....no, that is a lie. I had my hair cut. No, maybe that is a lie too. It was "beauteously" reshaped by my favorite, and only, hairdresser, Karen. I made an appointment last week. We had been told at the Chemo class that if one's hair is long, it can be very traumatizing to see clumps of long hair on one's pillow when and if the hair starts falling out. So the chemo class instructor suggested getting one's hair cut short so it isn't so awful. Well, I decided, that would be me. And thus I made the appointment. And I am thinking things like, what am I going to do with all my pretty hair flowers? I like pony tails. I like my long hair. And then thinking. I can wear a wig if my hair falls out and then I can wear my flowers. I can get a pony tail wig. I can let my hair grow in and not cut it. I might like it short anyway. Many, many thoughts. Not all of them silly. But when I got to Karen she knew why I was there. And she knew that there had been a time when I had wanted to try really short hair and she had discouraged me. Now she encouraged. Did I want to go as short as I possible could? Yes, ma'am. Really, really short. So Karen first cut it bob length and then got out the old clipper and really went short. And I have to add that while it has been a long time since I had visited Karen, I won't let anyone else cut my hair. She is an artist. When she finished we were both happy. And she wouldn't charge me. So if you need a "chemo cut" please remember Karen. She will do a lovely job and make you feel like a million. A friend says I look very trendy, very stylish. Imagine, me, stylish and trendy! I guess I should go out and get some clothes to go with this new look. Ooops, I hope Andy isn't reading this.

On other fronts, I'm feeling a much better today than I was yesterday. I still feel like I was hit by a truck but the truck isn't a Mack anymore, maybe a Ram 4x4 or something like that. It is strange to have both shoulders feeling, uh, I don't know...feeling anything. They should just be there doing their job. Instead, I have to think every time I reach for something. How much does it weigh? Should I reach with the left arm or the right? Which one can support the weight? Don't reach above my head with the left. Did I know that I do that in my sleep?I woke up this a.m. with my left arm above my head. Have I ruined the surgical incision now or pulled some stitches? Oy, the worries! But I didn't have much time to worry about it because I got a call from the clinical trials nurse telling me I had to go down to Kaiser and have another urinalysis because the lab didn't understand the instructions from yesterday.
Oh, wait, I haven't said anything about yesterday. I got a call from my clinical trials nurse that I still hadn't gone in for my blood tests and my ekg. Well, I'm confused. I thought I had taken care of them. I did have blood tests but I guess they weren't the ones she was talking about. And it has been observed several times by my history takers that I had an ekg in April and then before the heart scan so I didn't realize they didn't count. So I went tearing down to Kaiser to take care of these things. I walked into the building. EKG is just on the right as you walk in off Main Street. There wasn't a soul waiting in line. I was escorted almost directly into the EKG room and within 5 minutes I was done. They attached maybe three or four electrodes to one's chest and one's back and before I could say Bob's your uncle, it was done. Then I went down to the lab for the blood tests and a urinalysis. I was wishing that this porta-cath was in working order but I guess one must wait until the dressings come off. So another needle in the arm. She was an intern but the stick wasn't too bad. I'll give her a solid B. Then my donation in a cup. They have told me that the test the clinical trials nurse is asking for is something they don't do so after depositing my cup in the mysterious lab box in the restroom, I go up to oncology and ask to talk to the trials nurse. They call her and I tell her the problem. They don't do the dipstick without micrology test (I might have that worded wrong). She says she'll call them and tell them to do it. But I have a feeling in my gut and sure enough this morning at 8 on the nose, Cindy calls to say that I need to come down and donate again. And that I should call her and tell her if they say the same thing to me again about not doing the test. Then, as I am driving down to Kaiser she calls again and tells me to just call her when I have my specimen so she can walk it through. (I pull over to the side of the road and stop my car before taking the call). When I get there it is as she says. They haven't a clue. We call Cindy and she comes down. While she makes her way down to the basement from the fourth floor I prepare my specimen. I bring it out to Cindy and the lab people with the comment, "this brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, Fresh Catch of the Day!" and bless their hearts, they laugh! Then there is a mini conference about what is happening. It seems that the lab people cannot see on their computer screens what it is that the nurses and doctors instruct if there are certain special instructions. And besides that, they don't do that particular test because it is superceded by a new test. But you have to have this test if you want to be in the clinical trials. There isn't any animosity or bickering going on between these two professionals. They are just trying to figure out how to get in done. So Cindy ends up walking my little bottle over to the hospital lab because she feels they can do it over there. Thank you, Cindy! And so, once again, I wait. She says she now has everything except the pathology report from the last surgery so it has been requested and faxed to Walnut Creek and must be interpreted here and submitted to her. I hope by tomorrow I will know when chemo starts, either within the clinical trials or outside of them. I want to get this show on the road!

Whoa! I think I just got hit by a Mack truck. Third time is a charm, it is said. My third surgery this year and boy do I feel it. I felt okay yesterday but today I feel awful. Well, I guess I could feel worse but I sure don't feel well. But I jump ahead. Let us go back to last Friday, which I have overlooked in the sadness of the weekend.
Friday was heart scan day. A very busy day, indeed. Had tea with Mary after doing some deliveries and visiting the post office. Then I scurried home so I would have time to walk downtown. I am getting used to walking to downtown Walnut Creek. It is the perfect distance for a nice walk one way and if I feel like it I walk both directions. If I don't, Andy comes to pick me up. Well, I left at about 11 a.m. and by noon I was at the corner of Mt. Diablo and Broadway. From there I visited my friends at the bank. Then I went to Nordstrom to visit another friend and show off my cool shirt. From there I strolled over to Kaiser. They saw me almost immediately. But it was interesting that there were two of us in the waiting room and we were both Margarets. I'm glad Kaiser is very, very careful about identity checking. Who knows what procedure I might have had if they didn't constantly ask for all my information. Anyway, the techncian remembered me from my CT scan so it was like coming home. She gave me a short EKG and then she attached an IV needle and drew some blood. Carefully she marked the vial of blood with a sticker and a twin sticker was attached to my IV. This vial already had some kind of radioactive dye in it and she put the vial away for about an hour. She gave me the choice of sitting in the waiting room or lying on a gurney in the scanning room. I chose the latter and read while I waited. At the appropriate time she came back and checked the vial, showed me the ID number and matched it against the ID on me. She wheeled me over to the modestly sized scanner and its display machine. The scanner was miniscule compared to the bone and CT scanners. Just a plate attached to a stand. The display that showed what was going on was much larger. The display showed three things. One rectange showed a bar graph. One rectange showed a verticle x/y graph and then my heart's radioactive image was displayed in the upper left hand corner. I assume that is what is was. It kept pulsing like a heart. And it shimmered which I assume my heart does. Don't you think?
Anyway, she reinjected my blood and started the scan which lasted 7 minutes or 50,000 somethings. I saw that number begin at 00000 and grow. After lying still for 7 minutes the machine seemed to go back to its default and then it displayed maybe a dozen or so pictures of my heart! The technician decided to do it again for 6 minutes and then we were done. Very exciting. And so I was done with things medical for that week.
Monday drove out to Antioch nice and early and had tea with my good friend Hadassah. We had a nice chat for two hours until I had to go to my pre-surgery physical. Dr. Rolle is my surgeon for the Porta-Cath. We went over what was going to happen and my whole medical history and the history of the world just to make sure nothing was missed. I kept thinking that his name was familiar and finally I told him so. He said he had worked for Kaiser out of Walnut Creek for 30 years and so I figured it out. He was Sonia's surgeon when she had her appendix out. I am pretty sure. So that was nice to have that connection.
Tuesday morning we drove out again to Antioch early, early, early. My surgery was scheduled for 9:46! Yes, that is correct. Not 9:45, not 9:30 but 9:46. And I was there in plenty of time. I recognized lots of the nurses. After all, this is my third surgery in seven weeks! And lo and behold, a number of the nurses remembered....Andy! For gosh sakes. I'm the patient with the flower in her hair. I'm the nice lady who is silly enough to make jokes before she gets wheeled in for the operation. But no, they remember him. Why? because, they say, he always has a nice smile on his face. Humph! Okay, one nurse remembered me and the nurse anethesthist remembered me. That is about 2 for 10. Humph again. But I am wandering from the narrative. I went through the whole drill, getting undressed, getting an IV, getting the cool leg wraps for my massage during the procedure, answering questions, and then, finally I listened to my guided imagery CD. That still does the trick for me. Just really relaxes me. So when they finally wheeled me in to surgery I was thinking about my cheering section of friends, all supporting me, all waving and smiling. It is such a comforting feeling. I slide onto the operating table and get comfortable. This time I was having a different anesthesia. Amber said it was a local with something to make me happy. I wouldn't have any feeling of discomfort but I might remember what was going on. So she stretches out my arm, puts a mask over my face and now, boom, I remember nothing. I don't even know if she said anything after the mask went over my face. The next thing I remember is waking up and knowing that I was waking up very slowly. Consciously knowing that I wanted to take my time. Very strange. I finally was awake enough to say something and as it happened last time, once they saw that I was okay they sent me on my way. And I was fine. I went home and took a nap. I decided to go to my book group at 7 but was tired by 8 and left before we got to talking about our books, Molokai and The Guernsey Tea and Potatoe Peel Society (I don't think that is right but I can't remember the correct title. You know what I'm talking about though, right?). But it was nice to see the ladies and there was much to chat about before the formal book discussion.
Then the Mack Truck hit me. I slept well but woke up this morning feeling pretty yucky. Nauseated and head achy and very, very sore. So much for the local being easier. So much for the vicodin. I responded to a couple of emails and then collapsed back into bed. Couple of hours later I'm feeling better but I think I am done with the vicodin. I'll stick with tylenol!
One last thing. Sunday night I had a strange dream. I had been drafted and sent to Iraq! I remember thinking in my dream, how did this happen? This is crazy. But then I woke up and it made perfect sense. My body is preparing for battle. I am going to fight the big fight. And this porta-cath being implanted is the next step in the fight. I'm ready.

Sigh, you think you are going to write about one thing but what comes out of the fingers is something else. I should be writing about my heart scan which I guess went well. I do apparently have a heart and the technician didn't faint when she looked at the pictures so I guess everything looked fairly normal. I'll find out on Monday.
But I'm not going to write about the EKG or the blood draw or the scanning machine. Today I will write about a parent's worst nightmare.
A dear dear friend of ours called last night to say that her 21 year old daughter died the day before. She had retired for the night and the next morning she was dead on the couch in her room. Right now they have no idea what happened. We visited them this afternoon and I have never been in a sadder situation in my life. Our friend spoke of her daughter. Then there was silence and then she spoke. Of her memories, of her regrets, of special moments. I was glad we were there but it was so utterly tragic. They have lost both their daughters. Their first daughter died in infancy. She was born with a heart defect and although she lived for a year I don't believe they ever even brought her home. It was, without a doubt, a very hard time for them. But they managed to pick up the pieces of their life. They adopted a beautiful little girl and they raised her and loved her. And now she, too, is gone. To say life is unfair is to trivialize the situation. My heart is so heavy. I really can't say more right now.

Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. It isn't that bad but these breaks between constant appointments are unnerving. Friday I have a heart scan at 1 p.m. in Walnut Creek. It sounds like more of the same types of scans I had before but it could be different. I'll find out Friday. Then on Monday I get to drive out to Antioch for a 4:45 pre-op physical. I think it is kind of amusing that I have had two surgeries with general anesthetic and no physical and now they think I need a physical for a "light" sleep. This physical is for the insertion of my port for the chemotherapy. I am very excited about this because I don't think they will wait too long to start the chemo once the port goes in. A friend was very concerned and close to tears when I told her it was going into my chest. She has lost two loved ones who died because of port complications. But I assured her that I am in really good shape and it shouldn't be a problem. And I believe it. I would much rather have a receptacle in my chest to receive all the injections than have someone keep sticking needles into the crook of my arm, which is beginning to look like a battle ground. Anyway, that will be on Tuesday, time as yet to be determined.
I just received a shirt from my daughter Sonia which reads "Crazy Sexy Cancer Goddess". I love it. I wore it to school but wore a sweater over it and only showed it to adults. I felt like a flasher....tee hee! But it is really a cute shirt and I will wear it proudly. Andy has a shirt that reads "I wear pink for my wife". He does wear it, too!
Dear friends. I have been really remiss on my thank you's. I just feel overwhelmed by all the cards, flowers, cookies and meals that have arrived on our doorstep. Please don't think that we don't appreciate them. We truly do. Just know that everything you have done for us is welcomed and cherished.
And I also want to thank my walking friends who have chosen to walk instead of run on Saturday mornings. I know that these mornings have gotten longer because of walking instead of running and it moves me deeply that you are willing to take time from all the demands of your life to spend some time with me. Hugs to you all.
Well, I'll let you know all about the scan once it has been taken care of. Until then, more hugs to you all.

And today was my day to sign papers. I initialed and/or signed and dated 23 pages of documents about the clinical trials. I told the nurse that I felt like I was signing escrow papers and she said I wasn't the first person to make that remark. I am going to be disappointed if I'm not chosen. It took an hour and a half to go through each page with the clinical trials RN. She had to make sure that I understood what I was getting into. And that I understood that this is actually a 10 year study. I will have to stay in contact with them for 9 years beyond the trial so they can continue to monitor my health. Sounded good to me! (but I can leave the trial at any time or the doctor can remove me from the trial)
After I took care of that I took the car in for an oil change and walked to Starbucks. While I sat next to the window it started to hail. First little lentil sized pieces and then bigger to the size of peas. Plump peas! It was very exciting. Everyone in Starbucks stood and gazed out the window, watching the little pellets pound to the ground. Later on I looked towards Mt. Diablo and sure enough, there was snow up at the summit. I just love weather like this. Even though it was kind of cold today. This on and off rain with snow on the mountain is just so wonderful. Of course there was a down side. When I got home the gutter over the front window was overflowing. I had to climb a ladder to clear out the drain. Just a bunch of leaves right over the top of the downspout. It took just a minute. But of course my neighbor spotted me up high and was concerned....I assured him I was safe. He couldn't see that Andy was right there and I was actually standing one foot on the ladder and one on a low wall. I was perfectly steady. It felt good to do something handy around the house. Sometimes I feel kind of useless. But today I was the handy person.
Oh, oh, the painter finished painting around the house today. It looks wonderful. The living room and dining room are especially nice looking and he also painted my office in a lovely yellow called Sprinkles of summer or something like that. It really changes the feeling in that room. Cheers it up.
Tomorrow morning I will go for a nice walk with whomever has the fortitude to brave this weather. Or maybe we will just adjourn to Starbucks. We will see tomorrow.

Whew, what a couple of days it has been! Tuesday was chemo class, Wednesday I had a bone scan and today I had a CT scan and a visit with my oncology radiologist. I've already gone through describing the chemo class. I'm glad I went. Just to get my brain in gear for the rest of the week, if for no other reason.
Yesterday I had the bone scan. Nothing to prepare for. I walked down to Kaiser, arriving about a half an hour early. Just before 11 a.m. I was summoned for my injection. Then I was told to come back at 2:30. I could eat and drink. No problem. I went to Starbucks, called Andy to pick me up, we had lunch, went to the post office and then I drove back to Kaiser. At 3 p.m. I was escorted to the Nuclear Medicine area and told to empty my bladder and then I was introduced to the bone scan machine. I had left all my metal jewelry at home as instructed but I still had to take off my hair flower. On one end of the room was a cute white machine with a narrow cot centered in front of it. The machine itself had a flat plate parallel to the floor and above the foot of the cot and then just beyond that was a circular portal that the cot could slide through. I lay on my back with a pillow under my knees. My shoes were still on but the technician put a rubber band around them to keep them steady. A cradle was inserted next to my arms on either side of me to keep my body steady and something was placed on either side of my head to keep me still there too. Before I closed my eyes the technician slid the cot to the point that the plate was just above my face. She said the plate would lower a bit but wouldn't touch my face and I shouldn't be nervous. I was cool with that but decided I would be happier if my eyes were closed. The technician said I could go to sleep but it was just too interesting to do that. I could feel the vibration of the table as it slid into the machine and even with my eyes closed I could see first dark blue and then yellow light as the scan began. It didn't take very long. Maybe 15 or 20 minutes. I'm really not sure. But after the table slid out the technician asked me if I had broken my foot or my ankle. I said no. She asked again, are you sure? I had to just stop and think.....am I losing it? Could I have forgotten having broken something like a foot or an ankle? Wouldn't I have had a cast or something that would remain forever, indelibly marked in my brain? No, I said again, I am sure. But for whatever reason they had to scan just my left foot again. I'll have to ask about that when I see my doctor again....Anyway, that took another 5 minutes or so and then I was done. And that was that for my bone scan.
The next morning I had more of a challenge. No food after 5 a.m. At 7 a.m. I had to drink a bottle of what they called a "Banana Smoothie" but had a label that prominently displayed the words "Barium Sulfate Suspension" 450 ml. Now I'm not saying that the stuff was disgusting. It wasn't. But when someone calls something a smoothie, well, I'm thinking smooth, creamy, thick, tasty....you know, a smoothie, for heaven's sake. This was sort of a non fat milk texture and a faint taste of banana. And then at 8 a.m. I had to drink another bottle of the stuff. It was okay. I survived. Then I drove down to Kaiser bright and early so as to assure myself of a parking space. Parking is downright difficult at Kaiser nowadays. I prefer to walk there from my home, 3 miles away than battle the slowly snaking line of cars going up to the fifth floor of the parking structure, hoping against hope that someone, somewhere on a lower level will be vacating a parking space. Anyway, I left so early that I managed to get a spot on the 4th floor. I presented myself at the CT scan area and filled out a few forms. Then I was asked to change into one of those three arm holed gowns again. I went into the cat scan room and I think it looked very much like the room I had been in the day before. I climbed on the cot, they injected me with some kind of dye and then I slid into the machine. A mechanical voice said BREATHE, then HOLD YOUR BREATH, then the cot slid out and the voice said "BREATHE". This happened 2 or 3 times and then I was done. Very quick. Very efficient. I was done in less than an hour. I then decided to scout out my next appointment's location. I had driven a friend of mine to the cancer radiation center in Concord about 17 years ago but I didn't remember anything about it. So off I drove to Concord and Maria's (at the center) instructions were perfect. I found it on High School Street just as she had promised. So then I went to the post office in Alamo and just as I was about to head on home, there was my friend Mary. It was wonderful. I needed a cuppa and so did she and we needed to talk. So we did. Then an hour or so later we parted and I drove home. Had lunch. Then Andy and I drove out to Concord again. I filled out some more papers. We waited a few minutes. A nurse took us on a brief tour of the facility. Very neat, open and inviting. She showed us to a exam room where Andy and I waited. Michael Levine, my new doctor, arrived and then our education started. I guess partly because the law requires the patient to be fully informed and partly because he obviously enjoys his job and likes to share his enthusiasm, we were lectured and regaled for a good hour on the history of radiology and breast cancer treatment. My goodness! It really was fascinating. He talked about Marie Curie and toxic radiology and Harvard studies and chemo and chemo and radiology combined and skin reactions and cancer travelling the lymph system, side effects and on and on. And I really, really was enthralled. So he ended our talk by pointing out that since I am trying to get into a trial for chemo and since their procedure usually is to let chemo go first, I wouldn't be seeing him again until after my chemo was finished. But I'm glad I got to meet him. He praised Kaiser for their state of the art technology that transmits my charts and info to them so easily. He says my oncologist is very smart and earnest and enthusiastic. I'm glad he has met her. He was interested in the clinical trial I'm hoping to get in so we sent him the protocols for him to look at. All in all, I was very satisfied with the visit. Tomorrow I go in to sign the papers saying I want to be part of the trials! And so, to bed.....

My goodness gracious! Today I had my Chemotherapy Class. All you wanted to know about Chemo but were afraid to ask. Or didn't have the time, or didn't have a clue. There were about 20 of us with different types of cancer in the small conference room. All of us were about to start Chemo. Some were starting tomorrow. I can't imagine being that close to the beginning of this therapy and not having this information already. The presenter was a Kaiser nurse who has been the caregiver for three family members with cancer and who also more recently went through breast cancer herself. So she has seen this journey as professional, as a family member taking care of a patient and as a patient herself. She assured us that the Kaiser Cancer Center is the premier cancer center in California. They regularly consult with Stanford and UCSF. The number of doctors, RNs and associated staff is huge. She really had a good sense of humor and definitely knew her stuff. She went through a power point presentation that included everything from Kaiser's Oncology Team mission statement to introducing all the members of oncology treatment team. She explained chemo room policies like not wearing perfumes, bringing in cold foods (hot foods tend to send their aromas out which can nauseate patients) to not bringing in children at all (they are walking infection spreaders). From the policy on using cell phones or computers during chemo (it is okay) to explaining treatment cycles and communication with the health care team...and so on and so forth. The big downer was when the dietician came in and told us about eating well to help keep us healthy through chemotherapy. She says I can't eat sushi (uncooked fish and meat are no-nos). Yikes! How will I live without sushi? Interestingly, the whole presentation lasted two hours but the time just flew by.
I'm even more curious now as to how my body will react to all these chemicals. The RN explained a lot of the side effects but then assured us that most of them can be managed and we shouldn't try to just live with them. They have something for everything. We just need to let the oncology team know.
Tomorrow I go in for the bone scan. There is nothing special for me to do to prepare for it. But the following morning I go in for the CT scan. I have two quarts of banana smoothie tasting liquid I have to drink before I go in. One I drink two hours beforehand and one I drink one hour beforehand. I also have to fast 4 hours before it. She asked me how I handle fasting. I laughed and told her I am Jewish. We know how to fast. She laughed too. Then that afternoon I go in to Concord to meet my radiation therapy doctor. His name is Michael Levine. I did the intake over the phone so there shouldn't be any paperwork when I get there. I hope. I do have to take a list of all my medications, prescription and non prescription. Must make that list right now. It is all non prescription. I wonder if they will tell me to stop taking some of the supplements. I only take them because doctors have suggested them but maybe I shouldn't be taking them now.
What I liked about the presentation today is the upbeat attitude of the RN. She was positive without bravado. She has been through this and knows exactly what people are feeling. I didn't see any weepy people there but there were some who looked kind of fragile. I feel for them.
I asked about wigs. People are telling me I should get one, just in case. So I've been looking online and there are some really attractive ones in all price ranges. But when I asked the RN about wigs she told me that the Women's Health Center and the American Cancer Society give away wigs for free! I am really happy to hear that. Not for me but for someone who can't afford to buy one. I think I would be devastated if I knew I was going bald and couldn't afford to have something looking like hair on my head. As it is, I have a feeling I will wear cute head coverings and maybe the wig sometimes. I could wear it at a rakish angle.......No, I promise I won't! tee hee
Meanwhile, there is half a ton of paperwork to read. Some of it looks a little redundant but better over informed than underinformed. I guess the thing that is so surprising for me right now is the number of appointments I have to keep track of and I haven't even started treatment yet. I am abandoning my Treo as a calendar and using a standard paper on instead. It is easier for me to put down all the information on paper than on the Treo. I'll use the Treo as a backup. One giant step backwards in my use of technology. Don't tell Andy!

Okay, buckaroos, I have had my appointments and am ready to both inform you and help myself sort it all out. Thursday was my visit to the surgeon. I think it was my last visit. He was very nice and started smiling as I cracked joke after joke. I guess he thinks I am hopeless. He probably thinks I just don’t get it. No matter. I do. And that is why I will keep being silly. So, he removed the drain and told me that there were of the 20 nodes removed three more nodes involved. Okay, I’m thinking. Three out of 20 isn’t bad. I can handle this. Piece of cake. He also told me that he was referring me to the oncologist. He goes to his computer and tells me I can see a very good oncologist at Walnut Creek on February 6th. Okay, I’m thinking. That can’t be too far off since we are in the beginning of February. It wasn’t until I got into the parking lot that I realized it would be the next day. Andy starts fretting because he postponed an appointment to Friday from Thursday so he could come with me to the surgical follow-up appointment and now he will have to cancel it. But sister Kathy graciously agrees to stay another day to accompany me to my appointment. Friday we go early to Kaiser because I’m not sure where it is we are supposed to be. I guess Oncology and lo and behold, I’m right. Everyone at Kaiser is so darn nice. The receptionist is just so sweet and calm and reassuring. Makes these visits really pleasant. Really. I am weighed and measured (they won’t let me take my clothes off to lose another 5 pounds) and then the blood pressure. And it is good! I’m feeling pretty confident, like I’m about to go on a job interview. I am shown into an exam room and once again don the paper front opening blouse. Love those things. They make you feel so stylish, so attractive…The oncologist comes in, Dr. Liu and I like her at once. Very friendly, very reassuring. She says even though the tumor itself was small, they consider my cancer aggressive because it was 6 nodes out of 23 infected by cancer. Silly me. Here I’m thinking it is three the first time and just three the second time. But those darn doctors add the two events together and call it 6. Who would have thunk? And I am positive for certain hormone receptors which means the cancer feeds on hormones (if I'm understanding this correctly) but fortunately they can treat it. I’m going from a stage 1 cancer to a stage 3 cancer in the matter of a blink of an eye. Heck! But good news. She keeps marveling at how healthy I am. And I boast about running marathons but I am modest enough not to say how many I have run. Recently. Because of my good health and because I’m not overweight (yayyy weightwatchers) she wants to propose that I try getting into a clinical trial for a chemo drug that they are testing which would, if successful, not only get rid of the cancer but have fewer side effects. And man, these chemo drugs have the possibility of every side effect under the sun. Starting with death and moving through leukemia to heart problems to hair loss, to nausea, to diarrhea, to constipation to rashes and so on and so forth ad nauseum. You don’t necessarily get these side effects, maybe some, maybe none. But the possibility is there.
Well, I’m a big advocate of science. I’m all for it. When I was little you simply died from breast cancer. But not anymore. So if I can help the medical world which is helping me, to help others, I’m on it!
Did I mention that I was in a clinical trial for polio shots when I was 5 years old? My dad was a health educator for the Los Angeles County Health Department. Whenever they needed guinea pigs he volunteered himself or one of his kids. In 1953 or 1954 the polio vaccine people were just about to release the vaccine but they needed to make one more study. They needed 5 year olds who hadn’t attended public school yet to give blood to study (maybe for antibodies to polio, I’m not sure why) and in exchange for giving blood for the study they would give these children the polio vaccine that hadn’t been approved for the public yet. The first needle they used on me broke. The second needle was too large. The third needle was okay so they got the blood. The last needle was for the vaccine. And strangely, I didn’t cry. My daddy was so proud of me. And happily, I didn’t get the live vaccine shots that caused many of these volunteers to come down with polio later on in their lives. I was really lucky!
So I'm going to apply to be in a clinical trial. They want me but all my tests have to come out right. Whether or not I am accepted for the trials I will have chemo for a number of months, radiation and then hormone therapy. The doctor said it treatment will take about a year. It's going to be a long haul but the doctor kept commenting on how healthy I am so I am sure it will all come out okay. I'm exhausted already and nothing has happened! But next week it will be, 1) cancer class, 2) CT scan, 3) bone scan and the following week on Friday, 4) heart scan . . I hope they can find my heart....! And lots of blood tests, of course. It is all very exciting.
The bummer is, she says I can't go on any cruises. Which means once again I won’t be able to go to Israel. Last time we made reservations for a trip to Israel, about two years ago, Andy had a stroke. Now I have cancer. I am beginning to think that I’m never going to set foot in Israel. I told Andy that I think my name is really Moses. And if you don’t get it, ask your rabbi. Or the minister or priest of your choice.
So I expect to be going on an ultra fabulous cruise next year to make up for this "inconvenience".
Anyway, I’m still waiting for it all to hit me except that I am not feeling emotionally numb to it. I’m not in denial, at least I don’t think I am. I am still feeling curious about all this. It is a land I have never been to and not everyone visits. But I’m going there. And it is dangerous and for some people scary but I will make it. I know I will.