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Mark and I went to the oncologist today thinking that the results of my blood test will mean (a) go back on chemo or (b) switch to a gentler treatment or none at all. Instead, of course, the answer is (c) get more information. My blood counts were not definitive enough to make a decision, so I will have a CAT scan and a bone scan. The problem with oncology is that the answer is always (c). Never, in the almost seven years that I have known Dr. Campbell, has the answer been the (a) or (b) I anticipate. It is always, always, always (c). And yet, I am still surprised.

I’ll have a bone and a CAT scan next week. Meet with Dr. Campbell the following week. I would tell you what we think we’ll find out then, but the answer will be (c), so I’m going to try not to speculate and to just enjoy another two weeks without chemo.

Perhaps it was the Harry Potter influence, but Zoe had a kick a few weeks back of writing fortunes and having us draw them from a hat. They included:

“You will be famous”
“Have fun in Japan”
“You will spend all your money”
and
“Today is the day”

The one that I drew was: “Soon your life will feel brand new”

And…Life does feel brand new! But also familiar and lovely. How did the little swami know?! These weeks off chemo have been nothing short of glorious. I’ll be hounding her for another fortune when this wears off. I wouldn’t mind a trip to Japan.

A dear friend sent me a link to this article from the New York Times yesterday. Written by a woman who has lived with stage 4 breast cancer for seventeen years, it makes me grin ear to ear. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it too.

And this quote from the end of the article? “One thing I don’t ever think to say: When I was told I had a year or two, I didn’t want anything one might expect: no blow-out trip to the Galápagos, no perfect meal at Alain Ducasse, no defiant red Maserati. All I wanted was ordinary life back, for ordinary life, it became utterly clear, is more valuable than anything else.”

All I can think is, “Yeah. What she said. Me too.” while I listen to the ordinary hum of my dishwasher and the ordinary murmur of Mark reading to Zoe upstairs. I kicked my ordinary walking shoes off at the door and hung up Daisy’s ordinary leash. And look forward to another gloriously decadent ordinary day tomorrow.

When Mark and I met with Dr. Campbell last week, Dr. Campbell made the decision to take me off of chemotherapy for four weeks to see if my tumor marker blood counts go down. He suspects that, once the liver is used to having been ablated, my markers will go back to where they were last summer. If they do, this could mean a change to milder treatment or simply observation (no treatment at all). It’s also a good time to give my body a break from chemo since my heart and kidneys are being impacted by the treatment.

While, of course, I would love a summer without chemotherapy, I’m focusing on the four weeks I have now without treatment. In a word, I feel: present. Participatory. Here. (OK, that’s three words.) I feel like having people over for dinner. Like painting the furniture I’ve accrued in the garage. Like walking the dog.

It’s nice.

Liver lesion was radio-ablated on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I had my regular chemotherapy a few hours after discharge from the hospital. Thursday, my colleagues impressed upon me to stay home from work.

Today I’m having a latte and checking my e-mail having gotten Zoe off to school with a lunch packed and breakfast in her belly. I marvel that despite the deadly one-two punch we were able to deliver to the disease that threatens me, I’m still able to live my life. A bit more slowly than usual, but that’s not all bad!

We spent the last week in Nashville with our dear friends and neighbors, the Grix family. We’ve intended to vacation together for years, but could we really manage a whole week of togetherness? A few photos from the trip…

Three happy hikers. Well, more like two happy hikers. Zoe started out with some early issues, but rallied to make it around the lake.

Vacationing with Emily meant I could forget my camera all I wanted (thus the scant photos, I intend to mooch off Emily for the good ones). We also re-lived our childhood vacations: eating lunch out of the back of the van, visiting historical sites (brown signs can be fun, Emily!), and generally making children walk long distances.

Had no choice but to stop at the Cooters Dukes of Hazzard Museum.

The girls got in the Nashville spirit, perhaps reviving their toddler band: Pooh Bear The Banjo.

Great eatin’ and of course we loaded up on free stuff.

Four astronauts preparing for launch at the Adventure Science Center. The smaller astronauts had much more panache and did not make quite as much of a scene as yours truly.

The girls found the goggles useful for more than just the many hours they spent in the pool.

My favorite photo of the week.

The Veals came up from Atlanta for a too-short visit. They brought giggle reinforcements. The families were a perfect fit.

Spontaneous group photo on our last night.

Other highlights were: a great night hearing amazing music with Mark, visiting the atriums of the Opryland Hotel, celebrating Easter, visiting The Hermitage, getting in a bit of thrifting with my seester and Emily, and doing Camp Tall Turf chants in the van with the kids on the long trip down .

Now we know we can take the neighborhood love on the road. Where to next, friends? The van is ready to go!!

This month Zoe turns eight. Her birthday will also mark the fourth anniversary of living with metastatic breast cancer for me.

Shortly after the diagnosis came, Mark and I met with Dr. Campbell who told us unequivocally, “We’re not going for five years, we’re going for fifty.”

For some reason, we still thought it wise to get a second opinion. In search of such, we went to Wisconsin and met with a well-regarded oncologist there. In our short visit with him, he managed to encourage me to make a living will and advanced directive. He advised me to begin scrap-booking with my daughter since she would likely not remember me. While confirming that our first line of treatment is what he would do too, he added “that might work for a few months.” (it worked for almost 2 years) He then gave us what he deemed an encouraging anecdote about a patient who had beaten the odds and celebrated 4 years of survival with metastatic disease. Four years?!

I shudder to think of what Mark and I looked like walking out of that office.

We left for home shortly thereafter. Our return trip took us through Chicago where we managed to get in the exact wrong lane of traffic in a construction zone. While we were at a standstill, traffic zoomed by on the other side of the pylons. During the hours we withstood of this, I remember Mark turning to me at one point and saying, “How can this not feel like a metaphor for our lives?”

There have been points over the last four years when this has indeed felt like a metaphor for our lives. All the things I wish I could do, the normal life stuff, the volunteering at my kid’s school, the church committees, the community college art classes, etc. etc. fly by my proverbial van window at breakneck speed while I convalesce in bed.

But far more often than not, I feel as though I’ve been able to join that speeding traffic. The important stuff, the parent-teacher conferences, the dinners with friends, the hugs from my nieces and nephews, the weddings, the Children in Worship with Zoe, the family vacations, etc, etc. All these things have slowed enough for me to jump on and join in. These four years have both dragged and sped in the irony of longing for the years to pass and for time with my girl while she’s a girl.

Four years. Four years. Four years. No living will. No advanced directive. No scrapbook.

Just days gathered up like daisies. And me with an overwhelming bouquet.

Here is what we learned today:

1. The spot on my liver is a breast cancer tumor.
2. It has gone from 9mm in July to 13mm (about 1/2 inch) this month. That’s slow growth, folks.
3. It is the ONLY spot on my liver!!
4. There is no evidence of cancer anywhere else in my abdomen.
5. My blood counts have increased slightly over time (since last July) and the tumor has grown incrementally since last July. Dr. Campbell believes the two are related. If indeed they are and the counts go down once the tumor is taken care of, we’ll know that it was the only “active” cancer in my body. This would be further evidence that the spots in my lungs are stable perhaps even dormant.

Here is what we will do about it.

1. We will meet the Interventional Radiologist sometime this month to schedule radio-ablation for the second week in April. Radio-ablation is out-patient, minimally invasive, and will likely take care of the spot quite nicely.
2. I will go off one of my chemo drugs, Avastin, to prepare for radio-ablation (Avastin doesn’t let blood clot, so I must be off it for a period of time before the procedure).
3. Mark is doggedly researching radio-ablation as I type. If there are any fun facts you’d like to know about radio-ablation, he’d be happy to oblige. I think I might be full up.

How I’m feeling about it.

1. Bowled over and grateful that the spot on my liver is the only spot.
2. Bowled over and grateful that we happened to find the only spot in my whole abdomen on a CAT scan of the lungs!
3. Relieved to have a plan of action that feels really do-able and optimistic.
4. Peaceful. And that can only be due to all of the prayers that have been offered on our behalf. Thank you so much!

I was also struck anew today in our conversation with Dr. Campbell with how blessed we are to have an oncologist who practices not just the science of oncology but the art of it too. There is a finesse to fighting cancer, to reading the signals and test results, to determining and intuiting what each thing might mean. I am so grateful for the confidence I have in my medical care.

Living with cancer has required much of our family–patience, trust, faith, diligence, energy. Each of these, when we run dry, are so quickly replenished by you, by our wonderful families, by our dear friends. This has been so evident to us in our waiting time. There is no way to express the gratitude we feel.

So, I have lifted my head, literally and figuratively, from my sopping box of Kleenex and am unleashing my inner Mary Poppins to get the proverbial house in order.

Or rather, back yard.

The grim weather we’ve endured lately has culminated in what every urban dog owner would call – “prime turd-picking-up season.” With snow forecast this week and a freeze today, conditions were perfect this afternoon and the backyard was an exposed minefield.

Rather than aggravate my tender back with this loathsome overdue chore, I decided to hire it out. My employees? Zoe and her friends, Vera and Naomi.

Armed with bags on hands and bags for “deposits” they kept track of how many frozen turdlets they cleaned up with the fervor of an Easter egg hunt while mentally spending the $.10 they would be paid for each one. Naomi lost count several times, but they each filled three bags and I am out a grand total of $54.30. Look out Target toy aisle, they are armed and dangerous!

And if you can believe it, there are still more frozen doggy deposits out there waiting for the next hard-working kid. Care to come over? The pay is through the roof and it’s all coming out of Daisy’s college fund.