She broke the mold...literally

Warning: This is a long one...

Today has been a day of ups and downs. I found out that my PET Scan (kind of like a CT scan where I get a radioactive dye that helps determine whether there is cancer in my lymph nodes) and my MRI (this determines that the cancer is really just in my cervix and not my uterus, kidneys, etc.) are both on Thursday. I wouldn't say I am really looking forward to this day but I am appreciative that both scans were scheduled for the same day. This way I only have to pump and dump for 24 hours once and I only have one night of waiting for results from scans.

I also found out more about my chemo regimen. I will get 2 drugs once every 3 weeks x4. I asked about the side effects and there was a little hesitation and a little speech about not wanting to overload me with everything right now. I assured my wonderful NP (nurse practitioner) that I really was ok and we needed to know some of this so we could plan childcare, blah, blah, blah...Then with great hesitation she declared that I would lose my hair. "There really isn't any way around it." That is really the big one and that's the one everyone has wanted to know. I told myself I wouldn't care. I didn't think I would care. I didn't care when she told me, but a few hours later, I cared. She talked to me about the nice lady that runs the wig shop and how I could get a top notch wig for free. I could even meet this lady when I have my first chemo appointment so she would know what I look like with my hair and help me to have some continuity.

I love that they do all this for cancer patients; however, I am not one of them. It's not that I am in denial of losing my hair. I will. In fact I plan to have a head shaving party before I have to face losing my hair I've even had one awesome friend offer to do it with me. (Weird fact I learned today: apparently losing your hair from chemo can hurt.)

So the hair vs. wig thing is actually more of a karmic balance thing for me. A few months ago before any of this started, my husband decided to grow his hair out for Locks of Love. I really appreciated his sentiment and supported what he wanted to do. I even contemplated doing it myself. Then when I found out about my cancer we joked about him giving his hair to me. This is funny b/c he has A LOT of hair and it grows fast! It frequently looks too messy. I loved the idea that I could still have hair that I was used to and it would make a great thick ponytail. He loved the irony that he would be able to nag me about my hair being too messy.

Unfortunately for both of us, I think I am going to lose my hair before he makes his 10" goal,  I also think that he should be able to accomplish what he originally set out to do without me hijacking it. He should give his hair to someone who really needs it. That isn't me. My cancer is no secret and I'm only supposed to get 4 chemo treatments. I will have hair again. In the meantime I'll rock some cute hats or scarves or my big old bald head, but I won't upset the karmic balance of hair.

I've wasted a lot of my day thinking about all this hair stuff. It was all important for me to consider, but now I have more important and happy things to think about...My little girl's FIRST birthday!!! In honor of this special occasion I wrote her a little letter to read when she is old enough to understand.

Dear Grown up Ella Bean,

Please don't take any of this the wrong way...We love you and this first year with you has been quite the adventure! You have an abundance of personality and it shows in everything you do.

You came into this world in a big way. A 12 lb way. I've received endless comments about your size and birth. Don't be fooled. Your birth was beautiful beyond words and I will forever be grateful that I was able to experience such a miracle.

I've always defended your birth as easy and peaceful. The way it should be.

Unfortunately, the placenta was not as easy and peaceful.

Your birth was the perfect birth; however, I do have to wonder if your intentions were to break the mold...literally.

Happy First Birthday!
Love,

Mama

P.S. I know you didn't cause my cancer.

C is for...Chocolate Bunny, the hollow kind

A little background...I have been thinking about starting a blog for awhile now. I think about it from time to time but for the most part I associate writing with education and work. I don't think I've done any form of creative writing since I was in fourth grade and we had to write a story about being ship-wrecked on a deserted island. In other words, don't have high hopes for my writing abilities.

What's this about C is for cervix and cancer? A week ago, July 23rd, I got the phone call that officially diagnosed me with cervical cancer. I was at work and thought I could take the news like a champ and keep working. (Note: I do not recommend this.) For a week this is about all I have known. I was able to find out the specific type of cervical cancer, but nothing else.

Today was the big day when I had an appointment at the Carbone Cancer Institute to meet my Oncologist and find out my plan. My appointment was at 1pm. We knew going into the appointment that it may be up to 4 hours. I was told to expect lab work, chest films, and possibly an anesthesiology appointment. For the first hour we (my husband, sleeping daughter, and myself) sat in a little room by ourselves. 

Random funny story of the day inserted to lower my anxiety: Our three year old son decided to "change" his own diaper. AKA: he took off a poopy diaper, threw it over his bedroom gate and into the hall. He then put a stack of disposable diaper liners (something us crunchy cloth people use as a barrier to protect the high tech fabrics of the diapers from diaper creams) on the discarded diaper and put his shorts back on with no diaper. His final moment of glory was to put a rash guard swim shirt over his regular Curious George t-shirt (no idea why).

Back to the story: At a little after 2pm the Nurse Practitioner came in to introduce herself and take a more thorough history. We both thought she looked familiar and she recognized us from being a fellow home birth mama. She remembered meeting the three of us about a year ago when we told Ella's birth story and my hospital transfer story at a home birth meeting. She was awesome, super professional, asked if we wanted someone else because of our common connection/acquaintance, and then used what she knew about us to customize our care. She made all the difference for us.

About 45 minutes later, we finally met the oncologist. He talked with us about the possibility of my cancer really being an endometrial (the lining of the uterus) cancer. According to him, the pathology of my cancer is much more common in endometrial cancer and while the treatment is essentially the same, they know much more about this type of cancer being associated with the endometrium. This means that endometrial cancer would be better. He decided that he would do an endometrial biopsy, but once he had the opportunity he decided he was fairly certain the origin is actually the cervix so he opted to not do the biopsy.

Fast forward a half hour: Our daughter finally wakes up just as we sit down to discuss everything. My cancer was graded as 1B1 which is great. This was our best case scenario. Cervical cancers are graded from 0 (precancerous, also known as, dysplasia) to 4B which has no cure. 1A would mean that my cancer is only visible with a microscope, but I already knew that it wasn't 1A, so 1B1 was as low as it was going to get for me. With normal cervical cancer this would be great news, esp. here at UW. This is one of few places in the world that does a surgery that just removes the cervix. This is important to women that are still in their child-bearing years and desire to still have children. Unfortunately, my cancer is a rare aggressive form that very little is known about. I drew some unlucky wild card and am 1 of about 120 women that get this type in the US each year. Due to the nature of my cancer they feel it is best to treat it aggressively quickly. It is with great sadness that I announce that in less than two weeks I will have a "radical (aka they remove everything to the pelvic walls) hysterectomy." As a bonus I get four weeks of chemo as soon as I'm out of the hospital from my surgery. Jealous? No doubt.

Can you decode this?

I have many thoughts as I process all this information. I feel a sense of great loss knowing there I will never be able to have another child. (Please don't say anything about the two wonderful children we do have. We are both aware of how lucky we are. We understand you mean well, but it diminishes our loss. Also adoption is not something we are ready to think about right now. Maybe someday, maybe not. Right now it's the loss of the journey building up to the baby and the changes in your body and the all things associated with being a woman). I'm dreading the surgery and chemo. I'm worried about how all of this will affect my kids, my husband, my family (including 4-legged). I'm worried about work and grad school. I'm worried about money. I'm worried about what I will look after all of this is done. I'm worried about how I'm going to feel during all of this. I'm worried about more things than I can articulate. Overall though I'm optimistic (especially about any cervical cancer tests I have in my Women's Health class for my midwifery coursework this term) and we'll get through this. It will be ok, but for now I feel hollow, much like a chocolate bunny.