More Magazine 2013 Beauty Search - On-line Article

The on-line version of the article and accompanying photo shoot pics can be viewed at:

2013 Beauty Search Winners

In the November edition on newsstands now, there's a "behind the scenes" photo montage from the photo shoot. I saw it while standing in line at BJ's on Sunday, while wearing faded yoga pants and no make-up. What a contrast!

This afternoon, I have my quarterly appointment with Dr. Goldberg at the John Theurer Cancer Center. It feels so great not to be starting another round of chemo this week!!!

Cancerversaries

Cancerversary is a playful word with a deep meaning, and it represents a reason to celebrate. Now that I am more attuned to the survivor community, I see the word frequently. But what exactly does it mean? Is it the anniversary of when a person is diagnosed with cancer, as the name suggests? Or is it the anniversary of being declared in remission? (If the latter, then shouldn't it be called a Remissionversary?)

Three Down, Five to Go

I took my last four ATRA pills this evening. The headaches should end by mid-morning tomorrow. One step closer to being finished with chemo.

ATRA Round 3 (of 8), Day 1

And the fun begins...

ATRA (Al Trans Retinoic Acid, or Tretinoin)
 2 x 4 pills per day for 15 days = 120 pills

Big Hair Day Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will visit the hair salon for the first time post chemo.*

When I made the hair coloring appointment, the receptionist asked if I need a haircut as well.

I replied, "There might be a few hairs that need to be cut."

Awkward silence, while I struggled to find the right words.

"Okay then," the receptionist said, "We'll see you tomorrow at two."

I plan to go blonde (my chemo hair is brown), not because I have a burning desire to return to the former me. Rather, it will be easier to start light and dye it darker next time than to do the reverse. As I mentioned in my entry, A Bald New Approach, the chemo causes hair to grow weird for several months post treatment. Once the chemo stops messing with me, I'll want to be rid of this hair, so why not have some fun with it first?

After blonde, I might go auburn, but not black. Ryan is convinced I will look frightening with black hair. We've had to accept so many changes this past year, that if he believes black hair is one adjustment too many, I will spare him that. 2012 is about trying to quiet our fears, not creating new ones, and black hair probably would look terrifying on me.


* Pics to come, but only if it looks good.

Final Day of Daunorubicin

Today is my final dose of Daunorubicin, ever! I'm near my "lifetime limit" of the class of drugs, so even if I were to relapse, I wouldn't be given more of the glowing red juice. In the off chance I have a relapse, my bone marrow would be prepped with other drugs--presumably ones that also glow--for a stem cell transplant.

The plan is to avoid that. The plan is to finish this Daunorubicin cycle and the two years of the maintenance drug, and move on with living.

Hollywood, You'll Have to Wait

The celebrity testimonial is a common (and effective) form of advertising. For example, the objective of this Louis Vuitton advertisement is to convince me that if I buy a Louis Vuitton tote bag and travel to Cambodia, I will be as beautiful as Angelina Jolie. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll believe that buying the tote bag will be enough to make me feel like I'm Angelina.

Nope, sorry, I'm too smart for that one. I have, however, fallen victim to a different type of celebrity testimonial. Since I lost my hair, a good friend of mine has been sending me pictures of starlets, in fancy evening gowns, who have blonde, pixie haircuts.

As my hair had been growing back, I'd been picturing myself with one of those trendy, short, blonde styles. Unfortunately, the imagination didn't stop there. I had myself convinced that once I'm able to have the haircut, I'll actually be a glamorous Hollywood star, just like the celebrities in the forwarded photos from my friend. 

Dear Chemo, Thanks for the Reminder

I'd begun to forget what the Idarubicin last spring had felt like. I'd been letting myself forget I'd had cancer.
This week has been an unpleasant reminder.

Today I'm still dealing with bouts of nausea and migraines, and the fatigue is starting to set in. On the bright side: the injection drug doses are done for this round. Now all I have left to do is finish the ATRA regimen and recover, which consists of perusing the TV Guide on my iPad, reading, and staring off into space. Maybe at some point I will actually turn on the television.

I have to keep remembering that this will keep me cancer-free. Soon enough this will just be a page in our family's history. Too bad our family history isn't like a real book, in which we could skip ahead to a more fun passage. Conversely, I can flip back to the great time we had in Florida two weeks ago. I'm already starting to feel better thinking about it....

Daunorubicin Day Three

Today was the third and final dose of the glowing red juice for this round. I take the ATRA pills through Sunday and have the injection of Neulastin tomorrow night. I should reach my nadir, in terms of low energy and low blood counts, around mid next week. Feeling pretty tired right now though.

This is the Meditation Terrace outside the Infusion Suite.
Seems like the Infusion Suite is the more popular place to be seen.

Thank you, Vanessa, for taking me to my appointment today and for everything else you've done.

Daunorubicin Day One

Today I started the week of ATRA pills and the three days of Daunorubicin infusions. I already have a crushing headache from the ATRA and nausea from the Daunorubicin, but so what. Pain is temporary, and hopefully remission will be forever.

Dear Cancer...

Throughout the past few months, I've had a number of friends express admiration for how positive I've been, particularly in this blog.

I have tried to be as positive as possible, but it's impossible to be positive 100% of the time. Some days, the first words I write are not the ones that appear in the final post. When I am having a tough day, those first words are filled with fear and anger.

The Delete key erases those thoughts, and forces my mind to replace those words with more positive ones. What I've posted hasn't been a lie. It's the outcome of positive self talk. By convincing family and friends that I'm in good spirits and everything is going to be okay, I convince myself.

Last week, I posted my raw emotions on the social networking site I Had Cancer. Its members know how hard it is to be positive 100% of the time. The site has a page where you can post a message starting with "Dear Cancer." Some people rant. Others brag that they're kicking the disease's *ss. Those that have really mastered positive self talk thank cancer for its silver lining. This is what I posted last week:

Pretty or Pretty Irrelevant?

My hair is half an inch long now. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but it's a good quarter inch.

One of my new friends, who was diagnosed with APL this year, just completed her second round of outpatient Daunorubicin chemotherapy. Only some of her hair fell out again. Her family says its not noticeable. Great for her! Hopefully I will fare as well.

My hair is almost long enough to look like an intentional haircut. I'd rather not have to start over. Bald during the summer keeps me cool. Bald during the winter would be quite chilly. I'd need one of those shearling lined bomber hats with the ear flaps.

I've been debating whether to post a picture of me without a hat on. I'm comfortable with the look, and so is my family. A compassionate cancer survivor whom I met this year gave me her blond wig, since her hair has grown back. When I put it on and approached Katelyn, she started shrieking. She didn't stop crying until I'd removed the wig. The other week, I asked my husband if he could change one thing about me, what would it be. He said, "I'd want you to have short hair, which you already have, so I'm good."

In general, I've become comfortable not wearing a hat around those people with whom I'm close. But why am I so afraid to post a picture or walk through the grocery store without a hat? It's not that I'm afraid to have strangers realize I had cancer. It's because I'm scared they will think I am ugly.

It's a ridiculous fear. I shouldn't worry what others think of my appearance. My attitude and what I do with it are far more important than how I look. My parents raised me to focus on achievement rather than appearance, and we are doing the same with Katelyn. When she masters a new skill, she yells, "I did it." She has one baby doll, but also a toy airplane, firetruck, motorcycle tricycle, and a basketball hoop. Her favorite library book this week is called, "I Stink," by Kate Mcmullen. It's about a garbage truck. She doesn't know any of the names of the Disney princesses.

We're not intentionally withholding the princesses from her, or anything else girly. We smile when she blows kisses to the garbage truck. If she becomes interested in the princesses, we'll play along. We want Katelyn to use her imagination any way she wants, and to have fun. Throughout her life, however, she will be inundated with the message that pretty is important. Right now, if she'd rather hear a story about a garbage truck than learn Cinderella's tale, than that's what we'll read.

There is so much emphasis in our society on the way girls look instead of what they accomplish. I see evidence of this in the way girls have reacted to the lack of hair my hats signify.

A Poison Mystery (Part 2)

After a harrowing investigation, I've come to the conclusion that the poison in the huckleberry pie at the Shelbourne Restaurant & Bakery is the same compound being administered to me intravenously on a daily basis.

According to a white paper I found on arsenic trioxide, the compound has been used for therapeutic purposes for 2,400 years. In the fifteenth century, William Withering made the following argument supporting arsenic-based therapies: "Poisons in small doses are the best medicines; and the best medicines in too large doses are poisonous."

Book Review: Having Children After Cancer

"Having Children After Cancer," by Gina M. Shaw gives hope and advice for young adults and children diagnosed with fertility-threatening forms of cancer. Ms. Shaw's inspiration for the comprehensive guide was her own experience. After surviving breast cancer, she is now the proud mother of one adopted child and two children via natural pregnancies.

Published in 2011, this guide is up-to-date on today's cancer treatments and assisted fertility techniques. It details: how various cancers and treatments can affect fertility; options for preserving fertility prior to treatments; pregnancy during/after cancer; alternatives to traditional conception if fertility preservation wasn't possible before treatment; and many of the emotional aspects relating to being a cancer survivor and parent.

A Bald New Approach

While in the hospital, having no hair was the "in" thing for the leukemia wing. Since I've returned home, I've been more conscious of it. Before I share my thoughts on the looks' pros and cons, here's a review of my hair's history and future:

Pre-leukemia

Katelyn 4-D

The last few days have been tough. Maybe because I've been at the nadir of feeling the weakest from the Idarubicin (stronger of the two chemotherapy drugs that wipes out all your blood cells and takes about 30 days to recover from the day of the first dose). Maybe it's because the situation is finally really hitting me. Maybe I miss Katelyn so much my heart feels like it's ripping in two (I've seen her for about an hour and a half total in the last month.). Maybe it's all three. I've been crying at everything. I cry when I drink a smoothie. I cry when I put on chapstick (No, I'm not exaggerating.) 

According to the oncologist, my white blood cell count should pop sometime around May 12th (a month post first dose of Idarubicin). I should be feeling a lot more energetic by then, and we should be moving forward on a plan to get me to out-patient status. There's just one caveat the oncologist was discussing with me this morning: I am still on the blood thinner IV to prevent the clotting complication that surfaced the other week. He said I won't be able to leave here until that risk is resolved. He plans to begin brainstorming solutions with the head oncologist this week. So that's my big unknown, in terms of beginning to move on.

At least my white blood cell count, and thus my immune system, should be returning in an anticipated number of days. That should make the Katelyn aspect easier because she will be able to visit more often, as well as making it easier for my parents to visit. Speaking of Katelyn, what better time to embarrass her than when I need something to smile about?

Ryan took the above picture after the Sesame Street 4-D show at Busch Gardens in March. The show was called 4-D because of the 3-D animation on screen, but also because the theatre has fake fireworks, bubbles, rumbling noises, etc.

Katelyn is obsessed with Elmo and Abby, and didn't take her glasses off the entire show. The picture is neither flattering of her, nor of me, but especially not of her. Her hair is greasy, she's got the over-sized fashion glasses, and the pacifier the size of her fist is a nice touch. And finally, she truly did make the show 4-D for me. She was so excited that she completely wet through her shorts and mine. I had to change both of our outfits once the show was over.

Despite our bathroom change, the entire day was fantastic. I have to keep reminding myself that what I'm going through now is a limited number of days. There will be more fantastic days ahead, and more 4-D shows. We will look back on this time as a bad dream. I just need to figure out a plan to emotionally get through each of these remaining days.  

P.S. Katelyn: this photo is going in your wedding slide show!

Fourth and Final Dose

Today the nurse administered the final dose of the Idarubicin. One step done!

They have warned me that the chemotherapy will cause my blood cell counts to drop the most over the next 5-6 days. Already I am feeling exhausted and achey. Last night I was up with a 102.2 fever that took 6 hours to drop. Now my temp is generally around 100+. A specialist in infectious disease said this is par for the course. He is giving me antibiotics and antivirals and monitoring me for infection.

I may not write much over the next few days as I focus on getting better. Spring planting season begins May 15. I want to be home close to then. Even if I'm not strong enough to plant the flowers, I want to pick them out and see them in our yard.

My 14-month-old Role Model

My niece, Elise, is as happy and carefree as a baby can be. She loves Elmo and climbing on anything she shouldn't. She also doesn't give a damn that at 14 months, she is still bald, and thus has to dress in pink and wear head bows, so strangers don't comment on "what a cute little boy he is."

My hair has not started falling out yet, but Elise is already my role model.  She is gorgeous just the way she is. I cannot hope to look as cute as she, but at least I can try to have as care-free an attitude about it.

Losing one's hair seems to be a big deal when one has cancer. Maybe I will care more later, but right now it seems inconsequential compared to everything else I've been going through. So Elise, I love you dearly, and look forward to headbow shopping with you.

Second Dose

Today I will receive my second dose of the Idarubicin-- the heavy chemotherapy.

Yesterday a doctor inserted a PICC, which is a catheter starting in a vein in my shoulder and ending near my heart. Through it the nurses can administer all my drugs and take all my blood samples. Although the process wasn't my favorite experience, it will save me from being jabbed in the arms with needles multiple times each day.

The nurse will use the PICC today for the Idarubicin. The liquid in the syringe will be a flourescent orange, and she will wear an outfit resembling a purple hazmat suit while she's administering it. Naturally I will tease her about her fashion sense, which will be hypocritical considering I am wearing blue pajamas with a stethescope, gauze, and pill bottle print.

The side effects of the drug occur over time and are cumulative. Just this morning I am feeling Wednesday's dose. The doctor described it as sliding down a curve. A week or two from now, once I've received all the doses, I will feel the weakest. Then things will start to get sunnier.

The Plan

Over the past few days, we've heard from the oncologists about chromosomes, chromosome translocution, FISH (don't ask me to explain that one. This is where I fell asleep during the lecture), platelets, and a lot of other terms that still haven't give me the answer to "why?"

But I do understand the basic gist of what's wrong, and will understand it much better by the time I break outta here. My bone marrow is creating too many immature white blood cells.  These cells crowd out my ability to create healthy white and red blood cells, causing clotting problems and a risk for bleeding out. 

The treatment course is as follows:

- Last Thursday I received my first transfusions to help with the clotting condition. I also began the more benign of my two chemotherapy drugs-- ATRA, which is a high dose of Vitamin A that spurs the immature white blood cells in the blood to mature. It gave me crushing headaches at first, but now I am used to it.

- Today I begin the heavier chemotherapy drug-- Idarubicin, which wipes out the cells in the bone marrow that are pushing out the immature white blood cells. It also wipes out all the normal blood cells in the marrow, so I will become increasingly fatigued and my immune system will be more compromised. There will be four doses administered via IV over the next seven days.

- Then I will be monitored here over the following three to four weeks. Daily my blood is tested. Three times thus far I've had low fibrinogen (clotting component) levels so have needed cryoprecipitate infusions. They will keep watching this.

- Once I leave here, I will need to return daily for outpatient arsenic treatments for three months.

- And finally, I will be taking the Vitamin A for two years.

I was supposed to start the Idarubicin last night, but after the nurses tried over the course of three hours to find a vein in my arms that hadn't already been punctured from prior IVs and blood tests, they gave up. They were hoping to put a central line in me this morning, but that was nixed as being too dangerous for a Leukemia patient this early in treatment (because of bleeding out risk). Luckily, they were able to get an IV in me this morning, and now we're just waiting for the pharmacy to deliver the Idarubicin and anti-nausea medicine.

It just arrived. Let's get this party started!