St. Peter and the Quest for Wheat Toast

It’s day three here at Providence St. Peter Hospital and other than being hooked to an IV for 60+ hours and a desperate yearning for wheat toast, it’s not bad. The downside is that it looks like for the next 5-6 weeks, I’m going to be “The Joy in the Bubble” and we’re going to need a lot more help with the kids.

St. Peter, the Rock
I arrived here on Thursday night with a fever.  Because I’m now on the AC chemo regimen (a.k.a. the “red devil”) I’m at risk for low white blood cells and therefore infection.   The magic temperature that sets off action is 100.4.  My temperature was 100.5, so I had called the after hours resident on call at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.  We were told to go to the nearest emergency room immediately so they could give me antibiotics. We headed out to St. Pete’s in Olympia, about 10 minutes from our house. As I write this, I’m feeling pretty fantastic.  However, at that moment, I was going downhill fast.  I was achy and chilled, my throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it.  I was grateful Josh came with me (my mom was home with the kids) and was looking forward to grabbing a prescription and heading home.

Au contraire mon frère. My white blood cell count was crazy low so they admitted me.  Poor Josh stayed with me until they found a room for me at 3 am and he still had to go to work on Friday. 

The next morning, an oncologist from St. Pete’s visited me and gave me the scoop on my counts. She also let me know that I would have to avoid raw vegetables and fruits that can’t be peeled because my system can’t fight the bacteria that might be on them.  Somehow, the hospital kitchen, “Cascade Cuisine…Excellence Through Compassionate Service,” interpreted this to mean I can’t have many foods, including raisins or wheat toast.

So, for the last couple of days, I’ve been holed up at St. Pete’s getting pumped with antibiotics.  The nurses and MA’s have been phenomenal.  It’s also been nice to get to know the oncology staff here at St. Pete’s.  I really liked the oncologist yesterday.  He gave me the skinny on everything, and then when I told him about my wheat toast ordeal, he seemed as annoyed as I was about the kitchen’s refusal to give it to me and entered a note into my dietary restrictions:

Patient not to have raw fruits and vegetables.  Patient may have all other foods including cooked vegetables, fruits with peels that can be removed, and wheat toast.

Apparently, he was also in the hallway grumbling something like, “And for goodness sakes, let’s let that poor woman order some wheat toast.”

Unfortunately, the power of a renowned oncologist only goes so far at Cascade Cuisine because this morning I tried to order wheat toast along with oatmeal and raisins.  All the meds can really mess up a system so it’s nice to have some roughage. 

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.  It says right in the computer you are on a soft diet.  No raisins.  No wheat toast.”

“But, I'm not on a soft diet.  My teeth work fine.  I’m on a general diet, I just can’t have raw fruits and vegetables.”

“Talk to your nurse and call me back.”

Enter: my hero, Becky the RN.  Becky has some spunk and even as a kid used to get in trouble for sassing her teachers in Scotland.  I like her a lot.  She called Cascade Cuisine and read them the note on my file, the same note that is on Cascade Cuisine's computer screen.

“So, if it says she can have wheat toast, why does she need to have a conversation about it?”

Becky rocks.  I got my wheat toast while writing this blog entry.

The Joy in the Bubble

I’m headed home sometime today, but life is going to change a bit.  I’m still really susceptible to catching any little bug that comes along and it’s very dangerous if I get sick because my system can’t fight it.  This means I’m going to have to limit my time in public.  When I do go out, I’m probably going to have to wear a mask, especially during the window after chemo and before my white blood cells recover 10 days later.  I’ll be washing my hands profusely and dousing myself with hand sanitizer.  It totally sucks.  I don't like being such a delicate little flower.

Then, there’s the issue with our kids.  They are walking petri dishes, and they are mixing and matching germs with other walking petri dishes at daycare.  So, we might be pulling them out of daycare and keeping them at home.  We’re going to need a lot of help, especially because the AC chemo knocks me so far down that I won’t be able to care for them for several days after treatment.  

CALL FOR HELP: Any (healthy) friends out there who want to come to Olympia for a day to help with the kids, let me know. We’re setting up a calendar.

Fortunately, this happened during a time of year when people are typically antisocial so it’s not like we’ll be missing any parties or anything and people generally have copious extra hours of time on their hands to help us out. Oh, boo.  There’s always next year.  Except that I’ll probably be undergoing an 8-hour reconstructive surgery next December.  Okay, there’s always Christmas 2016. THAT Christmas is going to be phenomenal!

Thanks to everyone for their support.  I’d also like to send a special note of thanks to Denise McCroskey. Her own breast cancer blog helped me immensely and when I contacted her this weekend, she got right back to me with really wonderful words of encouragement.  You’re amazing, Denise!  Here's one of her posts about Adriamycin Cytoxan (AC).

Catching Up with Chemo Part Three: Europe

I indicated there would be more uplifting posts and I promise, this is one of them!  Part travel log, part love story, here’s my tale of traveling to London, Paris and Bath and, other than a little fatigue the first day and being bald, this story has very little to do with chemo.

My husband and I had been hoping to go to London for a while. Our beautiful and charming friends, Sam and Bri, moved there for work and we were dying to visit them.  Since in 2013 we were busy being pregnant and then parents to a newborn, 2014 was officially our year for international travel.  Then, this whole cancer business popped up.  Fortunately, we were able to work it out with my doctors who not only flexed my schedule, but also encouraged me to go.  It was the best thing for me.  If there isn’t already a foundation that supports sending chemo patients on vacation, there should be.  I had a chance to step off of the rollercoaster of physical and mental stress and to enjoy life again.  But to understand this story, let’s step back even farther…to about 11 years ago at a place called the Irish Emigrant in Seattle’s U-District…

I met my husband, Josh, on karaoke night at a divey bar that was once the Irish Emigrant.  Dangerous Dan was hosting and the drinks were flowing as usual.  Neither of us can sing, but Josh’s friend, Tristin, can do a mean rendition of “Piano Man” that brings down the house.  I couldn’t help but to give Josh a “your friend’s good” nod, and it was then that he made his move.  Before we knew it, we were sharing beers and eventually sang “And It Stoned Me” together.  I still remember how his hand felt on my back as he led me to the stage.  I felt like I was home.

We were married in 2007 and now have two little kiddos running around the house.  Life with Josh is chaotic, loud and fun: that’s what I get for marrying a big, gregarious Italian who, as we say, puts the “ass” in “assertive.” He’s also incredibly caring and the most honest person I know and he puts up with me, which is a feat in itself.  I won’t say we've never had challenges. We learned the hard way that if you leave your marriage on the back burner, eventually the soup will cook off and the pot will burn.  Or something like that.  Though I would never recommend going through a rough patch to learn a lesson, I will say that it oddly prepared us for what is happening now. We don’t take our marriage for granted, and I’m grateful everyday that Josh is by my side. This cancer thing is just another chapter, it’s temporary, and it will pass.  At least we’re together.

So, traveling to Europe in the midst of chemo with my husband, sans children, was particularly restorative.  We left on Halloween night and arrived in London at noon the next day.  Ever classy, our friends sent a car for us.  We were scooped up at the airport and brought straight to their doorstep.  They live in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment not far from Kensington Gardens.  The place oozed our friends’ good taste.  In fact, I understand that they have a dining room table and chairs for sale, should one desire to have some of that good taste for one's very own.  (More information and plenty of unsolicited commentary available on Facebook.)

The first night in London, we went to an amazing Lebanese restaurant, Al Waha.  We ordered the set menu and then sat back and watched as one beautiful dish after another paraded before our eyes.  That’s a lie!  We inhaled the food like rabid hyenas – no sitting back and watching for us!  We even dug into the basket of raw vegetables placed at our table, though there was some concern that the vegetables were actually a centerpiece.  We’re talking whole bell peppers, scallions, a head of lettuce, there might have been rutabagas in there, I don’t know.  If anyone knows if this is for ambiance or consumption, please let us know.  I’d hate for Sam and Bri to get kicked out of their favorite Lebanese restaurant for eating the decorations.

My belly dancer heart, of course, was in heaven.  Fattoush!  Kibbeh! Falafel! I ate so much that I nearly had to be rolled back to the apartment.  I passed out at about 8 pm that night and didn’t wake up until 4 pm the next day.  Usually I hate being lazy, but I figured I had the mother of all good excuses: I’m fighting cancer. Boom!

The next day we ate at Côte Brasserie which appears to be UK chain, but very upscale French and it prepared us for our journey ahead: Paris.  You might also notice that a pattern is emerging.  I like to travel by stomach.  Sam was very hungry that night and ordered half the menu.  We have no idea how he still fits into his skinny jeans.

On Monday, we flew to Paris.  Because our friends are in the UK to work, we wanted to give them some time during the week to do just that.  It was a sacrifice, to be sure, but being the good friends we are, we suffered through several days of Paris.

Paris.  To love this city is cliché I suppose, but how can you not?  Everywhere we turned, there was beauty: stunning, poetic, heartaching beauty.  I had been there about 12 years earlier with my mom and this time, once we stepped onto Paris’s streets, I couldn’t believe I had stayed away so long. The architecture, the river, the light, the love songs sweetly pressed through accordions, the fashionable women en velo talking on cell phones, the joie de vivre and, of course, the food. What’s not to love?!

Our first day there, we explored a bit, but since rain was coming down in buckets, we holed up in a little corner café and drank champagne as the wet world went by.  My observation about what’s in vogue in Paris at the moment?  Bedhead.  Gorgeous designer clothes, fabulously quaffed suits, stylish shoes and accessories, and serious I-just-had-a-good-romp bedhead.  The contrast actually works, but of course, Parisian women seem to have a knack for putting together a look that is both edgy and classic at the same time.  Made me miss my hair – my wig was far too structured no matter how much I tried to mess it up.  Guess I should have employed Josh to help me mess up my wig. hehe

Around 6:30 pm, we were starting to get hungry so we set out to find a restaurant for dinner.  We leaped over puddles and hurried through the wet cobblestone streets until we came upon a restaurant with a lovely menu.  Glad to be out of the rain, we quickly stepped inside and politely asked for a table for two.

You would have thought we had just said, “We would like to get naked in your dining room and then set the curtains on fire.”  We’re talking utter, record-scratching, jaw-dropping, baffled horror on the faces of the wait staff. I had forgotten a cardinal rule: nobody eats dinner in Paris before 8 pm.  Pas de problème! More time for drinking!  We headed out for more beer and wine to wait for the magic dinner hour and later that night found ourselves in a lovely little Italian place with to-die-for handmade pasta. 

The next day, we explored Paris on foot.  The rain had cleared, and our cute little hotel, L’Hôtel des Saints-Pères, was well located in St. Germain, which put us close to the Seine, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Quartier Latin and an easy walk to three of Paris’s breathtaking gardens: Le Jardin des Tuileries, Le Jardin du Luxembourg and Jardin des Plantes.  We started the day with croissants and coffee from one of the many bustling boulangeries and from there, crisscrossed all through central Paris’s sights, stopping for baguette sandwiches at lunch.  Feeling spunky, we decided to do a walking tour from one of our guidebooks through Le Quartier Latin. It seemed like a cheesy (excuse me, fromagey) thing to do at first, but it led us to some sites we might not have seen otherwise.  Like the Paris Mosque.  And the Roman amphitheater where old men now play petanque.

Knowing we shouldn’t dare try to eat dinner before 8 pm or risk being deported, we grabbed some yummy cheese, a crusty baguette and a bottle of wine and headed to our hotel to rejuvenate before dinner.  The French might be onto something here. That night, we had boeuf bourguigon at a so-so restaurant, but well, it’s Paris so even so-so beats the pants off Applebee’s.  We vowed to do some research and find something amazing for our last night in Paris.

Our second full day in Paris, we woke up at the bright hour of 11 am and wandered out for croissants and coffee.  I had been itching to see the Ancient Egyptian art at the Louvre and Josh was kind enough to indulge me.  The Louvre boasts being one of the largest, if not THE largest art museum in the world.  It not only houses an incredible collection of art (including superstars like the Mona Lisa), it is also an opulent palace.  Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.  That night, we dined at Le Bistrot D’Henri.  This place was the real deal.  From pâté, to veal with butter noodles, to the chocolate mousse…I could eat that meal a million times over.

Satisfied that we had eaten and walked our way through as much of Paris as possible over the course of a few short days, we headed back to London that Thursday. Back in London, Bri treated me to a night out at the Book of Mormon. We laughed our asses off and then met up with the boys later on. They had been out drinking with Sam's friends, but failed to remember to eat until 10 pm.  They were a bit of a mess.

The next day, we boarded a train for Bath.  Sam and Bri are the perfect travel partners.  Our itinerary in Bath generally consisted of the following:

Beer

Food

A little walking

More food

Sleep

Food

A little sightseeing

Beer

Food

Beer

A little walking

Wine

Food

Sleep

Food

A little walking

Beer

Food

Beer

Back to London

I could not have put together a better itinerary myself.  We ate at incredible restaurants including the Marlborough Tavern and Rustico Bistro.  

Despite all of the eating and drinking, we did get to see some of Bath’s highlights including the Fashion Museum, the Bath Abbey bell tower, and the Roman Baths. 

I may or may not have gotten a little tipsy on the last night and started a cheerful diatribe about crumpets and Corgis before passing out in bed with my wig on.  (One step closer to Parisian bedhead!)  Good food in my belly, uninterrupted time with my sweet husband, the warmth and love of being with friends: I had officially reached off-the-charts happiness.

Our last full day in London, we headed out to see some of the sights and met up with my friend, Gina, and her adorable daughter, Valentina at the White Horse. Gina has always been one of my most favorite people on this planet so it was great to see her.  She was fun and irreverent as usual, and I also got to tick off another food item on my British bingo card: bangers and mash.  That night, we ate yet another mind-blowing meal at Aphrodite Taverna.  Sam and Bri really know how to pick ‘em.

By the time we boarded our plane to Seattle, the rest, walking and eating had restored me to the person I was before chemo started.  It was just me, my old self.  It was so nice to take a week off from chemo to remind me why I’m doing all of this in the first place: so I can stick around and keep living this great life.  I was joined at the hip with my husband for nearly the entire trip, and I only wanted more time with him.  It was wonderful to see our friends and I can’t wait to see them again, whichever side of the earth. 

Since the trip, I had two more rounds of the Taxol cocktail and last Friday, I started on the AC chemo regimen.  Josh came with me and supported me as we journeyed into this leg of the cancer fight.  Afterward, we headed to Paddy Coyne’s for dinner.  Standing outside was none other than the owner of Paddy Coyne’s who also owned the Irish Emigrant.  I sidled up to him and thanked him – without the Irish Emigrant I wouldn’t have met my husband.  The ruddy-faced Irishman smoking a cigarette outside of Paddy Coyne’s was oddly responsible for the life I have – Josh is my best friend, father to my children, and now my caregiver.  I feel like the Irishman's presence that night was a reminder that forces far greater than I can comprehend are at work.  Hundreds of hands have been helping me through all along – my family, my friends, my friends’ friends, total strangers: some visible, some invisible, all have helped to weave my destiny, as each of our destinies have been woven.  My side of the bargain? To honor the forces that have shaped this life by keeping this life going. As I head into these dark few weeks, I am determined to emerge again at the other side stronger.  And more grateful.

Cancer Update Potpourri

I’m still working on “Catching Up with Chemo Part Three: Europe” but thought I should post a few of the recent developments:

Tests: I just went through another round of tests and things are looking good: the tumors continue to shrink so the chemo is working!  There’s also good news that my heart is still functioning well, which is sometimes a problem with chemo drugs.  In fact, my heart somehow got stronger from when we first tested it before starting chemo.  Josh calls me a “super villain” because the crazy chemicals actually made me stronger.  If I keep this up, I’ll be unstoppable!

Chemo: I started the new chemo regimen known as “AC” last week.  I’m not going to lie, it totally sucks. I was doing okay over the weekend while I had steroids in my system, but then things took a turn for the worse.  It’s hard to describe, but basically I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.  And on the verge of throwing up all the time. And really fuzzy-headed.  Last night I woke up covered in blood and was relieved that it was only my nose.  To all of the very sweet people who have been sending me nice messages, thank you.  They've been keeping me from dropping into a serious funk. I hope you will forgive me if I don’t get back to you right away.  I’m not trying to be a jerk, just feeling like I can only do the bare minimum some days.  Three more treatments of AC over the course of the next 6 weeks, then I'm done with chemo! Yay!

Mastectomy: Surgery has been scheduled for late February.  Here are some answers to some of the common questions that I’ve been getting…

Q: If the tumors shrink enough, can you have a lumpectomy instead of a mastectomy?

A: Despite some earlier hopefulness, it turns out that in my case, no.  The tumors were big and affected a large portion of the tissue. Since they have to remove all of the affected tissue, it would not leave very much of the breast. So, my left breast will be removed entirely.

Q: Why don’t you have both breasts removed?

A: When I was first diagnosed, I was ready to jump right in and have both boobs lopped off.  Get rid of these ticking timebags, I say!  That was before I met with an oncologist.  And a surgeon. And a radiation oncologist. And a genetic counselor. And a plastic surgeon.  Since I don’t have a genetic predisposition for breast cancer, there’s no medical reason for having the right (healthy) breast removed.

Reconstruction: I met with the plastic surgeon at UW Medical last week and liked her instantly. She’s beautiful and listened to me and I think we have a good plan.  Because I will be undergoing radiation, I can’t have a saline or silcone implant (failure rates are really high after radiation).  We’ll remove tissue from my belly. This will leave a 10” scar across my abdomen, about an inch under my belly button. I’m going to have to get creative with belly dance costumes!  It also means that, because of the time between mastectomy and reconstruction, I will be lugging around one boob for about 9 months of 2015.  I’m calling it the Year of Big Mountain.  I thought I was doing fairly well after looking at the surgeon’s portfolio of reconstructed breasts. Just a few scars, no big deal, right?  But then I managed to crunch my car in the UW Medical parking garage.  And also forgot to pay the cashier so I caused a traffic jam when I tried to leave the garage.  Apparently I was a bit distracted.

40^th Birthday Celebration: Many of you have probably already guessed, but we are cancelling my 40^th birthday celebration at the end of this month.  We had a great venue and a caterer lined up, but all of that was before this darn cancer thing happened.  I just don’t have the time or energy to put together a party this year.  We’ll plan a celebration someday in the future, maybe after I kick cancer’s butt up and down the street.

Life is Precious: As if we need more proof that cancer is horrible, we lost a friend to cancer recently.  Our friend, Bob, had been fighting for a couple of years and things took an unexpected turn.  On November 29^th, I received a call that he only had a few days to live.  By the next morning, he was gone.  My heart breaks for his wife (and my dear friend and dance student), Lani.  Friends for many years, they were married a couple of years ago in Hawaii.  A few of us from the troupe went and celebrated with them as they pledged their commitment beneath swaying palm trees. My husband, Josh is ordained through the Church of Life (that's another story) and he officiated their wedding.  We felt truly honored to be part of their lives. They were so happy together, and they truly loved each other.  They should have grown old together.  For Bob, for Lani, for my husband and children, for my parents, my friends…I cannot lose.  Cancer has taken too much already, I won’t let it take me, too.  

Thank you to everyone for your love and support.

Catching Up with Chemo Part Two: Harborview

This blog entry is one of the tougher ones I’ve written.  I’ve tried to keep most of the entries fairly upbeat and truthfully, breast cancer has given me many amazing moments and wonderful opportunities to connect with friends and family, far more than I could have expected.  But if I’m being really honest, it can also be freakin’ hard. 

The story I’m about to tell is about the challenges and stresses of dealing with breast cancer.  It’s deeply personal.  If you’d prefer to read the more uplifting blog entries, please skip this one and read the past entries and the ones to come.  The reason I am posting raw personal details publicly is this: since my diagnosis, I’ve stumbled on several breast cancer blogs that have been immensely helpful.  They’ve made me feel like I’m not alone in this journey, and that I will survive.  However, there are some breast cancer blogs that are all roses and sunshine all the time.  They make me smile a bit, and then I want to punch the writers in the face.  I’m sorry, I don’t care how strong of a person you are, breast cancer sucks.  It is the ones who have had the courage to candidly tell some tales of woe and redemption that have been the most helpful to me.  So, cancer sisters, this one’s for you…

On a mid-October Monday, I checked myself into Harborview Emergency.  For those not familiar with Harborview, it’s probably one of the busier, more frequented emergency rooms in Seattle.  Or, at least, one of the most commonly known hospitals for serious health emergencies.  We’re talking all kinds of crazy trauma, drug overdoses, physical and mental illness, blood, guts and gore. The S gets real in that emergency room.  How I ended up there likely starts with my cancer diagnosis in July, but primarily stems from what had been happening since starting chemo in late August.

I have mostly been lucky with the chemo drugs: barely any nausea or intestinal problems, just a little fatigue and numbness in my toes, a rash here and there.  The main problem since the beginning, however, has been lack of sleep.  The chemo drugs keep me in a weird state of tiredness without sleepiness.  Without some other type of drug to knock me out, I lay in bed, floating above sleep.  Anxiety over cancer, work, family, etc. probably doesn’t help.

On top of it, I caught a cold early in my treatment and it refused to go away.  For over 40 days, I was stuffy and had an obnoxious cough and heavy lungs.  Compounded with lack of sleep, it seemed like the cold would never leave.  Most annoying was that the cough only seemed to come to life when I was in important meetings with clients.  Eventually it morphed into a cough that would sneak up on me and burst forth before I had a chance to open my mouth so at one point, as the center of attention at a large conference table with 30 or so upper managers, I found myself making odd burbling, flappy lip noises and then hacking uncontrollably.  That particular meeting was with a public health agency.  Oh the irony.

To manage sleep, my oncologist prescribed Ambien.  At first, it worked.  Then it stopped working.  On my next visit, my oncologist checked my records and they indicated that I was taking 5 mg of Ambien.  She suggested going up to 10 mg and gave me a prescription.  This is where things went horribly wrong.  Assuming I was taking 5 mg tablets, I started doubling my dose.  It wasn’t until I went to get the prescription refilled that I discovered that the pills were actually 10 mg, so I was actually taking 20 mg of Ambien: also known as overdosing. Totally my fault: I should have checked the bottle.  In no way do I blame my oncologist - she rocks.  Something weird with the records. Afraid that I wouldn’t sleep before a day of important meetings, I took one more 20 mg dose of Ambien on a Sunday night and called the nurse on Monday.  She didn’t hesitate to tell me that taking 20 mg of Ambien was a no-no.

The sleeplessness, the fuzzy-headedness, the cold, and even the Ambien overdose might not have landed me at Harborview had there not been so much other stress happening in my life.  Let’s take a little inventory, shall we?

1. Work: Before starting chemo, I took on a new client (the aforementioned public health agency).  The work seemed paced out and manageable. I would be helping them with their overall communications strategy and supporting a part-time PIO for a period of 4 months.  Totally in my wheelhouse and a great team of people.  I mean, what’s the worse that could happen?  Then the Ebola crisis hit.  The first case of Ebola had landed on U.S. soil and public health agencies across the nation were scrambling to prepare for whatever media S-storms came their way.  The agency also had other emergent needs. I jumped in to help as much as I could while trying to keep up with my other client work and juggle a million doctor appointments.  All the while, I hadn’t told my clients that I was undergoing breast cancer treatment.  I was too afraid that they’d lose faith in my reliability.
2. Parenting:  My husband has been amazing through all of this, but both of us had been struggling with our three (now four) year old.  He has the capacity to be an incredibly sweet, sensitive little boy which often gets overshadowed by the fact that about 60% of the time, he’s an S-show.  There, I said it.  I love him with all of my heart and I don’t want him to go through life like this.  But parenting while having breast cancer gets very complicated. How tough should I be on him when I know a lot of his bad behavior is because he’s stressed about his mom’s health?  How do I balance time with my kids with work and also the need to rest?  How can I make sure life feels normal around him when it’s not normal at all right now?  I had been working my google fingers to the bone trying to find resources on parenting while having breast cancer but kept getting led to publications like “A Mom’s Last Letters to Her Children.”  Ack. 
3. Genes: This is an issue that I can only allude to because to explain the story, I would have to divulge private information about another person. While I am open to sharing my own details, it would not be fair to publish details about someone else without permission.  I also think it’s kind of an odd situation that might not be helpful to anyone else to read about.  So, I’m just going to leave it as this:  there was (and to some extent still is) something horribly, horribly stressful happening in the relationship I have with a relative whom I love dearly and having breast cancer has made the situation worse.  Those close to me know who and what I am talking about.  Nuff said.

So.  There I was.  Stressed over cancer, work, my son, and an important relationship.  Over the course of several weeks, I had slept an average of about 3-4 hours a night.  I had a tiring and embarrassing cough.  Chemo and the pre-meds had left me fatigued, constipated, rashy and bald.  And there was the Ambien, which I have since learned is a fairly evil drug, especially if you don’t actually sleep and even worse if you are overdosing.  During the weekend of my kids’ birthday party, I was up and down, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming, and totally exhausted.

When I woke up that Monday, I knew it was not good.  My mind was racing a million miles an hour with incomplete thoughts.  When I spoke, I felt like I was yelling above a noisy crowd, but that crowd was in my head.  I struggled to keep myself together, but I felt like I was sounding crazy. Trying to facilitate a meeting, I got into an argument with a police captain that continued after the meeting.  Frustrated, confused, feeling stupid and angry, I yanked my wig off in front of him and told him I’d been going through a rough time so I’d appreciate some patience.  By the time I left, I was crying uncontrollably.

I had scheduled a visit with my in-laws so that my mother-in-law could give my wig a trim.  I stopped at a grocery story to pull myself together and buy her some flowers.  But at their house, I was crying again.  I cheered up a bit in their presence, but after I drove away, things went downhill fast.  

My thoughts kept racing, and now it was about all of my failures and embarrassments of the day. I wasn’t keeping up with my work.  My work as a consultant demanded that I be one of the smarter people in the room, but insomnia and chemo drugs made me feel like the village idiot and an emotional wreck. I hated having to go through chemo and the way it seemed to be impacting every facet of my life. I felt ugly and confused and like I would never be myself again.  Yes, chemo was helping me live, but what kind of life?  A life where my body after surgery and reconstruction will look like a crazy quilt and I will be forever in fear of cancer returning?

Suddenly, I realized that I was driving through red lights, as if a part of me wanted to get into an accident.  I gripped the wheel and got onto the freeway, trying to pull myself together, but my thoughts kept drifting to what felt the most comforting at the time: killing myself.  I didn’t know how exactly, but I just wanted it all to end, and soon.  I became so afraid that I would do something while driving that would hurt someone else that I knew I had to get help.  I was on my way to pick up my son and it was clear that he would be in danger if I were to continue to drive while I was in this state.  

Thankfully, even in my fuzzy-headed state, I also knew a lot of people counted on me and loved me.  Among the dark thoughts was this streak of clarity now and then: ending my life would be a horrible thing to do to the people who have been supporting me and who need me.

I drove to Harborview Emergency and checked myself in.  After a short wait, they ushered me in to the emergency psychiatric department.  I had to check in my bag, my jewelry and high-heeled boots (no sharp objects allowed).  

The walls are painted gray, the room was plain and grim.  I could hear the occasional wails  and shouts of other patients and smelled the faint aroma of bleach, vomit and feces.  One of the nurses moved my bed closer to the emergency call button.  “You’re the only female in here right now.  You should be fine, but push the button if you don’t feel safe.”  This was not a place that I would have gone willingly had I not been in such a terrible state.  I laid down, covered myself in the institutional-grade blankets and wept.

A couple of hours later I think (I had no idea of the time), a nurse came in and told me that I had visitors.  It was my amazing in-laws. They were so kind to me, so sympathetic.  I can’t believe they drove to downtown Seattle in rush hour to see me.  My husband was driving up from Olympia with our daughter (Carter had been with my parents for the day).  Josh handed Lovisa off to my in-laws and then stayed with me until I was released.  I was relieved to see him and hold his hand.

I’m so grateful to the psychiatrist at Harborview.  She listened to me, gave me just the right sympathy and kind words, and made a call to the psychiatrist at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.  Since I’m being completely honest here, I need to divulge that this was not my first bout with depression and suicide. It is something I have been dealing with since I was a teenager. Fortunately, my depression has been well-managed over the past many years with counseling and the right medication. However, I knew I needed the extra support through cancer treatment so I had requested help from SCCA’s psychiatry department two months earlier.  I turns out that my request had been lost in their system. The call from Harborview got it back on track.

Since then, things have gotten much better.  I’m sleeping, my head has cleared, my health is better, and I love life again.  I’m so glad I sought help, and I’m grateful for all of the people in my life who have been supporting me through this ordeal.  Even at my worst, I knew I couldn’t let you down!

The SCCA psychiatrist got me off Ambien and onto a much better drug regimen so I now sleep like a baby.  I have been upfront with my clients about my breast cancer and am pulling back on some of the work.  The aforementioned police captain reached out and we made peace - such a good guy. A social worker at SCCA helped get me in touch with the Young Survivor Coalition so that I can talk to other women my age who are raising small children while dealing with breast cancer.  There’s even a chapter in Olympia! As for the relationship issue mentioned earlier, things still aren’t great, but I am more at peace with the situation.  A nice trip to London and Paris with lots of walking, eating and resting finally kicked that cold. Getting a break here and there from chemo recently also restored aspects of life that I had lost: the taste of food, happy memory-jogging smells, my energy, my mind, and my strength.  Dance, as ever, saves me time and time again and I am grateful to my sweet students and the opportunity to teach each week. I feel like my old self again: the self I actually like and wouldn’t mind having around for a few more decades. It also seems pretty clear that my family and friends want me around, too.

Many people have said that I’m brave, but I’m not always sure.  To me, bravery requires a choice.  People who serve in the military or as police officers or who fight fires or stand up for civil rights under threat of violence: these people choose to put themselves in harm’s way for the good of others.  They could stay home, but they selflessly choose to face danger head on.  I don’t feel like I have a choice, or, at least, it doesn’t seem like much of a choice.  My form of cancer is fast-growing and aggressive.  I either go through treatment or I die.  Is that bravery or just the responsibility we all have as humans? It feels like there is no option of just staying home.

Getting help when I wanted to give up?  Well, okay, I’ll humbly accept the bravery label on that one. It felt like it took some courage anyway.  But I don’t feel like what I’m going through is all that special. I know so many people who have suffered in their lives, whether over death of loved ones, fertility complications, major illnesses, job loss…you name it.  I’m proud to have many courageous people in my life.  I hope my story shows that even in the darkest of moments, there are people who can help.  And life is worth it.