That Crazy Time of Year ...

It's the end of the school year, and the crazy schedule of keeping up with the kids is in full swing. Only 4 days of school left, track season is over, TJ played with the HS band at graduation today. Abby has 2 dress rehearsals this upcoming week and then her dance recital Friday night, which brings an end to the dance session year. Days are moving at warp speed, and then the pace changes a bit for the summer. At least for the kids, my work schedule is pretty much the same in the summer as it is during the school year. But there are fewer school projects to deal with, and that's a welcome break.

I've been thinking a lot about my days from this time last year, and how hard I pushed to get through and enjoy the big milestones ... TJ's 8th grade graduation, Drew's college graduation. Looking back and knowing how I really felt physically, I'm surprised I held up as well as I did. Those weeks in May were among the worst of my chemo days, with the first 4 treatments being the most powerful drugs, and the chemo toxins taking a toll on my body. But looking back, I also realize that I pushed through and did what I needed to do to enjoy the milestones of the graduations. And I did enjoy them, immensely. How sad would it be for me now to look back and know I spent those days feeling sick or bedridden and not being able to enjoy them. I think as moms, we just do what we need to do.

As I dropped TJ off to play with band today, I realized how fast his own graduation will be upon us. Today he was playing the drum as a freshman, but all too soon he'll be in cap and gown himself, and moving forward. Each day is a gift, and I look forward to the gift of the next 3 years of life so that I can be part of his next big milestone.

In the News

Everywhere in the news today are headlines about Hollywood star Angelina Jolie and her announcement that she recently had an elective double mastectomy. And suddenly, many people have asked, emailed, texted and sent Facebook messages, wondering what I think.

Was it necessary? Wise? Extreme? Paranoid?

I will say that my answer to every single person who asked is the same. Only Angelina can make that decision. She knows her family history. She knows her obligations to her young children. She knows her test results. She answers to her own heart. To judge her decision without being in her shoes is just something I cannot do.

I had the same DNA testing that lead her to this decision. My surgeon ordered the testing when I questioned why I was not considering a double mastectomy myself. My individual results dictated the recommendations given to me by the surgeon. But ultimately, the decision on how to proceed was mine.

I'm pleased that her star status brings more attention to the issue of breast cancer and how DNA testing can offer more options for women who have family history and want to take life saving, proactive steps for themselves. Together, we are in it to fight until things are better for all women.

A Humbling and Wonderful Day

Today was the day I've anxiously awaited for several months, the Peoria Race for the Cure. It's an important day for me, as it's my first year to walk cancer free, as a survivor.

It's said that a picture can speak a thousand words, so I'll let these do some of the talking to show you just how wonderful it made me feel to have the support of Team Lisa. I could never choose the right words to express how much it meant to have everyone there today.

Here are 3 of the reasons that I fight so hard to beat cancer.  So glad my kids were able to take part ... not only is it supportive for me, but it is a teachable moment that life is short and we don't know how many more of these opportunities exist to be together in this way ... so today is a very important day to make it a priority and be together.

 And then there is this wonderful group of people who got up early, arrived at the walk site at 7 am, and put their own personal priorities aside to be there to support me. What a difference a year makes in the emotions and outlook that I had about the event. Last year, I just wanted to survive to see another Race. This year, I celebrate my survivor status with every shred of my being. To have them at my side for this moment of walking in full survivor mode is a humbling honor I just can't describe.

 And then there is Dale ... a firefighter from the Madison, Wisconsin area. Dale didn't know me "in real life" before today ... he had made a Facebook connection with me through a college friend of Drew's. He's traveling to different cancer walks and training for a big walk in Chicago later this year ... and he contacted me for details about the Peoria event. He walked in his firefighter gear and has prepared a pink hat and tank to express his mission to support people like me. I had the honor of being one of the survivors to sign the tank that he will wear in all of his events. Thank you, Dale, for making the trip to be part of Team Lisa today.

Right before the Race began, we heard some kids yelling, "Mr. Scott!" ... and of course, in a sea of 10,000 event participants ... there were 4 of Drew's students, very surprised to see him. LeRoy is over an hour from Peoria, so Mr. Scott was equally surprised to see students from his school!


The sight of 10,000 people walking down a major road is a sight that takes my breath away ... knowing how many women are in this crowd fighting a fight similar to mine, and how many people are there to support them and all of us.

The weather was cool, but really perfect in the sense that you could get warmed up during the 3.3 mile walk and still be comfortable. Thankfully we didn't get rained on at the end like last year!

By the time we got to the finish line, we had become separated from some of our group ... but this part of the group was able to finish together, and celebrate our moment!

Thanks to all who were able to be there today to walk by my side as a survivor.

Sharing the Love

You don't have to go too far back on this blog to find pictures and stories of how other people ... some cancer survivors themselves, some were not ... found ways to honor me at local cancer events. Candlelit luminarias, my name on their shirt, words written in the sand, golf outing sponsor signs, and so much more. And every single time someone sent me a photo of something like this they've done for me, I reacted in exactly the same way. I broke into tears with overwhelming emotion ... so incredibly humbled that others care and remember.

So this year at the Race for the Cure, I not only walk to celebrate my own 14 months as a survivor ... but it's time to share the love. There are two wonderful women walking their own breast cancer path right now who need a boost. One is finished with chemo and surgery but has a few other things to get through ... the other dealing with some serious fallout from her chemo treatments and recently spent several days in the hospital. So I realized that since I can walk in this year's event and they most likely will not ... they need to be there with me, in spirit.

Tonight I decorated my "celebration tag" for the Race for the Cure, and on Saturday I will pin it to my shirt and walk while wearing their names with pride. As so many have done for me over the past 14 months. Love you ladies, my sisters in the fight. I fight alongside you. I walk for you. You give me strength.

Peoria Race for the Cure

Next Saturday is a very special day, my first year to walk in the Race for the Cure as a survivor instead of a cancer patient. It was all but impossible to think of myself as a survivor last year as I was undergoing chemo and feeling its effects ... with 4 more months of chemo left to endure ... and surgery looming on the horizon after that. I wasn't in "survivor" mode then. I was in "survival" mode.

A few weeks ago I saw a notice in our local newspaper, asking people to share their stories and memories of the Peoria Race for the Cure. I immediately put something together in writing and included a couple of photos ... because I knew it was my chance to recognize "Team Lisa" and all the love and support that has come my way over the past 14 months.

This appeared in the special newspaper section about the Peoria event today ...

If you can't read the print above, you may be able to click the photo and get a slightly larger version. I checked on line, but there is no source on the newspaper web site to view it right now.

I've thought a lot about how wonderful it will be to complete this year's walk with friends and family by my side to support me and celebrate another year of life and another year of just surviving. None of us know how many more "Race for the Cure" events we have left to complete, so I will celebrate each one from here forward as another milestone in the journey of a cancer patient.

My New Normal

Living life in what is my "new normal" after diagnosis, treatment and surgery is going well for me. Regular life activities are resuming, such as work and kid activities. This past week I was out of town for a work conference, and it was so great to see this particular group of friends. Last year I had to cancel out on attending the conference at the last minute due to diagnosis. They sent well wishes and flowers, and we even had a face-to-face Skype computer phone call. They made a donation to my fundraising efforts, and have kept in touch all year. 

I received a text from a member of the group about the time I was due in, asking where I was ... and sure enough, when I arrived in the hotel lobby there they were ... with hugs and smiles and greetings. All week long they made me feel special and loved. And then all too fast it was time for goodbye hugs and good wishes. I was told after diagnosis by several people who have walked the cancer path before me that you find out who your true friends are after you are diagnosed with cancer. That has proven true in so many situations around me ... and especially in the group of home show managers that I'm proud to call friends.

One more week until the Peoria Race for the Cure ... it's a day that I'm so looking forward to! Stay tuned for  event pictures and my special day with Team Lisa 2013!

Inspired

Got the mail on Saturday to find that our mailbox runneth over with inspiration ... the Peoria Race for the Cure is coming up on May 11.

We got 5 packets, one for each of our family members, and the mailbox could not even hold it all. The shirts are varied ... adult walkers with the phrase "Inspired" on them, Abby's child walker shirt has a cute design drawn by a child and selected by the Komen organization. And, of course, my bright pink survivor shirt in the middle.

This year's team will be much smaller ... only about a third of the registrants from last year. But it's very inspiring to me to have several from last year coming back to share phase 2 of my journey ... walking fully as a survivor instead of a chemo patient in a bandana. Last year, the focus of the walk was just getting through treatment and taking it one day at a time ... this year, the focus is to celebrate the accomplishments of the past year and focus on events way out in the future and living many, many years.

Each year from here forward I suspect that Team Lisa will get smaller and smaller ... it's natural that others will have personal interests and conflicts. Maybe even in the not-too-distant future it will just be me walking on my own behalf ... but whatever the case, the event is the single most important day of the year to me in finding strength and inspiration to live life as a breast cancer survivor. And as for sharing it with whomever is able to be there ... for me, it's truly an honor to have people put their personal lives on hold for a morning so they can be there to walk with me, and to walk in my honor. That won't ever change, regardless of team size.

Beach Therapy

This article goes hand in hand with conversations I've had with medical professionals about my testing for Vitamin D levels ... and the effect Vitamin D has on my long-term prognosis. It's one reason they have tested my levels, gave me a short-term megadose to bring my Vitamin D levels up, and continue to work with me to find ways to raise my Vitamin D to a more acceptable level. In addition to diet and supplements, I'm also supposed to try and get 15-20 mintues of sun on my face, arms and legs ... without sunscreen ... as many days as I can in the spring and summer months.

But during the fall and winter, I can't get Vitamin D from the outdoors in our climate. But this article and its research coincide with one of my favorite doctor's orders to enhance my Vitamin D levels in the cold weather seasons in Illinois ... get to the beach and warmer climates several times in the fall and winter  :-)

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/04/130418142328.htm

Another Anniversary

One year ago today, I walked into the chemo clinic for the first time, ready to do battle. I remember I didn't sleep much the night before, with many concerns of diagnosis and then what the treatment really meant ... pumping my body full of toxins so I could have a chance to live. Kind of ironic.

I had so much on my plate at that time ... 5 months of chemo, sugery and its unknowns, followed by radiation. Getting through one phase was a daunting task, thinking of getting through all three phases was too much to handle. So I did my best to live through it all one day at a time.

My chemo experience was as good as one could possibly hope for due to the skills of my medical oncologist and the amazing staff at the infusion clinic of Illinois Cancer Care. I saw a lot during the 16 times I sat in that chair, which would have been a cumulative total of about 40 hours. I met people who didn't have reason to feel strong and hopeful. I met people whose fear was evident in their eyes as we chatted. I shared conversation with people who are no longer here with their families today. Strangers became friends, as they often do in times of distress and trauma. And for all the wonderful people who held my hand in the beginning and told me to stay strong, stay hopeful ... I was able to pay it forward and do the same for others at the end of the 5 months, when I was a veteran patient instead of the rookie.

My time in the clinic hasn't quite come to a close, as I still have to go in every 6 weeks to have a saline flush of my medi-port. The port will come out in August with my reconstruction surgery, so I'll have several more times to visit. And, of course, I'll have follow up appointments with the medical oncologist there for the rest of my life. But today, I am grateful for the love and care that came my way in the clinic. Thank you all.

Six Months Post-Op

This week had me juggling my personal calendar to fit in some important medical appointments ... but they will be the last ones for a couple of months. That sounds really good to say.

Monday I had blood work, and the medical oncologist's nurse called today with results. First, a follow up to my Vitamin D levels, which were  super low in January. After a few weeks of mega doses of Vitamin D, I've gone from a number of 11 up to 33. The medical oncologist wants me at 50 as a minimum, and even over the 70 mark for ideal levels that will  help with bone issues and other aspects of living with cancer. I'll need to add a Vitamin D supplement to the multi-vitamin I already take, and try to get 15-20 minutes of sunshine ... unprotected, without sunscreen and including my arms and legs to soak up the most ... as often as I'm able in the spring and summer months. We don't get Vitamin D from the sun in this part of the country in fall and winter.

One other lab test from Monday was a test of my thyroid function, and it appears that it is working in normal range. There was some concern based on a few symptoms, so we will keep tabs on it, I'm sure.

Today was my 6 month post-op follow up day ... so I had a mammogram, which was reviewed by a radiologist at the breast health center, and then in a visit with my surgical oncologist. All was clear, all is good in that regard ... so I breathe a sigh of relief. Silly as it may sound, I've been pretty wound up about going for the mammogram. Just walking into the buildling brings back anxious memories of going there for biopsies, sonograms, breast MRI. Walking past the very consultation room where I received my diagnosis. No wonder I felt like my heart would beat out of my chest ... but today was an appointment of good news and no trauma, and hopefully I'll have many, many more of those to experience in the future years.

I definitely feel that I've turned a corner and am better and stronger ... but I expect I'll never lose the anxiety and fear of recurrence. I've noticed that for many around me, life goes on as easy and naturally as it did before my diagnosis. While I'd never want anyone to struggle in an unnecessary way with angst over my condition, it feels really strange to have conversations with people that feel like in many ways they have moved on, and it's just not as "front and center" in their minds as it is in mine. That their perspective is in some way it's "over" for me, and now life returns to normal. I guess it's natural for those who aren't directly affected to just return to who they were before ... but I wonder if anyone other than a cancer patient truly understands that once diagnosed, you're never the same? It reminds me a lot of how it felt to process the grief after I lost my dad. I was still sad for a long time, but people around me were laughing and living their lives in a normal way. This feels much the same, I'm still dealing with the emotional overload of living life with cancer, but others are free to just live life. I guess that is the new challenge on my horizon ... living life in survivor mode, while others move forward at a different pace.

Angels in Disguise

Over the past 13 months I've talked a lot about the people who have made a difference in my journey ... those who do their jobs well, care for patients deeply, and help make a bad situation more tolerable. I can't really say that I've run into many people who don't fit the bill and do their job with excellence. Some are just more open and outgoing about it than others, perhaps.

Yesterday I got to catch up with one of those people who was so helpful during some of my darkest days of chemo. From mid-April through Labor Day last year, I had blood draws almost every Monday. This was in preparation for a Tuesday chemo treatment to be sure that my blood counts were in a good range to indicate I could tolerate the week's treatment. Early in the process I had a person or two that really weren't the best, and I was bruised up and down both arms from multiple attempts at IV's and blood draws. I walked into the hospital lab in dread of another bad stick, more bruises and discomfort ... but instead found a person who could see what I'd been through by looking at my bruises, and she offered comfort and support, smiles and cheerfulness, and always got the blood draw accomplished with no discomfort and no bruising. She insisted that I ask for her by name each week from that point forward, and she would take good care of me. That was important when I was having 20-25 blood draws over the same number of weeks.

The last time I saw her was in September as I had my final blood draw prior to surgery. She gave me smiles, hugs, cheerful thoughts and her prayers. I went back twice in the past couple of months but was always at the lab at a time when she wasn't in, and yesterday she was in and not available to do my blood draw ... but I waited in the hallway for her on the advice of the person who did draw my blood. After a few minutes, she came out of a treatment room, took one look at me and stopped dead in her tracks. She knew it was me, even though I wasn't wearing the wig or bandana of the months where she saw me most. She told me how great I looked, gave me a big hug, and wiped tears from her eyes.

As it turns out, she's soon moving to a different clinic and I may not see her again ... so I'm very glad I took the time to wait for her and tell her how much she helped me through those chemo months. She thanked me for waiting to see her, and commented that oftentimes she doesn't get to see people after treatment, when things are better for them ... and that it was a very rewarding and emotional moment for her. Thank you, Deanna.

Back to Reality

This week, it was back to reality at work ... next week, it's back to reality as a cancer patient.

Tomorrow is a blood work day, and the main goal of the testing will be to check my Vitamin D levels. Its level in the bloodstream plays an important role for everyone, but especially for cancer patients. Mine was drastically low, only an 11 on a scale where they want my number to be at minimum, 50, and preferrably, between 70-100. I took a Vitamin D super supplement once a week for 8 weeks, and have added a full range multi-vitamin to my daily diet ... and now we do a check of the Vitamin D level after the 8 weeks. I'm hoping that Destin sunshine did a lot to improve my Vitamin D level as well, and that the doctor will order more beach time to keep it in check! ;-)

The medical oncologist also has a thyroid level blood test on the lab orders as well, because radiation of the chest and neck like I had can affect the proper function of the thyroid. Since I've had some symptoms that could be related to an underactive thyroid, the Dr felt it was important to check it out.

Also coming up next week is a mammogram, and a 6 month follow-up appointment with my surgical oncologist. This will be the first time to see her since my appointment immediately after surgery, last October. While I probably don't learn as much about "where I'm at" with the surgical oncologist as I do in my appointment with the medical oncologist that involves lab work ... it's still an important piece of the puzzle to keep her in the rotation. Most likely, she'll clear me for annual visits at this appointment.

Right before we left on Spring break, we heard the news that the parent of yet another classmate of TJ's had received a cancer diagnosis. His class seems to have been dealt an unfair proportion in that regard ... as with this most recent diagnosis, I can think of 6 students in the class of 2016 who have faced cancer in one of their parents or a sibling. And those are only the families I know of, there may be more. There are just under 70 students in the class, it's almost 10% of them who have been touched by this within the walls of their own home, not counting others with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins diagnosed. We add our prayers for the Muehlich family for strength and full recovery.

Longevity

Today my mom celebrates her 80th birthday. She comes from a big family of brothers and sisters who lived well into their 80's and 90's, for the most part. Overall, I can't say she's healthy and doing well ... she has lots of ups and downs with her health, and will spend the rest of her years in a nursing home. Her life in the last 33 years since my parents divorced has been filled with much time being alone and experiencing financial hardships ... not filled with what everyone deserves in happy memories of big family get-togethers and relaxing retirement years, traveling to favorite locations. But she pushes on, some days with more gusto than others. And she's the only immediately family member left on my side of the family, after losing my dad almost 24 years ago.

Her birthday gives me pause to wonder if I will be blessed enough to see my own 80th birthday. While I remain positive about my current health and prognosis, one has to wonder what the future holds. Celebrating my 80th birthday would make me a 29 year survivor at that time ... which seems like a big milestone that most breast cancer survivors can't hope to achieve. But looking ahead, it also shows me how you have to live in the moment and make the most of life today ... because while my mom has been blessed with more years of life than I may have, her years have not been filled with the joy that I have already found in life. So no matter how long we live, we have to fill each day, each month, each year ... with love and family and joy. There's no value in waiting until the time is right to pursue your interests and dreams, or to visit that vacation spot you've always wanted to see ... you have to do it today while you are here, in the moment. Or you just might lose your opportunity.

Race for the Cure - Peoria!

Join me May 11 for the 28th Annual Komen Peoria Race for the Cure ... you can be a walking or non-walking member of "Pink Shamrocks-Team Lisa 2013"

Help me celebrate my first survivor year in style! Last year's team was 70 people strong, with about 40 team members walking on race day ... and included men and women, adults and children of all ages.

Hope to see you there!

Click HERE to go directly to the Pink Shamrocks-Team Lisa 2013 Race for the Cure team page!

My Mind in the Clouds

That is exactly what we did this week ... face to the sun, feet in the sand, mind in the clouds. The beach is our happy place, our family place. So relaxing and good to be together.

There were 2 other families from Tremont here that we shared some fun with, along with Drew and 2 of his friends. Lots of sun and fun, lots of laughs.

We'll check out of our rental house this morning, but we're hanging around the complex for one more beautiful beach day. We'll pull out of Destin tonight, and be home by sunrise on Easter. So thankful to have had this great week with my family, and looking forward to many, many more Spring Break trips together.

May I Ask ... What is Team Lisa?

Team Lisa was well represented at the pool in Destin this week for spring break. There was a lady sitting opposite of us who probably observed me take this picture ... and then as she left the pool she stopped and said, "May I ask, what is Team Lisa?"

It felt so good to be able to tell her with strength and confidence ... that's for me, I have breast cancer, but I'm doing well. And the shirts were from my Race for the Cure team last year. She loved it, told me she was glad to hear that I was doing well, and that I looked great.

Go Team Lisa!

Bulletproof

Today we had a meeting of about 40 people at my office, and at the end of it one of the attendees (who knows quite a bit about my treatments and journey) came up to me and said, "I just have to tell you, you look great. You look strong and confident, and ... bulletproof."

I love that. Bulletproof. After what the last 12 months have brought my way and all that I have endured physically and emotionally ... I feel bulletproof!

People are making a lot of comments to me now about looking more like myself, and that is so great. It's really uplifting to hear that not only do I feel better ... but others can see the physical differences and the strength and stamina coming back to me more each day.

Tomorrow night we leave for the beach, and I could not be happier about that. Last year I spent spring break on the beach in Destin smiling at the kids as they built sandcastles, but crying on the inside with fear and concern. I realized while I was sitting there that people could walk right past me and not be aware of the battle I was about to face. I knew when I came home, it was time to start chemo and face the reality of life as a cancer patient, so I found myself wishing the week would never end. Of course, it did end and life went on. And I guess it just goes to show that you really don't know what path another person is walking by just seeing them. Sometimes now if I see someone who seems to be having a bad day or maybe looks like they don't feel 100% well, I wonder to myself what personal battles they might be facing. You just never know.

This year, I'll sit on the beach and enjoy the sights and sounds and smells. The one thing I wanted more than anything over the 10 months of going through treatment, or recovering from surgery, or before starting radiation was just simply to go to the beach. Each trip I attempted to make happen never panned out for one reason or another. But the time is here, and I'm headed for 9 days in my most relaxing and comfortable place in this world. It's especially great that our entire family will be together this year, as Drew has not had a spring break with us for 5 years, since he was a senior in high school. Looking forward to soaking it all in, and finding my peace and strength in the waves, the sand, the sunsets and being surrounded with those I care about the most.

And I'll gaze out over the Gulf waters and remind myself that after all I've endured, I now feel ... bulletproof.

What a Difference a Year Makes!

March 15, 2012 is a day that will be etched in our family history as the day that I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Of course it was the culmination of a couple of worrisome weeks with tests and scans, but for the most part, no one knew but a very small circle of people.

We got the news late in the afternoon, after a difficult day of waiting. There were just 4 of us in the room ... Mitch and I, the radiologist, and a patient navigator. The radiologist clasped my hand when I broke into tears. The navigator looked me in the eye and said, "This is not a death sentence." Mitch and I asked lots of questions. And then we began the drive home that seemed to last an eternity.

It was really important to me to choose the right words to tell the kids. I didn't want to say that we had "bad news" or that I had a "problem" ... I wanted them to hear truthful, candid words that I was diagnosed with cancer, and would be undergoing treatment. Honest words, because I knew they would be scared. And they were. Abby didn't fully understand at age 9; TJ understood way too much at age 13.

Within an hour of telling them, we pulled ourselves together and went to the incoming freshman orientation for TJ at the high school. I told Mitch to stick close and rescue me if anyone asked how I was feeling, because there were a few people who knew I'd had some doctor's appointments, but they did not know why. I didn't want to fall apart there, I just wanted to be a parent helping their child sign up for high school classes. A normal thing to do. In a normal life.

Drew was more aware of the circumstances, and was waiting for word. Hoping, like all of us, that I'd be calling to say that it was not breast cancer. But when the time drug on before I called, he knew the outcome. He knew I'd be quickly shouting from the rooftops if it wasn't cancer. He was 4 hours away at college, and I imagine it was a really rough wait for him from his perspective.

The next week was a blur of appointments, tests and scans so that I could get all of the preliminary work done and we could still go on our family spring break trip ... and then I would begin chemo shortly after we returned. The surgical oncologists office worked miracles to get everything jammed into one week that they usually schedule over a two-week period. But the Dr really wanted me to be able to do the trip as planned.

And of course, you know the rest of the story from here. Chemo, surgery, radiation, recovery. Today I am strong and healing, feeling more like myself each and every day. Hopeful for a future that includes many years with my family, and without recurrence. But while I hold hope, I am also realistic. I think my medical oncologist summed it up best when she told me, "At one year, we celebrate. At two years, we party a little bit more. But we don't really pop the champagne corks and do a happy dance until the 5 year mark."

And so one day at a time, from here forward, I live my life as a survivor. Thanks for all of your love and support, Team Lisa!

R & R

Looking forward to a weekend of rest and relaxation after my crazy last few weeks of home show madness ... tonight the kids and I are heading to an indoor waterpark hotel in Dubuque, IA to meet up with 3 of the other families we traveled to China with on our adoption trip 9 years ago. Can't wait to see the girls together and see how the other 3 have grown!

Drew will be tagging along and helping with the driving and keeping an eye on the kids, which will be great. This is a weekend that Mitch is gone more than home with the state basketball tourney in Peoria, so it worked out perfect to have this weekend for the reunion.

This week I had a physical therapy appointment to evaluate some swelling in my arm (on surgery side) that is most likely related to the impact surgery had on the lymph nodes in that part of my body. They have referred me to a medical supply specialist for a fitting of a compression sleeve that they would like to see me wear anytime I'm walking on the track or using strength training machines. I'll also need to wear it any time in the future I'm on an airplane, as the changes in altitude can trigger swelling in these instances. Once I get the sleeve, I'll return to the physical therapy clinic for 3-4 individualized therapy sessions, and then they will release me to do strength training machines on my own at my fitness center.

Next week I'm due for a saline flush of my medi-port, so I'll be making a quick visit to the chemo clinic for that. I'll have to continue that process about every 6 weeks until my port is removed during reconstruction surgery in August.

Conditioned Response

As St Patrick's Day quickly approaches ... they are EVERYWHERE!

While most people think of St Patrick's Day and leprechauns and wearing green when these start popping up all over this time of year ... I'll probably never be able to look at a shamrock again without thinking of my breast cancer diagnosis and the continuous stream of support that has come my way since my diagnosis on March 15, 2012. Shamrocks surrounded me last year at this time, and they became my symbol of strength as I moved forward with the 4-leaf clover elements of faith, hope, love and luck.

So many thoughtful, caring people have sent shamrock gifts. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, charms, magnets, cards, plants, books, stuffed bears, cookies, pictures, shirts. My one year survivor anniversary date must be close, because shamrocks are popping up everywhere!