Anya meets Dr Lee

I took Anya in to the cancer clinic to meet the nurses and Dr. Lee. Everyone was overjoyed to see her, which isn't a surprise, but I did get another hug from Dr. Lee. He told me that getting to see her made his day, his week, his month and his year. Oncologists have to try very hard not find the fine line between caring for patients and not getting too attached because the losses would be too emotionally draining. He's done well keeping on that line but I think Anya's arrival has pushed him over a little. It means a great deal to me that he cares for me, and us, in that way, because we certainly have felt that way about him for years.

Greatful for such a caring team!

Went in to the clinic to have my port flushed. I decided not to bring Anya because her sensitive immune system. Her visit can wait a few more weeks. I was totally surprised that the staff had given Anya several gifts. It meant so much to me as a symbol of the depth of their care and their ability to get intimately connected with their patients because they are a smaller practice.

This was my oncologist's note in the card: "She is beautiful. Words fail me. We are so glad for you!"

Words seldom fail him.

In Seattle there are several "top notch" cancer facilities, but in my opinion they all pale in comparison to the doctors and staff at

Puget Sound Cancer Centers

...especially Dr. Doug Lee...a hero in my book.

She's Home!

Anya came home on Saturday, November 7th. It was such a relief to finally get out of the damn hospital. Two solid weeks was almost more than I could handle. Thankfully one of the social workers was also a cancer survivor and understood I was a little more fragile than many of the other mothers around me. There were a few days I could not stop crying and for no apparent reason.

Anyway, we're home now and trying to get into the swing of things. We had gotten so accustomed to the hospital, where everything was in its place and there was a sink and a fridge in the room, and a nurse came in every three hours to remind us to feed Anya. Having to do it all ourselves was a bit of a disaster the first night but we made it through.

Tomorrow will be her first visit to her regular pediatrician and not the hospital pediatrician. I'm sure I'll have nightmares tonight about them sending her back to the hospital for a few more weeks.

As I should be sleeping now I'm off to bed.

Much Ado and a Hug

I caused quite a stir last Thursday when I went in for treatment. The entire staff had been waiting for news about Anya, and I simply hadn't the time to make the call. They were so excited to hear the news and see the pictures we brought that we put everyone behind schedule. I'm sure the other patients were peeved and confused as to what the fuss was about. Several nurses were around me in the waiting room when I saw Dr. Lee poke his head out. One or two times he stepped forward and then back again, as though undecided about what to do. Finally he flopped his arms and rushed over to look at the pictures and congratulate me. His words were, "Holy crap." Oh how I love his sense of humor.

Because my breast was engorged I opted to have treatment with a peripheral IV in my hand instead of my port. Took longer but was well worth it. I told several of my nurses the story about the neonatal nurse wanting to compare my breasts to see if my engorged breast was normal. We had a good laugh.

As I was leaving the Center, Dr. Lee came out again and gave both me and my husband hugs. I was touched and got a little teary, but before I could say much he rushed away (he was running behind). We turned to the receptionist to confirm my next appointment and she was all teared up too. Then she told us that in the 7 years she had worked for Dr. Lee she had never seen him hug anyone.

I am so glad to have found Dr. Lee and trusted my instincts when I decided to stick with him instead of going to a bigger institution. I am profoundly greatful to him for working so hard to make this cancer fight a long and worthwhile one. And what could be more worthwhile than having a chance to bring a new life into the world?

Anya has arrived!

ANYA LEE POPP

born:
10/23/2009, 10:15 pm
4 lbs 12 oz, 15 inches

...and DAMN CUTE!


Induction started Friday morning and was pretty dull until late evening. Active labor for a couple of hours, pushing for 20 minutes and whoosh! out she came. The NICU nurses hadn't even made it downstairs yet! My doctor prepared me by telling me that Anya came so fast they weren't quite ready so they called a CODE to get them to hurry. She also warned me that there was about to be 10 more people in the room...and I was still legs spread. Good times!

Anya had a little trouble remembering to breathe in her first few minutes but soon got the hang of it. By the time they showed her to me she was breathing on her own. Then she was whisked up to the NICU so they could keep a close watch on her.

Over the last week she's had some ups and downs. Problems holding her temperature, keeping food down, and a little jaundice. Today, exactly one week after her birthday, she was moved to a different floor where NICU babies go for a few days before they're released. She's eating plenty of food now and keeping it down, her temperature is steady, and the jaundice started to come down without the need for UV lights. We're hoping to have her home by Monday. Fingers and toes crossed.

Funniest thing that happened...

On Wednesday my milk came in. My breast was ginormous and red and painful. Eerily reminded me of when I was first diagnosed and MY cancer WAS painful. I mentioned it to the nurse taking care of Anya that day and she asked a lactation consultant to speak to me (even though I can't breastfeed due to Herceptin). So both the nurse and the lact. lady came and pulled the curtain closed. I lifted up the right side of my shirt to show them, but held my arm over my left side. They both commented that it looked very swollen, but could they look at the left breast to compare. With a smirk I said, "Uh, no, I don't have it anymore." They both said "Oh!" followed by an awkward silence. Without something to compare it to they really couldn't tell me if my breast was normal, so they told me to ice it and take pain meds and let them know if it got worse.

It's Official!

Anya will come into the world sometime on October 23rd, 2009. I hope early rather than later. I had the amniocentesis today to check her lungs and she's ready to breathe. They poked me in the belly with a long needle. Told me it wouldn't hurt as much as a biopsy but they didn't give me anything for the pain and ended up poking me twice. Yuck! It wasn't as bad as having screws drilled into my head, but it was very uncomfortable. Makes me worry for tomorrow. On the one hand, I've been through so much shit already that my pain threshold should be pretty high, but on the other hand, I'm a big wuss and usually whine and cry until I get pain medications. Sigh. Well I'll be taking a benedryl tonight to get some sleep and I'll be crossing my fingers for a short, easy labor. (How's that for wishful thinking?)

fight mode

As I am anxiously waiting for the induction this Friday it occurs to me that I am more nervous about giving birth then I was for my mastectomy. It helps that I was unconscious for that event, but still, in the days leading up to it I wasn't as nervous as I am now. I think I was less apprehensive then because I was in fight mode. I had accepted what was to be as a necessary part of fighting cancer. Now I'm not in fight mode, and it's not just me that will be put to the test. So somehow, between today and Friday, I've got to get into a mindset that I'm going to handle childbirth as best I can for Anya's sake. She needs me to be strong, so I'll do my damnedest.

Countdown On

Everything has progressed normally...it's really quite boring. The amniotic fluid dropped as usual after treatment, but we started at such a high number (12) that the drop to 8 didn't really matter. It's been a couple of weeks and it's starting to climb now. All her ultrasounds looked pretty good, her dopplers (blood flows) look great, and her NST's (non-stress test: checks for heart rate and movement) have all been perfect. Alas, she's still not growing, and they're worried (I'm worried too) about the potential return of my cancer as a result of postponing my Herceptin treatments a few weeks at a time. So, since she is doing so well on all fronts but size they've decided to evict her early. In one week in fact! I'll be induced Friday October 23rd at 36 weeks!

She'll probably spend awhile in the NICU getting special care and attention until she puts on weight and is breathing well and keeping her temp up. In the mean time, I'll be getting my first CT/PET and full MRI scans in months. Yikes! Soon I'll know if was all worth it or if the risk I took was just too great. I hope I will take one look at my baby girl and know I did the right thing. I hope that will give me strength on the day I get my test results back.

Last Treatment

I had my last infusion of Herceptin today. Well not really, I'll be back on the stuff at regular 3 weeks intervals for the rest of my life, but this was the last one with Anya inside. I hated it as I have every time. Knowing that she was getting some of it too and it would make the fluid go down. I'm not taking any chances this time. Resting, drinking and eating will be my only tasks for the next few weeks. And it will be just a few more weeks. 36 or 37 weeks would be the miracle goal, but really I could be induced next week if the fluid drops that quickly. More likely they'll put me back in the hospital as soon as the fluid drops and keep me there until it's time. I can't believe I'm about to be a mom. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

I'm also exhausted. Haven't been this tired in a long time. Herceptin always makes me tired for a day but today I feel like my strength has been sapped. Iron counts or something. Or maybe it's just a pregnancy thing.

33 weeks

Today's sonogram was excellent! Amniotic fluid jumped to 12. Apparently I'm the buzz around Parinatology this week. Heart rate was also great. Lots of activity. Normally she takes a nap when they hook us up to the monitor. She's also been getting a lot of hiccups which means she's practicing breathing. All in all, a good day.

Normal

The sonographer was so shocked by today's fluid level that she checked it 3 times. The level is up to 10! That's the low end of normal. Finally something in this pregnancy is normal. Woo hoo! Everyone in the room hi-fived like uber dorks, but it was a great moment that needed a little celebrating. Anya has grown as well. From the lowly 3rd percentile to the slightly better 7th percentile. With the way things have gone I don't expect this to last, but I'm gonna enjoy the weekend, take it easy, and try not to fret until the next sonogram on Tuesday.

big move consequences

I was allowed to go home from hospital Sunday when the amniotic fluid finally hit 6. Wasted weekend because we really needed to pack up our house for our move to the "Big House" with my brother and his family. Docs told me to rest -again- although not necessarily Bed Rest. Went back for sonograms on Tuesday and the fluid was 7. Decided to post-pone Herceptin 2 weeks to get me into the 33-34 week range (36-37 is the max the docs will allow). By the sonogram that Friday fluid was up to a lofty 8.

However, I was still under the advice to rest, rest, rest, and drink a ton, but I couldn't just lay there and let my husband do all the work. So I helped when and where I could. I know I shouldn't have, but I did and now I'm dealing with the consequences. This Tuesday the sonogram showed a drop down to 5 instead of an increase like we expected. So this time I was chastised and given strict orders to remain resting on couch or bed.

Of course, I'm clearly not following orders by sitting at my desk to entertain myself on my computer. I will rest and drink more than I have been the last few days, and since I have now put away all my clothes and toiletries I can put off unpacking anything else. With luck the fluid will be up a little by the next sonogram on Friday. If it doesn't then I might go back to the hospital and I won't be able to see the production of Wicked that my friend bought me a ticket to see.

Hospital Again

I got admitted to the hospital on Wednesday because Anya's fluid was low again. Same plan as last time: fluids, rest, monitor baby. Only this time the fluid didn't come back up right away, so I'm not allowed to go home. Well technically I can go home but it would be against advisement. I certainly want to do everything within my power to get the fluid up and keep Anya safe. Unfortunately there isn't a lot I can do but wait and hope. We'll be taking it a few days at a time. The next sonogram will be Sun and if the fluid's up I'll go home. If it remains the same I'll stay longer. If it goes down...well I don't want to think about that until the time comes. Other than the fluid and small size, Anya seems perfectly happy in her cramped little world. Her heart, lungs, brain, placenta and cord all seem to be working well. A little relief on top of all the worry.

Uneventful Sonogram

Everything was A-OK on the sonogram this week. Fluid was still at 9. Little odd since we expected it to drop some after treatment, but we're not complaining. Not ready to hope the rest of the pregnancy will be a breeze. Always have the feeling that something bad is right around the corner. Same way with cancer. Always fearing the next bit of bad news. It's a defense mechanism, but it takes a bit of the joy out of life. Still, if I didn't have my guard up, every time something went wrong I'd be a complete basket case.

Back In the Chair

Had treatment today. Blah. So hard to sit there knowing the amniotic fluid could drop again and hurt Anya. Still after 2 weeks off Herceptin, the fluid went up to 9! It is hard to believe that I was hospitalized a few weeks ago because it was only 4. Hopefully this big cushion will last or at least keep the number in the "low but safe" range. If not, well, I'll just skip a few more Herceptin treatments. I'm at 28 weeks now. Third trimester. Home stretch. I'm excited to see her, but I don't want her to come too soon. I keep telling her to stay where she is for a few more months, but I doubt that will happen. On top of low fluid she's falling behind in growth. That could mean she's just small (I'm only 5ft tall, husband only 5'10 so not expecting a giant) or it could mean some growth restriction. Nothing is ever easy in my world! Despite that, my top complaint this week was how itchy and irritating my stretch marks are. My doc laughed and congratulated me for having a "normal" pregnancy complaint.

Great news!

Anya's fluid is up to 7.5! She's LOVING not having treatment so we're taking another week off. Then it's back to the chair for us.

No Herceptin

Last week I decided to postpone my Herceptin treatment. My Oncologist was very supportive and told me I could take 1-2 weeks off. I'm going for 2. Hopefully baby Anya will enjoy the time off as much as I will. Next sonogram is tomorrow, Wednesday the 19th. Amniotic fluid must stay up! Drinking liquids like crazy even though it isn't proven that it helps. Thanks to Renee for telling others about me, and to all of you who have posted nice things.

PS My last MRI came back negative! No new brain mets for me. Of course they couldn't do a contrast scan because of Anya, but as far as they could tell it was clear. Anya didn't like the noise and got all fidgety, but they kept it short and as quiet as possible.

Baby Scare

Been in the hospital for a few days because Anya's amniotic fluid was dangerously low. I was on IV fluid for 3 days, had 2 iron infusions, and 2 steroid shots. Luckily the fluid came up and they allowed me to go home on moderate bed rest. I was terrified because if the fluid didn't come up then the baby was at a high risk for being stillborn. They were talking about a c-section and I'm only at 24 weeks! Babies that young don't do very well outside the womb! The steroids they gave me were to boost her lungs just in case she had to be born. All along we assumed she'd be early for one reason or another. We were hoping for 36 weeks (8 months). I hope she does make it that long but with this scare I'm terribly afraid I'm going to have a very sick and dangerously premature baby on my hands.

I keep thinking, "I've done this to her. To keep me alive I've risked her life!" That's because the low fluid could be due to my Herceptin treatments. But my ob wasn't so sure. It's been so hot in Seattle and I wasn't drinking like I should so she thinks that was a major contributor, especially since the fluids did come back up after constant IVs and a few days in an air-conditioned hospital room.

So now I rest as much as I can, which makes me feel useless and pathetic. I'm still wilting in the sticky heat although the temp has come down out of the hundreds! Trying to drink often, but it makes me feel uncomfortable to be that full of liquid all the time. Grrr! But I'll do whatever I must to keep her happy and healthy inside me.

I have an appointment to talk to my onc about postponing my next Herceptin treatment for a few weeks. My next treatment isn't until mid-Aug, and if I can postpone it until Sept, then I'll be at 30 weeks and the baby would have a much better (although not great) shot at surviving if she has to come out early.

In addition to bed rest (so most of my calories and fluid goes to her) they want me to eat a ton more calories because if she does come early she'll be better off if she's a good size. Nutritionists came by to talk to me in the hospital and were joking that they don't often advise people on how to eat more calories.

I'm one very worried momma right now! I keep resting my hands on my stomach hoping she's okay.

More Life-Altering Than Cancer?

On May 7th 2009 I went in for a simple surgery to reposition my port-a-cath, and was asked to give a urine sample. As I sat, waiting for my surgeon to arrive, the anesthesiologist dropped by to tell me we might have to cancel the surgery. When I asked why he explained that the urine sample had tested positive for pregnancy. Peter and I laughed and shook our heads. No way could I be pregnant! I hadn’t had a period since I started chemotherapy 4 years ago. I had gone through chemo-induced menopause, or chemo-pause as I liked to call it. Periods stopped, hot flashes, night sweats, the whole works. My ovaries had closed the doors and gone out of business. Clearly this was a case of a false positive, because it wasn’t even possible.

That wasn’t enough to convince him so I said that in March I had a whole slew of tests (MRI, CT, PET) and the radiologist noted some fluid in one of my ovaries, “possibly related to menstruation.” My oncologist thought it was nothing, but since it wasn’t his department he suggested I follow up with my primary care physician. I saw my PCP the next day and she reassured me that with my history, it was probably just an anomaly. She went on to explain that she saw these things all the time and they tended to be nothing to worry about.

By the time I finished explaining all of this, my surgeon showed up and we explained again why there was no way I could be pregnant. I’ve known my surgeon since the day I was diagnosed because they sent me directly from the mammogram to her office for a biopsy. She is genuine and kind and the most personable doctor, let alone surgeon, I have ever met. Knowing me and my case she also thought it was a false positive but needed to be sure before going ahead with the surgery. Our options were to draw blood and await those results, or try to arrange an emergency sonogram.

While they were trying to figure out which would be quicker, my surgeon decided to contact the radiologist and have that doctor take a second look at the scans from March. He concluded that with my history, it was very unlikely that the fluid on the scans was a fetus, but if it turned out to be positive, then the fetus was about 6 weeks at the time of the scan, and about 13 weeks now. Despite the radiologist’s confirmation of his original report, my surgeon wanted to know for sure, so I was whisked away for a sonogram.

It was in that darkened room, with Peter sitting to my left and a sonogram technician waving a wand across my belly that we saw on a small TV, the tiny head and glowing spine of a 13 week old fetus. Holy shit!

At that point Peter and I were stunned senseless and freaked out beyond words. This was the biggest shocker since my cancer diagnosis and I dealt with it in much the same way: disbelief, tears, and a hell of a lot of fear. My surgeon called my oncologist to tell him the news and his response was, “How did this happen?” To which my surgeon responded, “What do you mean?” We all had a little chuckle, but it did nothing to ease the tension everyone felt. The surgery was called off and I was scheduled to see my oncologist later that day because we had some questions that needed answering. Unfortunately, answers weren’t easy to come by.

“How is this possible?” It turns out that pregnancy was only extremely unlikely not completely impossible. A very small number of women undergoing chemo have gotten pregnant, and an equally small number of women who didn’t have regular periods have also gotten pregnant, so pregnancy for me was still in the realm of possibility. This is a realm where getting bitten by a shark or struck by lightning are also, theoretically, quite possible.

“Has this ever happened before?” My oncologist did not have any personal experience with pregnancy and my chemotherapy medication, Herceptin, but he looked into it and within a week he had found only 5 known cases of women on Herceptin becoming pregnant. With such a small number of women, and only anecdotal information, this news did nothing to help us make the most monumental decision of our lives. Should we keep the baby?

“Has the Herceptin hurt the fetus?” This question could only be answered by an OB/GYN and the one we met quickly passed us on to a Parinatologist, or high-risk pregnancy doctor. This doctor had done the research and come up with the exact same 5 cases as my oncologist. In two of the cases, the pregnancy was normal and the baby healthy. In another two cases, the pregnancy was difficult but the baby was still normal. In one of the cases, the baby didn’t survive the pregnancy. Not the greatest news, but not the worst either.

“Have any of my other medications hurt the fetus?” My anti-seizure medications are Class C medications, meaning that their potential harm is unknown or inconclusive. Most anti-seizure drugs are Class D, which is definitely all bad, so I lucked out there, or rather, the baby did. The other drugs I take aren’t great, but not specifically harmful, so that was one less thing to worry about.

“What about all the radiation?” This one was a big worry for awhile. The scans I had back in March, exposed me to quite a bit of radiation. Then I had Gamma Knife Radiation to zap away a small brain tumor in April. The Parinatologist did research on the effects of radiation on pregnancy after the bombing of Hiroshima, Japan, and that was all we had to go on. He felt that the scans, while generally avoided during pregnancy, were of such a low amount of radiation (compared to Hiroshima) that the baby was probably okay. In his opinion, if the radiation had hurt the baby, the baby wouldn’t have survived the first trimester.

This was all the information we had to go on to make a decision about whether or not to keep the baby. All of this information gathering took several weeks, and we needed to make a decision before it was too late. There were so many things to weigh. How would we afford it? What if it wasn’t healthy? What if I got sick? What if my next brain tumor was inoperable? What if the cancer came back? What if I died? It was a gut wrenching, heart breaking, and overwhelming decision to make. Having a baby is a big decision for everyone, but when the additional stresses of my existence were thrown in, the decision became as seemingly impossible as the pregnancy itself.

Ultimately, our decision was to continue the pregnancy. For once, in this whole mess of living with cancer, something potentially wonderful has happened. A baby gives new meaning to life, and the amount of joy it could bring to both Peter and I is immeasurable. We’ve been through so much disappointment and devastation since my diagnosis that maybe bringing a baby into the world will balance the scales a bit. Besides, the baby had already been through so much, and so clearly had a fighting spirit and will to live, that we felt it deserved a chance to do so. Our decision also rested on love. Both the love we have for each other, and the love for the baby that grows each day that passes.

As I write this I am now at 22 weeks, and just starting to feel the baby move. The baby is a girl and we’ve chosen the name Anya Lee. We both really liked the name Anya, and Lee was my mother’s middle name. The pregnancy is turning out to be a difficult one. In those two cases of difficult pregnancy on Herceptin, the problem was a low amount of amniotic fluid. I was checked every two weeks, and sure enough, the fluid started to drop. It is at the very low end of normal, and if it goes any lower it could harm Anya, so now I’m checked every week. Luckily, we know from those other cases that if we increase the length of time between Herceptin treatments, the problem will likely resolve itself. So we’re watching and waiting and hoping that things stay as they are or get better on their own.

I am looking forward to the future. I look forward to meeting my baby girl and showing her the world for as long as I am able. I know my life is about to change dramatically in a way I cannot imagine, but if having cancer has taught me anything it has taught me that I have a pretty remarkable amount of strength, will-power, and courage. I can only hope I have enough to cover me, Peter, and Anya.

Never Doing That Again!

Gamma Knife Radiation treatment didn't go well yesterday, in fact it ranks up there with one of the most painful experiences of my life. My mastectomy is number one, eye surgery is number 2, GNR ties for number 3 since I've had it twice and both times were agonizing.

The day before the treatment I met with a nurse to go over things and both my husband and I mentioned several times that the pain of the first treatment was extreme and asked what could be done. We went over my allergies (I have a lot of allergies to pain meds in particular), and she said she'd mention in to my doctor. The day of, the pain concern was brought up again a few times but with little result. I hate being a problem patient. I hate being the patient that nurses and doctors roll their eyes at. So I tend to keep quiet when things aren't going well. My husband does his best to speak up for me, but even that isn't enough some times. My husband talked to my surgeon the minute he walked into the room and he immediately prescribed some IV drugs so I wouldn't feel discomfort when they attached the metal gear to my head (held in place with 4 screws directly into my skull). I needed a little more Novocaine on one of the screws on my forehead, but my doc was quick to give it to me. The process of gamma knife radiation can take several hours and by the time I was wrapping up the meds were wearing off. I mentioned it to the nurse and she kinda shrugged me off.

Then they took out the screws and that's when it all went to hell.

The pain was instantaneous and overwhelming. I couldn't stop crying and then started hyperventilating. The nurse acted like I was just a big cry baby, but my husband and the student nurse who had been observing the whole thing were both trying to get me to calm down and asking what could be done. My doc came in and saw my state and immediately prescribed something for me to take when I got home, but what I couldn't understand was why no one was doing anything for me RIGHT THEN. My surgeon got called away and the nurse just handed me my clothes and told me to change. I couldn't get dressed without assistance because of the pain and I was cursing in frustration. We finally started to leave but the student nurse stopped us and said one of the other nurses was going to the pharmacy to get me something. So we went back to the room to wait and MY nurse came in and was surprised we were still there. We waited 10 minutes and finally the other nurse came in with the meds. My husband asked why this was happening to me and why they weren't prepared for it. She explained that some people feel nothing and some people feel extreme pain, but both extremes aren't terribly common. They do have medications on hand to give to people, but I was allergic to them so they literally had nothing to help me. She admitted that she'd been trying to have more medications available for situations like this, but hadn't made any progress.

So yesterday was agony, today is pain, hopefully tomorrow will be better. When I see my radiation oncologist in 3 months for a follow-up MRI I'm going to tell her what I experienced was unacceptable and I'm never doing it again. Another hospital in my area does a different type of radiation, Cyber Knife, that doesn't involve screws in the head and my rad onc works both places. The only problem is my surgeon doesn't work at the other hospital so I'll have to have another neurosurgeon, and that makes me sad because it's hard to find a surgeon with a good bedside manner.

Impossible Decision

I have a tiny tumor on my left frontal lobe; somewhere above and behind my left eye. So once again cancer is having a grand time finding places in my brain to settle down and raise a family. I'm getting it gamma knifed next week. Then what?

Spot Treatment (current plan)
Keep taking Herceptin 'cause it works from the neck down. Keep getting MRIs every couple of months. Hope for the best expect the worst. When tumors show in my brain, zap 'em with radiation. REPEAT. If the tumors in the brain start to get out of control, then whole-brain radiation.

The Alternative
Lapatinib aka Tykerb. Herceptin's cousin. Oral medication so no more monthly treatments. Very expensive. If it works at all, it may offer some protection for my brain.

What to do?
I have no idea. I'm afraid of what constant zapping will do to my brain. I don't want to go through this over and over and over until the end of my days. So part of me wants to try Lapatinib . The other part of me is scared shitless of going off of Herceptin. It's working, sort of. Is "sort of" the best I can expect? Is "sort of" better than the "maybe" that I'll get by switching to Lapatinib? If I go on Lapatinib and it doesn't work there is nothing else. All I can do is go back to Herceptin and hope it works again, but since that is never presented as an option I can only assume going back isn't ideal.

I don't know how to make this decision and I feel very alone and helpless. Half the time I want to sleep and never wake up. Half the time I can't sleep for the constant worry in my head.

Long Overdue Update

I am still in remission above and below the neck. Great. Still feel like crap though. Dr. Lee believes it is depression from the brain tumor and Peter losing his job. He prescribed an anti-depressant, but it made my chest hurt so my heart can't take it. It was a medication that was created for people with heart problems so there's nothing else. Dr. Lee is sending me to a psychiatrist to see what a specialist can do to help me.

I managed to get a non-profit to help with some of the costs of our health care (that we're paying for with Peter's unemployment), but I'm looking at about $4000 in bills this year and it's only the end of March!

We are moving out of our house in Seattle to the suburbs. We'll be living with friends, so that'll be challenging. My biggest fear is how all our cats will get along. My second biggest fear is how they will react when I hit my next set-back. People don't realize how many little set-backs there are with cancer. I tell people most of the big ones, but the little ones aren't worth mentioning. Now our friends will be witness to them too. I'm afraid they'll be overwhelmed. It's really not fair to force my issues on them, so I will do my best to keep things under wraps. If there were any other option right now I'm not sure I'd have agreed to this.

Finally, my baby girl (cat) is sick. She has a hyperthyroid. It cost us $400 to figure out what was causing her symptoms. She's on medication now and it seems to be working, but medication isn't the cure. The cure is radiation! No money for that, so we're treating the symptoms not the disease. Why does this sound familiar?