Dispatch from the Lesser Half, Vol. III.5

Posted on September 1, 2012 by meaghancc

I got ahead of myself and forgot to include the only thing I really wanted to communicate in my blog post.  Meaghan mentioned a few tremendous ways each of you can help, and I had a few suggestions to add:

Support a Fundraiser for research:
I used to run 5k’s frequently.  Well, run may be a strong word for my forward movement, but I participated in a bunch. One of my college roommates, Jeremy Ford, decided to run one in honor of Meaghan later this year.  Follow his progress or support him here:
We thank Jeremy for setting this up, but he should know I still hold him in the same esteem that any freshman college roommate holds for another.  Either way, thanks J.
Help save a Life:
Another thing I am passionate about and a great way to help others in the nasty cancer fight is to offer a piece of our own health to another. So please give blood or platelets to those in need of transfusions or transplants.  Or another big one – get on the bone marrow donor registry list here:
It’s simple – you sign up, pay a small fee and they send you a kit to swab some saliva from you and you return it.  For that small sacrifice, you are added to the bone marrow registry and could be called upon someday to donate to help save someone’s life.  Powerful stuff.
I’m sure there are lots of other good ways to get involved to help others or suggestions that may help Meaghan during her fight.  Feel free to inspire us or others in your Guestbook entries if you have any ideas.
mpc

 

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Dreams + staying involved

Posted on August 29, 2012 by meaghancc

dreaming

I had a dream and it woke me up early this morning. I was sitting in a room without windows but there were somehow shadows.  The shadows were getting longer.  And then I woke up.

Analogies have been percolating for me all day on this dream.  Since diagnosis, I’ve been walking around, keeping me head up.  But there is a general shadow, or pall, in my day to day.  There are times that I briefly forget though—shiny glittery moments where I can deeply laugh, get engaged in solving a problem at work, or do simple things like shave my legs (Mike is thinking, “yeah, right. When’s the last time you shaved your legs???”  Maybe I just Eureka-ed the only beneficial side effect of chemo here!).  But, cancer is sneaky, lurking in the shadows and bringing me back to reality.  It has really long shadows some days.

So here’s to acknowledging that there are shadows.  And there will be shadows.

But, today is a beautiful sunny day and I’m thankful to be here.

Now with the heavy stuff out of the way….

Some of you have asked how you can be involved and support us both here and across the miles.  Just knowing that you’re out there sending healing thoughts our way is enough.  That you’re reading this, posting comments, and staying in touch in a variety of ways is even better.

For those who still want to do more, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.  On one hand, by sharing ideas, I don’t want you to feel as though you have to do anything more.  But on the other hand, I know the feeling of helplessness in times like this.  Someone told me that I can give you a gift by being specific on what we or others might need.

Here are some ideas – again, no pressure. Take or leave.

  • Making a donation in my or any other breast cancer fighter’s honor.  If you have money to burn, this might be for you.  I’m lucky to have a support network, but there are some women who are not so fortunate.  The Breast Cancer Emergency Fund and the Shanti Project are well-respected and highly effective organizations delivering support to low income women with breast cancer, so they have the ability to get the best care—care, broadly defined and including providing meals and covering utility bills for example—here in the Bay Area.
  • Snail mail.  Texting and email are all wonderful.  But nothing beats a handwritten card.  Mike jokes that I’m single-handedly keeping the USPS alive anyway, so join me in that if you want.  You can find our address here in this very encrypted way to share it (safety first!).
  • New music.  Let’s use this opportunity to bring back the 8th grade, or college, or just last year for some of us, mix tape.  I’m going to be spending a lot of hours in various 1970s-era sterile-looking chairs.  New music or any music for that matter will be so helpful to keep me comfortable and distracted—reggae, hip hop, acoustic, indie, classical. The only thing I don’t do is super alternative or big hair bands.  The latter is likely because my brother Nathan is such a huge fan of them.
  • Book recommendations.  Anything to keep my mind occupied is great.  As any good taxpayer (and mostly because it’s a family trait, thanks, Mom), I use the public library, so recommendations are more than enough!
  • Food, even across the miles.  I went back and forth on this one because it feels the most indulgent of all these ideas.  This business Square Meals has been recommended by several local cancer survivors for wholesome meals delivered, with the option of gift certificates to eliminate coordination.  If you’re like both of my grandmothers, sometimes food is a cure-all and that’s all you know to do to make someone feel better (yes, I could so go for GG’s mashed potatoes and pork chops or Nana’s tortellini soup right now).
  • And if you’re local, my amazing friends here are setting up an online scheduler for meals and sundry items like a walking partner or chemo company.  I’ve compiled many of your email addresses if we’ve talked about this.  If we haven’t, please email if you want to be part of the site.

Again, just because these are listed, please don’t feel the need to do any of them.  Just that you’re reading this is enough, like I said.

A few closing thoughts for the day…before I got diagnosed, I had trips for fun and work booked to northern British Columbia, Dublin, Copenhagen, Greenland, Iceland, and upstate New York.  I was supposed to be enjoying the Dublin pubs right now actually.  While I’m a little nervous United Airlines is going to deep six my fancy-pants status, I’m more bummed to miss out on the fun, learning, and enrichment in being with friends and colleagues in these fantastic places.  So for all those readers still heading to those destinations: safe travels, Sláinte, and/or farvel og sikkert.  Enjoy the Guinness, get down the muktuk with water, and skip the hardfiskur.  I’ll go in the future and do the same cancer free.

And go Irish!  And congratulations to Liz and Brian on their beautiful baby boy, Elliott!!!!

xom

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Dispatch from the Lesser Half, Vol. II

Posted on August 28, 2012 by meaghancc

Thank you to all of you again for your continued support and messages.  Know that we are checking this blog religiously and appreciate each note that comes along.  We have also had many visitors who have stopped by to hang out, have a glass of wine, or help with house decorating.  Those visits have really helped and we appreciate all of you that have taken the time to do that. We are very lucky and blessed.

I’m going to scoop Meaghan and provide some news: It was confirmed yesterday that there are 17 (yes, seventeen) fertilized embryos freezing on our behalf at UCSF.  Of the 37(!) eggs removed from Meaghan, a bountiful 17 were mature eggs of which all took to the fertilization (cue me taking a bow).  I don’t think we’ll end up with 17 children (upset alert!), so down the road likely some will be donated for research or to someone in need, if we decide that’s the path we want to go.  I did some quick math and determined that if we had 17 kids, it would cost somewhere around $795 million dollars (rounded) to send them all to college.  But considering they would have somewhere around 50% (again, quick math) of their DNA coming from Meaghan they have good odds of getting scholarships so I may have to get back to my abacus and recalculate.  Either way…17 kids?  Holy crap.    Forget octomom, how about seventeenomom?  I know Meaghan and I dreamed of being the subject of a reality show…

We also have a schedule in place for Meaghan’s treatments.  She has an echocardiogram tomorrow morning (Tuesday) to get a baseline of her heart function.   Friday morning is the PET-CT to get a full picture of her body to see what’s going on in there.  Then, chemo teaching class on Tuesday, followed by her first chemo treatment on Thursday September 6th.  While that seems like a lot, it actually fells kind of nice to not have 3-4 appointments every day.  We’ll make sure Meaghan is getting plenty of rest to meet things head on come the first infusion.

I second Meaghan’s thoughts on the choice on the oncologist.  While it was incredibly difficult to have to choose between the opinions of so many smart people, it was good to know that each of them expect Meaghan to be cured.  I was somewhat hoping that one or two of the doctors would be duds to make the choice easy, but we were fortunate to see many talented doctors who each would have been a fine choice.  We are lucky to be in a place where that type of cutting edge care is readily available.  Now that Meaghan has made a great decision, we can move forward and get after this thing.

Meaghan hinted a bit about our morning on Saturday.  We arrived at the fertility center at 6:45am and went straight into pre-surgery prep which involved meeting the fertility doctor and the anesthesiologist

Tangent: I am going to be even more unbeatable at Scrabble and spelling bees by the end of this.   This medical terminology is a gold mine for complicated words.

After the IV was started (2nd attempt), then carted Meaghan into the procedure room.  Then,  they sent me off to wait for someone I never met to call my name, hand me a cup, and escort me to the sample room, or in this case Room J182.  I tried not to make eye contact with the poor lab tech (worst job ever for 7am on Saturday?) as she explained the rules which were basically “put something in that cup, and then press the button for me to come back and collect it.”  Ok, got it.   At this point, I considered starting a blog post that said something like “Coming to you live from Room J182…it’s live play-by-play action of…”  I quickly decided that plan or some type of live Tweeting may have been perceived as uncouth, so I instead focused my attention on familiarizing myself with my surroundings. It took about .00002 seconds for me to realize that I was NOT going to touch ANYTHING in that room, especially the creepy loveseat, the DVD collection, or the mulitple remote controls.  Now mind you, this did not stop me from taking some photos with my phone of the various DVD titles available and giggling like a 12 year old for about a minute.  I would list some of the movie titles here, but I want to keep this a safe place for all to enjoy (but happy to text photos to anyone who is curious).  I then spent the next minute pondering what an appropriate amount of time for me to be hanging out in RoomJ182 could be, and then decided to just get on with it and be done.

I’ll spare the details (bullet dodged for all of you) and move on to the part where I was then brought back to find Meaghan waking up from the procedure to ask me “How many did they get? (I assumed she meant eggs)” and “Tell me what you just did”.   Then as I was about to launch into my story, she fell back asleep and I started looking for a nurse to talk to.  Shockingly, they all declined.

As Meaghan mentioned she had a bit of a reaction to the narcotics used to knock her out so we ended up spending a bit more time in recovery as she got some better anti-nausea drugs and started to come back around.  All in all, she handled it like a champ, and harvested more than 2x more eggs than the woman who came in after us.  Final score, Meaghan 37, Nice russian woman who flew in from Moscow to donate eggs to her friend 17.  No easy chore at all, but as we have all come to expect Meaghan did great.

On to the kitten. In a drastic understatement, I wouldn’t call myself a cat person, but I knew what I was getting myself into with Meaghan. Frankly, I’m shocked we made it this long without one.  It took somewhere between negative 2 and negative 5 seconds for me to be relegated to #3 most important mammal in the house.  Whiz (his name him until someone comes up with a better one – we live right next to a place called Whiz Burger, hence the inspiration behind my suggestion) was immediately given my bathroom as his new cat condo. Simultaneously, I was given strict instructions on how I was supposed to interact with the cat, which I loosely translated to “Don’t look him in the eye.  He’s my cat and will soon replace you.”  So we have some room for growth on the whole MPC-Whiz relationship.

Tangent:  I was also thinking about applying some of these new medical words to the name of the cat:  “Ganorelix!  Get in here and eat your cat food or I’ll feed it to Meaghan!”  or  “Menopur…stop being a weirdo…that’s the 50th time today you looked at yourself in the mirror and then ran behind the toilet!”

It’s also been great to have Meaghan’s parents in town to help provide support and assist us with getting the house put together. They have always been overly generous with us, and this past week has been no exception.  Art is now getting onto walls and decorating is in full swing.  Surgical procedures, cats, framing art, and decorating….can a weekend get any better?  I submit that it could, but we’ll go with what we have.

More to come…thanks again for all of the support.

mpc

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37 eggs and counting.

Posted on August 26, 2012 by meaghancc

photo 1 photo 2

I’m sitting here on a quiet Sunday morning.  The house is mostly still asleep, except for my mom and our new kitten (be forewarned:  cutest cancer card kitten ever!!!).  It’s been a long week and today is the first day we could all sleep in.

We had our third oncologist appointment on Monday—a private practice doctor who uses western medicine but has an integrated eastern medicine team built into his office.  Ultimately, I chose the UCSF oncologist who came recommended by so many and promised me the most aggressive treatment (if you’re a regular blog follower, you can guess her cartoon character…Mike said I probably should stop the comparisons in case she becomes a blog reader) (she regularly emails me back at 2am answering my questions, so obviously she’s already a blog reader spending all other waking hours pouring over this site).

Frankly, it was a trying decision.  The hardest part was that each oncologist prescribed a different treatment plan, from relatively minimal chemo side effects to the worst.  I talked to many different people who are nurses or oncologists (e.g., new contacts, friends, my dad’s doctor, etc), and everyone seemed to have a different opinion on what I needed.  It got even more complicated in that UCSF offered a clinical trial, which has promising new agents for the type of cancer I have.

Some thought I didn’t need the most aggressive chemo (AC), mostly because of toxic cardiac effects and AC would possibly be overtreating me.

So why would I elect to do the toughest?  AC is the most clinically proven, especially when done in sequence with other lighter chemo drugs that target Her-2 positive cancer.  An oncologist friend asked me if my cancer reoccurred in 15 years, would I regret not doing the most aggressive treatment now?  I would.  I’d also regret having a weakened heart because of it but that will be monitored heavily and my strong heart going in will help.

Other differences between oncologists were around the facility (a university or small practice), the chemo process (a whole floor full of patients or a feng shui room with few chairs, a view of the Bay Bridge, and dogs), and celebrity status (on the speaking circuit or not).  Each has its pros and cons.  Mike tried not to weigh in, although he was granted permission to make fun of the UCSF breast cancer center’s acoustic guitarist who was singing “Over the Rainbow” when we arrived.  Cheese factor off the charts.

I feel good about my decision.  UCSF has an integrated healing center, so I will knit together my complementary healing—acupuncture, massage, guided imagery, and nutrition—to manage side effects and relaxation.  That weighed in heavily for me too.

Yesterday, we celebrated being done with the fertility treatment and the daily shots, blood draws, and ultrasounds that go with it.  I went in for my egg harvest, and Mike showed up and did his part.  His part…well, it’s so much easier than my part.  He can comment later on the wide array of porn the doctor’s office had to offer.  I had a pretty bad reaction to the anesthetics and came out of twilight with the worst hangover of my life (my friend put it perfectly – the hangover where you’re so nauseous, even lifting your head to vomit makes vomiting not worth it), so I had to stay awhile longer to get pumped full of meds and fluids through my IV.

They were able to harvest thirty-seven eggs.  And yes, I do feel thirty-seven eggs lighter today.  Ovaries are only supposed to have one mature egg at a time, and mine had eighteen and nineteen respectively so they are a little confused right now.  We’ll know in the next few days how many were fertilized and then frozen to use when we can, or another couple can if we don’t use all of them.

Up this week is getting my PET/CT scan to be sure the cancer hasn’t moved elsewhere beyond my breast and a lymph node, an echogram to get baseline heart function before chemo, and a port to make all my treatments way easier.  I could also start chemo.  Having my parents here has been great for many reasons, but most obvious is the benefits of a parent’s touch.  Making soup from my new cancer-free cookbook, cleaning our bathroom that maybe hasn’t seen a scrub brush since we moved in April, feeding the kitten, and hanging art so Mike and I don’t divorce have to.

As we continue to tell this story as it unfolds, I’ve been simultaneously warmed, saddened, and inspired as you all have opened your lives, health, and hearts to us…sharing your own struggles.  I’ve said this to a few of you—your challenge is your challenge.  It’s not greater or lesser than mine.  We all have our own cross to bear.

My 8-year old niece said to my mom, “I see signs everywhere, like at the mall or stores, that say “Stop  Cancer.”  So, like, what do we do to stop cancer? What can I do?”  She went right to the heart of it all for so many people.  My mom explained that it seems like cancer only chooses people who seem to be able to handle it.  As unsatisfactory as this might be, there may be some truth to that.  I remember thoughts a few years ago around what would I do if I had cancer.  I thought that I would want to curl up and give up.  Now that I’m in this situation, I realize it’s sink or swim.  That it’s actually not a choice if you have one iota of human spirit and love of life.  You just do it and know it’s going to be completely shitty many days.  Focusing the mind and body on one day at a time has a much deeper meaning for me now.

So here we go.

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happy news and making sense of it all.

Posted on August 18, 2012 by meaghancc

this whole cancer business can be exhausting. exhausting to think about this parasite that’s living on my otherwise healthy body, to juggle doctors and conflicting information, to know i’m no longer fully in control of my life, to have my fingers obsessively touch the lump, and to focus on the power of positivity. but here we are with another week down and a truckload full of information and many truckloads of continued support from you. please settle in with a cup of tea for this post. it’s a long one.

the happy news i can share with you is that two oncologists both said their goal for me is a cure, we have found it fairly early, and my prognosis is good. let me type it again – my prognosis is good. we broke down at this news and are so so so thankful to be in this position. whatever you all are doing is working, so please keep it up.

the hardest thing though is that i still have to face a mastectomy, six months of weekly and then bi-weekly chemo, twelve months of hormone infusions, and five years or more of pills for this prognosis to come true. there’s still a chance of reoccurrence after all that, but we’ll know we threw the best medicine could offer at it. and i count my lucky stars that only five to ten years ago, an aggressive HER-2 positive cancer was essentially a death sentence. now the treatments can be so effective, one doctor told me that in a sick game oncologists play of which cancer would they would want, she would want mine. i’ll trade her straight up for this hog.

and with so many cancers, staying alive a few more years is huge, because the leaps and bounds in those years produce new life savers. i know my dad thinks about this every day.

i’ve had two days this week where i felt really good. i’m learning to not question why i feel really good and just go with it, because i know there are days i won’t be able to get out of bed. i also had 1 doctor-free day this week and drove to work. it never felt so good to don heels and sit in traffic on the freeway.

some other highlights of our week:

▪   we saw two oncologists with two totally different approaches, bedside manners, and recommendations for treatment order and chemo regime. i’m now leaning towards starting chemo first, and my surgeon is supportive. this will allow us to use my body as a laboratory and see how the chemo affects the cancer. a tiny number of people don’t respond to the chemo regime i’ll be on (likely the aggressive AC followed by T, then herceptin). if that’s the case, they’ll know and pull out another weapon in the arsenal. if some cancer cells escaped and are hiding out elsewhere, which could always be the case, we’ll know if the chemo is hurting them too. if i have the mastectomy first, we don’t get this chance to gather more information. there are obvious health and emotional implications to this route–going into a major surgery with a weakened immune system gives me increased chance of infection, wanting to get the cancer out asap, etc. however, the upside speaks to me. because it looks like the cancer may be in at least one lymph node, the chemo would also attack that, such that it might not have to be removed during surgery. so my chances of lymphedema (think elephant man in my arm) would go down too. if i do chemo first, i could also qualify for an unblinded clinical study where i get an extra something on top of the standard protocol. it’s a big time commitment, but the upside to the weekly monitoring, additional MRIs and needle biopsies is that i will be a very well-studied lab rat.

▪   i see the last oncologist on monday. they’ve all been good about getting me in quickly. i like to think it’s because of my sparkling personality, but it’s really the sad fact that i’m a freak and they want to get to the bottom of my weirdly aggressive cancer at a young age. the tie breaker of the three may be which fictional character i best connect with, because they all remind us of someone–beaker from the muppets (a chinese version) and cruella de vil from 101 dalmations (sans fur coat). whichever way we choose, i will be receiving the best care.

▪   we saw the genetic counselor and we will know if i’m a BRCA carrier in seven-ten days. my family history doesn’t suggest this is the case, but since i have cancer at such a young age, my chances go up to 12%.

▪   we decided to move foward with fertility preservation. yay future unborn children frozen in time! it was a very challenging decision, because we had not decided yet if we wanted children. we could always donate them to another couple. but it’s hard for me to do something without actually doing it, if that makes sense. to get through IVF treatment, i needed to fully commit to the idea of being a parent. it would be five-six years before the doctors would want me to become pregnant (so slow down grandma/grandpa calcari and campbell).

▪   mike is doing amazing at giving me shots every night and keeping the mixing all straight. dr. “shaky hands” campbell also has a good bedside manner and is open to feedback on improving his delivery (including me watching youtube clips of cats eating – .http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eiHXASgRTcA) (you’re welcome). i’ll get my eggs harvested in the next week or so. the amazing thing is that if i’m BRCA positive, they could isolate and not use those eggs (40-60% of those harvested). the doctor might want to do another round if this is the case, but we’ll cross that bridge if we have to and have time to in consultation with the oncologists.

▪   with all these shots and blood draws, i haven’t passed out yet because of my vaso-vagal response. that is so huge. i’ve also increased my salt intake with copious amounts of ramen to bring my barely breathing BP (80/60) up to normal levels (110/80). we’re considering starting a tab at ken ken ramen around the corner. it seems to be doing the trick.

▪   ativan is my new favorite candy. maybe all you recreational drug users already knew this and i’m just late to the party. either way, it’s now part of my life. i took it for my MRI and fell asleep in the tube. this being my first of many MRIs to come, i equate it to living inside R2D2. with the volume turned way up.

▪   the plastic surgeon was a trip. of course he was pretty. i was bummed though to learn a few things. while he will do reconstruction as part of the mastectomy, i will get an expander that he will slowly inflate. after my skin has time to heal, i’ll have another outpatient procedure to insert the silicone implant. after ten years, i’ll have to get a new implant. so it’s not so simple. there is an alternative surgery that i could do, taking stomach fat and making a more natural looking breast. it’s a tough surgery to recover from though and may be more relevant after having children. after feeling pretty good about my stomach fat when the first oncologist told me i didn’t have enough to do that surgery, the plastics guy, while pulling on my stomach fat said, “yeah, i think you have enough here to do the flap.” darn. i thought those bi-annual sit-ups that i’ve been doing were really making a difference.

those are the highlights. mike has been to every appointment so far and it’s been so important to have him here for many reasons, including the note-taking. information is flying at us fast. he’s also been amused that i’m generally topless or pantless at every turn. it’s not weird at all for a husband…or the exact opposite.

much love back to you all. we are so thankful for you every day.

xom2

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dispatch from the lesser half.

Posted on August 18, 2012 by meaghancc

First, off let me say wow – and thanks.  At the time of my first foray into blogging, this site has 639 visits.  While I will admit about 75 are my visits, to know that so many people care for Meaghan and are rooting for her is a big boost.  So thank you for your calls, texts, emails, blog posts, prayers, thoughts – everything.  And keep them coming.

As you can tell from her blog posts thus far, my wife has been nothing short of a star during this whole process.  This probably shocks none of you.  I was obviously taken by her before, but her grace, humility, and strength during the past couple of weeks has been extraordinary. I am so fortunate to be married to Meaghan and am newly impressed each day by the manner in which she has taken this challenge head on and has vowed to overcome any struggles the next few years may bring. I love her more each day.

Meaghan has done a great job of describing her diagnosis thus far, so I will spare you all of the details and biology in this post, and instead focus on some of my observations and try to keep it under eleventy million words.  These past couple of weeks have certainly been a roller coaster ride.  Recently, we have been buoyed by the prognosis and it’s been a relief to know that Meaghan will be around for a long time (if she can stand me).  I will say it was extremely difficult to make some important life decisions in advance of that prognosis though.  If we weren’t adults before this month, we sure are now. For some one who prides himself on being pretty even keeled, it’s been a challenge to not get caught up in the rat race of appointments, tests, and consultations and focus on the big picture. And I have been coming to terms with the feeling that I am being followed around by cancer – it’s far too prevalent overall and I’ve had more than my fair share of exposure to it in my 32 years.

Life still goes on outside all of this though- bills get paid, work gets done, laundry piles up.  In between appointments the other day, Meaghan and I were talking about how in a way it’s such a crazy adventure to all of a sudden have so much attention heaped on her so quickly. Doctors, nurses, schedulers, counselors who were complete strangers two weeks ago now are omnipresent.  It’s so odd to have these strangers guiding us in less than one week through a diagnosis, surgery plan, treatment plan, and decision to have kids. And we are going to get to know them so well over the next 5 years or so. You learn to trust experts quickly and I have been surprised how I was able to buy into these life-altering plans because of the attention paid to us by the doctors and the clear way in which they presented the information. It’s a whole other side of medical care that doctor’s probably don’t get enough credit for.  So, good job docs – and keep taking care of my wife.

Meaghan is much better at these posts, so I’ll now revert to my role and recount some stories/anecdotes that I found to be humorous during these past few weeks.  I will do them Larry King style:

…it’s usually best to look a way while a strange doctor you just met begins to feel up your wife about 2 feet away from you….sometimes when a plastic surgeon is talking about breast implants, he hands you one as a sample.  And yes, you can balance it on your knee while taking notes about surgery procedures…the plastic surgeon will take photos of said wife as she poses topless in front of a office wall. and yes, he may turn to you as he snaps a photo of your wife and say “so, where you guys from?”.  Easy Hef….you always remember the first time you see your wife get a vaginal ultrasound….along the same vein, all you need is a seemingly two foot long wand thing, a massive condom, a medical degree, and a little gumption to look at someone’s eggs from the inside out…the only questions I have been asked during the fertility process are, “do you have any STD’s?” and “do you spend a lot of time in hot tubs?”.  Usually someone has to buy me dinner before asking me those two questions back to back….I found out that I can father children, so it was good to find out that I completed puberty – and yes, finding this news out CAN put a little spring in your step…if you drop a sperm sample in a cup on the ground on the way to the lab (don’t ask), it can impact the virility of the sample…a Rubik’s cube is damn impossible.  Or it’s especially ruthless that the one they leave at the doctor’s office is somehow trickier than the normal Rubik’s cube… semi-debilitating color blindness and a minor hereditary hand tremor should NOT stop anyone from giving injections to their wife…you think buying Christmas presents for your loved one is tough, trying finding a saddle for a squirrel (Ok, I didn’t make that one up, but it’s a good one)…I swear I am wrapping this up soon…

Some more serious observations that I have been thinking about:

-This whole thing will obviously change our marriage in a number of ways.  One thing that has stuck out for me already is the power in stifling that eye roll (a MPC classic move) or swallowing the sarcastic or cynical remark (also vintage MPC).  I certainly don’t find those to be appropriate for Meaghan considering her diagnosis, so it begs the bigger question of why they would ever be necessary.  Those looks or remarks have never really achieved anything in the grand scheme of things.  If I can stop them now, I’m going to work really hard to keep them stopped even when Meaghan is fully healthy.  I encourage all of you to do the same in your lives now. It’s really not worth a dumb argument.  And to think Dr. Phil gets paid millions of dollars to say this obvious stuff…

-Another thing that has been apparent is the benefit of that short email, text, or call from a friend or family member.  I can’t count how many times we have heard from people in just a small way, and then I spent the next few minutes wondering why we don’t have those same interactions more often.  Life gets going and we always say to ourselves, “I need to call that person” and then it takes forever to get around to it.  So what i’m saying is, don’t wait.  Just do it (don’t sue me Phil Knight). We all carry around our phones – so just send that text or email, or make the call.  It’s a win-win for you and the recipient.

Ok, I am rolling my eyes at myself (still Ok to do) for being so preachy.  Thank you for indulging us in these blog posts and keep the messages coming – it’s going to be a long road. Even think about a visit if you can swing it. In a big change, we’ll actually have to stay close to home and slow down our jet-set lifestyle a bit.   But it will be nice in a way.

Know that we are strong and invasive ductal carcinoma is going to get a world class ass beating from Meaghan starting very soon.

mpc

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thank you.

Posted on August 14, 2012 by meaghancc

if my health were determined by the love we feel from you, dear family and friends, i would be cancer free (and maybe your love would also clear up other ailments [see: adult onset acne]).  seriously, we feel enveloped in the most amazing blanket of your thoughts, vibes, dances, and prayers. we keep reading and re-reading your notes and listening and relistening to your voicemails.  and we can’t believe it’s all for us. it feels selfish in a way, so we’re still working on how to accept your love.  we hope you find that by sharing with us, it empowers you too. circles are good that way.

i went back and forth on whether i would make this journey public. i’m so thankful that you encouraged me to do so.

several of you have asked how i caught this. i don’t fully remember. i was in nova scotia working on my MBA. i felt the lump then because i was in some pain. i’m not sure though if i felt the lump and then kept messing with it, making it sore. either way, i called my doctor and went in the morning after i got back to san francisco. it had been 6 months since my annual exam. she was concerned by what she felt. from there, i was referred to the breast clinic where i had a mammogram and ultrasound. i knew something was wrong when the technician talked me through the advances in treating breast cancer (and how if you get a mastectomy, you can get your nipples tattooed on.  all i was thinking was, check please!).

they immediately scheduled a fine needle aspiration or biopsy for that afternoon. from the technician, i knew there were 2 masses.  the biopsy wasn’t pleasant but those technicians and doctor were amazingly warm, talking me through happy things, like our honeymoon in africa and if i ever wanted to ride a zebra.  obviously, yes of course i want to ride a zebra. every. stinking. day.

the doctor gave me her cell phone to call with any questions over the weekend. i mostly stuck to her instructions to avoid lifting anything and to boss my husband around all weekend. every other part of me was racing around the implications of what just happened.

that brings us here.

pain is an extremely rare side effect of breast cancer.

listening to your body and noticing how it changes is something only you can own.

and no matter how hypchondriac you feel, taking advantage of modern medicine and healthcare is a benefit we are lucky enough to be in the tiny fraction of the world’s 7 billion to have.

we will share more soon, after some additional doctors appointments this week.

in the meantime, our job, beyond regaining health, is to keep practicing how to accept your love, kindness, and generosity. and then we can pass that on to others in the next go round.

until then –

xom2

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settling into diagnosis

Posted on August 10, 2012 by meaghancc

it’s been 72 hours since we got the news of my breast cancer.  it’s still surreal, and we joke that we’re on this roller coaster that we never really wanted to ride but we have no choice but to finish it and get on to the next adventure.  hopefully somewhere more exotic (e.g., bora bora, an italian villa, etc) than hospitals and breast clinics (although i will note on the latter, mike is most upset at how much time he’s been spending in breast clinics without actually seeing a breast).

we created this blog to have information on my diagnosis, treatment, and journey in one place. hashing this over multiple times can be exhausting as we try and process what we’re learning each day. we’d love talk with everyone in our family and friend circle personally, but it’s just not possible. email can often be hard to manage too.  we hope you understand.

we also know this is hard news for anyone to hear, as each of you have personal challenges you’re working through.  you may choose to not engage with us here, and that’s ok.  life is messy.  no one lives on the easy street.

that being said, hearing and reading your messages is so uplifting, so please keep them coming. even if you feel like you might be speaking to the void, you are not.  we listen to and read everything, and that nourishment is what we need.

maybe one day i’ll identify myself as a cancer patient. but not quite yet.  maybe when my first clump of hair falls out it will be real.  or when i sing kumbayah with other bald women in a therapy group. or come home from surgery with a nasty drain. or get chemo-induced hot flashes [i know you’re thinking…thank gawd it’s not me!][i would be too].  i wish breast cancer would change its color to something other than dreaded pink.  i am a chick, yes, but pink doesn’t look good on everyone. maybe that will be my contribution to the movement. think teal! although it doesn’t have the same charming rhyme qualities.

on to the other hard stuff.

my diagnosis is invasive and in situ ductal carcinoma.  i am estrogen receptor (+), progesterone (-), her-2 (+) and have a mid-level cell proliferation rate of 40%. it’s not the worst, but it’s also not the best. it will be formally staged after surgery when they can see size, lymph nodes, margins, etc.

over the next week, the following things will happen:

  • an MRI to get an understanding of whether the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes.  right now, the surgeon is optimistic it has not.  the results will impact whether chemo is done before or after my surgery, with the thinking that chemo could help attack any cancer in the lymph nodes before surgery. it will also influence if a full body PET scan is necessary.
  • genetic counseling. this will tell if i carry the BRAC-A gene and thus would be at high risk for breast and ovarian cancer. i have a 7% chance. the results take 2 weeks and will influence surgical options.
  • meeting with medical oncologists to find the right fit for someone i’ll work with over the next 5 years.
  • continued meetings with a fertility specialist. by monday we will decide if we’ll be harvesting eggs/embryos to freeze before chemo for use a later date. chemo will greatly diminsh my chances of having an unassisted pregnancy.  the good news is that my ovaries and uterus appear cancer free, and i have a plethora of eggs at the ready. mike just has to get his swimmers tested and we’re good to go [he didn’t proofread this post and will absolutely melt into the ground on this point.][but if you can’t laugh about sperm, then what can you laugh about?]
  • plastic surgeon.  because of the size of one of the tumors, removing just the lumps will leave me pretty…unpretty.  i have opted, with support of the surgeon, for a mastectomy of the right breast. they will do reconstructive surgery at the same time of breast removal.  if, for example, i test positive for the BRAC-A gene, i may opt to have a mastectomy of both breasts.  the earliest i could have surgery is 2-3 weeks, again depending on chemo timing.
  • integrated counselor.  talking about emotional health isn’t something a lot of people are comfortable with.  but, we need to figure out how to cope, take care of ourselves, share information, and ask for help.

we’ve decidedly never talked so much about breasts in our lives as we have in the last 24 hours.

so, we’ll post more as we feel up to it, sometimes more, sometimes less.  this will be an outlet for sharing as we said, but also for processing, venting, and reflecting.

and if you made it through this blog post, we know you’ll help us make it through too.

xom2

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