gray spaces

This morning started off terribly. Just so damned depressing, all this cancer-schmancer business. But it improved--sent off a check for get born , made a couple of phone calls regarding appointments, added some names to our subscriber base, and emailed. Momentum helps so much. Then.... Then my husband, dear man that he is, went and bought me this gorgeous bike--it's silver with a giant seat so my ass won't be sore and suede handles--and we biked the entirety of the Loveland bike trail. One hour and forty minutes later, with the wind howling and me scanning the sky for tornadoes, we arrived (late) to pick up Katie and Emily from school. It was exhilarating and invigorating to be together and outside. Right after the diagnosis, we splurged and bought a Wii. Now it's this comfort bike. I'm thinking that retail therapy is nearly as good as hormone therapy, isn't it? So we wait for Tuesday, when we'll have the opinions back from the CU Tumor Board; I get a brain MRI ...

Or we could all get t-shirts when I get my breast removed, (if that happens) and wear it in solidarity: It would say "One Tit Wonder." Oh, god, I do make myself laugh. You all are so hilarious. It's funny that you're talking about my tits. The day before I went to the PET scan, which would show that the cancer had gone to my bones, I was still thinking that I would be facing surgery soon. I stood in the shower as I wept over the potential loss of my breast, and felt so sad that, after all it has done for me--nurtured my babies, been a source of pleasure, given me a sense of kick-ass power, it's now being ravaged. I have read that some women think their breasts are betraying them, but it' s not how I've felt--I've felt so grieved that a member of my body responsible for giving so much life has been terrorized by a violence that has no right to attack my faithful boob. One another subject, speaking of t-shirts--those of you have kept up with the ongoing ...

f you can't hear my monotone voice, it's because I'm typing and not talking. The sheer volume of information that needs to be assimilated, in addition to the fatigue and nausea of this surreal diagnosis week, accompanied by a nice side of back pain for garnish have rendered me close to comatose. Clark and I went to see another oncologist today--Anne Kanard of something something Cancer associates something something (seriously, who can keep track?!) She was incredibly communicative and a delightful person. She agreed with Dr. Tang's recommendation to commence with hormonal therapy, so we have two opinions for hormonal and one for chemo. To help anyone who is interested understand, what we think is important to weigh here is that Dr. Kanard seemed to think that if we don't at least start with the hormone therapy, we will have eliminated an entire arsenal of possibility available to us. At this point we are still being presented to the tumor board at CU Med Center on...

I feel shitty this morning. My back hurts, and I'm worried it's cancer. Then I worry it's psychosomatic. I feel nauseous all the time, and we cancelled chemo, so that's not it. I think I'm just sick about this diagnosis, scared completely out of my brains, continuing to hear words like "palliative care" which is a nice way to say, "We'll make you the most comfortable we can while you die." I'm a wreck. So, the news. We went the the Cancer Center at CU in Denver yesterday. Dr. Tang was very nice. He asked about what we do for a living, which made me feel very human and seen, something that those of you who know me well know I value in a human being--the willingness to see. He looked at the identical pathology and PET scan results and recommended hormonal therapy before we start chemo. This is a radically different recommendation than what we received in Loveland. So we're confused again, at a decisions crossroads again. I was really pu...

This morning feels so much more hopeful. Bone metastases seem infinitely more treatable than had it spread to the organs. Deep breathing is helping, as is holding little Eliza close to my cheek. She's so soft and warm and squishy, especially in the morning. When I told her to go get dressed, she responded per her usual, "NO!" which just made me laugh, those earnest brown eyes so sure. We watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" with the kids last night, and laughed so hard. When Gus started squirting Windex everywhere, Clark commented that maybe we could use Windex on the giant horsey dog so he would quit peeing in the house. Katie said, "Yeah, maybe we can squirt it at mom's breast." Later, Clark commented that the girl's dark humor is mostly because they don't understand, but their thoughts are so beautiful. If anyone knows how to quilt, send a shout out--Katie wants to create a quilt and I'm about as good at quilting as I am about not swea...

I'm stunned and reeling. Is this really happening? I'm so scared I'm going to die. Not scared of death, per se, but really scared not to watch my girls grow up or to grow old with Clark or to be a wildly inappropriate middle-aged woman with all my bad-ass, funky friends. I'm scared the magazine will die--outside of my kids, it's the first really worthwhile thing I feel like I've done. Clark and I wonder to each other how faith plays a role in this; indeed, the role of faith becomes much more salient as the level of desperation grows. But how does one work to define or apply a desperate faith? There are the classic stages of grief that we've spoken of, and bargaining is one. It seems to me that wild and frenzied prayers aimed to God qualify as bargaining. If that's the case, is it merely another stage in inevitable grief, or are they as good as the intent with which they're murmured or shrieked? One of my daughters sobs. The others seem unfazed. Of co...

O.k., everyone, here's the news. It's metastasized to some bones, so that means it's stage 4 cancer, which, in other words, means incurable, but not untreatable. Here's a quick rundown of our schedule this week: Tuesday: 1:00pm second opinion with Dr. Tang at CU Denver Health Wednesday: 9:30am Port Installation (the port will be used to administer the chemotherapy.) Immediately afterwards, I will head to the McKee Cancer Center to have a first round of chemo, which lasts 5 hours. Thursday: 10:15 2-4 hours of IV fluids at Cancer Center This may change depending on the outcome of Tuesday's appointment, but that's unlikely. If you have more questions, feel free to post them here and Clark or I will answer them as we're able. I'll get Clark to list the specific cocktail of drugs for the research-happy among you. Thank you for all your support and love. This is terrifying and devastating to all of us. We appreciate, in advance, all your love and concern and h...