Chemo Round 1

Friday was quite the day. At 10:45a Brian and I marched our way to the Hematology Center of Michigan at Lemmen-Holton. I was ready to get started, but the day was honestly harder than I anticipated it would be emotionally. As some of my friends pointed out, it was quite fitting that my first chemo treatment fell on International Women’s Day, and I was definitely channeling the strength of the women before me and the women around me to get through this day.

When I arrived at the clinic, I was immediately struck by how sick everyone looked around me with skin ashen in color, seeming tired and smiles vanished. I felt completely out of place and praying that I would not become one of these “sick” people.

They quickly got my port hooked up with hydration and steroid medications flowing, followed by anti-nausea meds and folic acid (an agent that helps my particular chemo work more effectively). Then it was time to get the 5FU (aptly named) going. I will admit that at that moment I was fighting back tears and beginning to panic. This was really starting. There was no turning back. I have cancer, and I have to do this.

After a few deep breaths, I was able to settle in to a warmed blanket, Brian’s company, and some episodes of the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. The time went by pretty fast, although it was hard to feel 100% comfortable. I was the newbie in the ward, trying to figure out the ropes and manage my IV pole and tubing while making my way into the bathroom (and trying not to feel like a fool). I just kept telling myself that I will get used to this, and it won’t be so bad.

I was set up with a pump for 36 hours of Oxaliplatin (my other chemo drug) and we were on our way home. I am still getting used to carrying the pump along with me, but it is pretty easy to get around, shower, and sleep. When I got home Friday we explained to the boys that they needed to be careful, but that it was still ok to hug and touch me. Noah wasn’t sure exactly what to do, so he just kissed my knee. My tears flowed.

Side effects on Friday and Saturday were pretty manageable. I felt a little off and nauseated, but was able to have a pretty decent Saturday, even walking a mile with Brian at the YMCA. Sunday has not been so great, but they have been working with me on a combination of meds to help. I am working to accept and adapt to my new normal one day at a time.

I could not do this without the continued love and support of my family, friends, and co-workers. You keep showing up day after day, and it helps to have people rooting for me.

I especially could not do this without Brian. I am pretty sure that he had no idea what “better or for worse” would mean with me from endometriosis to fertility treatments to two c-sections, post partem depression, and now this. He is my favorite person to be with sick or not sick, and I cannot thank him enough for helping to take care of me, while keeping up at work and with the boys. He has promised in old age to get me back for all of this. I will gladly accept.

XO – Mary

What’s in a Name?

It occurred to me that I jumped right into the content of this blog with the “I have cancer” bit. And I got so sidetracked with that, I forgot to tell you more about how this blog got its name.

For about as long as I can remember, I have loved poetry. It started with Shel Silverstein (“Oh Homework Machine”) and evolved to others like Emily Dickinson (thanks to Laurel Mason for sparking my interest in female writers and poets). Then when I got to high school, my freshmen year English teacher Mr. Tubbs assigned me an essay comparing the work and themes of e.e. cummings, Igor Stravinsky, and Pablo Picasso. It was from then on that I came to love e.e. cummings for all his modernity and crazy sentence structure. More than that, I was drawn to his content which often focused on love and intimacy.

As I was thinking about the name I should give this blog, the e.e. cummings poem “though your sorrow not” came to mind. For me, this poem captures the duality that is life… sorrow and joy, hope and fear. Without one, we may not fully enjoy and appreciate the other. This is not to mention the fact the experience of life and death are fully each our own. I am not sure I could explain this current cancer journey I am on any better. So without further ado, I give you e.e. cummings.

though your sorrows not
any tongue may name,
three i’ll give you sweet
joys for each of them
But it must be your
whispers that flower

murmurs eager this
i will give you five
hopes for any fear,
but it Must be your
perfectly alive
blossom of a bliss

seven heavens for 
just one dying.  i’ll 
give you silently 
cries the (whom we call
rose a) mystery
but it must be Your

XO-Mary


Preparing for Chemo

Today was a big day in prepping for chemo. In the morning I received my port. This is a procedure done in interventional radiology under heavy sedation and local anesthesia. Although in Mary fashion I was awake and talking to the doctor (comfortable and in no pain) the entire time. I cannot remember most of what I said and praying it wasn’t inappropriate.

During the procedure, a small plastic disc was placed under my skin in the upper chest area and was attached to a catheter tube that was threaded into the jugular vein. This port will allow the chemotherapy to be delivered in the best manner to the bloodstream, while also reducing the number of arm pokes I have to get on a regular basis. The port will show as a slight lump in the skin, and as my soon-to-be sister-in-law Jenn says, “will serve as my warrior badge”. I like thinking of it that way.

After the sedation had a chance to wear off, Brian and I headed down to our chemo education and meeting with the social worker and financial counselor. It was a lot of information, but honestly, much of it was really reassuring as the chemo therapy I will receive often has pretty manageable side effects. Today was a testament that knowledge is power. And I was so impressed with the way that the team at Lemmen-Holton gave me so many tools today as well as the permission to advocate for myself.

Not knowing exactly how chemo will affect me is a little scary and unsettling, but I am feeling positive going into Friday and will just take it as it comes. In the meantime, I continue to be so thankful for all the prayers, well wishes, cards, texts, and goody bags. I have my “chemo bag” ready to go with reading material, ginger chews, blankets, cozy socks, and chap stick. I am feeling so much love, and that I almost don’t feel worthy. But I will accept it nonetheless.

XO – Mary

The Journey Begins

Well, it’s not every Wednesday you are diagnosed with cancer, and there is no easy way to deliver this news.  A week and half ago my gastroenterologist was performing a colonoscopy to look for signs of ulcerative colitis or Crohn’s disease.  Unfortunately, she found a 3cm cancerous tumor at the top of the rectum instead.

Since then, life has been a crazy whirlwind.  Within a matter of two days, I had met the surgeon and undergone a battery of labs, CT scan, and MRI.  Scans have confirmed that the tumor has not metastasized to any other organs or distant lymph nodes, which is a huge relief.   The tumor has, however, spread slightly in the fat and two lymph nodes just outside the rectum.  This makes my tumor what they call a Stage IIIb.  I know that sounds scary, but after meeting with my entire care team on Friday, they are very positive about the outlook for this given its relative localization.

Due to my young age and horrible family history, my surgeon and care team have suggested an aggressive form of treatment known as TNT (total neoadjuvant therapy).  This will involve 8 rounds of chemo therapy using a drug called Folfox.  I will receive this at the Spectrum Health Lemmen-Holton clinic every other Friday, and then go home with a pump for two additional days (queue the awesome fanny packs).  After chemo is complete, I will have two straight weeks of radiation every day.  Surgery with a temporary ileostomy will follow.  Genetic testing this week will inform if other organs should be removed during the surgery such as ovaries, etc.   As my surgeon said it, “We are treating a fly with a sledgehammer.”  But if this course of therapy allows me my life and a chance to watch my boys grow up and grow old with Brian, I am all in.

The last two weeks have been very overwhelming with sobs over my Barium cocktail prior to CT scan and after touring the area in which I will receive chemo.  But I appreciate that we caught this awful disease before it had metastasized.  This is making me feel positive.   I appreciate the care team I have behind me including an amazing surgeon, oncologist, radiological oncologist, dietician, and nurse navigator.  I can already tell Carrie, my nurse navigator, is going to rock!  I also have such loving family, friends, and co-workers who have sent flowers, prayers, well wishes, cards, and goodies.  To all of you who have offered your support and told me your were in my corner, I cannot tell you how much this has meant.  When I get on the other side of this, I will be spending every waking minute of my life tying to repay the kindness and show my gratitude to God and to my support system.  And to my brothers, who helped me to have a sense of humor, I thank you also.  I actually laughed out loud when my surgeon used the word anus on Friday – LOL!! 

This week will be a big one…  I have genetic testing and chemo education followed by port insertion and chemo to begin on Friday.  It’s the start of quite the nine-month journey, and I thank you for coming along with me.

NOTE:  After this blog was posted, it was learned that the tumor size was actually 4.5cm in size based on MRI results.

XO – Mary