Music: Good for the Soul

As I slowly get back in the mainstream, I honestly admit I was exhausted and didn’t know if I could muster the energy for a concert tonight, but I gave it a good college girl try and am I ever glad I did. After a sensational concert by Sister Hazel with opening acts The Kin and Bryan Jarvis at the Bijou, I say…music is good for the soul and great for the healing soul. I thrive on music anyway and always find myself in the lyrics, no matter how obscure. Tonight I heard in harmony a lot about ex-es, love, life and livin’ your own life – and it was one of those evenings I didn’t want to end. I’m not a particularly starstruck individual, but those who know me might say I enjoy being up close and personal – within the first few rows, that is – and I might have a growing collection of drum sticks, guitar pics, photos and paraphernalia for my future shadow box. Tonight was no exception – I secured a purple guitar pic, autographed CD and signed ticket stub – right alongside my sister who couldn’t stop saying “they’re as cute as can be,” and now wants the two of us to take some kind/any kind of music lessons and start a band (There’s actually proof of previous attempts on my “other” facebook page). I can’t believe I’m throwing myself under the bus, but if it’s a Provost tour bus, then that might be okay. A friend of mine even suggested I might be a “diesel sniffer” – which I had never heard before but it warranted a snorting laugh. All of this to say – it feels good to experience some normalcy and get my head off of the obvious “in your face” issues.

I’m excited for the weekend and ready for some sunshine. Next week brings a decision about treatment and hopefullly some progress on my reconstruction – send strong vibes to Dr. Becker. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with The Kin’s words from tonite: “Those at the top say, ‘come my way.’ Those at the bottom say, ‘come my way.’ I say to all the people, ‘go your way.’”

Pathology and then some

It would be easy for me to say I’ve been in a deep dark sleep while time stood still after my last post – that I’ve just had one good night’s rest and I’m here blogging my updates the following day as promised. But, then again, who am I fooling? Just myself evidently, but honestly, where in the hell does time go? It’s not like I’ve been up to my eyeballs in work as I usually am. I have, however, been “busy” and haven’t for a moment gotten bored or stir-crazy. I suppose between writing thank you notes, catching up with long-distance friends, watching a few CSI and Law & Order reruns (and maybe a couple of Young & the Restless episodes), learning more and thinking about my next steps with breast cancer and enjoying the steady stream of visitors, I haven’t had many extra hours in my day. Yet, I can’t believe it’s already two and a half weeks post-op! That alone proves for me how short life is.
I did, as mentioned, go to my first battery of follow-up doctor’s visits. First, with my plastic surgeon, Dr. Matthew Becker, who said I was healing nicely and took two of my drains out.Talk about feeling like an octopus with these extensions coming out of my side. But he’s been fabulous, and from what I can tell, I should be very pleased.
I stopped by my Leadership Knoxville class to say hello between doctor visits as they were getting ready to leave for Nashville for two days which I was sad, sad, sad to miss. That had been a small goal of mine before surgery but as the day arrived I figured it was in my best interest to stay close to home. Just couldn’t risk pain meds or lack of energy causing me to fall asleep at dinner while chatting with one of our state legislators. Definitely would not have been a good look.
Next, was Dr. Bell and somehow in the mile in a half between The Baker Center and UT Hospital I got a bit weepy. I can’t tell you why but despite my efforts to put on a happy face and dry my eyes before Dr. Bell came in the room – he immediately asked me what was wrong to which I teary-eyed replied, “Nothing” while he emptied a box of Kleenex and handed them to me. I’m not very convincing I suppose. He handed to me, however, excellent news from my pathology. Woo hoo! My nodes are clean, my margins are clear and my tumor (oddly) is half the size the MRI indicated – from 1.8cm to .9cm – which now raises the question of whether I have to do chemo or not.
I have also qualified for what is known as an Oncotype test which is a clinical trial that tests my tumor to see what my possible recurrence rate is which further helps determine whether chemo would be beneficial or not. While dodging chemo would be ideal, I have to spend some time digging deep to figure out what in my heart of hearts is the right thing for me. Remember my spiel about being your own best advocate. I just don’t know if I want to come this far, having made the decisions I’ve already made and not continue to do everything humanly possible (within reason) to avoid recurrence – based especially on that “window” of life that gives me a lot more time for one wandering cell to plant itself somewhere and take roots. So…based on the results, I shall be making a decision within the next couple of weeks and beginning whatever treatment shortly after that.

The journey begins, again

Tune into WBIR Channel 10 tonight at 6 to see anchor Robin Wilhoit’s and videographer Erin Donovan’s story regarding the beginning of Janet’s battle with breast cancer. 
For you out of towners, you’ll be able to see it on www.wbir.com after it airs.

This is the first report of a year long chronicle on WBIR following Janet’s fight to kick cancer’s ass.

March 1

I can’t believe it’s been a week since my surgery. It seems like ages since my last post in the late and wee hours of Sunday night and Monday morning when I was growing increasingly anxious as reality was setting in about what I was getting ready to undergo. I simply hadn’t had the time to think about what was getting ready to happen, especially with the, now dubbed, Ha Ha Sisterhood that has been established with my mom, sister, friend, Karen Daniel (who started the Kicking Cancer’s Ass initiative), and WBIR’s Erin Donovan and Robin Wilhoit, who all kept me hysterically distracted and laughing during so many minutes leading up to March 1.

Then came Monday, March 1. I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep contemplating if and, if so, how life was getting ready to change – for both the short and long term. I took my bath, made my bed, spent time with Reilly…every minute felt like I was in slow motion, and I tried desperately not to let my mind go to that dark place everyone facing any type of serious surgery thinks about. ‘I was going to do great and be on the flip side in no time’ was all I tried to tell myself – but the reality is you wonder with every action if it will be your last – the last time you make your bed, feed your dog, turn off a light. However brief, mortality makes its presence known, and unnerving thoughts and fear inevitably creep in. I can’t imagine that’s anything but normal. It’s just a matter of being able to control those thoughts and resolve to think about nothing other than what’s happy and good.

At 7:30 my mom pulled in the driveway, and I loaded every little thing I wanted to go with me and surround myself with – including a basket I’ve used to put the thoughtful gifts of encouragement and cards people had given me the past five weeks. Collectively, it has become a source of strength when I look at it. It reminds me I’m not alone, and that I’m embraced with empowering thoughts and positive energy.

We stopped at Long’s Drugstore at 7:45 where friend and Knox County Clerk, Foster Arnett, was kind enough to meet me with Bill the notary after a panic text Sunday evening. After I took care of business, Long’s owner, Hank Peck and master egg scramblers, Sharon and Ruth, sent me along with their well wishes. My dad in tow, we headed to the hospital.

Arriving early, I checked in and reunited with the Channel 10 members of the Ha Ha Sisterhood who followed me to Nuclear Medicine where I received radioactive dye that would provide the “mapping” for my lymph nodes. Let’s just say, Dr. Bell was correct in warning me there would be a few surprises along the way. This was one of them. I anticipated another “simple” IV for the dye, but, instead, I learned the needle would go into the cancerous breast (insert small scream of fear here). The nurse said it would be painful so my mind pictured a large screwdriver in proportion to an ant. Erin’s hand went numb from me squeezing, camera’s kept rolling and, truth be told – a lot of drama for not that big a deal. This is not my attempt at martyrdom, because it was no picnic and I’ve had way more fun, but I love when you prepare for the worst and it’s just not that bad. There’s also a lot to be said about the calming approach of Dr. Karen Wells which was likely the reason why Robin and Erin also didn’t hit the floor.

After a few snapshots of the dye I headed up to the surgery floor where for an hour and a half I was in a holding room with a flurry of nurses and doctors making sure I was “Janet Testerman, born on 1/18/69, there to see Dr. John Bell and Dr. Matthew Becker respectively.” Friends and family were like a revolving door coming in to take (before) pictures and spend “just a few more minutes.” The Very (terrific and awesome) Rev. John Ross from St. John’s Episcopal and Ann Sprouse, UT Hospital Chaplain and friend, came up to spend some time and say a prayer with my family. I’ve said all along, when something of this magnitude happens, you start to check in with all things important to you. For me those things have been family, friends and faith. And to John Ross, I say “thank you” for being there for me from the beginning, for checking in and for being by my side and that of my family the day of to provide comfort, peace, discuss what’s real and exude a confidence that we all were able and needed to draw on…

…because for me the toughest part of my entire ordeal thus far has been to watch my family endure this with me – to watch them feel helpless within the confines of a disease that makes everyone it impacts, directly or peripherally, feel powerless. Perhaps that’s why I agreed to allow Kicking Cancer’s Ass to be an identity for me. It’s a mantra that has made myself and hundreds others feel empowered and in control. It has made us fightin’ mad and generated a platform for all of us to take charge, create an incentive to make a difference and establish a network of support. We are our own best advocates, but there is power in numbers. All of you have proven that.

At 11:30am it was time. I said my ‘I love you’s,’ and within 30 seconds of my magic potion, it was lights out. After an 8-hour surgery, the doctors were thrilled. There is still a road to hoe, but, one thing is for certain. On this day we made our biggest strides yet in Kicking Cancer’s Ass.

And so begins my journey of recovery and healing – and to date no one has surfaced to threaten me with anything I may have said under the guise of anesthesia.

Tomorrow will be my first post-op visit with both doctors. I will fill you on the past week’s progress and pathology reports. There was more to chronicle the first day than I thought (and a lot I still left out), and since I’m still under the influence of (you name it) meds, that’s my excuse for being so long-winded. But I now have lots of down time and look forward to catching up and checking in.

Post surgery update…

Here’s a message from Janet’s sister Muffet regarding today’s surgery: 

Thank you God! She is in the room, under heat, still snoozing, and did fantastic! May the healing begin!

And an update from Muffet earlier in the day:

Wanted to update those of you checking in, as we are at about 6 hours and counting! Dr. Bell has been in several times to update us, and to express how pleased he was with the surgery. Dr. Becker is in full swing, and everything is going well with the reconstruction phase. On behalf of ‘Tweets’, we thank you for the constant support and consideration, and please continue to lift her up!

Her big sis!!

*Tweets is Janet’s childhood nickname. 

Countdown

The countdown is on, and I’m officially preparing to Kick Cancer’s Ass tomorrow morning. Game on! All that’s left is to pack and tidy up. I’ve decided the rest will take care of itself. There comes a point you realize things will always need to be and could be done, but in the big scheme…those things won’t amount to much and getting some sleep and preserving some fighting energy for what will be a 6-7 hour surgery deems a bit more important at the moment. I have spent the past five weeks drawing on the strength of each of you – each post, letter, card, email and phone call. You have embraced me, you have lifted me up, you have given me cause to earn another victory, not just for myself, but for those whose footsteps I follow in and for those who will follow in mine. With each inspiring story and every positive thought I say, “Thank you.” You take my breath away, and I am enriched and eternally grateful.

This fight won’t be over tomorrow, but we are well on our way to a success story. Look for updates as I will have my “ghost writers” keeping you posted. In the meantime, pat yourselves on the back for your kindness and compassion. Rest assured, I will pay it forward.

Janet is having bi-lateral mastectomy surgery on Monday, March 1, 2010. 

Catching Up!

Going to press with two magazines simultaneously puts a small crimp in a person’s ability to blog. It’s 24/7 for almost a week plus hours in a day that I didn’t know existed – but two more issues of skirt! and Knoxville Magazine have successfully been put to bed. I hope you enjoy.
I’m now working frantically to get ready for Monday’s surgery at 11am. I want to make sure I leave the magazines in good form during my hiatus and there are, of course, personal effects to get in order – house cleaned, bills paid, finding button down shirts/nightshirts, make a dog walking schedule…and the list goes on. There are also those unpleasant issues like wills and living wills – never fun to talk about but reality – which is probably why I’m procrastinating on those projects. Not to mention I’d like to have a little fun between now and then. But just like every other deadline I’ve faced – I’ll get it done.
On a different note, I was approached last week by Robin Wilhoit and Channel 10 about following my “journey.” I’ve already mentioned being reluctant about giving up my privacy, but I continue to go back to this Facebook group, my blog and personal emails that I’ve received which have confirmed this is all so much bigger than myself. It’s truly not about me at all. This is about the greater good. To celebrate and memorialize those before me and to educate, inform and encourage those yet to endure or who are currently enduring this battle. I received a hand-written note tonight from a friend’s mother who is a 13-year, Stage IV survivor who was given six weeks to live. If she doesn’t put things in perspective, I’m not sure who does. “Don’t let the ‘monster’ rob you of your hopes and dreams,” she writes. “The battle can make you weak, but you will come out stronger for it. Don’t leave a stone unturned.” Those words are powerful to me, and so far I feel like I’ve followed her advice.
The camera journaling of this “tour of duty” started last Friday at UT Hospital where I underwent a MUGGA scan (a heart evaluation) and pre-op testing. I must say when Darin’ Erin is running the camera, it makes for a day of comic relief and is flat out funny. She employs brevity to the situation, even while I am getting “needled,” and literally made us all (almost) forget why we were there. Jim Ragonese, marketing/media relations for UT Medical Center, spent the day chaperoning us throughout the various departments, tunnels and secret passageways of the hospital. He was awesome and even brought Chemo Bear along for the ride.
As mentioned in my earlier blog, my mom and sister have been my “shewolves.” We’ve traveled in a pack since day one and now with Robin, Erin and Karen in tow, it’s a “she-pack.” (but we will take nominations on a better moniker. Submissions welcome). Am sad, however, the culprit for getting all of this started – Karen Daniel – has taken an assignment in Texas for a stint. Simply bad timing – but as I’ve said before, everyone’s life rolls on!
Tomorrow is another action-packed day – getting work squared away, a healing service at my church, St. John’s Episcopal, and a final consult with my plastic surgeon, Dr. Matthew Becker – all with cameras in my shadow. I suppose I get to pick out the “new girls.” Hmmmm…must say, that will be a first for me. I don’t think they’re exactly “one size fits all” nor can you just duck into a dressing room and try some on. Guessing there’s a lot of trust that goes into this decision and have heard repeatedly they “run big” no matter what doctor or what size you pick out. I’ll keep you posted on how all that pans out. Probably won’t go bra shopping just yet.
Will also keep you posted on the days ahead. It’s flying by and can’t believe all I’ve learned and dealt with in four and a half weeks.
As of tonight over 1,000 people are members of Kicking Cancer’s Ass. All of you continue to inspire me, and I truly look forward to some down time – though this is a hell of a way to go about it – to catch up with people whose paths I’ve crossed before and with those who are crossing my path only now because of this – but all undoubtedly for a reason! Thank you for your strength. I draw on it repeatedly, and it’s what keeps me going as I prepare for the road ahead! Keep it up. This site is not just for me, not just for breast cancer, but for all of those whose life has been touched in any way, shape or form by any type of cancer at all. This is for you, your family, your fight, your future. Stay stong and stand tall.

It’s a good day

Woo Hoo! The words today were “CLEAN SCANS” – and though my bone scan and CT were clear, I still believe in following your gut. I’ve simply determined I probably just need a series of massages for the discomfort in my back (apparently there’s some arthritis there too – damn that sounds like I’m old!) – and I’ve never turned down an excuse for a great massage. Bottom line: You simply can’t put a price on peace of mind, and tonight I’m breathing much easier. I say again, follow your instinct. You are the only and accurate voice for your body! Listen! Thanks to all 775 of you in the Facebook group! I will never forget the impact each of you have made on my life, and we still have work to do. Not just for me but for the millions of others who have and are learning to live with cancer. Sweet dreams.

(Note: You can join Janet’s Facebook Group by clicking on the link at the right under “Check These Out…” You can also follow her Twitter and soon the other social media listed there. We also welcome anyone else battling cancer to e-mail us links to their blogs and we’ll be happy to list them there.) 

Sleepless nights to Ambien

(I intended to post this last night, but I fell asleep at the end as you can tell.)

Today, I’m 10 days out from surgery – a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction. I’m also waiting for results on a bone scan and CT scan, two tests we did at my urging. I agree with Dr. John Bell about not wanting to chase rabbits as there will always be abnormalities that show up, but I also know to listen to your body and feel too many people don’t do that. Be in tune and be proactive. Afterall, that’s the only reason I started mammograms at such an early age – 33 or so – because it was important that I be in charge of my own health. Be in charge, too, of your care no matter how much of an expert your doctor is. If there’s one bit of advice I can lend it’s ask for what you want, ask the hard questions, and let others do the due diligence on your condition. If it were anyone else, I would be a student of whatever disease by day’s end.

With my stepdad, Bob Crossley (Cros), I knew more about transitional cell carcinoma (a rare form of kidney cancer) than I did about varieties of dog food my dog, Reilly, is partial to (that would be all of them). While I’ll stick up for myself and do all of the above, for some odd reason, I’ve been content with friends giving me the details about my details. I don’t think I’ve actually shared my type of breast cancer, but for those in the know or for other curious peeps taking time to read this, I have invasive ductal carcinoma with possible multifoci (I think that’s a word) – that means there are other suspect areas away from the original tumor and in more than one quadrant of the breast. Choosing to do a bi-lateral is truly a no-brainer for me – and it was not because my brother makes fun of my mosquito bites! My age dictates so much. My window for recurrence is a lot longer (I hope) so to be more aggressive has been the underlying recommendation of all the doctors who’ve been involved with me – though ALL of them insist it’s MY decision and have been extraordinary in assuring me that I have options. If you have a doctor that dictates your care – undoubtedly, move on down the pike. I’m in the process of following up on referrals for anesthesiologists and CRNAs. CRNAs are the ones who put you to sleep and make sure all the monitors and drugs are being administered appropriately throughout the entire surgery. Ask around. It’s worth your time to find that person who, if even for a short time, literally has your life in their hands. Don’t be shy.

I’m in the process of making a to-do list and getting my ducks in a row. There’s so much to do, and I’m getting overwhelmed, but as of tonight there are 618 members on the Facebook page to help keep me grounded and in a positive state. You continue to blow my mind! The dialogue with people I’ve never met who’ve sent me genuine notes of thoughts and concern is mesmerizing – and yes, humbling! I could write all night, but my Ambien is kicking in so I’m signing off. I’d hate to start sleeptalking. Who knows what I might start typinglddlae uficoene m]=dcn kalsjn v. asehkl afd;.

(Note: You can join Janet’s Facebook Group by clicking on the link at the right under “Check These Out…” You can also follow her Twitter and soon the other social media listed there. We also welcome anyone else battling cancer to e-mail us links to their blogs and we’ll be happy to list them there.) 

487!

I went to bed Monday night, 12 hours after the Facebook page went up, and there were 202 members. I woke up Tuesday morning with 243, went to bed with 455 and woke up this morning to 475! I thought I was the only one who didn’t sleep. I continue to be amazed at the people who are reaching out, who have been down this road before me, who have dealt with or are dealing with another form of cancer, who don’t even know me! I need to come up with some synonyms for “humbled” because I am wearing it out. 

I just learned yesterday of a friend in a professional group I belong to was diagnosed recently with cancer, though not sure what kind. I look forward to talking with him. I had a conversation with another acquaintance who’s a few steps ahead of me fighting rectal cancer and gratefully her treatment is going extraordinarily well. She fittingly said, “We’re now in a club no one wants to be in.” And with breast cancer I assume I’m now a sister in an enormous “sisterhood” I thought I would forever be excluded from. Afterall, I hardly own any pink. 

There’s no doubt in three short weeks the dynamic of my world has changed – as I presume it forever will. I’ve always kept my world small, cards close to my chest – and suppose that will always be the case, but how can I deny such kindness of the human heart from people who continue to have issues going on in their own life, whose lives roll on with a million things demanding their attention and time, yet they’re still making an effort to check in with me and offer a positive thought. Herein lies my biggest lesson so far. I’ve always considered myself a good friend, a loyal friend and genuinely concerned and compassionate toward those around me, but I will admit, this girl’s got to STEP IT UP! I am being put to shame!

A friend asked me yesterday “how it feels.” “Having cancer?” I asked. “I know that’s a weird question,” she said but I knew exactly what she meant. It’s an out-of-body experience, even still. When I talk about it or answer questions, it’s as if I’m talking about a good friend and being that matter-of-fact mediator that explains just exactly what’s going on. 

Surprisingly, I haven’t had that “break-down” moment yet and keep wondering when that’s coming. I mean, I used to cry over spilt milk. I’ve toughened up and mostly cry now (sob) at Humane Society commercials. I assure you, this is not my typical self. However, I’ve always imagined you find those strengths you never knew you had – so I’m guessing this is what that looks like. The only time I have cried (really cried) through all of this so far was the moment Dr. K delivered the news, and I had to walk to the dressing room by myself to change clothes. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so alone as I was the only one in the world who knew. I didn’t even think about telling anyone I was having a mammogram. I had had no less than five. It was like going to the dentist. I don’t like being an “alarmist” so I worked hard to pull it together for my mom and sister who I’d made cancel their afternoon meetings – which sent them into a tailspin until I got there. We met at Bravo (strategy) where I told them how I’d spent my morning and what the results were – but pathology was still out for another day, which gave us all another 24 hours of hope that this was all just a bad dream, but unfortunately, come Tuesday, it simply was not to be. 

I’ve had my tearful moments telling good friends but quickly “straighten up” so I can communicate the details. I figure when I dissolve, I’ll land in fetal for a quite a while – and I realize that’s A-OK, It does feel though like a narcoleptic who never knows when they’re going to nod off I just hope when I do I land somewhere soft, and as each of you have proven to me in merely two short days, I’ll have plenty of people to pick me up and put me back on a positive path of hope and healing. Thank you, again. You are rocking my world. Have a great Wednesday! – and, by the way, we’re now at 487!