Keeping Abreast of Ellen

This week's events had all the makings of a good, wholesome cancer-fighting stew.  Tuesday's oncologist appointment was very productive; after mentioning my nausea, etc from last round, we agreed I could go back on the steroid (Decadron) this cycle to keep things in check.  As it turns out, I will be going back on it for cycles 5 through 8 regardless, in order to off-set the potentially severe allergic reaction that my new chemo drug (Taxotere) may elicit.  So really, I am just starting on Decadron three weeks early.  But I am getting ahead of myself...back to round 4 and my final AC (Adriamycin & Cyclophosphamide) treatment.   On Wednesday, while all three kids were battling their respective lingering or newly developed coughs, I remarked how timely it was that I was finally over my 7-week cough and feeling very close to 100% as I entered the new cycle.  On Thursday, after a quick jaunt to Ikea, I arrived for chemo with a belly full of Swedish meatballs, mas

Sometimes we wish for sunshine but instead find ourselves jumping in (not over) the puddles, getting soakers (and liking it) and remembering how good warm rain feels on our bare legs.  That is kind of how my post-chemo weekend went. Thursday's "round three special" went just fine, made even better by my first class companion, Karen.  She brought me broccoli cheddar soup.  Good, comforting, pre-chemo nourishment, I thought.  Further endorsed by my assigned nurse who had just returned from her lunch of aforementioned broccoli cheddar soup.  Her name was Karen too.  Hmmm...Karen the nurse and Karen the friend carin' for me.  This was a good sign.  I remarked to Karen (my friend) that I hoped we'd be in and out in record time.  <this is where Ellen should have knocked on wood>.  Unfortunately, there was a bit of a hiccup with my pre-chemo blood work.  My white blood cell count from two days prior was 0.5 and I needed a strong 1.0 to be good to go.

Spoiler alert:   There are no pics to accompany this post.  Not that kind of blog! So it's Chemo Eve and I'm eagerly anticipating round three.  No really, I am!  You may be thinking I've completely lost it, and I would normally agree - but do hear me out and it will soon make sense. Yesterday at my pre-chemo oncologist appointment, the doctor asked me if I'd noticed any changes in my affected breast, to which I laughingly replied, what breast?  It has been shrinking at such an alarming rate that there really isn't much left to speak of.  I'd hoped this was good news but wasn't really sure what it meant; what if the tumour was simply eating up all my good breast tissue?  We looked back at my MRI results and noted that the tumour size a month ago had been 6cm (W) x 7cm (H) x 4cm (D).  She did a quick examination.  Well, you didn't have to be an oncologist to see that it had shrunk considerably.  She turned to me and gleefully exclaimed, "