<p>Still sending positive thoughts and healing prayers your way! Stay strong and take care of yourself! Glad you had some time with your family and able to express your sense of humor.</p>
<p>OK. Further black humor…</p>
<p>While we were discussing which psychotherapist would be best for S2 (the NOT talking type who is a HS senior), I said to H “you know, perhaps you should see a therapist for a few sessions”. (I figured it’s not easy to be the pillar of the family in crisis)</p>
<p>My H’s response: “what? Does he have a cancer too? Does he need my help?”</p>
<p>I burst into laughter. It’s good thing that my incision spot does not hurt as much, because I would have punched his nose out a week ago for having made me laugh like this.</p>
<p>No. He is not one of those Neanderthal types who think psychotherapy is for the sissies. In fact some of our best friends are hardcore psychoanalysts…</p>
<p>Sunrise, I love your attitude! I am glad you are on the road to recovery!
Take care of yourself.</p>
<p>Sunrise, I just read your updates. Best wishes to you and your family, and good luck with your upcoming treatments - may they be uneventful, and may your road to complete recovery be straight and short.</p>
<p>"My H’s response: “what? Does he have a cancer too? Does he need my help?”</p>
<p>That is just funny! I like your H too.</p>
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<p>Keep embracing that! I’ve found that my brother and I tend to do better through our familial catastrophes (particularly the recent ones) when we’re laughing at them, even if it makes everyone else a little uneasy that we loudly guffaw over things like mental illness, electroshock therapy, and drug addiction… stuff that other people get all wide-eyed and uncomfortable about. I’m sure cancer is the same way. I wondered whether or not we were making other people uncomfortable with our black humor and whistling in the dark, but finally figured it was good for us, and to heck with what other people thought about laughing a little at a situation we can’t really escape. We finally adopted as our motto, “When all you have is a Gallows, everything looks like a Humor!” and haven’t looked back. Gotta laugh, particularly at the things that are “too scary to laugh at.”</p>
<p>Keep the faith, lady. Go get 'em!</p>
<p>Sunriseeast, you are an inspiration with that great attitude. Your H is a keeper! Sending positive vibes your way.</p>
<p>Sunrise, You have chosen to approach both your cancer with strength and your family with kindness and generosity. </p>
<p>When my kids were all in elementary school I was diagnosed with cancer and it scared the crap out of me, because my sister was losing her battle with the same disease and my brother was diagnosed the year before with late stage cancer. It seemed unreal that three siblings had this disease at the same time and all fairly young. I too was most concerned about my kids living with a mom whos life was redefined by her disease so I chose like you to take it a day at a time and to make everyday count just a little bit more. I didn’t know where it was all going at the time, but I knew that the cancer was not going to be the topic of my kids young lives or mine for that matter. Here I am years later and I am fine. All four of my kids will have graduated by May of 2012 and that was what I had prayed for (At the time I saw that as the age of independance). Not one of my kids to this day remember the cancer as the crisis. They think of it as the disease that mom had and recovered from. My brother had the same attitude and he is doing very well. He has been in remission for a long time now. Cancer does not need to define our lives we have to define the place it has in our life. If we live sick than we are sick. It was actually my son who inspired me because he was also diagnosed two years before me with a serious disease, and the way we treated him through his illness made him strong and happy. He never lived his childhood as the sick kid.</p>
<p>I know what you mean about having the reserve…family needs to pace themselves or everyone starts to erupt. It is a great analogy to what the disease could do to a family. Your hubby sounds like a great guy and you sound like a terrific lady. Hang in there and enjoy them all…it is amazing how much better people do who choose to live the way you are choosing. I have seen many people healed or living in remission long past the years that the stats have stated. </p>
<p>You are an inspiration to the readers on this forum and to your family! I am sending you ciber hugs and all of the best wishes and prayers for your courage and strength while you visualize this nasty disease leaving your body.</p>
<p>sunrise: you are an inspiration and your posts are a gift. Keep laughing through thick and thin…more powerful than drugs for sure!! Movies I would recommend renting through treatment: As Good as it Gets, Something’s Gotta Give, It’s Complicated, Bringing Down the House, Father of the Bride with Steve Martin, anything by Mel Brooks, Meet the Parents, and the like. God bless and happy guffawing :)</p>
<p>sending positive thoughts to you. I have been watching this message board for post spa updates. I’m glad to see you have a positive outlook. I think your message is inspirational.</p>
<p>Sunrise, you and your husband have me hooting out loud. I scared the dog.</p>
<p>Bless you both, and the kids.</p>
<p>SUCH GOOD NEWS!!! Stage III intraabdominal cancer is a vastly different situation than stage IV. Stage IV is rarely curable, although treatable.</p>
<p>However, I have MORE PATIENTS THAN I CAN COUNT who are LONG TERM SURVIVORS of Stage III ovarian. I do not know what type of cancer you have sunrise, and I do not need to know. But I must tell you that stage III means it is likely limited to the peritoneal cavity, and debulking surgery followed by chemo can eliminate the disease. Most patients go into remission. While remission may not be permanent, it can last years. And follow-up treatment can add a few more. And in 2010, huge numbers of women go into remission that turns out to be permanent. </p>
<p>When I went into med school, a stage III ovarian or similar abdominal cancer might as well have been Stage IV. Not any longer. You have been given a gift to learn it is only Stage III. Sounds like an odd statement. But if you went in thinking it was likely Stage IV, this is such good news.</p>
<p>Rest, eat well, start walking when the doctor gives you the OK. Walking is therapeutic and keeps you healthier. Get plenty of protein, you need to be in a positive protein/nitrogen balance. Take it easy on the carbs. Stay positive. </p>
<p>Chemo is totally not going to be what you think. The days of horrible nausea and worse are so over. The premeds are glorious. You will have a few days of fatigue and a variety of minor symptoms. You may loose your hair. If you think you are a wig person and not an au-natural type, go now and they can match your color and hairstyle and you will be amazed. Winter is a great time to deal with a wig. They can be a bit hot. But the “safety” of having one in the beginning, one you love is important.</p>
<p>Black humor, any humor is GREAT. Take it day by day. Hugs, and I am just so excited to know that you are not a Stage IV. Such huge news. DID I SAY HUGE?</p>
<p>^wow. that is definitely encouraging news. just checking to let you know I’m thinking about you.</p>
<p>So glad you added your 2 cents worth, sunnyflorida. </p>
<p>Here’s mine (anesthesiologist)- a penny’s worth in comparison- some from being a physician, some from being the patient. FOLLOW YOUR SURGEON’S ORDERS- this means when the list says no lifting- don’t, for the entire time listed. I noted where you did tons of laundry the day before surgery. By now there’s bound to be bedding type laundry et al to do again- don’t do it. Make your H and sons help out. Weeks after your diagnosis and surgery the novelty (and shock) have worn off. It becomes easier for family to forget you just had major surgery, long before you are back to normal. </p>
<p>So much worry gone with the staging done. Let yourself manipulate the statistics to your advantage as much as you can. For you it is 100% on the good side, let the other xty % be the ones proving the stats… Story time. A pathologist friend got a zero % 15 year survival rate on her abdominal lymphoma type around 9 years ago. Most patients are at least a decade older and chemo plus early detection technology has changed radically since those stats came out. So far so good- insurance company has decreased the number of scans covered, etc. The treatments worked!</p>
<p>Post op stories. I had a benign reasons abdominal hysterectomy around the same time. Both of us physicians also have physician H’s. We both found our H’s ideas of being nice to us the days just home from the hospital were of the not doing for others variety- she made her own toast, I did my own … The day after I came home the city chose to do something with the water main and warned us at 8 am they would be turning off the water shortly- I hurried to take my shower… Be thankful memory of many events, especially unpleasant ones, fades. It takes time for that incision to fully heal- it will look much better a year later. Hopefully you weren’t set on wearing a bikini, I haven’t in decades. Maybe your chemo will cause you to lose only the gray hair, if any- wouldn’t that be nice. Gotta look at the bright side and be silly sometimes… The recliner is so nice…</p>
<p>I had melanoma 8 years ago. No radiation or chemo- a cut and cure of stage 2 arm mole. I find myself less sympathetic to all of the breast cancer awareness/research hype in recent times. It’s not the only cancer out there. You may find yourself choosing to support your type of cancer, not breast, research in the future. Be thankful for Obama’s health care reform. It is discouraging to find that you CAN’T buy private insurance, even if you are a physician, and can afford it. Years later you won’t be stuck with your current jobs because you need to keep the insurance policy.</p>
<p>Keep your sense of humor. Be friends with your oncologist- ie, be sure you get along or find one you like. You will have a years long relationship. Do ask which websites are good ones for more info. So much out there that is horrible, but also so much good info and support. A good memory I have of the evening my family doctor called with the biopsy results was my H searching the web for me for current treatments (and a good thing- I had some unpleasant physicians’ offices experiences in initiating my treatment). Knowledge is power, but misinformation hurts rather than helps.</p>
<p>Sounds like you have already taken charge of your illness and have done all of the right things- good for you! One was to get extra support from us. Keep us in the loop. And thanks for letting me add my 2 cents worth. I “only” had a stage 2 cancer, and it isn’t the kind chemo or radiation is used for so I missed all of the additional therapy- sometimes feel I haven’t earned my “cancer survivor” status as I got to miss so much. Even years later it helps to talk about it sometimes. Just keep my annual exam appointments… Eventually things settle down and it isn’t the major part of your life. You have just joined a club none of us want to be in. PS- note time of day, kept thinking about you and finally got enough thoughts together tonight, got up and wrote- didn’t want to wait and lose them. Best wishes.</p>
<p>Came by to send you words of encouragement only to find out that you are busy giving all your cc followers wonderful words of hope and inspiration. Thank you for your well writen inspirational and personal thoughts.</p>
<p>thank you so much for your encouragement. You all have been so wonderful. Having doctors on this thread is doubly helpful.</p>
<p>Yesterday was a dark day for me. I even cried on my husband’s shoulder for a few minutes. </p>
<p>I have a Ph.D. in statistics, and against my own better judgement, I ended up gorging on morbid statistics on comparative mortality estimates for my condition depending on where the final diagnosis falls (my surgeon and the hospital pathologist have a differing opinion on the exact origin: ovary or uterus: chemo treatment is same anyway). It really put me on a morose mood: Even though I understand intellectually the set of statistical parameters that apply to me are not the same as the ones that apply to the statistics for the whole population, just seeing these numbers over and over again was not helpful. I guess I indulged in a form of self flagellation all day yesterday.</p>
<p>Furthermore, when I saw the numbers like $1.5M for the whole surgery and treatment quoted by some patients who were struggling with the financial issues, I felt very vulnerable: though we have an amazing employment based group insurance now that covers anything and everything with minuscule co-payment and a very low maximum out of pocket expense per year ($2400) with no limit on total expense yearly or life time, it can easily change with job changes, etc. This just adds to the anxiety. </p>
<p>But, I am out of the funk today - back to my optimistic, chirpy self. Went to see my oncologist. Finally got the staples out (because of the snow storm, everything was closed last few days). So my brief days of body piercing are over.</p>
<p>He gave me an option of two kinds of chemo regimens. I choose the aggressive protocol (chemo every week) that is just starting to be “deployed” by oncologists in the know. It’s based on Japanese clinical studies published last year. It’s a much harsher option with a potentially much better outcome. This is also much more expensive option - one I have no issue with given the best insurance coverage I have. He is also adding another drug to the standard protocol that cannot be given to women who are not starting with a healthy body. I was very glad that he offered the aggressive option and this additional drug, because I went into this office fully prepared to fight for them in case he does not offer them or balk at these options.</p>
<p>I read an article that says that for the cancer surgery like mine, the skill and the expertise of a surgeon can double the odds for a good prognosis. Everything I read/ so far confirms that on this respect, I am starting the journey hitting it right out of the ballpark. A second opinion doctor introduced to me by my friend who is a nationally renowned pathologist concurs with my surgeon’s assessment of the origin of the cancer, and she believe that my doctor’s impromptu decision on the operating table to take certain extra steps during the surgery was a very good thing (all the original symptoms and CT scan made everyone believe it’s ovary. On the operating table, he decided that it’s more likely uterine in nature, and took additional steps accordingly)</p>
<p>All in all, I think my doctor and I will get along just fine. Though he is a scary looking dude with a taciturn demeanor (I could see how he scares the #$% out of all his interns and residents: they all froze when he walked into the room), I think beneath all this, he is a professional who respects his patients, especially those who want to be a co-navigator in this whole journey as an empowered partner. I don’t want to be a dumb passenger. I would like to be at least a co navigator, or better yet, a driver with him sitting next to me as a navigator. I think he respects that.</p>
<p>All this is what I had in mind when I felt that I had a very rational ground to believe my own personal odds are much, much better than the published statistics. </p>
<p>So, I feel I am in goods, benefiting from the best possible care there is, and a healthy body as a baseline. I am profoundly thankful for all these. There are a lot of women who are going through this without the resources, support, and options that I have. Once I get better, I am planning to volunteer my time and resources to help women in that situation. </p>
<p>I should stay away from compulsive number crunching of some depressing statistics for a while. Instead, I should focus on good will, kindness, and generosity of all those around, including ALL of you who have been so good to me. THANK YOU.</p>
<p>sunrise - You are such an inspiration. Words can not express… anyone that knows me from the 2011 parents forum knows I ramble. I just don’t have any. The act of sharing your journey will have a far more profound effect then you could imagine. People will relate in ways that they could not easily share without creating new identities themselves. I am awed by your ability to stay positive, find humor, and grace in circumstances others simply fall apart.</p>
<p>I know I am not alone, but the single voice added is heard. I wish you peace, healing, and wisdom for the many professionals involved in your care.</p>
<p>You are in good hands. And to be honest I still think that stage IV uterus is NOT as bad as stage IV ovary. I was posting that it was huge that it was not stage IV as I assumed you were talking ovarian (based on the superficial liver lesions not intrahepatic). But if it is back to endometrial/uterine, that stage IV is not as bad IMHO as IV ovarian. They do act similarly based on your pathology. </p>
<p>YOU HAVE GREAT INSURANCE. WOW. No lifetime limit (rare) and total out of pocket at $2400. This is so wonderful. Your treatment will not be limited. And if you insurance suddenly pulls the prior auth needed, your physicians will be at bat for you over the aggressive treatment. </p>
<p>As you know, stats in medicine are based on populations of patients. You are an individual. Your “numbers” can be swayed and improved by the surgeon who does the surgery (clearly a special person to have picked up on the nuances intraoperatively and to have added the extra needed for uterine vs ovarian), and by the choice of aggressive treatment. You are already ahead of the numbers. You are also ahead based on your age. The average age of uterine/endometrial is likely much higher than yours based on my guesstimate of your age. This is also in your favor. </p>
<p>Based on info in the PM you gave me, there is new info that some of these cell types express the HER2/neu gene. That is the gene that shows up in some breast cancers. You might ask if there is any tissue that can be sent for HER2/neu testing. That might have to be sent without preservative so that might not be possible. But you can ask. </p>
<p>Try to stop surfing the web for info. That will be THE HARDEST PART. I could not help it when I went through my experience. There are days you just have to stop the literature searching and reading. It can make you crazy.</p>
<p>Today is a good day.</p>
<p>Glad you are in a better frame of mind today, suriseast! </p>
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<p>Last year at this time, an acquaintance was just starting chemo. Her hair started to fall out big time *on *Christmas eve…she felt okay but just couldn’t face church looking that way, so while everyone else was out doing last minute Christmas shopping, she was out trying to find something to put on her head!</p>
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<p>I just turned 51 young :)</p>
<p>By the way, my “posts” count is zero. Do they think I am already a ghost? Is this some kind of a voodoo magic or a conspiracy :)</p>