Going Into Battle

In twelve hours I will be undergoing the radical lymph node dissection of the right groin area -- a major surgery that should keep the beast at bay for what I hope is a very long time. I have joined a Melanoma support group on Facebook and I've gotten perspective and advice from others who have had the same procedure. I've read other Melanoma survivors'  blogs and have maintained a positive attitude lately. I have educated myself about drains and dressings and keeping my leg elevated and I'm as ready as I can be. I'm also terrified. What if I go through this and it comes back again?  Melanoma has taken over my summer and fall; enough now. This Badass Melanoma Warrior is going into battle.

The Next Step

I had my post-surgery PET scan on the 12th and it showed no evidence of disease. If this had been a regular three month scan, I would be doing the happy dance but after a lymph node dissection six weeks ago, neither my oncologist nor I expected any suspicious lymph nodes. Now I am clear to have the complete lymph node dissection on October 6. This will be considered major surgery, with a hospital stay, something I've never done in my life. I can't imagine being away from Dave and the kitties for any length of time.

I'm not one of those new-age touchy feely people, but I have always admired the work of Louise Hay, author of "You Can Heal Your Life." Since I have been listening to her tapes again, and practicing positive affirmations about my health, I have felt calmer and more at ease about having Melanoma, and my husband's small business has quadrupled, as a nice by-product! My work has been easier for me, and even difficult assignments have been uneventful. Since I changed my attitude and quit thinking of the worst case scenario, I really feel that I will be ok.

Dave has been my rock throughout all this. He has been blessed with a sixth sense about situations. When we were having immigration problems, he always knew things would work out all right, and they did, while I was taking anti-depressants and secretly planning a move to England. He felt that I would have one setback with Melanoma, and then I would be all right. He actually doesn't think I need this surgery, but respects and supports my decision.  I'm not looking forward to the side effects, but I look forward to doing everything I can to keep this disease in check.

As Louise Hay says "I now accept perfect health."

Back to Black

Amy Winehouse's passing just brought the uncertainty of my own life to the center of my thoughts over my birthday weekend, still not knowing the results of my biopsy. I know I've had twice the life she had, but it's not enough. I just want to be ok, to continue my happy life with Dave.

I finally received a call back from my oncologist's office  after my birthday weekend, and I had an appointment to find out my biopsy results. As I thought, the lymph nodes removed were malignant. I was referred to the radiologist associated with the oncology center and prepared myself mentally for weeks of radiation.When I was first diagnosed, I never imagined it coming back so soon. I didn't know enough about it; I just thought it was like any other cancer. After clear scans, I thought I was done. No, I'm back to where I was 18 months ago.

Dave and I met with the radiologist  who was personable, kind, and frank. He told us that he didn't think radiology would help me very much; he felt I needed further surgery to remove more lymph nodes. I was extremely disappointed that day and wondered why in the hell I had endured the last surgery if it wasn't enough. I was angry that anyone would question my original surgeon's decision to not take so many lymph nodes out, because he wanted me to have the option of having radiation.

I called to make an appointment with the melanoma specialist at the John Wayne Cancer Institute in Santa Monica.  He was booked.  I was getting really angry and frustrated at this pattern from the people who are supposed to treat me, to care and to give me hope, and they simply don't call back or have time to see me.  The next day I received a call that there was a cancellation and I could be seen in four days. Then I was told, ordered, really, to bring medical records, including CD's of my PT scans, pathology slides, reports, and consultations. I had no idea how or where to go about getting these items. Aren't doctors supposed to talk to each other? I made a few phone calls to the oncology center, got transferred, referred to Cedars Sinai Hospital and spent a frustrating amount of time on hold.

I left word for my oncologist's assistant, knowing I wouldn't get a call back. I didn't. I made a decision to call my oncologist directly and tell hm how uncomfortable I was with the recommendation that I have more surgery and how I was stressed out with having to procure my own records for the consultation with the new surgeon. 

I was called back within ten minutes. Dr. H. was reassuring and helpful and said he didn't think I should have more surgery, but he wanted me to keep the appointment and hear what the new surgeon had to say. He told me his office would handle the medical records copies and not to worry about that. He had already spoken to the radiologist about my situation, and urged me to keep an open mind.

Dave and I had already decided that it was going to be a futile exercise in seeing this new doctor. I really didn't want to go at all. All I wanted was to move ahead in my treatment, to get an NED PT Scan and go on with life until the next scan. 
We waited and waited. I heard a jovial voice in the hallway and I hoped it was my new doctor. His resident doctor met with me and I asked her what could be done for me that my original oncology center couldn't do. She suggested that there were more resources at the John Wayne Institute,and more options for me. My attitude started to back down. Dr. F. came in, and was kind, thorough and honest and discussed lymph nodes and how the Interferon therapy had probably prevented the spread of the melanoma to other areas of my body, but that the local recurrence really couldn't be helped by radiation. I already knew that melanoma doesn't respond that well to radiation. He went on to explain that I had a 30% chance of another local recurrence without a further lymph node dissection, and a 3% chance if I had the surgery. He answered all of our questions and I made the decision to go ahead with the surgery.  I need another PT Scan before we schedule surgery.

Now I'm waiting for the doctors to schedule my surgery. Waiting for a call back. Trying to stop thinking about melanoma, but every time I put it out of my head, it comes back. I just don't know how to be positive yet. But I will.

With all This Shit, There Must Be a Pony

Everything surrounding my recent surgery was a royal pain, problems galore. My surgeon's office would not return my calls regarding scheduling the surgery, then, I got calls from the hospital confirming a date, and  after many more calls to the surgeon's office, they confirmed that "it wasn't happening on Friday." I finally got a confirmation letter via email from the surgeon's office and when I called to make sure everything was all right, I found out that I needed some pre-op testing on the day before surgery. Great. It was Carmageddon Friday in Los Angeles, and everyone in my Human Resources department had left the building at four pm. I sent an email about where I would  be the following Monday morning and hoped for the best.


The day before the lymph node dissection I reported to Cedars Sinai for my pre-op testing. I had to give blood while discussing cat ownership with the kindest male nurse on the planet, and then have a really nice guy who was a dead-ringer for LLCoolJ give me a EKG. It was actually not stressful at all, but when I finally got to the office, I found out that I had been paged for the better part of an hour because the young HR assistant hadn't read my email.

The day of my surgery, I thought it would be routine and go smoothly. I was tired, cranky, hungry and thirsty when I arrived at Cedars Sinai with Dave.  Somehow my surgeon had been informed that the surgery would be an hour later than everyone else had been told, including his resident doctors. Dave had gone for a walk when he could have been with me. I met the anesthesiologist, who had the personality of a plant, and who didn't give me the knock-out drugs until I hit the operating room, so I was stressed out for much longer than I needed to be. So different from the last time I had surgery at Cedars. When I finally woke up in the recovery room, I was suffering the effects of having been intubated, and the breathing tube caused me to have an asthma attack. The nurse assigned to me berated me for not having my inhaler handy.  They finally let Dave in for a short while, but all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there.

The issue after surgery is if you can pee, you can go home; and I kept asking if I could do that and go home. An hour and a half went by. Finally, they let me. I could have hugged the aide who who wheeled me to the door. Back with my sweetheart, in my comfort zone.

Now, there is the issue of pain medications. Most surgeons let you get these filled before surgery, so you don't have to go to your local drug store when you are suffering the after-effects of surgery. As I predicted, our local CVS Pharmacy was overburdened and couldn’t fill my prescription for over an hour, so Dave went back after an hour and they forgot to give him the second prescription.

In this midst of all of this negativity, we had a floral delivery. I was sure it was from my BFF, but it was from my Administrative Mangers at work. It was gorgeous, sunflowers, lilies and roses. LIttle Bella,  our tiny ragdoll kitty,  promptly started chewing on the lilies, which are toxic to cats. I really didn't know what more could go wrong that day!

This is now 9 days since my surgery. I haven't received  my results  yet. I have left messages with my hematologist, but there was a major power outage affecting much of the city of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, including my hematologist's office, and I could not get through today. So, I continue to wait. I try not to dwell on the worst case scenario and be positive, but I just wish someone would at least call me back and say that they don't have the results. That would be reassuring.

Now, what is with the curious title of this post? I heard a funny joke about parents with two vastly different children. One was a total pessimist, the other, and eternal optimist. Their parents took them to a psychiatrist.

First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears. "What's the matter?" the psychiatrist asked, baffled. "Don't you want to play with any of the toys?" "Yes," the little boy bawled, "but if I did I'd only break them."

Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his out look, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse shit. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands. "What do you think you're doing?" the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist. "With all this shit," the little boy replied, beaming, "there must be a pony in here somewhere."

With all these negative happenings, perhaps there is a great biopsy result. Keeping up the faith, since that's all I can do right now. Keep calm and carry on.

Melanoma Sucks

I don't share a lot about this, but I was diagnosed with malignant melanoma in December of 2009.  I had to see an oncologist on Christmas Eve of that year and be told that I needed surgery and Interferon therapy. There had never been any cancer in my immediate family, and I was devastated. I thought I was completely bullet-proof about cancer. I had grown up in Southern California, and beach-going was a major part of my life. I'm sure there were some bad sunburns along the way, some summers spent on air mattresses at Lake Tahoe, and I thought the only consequences were freckles.

In 2001 I asked a dermatologist to look at a mole on my back, and he was so disturbed he removed it that day. It was pre-cancerous, and he followed a protocol to remove three inches of skin from the area. He said that I had "almost a melanoma" and I thought that was the end of that. I never went in the sun again.

Fast forward to December of 2009, I had what I thought was a "skin tag"  and finally got to the doctor about it. It was malignant. At this point, I was finally, very happily married and very scared about not being around. I had surgery, and interferon therapy for melanoma during January and February of 2010. I got up every morning at 6:00 a.m.,  got to the doctors office and treatment room by 8:00 a.m., and in the office by 10:00 a.m.  I would do the best I could at the office, with our administrative manager shepherding me through assignments and asking me every day how I was doing.  When I got home from work, I would go to sleep until the next morning. Weekends I would sleep most of the day. It was a very awful time for Dave and I. I would cross the days of treatment off on a calendar, which I still have.I never want to forget how that time felt.

After I completed my Interferon treatment, my hair started falling out. When I had a PT scan in May of 2010, my oncologist wasn't concerned. I was a bit freaked out and had my hair cut short. I ended up losing about half of my hair, and the great part was that, it came back curly!

I had one more CT scan in December, 2010, and I was very scared, not wanting another awful Christmas. (My insurance company would not authorize a PT scan, which would have gone to a biological level, and cost more) but I had a clear scan. Dave and I had a great Christmas and I probably spent too much money, but after last year, I felt we deserved it.

I had a scan a couple of weeks ago. The eerie part is, that I was assigned to work for the nastiest senior partner in the firm, and I remember saying that I would rather have cancer treatment again than spend another day working for him (Seriously, he is that bad). I have also had terrible reports about my mother's dementia and how she does not remember me, and I know that I thought I really would not want to live to be that old (89).  I'm sure that didn't cause the scan results, but I do regret those thoughts. My scan revealed two "suspicious" lymph nodes in the area where two were removed before.

I have been told told that the worst thing one can do after a diagnosis is to get on the internet.  I just never knew that melanoma usually comes back. I thought I was safe. 

I had a "freak out" moment last week when I didn't think I would ever get to go to Paris again, ever get to have a dog again, or see my beloved stepson, and I felt trapped in my life like a rat in a cage. My sweet husband once again calmed me down, but it's still there, in my head.

Today I met with my surgeon/oncologist at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles. We need to get these two lymph nodes out, and ASAP. My hematologist in charge of my care wants to have me go on the new melanoma drugs, and I have no idea how I will react to those. I keep trying to avoid negative thoughts, but it isn't easy.

I got Dave to go out to dinner at our favorite dive restaurant in Playa del Rey tonight. I'm going to enjoy life more, and hopefully, worry less. I cannot control what's happening, but I can control how it affects me and my life.

I have my sweet husband, my adorable pets, great friends, and some very supportive  people I work with. Life is good. I will face the surgery and removal of these lymph nodes with hope and grace.

Bella and Buddy

The first picture was taken when they were home from the shelter, and just back from the emergency veterinarian. They both had horrible upper respiratory infections, and Buddy was the most vulnerable. Bella seemed to have given up, and it was heartbreaking for us.  Dave and I don't shy away from challenges, and so we decided that these little ones were going to  get better on our watch. I got up early to give them their antibiotics, give them human baby food in a syringe mixed with cat milk replacer, and just cuddle them. During the day, Dave took them into the bathroom and ran the shower to help with their breathing. In the meantime, our other cats became ill, despite our keeping the kittens separate, and we had vet bills so high I needed to borrow money from our 401K. Life was very stressfull during July-August 2009.  Our senior cat, Tristan, caught the same cold and we could only isolate him in the bathroom. It broke my heart  because Tristan was my longtime pet of 12 years at that time and I was so worried about him. He responded to the antibiotics immediately. Ten days after we brought Buddy and Bella home, I was syring-feeding Bella, and she lapped up food that had spilled onto my hand. I put some food on a plate, and she lapped that up. That was the end of her needing to be force-fed with a syringe!  While we still had to keep the new kittens separate, every time we entered the room from that point on, she threw her head back and gave a very tiny mew at us to ask for attention. She still does that, and we just melt, no matter how often she does it. Buddy recovered a few days before Bella, and now weighs 15 pounds and looks mostly like a tabby cat. They are our miracle babies, and always remind me of what I can accomplish "on our watch."

Everyone have a great weekend, and please hug and pet your kitties.

Naughty Kitties

I must have yelled "Get down from there!" about ten times that afternoon, terrified of my carefully collected antique china ending up in pieces, or my guests finding cat hair in their food. I finally decided to get my camera out and have some fun.  Our dinner party was a great success once the kitties were finally shooed away, and no one was the wiser. Well, I guess, until now!