tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71839950201066196122024-03-05T00:44:42.916-08:00A Walk in the WoodsBreast cancer and an artist's lifeLynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-59523410476036621722017-11-29T19:09:00.000-08:002017-11-29T19:09:36.033-08:00There is Always Art<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmA3E-gUDnIWq4OiUyqqaxtJfejzfimeKx5vHcgs5dstNSbNzEScE_abvY-6UI-E1JnAWEHLZMNgOhKzz7q3FhnszVkNVI4wQ5Dszmpz-CXoGqwQJXUlScj8pvsiJj9afFf1Q0udysBts/s1600/artcollage1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmA3E-gUDnIWq4OiUyqqaxtJfejzfimeKx5vHcgs5dstNSbNzEScE_abvY-6UI-E1JnAWEHLZMNgOhKzz7q3FhnszVkNVI4wQ5Dszmpz-CXoGqwQJXUlScj8pvsiJj9afFf1Q0udysBts/s640/artcollage1a.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A few of my art projects, past and present. Mandala stones, some floral paintings, a mixed media carousel horse and more painted rocks, just for fun. I like painting with acrylic and watercolors as well as drawing and always a love for photography. I've been working on sorting my photo archives as well as updating my two other blogs, <a href="http://lsartdesign.blogspot.com/">LS Art & Design</a> and <a href="http://lsartandphoto.blogspot.com/">Pink Cottage Rose</a>. The cancer thing is still part of my life, but it's not what I choose to focus on all of the time. Sometimes a cup of tea and some creative time in the studio is the best medicine.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Take care and remember to follow your dreams,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
~ Lynn ~</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-76694200386028508212017-10-27T15:08:00.000-07:002017-10-27T15:08:10.442-07:00Fifty Shades of Grays<div align="justify">
</div>
<div style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUPhOP1GZw8thG6QQ0j_AmFlUh2mlO-wFXo-b1hcfrTZXV4jFBlmugJ7XIc01cUeI9zv5Dbjt4g47-N6xGkXDUoHGkzhbJZYpnCrgOvwOnCvdQzhyphenhyphen6A91rPxBjhNtrslYcPxLx7mOxXs/s1600/maple1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUPhOP1GZw8thG6QQ0j_AmFlUh2mlO-wFXo-b1hcfrTZXV4jFBlmugJ7XIc01cUeI9zv5Dbjt4g47-N6xGkXDUoHGkzhbJZYpnCrgOvwOnCvdQzhyphenhyphen6A91rPxBjhNtrslYcPxLx7mOxXs/s400/maple1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
</span></span></div>
<div style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Fall is here, the trees are changing, and I am finally done with radiation! After six rounds of chemo last summer it was apparent in August that the cancer was no
longer responding and it was time to try something else and go for radiation
treatment. I was scared and just worn out from the previous months of chemo and
surgeries. Reluctantly I met with the radiation oncologist and a plan was
proposed to treat my chest wall and lymph nodes on the mastectomy side (my
left), as well as the right lymph node that had showed up on the PET scan
earlier that year as potentially having cancer. The dose of radiation I would
get was measured in grays, (about two per day) totaling fifty to sixty over
six weeks. The process involves CT scans and careful computer imaging and dose
planning. The CT setup appointment took about an hour or so. My treatment position
had to be the same every day, so I was given three pink laser tattoos to help
line me up under the machine. I laid down on a hard breast board face up, arms
over my head in immobilizer stirrup things. I had to turn my head to the right
to avoid any radiation issues from the beam that passed around in front and
above me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having treatment to my left
side meant that I would have to hold my breath while the beam was on, usually
about fifteen to twenty seconds at a time. The breath hold technique helped to
protect my heart from excessive radiation. I practiced this before treatment
started, but it was still challenging each time. To get an idea of it, lay on a
hard surface (make sure it digs into your shoulder blades) with your arms over
your head and neck in awkward position, then take a deep breath in and hold it
for fifteen to twenty seconds and DON'T MOVE! Repeat this twelve times in a row.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Each day we would go to the cancer center and I would wait my turn to go
into that room. The techs were, apart from one nice lady, all guys! Uggghh,
more strangers looking at my scarred up chest! I had been assigned a bathrobe
to change into everyday after I arrived. I quickly found that it made no real
sense to get there, change into a robe, and walk into a room just to take the
robe off again. So I wore simple zip front hoodies instead. You have to
understand how bizarre it felt to chit chat with the techs, while whipping off
my jacket, walking over to the treatment bed, and laying there for thirty
minutes...topless...every day. Oh well, they were very professional and always
tried to make me as comfortable as possible. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The process was about the same each time. Lay down under machine, put arms
in immobilizers. Foam pillow was put under my knees for support. My head was in
a hard neck immobilizer cradle with a small pillow over the top. The table
would be raised and then they would adjust me using lasers and my tattoos,
making sharpie marks when needed. By this time I'm uncomfortable and just want
to get it over with. They step out of the room and I'm alone with the machine,
looking up at artsy soft glow ceiling (that I would grow to hate over time).
Techs voice over intercom, "OK Lynn, looks good here, when you're ready
take in a deep breath and hold". I breath in, hold and don't move while
the machine tracks around me with buzzes and clicks, beaming radiation into me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"And breathe..." The tech would
say, and I relaxed, breathed out and prepared for the next zap. This would be
repeated for a dozen or so times, after which I could bring my arms down for a
couple of minutes as they set up to zap my right side. That part was faster but
still required me to hold my breath. Due to scar tissue from surgery, my left
arm and shoulder would start to seize up and get pretty painful halfway through
treatment. I just pushed through it. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">After the treatment was done they would lower the bed away from the machine
head, and help me slowly sit up. I got dressed, went home, and put the lotions
on. I used cortisone, Miaderm and MyGirls cream diligently every day. I got a
little pink but only burned in a very small area by my collar bone. The docs
were so impressed with my skin that I was able to add three extra treatments to
my left side. It was a wearing experience, and at times painful, but I'm glad that
it's done and hopefully it killed most of the cancer. Only time will tell. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-25027325945969242082017-09-04T14:56:00.000-07:002017-09-04T14:56:14.331-07:00It's not pink and pretty<div style="text-align: justify;">
Next month is "Breast Cancer Awareness Month". The color pink will be everywhere. That little pink ribbon will be emblazoned on every kind of item for sale. Don't get me wrong, I love pink, heck, I started and <a href="https://lsartandphoto.blogspot.com/">art blog</a> years ago dedicated to it. But pink DOES NOT convey what breast cancer is actually like.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIz7IPeiXkhfu3gYQEiyi0oKrlgO0dsclsHenZe3zlGaSS9jJpWR7sqJTvr5OzdcbmS_-AYzvsnzoj0J-NxUptcbJ9n7CSomJYiWulT-p5o9JKmZWJqTvtIVWe_9JLkTFdeuzJaEnfgUo/s1600/pinkclose1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIz7IPeiXkhfu3gYQEiyi0oKrlgO0dsclsHenZe3zlGaSS9jJpWR7sqJTvr5OzdcbmS_-AYzvsnzoj0J-NxUptcbJ9n7CSomJYiWulT-p5o9JKmZWJqTvtIVWe_9JLkTFdeuzJaEnfgUo/s320/pinkclose1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The truth is, cancer and treatment is horrible and destructive and painful. Why they feel the need to pretty it up is beyond irritating. Pink makes people feel better about something scary, and I guess that's why it works so well to sell products and raise money. Hopefully some of that money will aid a breast cancer patient in need or go toward curing cancer, which are noble causes. However, you won't find me wearing a pink tutu or waving pom-poms. If you want to know what if feels like, think of being stabbed, poisoned, cut and burned, repeatedly....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Something to consider.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-36086639603849798662017-08-27T20:35:00.000-07:002017-08-27T20:39:38.442-07:00When the cancer comes back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk9ZwtMwHPXQXL2qG0_SKNYPdKMM4SSmi4soCs7souff19Co4I2VI3oEMO2QNXKHgkNk3sbBhZClvJBFPHpLF20V5jWauopNmafinvmpaER21erXJtnAmhQ-szvYQZAQHURuBAuVH2bs/s1600/yellowtulip.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk9ZwtMwHPXQXL2qG0_SKNYPdKMM4SSmi4soCs7souff19Co4I2VI3oEMO2QNXKHgkNk3sbBhZClvJBFPHpLF20V5jWauopNmafinvmpaER21erXJtnAmhQ-szvYQZAQHURuBAuVH2bs/s400/yellowtulip.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div align="justify">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify">
I know that I haven’t gone into detail about the first year of my breast cancer experience. As time goes on I may write more about it, but for now I would like to share about when I found out that the cancer had come back. I had been through a full year of treatments for stage three breast cancer. Tired and burned out physically and emotionally, I put a stop on all treatments. My body needed to rest and I needed a break from the constant doctor visits. A few months of peace and relative calm went by. I had time to work on my art and enjoy life with my husband. In November I saw my surgeon for a check up and also had a mammogram that day, which turned out to be fine. Around Christmas I started to feel some lumpiness in lymph nodes near mastectomy site, told myself it was scar tissue. It continued to get somewhat bigger over the next four months with a couple of strange bumps in my pectoral muscles. I was a little concerned but put it out of my mind that it could possibly be a recurrence of cancer. One morning in late April I was lying in bed and reached up to rub my neck when I felt a lump near my collar bone. That was it, I knew that could not be good and immediately made an appointment to see the doctor. He examined me and let me know that if it was a recurrence of breast cancer that it was probably not good news. Given that I also had some swelling in my right armpit lymph node it probably meant that I was now stage four....incurable.<br />
He ordered a PET scan, some chest x-rays and blood work. Five days later I had the pet scan and three days later went by myself to pick up the results at the Imaging center. It was a blustery spring day in early May and I gripped the manila envelope tightly as I walked to my car. Sitting in my car I hesitated to open the envelope for a minute or so. Whatever it said, I would handle the news with calm and resolve. Finally I opened it and scanned the report for the findings. It wasn't good news; I had "widespread disease" in many lymph nodes in my mastectomy site and chest going up toward my collarbone. The quiet is what I remember about that moment. No tears, just quiet and a resolve to fight on and live. I knew what lay ahead having been through it before and it wasn't going to be easy. I thought of all of the things that I didn't get done in the last year. I had only had about six "good" months from the last cancer "battle". I should have done more art, and eaten out, seen friends, gone shopping, gone to museums…the list goes on….Now most of those fun things would be put on hold, AGAIN, as we dealt with the day to day survival of cancer and the brutal treatments. I put the paper back in the envelope and drove home. That was enough drama for one day, tomorrow the "fight" would begin again. <br />
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-84385314710850171442017-08-20T14:27:00.000-07:002017-09-03T16:06:59.434-07:00Good News and More Surgery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUdT8TUMC5nkyQItQ1VZCvaPHCp991DvvIb0dY3IkrYDEqtHruqRvDWUazr0QXSA48FQ0NFU0dvNDA-hLrjcaA5XEs6b9CrN68D51pzTA9fHuux0v31ZYNw_ldUtkbn-N1I9IoPFJMFw/s1600/field1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="900" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUdT8TUMC5nkyQItQ1VZCvaPHCp991DvvIb0dY3IkrYDEqtHruqRvDWUazr0QXSA48FQ0NFU0dvNDA-hLrjcaA5XEs6b9CrN68D51pzTA9fHuux0v31ZYNw_ldUtkbn-N1I9IoPFJMFw/s400/field1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
MRI results came back, and I have a fine brain...yeah! No evidence of cancer metastasis. I had my port removal surgery and am healing from it. That port was causing problems so it had to go. The rest of my treatments will be given through a vein in my arm. I'm still sort of worried about how much more chemo I can take as the cumulative effects pile up. Feeling pretty good but that will change once the poison is back in my system. Now it's time to enjoy a walk and smell the flowers.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-83491634860350210652017-08-20T14:02:00.001-07:002017-09-03T16:09:03.692-07:00Brain MRI<div align="center">
</div>
I spent the afternoon getting a brain MRI. If
you have never had one of these procedures, I will describe some of it. They
lay you on a table, fit ear protection on you, lock your head down in a hockey
mask immobilizer, and then move you into the machine for the scan. An injection
of contrast is given halfway through. Mine took about thirty minutes but it
felt like hours as it's soooooo loud and uncomfortable. I have to zen it out
and do some serious inner strength stuff to get through it. Whatever they may
see on the scans can wait until I see my doctor at the next appointment. Momma
needs an evening off to just chill. Love you guys, take care of yourselves. You
only get one chance at this thing called life.
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-27463933269804062832017-08-20T13:46:00.001-07:002017-09-03T16:09:57.842-07:00Chemo Day Experience<div align="center">
</div>
Treatment for breast cancer is a rough road. I
have finished round six of chemotherapy (twenty two total rounds since this "adventure" began two years ago). Here’s a small taste of what the
experience is like. First, it always seems to take at least three hours. Rush
around and get to the clinic on time. I check in and get an arm band, just like
you would if you checked into a hospital for a procedure. Wait around a little
then get called in to be weighed, then vitals taken and an RN comes in to
either access my port or place an IV in my arm. Since I didn’t want my port accessed
(that’s a whole other painful drama!) they put an IV into the vein in my right
wrist. I can’t use the left arm for blood draws or blood pressure due to
lymphedema risk. Everyone is different with how they feel pain, but let me tell
you that it HURT when that IV went in! It felt sort of like an ice pick getting
jammed in my arm. After it’s taped down a couple of vials of blood are drawn
and sent to the onsite lab. They always check how your blood levels are before
doing chemo. Doctor comes in and we talk and he checks me over, looks at my
blood results, and makes recommendations for future treatments. Then it’s off
to the “chemo lounge” for infusion. We walk in and I scan around looking for an
open chair. There are about ten lounge chairs that face each other around the
room in a circle. Everyone tries to respect each other’s privacy and space as
much as possible and eye contact is limited. I pick out a chair and Mr. gets a
small fold up chair and sits it next me, puts down our cooler with ice and
water, and bag of other “stuff” like music player, scarf whatever I can bring
to make the experience a little more comfortable. Nurse starts the IV of saline
and I get that awful smell taste from it, usually I remember to pop a Tic Tac
into my mouth which masks the taste a little. We wait about thirty minutes or
so for the chemo to get measured and mixed. My hand and wrist and arm are
aching from the IV and liquids going in. The nurse finally brings over the bag
of Abraxane and attaches it to my infusion line, first scanning my wrist band
and verifying my identity for safety. It takes about thirty minutes to an hour
to finish. The chemo has a milky white color to it and I try not to cry as the
poison snakes down the line toward my arm. At this point it’s critical that I
drink ice water and keep my mouth, hands, and head as cool as possible to ward
off the nasty burning sensations and keep the Abraxane from attacking my nerves
(toxic peripheral neuropathy). Even though I have a warm blanket on me, I am
usually shivering because, stress, cold infusion liquids, and drinking cold
water, etc. But I would rather be a little chilly during infusion than have
lots of pain later when I get home. I have my little mp3 player and headphones
to try and distract myself with music. It doesn’t usually help much. Trying to
keep my core warm, edges cool, and trying not to get nauseous. Back and forth
to the restroom a few times (which requires some major skills while wheeling an
IV pole). Finally the machine beeps that I’m done. IV is taken out (ouch
again), and we gather our stuff and head home feeling like crap. Then it's time
to rest, deal with pain and try to recover before going back again for another
round.
<br />
<div align="center">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183995020106619612.post-40171388467917223362017-08-19T19:36:00.001-07:002017-09-03T16:13:18.094-07:00The day my life changed<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
It was two years ago today that my life changed forever. I
had been having some pain in my breast off and on that summer and after several
weeks of hoping it would get better, the pain had increased and it was obvious
that I needed to make an appointment with the doctor. The first available time
was two weeks out, so more time to worry and think the worst.The day finally arrived and I reluctantly
went to the hospital. On the way there I
was thinking that if I had breast cancer, my life would never be the same. The rather young doctor, whom I had never met
before, asked me some questions and did a quick exam. He obviously saw the
redness and felt the now walnut sized lump in my breast. The look on his face
was enough for me. He recommended that I immediately go to radiology and get a
mammogram. A whirlwind of tests followed that day, including mammograms,
ultra-sound, and a VERY painful and rather gory core biopsy. Samples of my
tissue were sent to the lab and I was sent home with and ice pack and instructions
to follow up with the surgeon in a week for the test results. The following
week I sat on the exam table in another one of those funky hospital gowns,
wondering what the doc would say. He came in and was very kind and gracious,
but also direct with news that indeed it was breast cancer. Due to the size of the tumor it was considered
stage 3c invasive ductal carcinoma. We listened, asked questions and tried to take
in as much information as possible at that point. Although it was depressing, I was not that
shocked in finding it out. The task ahead was to try and eradicate the cancer,
and it was a daunting task. There were tests, a port surgery, massive chemo,
mastectomy surgery, radiation, medication and more. My body and very being went
through hell for a full year of treatments. I enjoyed some time as NED (no
evidence of disease), and then the cancer started to come back in my lymph
nodes. More doctors, more tests, more treatments, more surgery, more pain, more
lost time to fatigue. They have told me
that I will be living with breast cancer for the rest of my life. No one can
answer how long that will be. It has been a difficult experience, but I am
stronger for having gone through it. Hey, I’m still here and that is something.
Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful, and I cherish every day, even
with cancer.
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09298765859827794877noreply@blogger.com0