Rosh Post

Due to some complications from my surgery I spent a week at the Sibley Hospital Spa and Resort. You're probably imagining this was an unpleasant experience. You're right.

On our way home from the hospital Jason and I stopped at Whole Foods to pick up some traditional Rosh Hashannah food for dinner.  After everything that had happened during the last few days, suddenly the token raisin challah I bought as an afterthought at Trader Joe’s last week didn’t seem sufficient.

Both exhausted, we cleared off the dining room table, picked up the kitchen and began pulling together our dinner. For J, some brisket, matzoh ball soup and a salad. For me, fake chicken nuggets with honey and a latke with sour cream.  And, of course, the round raisin challah.  The one from Trader Joe’s had actually turned to stone, so we dove into the fresh one we picked up today. It's funny how a bite of food can be so familiar and comforting.  The cats were sentenced to an hour in the basement. Their crime? Loving brisket.

This is approximately my 35^th High Holiday Season. Some years I have been surrounded by my extended family, cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Other years I spent alone, too busy or disenchanted to observe the holidays.  Some years I invited my mostly non-Jewish friends to my home and served a Rosh Hashannah brisket or a Break Fast and explained the traditions to a mildly interested audience who were mostly concerned with the wine related aspects.  Yet tonight, sitting with J in our dining room eating reheated store bought Jewish soul food, was one of the greatest holiday nights in my memory.

I think it’s because I was able to appreciate this night for all of the future nights to come. Like a Kleenex commercial or a video for some hipster band (do music videos still exist?), I actually saw the rest of our life together flash before me in a montage.  I saw long tables crowded with plates, children, grandchildren, friends and neighbors gathered around celebrating together year after year.  I could hear my family shouting over each other to be heard as we have for generations and forks clanging against plates.

I saw a grey haired version of myself looking down this long table at a handsome older version of J, smiling at the family we had created. And that’s why he’s not allowed to burp at the table, even when it’s just the two of us.

But in all seriousness… I would like to thank all of you, our friends and family, neighbors and community who have supported our family during these difficult times.  Old friends and new have stood by us and even helped us to stand. If Lifetime made a movie about a woman and her two daughters all facing breast cancer at the same time, nobody would believe it was a real story.  But that’s our story right now.  And while I am often angry at what we are facing, tonight I am grateful. 

I am grateful for all of you. I am grateful that my sister has finished her chemo and is recovering from her surgery.  I am grateful that my mother has beaten cancer for the third time and faces just a few more procedures before she is finished with this difficult journey.  I am grateful that I am home in my own bed, infection free, preparing to meet with our fertility doctor in the morning so someday we can make that noisy family a reality.  And I am grateful that I can now shower without any special equipment, assistance or saran wrap.

I know I glossed over my hospital stay, and maybe I'll come back to that some day. For tonight I just wanted to say thank you.

May you all, Jew and gentile, have a sweet New Year.  And may we all look back on these as the tough times and be proud that we got through them.  

Maybe Baby

About two months ago my oncologist told us, in a not so gentle fashion, that we probably would not be able to have children. I'm not sure he would have mentioned it at all if I hadn't asked.  I found that particularly strange since every conversation we had ever had included my plans to have children.  His treatment plan is for me to start chemo, followed by radiation and then ten years of tamoxifen.  You can’t get pregnant during any of those treatments.  Further, it is likely that chemotherapy will make me infertile. 

He then suggested we freeze some eggs and implant them when the treatment is done.  That is, assuming I haven’t lost my uterus, because tamoxifen often causes uterine cancer.

Here’s an excerpt from that delightful conversation:

Me: My mother had cancer twice after following a tamoxifen treatment.

Dr. K: Well everyone’s different

Me: Not so far in my gene pool

Dr. K: Well there’s no 100% guarantee that any medication is going to work. 

Me: So I should wait until I’m 47 to try getting pregnant so I can undergo a treatment that has already failed the person who gave me half my DNA?

Blank stare. 

J: While we’re on the topic, how do we know if the chemo worked?

Dr. K: We won’t.

J: Excuse me?

Dr. K: We’ll only know if it didn’t work.  If she doesn’t get cancer again, we know she either wasn’t going to, or the chemo worked.  If she does get cancer, well then we know it didn’t work…Now I would love for you to spend some time today getting to know my nurses who will be providing your chemo treatment in the world’s most depressing room….

Me: We’re going home now.

SCENE

Okay, I may have paraphrased that last part, but seriously, a messy room with a semi-circle of old, tan, recliners where sick people sit and stare at each other?  No thanks.

This was one of the darkest moments we have faced since my initial diagnosis, maybe darker. It was like someone pulled the rug out from under us, knocked the wind out of us and a third thing all at once.  I was devastated. But you don’t get to take a break when all this is happening and it was trash night, so we had to rally.  Like everything else since this all began, we took a deep breath and figured out what we had to do next.

Enter Dr. S, or as he is known in our house, The Baby Fairy.  I don’t like to play favorites, but he’s one of my favorites.  Our first meeting with the fertility specialist and magical sprite did wonders for our spirits.  He made it seem anything was possible, like the Willy Wonka of fertility treatment.  The Baby Fairy even got a little sparkle in his eye when I said I was thinking of skipping tamoxifen until after we had kids.  He’s never had a patient do that before. I almost didn't mind what would be the first of an almost daily vaginal sonogram. Sound invasive? It sure is. 

My blood work came back and there was something that should be a .1 but mine was a .03.  That means while most ladies my age can make between 10-14 eggs to harvest, at best I’m making 1-5.  Even the Baby Fairy sounded discouraged.

Despite the diminished odds for success, we went forward with the treatments. Almost every morning for three weeks we got up and drove to Georgetown for my 9 AM blood donation and vaginal sonogram.  Who needs coffee?

Then finally it came time for the harvesting.  For a few nights, Jason gave me injections in my belly, but the last injection was reserved for my tush.  Just to make sure he got it right, the nurse drew an x on my butt that  morning.  Very dignified. As always, Jason was a real champ.  He took it all very seriously and did exactly as instructed.  When he realized a tiny drop remained in the vile, he shot me in the tush again. No mistakes on his watch.

Next there was a huge mix up with my bloodwork. It could be a whole separate entry, so we’ll skip it for now.

The next morning we arrived bright and early for the harvesting.  Every time I utter that phrase I feel like it’s the title to a horror story.  

I put on the gown and socks and the hair thing that makes me look like Toadette. They started the IV and wheeled me into the harvesting room. The Baby Fairy was there with some other people, really rocking out to an 80s station. 

“Bring me a higher love…scooch down…bring me a higher love, woah…legs in the stirrups…bring me a higher love…” And then I woke up.

Now there’s a side to this story I’m skipping, and some day, years from now, when he gets over the trauma, perhaps Jason will tell the world of his experience.  For now, we’ll all just politely pretend that part didn’t happen.

As I mentioned before, I’m not so great at making eggs, despite the fact I make a killer brunch.  Hey Oh! So we weren’t surprised when we learned that they only harvested four eggs. Even more disappointing, after several daily egg updates, we learned that only one embryo had matured.

This was a strange place emotionally. On the one hand, after all the work and expense, one possible shot at a pregnancy seemed like a major let down.  At the same time, it is amazing to think that somewhere in a freezer, 8 tiny cells have the potential to become a little Jason/Becky some day.   Our maybe baby.

Now don’t get me wrong. I haven’t changed my position on choice.  This is totally different.  I don’t think of those cells as a person.  I do however think of those cells as the astounding possibility that Jason and I could someday bring a life into this world. It is the potential that fills me with awe.   

I know what you’re thinking. Becky, you and your family have such good luck, you’ll probably be fine with that one embryo.  Well we’ve decided to hedge our bets and do another round of fertility treatment before starting my chemotherapy.

I would like to give a quick shout out to two groups that made this possible for us. Despite what you may think of Lance Armstrong,  Live Strong is an amazing organization that has helped so many people. A part of Live Strong called Fertile Hope helps couples like us, facing fertility issues related to cancer.  They worked with our doctor to cut the cost of our treatment in half.

The other organization I want to mention is the Walgreen’s Specialty Pharmacy which provided all of the fertility medications for free.  Without Fertile Hope and Walgreen’s, we would not have been able to afford this process, and definitely not twice.  

So that brings you up to speed on one of the major events since my last post.  We have started the second cycle and hopefully Dr. S will take what we learned from last time to improve our odds for this cycle.  I’ll post on facebook when we prepare for the next harvest so you can all make sacrifices to your various fertility gods.

Next time…my new favorite vacation resort, Sibley Memorial.