AntSy

My mom is doing wonderfully! When I mentioned to my mom that I was going to blog today she told me to inform the blog world about her cat scan (standard protocol, basic check up). She had to gag down a very disgusting drink which would make her insides glow. When I asked her to tell me more about it she said, "Well, there was a very nice old couple in the waiting room..." In keeping my mom's wishes, I have informed ya'll about her cat scan and I will be certain to let everyone know its results once we know; however, since this is not all that interesting of a story on it's own, I thought I'd share with everyone my angst in waiting to hear back about my BRCA gene from UPMC.

So this past week the Spring semester began and because I happen to love school, it was a lot of fun. At school I live in a 6 bedroom house with 5 other girls whom I am very good friends with, making the whole going to school bit even more fun. Surprisingly, we all get along really well, like, 95% of the time! The house we live in, for those of you who do not know, is what I like to refer to as "Brady Bunch Chic." Let's just say that while it is a perfect home for six undergraduates with very miniscule incomes, it would need some serious overhauling should "real" adults ever want to buy it. In the 1960's this house would have been the cream of the crop, a top of line home with 6 full bedrooms, all with closets, three bathrooms, a massive basement, two fireplaces, and an inter-home speaker system, hard wood floors. All on a corner lot with an attached garage and fenced in backyard. But time has worn on and unfortunately, the previous owner's sense of paint color & standards of up keep were a far cry from substantial. The windows are old and drafty, the roof will need replaced in the next year or two, the toilets are so wide that I think Richard Simons could do aerobics on the lid, the water pressure is sub-par and for the better part of the first semester, a raccoon --whom we affectionately named Ricardo-- was nesting in the attic.

So there I was earlier this week, laying in my full sized bed in my hot pink room unable to fall asleep at the Brady Bunch house. I began to think that perhaps I should bust out my Kindle and get in some reading. I turn on my hot pink bedside lamp which is placed on my great-grandmother's white bedside table. I begin to read. Every few chapters I look at the clock, surprised I am unable to sleep still. And then out of the corner of my eye, I spot something black on my Barbie-Dream-House-pink painted walls. I tell myself to remain calm but that plan may as well been flushed down our poorly plumbed toilets because within seconds I was on my feet screaming and jumping. What I had spotted inching around my room was an ant. In the middle of January. WHAT THE!?!

For anyone who might know me personally, I am two things, both of which make this situation even more wild than it seems: 1.) a neat freak and 2.) terrified of anything that spans from the insect way of life.

I immediately move my entire bed, bed side table, lamp and everything else remotely close to the ant as far away as I can. I spray an entire can of Raid on the wall. And the ant dies. Thank God.

My 8 am teaching class the next morning came in a hurry, needless to say. I thought for sure that the minute my day was complete I'd be able to relax and go to bed early. But instead, I found myself (on the other side of my room than the initial intruder) and staring up at my ceiling. Was I still worried about that ant? Yes. But more so, I realized that my mind was not really all that focused on the ant(s) that (most likely) was/were marching in two by two through my window. Rather, I was thinking about whether or not my BRCA gene was going to come back positive or not.

All week I have been patiently awaiting the phone call from Darcy the geneticist at UPMC who counseled me prior to my decision to be screened for the BRCA gene mutation. Within the next few days I will know whether I too carry the gene. So this is a very long winded and round about way to say that I blame cancer for making me spot an ant in my room and basically convulse with fear and spray massive amounts of toxins on my bedroom window.

In a way, the ant and cancer have a lot in common: neither are welcome in any home of mine, they cause me to lose sleep and have a lot of anxiety but while they are there you have to stay strong until you can beat the living snot out of them with powerful chemicals.

Yes, I just compared ants and cancer. This is a result of 108 credits of English courses.

Brohas

For the past 18+ years there have been these two, smelly hooligans living across the hall from me. If you haven't heard, their names are Zach and Andrew and to this day my parents claim that they are my brothers. Okay, obviously they are my brothers-- one look at them and it is easy to see we are related.

In the picture above they are cute and silly. But don't let them fool you, they are now (basically, kind of) adults and no longer resemble the two lil' nuggets in the picture you see here. Rather, one is a freshman in college and the other is a senior in high school. Their main interests are listening to music with "mad bass" and spending their time watching Will Farrell movies or hockey games. They speak in tongues or what my dad likes to refer to as "cave man talk." For example I might say, "Andrew, how was your day?" and his response will be, "mm k" (which apparently means OK). Zach, on the other hand, has recently grown past his cave man speaking days and not only speaks in full out sentences but almost enjoys conversing!


Growing up I have always adored having two lil' schmucks around. They are good company and prior (and post) to their cave man talking phases, they are rather funny. I have always taken great pride in telling everyone how talented they are at hockey, how smart they can be at school and how they can be such good people. On top of all of that, I love them to pieces.

What is some what ironic is how the three of us have so much in common but we are still very different. While we are all hard workers and love sports, I am the most outgoing. Zach and Andrew are both really funny, but Andrew is much more outspoken and Zach is very shy at first. Andrew is so easy going, we have to check him for a pulse from time to time, where as Zach and I are much less easy going. I am some what of a neat freak but neither of the boys could care less about being neat. So it makes perfect sense that when mom and dad sat us down to tell the three of us that mom had cancer, we all reacted in different ways.

I immediately got emotional and didn't take the time to absorb anything they said other than 'mom has cancer.' Zach was inquisitive, asking questions that would help him put the pieces together more clearly. In fact, Zach was all bent out of shape that his ovaries had cancer too... until he realized what he said and then laughed hysterically. Nothing like lightening the mood. Ha ha! And Andrew was silent- completely silent.

As time went on and we all had our time to digest what had happened, we came to terms with it and we were all there to support mom. I'd venture to say that whole ordeal has made the three of us much more close, and I have to admit that I love that.

Eventually, we found out that mom's cancer was caused due to the BRCA gene that can be passed from generation to generation in families. As I detailed in my last post, I had to go for a handful of tests because I am considered high risk. What I failed to mention is that Zach and Andrew are both high risk for having the BRCA gene as well, even though they are boys. That being said, they too will have to be tested for the gene mutation but are not required to do so until they are 40 years old. Apparently, in men it is far less likely that they will have the particular gene mutation that runs in my family and even if they do, it won't be until they are middle-aged that this gene will (most likely) make a difference! Zach and Andrew would be high risk for things such as prostate, pancreatic or breast cancer.

So, lucky for them, when I came home from Pittsburgh after having passed out and lost sleep over potential prodding, I inform my brothers that they have to get their blood work done too but not until they are 40. They both roll their eyes and laugh when they hear how I passed out when they were taking my blood. For good measure I threw in the details about their having to have a prostate exam when they do reach the big 4-0. Neither of them reacted. So I ask them, "are you aware of how a prostate exam is conducted?" Both look at me with blank stares, which most likely indicated that they were not even listening. I give them a detailed explanation to which their response was turning up the TV louder. Regardless though, TV at decibel 100 or not, it is a relief to know that both Zach and Andrew will also be monitored for the BRCA gene.

Wigless Woman

My mother has always had awesome hair. To the right is a picture of her before she was diagnosed with cancer, still sporting her famous blonde locks in a photo just before the boys went to Homecoming in Fall of 2009(Andrew on the left, Zach on the right).

In March of 2010 mom got diagnosed with stage 3C Ovarian Cancer. Since May 2010 mom has been sporting a wig, albeit this wig had a striking resemblance to the style which she had prior to her diagnosis--it was still a wig. It was constantly causing her grief: was it on straight? Was she sporting a comb-over? Was her hairline receding without her knowing? Was the back of it sticking straight out? Would the wind whip it off? With removable hair any combo of these scenarios was completely possible. Between Dad, Zach, Andrew, Grandma and myself we were able to keep mom's wig in place, the part where it should be, hair line naturally placed and the back of it laying flat. Below is a picture of Mom and Dad at lunch in June 2010, mom sporting her wig. Pretty dang close to her real hair style, but still not the same.As the chemo continued to take her hair, she continued to (grudgingly) sport the wig. For about 6 months, day in and day out, mom would wear her wig (which she hated) because she felt it made her look like less of a cancer patient.

It is here where I must digress. I no longer feel terrible when I wake up to hair looking like that of Cruella Deville, styled by Edward Scissor Hands. Rather, I just thank God that I have hair poking out of my head. I remind myself of the day I shaved the last of my mother's hair off in May, as it was all falling out anyways-- I think to myself, "Danielle, you may have dark, nasty roots projecting out of your scalp, but at least you have hair that is healthy and growing. (And supposedly dark roots are in, whatever E! News?! When does having undergrowth 12 shades darker than your "natural" hair color resemble anything that can be classified as trendy or, "so-Hollywood?") I often think back to the times when my mom didn't have a speck of hair on her body and yet she was not complaining... even when her wig would slip around on her lil' head and her part would land somewhere in the center on her scalp causing her to resemble a youthful Farrah Faucett.

Monday marked the first day where mom sported a wigless look out in public. And it got rave reviews. Although some of her students did not seem to realize that it was even her until she told them it was her. (Kids, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and if you don't eat it, you will not be energized enough to recognize your teacher--whom you've had for 2+ years.) To the left is her picture with her most recent new 'do which is the perfect frame for her beautiful face. It took a lot of courage for her to whip off the wig for good, march down the halls of HC High School and teach a full day of classes without her "hair." Especially considering that most high school students are very very honest people. But everyone was more than complimentary about her new look (and how could they not be?!) making her adjustment back to a life with "real" hair that much easier.

I'd have to say that seeing mom lose her hair was not easy, but watching it grow back in has been more than fun. Every couple of days/weeks we get to try out a new style!

Getting Past the Prodding

Yesterday was my dreaded high risk screening at the Hillman Cancer Center in Pittsburgh, PA. My appointment was scheduled for 11am, so by 8am mom and I were out the door and on our way to the 'Burgh.

Being that it is January, we were getting hit with a bit of snow so our truck down 79S was a lil' more blustery than usual. After 2.5 hours and finally convincing my mother to put the cruise above 55mph, we had made it to the city. The GPS is bellowing in our face to TURN LEFT IN 300 FEET! My mother immediately whips the car left as I am yelling that we are not supposed to be turning for 300 more feet. We veer right. We pull into the exit of the Hillman Cancer Center because my mom seemed to have missed the entrance. The valet parking dude was trying to keep a straight face as we get out of the car.

11am on the dot rolls around and Carmen, the nurse, calls me back. Mom and I get up and head down the hallway, following Carmen. She directs us into this little room with a table, four chairs, computer and a ton of filing cabinets. At this point I am a nervous wreck because I am under the impression that very soon I will move rooms and undergo the ovarian sonogram which entails a probe. And as far as I knew I was also scheduled for a mammogram. Just as I begin to break into a cold sweat there is a knock at the door, in enters Darcy, the Genetic Counselor. Darcy introduces herself and begins detailing for us what it means to be high risk as well as how the BRCA (the cancer gene which runs in my family) can be passed from generation to generation. So far my mom, one of my mom's cousins, my grandma, both of my grandma's sisters, and my great grandma have tested positive for the BRCA gene. After about an hour with Darcy, mom and I spend an hour discussing with the Dr. Zorn (an Ovarian and Breast Cancer Oncologist) all of my options: do I want to be tested for the BRCA gene? Do I not want to know if I have the gene? If I do get tested, and I am positive, what will I have to do? But the best news of all is that I am too young to be probed or mammogrammed, even being high risk! WOOO!!! Apparently, I have to be 25 to undergo probing. AMEN.

I decide that I want to get the BRCA gene test done. I want to be as proactive as possible. All I have to do is give 8 viles of blood and the hospital will send them off to be tested in Utah, the exact place where my mom had her's examined. Because my mom's BRCA gene is located in her DNA at cell number 3248, that is where mine would also be located, should I too carry the gene. Wild stuff.

I get moved to another room and a very small lady comes in to draw my blood. Small lady and I begin to chat as she is tying a rubber band around my arm. When she goes to swab the butt-crack of my arm (inner-elbow) with rubbing alcohol I inform her that I used self-tanner and it may come off orange. It does. We begin to chat about tanning and how it is so terrible, which is why I love self-tanner so much. She agrees. Next thing you know, we are already 5 viles deep. However, this is where it begins to get interesting. I start to feel very strange. Small lady keeps asking me if I feel okay-- I lie and say "yes, small lady." Then on vile 6 I fall out of my chair and onto the floor. Small lady (somehow) pulls me up onto the table/bed in the room. I open my eyes, small lady is very concerned that I just passed out. I tell her not to worry. Once we finish collecting the rest of the viles of blood, I am determined to get the heck out the hospital. I tell her I am ready to go, she cautions me that I should wait a bit longer to leave. I don't listen.

I go out to the waiting room where I find my mother. Mom takes one look at me and says, "Danielle, are you okay?" I lie again. "Yes." Apparently at this point my skin was basically opaque and my lips were white. We venture to the elevator where I ask my mom if should would be so kind as to hold my purse. Within seconds my head falls back and I am on the floor of the elevator. Thankfully there was a nurse in the elevator with my mom and I. Nurse lady and mom drag me off the elevator and into a chair. I have no recollection of this. When I finally wake back up there is nurse lady standing on one side of me and mom on the other. These two are rubbing wet wash cloth on my face to which my response apparently was, "be careful not to mess up my self-tanner!"

Mom manages to get me into the car and we stop at Panera for lunch. I almost pass out in the bathroom but don't. After lunch I am finally feeling back to myself, which I think was a relief for mom because I really don't think she should have been trying to drag her 22 year old daughter around in her arms.

All goes well from there and we even did a little shopping on the way home.

In two weeks I will know if I do or do not carry the BRCA gene. If I do not I will go about my life like a regular person. Should I carry the gene then I will have to get probed (dang) and mammogrammed (double dang) once a year, every year until I am 35, which is when I would have a full hysterectomy. After 35 I will still have to have a yearly mammogram. Also, I would have to get my children tested for the gene because they too would be at risk for having it. Crazy stuff, but it is amazing what medicine can do these days.

I will be sure to let everyone know how my BRCA test comes back!

Mutating Genes...

One would assume that being in remission brings about a great sense of relief. And it does. But throughout the course of my mother's run in with cancer, doctors have since discovered that the culprit of her cancer was a genetic mutation. Just like I've inherited her blonde hair and blue eyes, there is a great chance that I've been not-so-blessed with the cancer gene. The same rings true for both of my brothers-- putting them at a risk for prostate cancer as well as breast cancer.

Dr. Richard, my mother's oncologist, made it quite clear that it was most likely not a coincidence that her mother (my grandma) had had breast cancer, and that her aunt (my grandma's sister) had had ovarian cancer. Rather, he put in for our family to become the specimen of this mutating gene research. Unfortunately for us, this gene does not mutate giving us super-human powers like that of Spiderman. But in being tested for the gene and monitored for fluctuations, we do have the power to push cancer to the curb.

**Sidebar: both my Grandma and Great Aunt are still alive today as they both beat cancer.

Following my mother's diagnosis, several of my family members (both male and female) made the truck to Magees for genetic counseling. With the help of the amazing doctors there, several members of our family who are finished having children were able to prevent the onset of ovarian cancer by having a hysterectomy.

Obviously, I am not in any position to have my God-given child-bearing goods ripped out of me... after all, I fully intend to grace my parents with lil' grand babies some day. But because both my mother and grandmother were diagnosed with cancer at age 44, I am considered high risk. Oh joy!

Of course, I couldn't be diagnosed with an over-active metabolism and be sentenced to a life of eating dessert after every meal!! ha ha!!

Anyways, all of that being said, I am due for my scheduled "high risk screening" at the end of this week & quite frankly, I can't stand the thought of having my Barely-There-northern-lady-lumps smashed in by a mammogram, nor do I even want to consider how they will go about checking for ovarian cancer, cysts and other ques to cancer (well, actually I already know but- let's keep this PG).

However, according to my mother it is my "womanly duty" to be pro-active and get all of my female appendages reviewed extremely closely. I suppose this is a fair request, coming from the woman who just endured more pain and discomfort in a year than I have in my life time. Ugh. Regardless of my hatred for having to attend a year-womanly-exam and now the NEW added bonus of "High Risk Screening," I am well aware that the benefits of such... ehm... uncomfortable/awkward exams out-weigh the poking and prodding.

The moral of the story is, no matter how irritated I become with all of these lovely tests I have to endure, I am more than thankful to have my mother here & healthy. And, really, these tests only last a few minutes which will help me be around a life time and allow me to have healthy grand babies one day. And even better than that, my mom (and dad) are going to be around to watch them grow.

2010 Miracles

It is certainly no secret that 2010 was full of trials and tribulations for us--which makes it all the more desirable to celebrate the coming of 2011.

2010 was a roller coaster ride from the get-go. This time last year my Aunt Michelle and Uncle Scott were pregnant with their first child, Kian. We learned that their baby-to-be was at the hands of Spinabifida, a complication in their pregnancy, which basically means the baby's spine was exposed and therefore making his nerves exposed in the womb. Doctors cautioned us that Kian may never walk. Kian was born on February 2, 2010... the youngest Chase in our immediate family by 18 years. He was rushed into surgery immediately after birth to fuse his spine. Almost a year later, Kian has been defeating the odds everyday. He is crawling and well on his way to walking. Kian has baby-talked his way into our hearts this year. He has been more than a joy to get to know and he is just one example of the miracles we've been blessed to experience in 2010.

Shortly after Kian's arrival, which irnoically happened at Magees Women's Hospital, my family learned of my mother's Ovarian Cancer diagnosis. The irony here is in February we were celebrating Kian's birth on the second floor of Magees and on Easter, my family was back on the second floor spending time with my mother who had just had a full hysterectomy as well as the removal of her appendix, splean, uterus and a quarter size of her liver. From March until September we all watched my mother strongly endure chemo-therapy. It was a brutal several months, but on September 15th my mother was officially in remission! Another miracle our family has been lucky enough to experience.

While mom is still working through the druthers (soreness, exhaustion, trying to get her hair to grow back more quickly, etc.) of post-chemo irritants, she is happy and healthy and we are very relieved!

2010 was one crazy year for us, albeit full of miracles, we are anticipating 2011 to be much less... stressful?!

Happy New Year! Have fun & be safe!!!

Misc.

I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! We certainly did.

On Monday mom went down to Magees Women's Hospital for her 3 month check up, which was a success. All of her blood work along with her internal organs are squeeky clean and cancer free! Mom's only complaint was that she was required to be weighed in just two days after Christmas- which is certainly an unfair requirement considering all of the delightful food we induldged in this holiday. Oh, and she did seem slightly irritated that dad drove mach 90 the whole way to Pittsburgh.

Currently mom is taking a new post-chemo drug called Avastin via the Erie Cancer Center twice every month until September 2011. The only pit fall to this medicine is that it is causing mom to be extremely sore and achy. But according to her, she'd rather be achy, creaky and alive than six-feet-under. Touche.

Obviously we are elated with the news we've received about her health status and we are looking very forward to 2011!

A Very Merry Christmas Eve

First of all, Merry Christmas Eve!!! Today is especially emotional because there was a time in March when we did not know if mom would be with us this Christmas. But thanks to all of the doctors and nurses as well as the family & friends who showed their support, mom was able to kick cancer to the curb and be happy & healthy with us this Christmas. And it feel amazing.

Although mom may still be feeling the ramifications of having had such invasive chemotherapy, she is feeling better & looking wonderful! Her hair is still in the process of growing back in (more details on that fiasco in a later post...) and she finally is adorning some new healthy eye lashes too!

This morning it was so refreshing to see her beautiful face in the kitchen brewing up some Sauerkraut for this evenings Polish Festivities. Albeit, I do not enjoy ALL of the traditional foods that come with our families traditional Christmas Eve, which is called Wigilia, it's wonderful just to know that mom is here to share this holiday with us. *Sidebar: for those of you who are unfamiliar with Wigilia, you should just know that all of us Pollocks get together after mass & feast on traditional Polish food, each of which symbolizes a part of Jesus' life. While the visiting with family is wonderful & the homemade pierogis are arguably the most fabulous tasting combination of carbohydrates a girl could possibly imagine indulging in, it is the fried perch and sledjua (I have no idea how to spell it-- but it is basically fish in goop with scales) that turn me away from the buffet and on to the cookies. Oh dear.

Anyway, this holiday my family and are extremely blessed and thankful that God was willing give our family but specifically my mother the strength to beat cancer and therefore will be spending many more Christmas Eve's indulging in traditional Christmas feasts with all of us Pollski's! Wesolych Swia! Merry Christmas!!!

Just Because You're In Remission...

On September 15th, we were informed that my mom was officially in remission! And like anyone would assume, we were beyond elated. After the bout with Ovarian cancer, I think all five of us were ready to put the cancerous Spring and Summer behind us and delve back into our "regular lives."

Maybe we were just naive... Perhaps we were delusional... Or maybe we were (read as "are" because we still are) just optimistic, but I think that everyone here in the Chase homestead thought that on September 16th we would wake up to find my mom with her hair fully grown in and kickin' with the strength of that of 12 mules. As lovely as it was/is to know that my mom no longer has cancer living within her body, she is still living the repercussions of having been a host for such a terrible disease. That being said, her hair is not long and blonde and flowing-- yet. And no, she is not a ball of energy--yet.

See here is the deal: remission means no cancer. And no cancer is FABULOUS! However, it DOES NOT MEAN BACK TO NORMAL. So that being said, this here blog is going to be full of completely thrilling (I'm sure) stories about the Chase's (specifically mom) post-Ovarian cancer.