Treatment plan

12/4/13

I'd like to start by thanking everyone for all the wonderful messages of love and support -- they have really helped me get through the last three weeks.

A lot has happened since I've been wheels down in Chicago. We packed up my childhood home, moved into a new apartment in downtown Evanston, chose a treatment plan, hosted Thanksgiving, and my mom has completed two chemo sessions. To say I'm physically and emotionally exhausted does not even begin to explain my reality.

My mom decided to go with Rush University Medical Center because she felt a stronger connection to the medical team and she also thought the lead doctor was a bit more frank about her diagnosis. Since starting treatment, we have been amazed by the nursing staff and the overall quality of care that she has received.
After all her tests came back, it was revealed that she has late stage (stage IV) ovarian cancer with malignant pleural effusion (cancerous fluid build up in the chest cavity with a partially collapsed lung). A quick goggle search will reveal that we have quite a fight ahead of us -- and one we're prepared to give everything we've got.

The treatment plan is as follows: 9-weekly sessions of chemo, followed by surgery in mid-February, followed by 18-weeks of chemo. This takes us to early August, so this is truly a marathon. The first round of chemo uses a combination of the two most aggressive drugs available, so they are hitting her body hard. Our mind is focused on Dec. 23rd because this is the day when we'll find out if the chemo is working.

Since having her lungs drained for the second time, she has been pain-free, which is an absolute blessing. The side effects of chemo are difficult, but she is managing them quite well. Her hair has begun to thin and is expected to be gone by this weekend. It's amazing how attached we are to our hair without even knowing it, so we've been trying to mentally prepare for this change. My mom is taking everything in strides and I'm amazed by her calmness and strength.

I'm doing okay. I think the shock is slowly wearing off. It's amazing how quickly the mind and body switches into survival mode. I'm not at the point where I have good and bad days, it's still hour by hour -- I'll have a few good hours, followed by absolute devastation and sadness. I continue to wake up and hope this was all a bad dream...this cannot be my life. I'd be lying if I said it's getting easier, perhaps the better way to express it is that I'm beginning to accept the situation, but the reality of what is to come is still hard to digest. It is very much day by day here.

Please continue to keep us in your thoughts.