Tracie Fights Back

I’m racing to write this, trying to organize my thoughts on infusion day before chemo brain takes over. Yet I’m so stoked by today’s good news I don’t want to give in to the immediate lethargy that my double dose of chemo induces before I can tell you all about it.

“Your tumors are gone!” Dr. Robert Carlson, oncologist extraordinaire, doesn’t make proclamations lightly. This one came after long minutes spent palpitating my breast where my relatively large tumors once resided.

“What?!” “Really?” “Are you sure??” (Note to self, Dr. Carlson, who chaired the esteemed panel that wrote the U.S. breast cancer treatment protocols, knows when tumors are present and when they are not. He would not say they are gone if he were not sure.)

We knew this trial I’m in for women with HER2pos cancer was working when he had trouble finding the tumors two weeks ago. But that could have been a fluke, right? One wants to be hopeful in the fight against breast cancer without getting one’s hopes up. So much is unknown about all of this. I never even imagined it would be possible for my tumors to disappear entirely before I was even finished with the portion of the trial designed to kill them!

So what’s going on? For one thing, I have a great medical team and I’m in a trial that obviously is the right one for me.

My work with Lynn Arthur, who coaches me on diet and nutrition (eat alkaline foods!), performs my detoxes and reflexology and keeps me mentally focused on positive imagery is a big part of my success.

Why are some people successful in fighting cancer while others struggle fighting this disease with an 80 percent success rate? I’ve come to believe that the intangible is LOVE. Receiving love and giving love and you, my friends, are filling me with love. In turn, I love you all back like you cannot imagine. I’m convinced now that demon cancer cells cannot survive it. I’m overwhelmed with love for life, Michelle, me, my family, you friends, my doggies, my good days, the universe and the way it works like it’s supposed to. (If I had been diagnosed three years ago there was no cure, I didn’t have Michelle, and I didn’t have a great job with good benefits that allows me to have this cutting-edge treatment. How’s that for order?)

My brain is getting foggy. I’d like to be able to think of something profound to make of it as I’ve reached the halfway point in my chemotherapy treatment. I just can’t, and that’s a side effect of today’s infusion.

So I will just close by wishing you all LOVE. Pass it on.

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