Diary of A DreamGirl 2007

As I mentioned earlier, after I went public with my diagnosis, breast cancer victims/veterans came out of the woodwork. From them I learned that this network or sorority of ours provides the unsolicited service of comfort and the passing on of information to newly diagnosed sisters. As our wedding approached I decided to become even more public with my story in an effort to inspire other cancer victims and chemo patients to get on with their lives as best as they possibly could. So, we contacted the New York Times, who shared our story in the Sunday Vows column.
(to view the column, please click here)

The feature ran on July 2, 2006, and words cannot describe the outpouring of support and thanks I received. I heard from old friends (try second grade best friend) and made new ones. Many of my new friends were also in treatment and we formed an informal support group. I got a card from a farmer in Wisconsin and former fellow colleagues. I felt like a celebrity in breast cancer circles, even being "sighted" and recognized in the oncologist’s office. I donated my wedding dress to Brides Against Breast Cancer, which sells new and "slightly" used (only worn once!) bridal gowns to raise money for terminally ill cancer patients. The young woman who bought my dress may be profiled in an upcoming bridal story in People magazine. It is never too late to become a poster child, or Dream Girl, I found out.

My chemotherapy is now ten months behind me, and I attended a LGFB session a few weeks back to do some cheerleading. Dr. Oratz told me it takes about a year for the chemo to wear off and for your body to repair itself. It has been a long hard road but I feel better every day. Hair and energy have returned, and my husband keeps saying to me, "Uh oh...she’s back!"

Thank You, Look Good...Feel Better for helping me become a confident, radiant, bride; and to continue, throughout my treatment, to live and work in the land of the healthy!

My wedding day was like a dream come true. My one little wrinkle was the wig, which I asked my best friend to transport to the wedding after a wash and blow dry (it is nice that you can get your wig washed without even being there!). The wig fell over in the shopping bag (yes, I was too cheap to invest in a wig box) and one side was completely mashed after falling over and staying that way for a couple of hours in a hot trunk. I guess Rick heard the utter fear in my voicemail message, and he left me a return voice mail saying "DO NOT FREAK OUT. I DO HAIR TOO. EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE."

Everything was more than fine. It was perfect. I felt, and looked more beautiful than I had in years (forget about months) and had the time of my life at my wedding. I danced the day away with my Ed, who kept saying "Shouldn’t you sit down and rest now?" What I didn’t realize until the wedding was over (and chemo wasn’t), was just how wonderful it was to have this happy, fun, life event to focus on and what a catalyst it was to plow through the first half, and clearly the most physically challenging part of my treatment. And did I tell you where I "registered" for wedding gifts? With every breast cancer fundraising organization there is. A day didn’t go by during treatment where I didn’t think about women with lost wages or jobs, no health care, no wigs, no help with raising young children or taking care of aging parents. How lucky was I?

I think all relationships are tested at some point; ours was tested early and passed with flying colors! My husband’s devotion to my well being, health, and care continue to amaze me every day. He is my rock, and my kids were fantastic and supportive too. They really tried to behave when I was at my worst; and I in turn tried to be there for all the school events, performances, and graduations. The message to them was clear; you can overcome obstacles and challenges by being resilient. I would try as hard as possible to maintain the household routine, and even seeing me fail on occasion was an important lesson for them too. Getting out of walking the dog was one of the best side benefits of chemo!

Is an amazing and transformational organization. They offer group sessions to women undergoing chemotherapy at hospitals around the country, and to individuals like me, preparing for a special event. In the group sessions, participating cosmetic companies provide patients with all the products they will need to look better, and there isn’t a woman I know who doesn’t want more, and better, cosmetic products (its like my kids with candy), especially during treatment.

Fortunately, I knew about Look Good...Feel Better and called. I was put in contact with Rick DiCecca, a premier makeup artist for the Estee Lauder Corporation who also donates his time to LGFB. Rick and I met after my third chemotherapy treatment and he did a trial run for my wedding at the Estee Lauder counter at Bergdorf Goodman. My skin was dry and discolored from chemotherapy, and I felt like I had aged 10 years in two months. However, I can not put into words how emotionally uplifting it was to be out and about and being made—up at the counter like everyone else in the land of the healthy. Rick transformed me into a "BC" (before cancer) Jayne, and I started to gain confidence that I could walk down the aisle confident and radiant. I did not know whether to kiss him or cry, so I did both.

As you become a veteran in your battle to reclaim yourself and your health, you learn that it takes an increasing amount of mental and physical strength to overcome the medicine. As many of you know or quickly learned, chemotherapy is designed to kill the cancer cell cells as well as any "sleeper" cells that may reemerge later. The only problem is that they also attack good cells. Each dose you take kills more innocent victim cells. After your second dose, you learn first hand what "cumulative effect" means. The exhaustion and nausea increased and "the bounce back" took longer with each dosage. I was not prepared for that after dose two but quickly became a battle hardened veteran. That is when I learned that for me, there was a strong connection between looking good and feeling better. As sick as I felt, I wanted to try to look like myself and live in the land of the healthy. For me, it made a huge difference.

Of course, the first physical sign of the chemo was the hair loss, which was traumatic. At my doctor’s suggestion, I had my head shaved after the second chemo treatment so I did not have to go through the experience of watching it fall out in clumps. I bought a couple of wigs. One that looked like my hair and one cut and colored differently (hey, I can always use it in Vegas). I prepared myself (and my staff) by posting a picture of my bald husband in my wig on the office bulletin board. After all, my hair would grow back and his would not, and the wigs were actually nicer (and tamer) hair than my own. My staff took supportive to the next level; three associates (including my assistant, Soon Park) cut off their hair and donated 10 inches in my "honor" to Locks of Love. I cannot tell you how loved it made me feel. I also bought a hair band with only bangs in the front and wisps of hair in the back; it was great to wear under a hat during the summer and on the beach (surprise: wigs are hot as hell!). The family member with the most violent reaction to my baldness was our Westie, Spanky. When I got home from work and removed my wig for the first time, he looked at me, cocked his head and proceeded to vomit on the bedroom rug.

I took to wearing my late father’s WWII dog tags every day; it felt great to have the metal next to my heart and made me feel his presence during my own battle. He often told me how scared for his life he was during WWII where he served in General Patton’s army...if he survived that, how could I possibly not get through four months of chemotherapy? If there was a day I could not wear the tags (i.e. surgery), then Ed kept them in his pocket for me. I remember the breast surgeon asking me in the hospital if I was wearing a new hospital ID tag. I said, no...just my good luck charm, my father’s dog tags. I thought often about his strength, resilience, and sense of humor to get through this most difficult time.

It was all so surreal and things were moving fast. On the Thursday night of the diagnosis, my husband—to—be and I went online and read everything we could find on breast cancer. We had one evening to become so—called "instant experts." I met with the breast surgeon again the next day after leaving the radiologist office. The speed at which I received my diagnosis must be some type of record, Friday, March 10th. He said the tumor was about 1.5 CM, and due to its location, would require a total mastectomy. The other breast was fine, but I found out quickly that many chose to remove both regardless. I quickly decided that for me, one was better than none, but I wanted the cancer OUT NOW. Yes folks, no second, third, or fourth opinion for me, no more time for this tumor to grow any larger. My surgery and treatment, ACT, was what has been referred to as "boiler plate" for my diagnosis. I decided that what had aided me in business would come to the rescue now...ACT IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT PROCRASTINATE OR DELAY THE INEVITABLE. GET IT DONE, GET IT OUT! So I scheduled my surgery for the following Friday, St. Patrick’s Day, March 17, 2006. Diagnosis: Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, Stage 1, size 1.5 CM, Negative Lymph node involvement and hormonal receptors.

I also did not spend a lot of time thinking about my career and what the cancer diagnosis would do to it. I wear my heart (and life) on my sleeve, so I did what I thought everyone must do. I came "out" to my boss while in the mammography clinic. What, wait until Monday to tell him? I knew that everyone’s support, in both my nuclear and work family, would be critical to my recovery. In an appearance—oriented business, where a pimple is noticed (yes, Hearst Magazines is 75% female), my therapy would not be easily hidden. There was no denial on my part; I knew in my gut that chemotherapy would be necessary.

And then there was my staff. I decided the best way to handle this challenge was the same way I have handled others, bluntly and with humor. I wanted to control the dialogue, not let "whisper down the lane" occur. I figured that if I did not tell them my own story, by the time it got repeated to the last person on my staff, I would have a terminal prognosis, which was not the case. So, I called the team into the conference room, and of course, they all felt a sense of relief when they realized that I was not leaving. My news was split into good and bad.

The bad news, of course, was that I needed to have a mastectomy and chemotherapy...and the good news was that my prognosis was excellent. I enlisted their help...both personally and professionally. I explained that my travel would be curtailed during treatment and that I probably would not be able to keep my frenetic schedule. I urged them to get sonograms as well as a mammography. I told them Ed was so proud he found the lump and he had offered to do breast exams on any female staff members "free of charge". Then a male staff member said he felt something unusual in his prostate; would Ed be willing to check that as well?? I know this sounds a little "un—PC", but the laughter helped balance the seriousness of my words.

Next, the underground of survivors began to emerge. Women in my office, clients, acquaintances, all came forward to show their support (and share their stories) after my very public announcement. How did I not know they were survivors until now? I vowed to serve as a role model, so people around me would use me as a cancer resource.

I loved my oncologist, Dr Ruth Oratz, from the moment I met her. She was warm, funny; with a small, feminine "boutique" like office (I love personal attention). Ed told me he knew I would hire her when she complemented me on my hair and asked where I got it done. When I told her proudly that my wedding invitations had arrived the night before my mastectomy and that I would move forward and focus on this happy occasion, she offered some advice. First, she gave me an extra week "off" after my fourth treatment (so that I would feel as good as possible at my June wedding). Then she said, "The A and the C are the atom bombs of chemotherapy. You will need to find a great makeup artist for your wedding, because you are NOT going to be at your prettiest." All I could think about was walking down the aisle looking like the bride of Frankenstein. That is when Look Good...Feel Better popped into my head. I felt so fortunate that I knew about this fantastic organization through Personal Care Products Council, and all the public service work that Hearst Magazines and others have done promoting them to women across the country.

So I took one week off after my mastectomy...I might have gone back sooner but I had a drain attached to my body. I started chemotherapy three weeks after that, and decided I would focus on keeping my routine. I figured that for myself, as well as for the sake of my husband and two children, getting up, getting dressed and trying to live life with the healthy would make me better faster. Moreover, I believe it worked. I tried to go into work later and leave earlier, but I was not always successful. My oncologist insisted that I have a port "installed" (to administer the chemo into my body), and I requested it be placed on my chest where it would not be spotted as I walked down the aisle. I referred to my port as a "hands free" device, which allowed me to fill my HOURS of chemotherapy with productive work. My office associates came to dread my chemotherapy sessions. "How long is this one", they would ask. It is amazing how much work you can be done when you are not interrupted for four to five hours.

So I returned to New York City, where I reside, and called my gynecologist on Monday, asking for a referral to a breast specialist. I arrived at NYU medical center first thing on Thursday morning for an appointment...by myself. Again, I was in denial and told my future husband that there was no reason to worry, or accompany me, that in fact maybe I should talk to a psychologist of some sort. The pain was all in my mind.

Dr Daniel Roses, Director of Surgical Oncology at NYU Hospital said the word of the day immediately, "SUSPICIOUS". This feels "SUSPICIOUS". Are you too busy to go to Murray Hill Mammography IMMEDIATELY? Suddenly, my calendar was cleared for the day.

At the mammography clinic, I was whisked in for all the necessary tests; and the "S" word was repeated throughout my day there. I knew the diagnosis immediately when I looked into the eyes of Dr. Hadar, as she completed the sonogram. The biopsy would of course change the "S" word into the "C" word. The only question unanswered that day, were the "S" spots on the other breast cancerous as well. I had to come back the next day to ultimately find out that I only had cancer in one breast.

Denial
Now call me an optimist, but when my now husband told me he felt a lump, I dismissed him. I felt great. How could there possibly be something there when I had a "clean" mammography eight months earlier? Later I would learn that only 60% of cancers are found through mammography, and that dense breasts were much more likely to give false test results. No one had suggested a sonogram in addition to my mammography, maybe because I had no family history of the disease. Whatever the cause of my false sense of security, I look back and feel that my brain must have been as dense as my breasts.

So, I ignored, denied, and did what I always do to get my mind off anything slightly unpleasant; I focused on my work. I was heading to the annual Personal Care Products Council annual meeting in early March of 2006, and had to prepare for almost twenty individual meetings with beauty clients. My job as the VP, Publisher of Seventeen Magazine clearly keeps me out of trouble and is all-encompassing; I had no time to worry about something like me having breast cancer much less to fit in a doctor䴜s appointment.

While I was at the Personal Care Products Council convention, I started having some shooting pains and suddenly I felt something hard and painful in my breast. Even then, I was in denial, thinking "Now I am turning into a hypochondriac!" Since Look Good...Feel Better (LGFB) is sponsored by the Personal Care Products Council, there is always a segment at the annual meeting which focuses on the organization, and its important work in helping women to look their best during chemotherapy. I skipped the session; little did I know then how soon I would be calling upon LGFB as I was drafted into this new army and a war I was not really prepared to fight. After all, I was invincible; healthy as a horse with a wedding to plan!

There I was, on top of the world. My children were thriving and happy, I was engaged to be married and work was going well. All signs were pointing in the direction of "Happily Ever After." We all know that on the roller coaster of life we will experience challenges, set backs and disappointments. However, I had always felt invincible; a cancer diagnosis, surgery, and chemotherapy were the biggest physical and emotional challenges of my life.