All Hail the Talisman

Finally some faaaaabulous news. After going to the gym in the morning and seeing my pulse soar to 170+ despite my morning Klonopin; then heading to Chad where he quieted my manic mind by telling me about the ancient, Chinese medicine philosophy behind disease recurrence, I felt ready to take in Dr. Schwartz's news.

I was a fashion disaster to start. None of my talismen exactly went together. BUT they worked!!!

The Cancer has spread no further than the lymph nodes in the neck and—BC ladies, get this shit—behind the sternum. Apparently, as far as Dr. Schwartz can hypothesize, these microscopic cells behind the sternum were lurkers kept in check by the Herceptin. Sooo, when I stopped the Herceptin, these lil' fuckers returned.

So this Tykerb, which is so new that had I been diagnosed now, is what I would've been on instead of Herceptin. In Schwartz's words—Tykerb is a "Super Herceptin." Meaning, this, along with Xeloda, should really kick ass, and Schwartz will know within two to three weeks of me being on the meds, how well they are working.

"So this was the best case scenario that we could've hoped for?" I asked Schwartz?

"In my opinion yes."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, I'm very relieved." And he was, you could tell. He's one of those rare doctors who sees patients as people, friends, humans. I cannot speak highly enough of him. And frankly, for those of you being treated in Miami, your idiots for not using him.

"I love you again! I screamed," a GI resident was tailing him, and she def wasn't prepared for the Greens.

After we grilled him and our moods turned from absolute fear to over-the-moon joy, I leaped off the table and gave him a big ol' bear hug, and mom took a photo with her iPhone—which she seems to think has supplanted her pricey Sony camera.


"Oh, boy, I know this photo going to end up all over the world, huh?" Schwartz joked.

"Hell yeah, but don't worry I always speak highly of you."

All's well that ends well. After that we headed home, texted and phoned the hundreds of friends waiting for the all clear. I decided a champagne picnic in the park would be the perfect ending to this day. We got some sheets, Wally, three bottles of Veuve and Perrier-Jouët and headed to the amazing South Pointe park.

Which was soooo lovely and amazing and beautiful at night that we are surely making it a weekly—or, according to Mr. Mike, nightly—ritual.

So the basic NY plan remains intact with only slight alteration. Schwartz says that if I stick around here for two months at the most that we can check the results here, make sure the drugs are working and then just be monitored at Sloan-Kettering.

All in all yesterday was indeed a great day. October 8th's a new lucky day.

"So what's happened on Oct. 8th to anyone?" I asked the South Pointe possee?

"My bar mitvah was on Oct. 8th!" Feldman exclaimed. Good enough for me.

Yoga, Bal Harbour and Michael's Genuine on today's calendar. And tomorrow Mom, Dad and I are heading to the Indy 300, with press passes in the pit. Life is beautiful again.