Apothecary

Thank you for stopping by the Apothecary! This is a good place to check if you want to stay up to date on my life and death battle with cancer. 

29 September 2026

Yesterday was my first chemo day. Braden and I prepped the night before. I made brownies and he made chocolate dipped strawberries for the chemo nurses. It’s what we used to do for them 15 years ago when I was fighting my first battle.

Then Braden readied two coolers and made us sandwiches to take since this facility only offers snacks, and we would be there for almost 8 hours. I prepped my bag with my cancer planner, positive coo, pocket cross, thin socks, freezer socks and mittens, headphones, a book to read, and my sweatshirt. It was so full I had to upsize my bag three times! We might need to get one of those beach buggies to carry in all our stuff!

In the morning we packed the coolers and last-minute bag stuff, kissed Olive goodbye (Mom checked on her all day), and drove off listening to our latest book obsession, Dungeon Crawler Carl by Matt Dinniman (not a romance at all but a fun, crazy adventure). We are on book #6 so far and listen to it whenever I need to get my mind a thousand miles away from what’s going on in my real life.

Infusion Day #1

A bit teary before the infusion.

We started with labs, but not the normal in the arm blood draw since I have the port-a-cath and they would be putting chemo into me. So I went back with a nurse and assistant to access my port. This time it hurt when the needle went in. The nurse was good, but the chemo needle is a little more “intense” than just a blood draw. I cried. Braden was in the waiting room, so I was on my own. But the nurses were great and told me that crying was absolutely fine. I told them how everything was triggering to me since my body and soul remember the war I won 15 years ago. Dammit. And here I was again.

After a brief talk with the oncology physician’s assistant, Braden and I went to the infusion room. It was different from the one I had last time. I am not allowed to take pictures because it is totally open with glass partitions breaking the large room into three sections. There were no curtains around the chemo chairs so everyone can see everyone, which was a bit disconcerting but very helpful for the nurses who are right there attending to any beeping monitors and infusion drug bags.

My sweatshirt says “I’m Cold but I’m Being Very Brave About It.” I just had to get it!

I had a recliner and Braden had a regular cushioned chair next to me. We did get permission to take a picture of just me. First infused was the Benadryl, Pepcid, and a steroid called Dexamethasone. The nurse let us know 15 minutes before the Paclitaxel was going to be put in so we could start icing my feet and hands. Braden worked to get the icepacks in place around my feet. He got me ice chips for my mouth. And then we put on the gloves. These were going to have to stay on for 4 hours. After 15 minutes with my hands freezing, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. My feet were okay, but my hands hurt too much. It was excruciating, so we took off the mittens. I didn’t have neuropathy last time in my hands, only my feet. So I just rested my hands on the mittens on the outside to keep my hands cool and I rested my fingertips on the ice packs off and on.

My feet didn’t love the cold, but they got used to it. Braden changed the ice on them every 45 minutes as they thawed. And I kept sucking on ice to keep my mouth cold in hopes of preventing the horrible mouth sores I had last time.

The Paclitaxel is very toxic. In fact, every time I use the bathroom during these treatment months, I have to close the lid and flush two times to protect others in the house : (  It’s a neurotoxin that attacks the nerves in my body as well as hopefully the cancer cells.

15 years ago I was only getting 1/3 of the dose at a time because I went in every week for chemo. This time I’m getting the whole dose and coming in every 3 weeks for chemo. So they didn’t know how my body would react to a full dose. They gave me 1% of the dose for 15 minutes while the nurse sat with us. Then 15% dose for 15 minutes. Since I didn’t have a bad reaction, they gave me the full dose that was dripped in over 3 hours. Then they did a saline wash and dripped in the Carboplatin over 30 minutes and another wash before I could go.

I tried to listen to a chemo/cancer fighting meditation when I started the paclitaxel, but the double dose of Benadryl in my iv made me very sleepy, and I ended up falling asleep for an hour. I hope I didn’t snore, because I was there with four other patients. Braden said I only snorted once : )

Being there all day, we watched other patients come and go with shorter infusions. Patients seemed shy or tired, but Braden always brings smiles, especially when he joked with the nurses. And the nurses loved the brownies and strawberries, coming over to thank us.

Reactions at Home

By the time I got home, my intestines hurt and my stomach was bloated. Braden got us soup and baked potatoes. I ate and watched a funny sitcom. I took my anti-nausea pill before bed. My stomach was still bloated, and my abdomen was gassy, but I fell asleep – and slept for 10 hours! 10 hours! I woke up long enough to turn off my 7:45 alarm and went back to sleep. Hardly remember that. My body needed the sleep.

I got up feeling shaky. Stomach and intestines are better today, but I didn’t feel like eating until noon, which is odd for me. I had my tea, did gentle yoga and a 23-minute meditation. Olive has stayed close to me. I didn’t take an anti-nausea med until I was about to eat. And I took that because when I took a bite, my stomach started hurting. Not nausea but a sharp pain.

I ate my yogurt, fruit, and homemade granola, and I seem fine. Except I’m still shaky, fatigued, and my mouth is very very dry. Which is helping me drink the 64 ounces of water I need to get in today. I hope the shaking hands will go away, or painting rocks will become quite a challenge.

What’s Next

They say my hair will start falling out in 10-14 days. I don’t plan to cut it short first like I did before. I’ll just wait until it’s really falling out and shave it. I might try out a wig this time. Duke Cancer Center let’s each infusion patient pick out a free wig, hat, and blanket : )

I will do three rounds of Paclitaxel and Carboplatin (Round #1 done) and then get a CT scan with contrast on November 25^th. If the tumors have decreased in size, we will consider surgery to take them out before doing the second set of three rounds of chemo. If they aren’t shrinking enough, or they are really shrinking so there isn’t a need for surgery, we will continue with the next round immediately after Thanksgiving.

They took my CA125 blood test before chemo yesterday and it had gone down to 9.8 from the 10.5 a month ago. So I don’t think the CA125 is a way to track this cancer. They will just have to track it by monitoring the tumors and see if they are shrinking. I can feel the one in my right upper quadrant when I lay on that side, which is disconcerting.

How do I feel today?

• Hopeful
• Shaky
• Tired in body but not in mind
• Fully loved by my family and all of you

Thank you all for your prayers, healthy thoughts, cards, wishes, gifts, messages. I don’t always get to hearting or responding to your comments and e-mails, but I read every single one. I read them over and over, and they make me stronger. Thank you! Hugs and love! Heather

September 21, 2026

The Tumor Board met at Duke today to discuss my case. The board does not recommend surgery, because they think systemic treatment (chemo) will work better since it has spread.

The pathologist looked at my 2011 tumor and believes that it was not high grade serous ovarian cancer but ovarian endometrioid cancer. He believes this is a recurrence of that, fifteen years later. I’m not sure if I agree since in 2011 my tumors grew very fast (0-12cm in 5 months). Either way, it looks like what I have now is ovarian endometrioid cancer.

“Endometrioid ovarian cancer is a distinct subtype of epithelial ovarian cancer that resembles the lining of the uterus and often develops in connection with endometriosis. It accounts for roughly 10% to 20% of all malignant ovarian tumors.”

For the record, I had symptoms of endometriosis, but a laparoscopy surgery to look for it in my twenties did not see any.

What does this mean?

It means I don’t qualify for most clinical trials. There is one I could possibly qualify for, but it’s a stage I/II which is a little more dangerous since it is early in development. Braden and I spent the morning looking at other possible clinical trials in the US but didn’t see any recruiting right now that fit my profile.

Me and Nurse Donna in 2011

It also means that I will probably go back on carboplatin and paclitaxel chemotherapy starting early next week. I will have a call with my oncologist tomorrow to discuss adding another agent like Avastin since I was on it before. We will also ask her opinion about the one clinical trial I could go on and about another medicine that targets one of my markers.

What is this marker?

Most of the markers they looked for, my tumors don’t have (sly little camouflaged buggers). But today we found out I am FLOR1 positive, meaning there are FR alpha markers on my tumor cells that could be targeted if the Carbo/Paclitaxel doesn’t work. There is a drug for this that looks for FR alpha on cell, docks with it and delivers a poison to that cell. Theoretically it should hurt normal cells less, but it has serious side effects that can hurt eyes, making the patient go blind. But Chat GTP calls the marker my “ace in the hole” if other things aren’t working. Chat GTP is actually quite optimistic of my chances when I put in all my genetic results and my 15 year remission.

Heather doesn’t use Chat GTP!

No, I don’t for any of my writing business. That’s something I feel very strongly about, not even using it for advertising. But when it comes to analyzing all my genetic information, heck yes, I use it. I know enough that if something doesn’t sound right (because sometimes Chat GTP is wrong folks), I go double check it in online papers, etc. It only steered me wrong once so far, and I easily saw it.

Steps Forward

Duke is clearing my chemo with my insurance and is scheduling my first infusion for sometime early next week, maybe Monday, 9/28. That will be 3 months after finding something wrong growing on my bladder. Geesh! If this was the cancer I had in 2011, the tumors would have doubled in size by now (why I’m not convinced it’s the same).

Braden and I will talk one more time this week with my oncologist to ask about 8 more questions (yes, we have lists that we carry around the house when we are expecting a call) before committing to going back on the same chemo. I think it just shows how slow things move to get drugs to market when our “gold standard” for treatment is the exact same thing I was on 15 years ago. In fact, it has been used for 25 years to treat ovarian cancer. We need better and more numerous treatment options.

Ovarian Cancer Walk in 2012

The annual ovarian cancer walk is this weekend in Raleigh, NC. Unfortunately, it is also Kyrra’s Parents Weekend at college, and we really need to be there. But I have a team (SHOUT Against the Whisper) and anyone who would like to contribute or go walk is encouraged. All the proceeds go to Duke GYN Oncology to pay for more clinical trials for women in the area. You can join my team or make a donation. You can join as a virtual walker/runner, so don’t feel like you need to show up. I know there are a lot of needs in the world, so please know that you don’t have to donate or walk to show you care about what we are going through. I know you care, and your continued support with prayers, thoughts, wishes, cards, etc truly humble me. Thank you!  https://www.supportdukehealth.org/site/TR/Ovarianwalk/OvarianAwareness?pg=personal&px=1057123&fr_id=3311

Water leaking out of our house from the week long leak in January

On another note – remember that flood we had during the winter and spring? How we had to pack out five rooms in our house for them to fix? How we just got our stuff back before going to Maine in May? The flood where water ran for a week before they could figure out where it was coming from? Well, it looks like it sank the ground under the foundation of our house on one side. Yep, one side of our house is just sort of floating in the air. So there will be more repair work before the house breaks in two. WTFH?! 2026 has not been good! I think it is time for us to win the lottery! Too bad we don’t play.

Is Your Head in the Game, Heather?

Today has been rough, which throws my healthy routine off. I got in my yoga and short meditation before the oncology call. After that I went through the grief process: take in information with doc, hang up and fall apart while Braden holds me and Olive shoves her nose in my eyes and nose to lick the tears, worry about Braden (he looks tired), sit with Braden and research clinical trials and gene markers, feel numb.

But now I’m writing it out, which helps me. I will do my turmeric smoothie soon, still go to book club tonight, say my positive affirmations, and meditate on killing the cancer. There’s no ice cream in the house or I’d be eating a pint right now. : )

I am still scared. Not so much about the side effects now, because I’ve prepared as best I can. I’m scared the

First Dance 1994

treatments won’t work enough. I want to meet my future grandkids and dance with Braden at our 50^th wedding anniversary. Lordy, I want that so badly I can taste it in the salt of my tears. So for now, I need to imagine myself doing those things, really sink it into my reality so that my body follows along to reach those goals.

The mind is powerful, and we’d be foolish not to use it. If you have things you’d like to change or improve, manifest it in your mind and focus on it. It will at least lead us in the right direction.

Hugs and love! Heather

September 15, 2026

I have a lot to unpack here, so I’ll break it up. Feel free to skip around : )

Genetics:

Really it’s all the info the pathology reports just threw at me. And of course I’m looking up what all of it means.

Back 30 years ago I worked in a cellular immunology lab looking at programmed cell death (apoptosis) in normal melanocytes and melanoma cells. I then went on to manage clinical trials when I decided that I didn’t want to work in a lab, but it was all truly fascinating to me. Fast forward to now, and that knowledge (both the cellular biology and the clinical trials) is helping me understand what is going on in my body. Knowledge is power, but knowledge can also bring its own worries.

My pathology reports are coming back, but more are being conducted. Here’s what I know from the biopsies taken at Duke from the bladder wall (8/10/26). Nothing from my chart below has changed except that my TP53 gene is definitely mutated, making my cancer grow. The tumors are pMMR (Mismatch Repair Proficient) & MS Stable: These two results mean the tumor’s DNA spell-check system is working normally, which is bad because it makes the cells look like normal cells to my immune system.

My Tumor Mutational Burden = 1): A score of 1 is extremely low. It means the cancer cells look very similar to healthy cells and are “hiding” from the immune system.

Combine that with the possibility that this is a slow growing tumor (they don’t respond to chemo as well), and I’m worried.

Right now, there are many conversations going on at Duke between pathology, clinical trials, and oncology about my case. My case is unusual. Yep, nothing typical about Heather. The pathologist has started to sequence my tumor from 2011 to see if it is the same as what I have growing now. He’s checking to see if I really had ovarian back then or actually endometrial. I can’t imagine it was anything but ovarian since it was very different acting (fast growing) compared to what I have now.

With all the questions, it looks like I am not eligible for the clinical trial with Keytruda and SAC-TMT I tried to enter. Maybe once we know more, I will be, but the drugs they are using might not be a good fit to fighting my tumors.

I am also BRAF and AKT1 positive. BRAF mutations are extremely rare in endometrial cancer, occurring in less than 1% to 5% of cases. If they’d taken my tumor from my uterus (thus ensuring it was endometrial, but I don’t have one anymore), they wouldn’t have even tested for BRAF. I think this is why they wonder if this is actually ovarian cancer. Both BRAF and AKT1 genes activate pathways on the cellular level that make cells grow.

Until we know what we are truly dealing with, I don’t have an attack plan. It could be:

• Recurrent high grade serous ovarian cancer (from 2011)
• Recurrent low grade, slow growing ovarian cancer
• Recurrent slow growing endometrial cancer (from 2011)
• Some new endometrial cancer from a cell that was outside my uterus (maybe endometriosis)

Depending on what this truly is, there are treatments. For example, there are “highly effective oral targeted medications that are BRAF inhibitors and AKT inhibitors.” And there are other clinical trials in ovarian and endometrial cancers.

What’s Next?

Braden I met with my GYN oncologist today over the phone. She’s a great listener. We explained our concerns about chemo working on a slow growing tumor. My tumor in 2011 was very fast growing, and Carboplatin and Paclitaxel worked great against it. We brought up the idea of surgery again if it is slow growing. We know where the three spots are, and even if we don’t know everywhere the cancer has gone through my lymph system, we can start with those. She seemed to understand and is taking the case to Duke’s Tumor Board on Monday. Yes, there is a group of oncologists that meet to decide if surgery will help or hurt the patient. I feel like they are literally deciding my fate, but truly they are trying to decide if surgery will help or hurt me.

We have about another week or so to wait for the genetic report on my 2011 tumor. Until that comes back and everyone has a sit down to figure out what the hell kind of beast is slyly growing inside me, we can’t do anything medically. We wait. And my mind spins. So no chemo this week. We don’t want to pump poison into me that might do nothing but make me sick.

How are you doing, Heather?

Physically – I’ve had blood off and on show up in my urine along with mild abdominal cramps. It could still be healing from the August 10^th biopsies. Or it could be the cancer growing through my bladder wall again. Guess which one I hope it is?

I’m having a hard time falling asleep. I’m tired, but I’ve always had insomnia. Add in worry, and my mind won’t shut off easily. But I can sleep in, because 7-9 hours of sleep is optimal for immune function and that’s a must for me.

My port placement still looks scabby, and the tape is starting to peal off. It doesn’t both me much. And my needle biopsy seems to have healed just fine.

Emotionally – I’m the type of person who needs a plan. That’s why I love planners and everything that goes with them (stickers, cool layouts, washi tape, tabs, etc). It makes me feel more in control.

Right now, I feel… Shit, I feel out of control. I feel like common treatments might now work. I feel like I’ve taken care of myself all my life and yet my DNA is screwing up. I feel angry. And sad. And at times I can’t stop writing my eulogy in my head. I look around the house and wonder if I should start selling stuff off, so Braden doesn’t have to deal with all my stuff later.

And then the tears, hot and heavy, slide quietly out of my eyes. If I suck in air with a sob, Olive comes running. She’s decided that it’s her new job to lick my salty tears away. Which is lovely because it makes me laugh as she’s trying to hop up on my lap and then sticks her nose and tongue into my eyes. It’s hard to cry when you’re fending off a 30-pound black bundle of concerned canine who has absolutely no sense of personal space.

This negativity is not good for me. I have to get my head back in the game, which is so hard for me without a plan. But I must. No matter how many times my thoughts start to veer into sickness and death, I have to nudge, cajole, or wrestle them back over to the light.

After the call with the doc, the tears wouldn’t stop. Braden held both of my hands and reminded me that we are doing everything, I mean everything, that we can do. That there is so much hope, and that yes, I can plan a trip to Iceland (because I’ve always wanted to go). That I’m not allowed to sell off my stuff because I’m going to need it for the next 30+ years and that no, he doesn’t regret marrying me because of my stupid mutated genes. The poor guy is such a trooper. His lovely mom died of cancer when he was 9 years old and now he has a wife dealing with it. Ugh.

BTW – luckily nothing we are seeing in my genetic reports says that I can pass this on to my kids like the BRAC gene (which I’m negative for). These are mutations that have happened after they were working correctly at first. We have no idea what has made them mess up. Again, I’ve never smoked, I don’t drink alcohol very much (except back in college), I don’t use tanning beds or eat processed meat. I always made it back inside before the big clouds of mosquito poison were pumped along the streets when I was a kid. I don’t even let the exterminator in our house to spray for ants or use chemicals on our lawn (which is why it is mostly weeds). It’s just… a mistake in my cells. I just hope there is enough knowledge and research and resources to help me correct it.

How are you getting your head back in the game?

Once Braden and Olive dried my tears this morning, I did two 10-minute meditations on the back porch. One was a guided recording that one of my BFFs, Johanna, sent me. It guided me through believing in myself. By the end I was telling my immune system that it could see the cancer cells, and that I believe my body can fight this and win. The second guided meditation was about a golden light coming inside me through my heart to kill all the cancer cells. It was pretty good.

I also did yoga and ate a healthy breakfast (at 11 AM) and walked out in the sunshine. It’s cooler today and less humid. And now I feel more positive. I will be making positive affirmation statements this afternoon and pinning them around my workstation and on the bathroom mirror so I say them out loud at least two times per day and whenever I can’t yank myself out of the shadows. Positive affirmations must be written in present tense not future tense (not “I will” sometime in the future or you don’t get there) and with only words about what you want to manifest (not “I don’t cry” because the psyche hears “cry”. Instead, I would write “I am happy.”). Examples:

• I am living a long and healthy life.
• My immune system sees my cancer and destroys it.
• I am strong and in control.
• I believe in me and my ability to heal.

I will also keep eating healthy and drinking water and adding turmeric to my afternoon smoothie. I watch only shows and movies that don’t make me cry. No sentimental stuff. Now I know why I like scary movies. I might jump and laugh or go “eww” but I don’t cry. Crying just gets the ball rolling for me, straight downhill.

Head games, reframing, staying positive – it’s exhausting. But I’m doing EVERYTHING to stay here firmly in this life. I will positively affirm, manifest, meditate, believe my way forward.

Thank you all for your generosity with thoughts, prayers, packages, and cards. Your kindness gives me strength. Love and hugs, Heather

September 13, 2026

I got a few pathology results back. On the good side, it looks like I am eligible for the clinical trial I joined and it looks more and more like endometrial cancer instead of high grade serous ovarian. On the bad side, I’m pMMR and my TP53 gene is messed up. What these mean is that my cancer cells are masquerading as normal Heather body cells. So my antibodies don’t recognize them as cancer. And the TP53, which when working properly stops normal cells from growing out of control, isn’t working right. With these two, I worry that Keytruda won’t work, and if I get randomized to the Keytruda alone arm of the clinical trial I won’t be doing enough to help me. I need to talk to my doc and the coordinator about this. 

I’ve also had more blood in my urine, not as much as the other day at the doc office, but enough to make me worry. It seems way too far out from the bladder biopsy (August 10) to be scabs coming off, but I’m not a urologist. I’ve also had some cramping in my lower abdomen. So I’ve asked them to check it out, probably with another camera put into the bladder to make sure the disappeared tumor isn’t boring through the wall of my bladder again (if that’s something it can do). Not a pleasant procedure.

Braden was gone for the weekend, taking Kyrra out on an annual camping/outdoor trip with Y-Guides (Rockmont). My friends and Mom have been checking in on me, but I’ve been blah and chose to be alone with Olive because I got two vaccines on Friday and I’m not happy about the genetic testing. Olive has licked away any tears I had, and I’ve been painting rocks all weekend to take it easy and keep my mind off the uncertain future. 

I had a nightmare about having to perform on stage in a play that I hadn’t even read the script for. It’s a common “I’m not prepared” dream. Which makes sense because even though I’m doing as much as I can to prepare for this battle (vaccines, cold booties, neuropathy socks, mouth washes, etc), I don’t feel like I’ll ever be completely ready. But I have to go into battle anyway.

I’m scared. Of the discomfort, pain, and weakness – sure. But I’m more afraid I’ll lose the war. That no matter what I do won’t be enough. Yep, the Grim Reaper keeps trying to walk next to me, and I keep shoving him behind me. It’s a constant head game, one that I’ll continue to play, because I want to enjoy life and all the wonderful people who love me. 

Fuck off, cancer. Go away, Grim Reaper, and don’t come back for 30+ years. 

September 10, 2026

Yesterday was a three-hour appointment, and we were exhausted and hungry when we got out of there. I signed the informed consent for the study, agreeing to go into it. I won’t get randomized to a particular group (Keytruda alone or Keytruda plus the study drug) until I finish the 18 weeks of Carboplatin + Paclitaxol + Keytruda. Right now we are still trying to decide for sure that it is endometrial cancer and not ovarian. 

One not so great thing – I went to pee in a cup for a urinalysis and it came out looking like dark red tea. Lots of blood. It really put my nerves on edge, and made me cry, but Braden held me and made me laugh. The doc decided the blood was from the 2nd biopsy I had inside my bladder a month ago. They think the scabs inside came off. I’m drinking lots of water to wash it out. So far, the blood has receded, but I’m keeping a close watch. 

I had a contrast CT scan today using my new port. It worked well! I had to do a Prednisone prep last night because I’m allergic to the dye they put into my veins for contrast. Because it was an afternoon scan, I was able to sleep for hours before getting up at 1:30 AM to take the first prednisone. And I was able to fall right back to sleep before it jacked me up. I slept until 7:30 AM when I had to take the second prednisone and then I took one more + 2 Benadryl an hour before the dye injection. It all worked fine. The nurses were great. It’s funny, when you get CT dye injected it feels hot behind my ribs and then really hot between my legs, as if I’m peeing my pants (but I didn’t!). I knew to expect it from the last CT scan I did 13 years ago.  

I just got the scan results. The tumor on my bladder is still gone – crazy! The tumor in my right upper quadrant has increased in size a bit (still about 1.5 cm round) and the left lymph node tumor has decreased in size, probably because they took some of it away for the biopsy. 

As for the third pathology report, we only got back some of it, mostly stuff I already know as listed in my chart below. The only new info is that the Tp53 gene is definitely mutated, which can explain why the cancer started growing again. The other specific tests should come tomorrow or early next week. Those will determine for certain (well, relatively certain) that it is endometrial and I can really enter the clinical trial. So we wait. 

Meanwhile, Braden ordered my frozen mittens and booties to fight neuropathy during my 6 hour infusions. And I’m getting flu and Covid vaccines tomorrow. Then a tetanus vaccine later next week since I haven’t had one in decades. I’d rather get these before chemo starts and I still have a healthy immune system. 

Chemo starts either next Thursday 9/17 or the following Wednesday 9/23 depending on when we get the pathology report so I can completely enroll in the trial. I will let you know.

Hugs and love, everyone! Thank you for your continued prayers and good thoughts. Heather

P.S. I love your cards. If you’d like to send me one that is funny or uplifting, my address is:

Heather McCollum

P.O. Box 1712

Apex, NC 27523

September 9, 2026

Today I am going to Duke to enroll in a clinical trial. I used to manage clinical trials. I used to randomly assign anonymous patients to a treatment arm of a drug testing protocol. Now I will be assigned. It’s very different being on the other side of the drug development table. Drug companies are concerned with getting their drug approved for the masses and make decisions based on what is best for the study. As a patient, I am concerned with me and my health going forward. Does the trial help me or hurt me? Is there a better trial for me? Will entering this trial make entering another one in the future impossible?

Braden and I have lots of questions. It does help that I understand the process. I understand that entering a Phase III trial is safer than a Phase II or Phase I/II trial because those are trying to find the right dosage (so I could be overdosed or underdosed on those trials) and finding out the adverse effects of the clinical trial drug. By Phase III they should have a good amount of safety data and know the best dosage.

Today’s possible trial enrollment is a Phase III. There are still three pages of possible bad side effects ranging from mouth ulcers, diarrhea, and joint pain to things like the clinical trial drug making my own immune system attack my “heart, skeletal muscles, and the nerves that control muscles all at once.” Legally all of this must be divulged to me, and I must sign off on them to take part. That is part of what I’ll be doing today. Very not fun.

Then I will get a GYN physical, blood tests, and an EKG to make sure my heart is sound right now. A bad heart would exclude me. Also, this is for recurrent endometrial cancer (uterine). We are still waiting on the pathology report to better understand if this I ovarian or uterine returning. I hope they have more pathology information today. That’s right. Two months after we first saw this mass on my CT scan, we still don’t know what it is. We think it’s endometrial (which would be better than ovarian), but we don’t know for certain. So if I enroll and the docs decide this is recurrent ovarian cancer, I might be kicked off the trial.

If I enroll today, chemo should start next Friday 9/18/26. It will be every three weeks for 6 treatments before then going on the immunotherapy trial drug (Sac-TMT) if I get randomized to that treatment. The trial drug is given every week. Otherwise, I’ll go back very three weeks for the approved maintenance immunotherapy drug (Keytruda). For those wanting to suggest I look for an mRNA vaccine trial, we have looked. There are none right now at Duke in GYN cancers. Traveling is very stressful for me so it might be counterproductive for me to travel far for treatment. They are also still in earlier phases. I hope that if my cancer gets worse, I can find one to try.

Before I managed clinical trials, I worked in a cellular immunology lab at NC State University and took classes toward a PhD degree. I did not finish, because I decided that I didn’t want to work isolated in a lab. But I do find all the cellular cancer research fascinating. I will detail out below what we are trying to understand about my particular tumors. Feel free to skip if this doesn’t make you giddy with curiosity : )

This is what we know so far from the tumor growing through my bladder wall.

This is what we are still testing for and why.

Well that’s it for now. I have to get ready to go to my appointment. My port is healing but still tender. My biopsy wound is healing.

Thank you all for your continued prayers and love and healthy vibes. I am humbled and so grateful. Heather

September 4, 2026

My port is in place, on the same side as last time. Today’s experience was sooooo much better than yesterday. The facility was calm, cheerful, and both the nurses and doctor took time to truly explain everything that was going to happen. I was sort of awake at first, but then I drifted off for the most part. But I was awake enough to get back on my rolling bed from the table at the end. Braden got me home and I fell asleep in my recliner for the rest of the day, Olive by my side. I even held her little paw for part of it. The incisions look pretty awful, but the discomfort is manageable with Tylenol and ice. 

Thinking about the differences between yesterday and today, I’ve realized something very important. People who are going through a traumatic experience do NOT like surprises. Yesterday I was told they were going to take material from the other tumor only moments before I was going to the operating room. Then as they wheeled me through the hall (the lights flashing overhead, which is a huge trigger for me), the technician said that I’d be on my stomach and that I’d be awake. I didn’t know until I was in the room that I’d be on my stomach on a CT scanner table (not comfy) with my iv arm stretched over my head and my neck crooked to one side. 

I like surprise parties and special unexpected treats like most people, but surprises about procedures make the trauma response rise like a rocket. My blood pressure went up and tears came out. Pain awareness was increased, and it was harder for me to separate it from suffering in my head.

Today was a different experience altogether. It was at a Duke facility that specialized in port placements. It was mostly empty, quiet, and cheerful. The nurse (who had had a port herself for breast cancer) gave me a little presentation about the port with a book that showed me exactly what it looked like and where it would be placed. I was told about being semi awake and step by step what I would experience. Then the doctor came in (he had amazingly white teeth) and sat to explain what would happen again (sitting makes it seem less rushed). He asked if he could look at my last port place before doing it. Then in the operating room the first nurse and the OR nurse told me exactly what they were doing as they prepped me. I drifted off but then was awake enough to have them help me back onto my rolling bed afterwards. I fell back to sleep and woke with Braden by me in the little room where I’d been before. 

I stayed until I was awake enough to walk out of there with Braden’s help. Now I’m taking it easy at home. I’m not allowed to lift anything more than 10 pounds for two days and not allowed to exert force for two weeks. The spot on my lower back from the biopsy yesterday is feeling better but dang that needle had to punch through muscle and nodes to get cancer cells so it’s weird feeling all the way through. The port is just sore on the surface. Ice and Tylenol are my friends!

So lesson learned – no surprises. I’m going to tell the nurses and doctors that from now on. I want details about procedures well beforehand. 

I think I’ll be okay enough to go to Kathy’s funeral tomorrow morning. I really want to support her husband and son, but I need to guard against imagining myself there with my kids and family and friends mourning me. Although, I intend to write a fantastic eulogy to be read at my funeral. There will be laughter and tears. It will be great. Hopefully it won’t be read for 30+ more years. 

Love and hugs! Heather

September 3, 2026

Quick end of day update: The biopsy was rough. Duke is just not communicating well with me. I wasn’t told until being wheeled into surgery that I had to lay on my stomach for the procedure on a CT scanning bed with my neck turned to the side when I already have a bad neck. The very long needle went through my lower back into the left side pelvic lymph node instead of the right side where there were more colon near it that they didn’t want to puncture. So they sunk in through the back.

I was awake! They used a bit of twilight but they wanted me somewhat awake. The numbing shot wasn’t enough, and I jumped when he stuck the needle in my back. We needed another numbing shot and I think they upped the twilight juice in my iv. My arm was stretched over my head since I was on my stomach.

All in all, not a fan. I hope they find answers from it and nothing was accidentally nicked inside. We are watching me for weird symptoms tonight and I’m not feeling great. That might be from lack of sleep. And Braden is running around doing everything because I’m not allowed to do anything. Olive had an accident so I tried to get it up and hurt. Ugh. So Braden learned how to use my beloved carpet cleaner because I couldn’t even push that.

I hope tomorrow goes easier. At least I will be completely out. 

Oh, interesting note. Today’s blood test showed an over abundance of white blood cells. I don’t think I have an infection anywhere. But I have been meditating twice a day on increasing my antibodies to search and kill cancer cells. I wonder if I did that. Wouldn’t that be cool!

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Today I go in for a biopsy of the tumor in the wall of my right upper abdomen. It requires a CT scan with contrast, contrast I am allergic to. So I have to do what they call a Prednisone Prep. I take 50 mg of Prednisone at 10:30 PM last night, 4:30 AM, and then an hour before the procedure at the hospital (along with two Benadryl). I did these preps for each of my ten CTs back in 2011 and 2012 because I once had an itchy, swollen mouth and throat reaction. For any of you who’s had to take Prednisone, you know about the insomnia side effect. Ugh. I laid in bed from 11 PM – 2:15 AM without falling asleep. When my alarm woke me at 4:30 AM for the second dose, I laid again in bed awake until 6:15 when I finally just got up. So I’m running on 2 hours of sleep this morning. Not a huge deal since I’ll get to sleep during and after the procedure. But I also can’t eat, so my stomach is gurgling around in protest. I mean, if you’re going to have wicked insomnia, eating a snack is the thing to make it tolerable : ) I’m allowed tea with no milk/cream and water until 9 AM, so I’m trying to trick my stomach with that. It’s not working.

Tomorrow I have another procedure – my port-a-cath placement under the skin of my upper chest. Luckily no Prednisone Prep for that one, but I will be very sore for a couple days. It’s like having a bad crick in your neck. Anyway, it’s not pleasant, but I ended up really appreciating it last go around. I’ve ordered some nifty chemo shirts that unzip along my arms and on both sides of my collarbone so the nurses can easily get to my port and veins. 

Something new about chemo these days – freezing body parts to stop the chemo from attacking good tissue. I had terrible neuropathy pain 15 years ago with the same chemo I’m probably getting this time. I couldn’t walk without oxycodone and usually stood on one foot to give the other a break all the time. I was a pale, round, bald flamingo. And I had terrible ulcers in my mouth and throat. To combat this, they now put ice before, during, and after the infusions to keep those healthy cells cold so they don’t take up as much chemo. So imagine me – I’ll have frozen booties on my feet and a specially made ice pack in my mouth during the six-hour infusions (or I must swish ice water continuously). I will have the heated blankets around my middle and upper legs, a tube attached to my port through the special sherpa hoodie I ordered (hood pulled up over my bald head), and a weird ice pack sticking out of my mouth. Can you imagine it?! I will be ridiculous. I’ll take pictures : ) And I can’t imagine I’ll be able to have my in depth chats with my chemo buddies with that in my mouth. How boring for them (at least after the initial laughter).

So I’m having these two procedure today and tomorrow. And yet I had plans for Saturday, important plans. Some of you might remember my “tea buddy” Kathy. There are lots of pictures of me setting up our two-person tea parties that we’ve had over the last five years. She had recurrent ovarian cancer and has died. Saturday is her funeral. I don’t know if I will be able to go, but I am going to really try. Not for me as we said our goodbyes before I left for Maine (in person) and through texts while she was in hospice. But funerals are also for her family and I want so very much to go and support them. I will try. It will very hard, and some say that I need to focus on me. But being kind to others is also good medicine. But if I truly believe that I will only imagine myself lying out with people hushed and teary around me, then I might not go. I could brace myself for it emotionally, but with pain from the procedures my defenses will be down. 

That brings me to fear. Lordy, it’s a daily struggle. Some days I’m pretty good. I meditate, feel healthy, drink my turmeric smoothie, and do yoga. And some days I get triggered. Going to hospitals trigger me in the worst way. My therapist says it is my body remembering the trauma of my first battle 15 years ago. When I go to these procedures, I will start to tense as soon as I check in and sit in the waiting room. I think the trigger is the darn paper wrist band they put on me. By the time I get to the prep room, I’m usually shaking. Good ole adrenaline kicking in so I can fight or flight – like I’m going to run out of the hospital or punch a nurse in the nose. Stupid adrenaline! Then I get the gown on and booties and hairnet. Braden squeezes my hand. He’s so good at that.

Then they start poking me with needles and I can almost taste the terror in my dry mouth (since I don’t get to drink anything, terror to me tastes like sour breath). I breathe and practice separating pain from suffering. It’s one of the crucial head games I play. Pain is a bunch of neurons signaling that my body is being compromised so I better pay attention. Suffering is the emotional part, the feeling I’m being attacked, that it’s just like last time when I suffered through fifteen months of chemo. I concentrate on putting pain in one corner of the room and suffering in the other. Then I literally look toward the pain corner and tell my neurons “You’re only a signal. I hear you. Just a biological signal.” It is helpful when dealing with short intervals of intense pain. But I can use it too when my fight or flight reaction is making me freak out. Biological strategy for the here and now (I’m just getting an iv) versus I’m being attacked, which snowballs into terror that I’m going through this all again. 

I do this fairly well now, but I still cry. Not a wailing or sobbing but slow, hot tears that just leak from my eyes. It’s not all bad. That’s usually when one of the nurses says “let’s give you some happy juice.” And then I got to sleep. When I wake up, Braden is there and I get to go home where there are less triggers : ) I rip the paper bracelet off in the car.

Trauma is so complicated and unique for each person. Sometimes triggers don’t spring as hard as other times. Sometimes anger staves off tears, but it is still emotion. And acknowledging that emotion helps, because you know – things you try to ignore just get bigger and louder in our psyche. Right. It’s like a cut that gets sore and then infected if you don’t do anything to it. Bandaids (ie. anger) don’t work on their own. First you have to see the cut and treat it for it to get better.

Or – it’s like that dragon that keeps getting bigger because the mom is ignoring it until it literally carries off the house. And the kid says “I think it just wanted to be noticed.” Anyone else have that old book (published in 1975), There’s No Such Thing As A Dragon by Jack Kent? Great book with a big message.

Yes, I digress. Two hours of sleep and hyped up on Prednisone remember : ) Okay, daylight has taken a firm hold of my world now. Braden and I are off for procedure #1 in about an hour. Prayers that everything goes smoothly for me over the next three days would be wonderful. And take a moment to think about your own triggers and maybe acknowledge the dragons behind them. It might help. Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. Love and hugs! Heather

August 31, 2026

UPDATE:

Braden and I went to meet my GYN Oncologist for the first time at Duke this morning. First impression are important so I brought brownies : ) She is young and seems very intelligent. She let us ask lots of questions without making it seem like we were taking too much of her time. And we had LOTS of questions. I’m keeping them all in my new Warrior planner. Thank you, Sarra Cannon, for the Etsy gift card for all the chemo stickers and dashboards! Some came in today and they are so cute!

We still don’t know for certain what type of cancer I have growing in me. The two most likely are a recurrence of my ovarian cancer (high grade serous endothelial cancer) or endometrial cancer (from my Uterine Stage 1A that was removed with my ovaries 15 years ago). The 15 year remission points to endometrial. They have been testing my tumor biopsies for markers to help determine which it is. Unfortunately some of the tests are coming back contradictory. So more tests are being ordered along with some DNA sequencing. But we are running out of material to test, so I will be having another biopsy in the next week or two. They will take material through a syringe, guided by a CT scan, from the right upper quadrant tumor. 

So why don’t they do surgery to take the tumors? There are several reasons. Taking out ovarian cancer tumors can be dangerous because some cells can get out and spread. Also, I have tumors in my left pelvic lymph nodes. It is nearly impossible to take out the correct nodes. They could take out a bunch and go back and look and there will still be cancer there. Since right now my bladder seems to look normal and acting fine, they don’t want to mess with it. Studies have shown that with this type of recurrence, surgery doesn’t prolong life and puts the patient through unnecessary pain and possible complications. 

Therefore, I will be starting chemo again in two weeks. Why not tomorrow? We want to see if we can figure out what we are dealing with before we start on the right meds. The chemo is so toxic that we don’t want to put it in me if it’s not going to help. But it looks like for either I’ll probably go back on Paclitaxol and Carboplatin, this time every 3 weeks (about a 6 hour infusion). It’s the same warrior poison as before so I’m expecting all the f*cking side effects. At least this time I’ll be ready. I’m getting the “magic mouthwash” ready to swish and drink to put chemical bandaids on all the sores in my mouth and down my throat and digestive track. I’ll probably end up on oxycodone again so I can walk, which means more detox when I get to the end. Oh yay! Not.

I am also being assessed for a clinical trial maintenance iv infusion after I finish the 6 rounds of Paclitaxol/Carboplatin. Even though I used to manage clinical trials and understand protocols, adverse events, randomization, etc – being emotionally tapped out makes the 36 page informed consent difficult to digest. So I’ll ask one of my best friends, Jenny, an uber intelligent clinical trial auditor, to come read through it with me to help me understand what they will be injecting into me every week for 12 weeks and then every other week for years. (groan!)

Because of all these infusions, I am getting a new port-a-cath placed in my chest this Friday with a line that runs into my jugular for “easy” access to my blood stream. I had this the first time. It will be sore for several days after I get it and it kind of freaks me out since the bulb sits just under my skin making me feel part borg (for those who watched Star Trek). But it will save the veins in my arms and be easier when getting my chemo since I won’t have to keep my arm still. Yes, I can dance around the chemo ward if I want to with the port and the iv pole : ) Joke – I’m usually knocked out on Benadryl and other “don’t freak out” drugs when they are putting meds right into my bloodstream. 

Hope: There is a lot of hope. Especially if this is endometrial cancer. Over the last decade there have been improvements for that type of cancer treatment that has actually led to cures in some patients. If it is a return of the ovarian cancer then this will be a chronic disease that I will just have to fight back. Although the last battle I had with it, it took 15 years to come back. 

Looks like I’ll be bald for Christmas. Braden said we can put glitter on my head and I’ll look like a Christmas ornament. : )

So many things are going through my head like:

• Should I cut my hair short or just let it fall out long (which really clogs the drain)?
• Should I get those advertised socks that help neuropathy pain or are they just, you know, expensive socks? 
• Can I now get one of those nifty chemo hoodies that have zippers for ports? I wonder if they make any with Highland cows on them? 
• Will my kids be triggered when I start looking sick again? 
• Will I be known as “that cancer lady” now that I’ve had three? “Really, she must eat hot dogs and smoke secretly.” (I don’t). 
• What can I do to get ready for all the pain, sickness, and fear? I really hate crying. It makes my sinuses ache.
• Is eating ice cream everyday worse than starting a drinking problem? If not, I’m sticking with the ice cream.
• Will I be able to write my stories with brain fog? It is such a real thing. Take menopause brain fog and times it by 100. I literally bought event tickets for the day before we arrived at the venue during my last chemo adventure.
• Will my 55 year old body be able to survive the poison? 
• Can I get my dog registered as an emotional support animal so she can sit with me in restaurants? 

I’ll write an update when I have more info on the molecular tests they are running and what markers my tumors have for those who are interested. Since I was at one time in a cellular immunology lab/program, I find it all very interesting. I just wish this wasn’t trying to kill me. 

Card board right next to where I write each day.

I’m in good spirits. I get teary when I let worry about how this is affecting my kids get to me. It is a lot. Even though they aren’t living here with me, they still need their mom. Braden is 100% in hero mode. We are fixing up our back porch for me because that became my sanctuary last time I went through chemo and recovery. I’m actually off to paint once I post this.

Thank you all for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers. I love the cards and messages. I read them all. Love and Hugs! Heather

August 27, 2026

I had an MRI with contrast on Tuesday and have the results. First, another disappointment that the MRI was only of my pelvis so it didn’t show the upper right quadrant tumor in the wall of the peritoneum. (read Heather rolling her eyes) Why the abdomen wasn’t included is a question for GYN ONC. But moving on… I’m slightly claustrophobic so I took a Clonazepam that the doc ordered for me. I had a blindfold on too and relaxing music playing to try to hide the bangs and booms and wooshes of the MRI machine. It was all fine. I got the results on My Chart at home. 

Results: The “bladder looks normal”. WTH? The tumor that was sitting on the top of my bladder is gone. Now before we start throwing confetti, it doesn’t mean the cancer is gone. I met with the urology oncologist yesterday and we looked at the scan together. My bladder does look normal now but the PET scan showed active cells there in the lining two weeks ago. So it is possible that when they took out the tumor on the inside, the outside tumor sort of sunk into the wall and looks smooth in the scan. But I’m taking this as good news that it certainly didn’t grow larger. Perhaps my meditations twice a day, imagining my antibodies attacking the tumors, is helping. It certainly isn’t hurting!

The MRI still saw the tumor on the left pelvic node area and the PET scan had lit up in the nodes. So the cancer is still trying to spread through the lymph nodes of my left pelvic area. Sly little fuckers. 

Braden and I meet with my GYN Oncologist on Monday, 8/31, where we will look at the evidence we’ve gathered thus far and come up with a treatment plan. I expect I’ll be starting chemo soon but I want to ask about surgery again. And I want another port put into my chest like last time for the infusions. It’s a pain to get placed (it links to the jugular inside the body) and maintain but it beats ruining my veins in my arms and makes the 6 hour infusions easier. 

Thank you all so much for your continued prayers and all the help and support you’ve sent. I get teary every time I think of the love you’re pouring out on me. I am forever grateful. Hugs! Heather

August 24, 2026

This week I have an MRI and a follow up appointment to Duke Urology Oncology. We still don’t know exactly what I’m growing in me. We’ve requested the tumor that was removed from my bladder in Maine to be sent to Duke so they can do more testing on it. They will look for specific markers on the outside of the tumor that they might have a drug that can target that particular molecular protein. That all is actually very interesting to me since 30 years ago I was a cellular immunology major and worked in a lab trying to find these markers on melanoma.

Since then, technology has found more ways to attack cancer in the last 15 years, but it is slow going to get it through testing and FDA approval. So right now, many of those technology updates you see in your feed give hope but not a viable treatment. 

So… what am I doing while I wait for testing, scan results, oncology appointments, and treatment? There are soooooo many things we can’t control in life, but here are things we CAN control. Focusing on those things is what helps us remain sane. Understanding what we can control and can’t takes a moment to consider. For example:

• I can’t control how fast Duke responds to my questions. I can control how many times I ask them.
• I can’t control the timing for my treatment. I can control how I prepare.
• I can’t control getting the cancer out of me. I can control things that make life difficult for cancer cells. Like: 

I made this pic of antibodies swarming my cancer.

1. I’m doing things to lower my stress levels to decrease the cortisol in my body. Cancer cells like cortisol. It makes them stronger and hides them from antibodies. So I meditate twice a day, imagining my antibodies finding and killing the cancer in my bladder, on the right upper wall of my peritoneum, and in my left pelvic lymph nodes. I imagine millions of smart antibodies searching out and killing any cancer cells they encounter. 
2. I’m keeping my body moving with gentle yoga. I’m going to start doing some low intensity cardio to help my antibodies move within me.
3. I’m drinking smoothies and drinks with turmeric to lower inflammation. Cancer cells love inflammation. It strengthens them and helps hide them from my immune system. 
4. I’m organizing my planner. This helps lower my stress level. I love planners because I can decorate them and they give me a sense that I’m in control when my life is really out of control. It’s a good head game. Somehow using a little sticker for a doc appointment makes it less tiresome. I’m finding that on Etsy they have chemo, scan, and oncology stickers! I’m waiting until we figure out my treatment plan to order, but I’m ready. That is something I have control over. 
5. I’m praying and wishing. I don’t have control over whether they will be answered the way I hope, but asking calms me (lowers cortisol).
6. I say positive affirmations everyday to calm me.
7. I watch funny or happy shows or shows that make me smile (yes, scary movies do this for me too). No crying or drama books, songs, movies, or shows for me.
8. I meet with my therapist so she can help me keep my mind healthy to reframe every situation I can.
9. I take in long, warm hugs. I’m not a hugger by nature, but the touch of another, someone I love, reduces stress hormones.
10. I make sure I get 7-9 hours of sleep. Even if I can’t sleep all night because of pain or worry, I make it up during the day. My immune system needs that to build its army. 

There is more. I am not just sitting in my house crying about this. That would feed the cancer. Yes, there is so much out of my control. But as you see, there is so much I can control. And when you are being swept up in a tornado of fear and negative happenings, grabbing hold of control can literally save your life. 

Are you swept up in a tornado, your feet swept out from under you, your fingers grasping for a handhold that is just not there? If you have a lot going on that you can’t control, make a list or a diagram like the one my therapist sent me. A circle and list what you can control and then circles on the outside of it of what you can’t control. Then try to focus on what you can control. It helps you hold on when it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers. 

Hugs and love, Heather

August 18, 2026

I walked outside yesterday morning before my oncology visit, knowing that it was going to be a very hard day. I’m back in NC with the heat and humidity so walking outside is not something I do, but I think Olive ate a big marble so I wanted to make sure she could poop : ) So out I went. Olive’s digestive track seems to be working fine, thank goodness. But as I was walking past our leafless, burnt from the heat, blueberry bush there was one blueberry outstretched toward me on a barren limb. It was the perfect blueberry – deep blue with the muted lighter blue of moisture, nicely rounded, and waiting there for me on a completely bare bush. I plucked it, examining its perfection, and ate it. It was sweet, a perfect blueberry. I smiled, accepting the sign that miracles happen. A perfect berry can survive on a sunburnt, leafless bush. It was a gift and I thanked God and the cosmos for it.

UPDATE: There is not easy way to say this, so here it is. My PET scan came back with more active cancer in my lymph nodes and peritoneal lining as well as the mass on the outside of my bladder. So it has metastasized. 

Braden and I met with the GYN oncologist. We will be in a holding pattern for two weeks while the docs at Duke zero in on the exact type of cancer trying to sneakily spread through me 15 years after I killed it off the first time. Seriously – what the actual fuck! I have no symptoms except a pain in my leg and groin area that I was doing PT for. I think now that it is the small tumors in my groin lymph nodes on that side that might be pinching a nerve. 

I will get an MRI next to pinpoint where some of the tiny tumors are. And then we will devise a plan for chemo depending on the type of tumors. They are looking for markers on them that would make the cancer susceptible to immunotherapy along with the chemo. Also, they are seeing if I’m eligible for a clinical trial. If it is slow growing, then the normal chemo wouldn’t work on it like it did last time I battled. Surgery does not seem to be the best course since it’s metastasized. At least not right now. A surgery now might mean removing my bladder, which I’d very much like to keep. 

Since I am 14 years out from the end of my last chemo, this recurrence is VERY RARE. Of course I’d be special enough to get it again after I killed it dead the first time. So this cancer may be different acting, good or bad. But the doc said it wasn’t a death sentence. If I can kill it again and get 15 more years, I’ll take it. Although my goal was 30 more years with Braden.

It’s so unfair when I’ve spent my adult life trying to take care of myself. I don’t eat candy or donuts. I’ve never smoked or been around people who smoke or done drugs, not even a gummy. I only drink occasionally when I’m with friends, but I’m mostly a tea drinker. I don’t sunbathe or even use chemical bug or weed sprays in our yard or home. I exercise and do yoga and keep a positive outlook. I want to stomp my feet and yell IT’S NOT FAIR! But then the whisper comes back. “Life is not fair. It has never been and was never meant to be. It is what it is. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

I was devastated in the doctor’s office. Braden held me like the hero he’s always been. I’m full of anger and guilt that I will be putting him through this again. Him and all of you who pray and hope and wish for me. Thank you. Please don’t stop. 

Today I’m teetering between numb horror mixed with rage and a growing determination that I am stronger than the first time. Especially with my huge army of support. I am so grateful for that. Last time I had young kids, ages 4, 10, and 12. This time, they are 19, 25, and 27. I still want desperately to be here for weddings and grandbabies. But at least I’ve raised them into fabulous adults who can survive anything, even losing their mom way too early. 

So I will keep you updated on this page. Anything I post on FB or in newsletters, I will also try to post here. If I am slow to respond or don’t get a chance, please know that I read everything that comes to me and am so very thankful for you all and your prayers and well wishes. I will continue to gear up to fight and try to trust in the timing of my life and the journey I am on. And I will look for those blueberries, signs to trust that everything will be okay in the end.

Hugs, Heather

***

August 13, 2026

I got up early yesterday to eat because I needed to stop eating 4 hours before the PET scans. We arrived early and found the PET scan place at Big Duke Cancer Center. It’s a really nice, huge place. Someone was playing a grand piano in the lobby. A little different from the small hospital up in Maine. I wouldn’t say better, just different. Here at a big hospital you’re more of a number since they see so many people. In Maine I felt more of a person. 

Braden and I go into a small room with a squeaky recliner and a TV and a nurse. She goes over things, including my allergies, and puts my IV in. She’s friendly and helpful. She says I have to drink a barium drink too for contrast. I hate that stuff, but I’m a grown ass woman and will try. It’s vanilla flavor – ugh. There were choices but she said that was the one people complained about the least. 

She was about to prep me for getting CT dye contrast. I said something like “that’s different from regular CT dye, right? Because I’m allergic to that.” She had just gone through my allergies. She stopped. The docs had ordered a regular CT too, along with the PET scans. And yes, it was the stuff that I’m allergic to. Normally they would have to get me a Prednisone prep (a prescription for a steroid to take 13 hours, 7 hours, and 1 hour before the iv dye was injected into me) in order to stop an anaphylactic reaction. They didn’t do that. So I couldn’t get the CT scan with iv contrast. At this point Braden became my PR person because I was certain RAGE would flow out of me if I talked. I told EVERYONE about that allergy. Not a single nurse, scheduler, doctor, or technician said “let’s get you that prescription the day before the scan”. It is like no one thinks for themselves. They just follow a set of SOPs and if a patient doesn’t comply (like me doing things in a different order because we were in Maine), then things don’t happen.

They also had none of my blood test reports or pictures in their system even though I drove up to a hospital in Maine to have it done ahead of time. It was so urgent for me to get the labs and then none of it was placed in my Duke chart. None. I had to pull them up on my phone to show the nurse my labs and then she re-ran some anyway. What the hell is all this going to cost? Repeated surgeries and labs! Okay, see – the RAGE comes out even in my typing.

I drank the chalky vanilla-ish yuk (3/4 of it anyway). So my stomach started roiling. We sat for an hour so the PET scan radioactive sugar tracer could circulate in my body looking for cancer cells. Then I laid on a table with my arms overhead and spent 15 minutes talking my stomach into not blowing up with gas while I held still for the PET scans. 

We drove home afterwards with me nauseous and gassy. I spent the rest of the night in discomfort and couldn’t sleep from the stomach pains, probably from the barium vanilla yuk. I woke up at 3AM and it still hurt. But by 8 AM, I’m feeling better. Going to eat some yogurt now and hope my stomach doesn’t reject it. 

Now to wait for the PET scan results and see if we need to reschedule the contrast dye CT scan. 

August 11, 2026

Thank you all for your prayers and healthy wishes and vibes sent my way

 

Please continue to keep me and my family in your thoughts and prayers. I hate that I’m putting them through this again. It’s just not fair. But then life is not fair. But it can be good even in the bad times. I just need to focus on that. Hugs Heather

August 3, 2026

July 20, 2026

I’m working up here in Maine to schedule everything for when we get home. I asked for a Patient Navigator at Duke GYN Oncology and they assigned one. Best thing I could have done!

 

Nurse Kim has already gotten me an urology appointment, a GYN appointment, my CA125 lab draw scheduled, and two difficult-to-schedule PET scans set up. And even though I haven’t yet met with the docs, she’s asked if it would be possible to set up the surgery date. And she responds to my messages every day! Yay Nurse Kim!

 

I’m hanging in up here, trying to stay positive. I meditate on the cancer tumor shrinking. I feel rather like I’m beating off the Grim Reaper with blueberry pie and fresh sea air. I’m obviously trying to move quickly, but I’m thankful I could stay up for my last week here.

Thank you for all the prayers and healthy vibes!

July 9, 2026

I had the surgery at a small hospital in Ellsworth, Maine. Despite the pealing wallpaper in the pre-op room, everyone was fantastic and professional. Since I had a little cough, they gave me an epidural instead of putting a tube down in my lungs for anesthesia. Don’t worry, I was asleep with something I breathed in. They also gave me some happy juice in my iv. I actually dreamt about opening a gelato store and was trying all the different flavors! 

The surgeon was fabulous. I had little pain and no bleeding when I got home. Because of the epidural, my butt felt HUGE. Like when the dentist numbs your lip and it feels really big. That was my butt until it wore off that night. Now to wait for the pathology report.

July 7, 2026

I went in for a CT scan a couple weeks ago. We were looking for a possible hernia to explain my leg/abdominal pain. They didn’t find a hernia. They found a mass growing through my bladder wall. I went yesterday to meet with a urologist and we got a close up look at it. It is not a cyst. It is angry and vascular and is probably cancer. What kind? We don’t know.

Picture of mass on inside of bladder wall

This doc up here in a small hospital is actually a urologist who is on the board at Mass General and Harvard Medical for 27 years working in uro oncology. I asked him what he was doing up here. Personal reasons about wanting to help people at the beginning of cancer journeys, but regardless “You won the lottery finding me up here.” Yes, he’s cocky enough to convince me he’s a good surgeon. : )

My oldest daughter is a lawyer and did a thorough background check on him last night and everything he told us is true and he has many 5 star reviews. So when he said we need to do surgery now to find out what it is, I am going to do it. 

Hopefully by the time you receive this, I will be going under anesthesia (Thursday), but Braden has had a cold and now I have a cough. If I feel worse tomorrow, they are going to postpone (not good). 

He will only be able to remove the part inside the bladder. I will have to go home to Duke University Hospital where there is a robotic arm that can take out the rest and sew my bladder back together. 

I’m terrified and shook all day yesterday. I went through 15 months of horrendous chemo for ovarian cancer. The thought of doing that again or more is horrifying. The thought of a bladder cancer advanced enough to grow through the wall is also horrifying. Both are life threatening. Dammit – I’m only 55yo. Life is not fair. I know it isn’t, but dammit!

I’m grateful that my kids are grown this time, although they still need me so much. But I’m calmer this time or I wouldn’t be writing to all of you : )

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Now we will send you back to your previously scheduled programing in the Apothecary: 

Herbs/plants were (and still are) used in various ways as cures to disease and injury: 

Poultices: a paste applied externally and often wrapped up with linen strips

“A traditional poultice is made by combining an infusion of healing herbs or plants with binding agents such as baking soda and water to form a paste. This material is applied directly to the affected area so that the beneficial compounds can penetrate the skin tissue and help draw out harmful substances.” https://natureslinkwellness.com/salves-poultices/

Salves/Balms: like a poultice but tends to have a waxy or oil base and it is rubbed directly into the skin without the bandage holding it in place

Brews/Infusions: drinks with the herb boiled or soaked in it to release the healing components. Yarrow, pictured here, was and still is used as a “tea” to help stomach and menstrual cramping.

Yarrow Plant

Tinctures: concentrated liquid usually ingested

“Tinctures are concentrated herbal extracts made by soaking the bark, berries, leaves (dried or fresh), or roots from one or more plants in alcohol or vinegar.

The alcohol or vinegar pulls out the active ingredients in the plant parts, concentrating them as a liquid.” https://www.healthline.com/health/what-is-a-tincture

At Beltane (May 1st) young women in rural Scotland would roll in the dawn dew, letting it wet their faces. This was thought to bring beauty and health for the year to come.

“All that man needs for health and healing has been provided by God in nature, the challenge of science is to find it.” Philippus Theophrastrus Bombast that of Aureolus ~ Paracelsus (1493-1541)

PARIS, FRANCE – JANUARY 11: Paracelsus, was a Swiss physician, alchemist and astrologer of the German Renaissance. Stone relief at the building of the Faculte de Medicine Paris, France on January 11, 2018.