[Andrea Barnett Budin]

This thread is absolutely written to be inspiring. Not to brag. I appreciate all your comments more than you can know.

Yes, I have pain. In my arm, where in 1995 they removed 21 lymph nodes. That was how it was done back then. Felt like a turniquet was tied way too tightly around my arm, above the elbow. I used to swing my arm like a pendulum forward and backward to revive the blood circulation. I mean even in public, in a line, when I became particularly aware of that familiar pain. It got better. Took what I recall as a really really long time.

Now all day I am fine. When I lie down, propped on a multitude of pillows to watch TV and relax, that pain returns. I have a bolster I put my arm up on and wait for it to subside a bit. If I get up, it goes away. But I want to lie down.

I still have the IBS that came with the chemo. It is far better than it was, I'll give you that. And I've learned my many trigger foods and seriously steer clear of them. I am aware of where the nearest bathroom is at all times. I take zoloft for a number of reasons. Sanity being one. Also to counter the fear factor that comes with IBS. Accidents at home make my entire body quaver. I can't even let my mind...

I still have a small pericardial effusion that came with the Taxotere, which helped save my life as it left me barely able to lift my feet (I shuffled) and tripped a lot. I walked on all fours going up stairs. I could barely speak. Which is essential to my well-being. Chatterbox that I am. I whispered. It takes so much energy to talk I learned! But now I walk gingerly and feel no pain (even where I broke my right ankle in '01, in a pothole in NY) that required surgery as it was broken in several places. I had torn ligaments and tendons and was not allowed to bear weight on that foot for 3 months. Then came the rehab. The plate and pins and screws remain but I have no pain and no impairment. I soldiered through the rehab (which seriously hurt like he**), determined not only to walk without a limp but wear at the very least low heels.

The pleural effusion (fluid around my lungs) that came with the Taxotere slowly disappeared after ending that chemo.

The severely dry eyes that kept me clutching a tissue at all times, with tears dripping all day and people responding to me with extreme caring as they thought I was crying -- that remains but is far better. No more tissues required. Just Bausch & Lomb's Soothe drops at night, throughout the night.

Within my supplements are things that give me energy. And if I fail to take one -- I feel it! I take supplements for memory, which at age 67 is needed regardless of the chemo brain. And what I take really helps. I take supplements for the IBS. And they really help. I take supplements to keep my heart strong. And my cardiologist says I am good, as per my ECHOs to check on my effusion.

I take supplements to boost my immune system, to fight free radicals, to detox, blah, blah blah. I really believe in all of them.

Neuropathy from Taxotere is gone. Deep muscle pain is gone.

Tram flap reconstruction is good. As I've read, symmetry is highly over-rated. I am glad I can look normal. Well -- in clothing. With a bra. Otherwise I look a bit like I've been hacked, but you know, all my scars are badges of courage to me. Not reminders of the dysfunction that nearly killed me. Could the stomach cramping be from that? (I wasn't a candidate for implants. Too large a tumor. Couldn't save the skin.)

I never feel like a victim. I always felt lucky. My husband would ask dismayed, How can you say that?! Chrisopher Reeve fell off a horse the month before I was diagnosed. He was paralyzed and needed help breathing! I have always been able to walk and talk, feed and bathe myself. These were especially cherished gifts I sorely became aware of as I dealt with my Mother's 24/7 homecare when she developed Alzheimers. After 3 years, I had to put her in a nursing home, as one nurse couldn't lift her from the wheelchair to the bed. Ambulettes were needed for each doctor visit.

Yes, I feel lucky. Blessed. And genuinely grateful.

I pray that each of you meets NED, and comes through this journey smiling, despite it all.

Much love, as always,

Andi