When treatment started, Dr. Hansen told me to do regular breast checks because I would probably be the first to notice a reduction in the size of the lump. I had been doing them weekly. The knot seemed to be shrinking; it was getting harder to find.

During the appointment, prior to the third chemo session, he asked if I had noticed any change.

"It feels smaller." My statement was cautiously optimistic.

He agreed. He told me we would know definitively in a couple of weeks, as he planned to test to see how the cancer was responding. Both a PET and bone scan were scheduled. An appointment with Dr. Legarde was scheduled for the following week, as well. She would discuss post-chemo treatment with us based on my response to chemo.

The third chemo session went without a hitch. I didn't even have to lie down to get the port to cooperate. No nausea meds were needed afterwards, but I did take one the following day.

I took steroid pills before going to get the Neulasta shot and had been taking Claritin daily. Dr. Hansen had warned that these medical interventions might control the allergic reaction, but I should not expect it to go away. He said it usually gets worse with each treatment and can eventually turn into hives. He hoped the meds would keep the reaction from worsening, but had no doubt the allergy would continue. Despite his warnings and expectations, not only did the two medications keep the rash from returning, but they kept the bone pain from recurring. My prayer warriors' specific prayers again came through. Praise God!

During the week following chemo, the back patio was completed. I set up the fountain Wayne bought me. Cushions for the glider and the footstools were found and put in place. Ray, the brother-in-law who shaved my head, dug a flower bed along the fence and planted sunflower seeds. My new plants even attracted a humming bird.

I wrote in my journal, "Life is good. God is good. I'm certain He's looking out for us."

My WBC dropped to 0.7 once again. It left me exhausted. I am not sure why I did not ask my prayer warriors to pray for the dropping WBC count. I think I felt bad that so many others were suffering so much more than I. Somehow, it felt selfish to pray for that side effect to stop, since it didn't threaten my treatments and simply left me tired. I did report the side effect on Facebook, but did not request specific prayer.

One week after the third chemo treatment, I saw Dr. Legarde. She did an ultrasound. According to her measurements, the tumor had shrunk from 1.6 cm to 1.2 cm. She said the tumor was less dense and the edges were no longer as jagged. She was pleased with my progress.

She recommended that I see a radiation oncologist, Dr. Hinkleman. He was the premiere specialist in the region and worked at Mary Bird Perkins. She scheduled an appointment. She wanted him on my team, since triple-negative breast cancer usually requires a three-pronged attack: chemotherapy, radiation, and finally surgery.

I asked her why radiation came before surgery. She said that was the traditional way it was done, but to discuss it with Dr. Hinkleman if I wanted to explore a different approach. My idea was to have surgery first. The plan was to have the right breast removed and the reconstruction done with belly fat. The radiation was to kill any residual cancer. If radiation was done first, it would delay surgery and could damage the breast skin tissue that could be used in the reconstruction. Evidently, using belly skin is not nearly as pleasing as using actual breast skin.

Wayne and I had one of our rare dust-ups this week. We have a jacuzzi tub in our bathroom. Because of arthritis in my knees, I can't get out of the tub without help, even though Ray installed an "old people's" bar to pull myself up. I suggested we put a walk-in tub with jets in the spare bathroom. With all of the sitting I had to do during the second week of each chemo session, I thought jets would help the attendant aches and pains. A cousin who came to see Maw told me that a friend of hers had a walk-in tub and hated it because you had to sit in it while it filled and emptied. Wayne priced them and suggested a hot tub as an alternative.

I told Wayne to forget upgrading the bathroom and go for the hot tub. He tried to back out of both, suggesting a lift chair for the existing jacuzzi tub.I had already warmed to the idea of a hot tub. I told him he shouldn't have offered the option of a hot tub if he didn't mean it. He said he was just throwing out possibilities but had decided the hot tub idea was too expensive.

"Fine," I said. "I'll just do without a jacuzzi."

He told me I was acting like a child.I told him next time he should explore the options ahead of time and present me with the ones he is willing to finance. He ended up ordering an inflatable hot tub.

For some reason, my energy did not rebound this time. I was tired and rundown all the time. I did manage to go to a Christian concert with some people from church. The concert was called the Bible Tour. It starred Steven Curtis Chapman, Franchesca, Brandon Heath and Danny Gokey. I had a wonderful time. The music was uplifting.

I went to a thrift store to get some scarves and tried on capris while I was there. For the first time in years, I fit into a size 10! I had lost almost fifteen pounds since being diagnosed. Between the periodic fastening, a healthier diet (I'd cut out sugar and was eating more vegetables), and a depressed appetite, I had been steadily losing. The doctor didn't want me to lose any weight, but I was at least 30 pounds overweight, so I had no problem with losing some pounds.

When the blood work came back at the end of the second week post-chemo, Judy was surprised that my energy hadn't rebounded. My WBC count was up to 9.8, and so I should have been feeling good. My hemoglobin was slightly low, though, and she thought that might be the problem.

The next day, I had both the PET and the bone scan. At 5:30, I was surprised to get a call from Dr. Hansen. His office closed at 4:30. He told me that the radiologist had called to tell him that I had an inflamed diverticulosis in my colon. My sister has diverticulitis. I asked Dr. Hansen if I had developed the same disease.

"Perhaps," he said. "But it could be another side effect of the chemo. Either way, you need to be on antibiotics immediately. I've called in some prescriptions to your pharmacy."

He put me on an antibiotic and an antifungal. He said the inflammation was probably the source of my continued malaise.

I had also developed another Taxotere reaction. My feet were swollen and had red spots on the balls. I had to put my feet up to keep the swelling down and use Coritzone 10, a lotion designed for diabetics. My feet felt strange, like the skin was shrink-wrapped. The lotion got rid of the spots and helped with the tight feeling.

After a day of antibiotics, my energy started to return. The hot tub came in and Wayne set it up.

A thirty-minute soak-and-talk session in the tub soon became an evening ritual. Since Wayne was not into hot tubs, I knew he was doing the evening ritual just for me. He was so good to me throughout the ordeal of cancer treatment.

I was so glad my energy had picked up. I took a drive to Washington Parish. The first stop was at our old house, to pick up some things we had left there. I was able to load the car by myself.

I had commissioned a prisoner at RCC to do a painting featuring me at age twenty. The picture was based on one a former college roommate, Sherry, had painted of Wayne when he was twenty. It was a western motif with Wayne's face featured.

I took that painting to the prison and asked Brock, the inmate artist, to make a companion piece featuring me. His instruction was to feature my face with an Indian motif. Instead of the wagon wheel in the painting of Wayne, I wanted a dreamcatcher. The rest was to be left to his imagination. My plan was to give it to Wayne for Father's Day.

At the prison, Brock had the painting ready. He had done a superb job. Wayne got an early Father's Day present, as trying to hide the painting would have been difficult. Besides, I didn't really want to wait a month for him to see it. We hung both paintings over the loveseat recliner where I spent the days when my energy was low.

Once again, the inmate chaplains had prayer with me. I made the rounds and talked to the tutors and students, who all wished me well and assured me of their continued prayer support. The staff in the education building, the mental health building, and the administration building visited with me and told me how great I was looking. I was given a copy of the Chainlink Chronicle, the prison magazine. It featured an article about my last visit and included pictures of me and my replacement. I left feeling loved and spiritually uplifted. I was ready for my fourth treatment. Three down; three to go.