Today, I had a blood test and then an appointment with my
oncologist, Dr. Bob. The blood test was done in the chemo room and not
downstairs in the lab as it was during my initial visit here. I was seated in a
treatment room the same as when I was there for chemo. They used my port to
take my blood and it was quick and relatively painless. I like that I do not
have to worry about them hitting the vein properly. When I was leaving the
treatment room, the teen who was one of my chemo roommates 2 weeks ago arrived.
He was completely bald except for a few little tufts of hair. He looked a
little more worn out as well. My heart went out to that kid. He should be out
snowboarding and hanging with his friends.
After the blood test, Dave and I headed downstairs for my
appointment. When Dr. Bob walked in and saw my hair, he smiled big and said “Wow!”
and then asked if the hair was still mine. I told him yes, but it was starting
to fall out. He said, “I don’t want to sound like a mean guy, but it is good
your hair is falling out.” He told me that if it wasn’t, he would be worried
that my body was metabolizing the medication too fast. He asked how things went
and I told him I neglected to take the Kytril after the treatment. He gave me
heck, “You have to take it. You want to keep your head out of the toilet.” Don’t
worry, I learned my lesson. I won’t be forgetting the Kytril next time.
Dr. Bob then asked to see how my lumpectomy was doing. I always
find this part funny, me holding my shirt up while Dr. Bob checks out my breast
and talks about how well it is healing. “And how about those Jets?” No, I am
kidding about the Jets, but that is what it feels like to me; everyone is
sitting around having a regular conversation and no one notices that some guy
has his hand on my boob, not even me. After
the exam, Dr. Bob told me my blood count was still a little low, but it should
be back up by Friday for the next round of chemo. He said they would check my
blood again before treatment to make sure.
I know the title of this blog, Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow seems
kind of hokey, but it is fitting for what has been happening to me lately. Ever
since I started chemo, just over two weeks ago, I have been testing to see if
any hair would come out if I pulled on it. Last Thursday night, strands started
coming out in my fingers. Tonight, I can pull out an entire piece.
I think tomorrow may be the day I shave it, before it really
starts dropping off and my house looks like a Cookie Monster murder scene. For as much as I have done to prepare myself
for losing my hair, shaving my head is going to be tough. My hair is pretty
short and I cut off a lot more than I am about to lose, but I can still look in
the mirror and not be reminded that I am sick. Once my hair is gone, every time
I look in the mirror, I will see that I am being treated for cancer. I often
wonder if I am handling everything this well because I am in denial. It has
been months since I received the diagnosis, but it still does not seem real.
Even with a piece missing from my breast, a foreign object called a port residing
under my skin, and my want to lie around all day, I still feel like everything
is ok. Is that denial? Well, if it is, than I guess I will stay on the denial
train, because it works. I am going to be bald soon and even though it really
isn’t my choice, I have often wondered what it would be like. I think I am
going to try and embrace my baldness. If being bald means I get to live, then
who the hell needs hair, right?
I miss chatting with you, Sam. I hope you and the raccoons
are sitting in the sunshine enjoying the view. Thanks for leaving us your music
to remember you by.
I went for my first chemotherapy treatment on Friday the
Thirteenth. Dave dropped me at the doors since it was very close to my
appointment time and he told me he would meet me upstairs. When I arrived, I
was introduced to my nurse, Walt Whitman. Walt showed me around chemotherapy. First
he had me put my purse and jacket on the chair I would be in for my treatment,
then he showed me each treatment room, and where the kitchen and bathroom were.
When we came back to my chair he showed me the IV pump I would be hooked up to
and told me this was my new dance partner. He said I could unplug it and take
it with me if I wanted to go to the kitchen or washroom. He left to get some
information to give me, so I decided I should go to the washroom before I was
hooked up to the IV.
When I was in the washroom, I heard a loud beeping noise
start. I thought to myself “That sounds like a fire alarm.” When I came out,
Dave was in the hall. Just as he saw me,
a nurse told him the fire alarm was going off and he would have to leave and told
me I needed to go to my chair. I went and sat down and waited with my other
roommates. There were two other women besides myself, one my age and one older.
And I am sad to say that my 3rd roommate was a teenage boy. Damn
cancer! These treatment rooms should only have older people in them, not kids. It is things
like this that keep me from feeling sorry for myself.
The nurses walked around and counted everyone to make sure
we were all there. The older lady remarked that she has been coming here for 10
years and this is the first time the fire alarm has gone off. After several
minutes, the alarm stopped and the people who came with us were allowed back
in. Walt came over and said that the alarm going off must have been something for
my first day. The teenager piped up, “and this is my first week!” I wondered
what kind of treatment would bring him here more than once in the same week.
Walt explained each of the meds I would be given and how they
would affect me. He told me in 8 to 15 days after treatment my white blood
count would go down and that I was to avoid any infections. I should wash my
hands a lot and avoid crowds and people who are sick. He told me that since my
body will not be able to show me some signs of infection such as redness or
pus, the only way I will know if I have an infection is if I have a fever. I would need to take my temperature often and
if it gets to 38 C then I am to go directly to emergency. Walt told me that my
platelets would decrease and my blood’s ability to clot with be hampered. I am
to avoid cuts, bruises, and burns and I must not blow my nose too hard, I need to
use a very soft toothbrush, and I am to not take aspirin or ibuprofen. Walt also
told me that I needed to drink lots and lots of water and urinate often in the
next few days. He told me I needed to flush the drugs from my system as quickly
as possible and that I should even get up a couple times in the night to do so.
Walt looked at my port incision and said it looked really
good for being done 5 days earlier. The woman who was my age said that her port
incision was still bleeding after 5 days and that she was badly scarred. She
said my doctor had done a good job. Walt asked who did my port and I told him
Dr. J. Walt said he has known him for years and said he was brilliant. I told
him what had happened to my friend and how her lung was nicked. I told him how
I had questioned Dr. J about it. Walt seemed amused that I had questioned the
doctor and said things like that don’t happen often and he was very sorry it
had happened to my friend. With that, Walt cleaned my port area. I asked if
there would be a local freezing and he said no. He told me not to worry as he
has done this many times. I braced myself… for nothing. Seriously, it was a
slight pinch and that was it! At that moment I thought, this port is the cat’s
ass! I am so glad I opted for it.
Walt first started me on saline and then put up a bag of
Kytril, an anti-nausea. He told me that Kytril was the Big Kahuna of
antiemetics and he was glad Dr. Bob had prescribed it to me. Next were the chemo meds, two were pushed into
my IV by Walt using big syringes and the 3rd was hung up. Walt
showed me each medication before it was given to me and I had to confirm that
my name and birth date werecorrect on every single one. Walt pointed to the giant syringes of red
liquid and told me that Epirubicin is called the red devil by his patients. It
is a red devil alright. It gave me a bit of a start when I went to the
washroom. For a second, I thought I was peeing blood until I remembered what I
was told by the very first nurse when I went for my consultation. She told me Epirubicin
would colour my urine for a few days after it was given to me. I thought it
would take some time to work its way through but it shows in your urine immediately.
After about 3 hours, I was all done for 3 weeks. I was feeling
good, except for a head cold which seem to come on during treatment. I had been
feeling a little stuffed up in the couple days prior and the chemo meds seemed
to bring more symptoms forward. I told Dave I wanted to go to Costco to pick up
my prescriptions and get some shopping done, in case I was too sick for the
next while. I wandered around Costco for about 2 hours feeling light-headed,
but nothing more. On the way home, I had a sudden bout of anxiety for about 5
minutes. It was odd, because I was feeling totally relaxed and there was
nothing troubling me. When I got home I just felt like I had a bad cold.
The next day I felt fine and the cold seemed to be going
away. In fact I felt so good that I forgot to take the 3 Kytril pills I was
given. I was supposed to take them every 12 hours. I missed Friday evening so I
took one at 6 am on Saturday. I felt good all day and again forgot about the pill
in the evening. Sunday morning I felt even better and continued to forget. I
had coffee, hung out for a bit, and then decided to take a shower. I was feeling kind of hungry, but put off
eating. That was a mistake. All of a sudden I had a bad headache, felt really
hungry, but kind of nauseous at the same time. Dave called the oncologist on
call and she said to take the Kytril now and take the next one in 12 hours. I
took it, had something to eat, and then slept that afternoon and evening. I
pretty much slept all day Monday and by Tuesday I was feeling much better, just
a little tired.
I found that I couldn’t let myself get hungry or I get a
headache and a hunger induced rage (Sorry Dave!) after a few days, the hunger
rage started to go away and then I got heartburn
real bad. Pretty much anything would give me heartburn about 30 seconds after I
started eating. I didn’t care, I ate anyway and then snacked on Gaviscon for
dessert. I am glad to say that so far my sense of taste has stayed and food
doesn’t taste like sawdust or musty as some people have told me has happened to
them. Last night I noticed the top of my
scalp felt a little tender. After noticing that, the scalp at the back of my
head felt a little tingly. Not sure if it is real or if my imagination getting
the better of me. We are about to embark
on the family dinners and I am afraid to wash my hair in case I wash it right
off of my head. I can’t have that crisis and go to a family dinner. Even though
I have been mentally preparing myself for months for my hair falling out, I
know it is not going to be a good day when it happens. I sure hope that it’s not today.
Last Monday I had my port was inserted for my upcoming chemo
treatments. We arrived at admitting at 8 am and when my hospital bracelet was
put on, I saw that my doctor was Dr. J (for no particular reason, I am naming
him after Julius Irving, the basketball player). This is the very same surgeon
who nicked my friend’s lung during her port insertion. My anxiety level jumped
up about forty notches, but I managed to remain calm for some time. We had to
make our way from admitting to the 3rd floor and today there were no
volunteers to guide us to where we had to go. Fortunately, my boyfriend Dave,
having spent an entire day at HSC while I had my lumpectomy, knew how to get
around the building. Once we were on the elevator up to the 3rd
floor, my calm exterior started to crack. Tears began to stream down my face,
but I was in front, facing the door, so no one behind me could see me. When we
got off the elevator Dave asked me what was wrong and I showed him my bracelet
and told him. I took a minute to pull myself together, and then we headed for the
right nursing station.
When we arrived at the desk, I gave them my file. While I
was waiting, I noticed a large whiteboard with a whole bunch of writing on it.
I homed in on the list of patients in for day surgery, who their doctor was,
and what procedure they were having. There were 7 names, and 6 were having ports
installed by Dr. J. This made me feel better. I reasoned that if he was doing
this many today, he did this many each day he did ports, and that he likely
does them at least once or twice a week, and he would have to have done many
successfully in the 3 years (approx.) since my friend’s surgery. I calculated that
the odds were in my favour. At this point, you may guess that I have been an
accountant for many years (or a bookie).
Once I changed into the gowns I was given, I decided to take
a picture out my window for this blog and for a facebook post. I find that
having this blog in mind as I am embarking on these treatments helps keep my
mind busy and I feel less anxiety about what is going to happen.
A nurse came to
put in my IV and I explained to her what happened with the vein in my hand at
my MUGA scan appointment. I asked that she not put the IV in my hand. It took a
bit to get the vein in my arm to pop up, but it did and I got the IV in my
forearm. Let me tell you, it is a stingy place to get an IV, but I figured I
could put up with it to save my hand. While she was taping everything in place
I told her of my concerns with Dr. J and what had happened to my friend. We
talked about it for quite a bit and she said that Dr. J was very experienced
and what had happened to my friend only occurs in about 3 to 6 percent of port
insertions. She also told me she worked directly with him for a few years and
could say he was a good surgeon. She asked if my friend had been short of
breath and I said, “No, she was in a great deal of pain, so she went to
emergency where they tubed her chest.” The nurse’s eyes grew wide when I told
her this. She asked when it happened and I said that I thought it may have been
in late 2010, but I wasn’t positive. She told me that she may have been in that
surgery with Dr. J at the time.
Sometime later, I was wheeled up to the pre-surgery area. The
OR nurse introduced herself and explained the port insertion surgery to me. She
showed me what a port and catheter look like. It was all shiny and purple and I
hoped that I would get a port just like it. She then explained that they would
make a small incision in my skin and fat, and make a little pocket for the port
to sit in. They would not be cutting into any muscle, so I needn’t worry about
that. I was kind of sad that the port was under my skin and no one would get to
see how shiny and purple it was. She then demonstrated on herself how the port
and catheter would sit. Just then, Dr. J walked in and introduced himself. He
started explaining what he was going to do and when he got to the part about inserting
the catheter, I said, “This is the dangerous part, right?” I am trying to
remember exactly what was said and in what order, but I may not have it exact.
I recall saying to him, “My friend had her lung nicked during this procedure
and you were the surgeon.” He sat back and said something like, “You’re the one!”
I am guessing that the IV nurse told him what I had told her. He did seem to
know about what happened with my friend aside from what I told the nurse,
because he told me that he had stopped putting the catheter down towards the
heart and started putting it directly into the jugular. He said he went back to
running them down towards the heart after patients complained about how
irritated they were with the catheter in their neck. He also said the chance of
a pneumothorax during the procedure is pretty low. The nurse asked how the
patients were irritated and Dr. J said it bothered them that they could feel it
when they turned their head. I told him it would be irritating because it is a
reminder. He told me the choice was mine and I could have it put in my jugular
if I wanted and I told him that my mom’s port was fine and so was another
friend’s port, so I would go with what he normally does. He remarked I seemed
to know a lot of people with ports and I said, “Yes, unfortunately.” I honestly
don’t want to be reminded of the port and why I have it either.
In the operating room, before they put me into a conscious
sedation, I heard a song playing. I asked Dr. J what it was. I think he told
me, “Rolling In.” I asked who it was by and I could not make out the name as he
had on a surgical mask. If anyone has any idea what the song is, please let me
know. I fell asleep listening to the song and did not wake up until I was back
in my room downstairs. Even though they told me I might be drifting in and out
with conscious sedation, I knew I would be out, because I didn’t get much sleep
the night before.
Once I awoke I was aware of a pain in my shoulder when I
would move a certain way. It was away
from the port insertion and didn’t hurt all of the time, so it seemed not
directly related to the surgery. A nurse took out my IV and explained how to
care for my incision and gave me my owner’s manual for my new Xcela Power Injectable
Port. Besides the owner’s manual, I received a purple bracelet and a purple card
with the port’s serial number, my name, and Dr.J’s name on it. Oh yes, I also
received a purple keychain tag identifying what type of port I have. After she
explained everything, she took out my IV so I could start to get ready to go
home.
Once I started moving
around the pain in my shoulder was excruciating at times and it seemed to be
muscular as it hurt when I moved and really, really hurt when I tried to lie
down. It was so bad, I cried so they
decided to send me for an x-ray. My original IV nurse came back in to give me
morphine and saw that I didn’t have an IV any more. She got me a morphine pill instead
and told me that when they do the surgery they place your arm over your head
and I may be having pain from being in that position. I believe her, because my
arm barely worked after I had to keep it in the same position for the biopsy. When
the other nurse heard that IV nurse went to get me a pill, she realized she
took the IV out too soon and was kicking herself. A little while later, I heard
her being berated in the hall by another nurse who was taking over the next
shift, “You never take out an IV until they are walking!” Right after the
x-ray, I was waiting by the x-ray reception to be wheeled back to my room when
I overheard a lady at the desk talking on the phone, “What is it? A PICC line?
What are you people doing up there? This is the 5th one today!” Apparently,
everybody was catching heck today. The x-ray turned out to be fine so they let me
go home.
It has been 3 days since my chemo port was put in and my
shoulder is still quite sore and the area of the surgery is tender, but oddly
itchy as heck. I know that I am allergic to the adhesive on some bandages, but besides
being itchy there, the skin over the port is itchy as well. It seems weird, but
my mom said it was the same for her and that it would go away.
On Wednesday I got the call I had been waiting for, I start
my chemo treatments tomorrow morning. I only realized today that tomorrow is
Friday the 13th. I am not superstitious, but I do find it kind of a coincidence.
Right after I got that call, I called
Kendall and told her I need to get my hair coloured before Friday. Today, I got
the most glorious colours put in my hair, a peacock green with royal blue bangs
and highlights. I will be so styling at chemo tomorrow!
Tomorrow I get my port inserted and I am definitely nervous. Not as
nervous as I was before the lumpectomy, but nervous nonetheless. A good friend of mine had her lung nicked
during this very same day surgery and ended up in emergency later that night.
She told me was scarred up pretty badly from the tube they put in at the ER. I
am sure hoping my surgeon has a steady hand tomorrow.
Even though I know what happened to my friend, I still want
a port over an IV for the delivery of chemo; My right hand is still sore from my vein collapsing
over a week ago getting an injection for the MUGA scan. Earlier this week, I
could barely use it and had to try and do things with my weaker left hand. I cannot
even imagine getting 6 rounds of chemo in that hand. Tomorrow they are going to
have to find somewhere else to put the IV for surgery. I asked my mom about her port and she said she
preferred it over having the IV in her hand as she did for her first cycle of
chemo. She also had no issues with the insertion or with the port’s removal.
I still have not heard when chemo will begin, but I am sure
I will hear this week. And once I hear I am sure I will be a nervous wreck about
the first round. I am really hoping that the chemo does not kick my ass too
badly and that I do not have too many side effects from all of the drugs I am
about to take. My mother tolerated chemo really well, so I am hoping I do too.
On a brighter note, I have started looking at colours for my
hair. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer and knew that one of the
side effects was the loss of my hair, it upset me. Well, it upset me after all
of the other thoughts I had about death. I pictured handfuls of my long hair
coming off my head. I thought, “Fuck you cancer! You are not taking my hair. I AM!”
I decided to do 3 haircuts prior to beginning chemo. The first one would be a
short hairstyle, the second even shorter, and the third I would colour my hair
an unconventional colour and shorten it even further. I figured this may ease
me into my hair loss.
I had originally thought I would dye my hair a bright pink,
but have since been swayed after looking at photos of the different hair
colours available. I am leaning towards a peacock green or turquoise, but we
will see. My daughter-in-law, who is a stylist, told me that we will have to
see how light my hair turns out after the bleaching before the colour. I am excited!
Yesterday I went for a multigated acquisition (MUGA) scan. A
MUGA scan creates video images of the heart which show the size of the chambers,
the pumping function of the heart, and any abnormalities in the walls of the
ventricles and with the movement of blood between the chambers. The reason I went for a MUGA scan is because one
of the drugs I will be receiving during my first 3 cycles of chemotherapy is epirubicin.
Epirubicin may cause damage to the heart during cancer treatment, so they check
my heart beforehand to establish a baseline and then they will check it again
after the 3 cycles to see if my heart function was affected. Another cancer drug, Herceptin, can also
cause heart problems. Herceptin is given to you as part of your drug therapy if
you test positive for the protein human epidermal growth factor receptor 2 (HER2).
I did not test positive for HER2, but my mother and one of my friends have, so
they needed to go for regular MUGA scans to monitor their hearts.
I ended up being a few minutes late for my appointment. Even
though they give you a map of where you need to go, when you arrive at the end
of a corridor, you are not always sure what direction to turn. You look at the
map, then at the signs on the wall, then recall in your head where they said to
go, and discover things don’t match up.
It looks really straightforward on the map, but it’s not. When you are
standing there trying to figure out where Clinic F or Nuclear Medicine is and
not one sign says either, you try and study the map. And if you study the map
long enough, when you look back up, you can no longer remember which hallway
you actually came out of. I did make
more than one wrong turn and one of those was before I thought to go to
information to get a map.
When I finally arrived at Clinic F I was taken into a room
with a big chair, where you can be comfortable when they stab you with a
needle. Pearl (I am making up names as I go) explained that she was going to
give me an injection which is a primer. I would then go and hang around the
waiting room for 30 minutes and then Dotty would come and get me, give me
another injection of radioactive material, which will bind to the primer,
allowing them to get pretty pictures of my heart.
At the same time Pearl is telling me this, Dotty walks in. Pearl
points her out and says to me, (this is me paraphrasing Pearl) “We had a lady
in getting a MUGA who was young, younger than you. The chemotherapy had put her
into menopause and she is having a hot flash during the scan. After it was
over, Dotty says to me, “That was funny.” I said, “Funny! Hot flashes are not
funny! Hot flashes are anything but funny!” Let’s hope we come back here when
she fifty and having hot flashes and then come back 20 years later and she is
still having them!” (I like Pearl.) Dotty is grinning over in the corner and I
am thinking, “Yeah, I wanna come back when she is fifty and then again in 20
years. It will mean I am still here. Hmmm not sure if I want to come and get
MUGA scans, but I definitely want to be here.”
Pearl asked which arm she could give the injection in and I
held up my right hand and said “This one.” She then asked what side I had
surgery on and I told her the left. She said ok we can do it on the right. By
this time, I knew that whatever IVs, injections, or poky things they wanted to
stick in me had to be on the opposite side of surgery, but I didn’t know why,
so I asked. (More paraphrasing of Pearl) “It does not matter as much now as it
did in the old days. Before when you had breast cancer they took your entire
breast and pretty much all of your lymph nodes. Ladies used to get this big arm
because the lymph system had nowhere to drain, so you had to stay away from that
side.” She gestured to her chest and held out her arm as she told me this. I
could see a big puffy pink arm in my head. (I like Pearl.)
Pearl told me she was going to inject me in the hand. Ick! I
hate needles in the hand and that was why I asked for a portacath for the chemo
instead of getting it by IV. Someone today told me they had a PICC for chemo, I
just looked it up and shuddered. I will stick to the port. As Pearl was getting
me ready for the injection she asked if I had any reconstructive surgery and I smiled
and said, “No. I just had a lumpectomy. I just have a small dent.” She laughed,
“Just like a car! A small dent.” (I like
Pearl.)
She stuck me with the needle, started injecting and said, “It
puffed up.” Next thing I know she has another needle, “I am going to have to
put this one in your arm. I hate to poke people twice, but it wouldn’t go in
your hand.” (Its ok, I still like Pearl.)
Off to the waiting room. 30 minutes later, Dotty brings me
to a room with a giant machine. I put my stuff on the chair and ask if the
machine will kill my phone and she says no. She then asks me if I have any jewelry
or breast prosthesis. I say no, and then
think hard about if I have any jewelry on. I know I don’t, but I have seen too
many episodes of House with metal ink in tattoos pulling through skin and
surgical pins heating up in the MRI. I don’t usually wear jewelry and I wasn’t
anywhere near an MRI, but my brain made me double check anyway.
I got to wear my regular clothes for the scan. It is always
good when you don’t have to undress and get gowned up. Dotty has me lie on the
bed of the machine and gives me an injection in my arm. I have to raise my arm
up and down a few times to get the material moving. Dotty then placed 3 electrodes on my chest
and asked if I would put my hands either in my pockets or underneath me so they
stay close to my body when she slides the bed into the machine. I choose to lie on them. She slides the bed in,
and then brings the camera, which is big and flat like a computer monitor, in
toward me at an angle. She tells me to lie perfectly still for the scan. This
meant I could only look around with my eyes, because I couldn’t turn my head. It
was really quiet in there. I assume she didn’t talk to me because I she did not
want me talking and not being still. I stare at the ceiling and then the
sleepies start to attack and I try to fight them off. It is useless, but no
sooner did I fall asleep then the machine went “BEEEEEP!” and the first scan is
done.
For the next scan, the camera is straight above me and only
for five minutes. This time I choose to put my hands in my pockets because they
are numb from lying on them. If you are going for a MUGA scan make sure you are
wearing pants that have pockets you can put your hands in. For the last scan,
the camera is positioned at your side and you put your arms over your head.
This scan is five minutes as well. After
it is all over she tells me that it will take a week for my doctor to get the
results. I put my jacket on and I ask if I can take a picture of the machine
and she says sure. (I like Dotty even
though she wouldn’t talk to me).
Now I wait to hear when chemo is scheduled. Dr. Bob (not his
real name either), my oncologist, told me that chemo would start 10 to 14 days
after my MUGA scan, so that puts me between the 11th and 15th
of December and my port insertion is on the 9th. I am sure I will have some other things to
tell you in the meantime so stay tuned!
I just wanted to mention this great book I read. Cancer Vixen, is a graphic novel written by Marisa Acocello Marchetto. This memoir is interesting and funny. Thanks Stacy for recommending I read this book.
I am here. I am so happy to be able to say this sentence and
know that I can continue to say this sentence for some time to come. Even
though I have been diagnosed with breast cancer, everything has gone well for
me. My surgery has gotten all of the cancer and it did not spread, so the chemotherapy and
radiation I am now facing are to prevent any new cancer from growing.
Last Wednesday, I met with my oncologist for the first time
to discuss my course of treatment. He discussed everything leading up to my
diagnosis, including how I felt when I was finally given the bad news. Was I shaken up or was I expecting it? I was expecting it. That is not to say I wasn't devastated by the news, but I did have a very strong feeling that was
what I would be told. There have been too many incidences of breast cancer
around me (my mother, for one) and cancer in general in my family for me to
think that I would not get cancer. I had actually said to my own family doctor,
prior to my most recent mammogram, that it was not a matter of if I would get
cancer, but when. The when turned out to be sooner than I thought, but then
again, this news is always too soon.
I was given the choice between 2nd generation or
3rd generation chemotherapy. They fed all of my numbers; my age, the
tumour size, the estrogen receptor status, histological grade of the cancer,
and the number of nodes involved into a software program and predicted the
rate for being alive and without cancer in 10 years. The percentage point difference between 2nd generation and 3rd generation chemo treatments were only 2 percent, so I chose the 3rd generation
chemo of 6 treatments or cycles every 3 weeks for a total of 18 weeks instead of 4
treatments lasting 12 weeks. I figured since cancer has been so predominant in
my family lately and the side effects may occur with either treatment, I should take the longer
treatment to really step on this thing. “What? You are offering me more chemo?
Well then, give me all you got!”
Here’s a little bit of detail on my stats and the chemo treatment I will be receiving. If you are not interested in
this stuff just skip the next two paragraphs. I will try and put this type of
detail in for those who may want to compare their treatments to mine.
I am 47 and in
excellent general health. The tumour size was 3.0 cm (fairly
large, this is bad), no lymph node involvement (this is really good),
histologic grade of 3 and Nottingham score of 9, (this is bad), and estrogen
receptor status was positive (this good, but the scale is out of 8 and I was 5
out of 8, which means the cancer was not entirely estrogen caused).
The first 3 chemotherapy cycles involve 3 drugs,
Fluorouracil, Epirubicin, and Cyclophosphamide, which will be given all at the
same time during each treatment. The last 3 cycles are with a drug called
Docetaxel. Once chemotherapy is
complete, I will be taking the drug Tamoxifen for 5 years. If I become menopausal, they will take me off Tamoxifen and put me on Aromatase
Inhibitors. My oncologist told me “…at 47, there is a good
chance your periods will go south.” I sure do like the way he speaks, it is kind of funny.
I should be starting chemo in about 3 or 4 weeks, but before that I have
to have a multigated acquisition (MUGA) scan to make I do not any heart issues.
One of the medications I will be given, Epirubicin, can cause heart problems if
given in large doses. The dosage given during chemo is small, so it should not
cause heart problems if you did not have them already. Once the first 3
treatments have occurred, I will receive a second MUGA scan to check on my
heart once again.
At the end of the consultation with the oncologist, I asked for a port insertion,
so that I do not have to take my chemotherapy drugs through an IV. My mother had
her first treatment via IV and then received a port for subsequent treatments.
She says it was much easier through the port. I do have some anxiety over the port
insertion as my friend had her lung punctured during her insertion and she
almost died.
I received a call late last week and was given December 9th
for the port insertion. They did not have a date for the MUGA scan as they said
there was a shortage of something in nuclear medicine. I found out from my
friend, who is a nurse, that they are short of isotopes. While looking online today,
I came across this article on the Chalk River nuclear
reactor which is causing an isotope shortage "Unplanned
shutdown triggers isotope shortage; hospitals urged to use cautiously" . I do hope my MUGA scan is not delayed for too long.
I am in a good place right now; my outcome looks very
promising, I am almost fully recovered from surgery, and I have not yet started
chemo. I am sure things will be
quite different for me when I am suffering the effects of chemo(low white blood cell count, nausea and diarrhea, mouth sores, etc.) my place may not be so good. I read an
article once by a doctor who said that years from now we will look back on how cancer was treated and think of how barbaric it was. He also mentioned about one day
having a computer chip in our toilets that monitors our waste and can detect
very early signs of cancer. It sounds pretty remarkable and I can't wait for that to happen. I have maintained my
sense of humour throughout everything, including the bleak, dark days following
diagnosis, when you only know you have cancer and do not know the extent of it.
I have managed to joke about the scarring and bruising after my lumpectomy and have named
my besieged left breast "Frankenboob". Also, I have recently began to sing my own
Christmas carol, “I’ll Be Bald for Christmas”.
