A little history to get you started (Cliff Notes version)...
My husband and I just recently graduated from nursing school, myself in May, 2012 and him in May of this year. Keep in mind, we are both in our 40's. Many unfortunate life events caused us to have to file bankruptcy, foreclose on our family home and lose everything we had. In order to get our lives back in order and support our 3 boys, we both opted to make the tough choice to go back to college. After 5 years of blood, sweat and tears and a whole lot of sacrifice, we both graduated college with our RN, BSN.
Which brings us to...
We both landed jobs as nurses at the facility of our choice. We had dreams of getting back on our feet, being able to buy our own home, take our kids on vacation, have a REAL Christmas that didn't involve robbing Peter to pay Paul. Before we could even rack up a couple of dual-income paychecks and get ahead on bills, September 11, 2013 hit. While the world recalled where they were when the twin towers were attacked on September 11, 2001, I sat in my GYN office and listened as she carefully explained to me and my husband that I have Breast Cancer. That day, attack of the twin towers took on a whole new meaning. I don't mean to sound cheeky or insensitive but it's kind of ironic to me.
Once the family was informed, tears were shed, a plan was made. Get this shit outta me, no matter what. I opted (insisted) on a bilateral mastectomy with immediate reconstruction. Weirdly enough, I was the calm one in the family. I wasn't scared or nervous. Can't say the same about everyone else around me. Although on a few drunk tequila nights, I did lose my mind a time or two but I blame that on the tequila. When sober, I could keep it together. No more tequila.
On October 25, 2013, I underwent a bilateral mastectomy with lymph node dissection. Surgery went fine, recovery went fine. Lymph nodes were negative for Cancer-woo hoo! The worst part of my recovery has been the nasty ass JP drains that hung from my body for 3 weeks and the liquid filled bricks (tissue expanders), that take up space where my boobs used to be. Otherwise, my recovery has been fairly uneventful. What people don't tell you is that you can't lie flat in bed during recovery. It's too painful. I spent 6 weeks (and occasionally still spend a night or 3) in a La-Z-Boy chair. Best thing ever! During the time I was recovering from surgery, I (impatiently) awaited an appointment with the medical oncologist to determine the next stage of my treatment. And in the meantime, I went to my plastic surgeon weekly to inject more saline into the bricks in my chest to help stretch my muscles and skin to make room for my new "foobs" (fake boobs). One thing you need to know is nothing is ever black and white for me. There's almost always a gray area of my life where things tend to hang out. It's never "this" or "that". It's always a "not quite this" or "not quite that". This is where my pathology report findings were hiding. We knew I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma Grade 2. I am ER+ PR+ which means that my cancer feeds off of estrogen and progesterone. It's my HER2/neu status that remained on the fence. Unfortunately this finding determines the need for chemotherapy. And my finding was 2+ which lands in the gray area of "could or could not" need chemo. Lucky for me, my wonderful new medical oncologist didn't like this "gray area" and sent my sample to the "specialist of all specialists" and this time the findings came back concrete. The actual result was not 2+ as originally thought but 3+ meaning my cancer is aggressive. I bet you can guess what this means...I get to ride the chemotherapy train.
"Foobs" will now have to wait...
Since chemotherapy is now in my cancer regimen, my plans for surgery to replace the water bricks in my chest with soft silicone "foobs" has been put on hold until Spring. And I've put the expander fills on hold as well. 475cc is a pretty decent size to hang out at while I see how this chemo thing is going to affect me. The silver lining is, I actually have something that looks like boobs (but more square...and uneven) and I don't have to (and DON'T) wear a bra.
And here we are in "chemo-ville"...
On December 17, 2013, I reported to the Cath Lab of the hospital where I work. I had a port placed into my right chest just above my expander (more fake bumps). This round disc, roughly the size of a quarter, lies just under my skin and runs into a vein in my neck that ends close to my heart where it will stay for at least a year. This is where the toxic chemicals that are intended to kill my cancer will enter my body. Still quite sedated from the port placement, my husband and I headed over to the Cancer Center for my very first chemotherapy infusion. I must admit, this is the very first time I've been truly scared of what's to come. Anyone who knows me, knows that I don't do nausea and especially vomiting well. Not that it's pretty for anyone but I literally CANNOT throw up. My body makes the most grotesque noises when attempting to heave but nothing ever comes out. Not quite sure why, but I've been this way for years. I'm prepared to lose my hair, I'm prepared to be tired. I am NOT prepared to get sick. My oncologist assures me that the type of chemo I will be getting is not known for causing nausea and vomiting. I'm totally counting on this to be true. I can handle anything else. Infusion #1 went off without a hitch. Mostly because I was asleep the whole time. In addition to the sedating drugs given when my port was placed, they gave me Benadryl and Decadron prior to starting my chemo. These are intended to combat any possible reactions that may or may not occur due to the poisons that they would be putting into my body. I was also given Ativan (an anti-anxiety drug), because apparently many people are anxious about their first chemo infusion (go figure!). All of the above mentioned drugs are sedating so you can imagine I probably looked like Molly Ringwald's sister on her wedding day in the movie "Sixteen Candles".
The side effects from chemo #1 were pretty mild as far as I can tell. The next day, my face was swollen and felt sunburned. I felt drained but not sleepy. I had some mild aches through the week but mostly, I just felt like I had a mild flu. I was able to attend my son's Christmas band concert. He and his drum line all wore a pink bandana in my honor. Proud mom moment! I was able to Christmas shop and live a mostly normal existence. I've heard of the "chemo brain fog" but didn't imagine that it would hit so quickly and now I'm scared of the "fog" to come. The next morning after my first infusion, I was scrambling up some eggs. I went to the fridge to get the milk to add it to my eggs. I shook the bottle to get it all to the opening (is this necessary with milk?) Before I could realize what I was doing, I had dumped chocolate Hershey's syrup into my eggs. My husband will NOT let me live this down. I have had a few of these out of body experiences. Not one of my proudest moments.
And now here we are...
Which brings you to this week in my cancer journey which will be unfolded in the next chapter of "when life hands you lemons." If you made it this far in my blog, thank you for reading. I hope to continue writing throughout my journey, as my brain cells allow. Stay tuned...
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