Venting Again

I think sometimes I try to be too upbeat here, but over the past week I’ve been struggling. I just had a good cry when I got on to my facebook account and was invited to join a facebook group for a little girl who is only 11 who has invasive ductal carinoma…..stage 2 breast cancer. Here’s her website if you care to cry and pray with me. Every where I turn it seems like someone is being diagnosed. I’ll be honest, it gets really hard. This disease is horrible.

We’re now picking up the pieces, and we’re having to face finances as well. I want to say it doesn’t matter. My life is way more important than money, but the truth is, that most places don’t care and they like to make your life miserable. If you get cancer and you are already struggling financially, you just might be screwed. We think we’ll make it but I need to get back to work very soon since our student loans DO NOT CARE THAT I HAD CANCER! Thanks for letting me vent…..lol!

Yes, but I have breasts that feel real. Don’t look very real, but feel real. And hey, I look great. I should be able to snap right back don’t you think. I’m all back together again…..it’s like nothing ever happened.

I need to go to bed.

Taxotere (and Herceptin) — The Next Chapter

(cross posted from Coffee and Chemo. You can read the backstory here.)

 

I thought it would be simple.

I was wrong. Again.

But I am jumping ahead….

****WARNING: LONG POST****
(feel free to just skip straight to Part II)

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PART I — Herceptin

Because new drugs are usually given a bit slower than normal, the nurses were anxious about finishing the Herceptin early so that I could start the Taxoter as soon as possible. Now, having been around the chemo block one or two times already, I already figured this out on my own. So when D came in and suggested we up the rate of my IV drip to 130 (instead of 120), I immediately agreed.

A few minutes later, my oncologist came into the day room… to talk to me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, since he does not usually pop in to chat.

With a very serious face, he told me how important it was to finish the Herceptin on time, otherwise I would have to come in another day for the Taxotere. He knows how much I dread coming in another day. Then he suggested that I follow D’s recommendations for how fast to administer the Herceptin.

Since I was doing that already, I saw no reason to argue.

After he left, I realized I neglected to mention that I already felt some mild chest pain, which is the reason I get Herceptin slowly in the first place.

I was a little nervous, but I figured I would mention the discomfort to D if/when she came in to up the rate. Since the Herceptin was almost finished, I suspected this might not even be an issue. I have already learned not to make a fuss out of something that might not even happen.

And, in fact, neither D nor anyone else suggested raising the rate in the few minutes that were left before the Herceptin finished, sometime between 12:30 and 1:00.

THAT was the easy part of the morning.

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PART II — Taxotere

I already knew that I would need to wear special “freezer” gloves and slippers during the Taxotere treatments, to prevent my fingernails and toenails from turning blue.

I was not prepared for how FREAKING COLD they would be!!! (…trying to keep my blog family friendly here….)

At first, the tip of one of my left fingers started tingling. I wondered if it was from:
1. neuropathy
2. Taxotere
3. the FREAKING cold gloves

Then the fingers on my right hand started burning.

I ruled out neuropathy, but I still was not sure which caused the burning sensation, the Taxotere or frostbite.

Finally, it was so painful, I called a nurse. The FREAKING gloves were FREEZING my fingers!

The nurse offered this simple advice: when my fingers get too cold, remove them from the gloves until they warm up.

She added another suggestion: only stick my fingertips in the gloves; keep the rest of my hands and fingers outside.

I asked if it was absolutely necessary to keep my fingers in the gloves. The nurse said that I had a choice: cold fingers or blue nails.

Now, I have never been particular about the way I look. I do not use make-up, I wear simple and comfortable clothes, and even now I walk around my house with my thinning hair out in the open. But to openly choose to have ugly blue fingernails was too much. I took a deep breath, held back my tears, and accepted that I would just have to learn to accept the freezer gloves.

It took TEN MINUTES to warm up my fingers enough to stick them back in the gloves!

My trials and tribulations were far from over.

A few minutes later, my chest started hurting. At least, I thought it did. I was not sure. I thought I felt pressure on my sternum. But maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe it was the same pressure I felt earlier from the Herceptin. I could not tell.

So, I waited.

A while later, I thought the pressure felt a little worse. But I still was not sure.

So, I waited.

Meanwhile, my chemo date valiantly tried to entertain me. Luckily, she is one of the most positive and good natured people I know, so she did a great job of distracting me.

Still, I felt the pressure getting stronger. And yet, maybe it was all in my head.

So, I waited some more.

Eventually, the pressure was downright uncomfortable.

However, I still was not sure whether the pressure was from:
1. the Herceptin
2. the Taxotere
3. my mind (perhaps stress related)

I did not want to make a fuss. (I know this is surprising for those who know me well, but I have long since discovered that I become rather weak-kneed when having to confront members of the medical community)

Finally, I could not take the pain!

I felt like an elephant was sitting on my sternum!

My wonderful chemo date told me I looked green. She kept reminding me to keep breathing. I had not even realized I was holding my breath (to try to alleviate the pain).

I called the nurse, who stopped the IV and went to consult my oncologist.

For the second time that day, my oncologist came to see me in the day ward. He asked me a few questions and turned around to go.

“Wait,” I called after him, “What’s the plan?” he responded, “I think I want to do an Echo and check your heart.”

“I am not sure;”

Not what I wanted to hear.

He decided on an EKG.

With time, the pain lessened. The EKG was normal. The oncologist determined I was good to go.

Chemo resumed.

So did the pressure in my chest.

This time I did not wait before telling the nurse. She slowed down the drip. I felt mild relief.

Periodically, different nurses came in to check on me. I answered them all the same: the pressure is unpleasant, but I can manage.

Meanwhile, I switched the freezer gloves and slippers at least twice, carefully making sure that I did not freeze my fingers off.

I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I was when the Taxotere finally finished.

This was NOT a fun chemo day.

Next time, I will know a bit more about what to expect. That should make it easier, even if I have the same symptoms (I sure hope I won’t).

I still feel pressure in my chest, but not so bad.

I have slight itching, but nothing too severe.

I am exhausted!

This stuff better work!!

Learning Compassion

A few weeks ago, Her Bad Mother and her friend David suggested doing an around the world meme on a simple topic: 5 things that I love about being a mom.  The project has picked up steam, with over 200 posts from 41 countries to date.  It’s really interesting to see what people have to say in these quick little snapshots.  While reading through a couple responses, I couldn’t help but compose my own.  And so, nearly 2 years after diagnosis and almost a year to the day after completing my treatment, I’m chiming in with what I love most about my life today, my life as mom:

1. Being woken up with joy, two little blond heads popping up over the edge of the bed, ready to start the day.

2. Spending mornings adventuring through the back woods of our neighborhood or the concrete jungles of downtown Washington, D.C., with tot friends and mom friends, confident in the acceptance and ease that comes with knowing you’ve all got the same interests and principles at heart (1. love kids. 2. help kids grow. 3. keep kids safe), though you may be so different in experience or heritage or plans for when the kids grow up.

3. Snuggling two sleepy little ones for afternoon nap, cuddled up in their beds reading book after book, and telling stories until they fall asleep.

4. The freedom I have to fill their days with digging in the dirt, squealing over wiggly worms, talking about how plants grow, and being there when they ask, “Why, Mommy?”

5. Watching with pride as one comforts the other after a stumble on the pavement. As I rush to cuddle and comfort the one who hurts, the other invariably gets there first, wrapping his tiny arms around his brother, dipping his little head on brother’s shoulder, and saying, “It’s okay, brudder. It’s okay.”

That last bit reflects hard-earned empathy for these children, these wonderful children who have grown through the tragedy that was a mama who couldn’t hold them when she was sick, couldn’t run with them through the wet grasses, couldn’t take them to see the world because she was sick in bed from chemotherapy. These children rallied, and comforted me as I comforted them, always loving, always careful, and being with them every moment possible, as they are the lights of my life. The empathy is hard-won for them, and while I regret that they had to go through so much, I am proud that for them it produced kindness, concern, and compassion for each other, for friends, for stray animals, and for their daddy and me when we stub our toe or burn a finger.

These children, these little children, are teaching me how to live.

And I am grateful.

Join the project — post your response to “5 things I love about being a mom” and David and Her Bad Mother will link you up. Don’t wait for a tag … by reading this, you can be sure that I’m tagging YOU.  I’m also specifically calling out Imstell, Laurie, Judy, Nicole, Rivka, Mary Beth, Sarah, Frances, Hedgie, Jenster, Jen, Lahdeedah, cancervisa, and scwrites, the active coauthors of this site.  C’mon, ladies, you’ve been through SO MUCH to earn this time with your kids … what do you revel in most?

When your self esteem takes a hit

One of the hardest part of a cancer diagnosis is the physical change in a person. For the most part, I’ve been emotionally ready for each physical difference a treatment or surgery has made to my appearance.

Last November, on the eve of my first chemotherapy treatment, I was fully aware that my hair would fall out within the next two weeks. I had on standby a bunch of hats I had knitted myself and a few head scarves that I had purchased. When the hair began to come out, I took the bull by the horns and shaved the rest of my hair off myself. As it turned out, the scarves looked pretty good on my very round head and my woolly hats came in handy on cold winter nights. I didn’t mind my bald self all that much and had fun with different colored scarves and coordinating make-up. So many people came up to me and would say “you don’t look sick at all.”

Now though I’ve gone through a different transformation. Last week I had surgery to remove all my breast tissue, both sides. Tissue expanders were implanted and will be slowly expanded over the next few weeks to form hopefully a small C cup breast. In the meantime, I’ve gone from a full C to almost nothing. And since I’ve always carried a bit of extra weight in my middle, I’m totally off balance. Add to the fact that my hair is growing back in what looks like a GRAY color and you have the perfect chemistry for bad body image 101.

I’ve literally gone from a curvy, full breasted, long curly haired women to someone I now don’t recognize. I’m looking for that boost I need to bring me back to feeling good about myself again. I may have found it.

While at the doctor’s office yesterday, my father started a conversation with one of the patients in the waiting room. She is a cancer survivor like myself, having been through the same treatments and surgeries as I have and is now ready for the second reconstruction surgery where the tissue expanders are replaced with breast implants. She then blurted out “I can’t wait for the tummy tuck ” and that’s when I found out that for an extra out of pocket fee, the plastic surgeon can perform a tummy tuck during the implant surgery.

All of a sudden I had images of myself, full breasted, flat tummy, chic new silver euro-hairstyle with a stylish wardrobe, all of which I can wear without a bra. My self image went from blah to smokin’ in a matter of seconds.

Next week, during my first expansion session, I will be meeting with my plastic surgeon to check on my post surgical body. I plan to inquire about the tummy tuck. Since I won’t have the second surgery until sometime mid-summer, I’ve got plenty of time to think about whether a tummy tuck is worth the money. Then again, with the worst year of my entire life almost behind me, maybe I owe it to myself to do something that will make me feel like a total woman again.

Cross posted at C is Not For Cookie

Happy Birthday to me!

This is what the modern-day, 43 year old, double mastected, two and one half year cancer thriver looks like!

I passed all my tests with flying colors. My bones scans were very bony. My CT was quite unremarkable. And my wonderful oncologist said I am just going to live forever. Forever. It has a nice ring to it. Well, perhaps not forever. I wouldn’t want to outlive my bladder control, after all…

Some of my friends tip-toe around my age or suggest that I might be 39 this year with a conspiratorial wink. “Oh, no you don’t!”, I think to myself, “I earned this age! There was a time not long ago I didn’t think I’d live to see it!” Besides, 39 was when I was diagnosed.

You can keep 39!!!!!

I’ll take 43, and 44, and 50, and 60… any day!!!!!