My New Norm

*Double sigh.* When a post starts like this, something's gotta be up, right? Well, I guess I can start by saying that my hair is growing back! It looks and feels like peach fuzz! Now THAT is definitely something to celebrate.

On to the *double sigh." I've had an insanely busy day, and I wasn't even at work today. It started with Matthew's trimester awards assembly. I dropped him off at child care and graded papers in the car, while waiting for the assembly to start. Once it was over, I rushed over to the post office to mail out Christmas cards (early for once). Then I headed to Ontario for my appointment with the radiation oncologist. Let's say that I should have brought Tony with me. I really needed an extra ear or two to decipher through all the medical terminology.

Dr. Ong is my radiation oncologist. She is caring and attentive. I was impressed that she knew so much about me and my cancer before I even met her. Days before this appointment, she met with her team of oncologists so they could review my chart and discuss the best treatment for me. Dr. Ong pulled up my pathology reports and went through each finding thoroughly with me, making sure that I understood where my cancer started, what it looked like, how it acted. I felt like I was being diagnosed all over again. Sure, I knew that I had the most aggressive, invasive kind. Invasive ductal carcinoma, grade 3. Tumor size 1.4 cm. Two positive lymph nodes. But I wasn't aware that they found some in my blood vessels. Lymph-vascular invasion present. All of these risk factors, combined with my young age and BRCA+, made me a good candidate for radiation.

She also pointed out that I'm triple-negative. If you google triple-negative breast cancers, you will quickly find that it is not a good thing. That means that Herceptin (used to treat Her2+ patients) and hormone blockers cannot be used against my cancer cells (although I am taking Tamoxifen). Chemotherapy is most effective for triple-negative breast cancers. I told her that my oncologist had my sample tested twice and both times, it came back as progesterone positive (2-3%). She said that number is so low, it's practically negative.

She then drew pictures of where the radiation beams will be hitting my body, all while explaining the possible side effects. Partially radiated lung. Higher risk of lympedema, which might involve physical therapy. Messed up skin. Tattoo marks where the beams will hit. My mind ventured off a few times because it was too much information. All of this talk about cancer again was bringing me down. I was just starting to feel good too, almost back to being myself.

Finally, she recommended that I get the bilateral mastectomy before the hysterectomy. She wants me to start radiation soon after the surgery and waiting until February or March is apparently not acceptable.  Because we need to continue treatment for the cancer, the hysterectomy can wait. Makes sense, I suppose.

I left the hospital in pretty low spirits. I'm not mentally prepared to do this.

The next few hours were spent shopping for toys, toys, toys. It wasn't even fun. I was by myself and I couldn't make decisions. I suck.

The last part of my day was spent at the endodontist getting a root canal. Yeah, I really did ask him, "How do I know if I'm numb enough?" He just laughed. Never met anyone like me, huh, doc? Today ended with one last visit to Kaiser pharmacy for antibiotics.

All this, in one day. It must be my new normal. Because crazy days like this are happening more often than not.

1 Month Post Chemo

I had been looking forward to my one month check up for a while now. I actually took the entire day off, thanks to a wonderful sub that offered me a free sub day. I ran a ton of errands in the morning, then met Tony at home for lunch.

It felt really weird to drive to Kaiser, being that it's been 4 weeks since our last weekly visit. I was sad when I checked in because it was not the same lady that I'm used to seeing. It was some strange guy sitting at her desk! I made such a big stink about it that Tony finally said she's probably on vacation and all of her teddy bears are still on her desk, so she still works there! Then we noticed that someone taped an arrow pointing to the elevator button because people have such a hard time finding it. I told Tony that there were just too many changes in only 4 weeks. How come those little changes affected me so much that day? I still can't figure it out. I mean, I was upset that we didn't take a picture of the stupid arrow made out of tape! That was just the beginning.

I felt really sad as I was walking down the hallway to my oncologist. We had to walk right past the chemo suite. Even Tony, who is not normally bothered by much, felt an odd sense of remembrance.

Anyhow, Dr. Chan referred me to a radiation oncologist to discuss the possibility of me needing radiation. I asked for the best one and his response was that they were all up-to-date. I said I'm sure they are, but I'd like to see the best one. He avoided my question and said that I'd see the technicians more than the doctor.

The big news this time is that I was prescribed Tamoxifen, a hormone blocker. I've read a lot about it, so I'm very familiar with the side effects. See, Tamoxifen is usually prescribed for people whose cancers feed off of the hormones estrogen and progesterone. I was estrogen negative and very slightly progesterone positive (2-3%). Studies have not shown that Tamoxifen is beneficial to people like me, but he wanted me to try it anyways. It is a five year commitment. The side effects are menopausal symptoms, such as hot flashes and mood swings. In addition to all that, muscle and joint aches can be a problem as well. I told him that all of those things will happen to me anyway because of my upcoming hysterectomy and oopherectomy. He agreed, but said that Tamoxifen would be intensify them. He also said that if my quality of life is severely affected by the Tamoxifen, I can refuse to continue it. I see him again in two months for a follow up. So far, Tamoxifen is a thumbs down for me. A daily pill that makes me feel like crap. No thanks. But I will take it and make a final decision in two months.

Here are some questions that I had prepared for him:

Me: Can I go to the dentist?
Answer: Yes, now that you are done with chemo.

Me: Can I tattoo my eyebrows? I mean, I know I can get double eyebrows if they grow back in a different spot, but it really stinks to draw fake eyebrows in EVERY morning. Sometimes, it takes 20 minutes to make them look the same!
Answer: Um, sure.

Me: Is there a special shampoo that will make my hair grow back faster?
Answer: No.

Me: But if there WAS a special shampoo, can I use it?
Answer: Um, sure.

Me: Are the Tamoxifen pills like huge horse pills?
Answer: No. (insert funny face here)
Tony (who never says anything during my visits): They're just regular horse pills.

Dr. Chan must think that I am so vain, which I admit to being, but come on now, wouldn't you have wanted to know those things? Well, maybe not the eyebrow thing, because that's just vanity speaking right there.

So...because he gave me permission to visit the dentist, I called as soon as I got into the car. They squeezed me in the following day. Turns out I need a root canal! Boo-hoo. Seriously??

*Sigh* Well, the good news is I have this entire week off from work. I will be having minor surgery on Wednesday to remove my port. Not looking forward to being awake while Dr. Morton opens the incision to pull the catheter out. I heard they superglue the incision back. To be honest, I'm scared!

Next Thursday, I meet with my radiation oncologist AND the endodontist for my root canal. Wish me luck.

No eyebrows. See what I mean, people? You would ask too.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!! XOXO

Mortality and Death

Today's topic is not meant to be morbid at all. It's just that these issues arise when you have been diagnosed with a life threatening disease. It doesn't help that I recently read a book narrated by Death himself. A great read, by the way. It's called The Book Thief, for those of you that might be interested.

For most of my life, I always thought that I'd live to a ripe old age. Not that I still won't or can't. Matter of fact, I think most people imagine themselves living until pretty much forever. Then something like cancer enters their life, and boom, they realize that they are mortal. TOO mortal. Here is a story I'd like to share:

Matthew has been learning about bats at school as part of an October unit. His class read the story Stellaluna, which is about a bat that lost his mom. One of the questions he had to answer was, "What would you have done if you were Stellaluna and had been separated from your mom?" His written reply, "I would have tried to find a new mom." I wanted to cry at my son's innocent response to such a simple question. Because, of course, to me, that answer holds a much deeper meaning. Kids are resilient, yes, I know that. But how much would my children remember me, at 4 and 6, if they were "separated" from me? I would want them to remember me, but I'd also want their lives to continue normally. I would want them to find a new mom. Matthew recently said that you don't need the person to physically be there because they will always be in your heart and in your brain. Spoken from the true mind of a six year old. 

We are all mortal. Every single one of us. Knowing that is the easy part. Accepting that is the hard part.