Chemo #6 - LAST CHEMO!!!

This is it, people.  G-d willing, my last chemo ever.  That's me, waving bye-bye.  I'm hydrating like crazy to ensure as smooth a recovery as possible, and I am full of euphoric joy at the moment.  Phase 1 of this unplanned journey is almost complete.  And as bad as it was at times (and will likely be within the next week or so), much like childbirth, the pain and discomfort are a memory ~  I know it happened because I remember it happened, but the physical aspect is in the past.

Many people have told me how strong I am and have been through this all.  And I own that ~ I have always been clear that I'm a powerhouse, and chemo has proven that to me once again.  I've even had a few moments of adrenaline rushes to see how far my body could be pushed.  Not quite as fun as jumping out of a plane or the like, but the same kind of do-or-die rush I used to enjoy so much before I had kids.  I own that those may be strange thoughts, but thoughts and feelings that have gone through my head nonetheless.

And my intention is not to diminish my strength when I say this, but at the same time, it was easy for me to be strong, because the chemo worked, and I knew from the beginning it would work, regardless of the aggressive, Stage 3 possibly morphing into Stage 4 aspect of my diagnosis.  I knew from the beginning I would beat this. I cannot imagine the strength of those who put their bodies through this knowing that the cancer will kill them in the end, and do it to extend their lives, praying they last as long as possible.  People like my Aunt Judy.  That woman was a fighter, and didn't give up in spirit, even when her body did.  That, my friends, is strength of which I am in awe.  And it is a strength that I pray I will never have to find within myself, or that any of you will have to find within yourselves.

So I want to create a shoutout to chemo.  A thank you.  There are so many F-chemo posts out there, or anger at chemo (and I get it, I truly do - I don't think it's something many desire), but I am one of the blessed for whom chemo has been a Godsend.

So here is my farewell...

Thank you, Taxotere and Carboplatin.  Thank you for attacking all fast growing cells in my body and creating the miracle of remission within two cycles of using you.

Thank you, Herceptin and Perjeta.  Thank you for attacking the HER2 hormones that were feeding the cancer and creating the miracle of remission within two cycles of using you.  Herceptin, I am happy to continue my relationship with you over the next year.

Thank you Dr. Bert Petersen for referring me to Dr. Stephen Malamud (and getting me in to see him three hours later), one of NY's top 100 doctors all around (for how many years now?), who prescribed me the above course of chemo and gave me doses strong enough to push my body to its limits to get those drugs to work their magic, all the while with a nurturing bedside manner, and being available to me 24/7 (how many doctors do you text regularly with questions, and get almost immediate responses?).

Thank you to the amazing nurses and staff at Beth Israel Cancer Center, gracious, caring, involved, and making a difference in saving lives every single day you wake up and go to work.

Thank you, doctors, researchers, lab assistants, and everyone who dedicated countless hours developing the chemo and antibodies that will enable me to watch my children grow from here on earth, and giving my children the gift of their mother (and that includes you, Big Pharma - never woulda thunk...)

Thank you to the women (and men!) who were part of test studies to make sure these medications worked.  I pray your results were as good as mine.

Thank you to all of you who walk, raise money, and donate your time and energy to funding cancer research.  Perjeta has only been around for the last year or so. Herceptin, also a key antibody in my treatment and lowering my risks of recurrence, was developed and added into treatments only a decade and a half ago, and is being studied for use in other cancers as well.  And that was after the HER2 hormones were isolated.  That research is part of what your money funds when you give.  

Chemo - who you are to me is the medical incarnation of that too-strict teacher who pushes you past the limits of what you thought could be possible with blood, sweat, and tears.  I may have hated you at times, but I was always clear that your intention was to empower me to be stronger than I ever thought possible, and in the process you taught me new ways to be that will empower me for the rest of my life.

Peace out, yo.

Chemo #5 - Owning Anxiety

Hello my friends! Here I am posting about chemo #5 an entire week later, when usually I post about my chemo on the day of.

It's been a rough week.  It was a rough chemo.

The roughest since that first one.  My mom and I think it may be because I didn't hydrate as much as I normally do with my usual broth.  My oncologist thinks it's related to the anxiety I've been feeling about my upcoming surgery.  It's likely a combination of the two, plus a bunch of other factors I have no clue about. Either way, the broth and the anxiety are two things I'm taking on between now and my next (and last!) chemo.  The broth is easy - it's super easy to make and will take all of 10 minutes of active prep-time.  The anxiety, however...

I've never had to deal with anxiety.  Don't get me wrong - I've been anxious!  Going back to work when my son was seven weeks old, starting a job at a new school, dealing with money and legal issues, when my dad died... I know what it means to feel anxious, even a bit depressed.  No claim of a perfect life over here!  I've just never been in a situation where,  for a prolonged length of time, I'm living in circumstances that are not of my choosing and from which I cannot walk away, and the journey forward is one that's got some monumental changes coming, also that are not of my choosing.  And then there's the added mental confusion of the fact that I *am* choosing my course of action - I have the right and power to refuse chemo and the surgeries and radiation.  I just like the alternative (painful death from cancer) a lot less.  So.... add those two together and you've got where I am right now.  This is no "chocolate/vanilla" choice. This is the distinction of choosing, the learning to dance in the rain rather than waiting for the storm to pass - in full living color. And it's uncomfortable. And that was my understatement of the century.

When I'm uncomfortable (not physically, rather in terms of my mental/emotional state), I know that it's me growing. I've learned that when I'm uncomfortable I can either hibernate and stay stagnant and uncomfortable, or I can take a few leaps that are even more uncomfortable to grow a little more, kind of like ripping off a bandaid.  So that's what I've begun to do. I took some actions that are aligned with my decreasing my anxiety, and so far they seem to be working.

The first thing I did was reach out to women who have been in my position before. Yeah, about time, right? I was afraid of hearing horror stories and set backs and recurrences of cancer and about people who died... I didn't want to hear about anything that could influence my having a positive outlook and make me more scared than I already was. I bit that bullet, and got into action. I had spoken with a few women previously, but no one who had been in my circumstances. The group Sharsharet, a breast cancer support service group that is predominantly Jewish women (although they work with everyone!), hooked me up with a link - a woman who was in the same circumstances as me but several years out and cancer free. And it was crazy - this woman had the same form of cancer (HER2+), same stage (3), same treatments for the same amount of time, had the same surgeries that I'm getting, and when she was diagnosed her two kids were the same ages as mine are! When we spoke, we realized how much more we have in common - even pre-surgery bra size and body image. Speaking with her was empowering. I'm glad I made that call.

I also went into Victoria's Secret and checked out bras in what will be my new size.  That may sound silly, but having lived my life as a D, the prospect of being a B (which is what I will have to be because they are using the fat from my stomach to create the new breasts and that's about how much fat I have, even if I gain weight.) is something new for me. I realized I don't even know what a B looks like. I spoke with the clerk and explained the situation, and she was great. She showed me the mannequin, and told me that was a B. So I have a good idea of what I will look like, at least in clothes. And it ain't so bad. It seems clothing will fit me better, as clothing is designed for women with a B chest. Who knew?  Anxiety about how I will look is a bit decreased, although I have to admit I'm still petrified of scarring.  And that's normal, it seems. Of course it is.  If it was anyone else it would be completely normal - but since it's me... well, I just have to be perfect now don't I? No anxiety allowed for me!

Which of course is ridiculous. Which is why I really really really bit the bullet and called my oncologist and asked for medication for the anxiety.

Do you hear that?

That's the shocked, judgmental, "you are a failure and I don't even have words for you" silence that I'm projecting you are giving me because it's a bit of how I feel about it for myself.  And I know it's ridiculous. And my brain is making that up anyway. That's more of that uncomfortable stuff I was talking about above - to move through it and have some uncomfortable growing pains and be strong and empowered when it's over.

So that's what's been going on for me over the last week or so. I'm getting closer - only one chemo left, and less than a month until my bilateral mastectomy. And I want it to come fast and get it over with, and I want to slow time down and have it never come,  and either way, it's going to come and go, and in the end it's empty and meaningless and it's empty and meaningless that it's empty and meaningless. Going to take today and take my meds and love my husband and my kids and my mom and my sister and praise God for all that I have.

Thanks for reading,
XOXO

Chemo #4 - picture and update

So here I am, at Chemo #4.  I look so happy and relaxed, you'd think I was at a spa!  Yeah, no.  Not so bad for a selfie with my iPad and hospital lighting and a bunch of IV tubes coming from the port in my chest! That's me in my t-shirt head wrap and a scarf to accessorize. So purrrrrrtty.  I tried wearing big earrings like a few people have suggested, but I end up looking like a pirate. So no.  Maybe one day I'll do a tutorial post on how to do the t-shirt head wrap.  It's a good look, even if you have hair.  And yes, I doll myself up for chemo.  

As usual, I was exhausted by the end of the day, and using the bathroom a lot (#1, people, #1 - this isn't a TMI post) because I learned the hard way to flush my system like a crazy woman while getting treatment to get all of those IV drugs out of my system.  I actually set a timer while I'm there and make sure that every half an hour I drink 8 oz of fluids.  It makes a world of difference.

Each chemo has different effects on my body, and this time around, for the past 5 days, nausea has been my big issue, as well as a bit of insomnia.  Thanks to all of the anti-nausea medications I have I haven't actually... you know... puked... but sitting around nauseous for days on end isn't exactly fun. Ahh well, better than the alternative.  You know, that whole death by cancer thing.  Speaking of which...

Doc checked the boobs, and it seems that the lumps and bumps are still gone.  Ladies and gentlemen, the cancer has left the building.  Now it's just about keeping it that way.

Stay tuned for my next post, which will have nothing to do with cancer.  It's going to be all about the raised vegetable garden my husband and our friends built in our backyard, along with planting the baby veggies that are going to nourish our bodies!  Fun fun fun!!!

Peace out, yo.