Happy No Mo Chemo

We celebrated the end of chemo with a trip to Vegas. Not our first choice, but there was a business conference so much of the celebrating could be considered an expense. I had shaved my head the night before my final chemo when I watched a video of myself dancing under lights that somehow were able to show how much hair I had actually lost during the past 6 months far better than my own bathroom lights could. My double mastectomy was scheduled for shortly after our return and so we tried to fill in as much fun as possible.
I managed a few pretty full days as long as I had a complete day of rest in-between. I scheduled a mani, a pedi and a massage; we ate at the best restaurants and talked about paying as much attention to my soon to be gone breasts as possible.
The day we returned I cried. I was just not able to keep up with Jim and the luggage. I remember the transport driver yelling at me to hurry up. And then I remember crying from the pure exhaustion of it all. Something so simple as scurrying through an airport, or going to lunch, or making it to the party the final night of the conference had done me in. I was a shell of my former self and the thought of more surgery just made me all the weaker.

I cannot even tell you the date of my double mastectomy. I know it was in November. I think it was after Thanksgiving, but I'm not sure. That is how inconsequential it became to me. I still mourn the loss of my breasts to this day and the trauma I went through losing them, but it compared in no way to what was to come next.


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No, Thank You. I'm Not Thirsty.

This is me clowning around with my friend the mammographer-you can't see her in this pic, but I promise you she was there. There are things you want to get done when you have to have chemo. I got my teeth cleaned, had a pap smear and colored my hair all before chemo started because those are things you don't want to do during your 6 month stint. My onc said I could do the mammogram later with no worries so I waited a couple months.

I have a friend that worked in the breast center at the hospital where I was receiving my care so I decided to have her do it instead of where I usually go. I've been getting mammograms since the age of 32 because my sister was diagnosed with Stage I breast cancer at the age of 36. The type of mammogram I was to receive this time however was called a diagnostic mammogram, you see you get special treatment when you already have cancer.

Things went as expected. I couldn't much tell the difference. The only real difference was the fact that when my friend left to have the doctor look at my pictures she came back and said the doctor wanted to speak with me. As it turns out my pictures showed something unexpected.
Because the mammographer is my friend I was able to see the doctor that day, because the mammographer is my friend the doctor scheduled a biopsy for the following day and because I am your friend I am going to spare you the details of that biopsy.
I will say I absolutely hope you never have the pleasure.

Turns out you can have 2 primary cancers at the ripe old age of 47. And I did. Turns out I had what's called DCIS. AKA Stage 0 breast cancer. Turns out the type of DCIS I had was aggressive and with a family history and high tumor grade it was strongly suggested that I have a double mastectomy. Turns out I had that mastectomy in November after I competed chemotherapy for Stage 3 Colon Cancer. Turns out life can sometimes keep giving you lemons even when you've had your fill of fucking lemonade.

What a Pain in the Neck

It was June and we went for a walk. I'd been experiencing some pain in my neck. Just bothersome, but noticeable. Earlier in the day I had had a nose bleed. My nose bled a lot because of the chemo, but this one was hard to stop. Later that night I couldn't sleep. The pain had become unbearable. My husband woke up around 1:00AM and noticed me missing. When he came out of the bedroom he asked if I was ever going to go to bed. "I can't sleep" I said. The pain was too much. It had been gradually increasing to the point where now I was unable to move my neck much. He insisted on calling the doctor. I told him I thought I probably had a blood clot. I'd been googling my symptoms and that's what it appeared to be. Once the doctor learned I had a significant bloody nose earlier in the day she insisted we get to the emergency room and about 7 1/2 hours later I was finally getting an ultrasound which confirmed I did indeed  have a blood clot. In my jugular. A result of my port. I was then prescribed Lovenox injections, which once brave enough, I injected myself , 2 times a day. I did these shots for 5 months. Sometimes I cried. But usually I went about what ever business was ahead of me. I've given myself shots in hotel conference rooms, at a dinner table in a crowded restaurant, in a car, on a plane, in a bar, you name it. What once seemed impossible, to point a sharp needle at my abdomen, push it through my skin and inject myself became old hat. Like everything else when dealing with cancer. You do what you have to do.

Ketchup with Billy Idol and a Side of Lobster Claws (Also Known as Not Your Neighbor's Chemo Part II)

I had sometimes forgotten about this blog. I had definitely given up on this blog. It wasn't doing for me what I had hoped it would. Reading other people's blogs was doing more, so I quit. I'm back now, but can't say for how long. I noticed I last left you hanging on what could have possibly happened at my 2nd chemo. I think I will play catch up slowly, because it is one year and a couple of months after my diagnosis and you would not believe what can happen in a year.

Chemo #2 started with .05 Xanax and a positive attitude. Having gotten through the first round I was ready to move on. But let's cut to the chase, we already know this isn't going to end well- this time with 8 minutes left in the bag  the vomiting began. As I tried to leave the facility my calves cramped to the point in which I could not stand or walk and my hands cramped into a clawed position. I was again wheeled out of treatment.
When I finally made it home, I slept for a couple hours and woke up feeling less nauseous, but I was still claw handed.

The next 2 days consisted of tingling, clawing, and leg cramping so severe I had to be carried to the bathroom 100 yards away. The cramping in my calves made me look like An American Werewolf in Paris, my muscles stiffening and undulating to the point they looked as if they may burst out of my skin. And the pain. It was unbearable.  All symptoms continued through the week and by the end of the week, although I was finally able to walk unassisted, the pain that resulted from the cramping had made it almost impossible. Things were so bad we videotaped them, just to be sure it was all normal and to be expected, because at one point when I suggested to Jim these drugs were going to kill me, I wasn't kidding.

A variation of these symptoms and many more continued up until right before my next scheduled infusion 2 weeks away. And so at that visit, with video in hand and many stories of what had happened over the past 2 weeks, stories like how my lip curled up all on it's own like Billy Idol's and STAYED THAT WAY, or how the muscles in my calves cramped visibly (not too mention incredibly painfully) for hours on end, or how walking was something I could not do on my own until about a week and a half past treatment..., my onc said I was done. No more. No more Oxaliplatin (the wonder drug, the golden standard!). She said that what I had experienced was more than unusual, that it was in fact, deadly. She said that this drug would not do me any good if it killed me first.

What?! The golden standard gone?! No discussion?! No adjustments?! That's it? I'm out?

I begged for a a couple more rounds. Or how about reducing the dose? What about supplements to help with the side effects? No, no, no.

You have to understand that cancer patients want it all. No matter what they've gone through they'll go through more if it means even just a 2% increase in survival, but she wasn't having it. After viewing the video, the only word that came out of her mouth was "Scary.".

And so, relieved, but scared shitless to be letting go of any part of my treatment, I continued chemo with just 2 of the recommended drug protocols. 5FU and leucovorin. I got through the next 10 rounds with side effects, but side effects I could handle. The next 6 months should have been a cancer patient's version of a walk in the park-also known as torture, humiliation, disappointment, pain, (which is still far less than most cancer patients experience) you get the picture, but in reality it was actually quite worse than that.