It's All Fun and Games Til Someone Gets Breast Cancer

I know, I know, it's been many months since I've blogged. But let's face it, with Covid what is there to blog about? I don't go anywhere. I have my cat litter delivered. Should I write about the few weeks this summer that I decided to do picture collage? I ordered about 237$ worth of vintage Life magazines and cut out heads of women from the 60's and pasted them on bodies of cars and tigers and stuff like that. Very art deco. Now my guest room closet is full of old magazines and weird pictures and sometimes when I open the closet door a large moth who looks very full flies out.  And my  worst fear haunts me,  cops showing up with a search warrant, after I lose my shit in a Starbucks when AGAIN they are out of their coffee cake(obviously, totally caught up on Dateline, and Dateline Mysteries Uncovered and 48 Hours) and the forensic people find my collages and think this is one sick bitch, as they haul them out across my yard and into the evidence van; women's tiny heads flying out of boxes and littering the streets.

I mean, no one wants to read about that.

The other reason it's been a while is that I've been undergoing treatment for breast cancer. Today I finished number 5 of 6 *chemos and let me say to anyone who may be facing chemo, it's not as bad as they make it look in the movies. I do not writhe in pain and projectile vomit for days straight and I've been told I'm on an aggressive therapy. No one has to hold my hair back as I retch into a toilet bowl, which is good since I'm now bald. Very. People assure me it will grow back. I have four wigs on Styrofoam heads that I pull out anytime I am going out to dinner and the five of us discuss and figure out which one will be joining me. I have to say I will miss these gals when it's over. Maybe I'll make a quilt out of them or something.

Now, don't get me wrong— it's no fucking picnic. I'm for sure not saying that. The first three sessions (once a week every three weeks) were not bad though. They give you great nausea meds, anything- anything you want. They don't want you feeling bad. I love my doctor. He's so patient even when I ask questions like, "Will my hair grow back curly? "Can't promise," he said.

You do get really tired and it shows, which actually got me out of walking the dog in 96 degree Florida heat —for now anyway. This last treatment, on about the fourth day I woke up got out of bed and fell. Got up and fell again. 'Okay this is weird," I thought. "Did I mix up my Xanax for those 2 Tylenol again?" But no. My body was saying, "Nope, not today." For a few days, I couldn't eat because everything tasted like rotten grapefruit, and my stomach was like, "Nah, bruh. I'm good." So, of course with no food in your body you're gonna pass out when you stand up quickly.

I let myself have those days. In a few days, it passes, it's over and in the meantime the poison is kicking cancer's ass. If you have a loving care giver like I have in Michael, it helps immensely.

I was lucky mine was found on a yearly mammogram stage 1A. It was right before Memorial Day weekend and when my results didn't pop up within a few hours, I worried all weekend. Then came the ultrasound where the radiologist got that look, glancing at me and then back at the screen in a dark room with a resident watching nervously behind her. "It's about this big," she said making a shape with her fingers, "And very irregular. We have to biopsy."  

"No," I said. "It can't be anything, I have children."

But of course, it was something.

I was panic stricken before my first appointment with my medical oncologist. (it still freaks me out to say I have a medical oncologist. I'd so much rather say I have a smart psychiatrist or a talented plastic surgeon) I tried to talk myself down. I will get a second, third, fourth opinion. I will search the land for the king or queen of breast cancer curing. No, no. I will pull a Suzanne Somers. I will refuse all invasive treatment. I will start buying organic peaches. That should take care of it.

After the initial convo where I told him about my dog and he told me I did indeed have cancer, we had the mastectomy vs. lumpectomy conversation. "Take em both. I'm very irritated with them right now. In fact, could you take like from, below the shoulders to the top of my thighs? What do I need with these dried out pea sized ovaries? And uterus and I have been having it out for years. I'll show this bitch whose boss. The boobs. They're trying to kill me. Take em."

After some intelligent discussion with my licensed and very degreed individual, we decided on a lumpectomy which should happen sometime in November. We can hope that it shows the cancer is gone, and after that we radiate the hell out of it so it doesn't dare show its face around these parts again.

 I guess the point is it's difficult but it’s necessary for me to live a life now knowing I can get through anything. I will be constantly monitored so if it does rear its ugly head we will be ready for it. They truly can do amazing things now, with targeted drugs and immunotherapies. I told my doctor; I want twenty years. My kids are now adults. I don’t have to pick the onions off their burgers anymore. They’re getting married, they will have their own kids soon. I don’t want to miss a minute of it. I deserve those minutes. Give me those minutes!

"You'll have your twenty years," he said, calmly, rationally.

I'm exhausted, nauseous, completely bald and I totally believe him.

#breastcancer #TCHP #chemo #HER2positive #pinksisters #medicaloncologist #hormoneblockers #breastcancerawareness

If anyone has questions about my experience or would like to discuss yours feel free to email me. Totally confidential but it has helped me so much knowing I'm not alone and either are you.

*chemo is targeted to each individual and all may differ from my experience.