October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Part 5

Big hospital room dimly lit. Oh hey, there is my friend. She is arguing with a nurse. Something about if they don’t leave me alone I can never rest. The nurse goes away. I go back to sleep.

I wake up and say, “Hi”. She gets me some food and I think she feeds me. Back to sleep.

I am awake now more than asleep. They give me the diabetic meal plan and I complain. They don’t change it. I am too tired to argue. My IV pole holds several large bags – they change them every few hours. Lots of antibiotics flow into my veins. I sleep.

Finally, I am better. I have walked around with the IV pole and done my duty in the bathroom. I am going home.

Home, back in bed, I break out with the mother of all yeast infections – it is everywhere! Add another med to my growing list.

Back to work and I feel shaky and out of it but I persevere. Gradually I regain my strength and my wits. A couple of weeks go by and guess what? It is time for radiation.

The nurses and technicians are very friendly and matter of fact. That helps as I lay there with my poor scarred boob out for the entire world to see. The set up takes the longest, the radiation no time at all. They give me creams and lotions to apply and say to put it on three times a day. Sure, I will just grease up at work and ruin all my clothes. NOT. I apply the lotions twice a day. My breast turns red and brownish. It is uncomfortable but not too painful. I wear my loose bra and take Advil. I am tired but not nauseated. Praise the Lord!

Soon it is over and I am free from intense medical treatment for the first time in over a year. Scary shit. If I am not seeing the doctor every week, how will I know that I am ok?

Now it has been a couple of years and I am still ok. For me, as for many others, there is Before Cancer and After Cancer. I’ve graduated to 6 month visits with my oncologist. I have what seem to be permanent hot flashes. I am fat but losing weight. Life is better. God has kept me around for some reason and I work at trying to do His will.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Part 4

What came next was chemo brain… a documented condition which leaves you in a pleasant fog but also quite the stupidest person in the room. Not so good if you are a working woman. I was very blessed in that my manager was understanding and flexible throughout my treatment. My company stood by me in this fight. I had a laptop to be able to work from home, Friday chemo day half off and compassionate coworkers.

I had a big button made for me by a friend which said “Warning - Chemo Brain”. Someone could talk to me and I would nod and understand, then as soon as they walked away I forgot what they wanted. I learned to write everything down – something I had never had to do before. Complex problems brought a blank look to my face. Figuring out simple things was a challenge. I have always had a good mind, my manager used to call me Radar from the show MASH. I was always ahead of the game. Now, sometimes I am ahead but I still have my blank faced look from time to time. It is frustrating and embarrassing. I who love words, the way they can fit together and form exquisite thoughts. I have worked hard to regain my nimble mind and for the most part am successful.

Chemo infusions were made bearable by going to the hospital with my daughter Blondie and her friend Caramel. We would chat and talk and then go somewhere good to eat. We were upbeat and sometimes too noisy. So many patients were grim, sober in their illness. I don’t blame them. My chemo did not leave me retching over the side of a bed, pouring with sweat. I had it good, if chemotherapy can ever be called “good”.

I lost some hair but not enough to be bald. Next time I will shave my head though. It will just feel better.

I finished my chemo without anything dramatic happening.

While I waited the 6 or 8 weeks to begin radiation, I did fall ill. I contracted Legionnaires Disease from the HVAC system in the old building where I worked. Healthy people who are exposed to these bacteria do not always become ill or are able to fight it off with just antibiotics.

Since I was immune compromised from the chemo, I did not fight it off. It came on very sudden. I collapsed in the ER with a 104 degree temperature. That is the last thing I remember for several days.

My husband was told that I would most likely die and to prepare for my death. My daughter Blondie had to fight me for hours to keep the oxygen mask on my face. In my delirium I saw big, nasty teeth in the mask and was sure that I was being attacked. If she couldn’t keep the mask on me the doctors would have to intubate me. Once intubated, my chances of death were increased even further. Thank the Lord above for a determined daughter. I was not intubated.

I came to awareness slowly. To this day I have just fuzzy pictures in my head for most of the time I was hospitalized.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Part III

I could feel the chemo drugs slipping into my arm, like a cold, wet weight. The feeling traveled down to my belly and grew. My months of nausea and diarrhea began then.

At my next treatment, the veins on my arm were still elusive. I decided to have a port placed in my chest. The port was inserted during a short outpatient surgery. Although I was given twilight sleep, I felt the implantation as a tugging and pushing. I was groggily aware of the whole thing. I was not happy. I was afraid of the port and somehow certain that the surgery had been improperly done. I wanted to stay overnight for observation but that was not permitted by this particular surgeon. I don’t know now if it would have helped me or not.

I again spent days clutching an ice pack to the new surgical site. I worried and obsessed over it. Although it was checked and found to be implanted properly, it took a couple of months for me to become comfortable with it.

If I had it to do over I would still choose the port. Chemotherapy was much easier using the port. Each visit required a blood test which was easily done by accessing the port and then leaving it in place for use during the chemotherapy infusion. No more worries about finding veins.

I vomited a few times during treatment but the real bane of my existence was the nausea and diarrhea. The horrid feeling that any moment I could vomit was unrelenting. The diarrhea was persistent. I worked fulltime for 90% of my treatment and making it to the bathroom without embarrassment was an hourly trial. My oncologist gave me all the medications possible to mitigate the symptoms and for that I am very grateful. I cannot imagine the dire straits I would have been in without her help.

What came next was chemo brain…

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month

I have heard it said “write about what you know”. I know breast cancer.

Cancer has always been a specter in my life. My mother, Betty died of colon cancer when I was 16 years old. Most of her eight siblings died of one type of cancer or the other.

One morning I woke up with pain in my right nipple. It felt like I had been nursing a baby. Not a bad pain, just noticeable. This happened for several days and so I shared it with my husband. He said, “It is probably nothing but knowing you, you’d better get it checked out. Otherwise you will obsess about it.” He was right.

I went to my doctor, he examined me, found nothing but said what my husband had said. “It is probably nothing but knowing you, you’d better get it checked out. Otherwise you will obsess about it.”

Next step was a mammogram. I brought my oldest daughter for support. I was asked twice that day for more mammogram views. Next they asked me if I would have an ultrasound done on my breast. I said “Certainly, is there something you are seeing?” The answer to that was yes, but we can’t yet tell what it may be. It is probably nothing.

Ok, suck it up. Don’t freak out yet. A fabulous woman does the ultrasound, she is careful and thorough, reassuring. Over and over she ran the cool slick liquid under and around my breast, stretching it, pushing. Finally, she stopped. She told me that there was something hidden there in the area under my breast, close to my chest wall.

The next step was a needle biopsy. They gave me the option of coming back another day… I told them that now was good for me. I took a Xanax; they waited for it to take affect and then began. I had heard that this procedure was painful. I held tight to my daughter’s hand. Outside of a slight prick I felt nothing. I did hear the loud snap of the device as it collected the breast tissue. My daughter was fascinated by the process.

They gave me some pain medicine and some tiny ice packs to fit into my bra and sent me home. They were the best, kind and gentle but honest. They told me it would be several days to find out the results. I was in shock. I now freaked out a bit… I was sure it would be cancer but held out a slim hope for a benign result.

Much of what follows is hazy, shrouded in denial and pain and confusion. Accuracy in dates is not what I have to give you. I can share my feelings and the events I recall.

The call came. It is cancer. I don’t know where I was. I think that later that day we went on the candy rounds with my nephew for Halloween.

Next was the selection of the surgeon. I had a recommendation from the breast care center. I spent time online looking and found that I was already at the best place for my care. All of my surgeries and treatment took place in the same hospital complex.

The surgeon explained all that would happen to me, my options and her recommendations. I chose a lumpectomy. In the end she took out about one-third of my right breast. Having the lumpectomy and a sentinel node biopsy was not particularly painful and I am a huge baby when it comes to pain.

Recovering from the lumpectomy – now that hurt badly and took far longer than I anticipated. The weather was horrid and cold and wet and our power went out several times for hours during my recovery. A very good friend visited from far away but the visit was disastrous. I had expectations that were not in anyone’s power to meet.

When breast tissue is removed, fluid races to the breast. This is partially for healing purposes. I was told that it was best for the fluid to be reabsorbed by the body. Unfortunately for me an excess of fluid built up and my breast ballooned to a very, very painful state. I went back to the surgeon’s office and my breast was drained using a needle and a suction jar. The relief was instantaneous and made me cry. This happened twice and then my breast began to heal.

More on my journey tomorrow.