Chemo #3 went well . . . but there was quite a bit of aftermath.
First of all, I seemed to get a bit of an infection that required antibiotics. This was on Wednesday, chemo day. I absolutely had a brain freeze and just didn’t think to tell my oncologist (yes, I know — stupid of me) until Thursday evening. (Thanks to my mother for politely pointing out that I needed to make that call immediately.) So I spoke with the on-call oncologist and he insisted I come in for a consult the next day.
It’s just not that pretty.
But its what I look like now.
(And yes, I do feel like my image is much more like scruffy chick just barely dried than Sinead O’Connor.)
🙂
First off: my fever broke Wed night. I took it easy yesterday, but am back to work today (tho’ likely not for the full day). Things are starting to get a bit critical and I’m needed on site.
Most importantly: on time, and unmistakably, I am losing my hair.
My advice for anyone who may read this because they are in a similar situation: if you think you are losing your hair, you aren’t.
My scalp has hurt for a few days, but that so easily could have been the fever. This morning I got up and into the shower and stepped under the water. Hands running through my hair pulled out bunches. Even though I was (sort of ) expecting this it was a very bad moment. A freak-out kind of moment.
I cut my hair short in expectation (dread) of this. I am so glad I did. Losing your hair is — and I recognize that this is entirely a me thing — losing your hair is MESSY. Seriously, it get s everywhere. Long hair would have been unbearable. Not because of the loss, but because I would have hair in my eyes ALL THE TIME or look down to see a clump just lying on my sleeve. Ugh.
Yes, this happened 30 mins ago. Mourning will occur later. For now, I am glad I listened to my intuition and prepared for this . . . I have so much hair it is going to take a bit for it all to go. I feel ‘safe’ going to work . . . but they’ll be surprised on Monday.
I’m hurrying to write this before my dilaudid ‘kicks in’ and I become illiterate once again.
I think I got an infection in my breast yesterday — it was hot to the touch, slightly swollen, and red, like sunburned. We called my surgeon (they have a service that puts you through to him directly if he can take the call — very cool) and he put me back on an antibiotic. Took two last night, along with a lot of visualization, and I’m noticeably better today. Whew. (The only ‘fix’ for an infection with a breast implant is to remove the implant and wait several months for the tie to heal, and then re-insert the implant. NO WAY.)
I’ve been feeling a lot of pain, even with dilaudid, and so I’ve been using the hypnotic WAV my psych. taped at our last session. It’s a profound difference. I’m starting to alter it to add in ‘you will feel less pain each day as you heal completely’ because the dilaudid runs out tomorrow and I already know that OTC drugs are not going to work.
But I will be so glad to get off the narcotic. I like the lack of pain, but hate the side effects of fuzzy thinking, lack of motivation, and physical . . . blockage. (I don’t want to say more, but its the most common side effects of narcotics, ok?)
I’m looking forward to going for a walk, maybe even two today. That will be a big step forward. Ambien is working to help me sleep, so I’m back to 8+ hours/night, thank goodness. Soon normality will return. At least for a while.
A bit of an update.
Overall, I am in a fairly good mood. Mostly I think that my stubbornness is turning out to be an asset. I can’t do much other than move forward, so I am. This is the crap part, but it is not forever.
I got some big news on Friday afternoon and decided to share it with the world (or at least the 20 of you who read this blog and all future google searchers . . .) so forgive me if I repeat information you already know. Also, I may give you more detail than you really want, and I apologize in advance for that.
I’m still trying not to type too much . . . but life requires it, so I’ll just be brief-ish.
J’s mom went into the hospital last week, I believe on NY’s Eve. They thought it was pneumonia, but antibiotics didn’t seem to work, and then she started to have physical issues, including not being able to communicate and unable to eat. THEN she began to not recognize family members. She’s in her early 80s, so this is not good. He made plans to fly out there (there = South Carolina) Thursday morning. Yesterday they diagnosed bacterial meningitis, which is VERY NOT GOOD (25% chance of mortality). This morning his dad called with good news, she’s able to communicate again, and recognizing people. He’s still going . . .
Except that his flight was canceled. So he called me and I suggested going tonight instead. So he’s leaving on a red eye tonight through Monday.
That means I am alone for the weekend. With Sasha. Fortunately, I have good friends and a couple of them are going to come over and go with me to the lake to swim her. I can manage the rest. J. has put gas in the car, is doing a foodshop so I have supplies on hand, and I’m making sure that anything I might need help with either doesn’t need to be done, or we’ll do now.
Because while my meeting with the pain specialist went well, and I have high hopes . . . at the moment I am still in some amount of pain. (Note to self: I think ‘post hypnotic suggestions’ don’t work well on you.) More on that in another post. Short version: it WILL help, and I already feel comfortable recommending this specialist to others.
In the end, I’m a bit freaked out. I’m reassuring myself that I will be fine, that I can call on others for help, and that I can do this. What is . . . freaking me out . . . is that these will be the first days since my surgery (8 weeks ago tomorrow) that I will be absolutely on my own.
I’m not going to dwell on that now. Instead I am going to change the subject. Today I found my dream house (although I can’t have it).
It’s perfect. Want to see?
I swear, I do listen to y’all. More important, I act on your advice.
It seems like everyone ‘yelled’ at me yesterday, both here and via email. I was taking action even then:
I truly appreciate your advice and support. As you can see, I continue to explore all of the options and am doing my best to work all of this out.
WARNING:
A whining, ranting, and generally self-pitying post follows
I continue to be fortunate in that every medical professional I’ve worked with (with a few minor exceptions) are warm, caring, knowledgeable, competent people. My oncologist is one of those. He could see how nervous I was, and one of the first things he did was to start at the beginning and have me tell him about what my cancer journey has been like.
I finished with “and so it was more than a little shocking to be told on Friday that I am a good candidate for chemotherapy.” He immediately said: “I’m not so sure about that. It’s one thing I want to talk with you about.”
It turns out that there is a test (Oncotype DX) that is for a specific population of women with breast cancer. This test provides a very specific answer to the question: does she have a high likelihood of breast cancer recurring (and therefore is a good candidate for chemotherapy)? In reading about it, it looked liked I was a perfect candidate (invasive, Stage I, ER+, lymph node negative). But it is very new (just out of clinical trials in 2007) and I wasn’t sure if my oncologist knew about it, and if I really was a good candidate.
He did, and he thinks I’m a ‘poster child’ for the test. Good thing: they (the lab that does this test is in Sunnyvale, Ca, I believe) examine the tissue already removed. I don’t have to do anything. We’ll get the results in a week or two.
IF I DO have chemotherapy, it would take about 3 months with chemo sessions 1x/3wks. The plan is that I would be in chemo for a day, recovering for a couple of days, and then working like normal for a few weeks. So, disruptive, but not horrid. And fairly brief.
I left that office feeling like I’d been given good news, and it was sort of appalling that I felt that way when really all I’d been told was that I’d be waiting for an answer again.
This is one of the cruelties of cancer, your definition of ‘normal’ becomes skewed. I wonder how long it will take for my definition to right itself?