So about a week after my surgery, I was snoozing on the couch (my new occupation) when the phone rang and it was my breast surgeon, Dr. Weber. She was calling with the results of the analysis done on both of my removed breasts (that sounds weird), and the two sentinel lymph nodes removed from my left axilla. The final diagnosis was: the tumor was 1.2 cm - still pretty small - and the margins were clean; however, one of the lymph nodes she removed was found to have 4mm of cancer in it. The other lymph node was clean. This news sucked the breath out of me. Kevin was listening in on this call on the other side of the living room, and we locked eyes as Dr. Weber spoke and silently screamed together. Crap. Spread. Metastasis. This means I'm Stage II. I was SO DESPERATELY HOPING to have caught this at Stage I. Like, I really really really really needed that win. Like, really bad. Way to kick me while I'm down, Cancer, you asshole! I was so mad. This basically means that there is more of a chance that cancer cells got out into my body and are trying to set up shop. Very very scary stuff to think about. When I went to see my oncologist a few days later, she started to rattle off numbers that mean lower survival rates and higher recurrence rates and I burst into tears that just wouldn't stop. I was completely unable to stop picturing myself dying and leaving my girls. The reality of this cancer sank in in a way it hadn't up until then: I might die. This might NOT be curable the way all those smart people at Dana Farber had told me it would be.
I spoke with my midwife Lisa and told her I couldn't stop thinking about dying, and she had me increase my Paxil dose to what I think of as the "Mind-Numbing Dose". It has done the trick in getting me to stop feeling so hopeless and negative, but it has also made me a bit... blah. I started sleeping ALLLL day long in a way even I had never done before. Right now I'm working on backing down again to a normal dose and I hope I don't become miserable again. I think I'm okay now. I really think I can do this.
Now that I'm Stage II, I have to have the longer, more aggressive chemo protocol - which my oncologist was actually leaning toward anyways, so no major change. The protocol will be: 4 doses of Adriamycin/Cytoxan ("AC") every 2 weeks, and then 4 doses of Taxol every 2 weeks. Of course this schedule depends on my body's cooperation with keeping normal blood cell counts and all that good stuff. I've planned the chemo treatments to happen on Thursdays, since I normally work Monday through Wednesday, so that hopefully my work schedule can stay on track. My bosses understand that things may not work out this perfectly, and are also letting me cut back on my weekend shifts while I go through chemo, which is awesome.
In preparation for starting my chemo on May 7th, I had to undergo a barrage of tests and procedures. I had an echocardiogram to assess my cardiac function, since the Adriamycin drug can damage the heart muscle and you have to have a very healthy heart to start this treatment. That was easy and the test was normal. Then I had a PET scan, which is a test to look for any other tumors forming throughout your body. AKA - THE SCARIEST TEST I'VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE. The test was funny because they inject you with radioactive sugar for the scan, and make you drink a barium shake, and you become radioactive for 24 hours. I had to limit my proximity to the kids that night, which was hard because they didn't understand what was happening. I explained to Ashlyn that Mommy had invisible waves coming off her body that could give her boo-boos. That seemed to appease her, and the next day she announced how happy she was that I wasn't radioactive anymore!
Mmmm.... sweet creamy vanilla Barium. Blech.
Praise be to Jesus, my PET scan was negative. Perhaps the most amazing news I've ever heard. They would have had to ship me directly to the psych ward for long-term sedation if that test had shown more bad news.
In order to safely get my chemo, I had to have a Port placed as well. This is a little doohicky that they implant under the skin just below the right collarbone, with a tubey-thingy that tunnels under the skin up to the neck and dives into the jugular vein. They put the chemo right into the port (which is like a little plug under the skin) and it goes directly into a major blood vessel. This gets rid of the need for constant IVs in my arm and also decreases the risk of the drugs causing serious tissue damage. This procedure seriously skeeved me out, so I insisted that I get some sort of sedation for this. They gave me Versed and Fentanyl... I highly recommend this. I was not fully asleep, so I was vaguely aware that they were hacking away at the right side of my chest/neck, but did not have pain or really care. Good drugs. The problem arose when they took the drape away from my face and the radiologist's assistant told me that they *may* have just ruptured my right tissue expander. Umm.... excuse me?? How on earth does that happen? I was groggy and out of it but knew this could be major bad news. Long story short (we'll scan past Kevin punching the wall in the men's room after the doctor delivered this news to him very non-chalantly)... once the doctor spoke with ME, I was able to figure out that the gush of fluid he encountered while placing the port was not my tissue expander rupturing, it was just a pocket of fluid left behind after my surgery called a seroma. File this under Things Melanie the Vet Figures Out When Human Doctors Fail. Anyways, now the port is in, and while it's not the most attractive or comfortable thing in the world... it serves it's purpose.
The catheter going up my neck is pretty gross. Looks like a parasite!
So the big day finally came -- I had my first AC chemo last Thursday, 5 days ago. The treatment itself was a piece of cake - I sat in a comfy recliner with warm blankets with Kevin by my side, and read, slept, and chatted. After the 5 hours at the infusion center, we had to go car shopping because - get this - my car decided to die last week. Awesome, right? I kinda need a car. That went well and I ended up getting a gorgeous blue 2014 Subaru Outback... same as my old car but a new model. It's fantastic. Anyways, back to chemo. They gave me steroids and anti-nausea meds to prevent side effects and overall I've done pretty well. I basically have times when I feel queasy as though I'm pregnant, or have an achy feeling in my stomach. And - try not to be too shocked - I've been pretty tired. It's been quite the process trying to figure out what to eat that will not make me feel nauseous, and will also not completely clog my colon (sorry for being so graphic - the struggle is real). Fruit and Fiber One cereal are my new best friends. I'm trying to take it easy and stay well hydrated. My other issue is that my right Foobie (let's be honest - they're not Boobies anymore) is very painful at times. I think the tissue expander is rubbing against my muscle. I have an appointment with Dr. Gannon today so hopefully she can help make this better.
Hooked up to my infusion. Chemo Mel.
The "Kool-Aid" red Adriamycin. Creepy, right? Also turns your pee pink. TMI?
Jello shots, anyone?
Now we just hope that the chemo continues to go well and we stay on schedule. I return to work this Saturday (yikes), so hopefully my energy level continues to improve. I'm working on staying positive and, as Ashlyn says, feeling like I will "kick breast cancer in the body!" which I think is her school's solution to kids not saying "butt". Next weekend I think I'll invite my family over for a head-shaving party since that's about the time my hair will start falling out. Last weekend we had a fabulous Mother's Day at the local park just relaxing, eating and playing all day. The kids loved the ice cream truck that came by, and their sweet, sticky smiles just made the day perfect!
Life's greatest gifts.
