Before, during and after chemo

I’ve been concerned that my hair won’t grow back curly. Today is the first day that I saw a little wave in the front. It’s funny how I spent from 1987 – 2000 longing for straight hair, and now I’m panicking it won’t be curly. My hair is noticeably lighter though. I’ve never dyed my hair darker. That is my natural color in the first picture. I don’t know what’s going on.

I’ve done mostly okay over the last couple of weeks. I still have my little drain friend in one side, but the nurses told me last week that at 4 weeks they remove the drain regardless of output so hurray! Tomorrow is the day. Free at last! Free at last! My left side has been a problem child. I had my axillary lymph nodes removed during my lumpectomy so that might be why a seroma, or fluid collection, has formed on that side. Last week they aspirated two large syringes of fluid. I’m sure they will do it again tomorrow. My left franken-breast is a little bruised and I’ve been anxious about it. I assume it’s due to the seroma causing pressure and stretching the area quicker than it should, but we’ll see what the nurse thinks.

My Ava Katie

In other news Ava is taking a ballet class for her fine art credit. She loves it. For the last few years Ava and I have been patrons of Ballet West performances. She often tells me I should have forced her to keep taking ballet. I’m just not that kind of a mom, though. I’ve always been soft on crime, and more go with the flow as a parent so when Ava told me she didn’t want to take ballet anymore after two classes because the teacher was too strict I thought to myself, Fine by me. Saves me a drive to Logan. Now I wonder if I should have insisted, but I digress. Back to Ballet West. One time during an intermission Ava and I stood in line for the women’s restroom because well…women and their tiny bladders I guess. A woman stood at the sink washing her hands with her friend and quipped cheekily, “The lead dancer really fills out his tights, doesn’t he?” It’s become an inside joke for Ava and I. When she came home last week after school she excitedly told me that the principle male dancer with Ballet West had taught their class. “He was intense!” she exclaimed. I replied, “Yeah, but did he really fill out his tights?” She also tried out for the ballroom dance club and made it. She’s just dancing her way through college.

Brielle and her Rocky boy

I don’t know if it’s just Brielle’s age, but when I ask her what she learned in school when she comes home 90% of the time she replies, “Nothing.” According to her, school is boring and all they do is sit and do nothing. She gets good grades so I know they are doing some sort of work and being graded on it. I know they don’t teach kids geography these days. She told me today, “Ava said she wants to go to Fajiti this summer.” I started laughing and said, “You mean Tahiti?” She confirmed that was the place she was talking about. Fajitas in Fajiti. Sounds delish.

Yesterday I had a full-on meltdown. I had been contacted by a patient assistance program for a new prescription medication I will be taking for at least 2 years. Probably more. The drug is an oral medication called Verzenio. It is a CDK 4/6 inhibitor. CDK 4 and CDK 6 are proteins that are essential in the production of new cells. It helps block cancer cells from forming. This class of medication has been a game changer in breast cancer. They are so new that there aren’t long-term studies done on them, but when I hear from my fellow breasties in the online oligometastatic groups that many of them have been no evidence of disease for five – eight years it gives me a lot of hope.

Anyway, Verzenio is of course very expensive. The patient assistance program coordinator called to tell me that I could get the drug for zero dollars co-pay if I had it shipped to me from an international pharmacy. We discussed the ins and outs of that. I won’t be starting the drug until after radiation therapy is done, so we’re looking at April according to my oncologist. She said we’d discuss the drug then at our next appt.

I got off the phone and looked up Verzenio on the manufacturer’s website. I watched videos meant to inspire me, but they made me feel kind of depressed. In one video a woman in her sixties expresses that when she was first diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer she was angry, but now she lives each day with gratitude because the drug is helping her live longer so she can spend more time with her grandchildren. Ugh. Grandchildren. I want to live to see my grandchildren too. There is also a commercial that comes on tv sometimes for another CDK 4/6 inhibitor. If you’ve seen it, it’s memorable because it starts out with the camera on a woman’s face as she says, “I’m Jordan, and these are my breasts.” The camera pans down to the breasts we’ve just been introduced to. First of all, that’s just awkward. We then follow Jordan and her breasts as she holds her first grandchild, goes back to graduate school, and dances at a concert while the song Landslide plays. All the while her breasts are tagging along and the camera makes sure you are aware. At the end of the commercial a list of terrible, even death-inducing side effects are played.

When I was on the website researching what this drug would mean for me I skipped to the side effects and read them off to Jeff. “Severe, sometimes debilitating diarrhea that can lead to dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Liver failure that can result in death. Inflammation of the lungs that can lead to death. Infections that can become life-threatening. Anemia. Low white blood cell counts. Thinning or loss of hair. Headache. Vomiting.” Jeff quipped, “Well I’d take shitting my pants over liver failure and inflammation of the lungs.” I chuckled in the way one can when one isn’t actively shitting one’s pants. It won’t be so funny when I’m camping out in the bathroom.

I tried to get on with my day, but the side effects circled around and around in my head. This drug will help prolong my life I kept trying to reassure myself, Or it will lead to death. Either way death was involved. I started crying. Jeff looked up at me and I excused myself to the bedroom to sob into my pillow. I have cancer! This sucks! Why me? Jeff came in and laid down next to me and rubbed my back. “If cancer was a physical threat chasing me I would run as fast and as far as I can. And you know me. I hate running!” I said through tears. “Lets run away! I’m serious. Let’s just go somewhere,” I said childishly.

Of course cancer is not something you can run away from. I can’t run away like the time I was 7 and upset at my parents so I took a handkerchief and tied crackers in it. Marched past my mom and out the door. I scoured the yard for a long enough stick, plucked it off the lawn and tied my cracker-laden snack for the road to it. I brought it up to my shoulder in a world-weary way and walked a whole block and a half in my florescent jellies before deciding the life of a hobo was not for me.

I can’t run away from cancer. But I could change my scenery and perhaps feel somewhat better. Jeff said, “Even if running away was something that we could do, you know we can’t afford it right now.” Buzzkill. They say money can’t buy happiness, but it could sure make life a little more bearable. Come on Idaho lottery.

Anyway. Cancer sucks. And most days I live my life even though cancer is there at the back of my mind. I’m still able to laugh and dream about the future and picture me and my franken-breasts cradling my grandchildren in my arms. Jordan should have told the camera man her eyes are up here. Seriously. So awkward.

As proof that I’m still able to smile and laugh even after a meltdown you can enjoy a video Brie took of me. I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry about me.