While in the midst of radiation treatments, I began to notice a change on my scalp. If I peered at myself closely in the bathroom mirror, I could make out the beginnings of my hair. Prior to cancer and chemotherapy, I used to have thick, long, dark brown/black ringlet curls that hung past my waist. When I stood out in the sun, my curls would shimmer with red/brown highlights. I really loved my hair. My husband really loved my hair as well.
I could feel tingles of excitement and also tinges of worry as I examined my scalp in the mirror. Cancer patients always talked about how their hair had changed after taking chemotherapy. Some talked about bald spots while others reported curlier hair. Since my hair was already curly, I worried that it would come back straight or thin or a different color. Those attributes are not bad attributes. I think I would probably look pretty cute with straighter or thinner hair. My old hair could be quite bushy in humid weather, similar to Animal from the Muppet Show. However, I wanted my old hair back so I could feel more like me again.
So there I sat on my bathroom counter examining the sprouts of hair on my head. As the weeks passed, the sprouts eventually turned into fuzzy rabbit hair. That fuzzy rabbit hair was black, thick, and very straight. With the right kind of makeup and fun clothes, I rocked that fuzzy rabbit hair!
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Radiation: The Gift that Keeps on Giving
Once my scars had healed from the mastectomy and my surgeon had released me to everyday life, I made an appointment to visit with the radiation oncologist. My radiation oncologist and his staff are wonderful and hilarious. I really enjoyed my time with them.
My primary oncologist prescribed a chemotherapy pill (Xeloda) and my radiation oncologist recommended daily treatments for a good portion of the autumn season. Every day, the staff and I would meet, discuss symptoms, talk about our personal lives, laugh, watch me glow with radiation, and then wish each other well.
During one of the sessions, they passed along this bit of Christmas holiday wisdom. Radiation is the gift that keeps on giving long after your treatments are done. Therefore, therapeutic lotion and vitamin e gel will be your best friends.
My primary oncologist prescribed a chemotherapy pill (Xeloda) and my radiation oncologist recommended daily treatments for a good portion of the autumn season. Every day, the staff and I would meet, discuss symptoms, talk about our personal lives, laugh, watch me glow with radiation, and then wish each other well.
During one of the sessions, they passed along this bit of Christmas holiday wisdom. Radiation is the gift that keeps on giving long after your treatments are done. Therefore, therapeutic lotion and vitamin e gel will be your best friends.
I Look Like I'm Ten
Immediately after my mastectomy, I wore bandages for at least five days before I looked at my scars. Drainage tubes hung from my sides. I moved around the house gingerly so as not to disturb the bothersome tubes. Draining the tubes and recording the volume of fluid collected was an interesting task. I have a warped mind and was strangely fascinated with my disgusting souvenirs from the surgery.
Eventually, the home health nurse came by the house to change my bandages and look at the scars. As she removed the bandages, she commented that the scars looked fantastic. I was surprised. Then, I looked down at my scars and realized I looked like a ten year old. This was crazy! It was almost as if I had traveled back to a time prior to puberty. Yet, I was grateful that I looked like a ten year old. Before going into surgery, I had tortured myself by searching for pictures of mastectomy scars online. Here is a word of advise. Never search out these pictures. You will have nightmares.
Eventually, the home health nurse came by the house to change my bandages and look at the scars. As she removed the bandages, she commented that the scars looked fantastic. I was surprised. Then, I looked down at my scars and realized I looked like a ten year old. This was crazy! It was almost as if I had traveled back to a time prior to puberty. Yet, I was grateful that I looked like a ten year old. Before going into surgery, I had tortured myself by searching for pictures of mastectomy scars online. Here is a word of advise. Never search out these pictures. You will have nightmares.
I Have No Arms
After many weeks of chemotherapy, I had a double mastectomy. My surgeon was amazing. He removed my boobs and tumor like a plastic surgeon and stitched me back together like an artist. My tumor was gone, off to the lab to be dissected and analyzed.
After the surgery, my chest was wrapped in bandages. I had a drain hanging from each side and I had several bottles of narcotics to take away the pain. After visiting with the surgeon briefly, I also discovered that I had restrictions on movement and lifting for several weeks. In essence, I had to act like I had no arms.
It was going to be a real trick dealing with my young children while on the restrictions. My oldest was five and my youngest was one. They both loved to be cuddled and held. My oldest was very sensitive to the fact that I had cancer and worried about the outcome of my surgery. My youngest needed me to provide comfort and security as he explored the world on his two feet. My husband was a great help while I recovered from the surgery. He helped me snuggle the kids when they needed it the most and I am forever grateful.
After the surgery, my chest was wrapped in bandages. I had a drain hanging from each side and I had several bottles of narcotics to take away the pain. After visiting with the surgeon briefly, I also discovered that I had restrictions on movement and lifting for several weeks. In essence, I had to act like I had no arms.
It was going to be a real trick dealing with my young children while on the restrictions. My oldest was five and my youngest was one. They both loved to be cuddled and held. My oldest was very sensitive to the fact that I had cancer and worried about the outcome of my surgery. My youngest needed me to provide comfort and security as he explored the world on his two feet. My husband was a great help while I recovered from the surgery. He helped me snuggle the kids when they needed it the most and I am forever grateful.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Die Tumor Die!
Slowly, I was getting closer to the end of my chemotherapy treatments. My tumor was shrinking steadily. We were all very excited. Periodically, I would talk to my tumor. Our one sided conversations would go like this:
"So. You're still here."
"I see that you want to stay. Well, you don't get to stay."
"You may have taken over my once fabulous boob but let me tell you this buddy. You're gonna die."
"Oh what? You don't like that idea?"
"Are you sad? Good! Die tumor! Die!"
For the most part, it did die. When the doctor did my mastectomy, some of the tumor had survived. Fortunately, he was able to remove all of it from my breast. Unfortunately, I also had some lymph nodes that were positive for cancer cells. A portion of the lymph nodes were removed but I knew more therapy loomed in the future.
"So. You're still here."
"I see that you want to stay. Well, you don't get to stay."
"You may have taken over my once fabulous boob but let me tell you this buddy. You're gonna die."
"Oh what? You don't like that idea?"
"Are you sad? Good! Die tumor! Die!"
For the most part, it did die. When the doctor did my mastectomy, some of the tumor had survived. Fortunately, he was able to remove all of it from my breast. Unfortunately, I also had some lymph nodes that were positive for cancer cells. A portion of the lymph nodes were removed but I knew more therapy loomed in the future.
Why Is the Room Still Spinning?
When I began taking Adriamycin and Cytoxan, I faithfully followed my schedule of anti-emetics. One of the pills affected me in a way that still makes me shudder with horror.
A day or two after chemotherapy, I noticed that I was unsteady on my feet. I wondered about this new cocktail being given to me but then shrugged off any worry. The next day, my dizziness worsened. The room began to tip back and forth. I could barely get around the house. Another day passed and the room began to spin. I tried to stand but it was impossible. I wondered if throwing up might stop the spinning but could not muster the courage to vomit.
It was summer time and my kids were playing rambunctiously in the living room. I wanted to spend time with them so I lay on the floor and tried to watch them play. It was like looking at the deck of a ship as it was angrily tossed about during a hurricane. I hugged the floor and tried to focus on their fun.
For four days, I lay on the floor of our living room. Periodically, I would stagger to the restroom or shower like a drunkard. Mostly, I slept. Sometimes I watched the children out of one eye. My husband is a hero to me. He took on everything during those four awful days. Finally, I stumbled to the kitchen to read the dancing description of side effects from each medicine bottle.
As I read the list of side effects, I came to realize that my dizziness was caused by one of the medications. How I despise those devil pills! If I had a sling shot, I would send each capsule flying!
A day or two after chemotherapy, I noticed that I was unsteady on my feet. I wondered about this new cocktail being given to me but then shrugged off any worry. The next day, my dizziness worsened. The room began to tip back and forth. I could barely get around the house. Another day passed and the room began to spin. I tried to stand but it was impossible. I wondered if throwing up might stop the spinning but could not muster the courage to vomit.
It was summer time and my kids were playing rambunctiously in the living room. I wanted to spend time with them so I lay on the floor and tried to watch them play. It was like looking at the deck of a ship as it was angrily tossed about during a hurricane. I hugged the floor and tried to focus on their fun.
For four days, I lay on the floor of our living room. Periodically, I would stagger to the restroom or shower like a drunkard. Mostly, I slept. Sometimes I watched the children out of one eye. My husband is a hero to me. He took on everything during those four awful days. Finally, I stumbled to the kitchen to read the dancing description of side effects from each medicine bottle.
As I read the list of side effects, I came to realize that my dizziness was caused by one of the medications. How I despise those devil pills! If I had a sling shot, I would send each capsule flying!
Chemo Comparisons
Chemotherapy, though harsh, has some interesting benefits.
My first twelve rounds of chemotherapy were of Paclitaxel. Paclitaxel was not very nice to me in some ways because my hair fell out in large clumps and I had some peripheral neuropathy happening. However, the antihistamines and anti-emetics given gave me an incredible high that lasted for days.
My thoughts would run like this:
"I'm here. I'm cool. I look like a harpy. Dude."
"I see you talking to me but processing what you are saying just isn't happening. I'll fake it."
"Are you upset with me today? I'm high. I don't care."
I could go on but we would just be delving into the ridiculous. To summarize, Paclitaxel was my F-it Pill.
My next eight rounds of chemotherapy were of Adriamycin and Cytoxan. That combination was very mean and the anti-emetics given were not as fun. Adriamycin is aptly nicknamed the red devil for so many reasons. My hands turned a dark, murky red-brown and my nails discolored. I also spent four days lying on the floor watching the world spin but that is another story.
My first twelve rounds of chemotherapy were of Paclitaxel. Paclitaxel was not very nice to me in some ways because my hair fell out in large clumps and I had some peripheral neuropathy happening. However, the antihistamines and anti-emetics given gave me an incredible high that lasted for days.
My thoughts would run like this:
"I'm here. I'm cool. I look like a harpy. Dude."
"I see you talking to me but processing what you are saying just isn't happening. I'll fake it."
"Are you upset with me today? I'm high. I don't care."
I could go on but we would just be delving into the ridiculous. To summarize, Paclitaxel was my F-it Pill.
My next eight rounds of chemotherapy were of Adriamycin and Cytoxan. That combination was very mean and the anti-emetics given were not as fun. Adriamycin is aptly nicknamed the red devil for so many reasons. My hands turned a dark, murky red-brown and my nails discolored. I also spent four days lying on the floor watching the world spin but that is another story.
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