Tag Archives: chemotherapy

Finally Caught A Break

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Three weeks ago today, I went in for surgery to see if I had ovarian cancer. As I blogged before the surgery, we weren’t sure what we were going to find. Just a little nerve racking.

It was a long two and a half weeks between my first meeting with my gyno oncologist and my day of surgery. I was convinced I was going to have ovarian cancer. I was preparing for the worst — a complete hysterectomy, months of chemo, chemo brain, losing my hair, eyebrows and eyelashes again, and who knows what else. I couldn’t even really process the choice that I was making about having my ovaries removed. I was clear about my decision to do this, but would have to later deal with the feelings surrounding this decision. I don’t have children yet, but definitely want them. But at this point, I just wanted to be alive to be able to figure out how to do that. Would I even survive having ovarian cancer? The statistics on ovarian cancer are not good. I haven’t caught a break up until this point, so why would this time be any different?

I arrived at the hospital at 5.30am for a 7.30am surgery. I think I got about an hour of sleep the night before. Obviously I couldn’t stop my mind from racing.

The nurse walked me back into the pre-op room, took my vitals, asked me my name and birthdate a million times, and hooked up my IV. Then I was left by myself in the room for a while. This is when I lost it. Couldn’t stop crying. I was so scared. My life was about to take a dramatic turn…again.

My family came into the room and we all had a good cry together. Very few words were said — I mean, what’s there really to say? I think we were all hoping for the best but expecting the worst. You can be knocked down only so many times before you stop believing that you won’t get hit.

They started the anesthesia and luckily that’s the last thing I remember before waking up after surgery.

Surgery was supposed to take 3 hours, but only took 45 minutes. They removed by ovaries and tubes, and tested the lesion. It quickly came back benign. They closed me up and we were done.

No ovarian cancer!

YIPPEE!!! Hooray!!! Woo-hoo!!!

I came to after surgery and the nurse told me the good news while I was in recovery. I couldn’t believe it. Am I dreaming? Am I still in surgery? Is this really happening?

They rolled me from the recovery room to a regular room to rest before leaving the hospital. My family came into the room cheering and smiling, giving hugs and kisses to me. I’d never been so happy and relieved in my life.

It’s been a long year and a half of tests and bad news. For once, it was so great to get good news from a doctor, telling me I don’t have cancer.

I finally caught a break.

Yippee

1 Step Forward, 2 Steps Back

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Last week I had my regular check up with my gynecologist to watch for ovarian cancer. Since I have the breast cancer gene (BRCA), I am also at a high risk for ovarian cancer. So every 2-3 months I go in for an ultrasound and blood work.

I’ve been doing these ultrasounds since March of this year, so I really thought I was prepared. As I shared in a past blog post, these tests are really emotionally draining. But I was feeling like I was in a good place and ready to tackle this one. I wore my usual good luck pajamas to bed the night before my tests and wore my usual good luck outfit to meet with my gynecologist.

Previous ultrasounds showed cysts on my ovaries, but those would wash away by the time of the next ultrasound. Then new ones would appear and we’d watch those.

I expected this ultrasound to be the same thing. The technician did my ultrasound this past Tuesday and said: so, it looks like we’re just chasing cysts here. We’ll see what the doctor thinks.

So as I waited to see my gynecologist, I started thinking about writing this blog post. I had already decided the title was going to be: Chasing Cysts. I was feeling relieved at the idea that we were just chasing cysts. I can handle chasing cysts.

Then my gynecologist walked into the room. She sat down and had a worried look on her face. She said the cyst is quite large and dark, and has some fluid around it creating a cobweb-like design. None of those things are good news.

My gynecologist said we should wait and see what the blood work comes back with, but she also said she wanted me to meet with a gynecology oncologist to get a second opinion of my ultrasound. So she sent me right over to meet with that doctor.

FUCK! This is when I started freaking out.

This is exactly what happened when I felt my lump last year. I felt my lump, I went to see this same gynecologist, she had me go do a mammogram on the exact same day, and one week later I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

This past Tuesday, I met with my gynecologist, and she sent me to see another doctor the same day, to look into what concerns her. On my way to meet with this gyno oncologist, I even passed by the breast center where I had my mammogram last year. This didn’t make me feel very good or calm me down. Quite the opposite.

When I met with the gyno oncologist, he also had a worried look on his face after looking at my ultrasound. He said a dark cyst with fluid around it is a sign of ovarian cancer. Not what I was hoping to hear, to say the least.

Both my gyno and gyno oncologist are recommending that I do surgery to find out if what they see on the ultrasound is ovarian cancer. I also have to decide if I want to just test the cyst for ovarian cancer or if I want to have my ovaries removed at the time of surgery to significantly lower my risk ovarian, if I don’t have ovarian cancer now.

Difficult decisions and no good options.

On Friday I did get some tentative good news from my gynecologist about my blood work. She said that my blood work came back with a score of 4 for ovarian cancer. Most women with ovarian cancer have a score in the hundred or thousands. So that was reassuring.

However, I am still concerned and won’t know for sure if I have ovarian cancer until surgery is done.

While my family and friends are staying positive, I can’t stop myself from thinking about having to go through chemo again. Once you’ve had cancer, its hard to stay hopeful and positive when the doctor has a worried look on their face. It’s hard to believe that this time you won’t have cancer.

Two weeks ago I was feeling good. I was getting my energy back. I was going out with friends. I was going on vacation.

And now this. It sucks.

1 step forward, 2 steps back.

Tired and Impatient

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I’m a very patient person…when it comes to other people. When it comes to myself…not so much.

Labor Day weekend – less than two weeks ago – I went to New York for a weekend with my mom and sister. It was a great weekend, but I sure am tired from it – still, two weeks later. It’s so frustrating.

During my breast cancer treatment, many doctors kept telling me that exhaustion was one of the top three side effects from both chemo and radiation. I get that. They pumped my body with toxic drugs and high levels of radiation, so I should be tired. During treatment, I came home after work and took a nap, woke up for dinner, then went to sleep for 10 hours. I was sleeping about 12 hours a day. I was fine with that. I’m a really good sleeper. And that’s what my body needed to survive.

But now it’s almost nine months since I’ve been done with treatment. People tell me that it takes a year to get back to 100% of your regular energy level. So I’m trying to be patient as I still have three more months until my one year mark. But it sure is hard to wait for that time to come around.

I want to go back to doing all my normal stuff – strenuous exercise, going out at night with friends, spending the day out and about, walking around museums – but my body just isn’t there yet. I know, I know…I’ve been through a lot, both in body and mind. I should cut myself a break and be patient. But that’s easier said than done.

The last two weeks I could barely make it through an eight hour day of work. By the time I got home and made dinner, I was ready for bed. And that’s after spending the weekend sleeping in late, taking lots of naps during the day and going to bed early. And that wasn’t enough. I’m still tired.

I’m hoping this weekend will be my final weekend of resting so I’m not exhausted. I’ll again sleep in, take a nap and go to bed early. Hopefully that’ll help get me to the point of just being a little tired, rather than completely exhausted.

I know what you’re going to say…you have to listen to your body and it just needs more time to recover. But why does it have to take so long?

Heavy Mortality Thoughts Today

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Today is my dad’s yahrzeit. It’s been 23 years since my dad died from Hodgkin disease. I never know how I’m going to feel during this time each year, but I thought this year I’d be ok. Not really sure why I thought that, but I did. I really did. Then a friend asked what I did last night and I told her I went to shul to remember my dad. That’s when the tears started.

Last year, I had chemo brain during the anniversary of my dad’s death. I was in the middle of my 8 chemo treatments. So I couldn’t really process how his death was affecting me. But today, its hitting me pretty hard.

My dad was a couple weeks shy of his 43rd birthday when he died. He fought 4 bouts of cancer. His body couldn’t handle the toll anymore of 12 years of drugs and damage from treatment. I think he was also tired of the fight. I can’t blame him. I understand the feeling.

Before my diagnosis, the idea of not making it past my 43rd birthday was never a thought that crossed my mind. But now, being in my first year as a breast cancer survivor and being 40 years old, I find myself wondering if I’ll even make it to 43.

I never thought I’d get breast cancer at 39. 65 yes. But not 39. That wasn’t a remote possibility in my mind. But now I know all too well that life is full of surprises – and I’m not talking about the good surprises.

My dad’s yahrzeit and my breast cancer make me think about my mortality a lot these days. How many days or years do I have left? Will my cancer come back like my dad’s did? Will my body give out too like his did? Will I have time to do the things I really want to do?

Obviously I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. And I’m trying to take these overwhelming feelings one day at a time. But what I do know is that this scary stuff.

My Breast Cancer Story

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On Tuesday, March 13, 2012, after a long day at work, I went for a run. A normal activity for me on a lovely spring day. After my run, I took a shower. I come from a long line of women who’ve had breast cancer, so I religiously did my self-exams every month. In the shower, I started to do my exam. I knew my breasts pretty well, so as I was feeling around, I knew something was wrong. I came upon what felt like a frozen pea. I always asked my doctors what a tumor feels like, and they say two things: it feels like a frozen pea and you’ll just know what something doesn’t feel right.

Well, they were right.

Shit. I just knew things were about to change.

Getting The Frozen Pea Checked

The next day I called my gynecologist for an appointment. On Thursday, March 15, I went to get her opinion about this frozen pea. She sent me to get a mammogram, which led to a sonogram, which led to an MRI, which led to a biopsy. All of this happened within 5 days. They told me I’d get my results by Friday, March 22.

And so I waited. Often the hardest part.

Thursday, March 21 was my 39th birthday. Everyone wanted to celebrate, but I just couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to be happy about anything. While my friends and family were staying positive about my results, I just couldn’t shake the gut feeling that my results weren’t going to be good news.

The Results

On Friday, March 22, the day after my birthday, I was driving to work and my gynecologist called me. She said she had the results of my biopsy and asked if this was a good time to talk. Those words didn’t calm my fears. I pulled over to the side of the road. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep driving while hearing this news. She said my biopsy came back positive and I had breast cancer. It’s the word we all are afraid of hearing and hope we never do.

I hung up the phone and burst out in tears. I yelled in my car, so afraid of what would come next.

I pulled myself together enough to drive the 4 miles home and collapsed in my bed. Couldn’t stop crying. My life was about to change and I was so scared.

The Doctors’ Appointment Begin

My gynecologist quickly made an appointment for me to see a breast surgeon. I met with her later that same day. I really lucked out with her. She’s a smart, caring, dedicated surgeon who specializes in young women with breast cancer. I couldn’t have ask for a better doctor and partner in this fight. This doctor, along with her team of a nurse practitioner and nurse navigator, spent 4 hours with me on that first day. They explained everything to me – how breast cancer happens, what our possible options are for treatment, and where we go from here. They were amazing!

Tests, Tests and More Tests

She sent me to do many tests to find out if the cancer had spread anywhere and if I had the breast cancer gene, BRCA. These tests would help determine my surgery options and my course of treatment. Would I need to do a mastectomy or a lumpectomy, chemotherapy or radiation.

She told me we had one month from that day to make all these decisions. One month from that day I would be having surgery. We couldn’t allow the tumor any more time to grow or spread.

All of my tests came back clean. As far as we knew, the cancer was isolated to my left breast. A bit of good news in a cluster of bad.

Then I got a call from the genetics counselor. She said I had BRCA 2, the lesser severe form of the breast cancer gene. I wasn’t surprised by these results, because of my family history and being an Ashkenazi Jew.

I spent the next 2 weeks getting a second opinion from another breast surgeon and meeting with a plastic surgeon. It was very strange being in a plastic surgeon’s office. I’ve always been the one in my group of friends that was adamant about never getting any plastic surgery – ever. How ironic that I would not be the one with fake boobs.

Decision Time

After consulting two doctors and doing a ton of research online, I decided to have a bilateral mastectomy. With my family history and having the BRCA gene, the chances of breast cancer showing up in my right breast was quite high. I thought being aggressive and proactive was the best action to take. Believe it or not, it wasn’t a very hard decision. I knew what I had to do.

First Surgery

On Tuesday, April 17, 2012, I had my bilateral mastectomy. During this surgery, tests would be done to find out if the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. If they had, I would definitely need to do chemo and radiation. Because all of my tests came back clean before surgery, my breast surgeon told me there was only a 3% chance that the cancer spread to my lymph nodes.

Well…I’ve always strived to be the best at everything I do, so why do anything differently with cancer. In surgery, the tests showed that my cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. I was part of that 3%. So I would, in fact, have to do chemo and radiation.

Besides the cancer spreading to my lymph nodes (minor detail, right?), the surgery went well. Both surgeons were quite pleased. I was pretty nauseous from the anesthesia and had drains in me for a couple weeks, but sure was glad the surgery was over.

Next Steps After Surgery

A week after surgery, I met with my breast surgeon to talk through the pathology report and decide what to do next. She confirmed that I had stage 2 breast cancer, but my tumor was quite aggressive. She was sending me to an oncologist and radiologist, but was pretty sure they’d recommend 8 rounds of chemo and 7 weeks of radiation. My breast surgeon kept saying, “It’s going to be a long year.” I didn’t really get it. I thought 4 months of chemo and 2 months of radiation – that’s only 6 months. What is she talking about? (I was told there’d be no math.)

Well… now I know. I had to have another surgery for my final breast reconstruction. And I had to wait two months after each surgery to start the next treatment.

Making A Treatment Plan

It was quite surreal meeting an oncologist and radiologist at the age of 39. I was one of the few young women in both of these offices. Again, shouldn’t I be 60 years old when I’m doing this?

I was connected to a great oncologist and radiologist. My wonderful team of doctors continued to grow with more amazing women. Both doctors wanted to do the most aggressive treatment possible: 8 rounds of chemo (once every other week for 4 months), and 32 zaps of radiation (5 days a week for 6.5 weeks).

Chemo

I was terrified of chemo. I watched my dad go through chemo and he was sick as a dog. I was pretty lucky through my chemo. I was nauseous a few days of the 4 months, but nothing unbearable. Thanks goodness for those drugs. I was mostly exhausted and slept as much as possible. My brain definitely wasn’t working – confirming the theory of chemo brain.

One of the hardest parts of chemo for me was loosing my hair. They told me this before I started chemo. I didn’t believe them. But they were right. When you have to look at yourself in the mirror and see no hair on your head, no eyelashes, no eyebrows – there’s no way to deny that you’re sick. It’s a harsh reality.

They also tell you that the effects of chemo are cumulative. So, I was often worried about things getting worse as the chemo treatments piled on. The worst part was actually the mental aspect. I grew mentally tired of having to go through treatment as it seemed to be taking forever. And the anxiety of things getting worse as treatments piled on certainly didn’t help my mental state.

Every week during chemo I went to see an acupuncturist, who I’m certain helped mitigate the potential side effects of the chemo. I’m forever grateful for his care – both physical care and mental care. He was a wonderful man who cheered me on every step of this journey.

On September 18, I had my last chemo session. I was so thrilled to be done, but too tired to celebrate. Everyone else was jumping for joy that I was finished with this part, but all I could think about was what’s next? And how much longer?

2nd Surgery

After chemo finished, I had my 2nd surgery. This was my final breast reconstruction surgery. It was a much easier surgery than the first one. It only took a couple hours and I was home by the afternoon. I had to have drains for this surgery also, which was a big bummer. I hated those drains and couldn’t wait to get them out. But the surgery went well and I was one step closer to being done with this journey.

Radiation

On Thursday, November 6, I started radiation. It made me tired, but I didn’t get any of the redness or blistering or rashes that some people suffer through. Going to the hospital every week day for 7 weeks got real old, real fast.

On the first day of my treatment, they gave me a badge that said Cancer Center on it, with my name. I would swipe that badge every day I came in for treatment so they knew I was there. I just couldn’t believe I had a cancer badge with my name on it. It felt like a dream…or a nightmare.

5 days a week for 6.5 weeks I went to the Cancer Center for radiation.

Treatment Finished

On Friday, January 18, 2013, 10 months after feeling my frozen pea, I officially finished my treatment for breast cancer. 2 surgeries. 8 rounds of chemo. 32 zaps of radiation.

Life As A Survivor

Now that I’m done with active treatment, I’m trying to figure out how to live life as a breast cancer survivor. It’s harder than I thought. I’m grateful to have survived, but it sure was a lot to go through.

When you’re going through treatment, you know what you need to do. You put one foot in front of the other. You focus on making it through your first surgery. Then you focus on getting through your first chemo, then the next one, then the next one… Then you focus on getting through your second surgery. Then you focus on getting through your first radiation zap, then the next one, then the next one…

Now I’m left to sort through all these feelings about what I went through, what lies ahead for me and how long I’ll be around. Life is full of uncertainties and getting breast cancer at the age of 39 only reinforces that.

I’m trying now to finding my equilibrium. The roller coast of being a breast cancer survivor is hard. Harder than I expected.

One day at a time.