Tag Archives: gyn oncologist

A Change of Perspective

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I’m a little behind on my blogging lately. I’ve been busy doing fun things. What a nice change from being tired as a result of cancer treatments and doctors’ appointments.

Last month, I had my first infusion of Zometa. Zometa is a bone strengthening drug, which also has shown to prevent recurrences of breast cancer in some studies. My oncologist wanted me to do this treatment since in July of this year, I was diagnosed with osteoporosis in my spine. Yes, the joys of breast cancer continue.

I was pretty bummed about having osteoporosis, but even more bummed about the treatment, since the drug is administered in the chemo area of the hospital. I never wanted to be back there. Ever.

My oncologist told me I could expect flu-like symptoms the first couple days after the treatment. So I scheduled the infusion for a Friday, giving myself the weekend to recover. It felt like chemo all over again – figuring out when my body would have the worst reactions to treatment and how long it would take to recover.

So I went to the hospital, as early as possible, to get it over with. The sooner I got there, the sooner it would be over. They start infusions at 9 a.m., so that’s what I did.

The nurses were so nice, as usual. I feel very grateful to be so well taken care of. Not everyone has that experience.

The infusion didn’t hurt at all. I barely even noticed the needle going in or out. I guess I’m just used to that by now. They started the infusion, I turned on my iPod, closed by eyes, and 5 songs later, it was over. As my oncologist promised, the infusion only took 20 minutes. The whole thing took about 45 minutes. Couldn’t wait for it to be over.

I went home and laid on my couch. I was pretty exhausted. Of course I didn’t sleep the night before. The first time I do anything, I’m always nervous. So getting rest that night didn’t really happen. The emotional toll was worse than the physical toll for this treatment.

My oncologist told me to drink a TON (her emphasis) of water. Zometa is flushed out through the kidneys. So water gets it out of the system. I spent the day on the couch, in and out of napping. I did get this souvenir from the infusion – a lovely bruise on my arm:

Bruise From Zometa Infusion

The next morning I woke up, feeling pretty tired still but not terrible. No flu-like symptoms yet, but I decided to stay in to rest and keep drinking that water.

Around 8 p.m., I decided to go to bed early to catch up on that sleepless night the night before the treatment. But that’s when the flu-like symptoms showed up. I started to get some chills and feel a bit nauseous. I actually haven’t felt cold in a long time. Hot flashes and overall heat is my normal body temperature these days, thanks to Tamoxifen and my oophorectomy (the removal of my ovaries). So in a weird way, it felt kind of nice to be cold. The nausea though, I could do without that.

The flu-like symptoms only lasted for a couple hours. As I laid in bed eating ginger to help settle my stomach and with a wool hat on my head to try to warm up, I kept telling myself, “You’ve been through worse. This is nothing.” It actually kept me calm and helped me not freak out about what was happening with my body.

Not that I really needed it, but the Zometa infusion and my body’s reaction was a reminder that I’ve been through the ringer in these last 2 years – a double mastectomy, 8 rounds of chemo that lasted 4 months, 1 reconstructive surgery, 32 zaps of radiation over 7 weeks (5 days a week), an oophorectomy, and countless tests and doctors’ appointments. My perspective has changed. A little chill and nausea for a couple hours? No big deal. I can handle that.

So, I snuggled with my dog Murphy for some body warmth and TLC. Then next thing I knew, the chills and nausea were gone and I went to sleep. Another cancer experience that I’m happy to be moving past.

 

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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.