Finding the humor... some way

I'd like to use this post to go back a little and fill in some of the cracks from my first post. If you read the comments, you would've seen Maggie's that mentioned I forgot to talk about my FTD campaign. It's kind of a funny story...

After I had my mammogram and ultrasound, they gave me copies to take with me when I visited the breast surgeon. I couldn't read a mammogram if you asked me to (even though I could clearly see the area where my tumors were, but the angles and what's up or down? Nope.). The ultrasound, however, came out a little more clear to me. But it was my middle daughter who noticed that one of the tumors, the HER2 positive one, the one that pretty much grew within that month between my SBE's (self-breast exams), was in the shape of a duck. Well, I decided to name the thing Daffy. Fuck the duck, I'd say. Daffy, the little bastard, is going down. Mari Freeman, who has been one of my rocks through this whole thing, found a picture for me of Bugs Bunny shooting Daffy's head off. I found the picture to be hilarious, and absolutely perfect. I mentioned this on my Facebook page, and thus the FTD campaign was born.

Good new is? The Herceptin -- the drug specifically targeted toward HER2 tumors -- is working. After about three weeks into chemo, I couldn't feel the hard lump anymore. Some thickening of the tissue where it was, yes. But not the hard lump. At six weeks, I saw my oncologist and he said the same thing. Thickening of the tissue, but no lump. I'm quiet about this good news. I LOVE that the chemo is working. I hate being on it, but you know what I mean. I guess I've just had so much bad news this year that it's hard to let the good in and celebrate. Does that make sense?

At my visit with the breast surgeon, she scheduled an MRI. Tara Nina, in the comments, mentioned that she's an MRI tech. Bless you, Tara. If I would have to deal with people like me every day... Sheesh. Yep, you guessed it, I'm claustrophobic. Terribly. I hate flying because you're shooting through the sky in a tiny metal tube. I hate crowded elevators because I'm always the shortest and I just KNOW everyone else is taking up all the air inside there. I'll wait forever at a packed event to leave so I can avoid that mad rush of people who typically tower over me. But none of those things compare to how I felt during that MRI. Holy hell. The surgeon even gave me Valium -- the lowest dose I imagine, since it didn't help AT ALL. I had to come out of the tube 3 times. Each time I waited until that itch inside me couldn't be ignored anymore. It took a lot of talking to myself, and keeping my eyes closed tight, to make it through. I know more MRI's are in my future, and now I know to ask for a bit bigger dose of Valium. Better living though chemistry -- that's the new motto in our house!

At the appointment with my oncologist (which I had during the worst snowstorm we had this year -- how's that for drama?) he ordered a CAT scan to check for tumors elsewhere in my body. This was a big one for me, since my sister passed from end stage pancreatic cancer in June 2005. I was assured by my oncologist that breast cancer can't travel to the pancreas, but still. Scary to say the least. I'd had a CAT scan before, but I forgot how the contrast injection made me feel. As soon as it was pumped in through the IV, my heart nearly beat out of my chest and I had a moment of whooooa, I can't breathe. That lasted only a few seconds before the rush hit lower. The contrast seriously makes you feel like you've wet your pants! It's the oddest feeling, I swear. It's something to get a little laugh at, and it would've been funnier if my heart hadn't been racing the way it was. Something to keep in mind for the next time. And yay, the CAT scan came back clear. Another one of those good news things that I keep close and hold tight.

My onc also ran a blood test for the BRCA 1 & 2 genetic markers. Women who test positive for the BRCA genes have an 80-90% chance of having breast cancer in their lifetime, and a 10% chance of developing ovarian cancer. Men who carry the gene are at risk for pancreatic and prostate cancer. Because of my sister's cancer and because of my young age at diagnosis, I was a candidate to have this test done. It's a very expensive test, and most insurance companies require some sort of history or other factors for them to cover the cost -- which just sucks. I'm a big believer that every woman should have this test done, but with a price tag of $3600 (yes you read that right), that's not feasible. If the test came back positive, my treatment plan would've included a double mastectomy and having my ovaries removed. Drastic, but necessary. Thankfully, my BRCA 1 & 2 came back negative. I don't carry the gene.

Treatment update: I'm halfway through my weeks of treatments (20 weeks, 16 treatments)! I had #10 out of 12 Taxol/Herceptin infusions yesterday. I receive a few premeds beforehand to combat nausea, etc, one of which is Benadryl. The combo of the Benadryl and the Ativan I take makes me so sleepy. I came home afterward tired and irritable, but because of the steroids they give me during the premeds, I couldn't nap. Ugh. I feel pretty good today, knock on wood. It's usually day 3 or 4 after treatment when I feel the full effects of the fatigue. Only 2 more of these to go, then I move on to Adriamyacin/Cytoxin. It's called the Red Devil, and it's the chemo that has the potential to make me sick. Not looking forward to it at all, but it's all one day at a time, right?

Yep, one day at a time. That's all we can do.

Kristin