I confess, I have had a hedonistic month. Though hardly going off to war, I’m taking a step into the unknown and have chosen to celebrate life and the close of 2007, with a bang. I have (in true form) dined, danced, partied and playfully taken the month by storm. Locked and loaded, wild, flirtacious, fully-awake, shaken and stirred.
Today, the clean-up crew comes in with the big drip holiday cocktail. I am armed for chemo with good friends, well-wishes and the confidence this “insurance” will benefit me. For my well-being, I have packed reading to inspire me and music that makes me feel alive. Marvin, Missy, James, Otis, Chaka, Wilson, Alisha, Nelly, Prince, Tom, Bob and Toots (will all be there).
My toast today, like this special cocktail, holds a bit more meaning: To my unconventional family and amazing array of friends; to my unbroken spirit and strong body (that just keeps saying, "GO, GO, GO"); to music that rocks me every day; to places I’ve yet to travel; to permission to be fearless; to my endless creativity; to breaking rules and never holding back; to starting over; to the men I’ve loved and those I’ve yet to meet; to cleaning up and clearing out the past; and to my health.
Happy New Year!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Chemo 101
I’ve been schooled in chemo and there were very few surprises. As I have said regarding tumors and treatments: what you know based on one person’s experience may not apply here. Treatment can vary depending on the type of breast cancer, how large the tumor is (or was, from my vantage point), and how far it has spread. Several different types of chemo are used to treat breast cancer.
The drugs used in chemotherapy are called cytotoxic drugs because they kill cells. Duh, cyto=cell, toxic=poison. The drugs circulate through the bloodstream, killing both cancer cells and some healthy cells.
I’m told the combination I will receive will be easily tolerated. Actually, I was told “you are healthy, you’ll have no problem”. Cool. I will arrive at the Sutter Cancer Center, have blood work, speak to my oncologist, and receive Taxotere and Cytoxan via a drip in the vein. I'll be relaxing in a recliner—can you imagine B.K. in a Lazy Boy? I’ll get an anti-nausea drug prior, then half hour drip on one of the drugs, one hour of the other. No need to alter my diet. I stay on my vitamins (no herbal supplements). No dental work or flossing during my treatment course (sore gums). Common side effects are nausea, bruising, fatigue, cold hands and feet and possible fever. Big emphasis on drinking loads of water (dehydration). Blah, blah, blah.
A bit of familiar perspective here: how many Sunday mornings have we opened our eyes, slight hangover, and considered the cells we may have killed on Saturday night? Nausea, fatigue, needing water…uh huh, oh yea.
My first treatment will be New Year's Eve. Yea, I know, but there was a need to back the time frame out from a business trip to NYC in early February, and coordinate with my oncologist’s schedule. And quite honestly, there’s just something about kicking 2007 out with a bang that seemed appropriate. I will bid adieu to cancer as 2007 dies off. I will welcome 2008 as a transformative year of change.
The drugs used in chemotherapy are called cytotoxic drugs because they kill cells. Duh, cyto=cell, toxic=poison. The drugs circulate through the bloodstream, killing both cancer cells and some healthy cells.
I’m told the combination I will receive will be easily tolerated. Actually, I was told “you are healthy, you’ll have no problem”. Cool. I will arrive at the Sutter Cancer Center, have blood work, speak to my oncologist, and receive Taxotere and Cytoxan via a drip in the vein. I'll be relaxing in a recliner—can you imagine B.K. in a Lazy Boy? I’ll get an anti-nausea drug prior, then half hour drip on one of the drugs, one hour of the other. No need to alter my diet. I stay on my vitamins (no herbal supplements). No dental work or flossing during my treatment course (sore gums). Common side effects are nausea, bruising, fatigue, cold hands and feet and possible fever. Big emphasis on drinking loads of water (dehydration). Blah, blah, blah.
A bit of familiar perspective here: how many Sunday mornings have we opened our eyes, slight hangover, and considered the cells we may have killed on Saturday night? Nausea, fatigue, needing water…uh huh, oh yea.
My first treatment will be New Year's Eve. Yea, I know, but there was a need to back the time frame out from a business trip to NYC in early February, and coordinate with my oncologist’s schedule. And quite honestly, there’s just something about kicking 2007 out with a bang that seemed appropriate. I will bid adieu to cancer as 2007 dies off. I will welcome 2008 as a transformative year of change.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Preemptive Strike.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Lions and Tigers and Chemo—oh my!
I’ll cut to the chase. Friday, I was back to the Sutter Cancer Center, where they park your car for free. The third floor is the Sacramento Center for Hematology & Medical Oncology—SCHMO for short. No shit, they call it “SCHMO’’. I met my medical oncologist Dr. Rahatgi, a small, round Indian man with a voice like a melody.
50% of women who have the Oncotype DX test come back with a score in the intermediate range; between the score of 11 and 25, mine is 18. Smack dab in the middle. What this means is no one can tell me whether I should have chemotherapy, or not. Radiation and aromatase inhibitors, which decrease recurrence and increase survival rates significantly, offer weighty percentages. Chemo offers another small piece of insurance. I ask the kind doctor the obvious question, “if I was in your family, would you suggest chemotherapy? He shrugs; there isn’t clear data for the answer I’m looking for. There is a trial (randomly assigned to chemo, or not—no obvious incentive here) that will provide that answer in 5, 10 or 20 years. For now, this decision is all mine. Chocolate or vanilla? Bachelor number two or number three? Bald and weak or, well, you get the picture.
I call two experienced cancer-chicks. Both say that cancer survivors worry about recurrence; do I want to second-guess my survival by not giving myself the best chance? I also am assured I will get through chemo fine. My gut has an answer that my head doesn’t want to hear.
Further reading points out that Taxotere-Cytoxan (the chemo of choice for breast cancer treatment) bestows a 24% improvement in overall survival over the previous chemo used for my senario. I’m, well, impressed. With radiation, drugs (aromatase inhibitors, Arimidex will be mine for 5 years) and chemo, I’m knocked to nearly 90% no recurrence stats. I cry. I party. I decide. Sign me up.
The bright side: the chemo will be 4 treatments over a 12-week course; the treatments are about an hour and a half; and nausea is managed with drugs given prior to chemo. Yes, I'll lose my hair but I’m pretty sure I can put aside vanity for a few months. Think of the money saved on these pricey (but fabulous) haircuts. I will be fatigued. I will kick the crap out of cancer and see that it never shows up here again.
Oh, and Santa, I'd like several hats this year.
http://www.medpagetoday.com/tbindex.cfm?tbid=1030
http://www.medpagetoday.com/HematologyOncology/2005SABCSMeeting/tb/2308
http://professional.cancerconsultants.com/oncology_main_news.aspx?id=35701
http://www.breastcancer.org/treatment/chemotherapy/index.jsp
50% of women who have the Oncotype DX test come back with a score in the intermediate range; between the score of 11 and 25, mine is 18. Smack dab in the middle. What this means is no one can tell me whether I should have chemotherapy, or not. Radiation and aromatase inhibitors, which decrease recurrence and increase survival rates significantly, offer weighty percentages. Chemo offers another small piece of insurance. I ask the kind doctor the obvious question, “if I was in your family, would you suggest chemotherapy? He shrugs; there isn’t clear data for the answer I’m looking for. There is a trial (randomly assigned to chemo, or not—no obvious incentive here) that will provide that answer in 5, 10 or 20 years. For now, this decision is all mine. Chocolate or vanilla? Bachelor number two or number three? Bald and weak or, well, you get the picture.
I call two experienced cancer-chicks. Both say that cancer survivors worry about recurrence; do I want to second-guess my survival by not giving myself the best chance? I also am assured I will get through chemo fine. My gut has an answer that my head doesn’t want to hear.
Further reading points out that Taxotere-Cytoxan (the chemo of choice for breast cancer treatment) bestows a 24% improvement in overall survival over the previous chemo used for my senario. I’m, well, impressed. With radiation, drugs (aromatase inhibitors, Arimidex will be mine for 5 years) and chemo, I’m knocked to nearly 90% no recurrence stats. I cry. I party. I decide. Sign me up.
The bright side: the chemo will be 4 treatments over a 12-week course; the treatments are about an hour and a half; and nausea is managed with drugs given prior to chemo. Yes, I'll lose my hair but I’m pretty sure I can put aside vanity for a few months. Think of the money saved on these pricey (but fabulous) haircuts. I will be fatigued. I will kick the crap out of cancer and see that it never shows up here again.
Oh, and Santa, I'd like several hats this year.
http://www.medpagetoday.com/tbindex.cfm?tbid=1030
http://www.medpagetoday.com/HematologyOncology/2005SABCSMeeting/tb/2308
http://professional.cancerconsultants.com/oncology_main_news.aspx?id=35701
http://www.breastcancer.org/treatment/chemotherapy/index.jsp
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