When the ultrasound tech placed the wand on what we know now as my tumor, the look on her face sent shock waves of anxiety through my body. It wasn’t until she checked my armpit and saw swollen lymph nodes that I lost it. I said to her out loud, “I am not one of these strong women that can do this. I can’t do this. I won’t be able to do this.” Tears streaming down my face. Of course we didn’t know for a few days until my biopsy results came in that it was cancer. But my gut knew. Isn’t it so crazy that just 5 weeks ago I was crying on that table saying “I can’t do this” and here I am, doing it. I’m only two weeks into treatment, I have a long road ahead. But even getting this far, before my official diagnosis I didn’t think I could. Yet every morning, I wake up, I manage my symptoms, I do the tests, I get the blood draws, the CT scans, the MRI’s, the appointments, the hormone suppressants, the hours and hours spent at the hospital, the pre-drugs and the chemotherapy infusions. I’m doing it. We are amazing beings, humans. Our ability to adapt is pretty incredible. I’m not saying getting up every day is easy. I usually cry once a day for one reason or another, I feel like a literal garbage can. I don’t recognize my body at all. There are constant sensations that don’t feel “right” or like me at all. Nothing inside me is operating the way it did before. I have zings of pain, and zings of anxiety that attack all day long. BUT, I’m doing it. I was so terrified for my first chemo, but shockingly the night before I slept all night, didn’t even wake up to pee! I couldn’t believe it. And while I was scared, I was also calm? Calm enough to just get it done. When you look up at the mountain, it can feel truly impossible to climb. But taking the first step, and then the next, and then the next, and suddenly you’re a quarter of the way up with all this new found hope and confidence that hey, maybe you actually CAN do this. Tears flowed down my face today at this realization. I’m surprising myself. There are sure to be so many rough moments ahead, but I can do it. I will do it with the support of my friends and family.
Tomorrow is chemo # 3. The breast center is closed tomorrow for the holiday, but the main hospital squeezed me in for treatment. My type A personality was not gonna add another week onto this whole charade. So I bugged everyone I could and got the clinical trial to approve the main hospital as an infusion site and let my treatments go on as planned. I’m nervous. I keep wondering if that will go away? I’m still anxious as heck every time I walk on an airplane, that has never gone away. Thinking this just might be the energy I take with me to treatments. Nervous, eager, scared, a little worried. But I have had a sense of accomplishment every time we walk to the car after an infusion. I’m looking forward to that feeling tomorrow, one more down.
This week has been harder than the last. All my new found “breasties” have told me the first chemo is a little bit of a lie. That it gets harder as you go. So far, this is true. Hopefully it doesn’t get too much harder, but one day at a time, right?! This week I’ve been exhausted, dealt with hot flashes and nausea waves, terrible tummy aches (thank you Perjeta), mouth sores, neuropathy, skin sores, a super itchy/sore scalp, with a little vertigo sprinkled on top. While that all sucks, I have had moments every day at some point that I don’t feel all that bad. I’m still able to be up with the kids, vacuum, get outside, make myself some food, and sit with family for parts of the day. I feel like this is a huge win.
Oh, and on top of these above things, the boys got sick this week. Porter ended up at Childrens on Monday with hives and labored breathing. They both had fevers, coughs, and were up most nights. Having sick kids is so sad, its so hard. Never did I ever think I would be going through this already stretching stage of life on chemotherapy. A reminder, I can do hard things.
I believe this is the week I am going to lose my hair. I’ve been told day 14-17 on the money, it just falls out in clumps. I feel a little uneasy about this. Everyday I ask myself if this is the day I’m gonna shave it, and the day passes and I don’t do it. I’ve made the decision I do want to shave it, it’s just a matter of when. I feel like this is one of the massive steps where I won’t look like me anymore. I haven’t felt like me for weeks. But when I look in the mirror I won’t recognize myself. I’m nervous for that. This entire process is so disorienting. It’s so shocking. It’s traumatic. It’s all so fast. It’s still so crazy to me that one moment you are living your very normal day to day life bitching about your pool contractor and momming and working, and suddenly you are a cancer patient and NOTHING feels the same. What you do every day is different. How you feel mentally and physically is so different. Hair isn’t everything. I know this. But it’s just another thing I have to lose through this process, and it’s hard. Im dreading it honestly. But Madewell had some really cute scarves on sale this weekend and I’m hoping I can tie them up cute and find a little piece of me somewhere down in there.
On my last day of week 2 I have felt every emotion possible (much like every single day), but right now I am (literally right this moment) taking very big deep breaths, repeating positive affirmations, and feeling grateful for another day that I have the opportunity to take this life saving drug.
Love you all.
