Me and my girls will be going to reform school, it turns out.
My new medical oncologist, Dr. D - young and whip-smart with a laser-like focus on killing cancer cells -- wants us enrolled in an aggressive chemotherapy regime asap.
Dr. D isn't big on sugar-coating. She used the phrase "that's a poor prognostic factor" at least four times in discussing various aspects of my cancer -- the fact that the lymph-node tumors had grown outside the nodes (called extra-capsular extension), the rate of cell reproduction (K-67 of 15%), the size of the lymph-node tumors (biggest was 1.2 cm), and the fact that the cancer was in the lymph nodes at all.
She recommends "dose-dense therapy" in which I'd get chemo every other week as "better for disease-free survival." The other option is chemo every three weeks, which might allow more recovery time from the nasty side effects.
I have to return for an hour-long briefing on side effects, but Dr. D touched on several that have long-term medical implications: damage to the heart muscle; bone thinning; and neuropathy, which is tingling and numbness in the extremities "that's not completely reversible."
Losing my hair is guaranteed. Fatigue and nausea are also par for the course.
Basically I'm signing up to have them inject Drano into my veins on a regular basis -- the literature they gave me said the drugs are so toxic they can burn your flesh if they leak out of the injection site.
She strongly recommended that I stop working for the rest of the year. "You'll be getting super-strong chemo and antinausea drugs every two weeks. I don't want you struggling through and feeling horrible and in the bathroom sick at work."
Mark and I both sat there in a state of shock. My take-away was that the cancer news is grim and the treatment outlook is brutal.
There's a lengthy list of procedures to tackle before treatment starts: surgical implantation of a port to deliver all these toxic drugs, echocardiogram to get a baseline of how my heart currently functions, bone density scan, full-body PET/CT scan, brain MRI.
I also need to meet the radiation oncologist who will be treating me after chemo, and take a tour of the chemo facility at Herrick.
It should be just like touring a birthing center -- but with bleak foreboding instead of happy anticipation.
Hi Carolyn,
ReplyDeleteThis is Jonathan from Greysheet. Mark M. sent me an email with a link to your blog. I read your posts and am moved by your writings. Thank you for sharing what you are going through. If there is anything I can do please let me know. Feel free to call anytime (714)335-7426.
Warmly,
Jonathan
I am so sorry Sweetie that you are going through this right now. Know that your friends are ready to help out in any way needed. Wednesdays are my day off so I can help take you to appointments and sit with you during chemo. when needed.
ReplyDeleteLove you,
Louise
It sounds gruesome, and they're probably right about not working, or at least working from home. I suspect that Drano in the veins doesn't improve the mental capacity. (In fact, I've heard some not so pretty things about longer-term effects of that kind, though I can't bring details to my own damaged brain at the moment.)
ReplyDeleteGoddess be with you.
Hi Carolyn: Rit and I are thinking of you all of the healing energy we have.
ReplyDeleteLet us know if we can help in any way.
Glen
With you every step, Carolyn. How can I help? Sending you all my love.
ReplyDeleteFirst off, I love you so much. Thank you again for sharing this intensely personal journey with all of us. I think of you and send you warm hugs all day long.
ReplyDeleteWe are just going to have to make a lot of lemonade out of these darn lemons, girlfriend. You have found this incredible, insightful, inspiring voice that is speaking to all of us who love you so much. That voice would resonate with the whole world if you finally write that book that you should have written ages ago.
I know, nudge, nudge. But know that we are all here to help you in whatever way we can every step of the way until you are well and signing books at independent bookstores everywhere.
xoxoxo
Carolyn, I have experience sitting with a friend who had breast cancer through chemo, bad chemo, and I learned 2 important things in that journey: (1) Fancy socks are helpful - I mean really fancy and interesting; and (2) It makes some sense to remember those quiet moments fondly since it's hard to catch up with her now - 5 years later - as she hikes, goes on long pack trips, does her yoga and works full time. Sign me up, I'll bring the socks. Love you, Susan
ReplyDeleteDear Carolyn and Blogisphere….from Sue and Larry too. Thinking of you all the time. So much that our brains have expanded and we both have new hat sizes. Your incredible journey reminds us of that movie where a little space ship traveled around in someone’s body with nice people inside. Just imagine that you have a bunch of really good friends in teeny tiny space ships whooshing around and watching out and guarding against anything that needs guarding. That’s us and all your friends, family and people who know and love you. You can’t feel us zipping around but know that we are there!
ReplyDeleteLove
Sue and Larry too