We met with my plastic surgeon, Dr. Wilke, 05 November, and he gave us all the gory details. Awful. Just awful. I sputtered through my drink at Crave and Edina women listened to me whisper the word Cancer and they stared. I could do nothing but go hide in the car and call me mum.
Yet, I talked to some healthy people today, cancer survivors and friends; and they made the day better. I am going to enjoy a BBC show tonight and zone out. I haven’t watched the much television since we had a Satellite Dish about seven years ago.
On Jon’s 40th birthday, I had my first day of chemo. The second nurse talked to me in a conspiratorial baby voice when she asked me, “Who is that strange man?” She meant Jon. We saw Bloom. This all took an hour. We waited in the lobby for 20 minutes and then went back to the “Infusion Room.” I had a great nurse, Halli, who got the IV in seamlessly. They gave me three anti-naseua drugs, then 1mg of Ativan. I sat for a bit with the Saline dripping in, and she did another 1mg Ativan push and then started on the Adriamycin. After the push of that drug, I had a bag of Cytoxan. I’ve had some numbness and tingling in my left arm because of the lymph nodes that are cancerous, and the Cytoxan caused my hand to constantly fall asleep for an hour. It tingled. I also became nauseous and woozy. My side affects were feeling woozy, dizzy, and unsteady on my feet but only slightly nauseous.
24 hours after the dose of AC I get a shot of Neulasta. It helps with white blood cell growth and keeps infection at bay. I was a bit tired in the afternoon of the 14 Nov. which quickly turned in to days of nausea, fatigue and a recalcitrant migraine. Thursday night through Saturday afternoon were the worst of it and five days after chemo I felt a lot better, albeit the migraine was still there. The food Annunciation parents brought over lasted all week-end and I know I am blessed to have so many people helping us, but I really feel like I need a good cry.
Jon said on 18 November that he’s completely freaked out because he knows I don’t want to continue doing chemo given the side affects I have suffered, which were abysmal. No, in all honesty I feel like selling the house and moving to Brighton. I want to die in a house that has close proximity of the English Channel. 5% of women get Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC), so 95% get all the other kind of breast cancers, like my other breast cancer, ductal carcinoma. IBC is THE LEAST TREATABLE and has a SUPER HIGH MORTALITY RATE. Jon said after people posted on my Facebook Wall that people do not understand how SERIOUS THIS IS. The Cancer sites (UK Cancer, Cancer.org, Mayo Clinic, MD Anderson, etc.) show statistically that I will probably die during treatment. Jon said that people think IBC is regular breast cancer, it is not. Pull out the Google if you are curious. I am not in the happy I am going to survive group. I am in the I am screwed group. Peace.