Fighting Breast Cancer

Because I had so much trouble with nausea after my first round of chemo, Dr. N prescribed a very powerful anti-nausea drug called Emend.  I consider Emend to be a “miracle drug”.  It is taken in the form of three pills over three days, starting one hour before chemotherapy.  The problem is that it costs about $110 per pill.  Sounds expensive?  Try being chemo-sick instead.  I mean, it is definitely expensive; but when your choices are “feel-like-you-are-going-through-chemo” or “feel-just-fine”, you realize how just how cheap $100 is.  If it cost a week’s salary and I didn’t have to feel chemo-ill that week- it’s worth it.

An hour after I took my first dose of Emend, I was called into the Out Patient IV room.  I chose my chair and waited for the chemo nurse to start my IV of “pre-meds”.  When the time came, she handed me a glass filled with ice to chew on and pushed the red chemo into my veins.  Once again, I felt a little dizzy and heady from the chemo.  I don’t know if it was the Emend or the fact that I was becoming an “old pro” at this chemo game, but I seemed to be so much more calm this time around.  In fact, considering the circumstances, I felt great.

When the nurse pulled the needle from my vein, she asked me how I felt. 

I thought about her queston carefully.  I felt pretty good actually.  A little light-headed, maybe but fine.  In fact I felt a bit hungry.

“I feel….I feel like eating a pizza.”

“Oh, no.  You shouldn’t eat anything right now.  Pizza would be hard on your stomach!  You’ll regret it if you eat that,” she assured me.

“No! That’s what I want and that’s what I’ll have.  Let’s go,”  I corrected.

We stopped at Nello’s Pizza restaurant on the way home from the hospital.  I ate 2 pieces and didn’t throw-up one time.  I didn’t experience any “stomach problems” as the nurse had warned.  This is why Emend is a miracle drug; I can eat pizza 30 miutes after chemo. I had the spinach pizza; it was awesome. 

I’ve made a decision.  I am going to shave my head the weekend after my second round of chemo.  My hair will probably be ready to come out on its own by then anyway. 

There has been some discussion as to how short I should go.  I think that I should just shave it all off and be done with it.  Some people think that I should just get a “short haircut” because this could still be “stylish and managable” while it’s falling miserably out.  But what’s the point of that?  So, it looks ok while it’s falling out at first.  How good can I look with bald spots appearing all over?  Besides, I wouldn’t want to waste the money on the haircut anyway.

Tonight we arrived at Buca di Beppo.  Michael had made arrangements so that we had a private room reserved.  Gradually our friends and family arrived.  When our friend, Jerry, showed up, he was over-wrought with emotion.  He was crying and hugging me–I hadn’t realized how affected he was by my diagnosis.  I think that he was relieved to see that, at this point, I don’t look sick.  He kept saying through his hugs and tears that he couldn’t believe how good I looked. 

Indeed, I don’t look any different at this point.  I still have my hair.  I haven’t gained or lost any weight.  I’m still hitting the gym and walking my dogs every day.  Except for when I have my appointments with my doctors, it is still really hard to convince me that I’m sick. 

The rest of our guests show up and Michael makes a toast.  Our waiter, Tony, asks what the happy occasion is.  It’s easy to tell that he thinks it’s my birthday.  When we tell him the actual cause for our celebration, he looks disturbed. 

We eat and drink and eat some more.  My friend Shanon is there and she makes me laugh by fondling the miniature statue of Michelangelo’s David that’s displayed on a ledge.  Our friend Maria has designated herself as the party’s photographer and keeps arranging all of us for pictures.  She took so many pictures that I was probably exposed to more radiation from all of her photographs than I was from all of the x-rays and scans at the Mayo Clinic. 

It was a great party; a happy occasion.  I think my mother is a little overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and affection from all of our friends.  So am I.

We finally leave and Jerry grabs me again for another hug.  He’s not crying this time which makes me feel relieved.  Still, I console him and tell him everything is going to be fine. 

As we drive home, I think about shaving my head.  Am I ready to do this?  I think I am.  I don’t want to go through the trauma of losing my hair in clumps.  But, on the other hand, I think when I finally shave my head the visual effect won’t allow me to deny that I am sick anymore.  And Denial has become a very good friend of mine, lately.

I’m going to be losing my hair pretty soon.  Already I can tell that I’m losing a few more strands than usual here and there.  The chemo nurse said that I can expect to really start to lose my hair after my second round of chemo.  Soon, I will shave my head so Michael wants to give 20 of my closest friends and family a final viewing of me with hair.  He’s made reservations at Buca di Beppo for tonight and is trimming the ten days of beard growth into what he calls “The Rick Springfield”, so I know I better wear something fancy.

Michael has been under tremendous stress.  He’s trying to keep a brave face while I’m going through all of this, but I see him faltering.  The fight with his mother certainly didn’t help.  Everything must seem so uncertain to him, I don’t know how to tell him that things are going to be ok–I can feel it. 

So, in an effort to cover up his emotions, he has been drinking more and more.  I know that he’s hiding and storing bottles of alcohol so that he can discreetly refill his glass without my knowing.  He thinks that I don’t know, but I do.  I know him better than I know myself.  I feel terrible that he is in so much pain, and I don’t know what to do.

Cancer is one of those traumatic experiences that seems to draw people together.  Even those friends and family members with whom you had differences; suddenly those differences seem meaningless. 

This was the case with my husband and his mother.  There had been some bad blood between them and they hadn’t spoken for a while, but because I was sick and he knew that his mother loved me, he decided to extend the olive branch and call to invite her to stay with us and visit me.

Unfortunately, in a family of highly emotional individuals put into an extremely stressful situation, the peace was short lived.  Words were exchanged, past angers were awakened, and I was in the middle begging for everyone to stop.  Without going into details, the fight crescendoed until my mother-in-law changed her flight so that she could leave early. 

I hate to see her go, but I hate stressful situations even more.  I don’t have the energy for this right now so I agree with her decision and say goodbye.