Cancer Sucks- Part three- Treatment

This is the part in which I write about what it was like to watch an orange Koolaid-looking poison slowly drip into my arm, knowing that it was going to make me sick and hairless, and wonder if I even needed it.  The part where a little bundle fell from the sky into my arms.  The part where people were there for me. 


My oncologist, Dr. Patricia Legant,  came highly recommended.  She is a no-nonsense, no sugar-coating kind of doctor, but one with a heart who really knows her stuff.  She also knows how to write upside down on the paper that covers the exam tables in her office, so that she can, once again, go over those statistics with her patients, the ones I was too bleary eyed and hysterical to take in on that dreaded day at Huntsman.  Its an impressive skill.  I trust her.  I asked her once "Doesn't it get depressing to work with cancer patients all of the time?"  She said No, that she loves her patients and her job, that she is lucky because all of her patients desperately WANT to be better, I suppose as opposed to some patients in a more general practice setting, who (dare I say it?) sometimes are a bit hypochondria-prone.  

 I cried the first day I got my chemotherapy.  Somehow it made everything so much more "real".  Getting treated for breast cancer (and many cancers, I think) is so strange because YOU FEEL COMPLETELY FINE, and then you go to the doctor to do something that will make you feel sick. Something that you don't even know if you need to do.  Maybe they got all of the cancer in the surgery, and all of this is for nothing.  Taking "medicine" to make you feel sick? Its counter-intuitive.  


My doctor's office was in a dumpy strip mall near Cottonwood Hospital (she's since moved to the Huntsman clinic near my home).  Think pink and turquoise and southwestern paintings on the wall.   I had my chemotherapy treatments in a tiny little file room in the back of her offices.  I sat in a recliner while Sharon, Dr. Legant's nurse, made small talk and put the IV in my hand.  Spence sat by my side, always there, feeling helpless, I'm sure, as spouses of cancer patients usually do. I watched the orange-syrupy looking liquid slowly make its way down the plastic tube into my vein.  Poison, I kept thinking, this is poison going into my body.

We went to Costco right after the treatment and got a few things.  I didn't know what to expect.  I remembered my sister Lyn, and how sick she was with her chemo.  I remembered her throwing up, and the horrible open sores that completely covered the inside of her mouth, making it basically impossible for her to eat.  Maybe having chemo would make me lose weight.  That, at least, would be a good side effect.


The whole family was home when we got back, trying to pretend that life would go on as usual.  About 7:00pm it hit me- horrible nausea.  Now, you need to understand that I am a person who VERY rarely throws up.  Maybe once every five to ten years.  I think its a legacy of the night I spent at a sleepover when I was 12 dry heaving all alone in my friend's basement, but that's another story.


My sweet daughter Mikell heard me throwing up in the bathroom.  She came in and held my hair, rubbed my back, and told me it was going to be okay.  So sweet.  I'll never forget it.


I had treatments about every two weeks. I felt horribly nauseous but never threw up again.  I took every nausea medication on the market and they made things better, but far from perfect.  I was tired.  So tired.  I had gotten acrylic nails for the first time in my life just before my chemo in an effort to make me feel pretty.  My real nails started to turn black from the chemo  under the fake ones, so I had to take them off.  Things that I used to love tasted gross to me.  Diet Coke, that I had been addicted to, tasted like kerosene.  The only things I wanted to eat, most of the time, were eggs and toast (I couldn't eat soft eggs for a couple of years afterwards, because they reminded me of chemo).  I felt sicker with every treatment, until I basically felt no drop in nausea between my third and fourth treatments. It was hard, but not as bad as it is for some people.  I was blessed.  I had four treatments, each two weeks apart, of Adriamycin and Cytoxin.  I was supposed to have four more treatments of Taxol after that, but I didn't.


I had been feeling unsure about having the Taxol ever since I started chemo.  I had heard about its side effects, and how they can be long lasting.  I was especially concerned about the potential for permanent nerve damage and chronic pain.  I prayed and prayed about what I should do.  Finally I decided to ask for a priesthood blessing.  I wanted the blessing to tell me whether I should take the Taxol or not, but it didn't.  It basically said that I would be okay either way. 


I told my doctor that I didn't want to take the Taxol.  I thought that she would be like the guys at Huntsman, telling me that if I didn't do it I "would die", but she wasn't.  She understood, and said that even if, heaven forbid, my cancer did come back some day it wouldn't be because I didn't take the Taxol.  I was thankful for that. 


This turned out to be one, of many, faith promoting parts of my cancer journey.  One day, several months after I finished my radiation treatments, my oncologist told me at a follow-up visit about a new study. Researchers had just recently found that Taxol was ineffective in treating patients with my type/size etc. of cancer.  If I HAD taken the Taxol, it would have been for nothing, and who knows what side effects I might still have today.  I feel that I was prompted not to take it, and I'm glad that I didn't.


An amazing thing happened one day about a week and a half after my first chemo treatment.  The phone rang, and it was the Division of Child and Family Services.  I was surprised, because we had told our social worker that, although we had said the summer before that we were interested in another child (probably a girl- we had Lucas and Max at the time) we couldn't consider a child now because of my health.  Why were they calling us?  Didn't they know I had cancer?


DCFS said that "a sibling of my boys had come into care", but that was all that they knew.  A sibling?  My boys have two older sisters that are with relatives of their birth mom, was it one of them?  I had no idea.  They asked me if we would be interested.  I couldn't believe it. I had just started chemotherapy! I told them to give us a call back after they had more information.  

It turned out that the "sibling" in question was a sweet little baby boy, who we now call Jacob.  We told them that, of course, we wanted him, that the brothers needed to stay together.  That this cancer was a temporary thing, that we had a good support system, that I was going to be okay.  I put on my bravest face as they interviewed us, and it worked.  


Some people have thought that we were absolutely crazy for taking in a newborn at the same time as undergoing chemotherapy, but honestly, it was a blessing.  Sitting on the couch snuggling a sweet newborn is a wonderful thing to do when you don't feel good.  Reminds you of the goodness in the world.  Sometime I'll write more about Jacob's story, another faith promoting experience.

Radiation was like this.  Mostly I napped :)

After the chemo, and a few weeks of recovery time, I started my radiation treatments.  Compared to the chemotherapy, radiation was easy for me.  I was tired, and a little "sunburned", but it was nothing compared to the killer nausea.  I got up early every morning and drove to the new IMC in Murray for a seven AM treatment, five days a week for six weeks.  It was a hassle, but really not much more than that.  I was tired, but I had been tired for so long that I hardly noticed it.

So many people were so wonderful to my family during all of this.  People who asked me how I was feeling, and really listened.  People who asked Spence and my kids how they were doing with everything, and really listened.  People who brought meals.  People who came over and took Luke and Max for a while so I could have a break.  Angels.

Race for the Cure- I'm in pink on the steps

Right after I finished my radiation treatments I participated in my first Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.  Our whole family walked together, pushing the boys in strollers.  It felt awesome, and humbling, to be among so many others who had gone, and were going, through the same things as I was.  I think it was good for the family, too.  Made us all feel a little less alone.   I made a little banner at the survivor's breakfast that I still have hanging in my closet- my prayers and wishes for myself at that time. Its at the top of this post.

Not bad, I think.  Five years later, I think yep, these are them.  Still my prayers and wishes.


Next time:  I finally get to my Lessons Learned.