Houston, We Have A Problem...My Eyelashes Falling Out.

As a newbie to chemo the information that I had all about the process came from the media, a little from my doctor, nothing from the nurse administering it and a lot from the angel getting chemo next to me. She too was living with stage IV cancer that had spread and was back for another round  to battle the outbreak. She and her friend gave me so much information and hope that I hadn’t had since my ordeal had begun.  She even got mad along with me at the 45 minutes it took the nurse to insert the needle to administer the medicine. The following week I received a port, which is a permanent tube in my vein that a certified professional (stress certified) can access to administer medication or draw blood to make this process go much smoother, until then, finding veins is like mining for gold. Sometimes it just didn’t pan out. This port is a junkie's dream. 

“I like your haircut” said our sweet 6 year old neighbor kid, Malachai about my bald head. Actually, I kind of like the freedom that comes with being bald as there is no shampooing, blow drying, straightening or fussing over unruly hair. This makes getting ready for work much easier! Plus, I am a little obsessed shopping for hats and scarves to adorn my baldness. What I cannot come to grips with and that is not ok with me is if I lose my beloved eyebrows! I’ve lost a few eyelashes and my sister, Cathie-the stylist, is on the prowl for eyelash extensions. Apparently there are some on the market.

Who knew?

I had my first chemo on a Friday and by Sunday I felt like I had been hit by a bus-everything I did was hard, like I was walking through mud. My boss had told me that since I only had chemo every 3 weeks, she thought I have “only little cancer” but she allowed my awesome co-worker to open the restaurant for me so I didn't have to come in so early on those days that the bus left me in the mud puddle. This helped so much. On those rough days all I could do was make it from the bed to the couch and not move until the medication kicked in. Once the anti-nausea medication kicked in life got a little bearable, I could move, get ready for work, grab an energy drink and get out the door. Since I was on a three week cycle, I would feel horrible for about a week and a half, then slowly begin to feel better after the end of the second week. By the third week I was jamming and ready for the second round of chemo to start the process all over again. 

I met with Dr. Fisher after my first session...she had great news! The chemo had shrunk the tumor 30%.

I've never been seriously sick a day in my life although I secretly feared getting cancer as my mother died from the dreaded disease in 2000. Each step in my cancer treatment and emotional process took a chunk away of my denial. I focused every ounce of energy that I could on staying positive, but sometimes I just couldn't crack a joke and the annoying people annoyed me. It was and is too real, too raw. I hovered above the scariness of it all. I'd mumble "not yet" when hospital staff would ask if I had an Advanced Directive for Healthcare as I wasn't ready to deal with that yet. It wasn't until the tough personal questions like when my sister asked if she could have my dog, Eddie, (the answer is no, Eddie stays with Sheri who has Bama and Kona. I will not separate the three), or when Sheri asked me if I had a sense of how long I'd be in this life, with her, started coming when I realized that it just wasn't me that had cancer, everyone I loved was going through this as well. The feelings began sinking in. I felt for my family.

What really made me confront my own mortality was the day that my temperature rose, which is a bad sign for  someone getting chemo because the body is really susceptible to infection. We called the doctor and were immediately directed to go to the emergency room. Upon getting the blood test results we found that I had no white blood cells and I was put on lock down in a private room: no fresh flowers, no raw fruits and vegetables because of the pesticides and it was suggested that visitors wear masks.

I was scared. The shit got real.

48 hours later and a couple hundred white blood cell booster shot and I was paroled...

At least I still have my eyebrows. 

It Get's Worse...Then Life.

The longer the wait to perform the PET scan due to missing reports and insurance snafu's, the more sure I was that the type of cancer that was in my body was not happy and content sitting and growing in just my breast. I knew it was spreading. I was hoping that the pain I was having in my hip was just arthritis and in my abdomen was just gas. I had hoped that my fear was just anxiousness to get the show on the road with chemo and getting better.

It was not just anxiousness.

Both  my Oncologist, Dr.Jennifer Fisher-a real cool clinician who balanced out the motherly Surgeon DrMaryKatherineMurphy called with the news, it was Dr. Murphy who gave me the news first.

The PET scan showed that the cancer had spread to my hip and my liver had two lesions on it. This was the bad news. I had Stage IV Metastatic Breast Cancer. That was Stage IV out of IV Stages on the How Bad is the Cancer cancer scale. Sheri had asked Dr. Fisher for an explanation of the stages as it pertained specifically to me when we first met her. She explained that Stage III was when the cancer had not progressed beyond the affected organ. Stage IV cancer happened when the cancer has spread to other areas in the body. It can never be cured but it can be put into remission for periods at a time though eventually, it will come back.

When explaining my diagnosis that night, both doctor's stressed that I could live many good years with periods of remission and chemo when the cancer comes back. The good news was that there are only one lesion on my hip and 2 lesions on my liver; Chemo will stop these and probably erase them for the time being.

I was with my sister, Cathie, when I got the call. Then I called Sheri. As soon as she answered, my tears started flowing and I couldn't talk. I passed the phone to Cathie who explained to Sheri the new diagnosis. She arranged for her husband to pick Sheri up and bring her to their house since I had the car.

As a family, we circled the wagons and began planning

I had been jokingly whining "but I have cancer..." whenever I had the chance to get out of something. That night Cathie and sister by choice, Heidi began joking back "but you're not broken!" and thus began a new idea. In this family every event is celebrated with a party. My cancer was no exception. I decided that I could not wait for my hair to begin to fall out on it's own. I didn't think I could handle chunks of hair coming loose in my hands. I needed to be proactive; A head shaving party was scheduled! My long auburn locks would be donated to Locks of Love, an organization that makes wigs for kids with cancer whose family can't afford them on their own. Without my knowledge everyone who would be there would wear the shirts that Heidi had made that read: "She has cancer...She is not broken." She made me two shirts one for pre-mastectomy and one post that read: "I have cancer...I am not broken."

Another discussion that lightened up the dark news that night was a wish that I have always had. My family is very close and my all time favorite place to be is in Hawaii. So we decided to plan a trip for all of us. Now I didn't ask my sister to do this, it was something that she did on her own as a way to help me out because as we were talking about this trip, my head was asking "how can we afford this?" and I could almost hear the cash register "cha-ching" in Sheri's head, but Cathie started a blog Trip for Tits to help us raise funds. Even if you can't chip in, please hit like and share to pass it on.-It will make all of us really happy.

I am blessed to go through this with the support that I have, my partner, my family by blood and by choice. Regardless of how long I have, at least I have that.