Ironically, as I write each blog, I contemplate a potential theme song to accompany my words; I am going to let this idea simmer a bit! Watch-out cancer...I am about to obliterate your ass…seriously, Real Talk! According to my oncologist, here is the plan:
Lumpectomy Surgery July 27
Follow-up appointment August 10
Begin Chemotherapy the week of August 15 for six months
Radiation to follow – not sure the length of treatment
The surgery on Wednesday will remove, with clean edges, all three masses in the right breast and will keep the breast intact. In all fairness, the left breast will not be left out; the chemotherapy porta-catheter will be installed on the upper portion of the left breast. For two weeks, my body will heal from surgery and I will continue to prepare for chemotherapy to begin. In fact, on Saturday July 23, 2011 I took the first preparation step and cut my locks off [15 inches] that were donated to Locks of Love. For about six weeks, I will be rock’n my fierce new cut; then bald will be beautiful. When my hair begins to fall out, my boys plan to shave my head. Some women are stunning with a baldhead and I was thinking …yep, I got this one until I realized there is a genetic wanky flat spot near the top of the back of my skull. I say genetic wanky because I have visual confirmation that at least one sibling has the exact same flat spot! Just to be sure, I did make an inquiry with my hairdresser who confirmed said wanky flatness. Dang it all…..
Chemotherapy will occur every three weeks and sessions will last two-three hours. As it stands now, the first four courses will consist of Cytoxan and Adriamycin AKA The Red Devil. How awesome is it that Adriamycin is red in color, so much, so that one will urinate red or orange for up to 72 hours post chemotherapy. Yes, I know you are jealous. The red urine is not to be confused with potential blood in your urine [classic bladder infection] that the Cytoxan has the propensity to deliver. Awe, so many delightfully little gifts. The day after chemotherapy, I will return to the oncologist’s office to get a shot of Neulasta – to help boost the production of white cells. I could recount all the super fantastical side effects of these medications; simply put, they all suck big time. Real Talk. After completing four courses of these medications, I will move onto Taxotere every three weeks – four courses.
Confession time: I am going to put this out into the universe again. I secretly am hoping that the radiologist reading my PET scan on July 25, 2011 is befuddled beyond words, and declares, “She does not have cancer!”
Real talk here. I am approaching my journey through cancer holistically. In other words, integrated medicine – western medicine in conjunction with alternative modalities. The mind, body, spirit connection is significant to bringing my body back into balance. Since my breast cancer diagnosis on July 7, 2011 I have learned many incredible lessons, surrendered my full metal jacket, continue to practice receiving freely, and have embarked on a journey of self-discovery. Oddly, I feel a sense of being at peace with my diagnosis, most of the time. This is freeing; I remain hopeful, positive, and open. Undeniably, having an aggressive breast cancer sucks ass. But there is something beautiful and positive that is happening around me and I have a front row seat to these wonders. Breast cancer is simply the catalyst for these marvels to unfold and develop. Real Talk, how awesome is that? Love it. Right now, I feel authentically more loved, supported, and cared for then any time in my life. It took cancer for me to surrender and receive; thank you for allowing me a safe place to expose my vulnerabilities. Today, I am hopeful.