They really are weekly, during these early days of crisis and post-crisis and establishing baselines and new routines and mapping out how the rest of, well, my life will go, really. It won’t always be this frequent, but it seems like it right now sometimes.
This week I saw the surgeon who performed my mastectomies, considered by many to be the top surgeon in the hospital, (how cool is that?) which probably explains why he gets to wear cowboy boots to work and play country music during operations, according to the nurses. That appointment I already talked about in a previous post, so you’re more caught up than I thought, Faithful Reader. I’m getting back into this blogging thing better than even I knew, heh — I’m repeating myself. Tuesday was a long day; in addition to the at-home nurse visit provided by Medicaid, I had a several hours-long doctor visit with Dr. Rubin de Celis. We have more CT scans scheduled for next week; according to him, these will be the truely true baseline scans. The previous ones were to see where we were at, once all the chemo and radiation had been done, which showed us the four liver spots and the remaining breast tumor. The breast tumor is gone with the surgery; there were two active lymph nodes out of the five removed on the right side.
According to de Celis, this doesn’t change anything in our plans so far, as they also took the inactive ones surrounding the active nodes to get clean margins. It does mean that there could be cancer cells flowing somewhere in my body, waiting to attach somewhere and start growing again. It also, since those active nodes were surrounded by dead cells, could mean that they were remnants of some of the largest liver tumors still in the process of dying off from the aggressive chemotherapy regimen I was on.
So it’ll be two months since the last chemo treatment when we do these scans next week, and that’s long enough to know what lingering effect, if any, the chemo had on those liver spots. If they’ve stayed the same, or gotten smaller, we’re happy; that’s what we want to have happen. I’ll get put on tamoxifen, an anti-estrogen medication, next week as well, and that is supposed to do the job of keeping those spots stable or shrink them, like we want to have happen. I’ll get scans every two months while staying on this drug essentially for life, given the aggressiveness of my cancer. (We’ll of course be watching the other previously affected body parts to make sure no new cancer springs up in addition to watching those four spots.) Stay the same or get smaller (or go away), we stay happy. The only long term side effect to worry about with tamoxifen is leg blood clots, so as long as I stay active, get back with PT and exercise as I’m able to do, and keep my body otherwise healthy, I shouldn’t have to worry about clots. As long as the tamoxifen works and all the radiation and chemo worked as it should’ve, then I stay in a remission-like state and live my life and do ambitious and wonderful things as I plan and live with my family and enjoy my friends for the all the years to come that we all expect to get when we plan out our lives in blissful ignoring of death’s shadow.
We’ll also stay on the Aridia, as I’ve mentioned before, to help repair the osteoporotic-like damage to my bones that happened with the metastatic cancer. I just got my monthly infusion on Tuesday; the ironic side-effect of Aridia is bone pain, and I suppose it’s a good sign of sorts that my other systemic pain has gone down enough to be able to feel the bone pain specifically this time around. It is not a fun barrel of monkeys; it is a lot of mostly back pain, mostly where the tumors were, and paranoia-inducing as a result. I’m also back to sleeping just on my back after having halfway re-trained myself to side-sleep, thanks to the mastectomy surgeries, but of course that will also eventually heal up again.
My dad and step-mom are visiting this weekend. It’s been wonderful having family visit so regularly and be so supportive. I wish they lived closer so I could have even more of that. We’ve also got a really great community here in Austin, it’s been great to see my husband taken care of with near-weekly gaming and dancing with his friends to relieve some of his stress, as he adjusts to a high-stress-level new job doing a bunch of things he’s been wanting to do for years and getting paid (close to) what he’s worth as well to do it. We don’t get the time together that we’d like, but that like everything else will repair itself over time as things heal on all the different fronts there are to heal. It makes it challenging to find time for me to get back into my part of nurturing all the different aspects of family care on the home front, and for being a cancer-and-surgery-recovering currently disabled person, I think I’m doing darn well. Having the live-in help helps, quite a bit. We’ve had a couple of hiccups with her car having troubles but it sounds like we’ve finally got a handle on fixing that up so it won’t keep being a problem, which is a relief. I still manage a date night nearly every week with the husband, even if it’s just spending time together watching a movie or series and quietly enjoying each other’s company. I help The Teen with his homework and help manage the onslaught of his Teen Angst, and can feed and even sleep with Super-Baby with a bit of positioning assistance.
I still don’t feel like I have enough time to cry. To hold my daughter (or my son). To sleep. To write. To spend time with husband or friends. Time seems to be one of the commodities that slips through the fingers like sand as one convalesces. I found out that one of my friends lost everything in the Bastrop fires, and yet again I’m invalid enough not to be able to go help out the way I want to (though at least this time I can offer a shed to rummage through for usable stuff, and a bit of kid-care by way of volunteering our helper lady, so better than nothing). I’m so tired, and there’s so much to do, and I’m doing so much, and the task list just gets longer each day.
I’m supposed to have a scale, which I’ve never owned, to track daily fluid weight, as we wean me off the steroids I’ve been on for the past several months. I’m supposed to start wearing lymphedema sleeves again. These are super-expensive, I’ll have to check to see if Medicaid covers those, though I’m sure they’re the ugly beige type if they do. I’ll put up a wishlist for some more stylish ones sometime soon, in case anyone feels the urge to give a good and useful gift. (I have several gorgeous gifted head-scarves I enjoy wearing when hubby and I go out or I feel like dressing up.)
It feels like something new wants to be written but nothing has shown up yet. So I will continue to slowly send out old stories (did I mention I had done that, on a couple?), slowly clear the desk, and perhaps as I do so the new things will begin appearing. If I am to live this life to the fullest it is meant to be, then there must be more stories, new stories, moving and delightful and entertaining stories from me to you.
And so there shall be. So send good thoughts and prayers if that’s your thing (I’m a non-denominational well-wisher accepter), encouragement and excitement for more stories, rub my bald head for health if you see me (my son is good at keeping this up), send love…and go out and live your lives fully, fiercely, and beautifully, so that daily we all spit in the face of death.