Summer has come and gone and everyone is back at school, except for me. I like that. My routine has gone back to the usual gym and physical therapy as well as my infusions every three weeks. I’ve picked up learning to paint water color at a local coffee shop in the town next door. Life is chaotic but good.
It’s been over a year since I was diagnosed with stage 2a breast cancer and just about a year since my double mastectomy with expanders. A super tough year…but doable.
I have been very open about my diagnosis, surgeries, chemo and emergencies. I am hopeful that other women can learn from it and perhaps spark conversations. I’ve tried to become who I needed when I first learned I was about to enter this realm. I knew no one. That makes it scarier than it needs to be.
I have since done all I can to learn as much as I can about this dynamic disease and outcomes. I read and ask my medical oncologists many questions and have received very straightforward answers and advice. All of which I’ve taken to heart. When the hospital asked me about becoming one of the faces of survivorship for a display at the Short Hills Mall, I was delighted and eagerly said yes. Myself and five other women were photographed and several weeks later, there was a reception for us along with the oncologists, oncology nurses and other staff involved in our journeys. One of the young women who I was with is a girls scout leader and she bought her troop with her and spoke of her journey with them. My oncologist spoke and then I did. I talked about this journey being doable and about the importance of taking care of ones health and advocating for further tests if they feel something isn’t right. I hope the young girls who were there came away with the conversation about breast cancer being something that should be discussed openly.
I had the opportunity to learn at a Breast Cancer Symposium. That was hugely important to me as the panel were all remarkable physicians and leaders in their field. I wasn’t sure what to expect or how to feel about hearing breast cancer discussed more clinically, but I needed to do this for me.
HER2+ cancer works by sending signals that tell cells to grow and divide, one way is by pairing with another HER2+ receptor. My current infusions of Herceptin and Perjeta target these cells. Perjeta attaches itself to the surface of the cell and doesn’t allow the signal to go nor the cell to pair. Herceptin does this from the inside of the cell. Together, it keeps the naughty cells from growing and pairing…eventually it dies. We like cancer cell death. Why am I on it for a year and not 6 months, like the UK study shows? Well, simple. Not enough data to support only a six month protocol. Two year protocol doesn’t show any longer survival rates either so one year it is. In theory, everything should be dead long before the year is up.
My second batch of chemotherapy was Taxol, a taxane, a natural source cancer drug that comes from the Pacific yew tree. Taxol works on ALL stages of breast cancer and is used very frequently.
My first chemo drug was Adriamycin, one of the strongest chemotherapy drugs out there. It wipes out everything in it’s path. It is lovingly known by us as The Red Devil. It is red and makes you pee red. Freaky, right? Like I said, it kills everything in it’s path that is a rapidly dividing cell, bye bye ALL hair. No joke. It is also tough on the heart and I was watched closely for issues and thankfully had none. My Adriamycin was paired with Cytoxan, a cytotoxic agent. Together, they very effective against breast cancer.
So what does that mean for someone like me? Stage 2a meant that some cancer made a run for my sentinel node. I’ll spare you the details about the sentinel node dye injection. That’s a level of hell you don’t want to even think about. Anyway, following my double mastectomy and node dissection, chemotherapy was needed. Why? Even if the margins were all clear and it was well contained in one node? Well, cancer is an asshole. HER2+ is a huge asshole and likes to grow fast. All it would take is one errant little shit to escape and decide to go camping somewhere nestled in my body. This would mean more cancer later and I ain’t even playing that game. Pull out the big guns and let’s do this. Here’s how it all played out. Surgery removed everything and then some. Adriamycin and Cytoxan came in with BIG POWERFUL weapons. Think of it as a nuclear weapon. It takes out everything, the good, the bad and the ugly, leaves ya bald AF too. Four rounds in eight weeks. At the end of that comes Taxol paired with Herceptin and Perjeta. Taxol acts like the characters in Plants vs Zombies for the Xbox. Yeah, I went there, it’s really a fun game. Anyway, it goes on a mission to continue destroying any signs of cell life that could be bad. There’s collateral damage, like in any battle. Good cells take a hit too. The Taxol is given weekly for twelve weeks. Basically, it’s looking for AC’s sloppy seconds. Herceptin and Perjeta are given with the first dose of Taxol and then again every three weeks for 18 rounds. That’s 20 gloriously toxically delicious weeks. Ok, maybe not delicious because the taste buds get a smack down as well. It is a very effective protocol.
Statistics. It’s all a numbers game. In the world of breast cancer, the statistics can be confusing and overwhelming and always slightly behind as new data is constantly coming out and changing things. I try not to get too caught up in the numbers because cancer is very individual. Here’s something you all need to know though. Mortality from breast cancer is down 40% in recent years. Can you take a moment to read that sentence again? It’s important. Women are being diagnosed at earlier stages, being treated and cured and living. Those diagnosed with stage 4 are also living longer and showing no evidence of disease for greater periods of time. Deaths are down. Whether or not you are a cancer patient, you need to know that. These gave me hope of a brighter future.
Studies and trials. Here’s something I didn’t know. I thought if you made it on to a trial, it meant other options had been exhausted. No. Trials are given in conjunction with other therapies and the patient is monitored so very closely. Trial and studies are a wonderful thing. There are many chemotherapies out there now but more are in the pipes now under clinical trials and those numbers should be published in a few more years. There is more hope coming from this.
Now I’m going to be really honest about a freak out and anxiety filled fun fest I had given myself. Let me start off by saying the internet can be a bad thing for a cancer patient. Here goes. I like tea. I like green tea and I like turmeric tea. I took both with me to chemo and drank a nice mug here or there while getting my infusions. I also occasionally had some at home in the long cold winter months. Then I read on a board that green tea and turmeric tea while going through chemo is a contraindication as it makes the chemo less effective. Damn. I’m screwed? Exhale, nope. I’m good. There are no foods that are off limits while going through my protocol. In fact, a Mediterranean diet is highly suggested! What are we supposed to stay away from? Booze (sad, right?) as it is hard enough on our bodies with chemo, alcohol can cause elevated liver enzymes and we don’t want that. No supplements. Just eat your fruits and veggies when you can. The occasional week of tacos and nachos and all things pizza won’t hurt either. The logical part of me kept saying that I would need to eat literally buckets full of dried tea leaves to cause any kind of issue with chemo. Ugh. I can giggle about it now!
Moral of the story, drink your tea and talk to the oncologist and quit reading shit online, except for my shit, keep reading that. It makes me happy. Happy cancer patients are always a good thing.
I learned a lot more but mostly technical stuff that makes sense to me right now. I learned an amazing amount my own HER2+ cancer and am less afraid of it now.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month with all things pink and pink ribbons everywhere. Some cancer patients despise it. I love the pink. It’s a soft hint of prettiness in an awfully dark diagnosis. I think the biggest lesson I have learned this past year is to always have hope and look for it in the dark places we visit in our cancer journeys.
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