Well it’s been another wild week in west Olympia. With the time off work and my part-time hired help, you’d think I’d have nothing but time on my hands. Wish it were so.
This week’s infusion went ahead as scheduled, number two in the Taxol series, even though my white count has dropped again. Down to 2.0, that pesky threshold number that can make or break the routine. My doctor said it was OK to go ahead though, since the total count wasn’t below 2.0 and the neutrophils, the most important subset of white cells, were acceptable. We don’t know the reason for the drop. Could be just the one injection of Neupogen last week (we were anticipating being able to back off these because the Taxol is “kinder and gentler” to bone marrow), could be still some fallout from the Adriamycin/Cytoxan. Apparently, those drugs can have residual effects for up to 3 weeks after they’re stopped.
Which is why I can’t yet answer the question I’ve been asked: How is the new drug making me feel? Seems I’m still in a transition phase.
As with last week, the premedication of Benadryl knocked me out and I had a nice nap during the infusion. I can’t eat a popsicle while I sleep, but I’m still trying to figure out how to work the angles on that treat. I didn’t put my hands on ice yet. The naturopath suggested it, the oncologist said he didn’t think it necessary, and the nurses can go either way. So much for the idea of science being hard and fast.
Fortunately, the drowsiness from the Benadryl dissipated quicker — I’m told a body builds tolerance to it — so I got by without a nap at home. I’m still on the steroid energy kick, which usually washes out around Thursday afternoon. Though the drugs have changed, I’m still taking about the same number of them, and will have a clearer sense in a couple weeks of exactly what’s happening.
I’ll continue with the Neupogen, hoping the white cells level off soon. The night-time dose of Ativan seems to have lost its effect, so I’m making the switch to melatonin in search of that increasingly elusive good night’s sleep. Another side effect of the chemotherapy is instant menopause, with all its inherent, uh, charms. The most bothersome of these at the moment is the night sweats. Throw the covers off. Get cold. Drag the comforter back on. Get hot. Throw the covers off…. You’d think all that activity would count for aerobic exercise. I could work off any weight gain from a bedtime snack in no time at all.
But surely there are better ways to maintain weight. Can’t stay in the triple digits with all that activity.
Anyway, between the sweats and my son’s middle-of-the-night growing pains (those darn children — they GROW, and at the most inconvenient times), the steroid high and the Benadryl knockout, it does feel a bit like the Wild West in my body and soul this week. Chemicals leave their mark on the psyche as much as they do on the body.
I continue to puzzle over how I came to be in this situation. I have few risk factors (70%of patients don’t have any of the standard factors) and no family history (only 15% of patients have one). I’ve taken pretty good care of myself, done the exercise, eaten healthful foods, gotten the mammograms. I think about where I’ve lived, possible chemical/carcinogen exposures. It’s a never-ending loop and I look for any truth in public information that can help me make sense of things.
Last week, I attended a dinner for breast cancer survivors (something I both dreaded and desired), and the keynote speaker addressed some of the psychological impact of this diagnosis. She said that everyone dealing with this disease tries to figure out what caused it, even though no one can ever tell you what lead to its development. There’s no direct link as there is for smoking and lung cancer. But she said it’s a necessary part of the mental process once a patient receives the diagnosis, so at least I know my line of thought is normal, even though the search may be futile. As part of the process of making sense of things, I’m trying to dig below the surface of generic public information to find the truth as I am discovering it to be.
One publication that holds a tremendous amount of data is the annual report by the American Cancer Society (Cancer Facts and Figures) that shows in detail the cancer rates throughout the country by type of cancer, sex, age, geographic region and other details. If you’re interested, you can find it here:
There’s more information than you might want, but the map alone is worth a look. In the section on breast cancer, I found a bit of truth that has been missing from most generic public sources on the subject: the fact that having dense breast tissue can be considered a risk factor and has a definite influence on how accurate a mammogram is. The more I’ve thought about my situation, the more irritated I’ve become with that mantra projected at women: “Get your yearly mammogram!” as though that’s the surefire way to catch breast cancer early.
I’m guessing I’m not the only woman who’s gotten caught in that gray area where mammograms fail. It’s good to finally see science starting to register dense tissue as a risk factor, but it’s still not showing up on the information that’s disseminated to the general public. I’d like to see that change. I’d also like to see better methods for catching this disease when it really is early. If breast cancer really is present for 3, 5 or even 6 or 8 years (as Dr. Susan Love believes) before it can be detected on mammograms, there has to be a way to catch the disease sooner. Mammography is not actually a form of
Of course something patients with any illness wonder about is whether they’re getting the best care available, and that’s true for me as well. We have done our due diligence of reading and research, getting second opinions, keeping our eyes open and, fortunately, I’ve consistently come to the conclusion that I’m in good hands of care. That feeling was enhanced by an informative article in this week’s Newsweek that researched outcomes of cancer treatment at medical centers around the country. The article helps clarify the confusion about where to go and what to expect for various treatment centers. If you’re interested, you can find that article here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/218235.
A couple people have commented to me how courageous I am, going through all this. I don’t know as that courage really has much to do with it. Yes, it’s a necessary component of the journey, but when you’re put on a sudden and serious path, and it’s the only way through the forest, the journey has less to do with courage than simply doing what has to be done. Can you call it courage when there really isn’t any other choice?