First of all, the Carol G. Simon Cancer Center, adjacent to Morristown Medical Center, reminds me a little of a shopping mall without the storefronts. Maybe her last name - wondering if she is part of the family which owns and develops many malls in this region - has something to do with this. Valet parking, large glass panels letting the sunlight from above in. From the lobby you cannot really tell it's a medical facility of any kind. Signs for the sanctuary, a yoga class in session. Free information on reiki therapy. No, it didn't calm my anxiety. Neither did waiting for the doctor for about 1/2 hour. A nurse took my pulse, blood pressure, and drew blood. "Are you nervous today?". Nooo...what on earth would make you think that? Where's the Starbucks? Where's the nail salon?...
Okay, for the stupid stuff that I guess I have to know:
This is a quickly growing Stage 3 cancer. Any more information than that really doesn't help me right now. There is one lymph node noted as "suspicious" on my report, which, because of the size of my mass is presumed to be malignant and thus throws me into this prestigious stage. Doctor tried to locate the suspicion and initially wasn't sure if he found it or was just molesting my rib. All scans of everything else are clear...that is the important part of the information here. Advanced breast cancer is well traveled. Liver, bones, brain.
This is a hormone receptive cancer. Which is a good thing. It will respond to a well established therapy of hormone suppression...yay! Throwing me into a state of menopause rather quickly. Well, they say 50 is the new 30, right?
I will lose my hair from chemo. Well the important hair as least. I bothered to ask the doctor if there is a slim possibility I can defy the odds in this case. "Um, no. This is a universal side effect and that is why we are talking about it first." Frankly, nothing else matters. Nausea? Okay, I was pregnant with twins, been there done that. Living in the bathroom, essentially, can be done. Fatigue? Again what parent of toddler twins isn't already tired? I harbor more anger that I have to care this much about my hair than the actuality of it falling out. I have always hated wearing hats of any kind. How dumb. My one recurring dream I've always had since college is waking up and realizing that both my hair is gone and my teeth are missing. The giant peach on top of my shoulders will scream CANCER! at me every time I look in the mirror. I'm not ready for this! No, I'm not hosting a head shaving party. I will have my devoted hairdresser of 7+ years style me with a short layered cut so I can ease into it. Later that night I went on a Google search bender: "trendy short haircuts".. "sleeveless hoodies".. "is bald sexy?".."obnoxiously large earrings"
I have to have a catheter installed below my neck for quick access to the insides. The drug cocktail is powerful enough to destroy tissue if a new vein is tapped every time and there's a miss. No, there's nothing sticking out of me, so I'm told, no one really knows it's there, I can have it done the morning of my first chemo on May 25. I don't mind needles, I just don't want to see them, especially the ones being stuck into me.
The rest of the meeting was a blur. Got a tour of the cancer part of the cancer facility. Large open space with a row of beds divided by drapes, poles with bags, tubes connected to folks young and old, frail and vibrant, loving friends and family by their side, bustling staff in bright scrubs, a flurry of noisy activity. Patients working on laptops, Ipads, reading, laughing, living their lives with a warmed blanket covering their laps. On first glance it reminds me of an auto body shop and all the patients are cars in various modes of service. I got lost finding the exit. Maybe that's the point. It will be my home one afternoon every three weeks for the next 4-5 months. Here CANCER screams and no one seems particularly shocked. Here CANCER is the norm and mine won't be the only bald head in the room. I was sent home with a list of items to have in the house and a large folder containing information on peripheral services. Exhausting.
Friday was a quick visit to the family practice to review bloodwork. Enough with the appointments already and I nearly walked out of the office after waiting an hour. In walked D., the nurse practitioner who without saying much opened up the door and said, "check this out"..she pulled her shirt open and there was her catheter, never removed, from her battle with colon cancer three years ago. She ignored her symptoms for 1 1/2 years. Small children. Stage 3. 13 lymph nodes included. I burst into tears, I'm becoming rather adept at this. A gorgeous, vibrant, happy, healthy survivor just walked into my life and not by chance. "Giving up is not an option," she said. This time I walked out with far more than a script for vitamin D. This is far more than just a certain cocktail of chemicals pumping through a tube. That and if forced to choose, I would choose to fight this so that my daughters, son, and husband wouldn't have to. That's how blessed I am....that might be all the information I can handle for now.
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