A Marathon, Not a Sprint

Updates will come less often now, as this is definitely going to be a marathon and not a sprint. For those who are interested, I thought I would back up and say more about that. My treatment plan is long. I’ve just finished my third of six rounds of chemo, which will wrap up at the end of June if all goes as planned. After that I have surgery and recovery. And then the pathology report from surgery will determine whether I go straight into radiation, or have a lengthy additional chemo regimen first. Then another surgery, targeted immunotherapy infusions for a year, and 5-10 years of hormone blocking medication.

Even the diagnostics seem to have gone on forever. They don’t just tell you one day, “Hey, you have cancer!” and then that’s it. Oh, no. Radiology saw something nefarious in my ultrasound, which led to a biopsy. Once they confirmed that it was cancer, I had more scans to see how far it had spread: first a breast MRI, lymph node ultrasound, and chest x-ray. The first radiologist thought the lymph nodes looked clear. Then I got a routine second opinion with another oncologist, and based on my physical exam she did not trust those results. This meant another lymph node ultrasound with a different radiologist. It did NOT look clear. A biopsy confirmed. Once it’s in the lymph nodes, they start worrying about it getting out into other parts of the body. So I was rushed in to get a CT scan and bone scan before starting chemo. Thankfully all clear. My oncologist wanted a PET scan (which is more sensitive), but insurance fights paying for those like a 6-year old being fed asparagus. They don’t like to pay for MRIs, either—I had to get a useless x-ray before they would finally approve an MRI to check out some back pain, which took a few weeks.  

So here I am, almost 3 months out from diagnosis, finally feeling like I have at least a somewhat clearer picture what I’m up against. Cancer can be unpredictable, but at the moment I’m feeling better about the information I do have and the treatment plan ahead of me. Chemo is NO FUN but the tumors appear to be shrinking. It’s strangely satisfying to imagine the chemo drugs flooding in, and the cancer cells shrieking in pain. (Insert evil laugh here.) I still have a little bit of hair—it seems the white hairs are the ones holding on for dear life! And I’ve learned how to look cool while drinking Ensure. Ready for the marathon.