The Treatment Begins! (or Damn the Chemo. . .Full Speed Ahead!)
Welcome to Georgetown University Hospital, Lombardi Comprehensive Cancer Clinic, my home away from home.
Enter the too numerous to mention wonderful people that make up the campus who made such a tremendous difference.
Dr. Minetta Liu my oncologist and Dr. Donna Marie Manasseh, my breast surgeon. Two very different yet equally amazing women to whom I will forever be deeply and emotionally grateful for.
Scott and I went to see the vivacious and dynamic Dr. Manasseh first who performed the obligatory biopsy, I will not lie, the biopsy was extremely painful, it sounded like a large drywall stapler each time a sample was cut. I was nice enough to allow 4 more of these biopsies to be performed for a clinical trial, but the deal was I had to have at least four lidocaine shots before they took the samples. All in the name of science.
Clinical trials are very important to get the answers we need in order to someday beat many diseases. At first I was put off by the idea of a clinical trial because I was uninformed, imagining a guinea pig in a cage with scientist probing and prodding. There can be benefits to the patient sometimes to receive some of the latest therapies as well. Think about this, every treatment out there from Neosporin to the most complicated cancer treatments have gone through clinical trials.
My pathology report came back in a language foreign to me, Stage III ductal invasive carcinoma, but for the rest of us that means, “oh shit”. Scott and I went to see Dr. Liu my oncologist who is very demure and soft spoken but known for never giving up on her patients, she was going to start me straight away on my 6 month regimen of chemotherapy beginning with 4 rounds of Taxol and 4 rounds of AC. I waited a week to start chemo in order to suppress my ovaries with a Depot Lupron injection in hopes that they would be salvageable after the chemo was finished with them.
Ovaries to Sleep The appointment with Dr. Jairoh Garcia a reproduction specialist at Johns Hopkins proved to be a sure sign of things to come. First, how wonderfully kind people can be, the compassion that Dr. Garcia showed me was overwhelming, I look forward to seeing him again soon. Secondly, was the amount of money this was going to require became apparent on this day, the first of tens of thousands of dollars worth of prescriptions and doctors bill. To save time, while I was getting my blood drawn Scott ran over to the pharmacy to pick up the Depot Lupron injection. He returned with a dismayed look on his face, handed me the injection and whispered, wow seven hundred dollars!
So 20 days after that terrible mammogram I had my first chemotherapy treatment.
I feel like I am at a loss to describe in words the impact Scott has made to my life. As my tireless advocate and partner he was by my side at every single appointment, every single chemo treatment, calling doctors, researching, keeping my schedule straight, pharmacy trips and so much more in addition to being a great boyfriend. All my doctors know him. I often joke that I need to carry a bat with us when we go to the hospital because all the women just LOVE him. And they only had a glimpse of him within the walls of Georgetown, what about the rest of the time? I can tell you, he was just being himself the same as he is always; giving, loving, caring, supportive, understanding…all those words that seem so inadequate but necessary I suppose to describe him.
Another great thing is that Scott and I could laugh about things, make jokes about BC. Tisk tisk I know shame on us. If I was stressing and I could say to him, “don’t make me wig out” or when I was trying to get my way with something I’d say in a ridiculously whinny little girl voice, “but I’m sick” and let’s not even go to the jokes of what size my “new breasts” should be. Having a sense of humor helped us tremendously. Laughing at what is obviously painful may be offensive to some and rightly so, certainly there are lines that must be cautiously approached or not crossed at all with some.
The absolute worst part of chemotherapy for me was and still is how it affected my appearance. Am I vain? Yes Will my sister tell you that I don’t miss a chance to look in the mirror? Yes Could I open my own beauty supply/spa shop with all my products? Yes OK, it’s true my looks are very important to me they always have been. But never did I imagine the role my appearance would take when it was suddenly annihilated by chemotherapy. Let’s face it we’ve all seen “those people”, hairless, pale, dark circles under their eyes, generally sick looking. Unbelievable but true story, driving with my boyfriend out to the eastern shore one day to practice shooting some sporting clays I was looking in the mirror, this was just before chemo had gotten it’s grip on my looks, I said to him, “I am not going to look like one of those people”, he replied with a wise smile, “you are one of those people” then we laughed, I probably cried a little too.
My mother came up from Florida and met Dr. Manasseh and Dr. Liu, it was important for this to happen. She needed to meet them, become familiar with the surroundings of Georgetown, know that I was in good hands. She actually wanted to hold my surgeon’s hands in her own, I know when she did this she must have said a little prayer. Oh the strength my mother showed, I hate this for her. The best and worst part of her visit was when we got my wig. We laughed and cried at the same time, made stupid faces with the wigs on, really neither of us could believe what we were going through. It all just seemed so unreal, are you kidding me a wig?
Enter the too numerous to mention wonderful people that make up the campus who made such a tremendous difference.
Dr. Minetta Liu my oncologist and Dr. Donna Marie Manasseh, my breast surgeon. Two very different yet equally amazing women to whom I will forever be deeply and emotionally grateful for.
Scott and I went to see the vivacious and dynamic Dr. Manasseh first who performed the obligatory biopsy, I will not lie, the biopsy was extremely painful, it sounded like a large drywall stapler each time a sample was cut. I was nice enough to allow 4 more of these biopsies to be performed for a clinical trial, but the deal was I had to have at least four lidocaine shots before they took the samples. All in the name of science.
Clinical trials are very important to get the answers we need in order to someday beat many diseases. At first I was put off by the idea of a clinical trial because I was uninformed, imagining a guinea pig in a cage with scientist probing and prodding. There can be benefits to the patient sometimes to receive some of the latest therapies as well. Think about this, every treatment out there from Neosporin to the most complicated cancer treatments have gone through clinical trials.
My pathology report came back in a language foreign to me, Stage III ductal invasive carcinoma, but for the rest of us that means, “oh shit”. Scott and I went to see Dr. Liu my oncologist who is very demure and soft spoken but known for never giving up on her patients, she was going to start me straight away on my 6 month regimen of chemotherapy beginning with 4 rounds of Taxol and 4 rounds of AC. I waited a week to start chemo in order to suppress my ovaries with a Depot Lupron injection in hopes that they would be salvageable after the chemo was finished with them.
Ovaries to Sleep The appointment with Dr. Jairoh Garcia a reproduction specialist at Johns Hopkins proved to be a sure sign of things to come. First, how wonderfully kind people can be, the compassion that Dr. Garcia showed me was overwhelming, I look forward to seeing him again soon. Secondly, was the amount of money this was going to require became apparent on this day, the first of tens of thousands of dollars worth of prescriptions and doctors bill. To save time, while I was getting my blood drawn Scott ran over to the pharmacy to pick up the Depot Lupron injection. He returned with a dismayed look on his face, handed me the injection and whispered, wow seven hundred dollars!
So 20 days after that terrible mammogram I had my first chemotherapy treatment.
I feel like I am at a loss to describe in words the impact Scott has made to my life. As my tireless advocate and partner he was by my side at every single appointment, every single chemo treatment, calling doctors, researching, keeping my schedule straight, pharmacy trips and so much more in addition to being a great boyfriend. All my doctors know him. I often joke that I need to carry a bat with us when we go to the hospital because all the women just LOVE him. And they only had a glimpse of him within the walls of Georgetown, what about the rest of the time? I can tell you, he was just being himself the same as he is always; giving, loving, caring, supportive, understanding…all those words that seem so inadequate but necessary I suppose to describe him.
Another great thing is that Scott and I could laugh about things, make jokes about BC. Tisk tisk I know shame on us. If I was stressing and I could say to him, “don’t make me wig out” or when I was trying to get my way with something I’d say in a ridiculously whinny little girl voice, “but I’m sick” and let’s not even go to the jokes of what size my “new breasts” should be. Having a sense of humor helped us tremendously. Laughing at what is obviously painful may be offensive to some and rightly so, certainly there are lines that must be cautiously approached or not crossed at all with some.
The absolute worst part of chemotherapy for me was and still is how it affected my appearance. Am I vain? Yes Will my sister tell you that I don’t miss a chance to look in the mirror? Yes Could I open my own beauty supply/spa shop with all my products? Yes OK, it’s true my looks are very important to me they always have been. But never did I imagine the role my appearance would take when it was suddenly annihilated by chemotherapy. Let’s face it we’ve all seen “those people”, hairless, pale, dark circles under their eyes, generally sick looking. Unbelievable but true story, driving with my boyfriend out to the eastern shore one day to practice shooting some sporting clays I was looking in the mirror, this was just before chemo had gotten it’s grip on my looks, I said to him, “I am not going to look like one of those people”, he replied with a wise smile, “you are one of those people” then we laughed, I probably cried a little too.
My mother came up from Florida and met Dr. Manasseh and Dr. Liu, it was important for this to happen. She needed to meet them, become familiar with the surroundings of Georgetown, know that I was in good hands. She actually wanted to hold my surgeon’s hands in her own, I know when she did this she must have said a little prayer. Oh the strength my mother showed, I hate this for her. The best and worst part of her visit was when we got my wig. We laughed and cried at the same time, made stupid faces with the wigs on, really neither of us could believe what we were going through. It all just seemed so unreal, are you kidding me a wig?
posted by DreamGirl05 @ 1:07 PM
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