Cancer’s Ugly Turn

 My cancer has taken an ugly turn. I will update more if able. Been in hospital since Oct 20th. Hoping things are turning back around. 

Featured on Everyday Health Website

At the end of January, a video production company interviewed me and my daughters for a possible feature on a website called Everyday Health. It was quite a surprise when I was contacted a few days later to inform me I had been chosen. My daughter, Audrey, spoke for the family.

The first video is called What my Mom's Metastatic Breast Cancer Means to Me; the second is called Diagnosed with Breast Cancer the Third Time Around.

The videos produced were released on March 18th. There are two.  Click the links below to see the videos. You will be redirected to the website.

https://www.everydayhealth.com/breast-cancer/women-with-metastatic-breast-cancer-videos/#what-my-moms-metastatic-breast-cancer-means-to-me

https://www.everydayhealth.com/breast-cancer/women-with-metastatic-breast-cancer-videos/#diagnosed-with-breast-cancer-the-third-time-around

While you're there, explore the website.

Thanks for watching!

Implants No More

 A few weeks ago, after showering, I noticed a dark area underneath my artificial breast on the right side. I wasn't actively looking for anything, I just happened to notice it when I glanced in the mirror. Of course, I immediately touched it. The darkened area was soft where the implant was pushing outward. It didn't hurt unless I pressed really hard. The rest of the implant felt hard. The skin on that side had a darker hue than the left.

"This has to be bruising," I thought, "but I haven't bumped into anything recently to cause it." 

To the internet I went. This had to be Capsular Contracture. 

Here is the definition of Capsular Contracture from Wikipedia: The occurrence of capsular contraction follows the formation of capsules of tightly-woven collagen fibers, created by the immune response to the presence of foreign objects surgically installed to the human body, eg. breast implants, artificial pacemakers, orthopedic prostheses. . . . Capsular contracture occurs when the collagen-fiber capsule shrinks, tightens and compresses the breast implant. (It is the immune system trying to protect the body.)

The right side of my chest had been tighter than the left for years. However, recently, I had noticed some minor pain that would come and go. Plus, now the right side implant sat noticeably higher than my left.

After some thought, I decided to call the plastic surgeon's office. It was a Sunday meaning I would have to speak to the surgeon on-call, which was fine. All I I needed was someone to tell me this was not an emergency situation. 

My implants were placed in 2005. Since then I have had radiation over the whole area and two other more targeted radiation treatments in that same area. Radiation is probably the reason for the implant's demise.

The doctor on call that day made me feel at ease; there was no hurry to get them removed. He asked that I call the office to make an appointment.

The appointment was made.

As I put on the fashionable paper vest and waited, I thought about how I wished I wasn't there. Yeah, the mask was hiding my looks, somewhat, but I couldn't forget what my plastic surgeon said in 2005 when I was early stage.

He said, "I am so glad you don't have to do Chemotherapy. So many people look so old afterwards."

Isn't that a nice memory to hold on to?

My plastic surgeon arrived, took one look--didn't even touch the bruised area--and said, "Yeah, that needs to be removed." 

Good grief, it seems like every time I think I am through with medical procedures on my scared-up body I have to undergo another one. 

"We could do this or that," never entered the conversation. I had one choice for my capsular contracture: take it out. 

I did have a choice about the left one: take out it out or leave it. I am a fan of symmetry, so I chose the latter. 

The procedure was done on March 12th. Now my 90 pound frame, looks like a prepubescent female. Thanks, cancer.

When I got home, I again revisited 2005 when I underwent bilateral mastectomies. I had forgotten how unpleasant it was to have drains inserted under the skin. Any fluid made by my body as it healed traveled down a plastic tube and into a collection bulb, gross. I wasn't in a lot of pain, thankfully--only took one prescribed oxycodone pill, but boy did my skin itch. I was miserable! Since the procedure was done Friday afternoon, I had a few days to figure out what I was going to wear for work to hide my shrunken chest and to figure out how to hide those awful bulbs at the end of the drains. Monday came, and I decided the best thing for me was to remove the collection bulb at the bottom and tuck the tubes into my pants. I used the cap on the bulb to close off the tubes. 

Since there wasn't a lot of drainage, the two drains were removed on Friday. After the mastectomies, I had 4 drains. Those stayed in much longer. 

I know the image below is ugly, and I might regret showing it--but this is the Cancer Classroom. I wanted to show what the tubing and the bulbs looked like. Images can be more impactful than words at times. I think that is true here.

Cancer treatments damage a person's body in a variety of ways. The bluish area at the center top is radiation damage. There is a lot more of that above it. The scars above and around my belly button area are three out of the four I have from the hysterectomy in November--for me, a cancer preventative surgery. 

As the following week moved along and the next week too landing me here, Sunday March 28th, I noticed and could feel my lymph system at work. There was fluid accumulating; my body couldn't keep up. The right one, in particular, felt like a balloon filling with water. Maybe I should have left the drains in longer?

On Friday, I called the nurse. An appointment was made. There, the fluid will be extracted. In the meantime, I am wearing a tight athletic bra. I have placed soft padding over the fluid filled areas to create pressure to hopefully slow down further fluid accumulation and the to help my body absorb some of the fluid already present. 

Just another day in the life of a metastatic breast cancer patient. 

Scan Update

Well, it is over. I  made it through another scan. 

To recap: Three months ago I learned that a lymph node toward the front of my chest had enlarged to 1.9 cm--that is huge! Those guys are usually not even a centimeter in size  Also, there is some thickening of the pleura of my right lung that the radiologist deemed potentially metastatic spread. 

As I usually do, my brain went through the different scenarios preparing for what could be the worst or even the best results of this scan. I would think about what my oncologist would say. Would she begin with: how are you feeling--an indication the news was not good. Or, would she jump right in with the only information that mattered--an excellent start for what will most certainly be great news. Then I would play my mind's movie, what I would say and how I would say it. In the past, I have had some kind of plan. A plan I could throw at her hoping she catches it in order for me to stay on my current treatment. Luckily, in the past, she has caught it, agreed to it, and the plan worked. But, my research and the knowledge that I have already had so much radiation to my chest made me painfully aware this time I had no plan. My sense of control--so needed by all of us--was gone.

The knock came, my oncologist entered. She seemed at ease, a good sign. She sat down and began talking. "Well, your scans look good". 

I say, "What?" 

She looked at me like: what do you mean, what? 

That followed with the best conversation. A conversation I was so sure I was not going to have. 

She let me know that the lymph node had decreased. Could have been some kind of infection causing the increase but really all that mattered was its size. It wasn't super small, yet, but it was down from 1.9 to 1.5 cm. As for the pleural thickening, it was stable. She didn't seem that concerned about the thickening having not mentioned it to me two months ago. I learned of it by reading the radiologist's comments on my report. 

We moved away from the scan report as our conversation continued. I asked her whether I should get the COVID vaccine. She said, "Yes", without hesitation. 

My next scan was set and will be at the end of May just before school lets out for the summer. And, I get to continue my treatments with Kadcyla. The burden was lifted. and I smiled all the way to the infusion room. 

Thinking of spring and all of life's possibilities as I continue to find my way in the world after leaving my husband made for a tremendously happy ride home. If Kadcyla can continue doing the incredible task of keeping those little cancer cells in check, maybe I will be watching my youngest graduate from college in 2025. Hope is still winning!