I held a ceremony Friday during my lunch hour. I was the only one in attendance, save the dog, and he follows me everywhere, so I suppose there were two of us. It was a short ceremony, and no big deal really, but it was of significance to me. I removed the plastic trash can from my bedside that has been there for the past five months, waiting patiently for me to be sick. I never used the trash can, and it's still in pristine condition because I was fortunate enough to make it safely to the restroom each time I got sick.
The removal of the trash can may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but it symbolized to me that I am confident that I will NOT be as sick for a very long time as I've been after chemo, at least not unless I have some horrible stomach virus. The trash can was a safety precaution for me because I am the type of person who does a lot of things "just in case". It gave me a feeling of protection or safety during those five months, but now that chemo is over, the container stuck out like a sore thumb, and I couldn't wait to get it away from my bed.
I am SOOO much better right now than I was last weekend, but I still have a bit of lingering queasiness if I get too hungry. I can't explain it really, but I know it's chemo-induced nausea. It's not bad enough to keep me from doing things, but I'm aware of it. Maybe a day or two more...
I see my surgeon this Wednesday for a consultation on removing my port. I've heard of people leaving theirs in for years, but if I have no immediate use for it (and I'm hoping ever), I want this sucker out of me. Other than the benefit I have derived from it for chemo, I have hated it. It makes it dfficult to sleep on my left side, my seatbelt hurts it, my bra strap irritates it, and I am aware of it if I try to lift something weighing greater than 15 pounds (i.e.: the dog). And try puking with a port in your chest from a standing position--It happened to me twice, and the movement sent a sensation similar to a "shock" across the top portion of my chest and upper arms. Hope that wasn't too descriptive--makes me a bit queasy thinking about it all again. If all goes according to my plans, I should get my port out the week before Easter.
I see the oncologist on April 28, and he will probably put me on Femara, a drug I will take each day for the next five years to regulate my estrogen levels (since my tumor was estrogen fed). The doctor thinks my chemo has caused me to have early or forced menopause, so Femara is probably the drug I'll be taking.
I also see the radiation oncologist on April 28 for my CT-RTP which means computed tomography-radiation treatment plan. They'll set the machine just for me, and they'll mark hash marks on my right breast and lymph node area so that all I'll have to do is come in each day and assume a certain position for my radiation treatments. Radiation is tentatively set to start on May 2.
I can see the light at the end of the tunnel as far as treatments are concerned, and I am so very thankful for that. If I had to find cancer in my body, I am glad it was during cooler weather because my wig is hot, and I thought very seriously about yanking it from my head in Wal-Mart the other night. The thought of the gasps all around me and little children possibly crying kept me from doing it. My hair is growing back very quickly, and some of it is 2" long. It's just not quite long enough or full enough yet to go without a head covering.
Here is something you can pray for: Lymphedema. This is swelling in my right arm because of fluid not draining properly -- remember I had 20 lymph glands removed, and this will always be a potential issue for me. I overdid it a bit today, and I can feel more tightness in my right upper arm, and I know it's a bit of swelling. I don't know if I lifted something too heavy or if I just did too much. Radiation can make lymphedema worse, and I have seen a woman in the oncology office with a huge "Popeye" arm. She often has it in a compression sleeve, and I guess the first time I saw her was several months ago. Her arm is smaller now, but lymphedema can hang around for months and months. I don't want it! I don't need it, and it will not be a good thing for me to have to endure.
Thank you for continuing to pray for me and for the wonderfully kind words so many of you have written in my Guestbook. Some of you send me private e-mails, and I want to thank you, too, for taking the time to be involved in this chapter of my life. It's kind of crazy, but although I HAD Stage IIIa breast cancer, I know in my heart that I'm a survivor, and I will be around many more years to come. I'm one of the lucky ones. Lots of folks on my prayer list fighting cancer. Let's all pray for a cure, too.
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