Ready for Chemo 9

Well, my last post was short and got 4 comments, so I'm postulating that the shorter the post, the more comments. Maybe my long posts exhaust my readers to the point that they can't muster a comment! Just kidding. But thanks to my commenters for commenting, and thanks to my readers for reading, and thanks to my supporters for supporting! And thanks to Auntie Judy, who just bridged the generation gap!

As you might have noticed, I had kind of a rough week this week. My side effects were just a little worse this week, which makes sense because chemotherapy is a cumulative process. That means that as I have more treatments, the effect piles up on itself, getting a little worse each time. I think that's true, but I'm hoping this week goes better than the last. And I hope the next week goes super duper awesome because I'm going to California! Wahooooo!

When I feel sick from the chemo, it really puts me into a bad, dark mood. Usually I'm pretty positive and happy, but when I feel sick it really makes me aware that I am sick. I don't like being a sick person. Sometimes I feel like the people around me think maybe this isn't so serious because I'm handling it pretty well (and my modesty helps... heh!) and I'm feeling pretty good usually. But this is a serious situation, a serious disease. When I really get down to thinking about it, I am truly fighting for my life here. If I were to have avoided going to the doctor, or if for whatever reason decided not to be treated, I would die. And that's just true. And that's also scary.

OK, enough of that scary stuff. I have my ninth chemo infusion this week, which is... two things. Amazing, because I don't feel like I've been doing "this whole thing" for two months already. Crappy, because I still have about three months left to go, and I feel like time will never pass fast enough. Anyway, Chemo 9 is tomorrow, and I'd appreciate some thoughts and prayers that I'll be back to feeling good this week. Then I have a little over a week to prepare for my trip, then Chemo 10, then CALIFORNIA, then MY BIRTHDAY, and then Chemo 11.

I gotta say, usually I'd be freaking out about how old 26 sounds, feels. But this year I feel young! So young! And I can attribute that to the fact that I have breast cancer, an old lady disease. Everyone with cancer that I see is old. Not always old like a grandma, but old like someone who could be a mom. Either way, older than yours truly. I'm gonna ask if there's any young people getting treatment at my place to see if I can go when they're there. Maybe I'll meet a guy. Hehehe, that would be... probably bad. But it would be nice to find some people my age going through treatment. We could be paranoid together about recurrences. I'd say we could hold each other's hair when we're puking, but... we could be bald together and commiserate about side effects. It might be normalizing.

I have an appointment today with Dr. M., my oncologist. I emailed her a zillion questions the other day, and she said that my questions were very good, but didn't lend themselves to email explanations. I'm excited to talk with her again and learn more things-- cancer is freakin' complicated! We might be able to talk about surgery again, which is very scary to me. I just really don't want to have to have a mastectomy. But if I do have to, then it would be nice to know now so I can start mentally accepting it. I'll tell you the answers to my questions once I know, and then you can be cancer-smart too.

It's amazing to think how much I know about breast cancer in comparison to what I knew about three months ago. I knew nothing before, and now I know all sorts of stuff. At Chemo Ocho, I was waiting (in the waiting room... imagine!) and overheard a phone conversation that a secretary was having with a potential new patient. They were talking about surgeons, and it was clear that this woman on the other end of the line was newly diagnosed. I thought back to when that was me, and it just wasn't so long ago. Really recent, actually! Just less than three months. And I imagined how scared and sad and upset and mad she must be. I just remember being there, how it sucked so much, and then I realized how much has happened to me since then, how far I've come. I also thought about how if I hadn't have met with Dr. S., my surgical second opinion, then I would probably be breastless now, never knowing that there would have been a chance I could have a lumpectomy after neo-adjuvant chemotherapy (that means chemo then surgery). I just wanted to grab the phone and tell this mystery woman, "I've been there and I'm still here! You'll get there. And get a second opinion!"

I'm gonna make myself look as pretty as I can get (not so easy without hair and weird acne breakout bumps all over my neck) and then take a picture of my balding self for you. Because I'm brave like that.

OK, now I'm going to "think." I put it in quotation marks because thinking is not what it once was for me. I have a lot of trouble concentrating, especially Wednesday through Friday or so. I need to make sure I can remember all my questions I want to ask. Well, at least for this week.

Oh yeah, before I go-- the Race for the Cure is this Sunday, October 5 (and Marc turns 26, but he'll be in Vegas so forget him! Ha!) and Susan, Kater and I are planning on staying in Denver Saturday night. We're all just going to register individually-- I think it's $30-- and walk together. If anyone wants to make a donation in my name (or in their name... or in anyone's name... or in no one's name... you get my drift), please do! Cuz cancer sucks, and CarrieHatesCancer! I'm a little fuzzy on the details, I know, but I'll get to calling people to make a plan. I'm really looking forward to it!